Murtagh

In retrospect, Murtagh was astounded by his own ignorance. And by the stupidity of his overconfidence. He had truly believed he could defeat Durza in Gil’ead, without magic and without the enhanced strength and speed that came with being a Dragon Rider. Idiocy. Durza would have killed me before he realized who I was…. At least I managed to put an arrow between his eyes. Although even that hadn’t been enough to kill the Shade. Only a blade through the heart could do that, as Eragon had later proved in Tronjheim.

Cardus-chewer was still talking: “Soon as they see him, th’ kids jumped up, tried to go after th’ fish. They knew what they were doing weren’t right, you see. But the man tells them t’ hold, an’ he asks ’em what they’re about. So they lay it out, all shamefaced like. And Haugin says the man smiled then, and he sat down by ’em with his hand on th’ hilt of his sword and asks ’em to watch and wait, ’cause he’s curious too. Only it weren’t a real ask, if’n you follow, but more of an order. Leastways, that’s how Haugin tells it. So they sit, an’ they wait, and th’ fish go on gasping an’ flopping until they’ve had their last mortal breath. All but one of ’em.”

“Let me guess,” said Murtagh. “A sturgeon.”

By the hearth, the brothers laughed as they played a game of jacks with colored pebbles.

“Or something as like a sturgeon,” said cardus-chewer. He nodded sagely. “An’ here’s where it goes strange. The man, he picks up th’ fish, and he says words over it, only not in any tongue as makes sense. Old Haugin, he swears on his mam’s grave, swears, that he could feel the words in his bones, an’ Sharg and Nolf always accounted the same.”

“Magic,” said the scarred fisherman.

“Aye, magic. So the red-haired devil says his piece, and then he tosses the fish back in th’ lake, and he tells Haugin an’ Sharg an’ Nolf, he tells ’em that since they were wanting to know which fish was the strongest, it were only fair to reward th’ survivor. An’ he tells ’em that since they were such naughty, naughty boys, they’d have the fish afflicting ’em and tormenting ’em for th’ rest of their days. Then he walked off into th’ brush, an’ from that day since, th’ fish has been a terror to us all.”

The scarred fisherman poked cardus-chewer in the shoulder. “Tell him the rest.”

“I’m a-gettin’ to it! A tale has to be done proper…. Anyways, Muckmaw grows into his fearsome self, and once folks round here took notice, we tried t’ kill him, Oreth. Oh, we tried. But ’tweren’t no good. Hooks won’t set in his mouth, y’see, an’ spears just a-skate off th’ side of his armored plates, an’ arrows—”

“Arrows bounce right off him,” said the scarred fisherman.

Cardus-chewer scowled at him for a second. “Aye. An’ the blasted fish is too smart t’ catch in nets or weirs. Before th’ war, Lord Ulreth set a bounty on Muckmaw. Two whole gold coins. An’ our current lord, Lord Relgin, increased th’ bounty to four gold coins, if’n you can believe it. Four! That an’ you get a chance to join the guards if’n you’re so inclined.” Cardus-chewer shook his head. “Won’t do no good, though. Muckmaw is a curse on our lake, a punishment for mistreating th’ fish, and that’s th’ truth of it.”

Murtagh silently swore at Carabel for not telling him the full story. Catching and killing Muckmaw was going to be far more involved than he’d first thought.

“Why haven’t you found a spellcaster to kill the fish for you?” he asked.

The scarred fisherman snorted. “What? Them of th’ Du Vrangr Gata? They’ve no time for our concerns. An’ Frithva, th’ hedge-witch down th’ way, wouldn’t be much help. Y’ need a wart taken off or a compress for a boil, she’ll fix you up just fine. But an enchanted fish set on murdering you? No, sir. For that y’ need an elf or a Rider.”

“An’ they’re all busy elsewhere,” said cardus-chewer sadly.

“Be glad of it,” replied his friend. “Their kind only cause rack and ruin.”

Cardus-chewer shrugged and drained the last of his beer. “An’ now y’ know th’ truth about Muckmaw. Believe what y’ want, Oreth, but we’ll swear to every word.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Now I’d best be off. Anra’s waiting for me, and she’ll not be pleased I tarried so late.”

Murtagh raised a hand in a casual, careless gesture. “My thanks for the story. I’ll admit, it seems unlikely, but I’ve heard stranger things on the road. If a man wanted to avoid getting eaten by Muckmaw, where ought he not go fishing?”

The scarred fisherman snorted. “As if. Th’ whole lake is his hunting ground. Wher’er you go, y’ have to watch, lest he chomp you.”