Murtagh

Thorn blinked. But he can no longer fly. He cannot move. He can only think. I would sooner crash myself into the side of a mountain than live like that.

“I know,” said Murtagh, soft. They had been fortunate Galbatorix hadn’t forced Thorn to disgorge his Eldunarí. Young as he was, Thorn would have ended up with a severe mismatch between the size of his mind and the size of his body.

After Murtagh wrapped the scale in cloth and carefully stowed it in a saddlebag, Thorn said, What now?

Murtagh checked the sky. The stars were fully out, and the horns of a crescent moon were peeking over the horizon. Perfect. Just dark enough to help conceal them from watching eyes, but not so dark they couldn’t see their work.

“Now,” he said, rolling up his blankets, “we go fishing.”

***

Murtagh let out a sound of frustration and slumped back in Thorn’s saddle.

An hour of flying around and across Isenstar Lake had proved fruitless. The lake was huge, and they had no idea where to look for Muckmaw. Moreover, it was impossible to see anything useful in the dark water, even with the help of the crescent moon, and Thorn didn’t dare fly too close to the surface, lest night fishermen spot them. Murtagh had used his mind to search for creatures in the water, but from high above and at speed, it was easy to overlook the cold thoughts of a fish. Especially if it were sleeping. In any case, he didn’t know what Muckmaw’s consciousness felt like.

They landed upon several sections of isolated shore and he dangled Glaedr’s scale in the still waters, hoping it would attract the fish’s attention, as Carabel had claimed. But the waters remained smooth and untroubled, and the hoots of sleepy loons echoing across Isenstar were the only sign of animal life.

Frustrated, they took to the air again.

This isn’t going to work, said Murtagh, using his mind so the sound of his voice wouldn’t carry over the moonlit water. We could spend days patrolling Isenstar and have nothing to show for it but flies in our teeth and elves on our tail.

Thorn gave an irritated shake of his head. It is a good night for hunting, but only if we know where to hunt.

Exactly…. Murtagh glanced back toward Gil’ead. A scattered constellation of lanterns and torches lit the city, forming a warm welcome in the darkness. If he were a fisherman, he thought the sight would have been comforting indeed. He tapped Thorn on the shoulder. Turn around. I have an idea.

Why do I have a feeling in my belly that your idea will be dangerous?

Because you can read my mind, that’s why. And it won’t be that dangerous. Not if I’m clever.

Try not to be too clever. Clever fails more often than simple.

Mmh.

At Murtagh’s direction, Thorn landed behind a small hill half a mile from the northeastern side of Gil’ead. Hopefully the elves wouldn’t be looking there. Surrounding the hill was a dense patchwork of cultivated fields: clover, wheat, and close-planted rows of various root vegetables.

Murtagh slid to the ground and took a moment to study the land. There was a farmhouse to the north, closer than he would have liked. “You’ll have to be careful. There could be dogs.”

I know how to hide, said Thorn, sounding vaguely offended.

He smiled. “Yes, you do. But listen, if I’m not back in a few hours, leave. Don’t wait for dawn. Farmers rise early, and if they see you—”

They’ll cause no more trouble than we’ve faced before. Thorn huffed, and white smoke billowed up from his muzzle.

“Let’s avoid it all the same.”

Squatting, Murtagh dug a handful of moist dirt out from under the grass and rubbed it into his hands and onto his face. He hated the feel of the grime, but it would help age him and make him look more like a commoner.

He had a sudden, intense sense of familiarity, as if he’d already lived this moment. In a way he had, he supposed. Before entering Gil’ead to help rescue Eragon, he’d done exactly the same.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Thorn cocked his head. And what help is it knowing that?

“Not sure. Maybe we’ll learn to recognize the patterns, and we can avoid making the same mistakes twice.” He stood. “I’ll be back soon.”

And he set out at a steady trot, again heading toward Gil’ead.

Behind him, Thorn let out a concerned growl.

***