Murtagh

He quickly made his way out of the city and hurried back across the dark land toward where Thorn was waiting. Once he was no longer concerned about any watching minds, he reached out to Thorn and told him what he’d learned.

Thorn’s first comment was, Can you go anywhere without getting into a fight?

Doesn’t seem like it. It wasn’t my fault, though.

Is it ever?

Sometimes. Anyway, we’d best find Muckmaw, and then I can go open the door that’s always closed. If anyone of note is listening to the rumors and gossip around the city, they might realize something is amiss and start looking for us.

What about the fish?

Murtagh hopped a slat fence as he continued across a field toward Thorn’s hiding place. I can break the wards Durza placed on Muckmaw. That won’t be a problem. For that matter, I’m sure you could bite right through its protective spells. The idea seemed to please Thorn. We just have to find the fish.

Then let’s go find it!

As soon as I get there. I’m not— Before he could finish, Murtagh felt a surge of motion and excitement from Thorn as the dragon took flight. No, wait!

CHAPTER V Muckmaw

Murtagh’s cry was too late. Ahead of him, he saw the dim sparkle of Thorn’s shape rise above the hill where they’d landed, and he heard the dull thud of the dragon’s wings.

“Blast it,” he muttered between clenched teeth. He quickly read the lay of the land and then sprinted toward a flat patch of wheat stubble a few hundred feet away.

He arrived just as Thorn drifted down from above. The gust of wind from the dragon’s velvet wings staggered Murtagh, forced him to spread his feet and brace himself against the press of air.

“Did you have to?” he said.

An amused sparkle lit Thorn’s eyes. No, but I wanted to.

“Gah. Let’s get out of here before someone notices.” He scrambled up Thorn’s side, the dragon’s scales sharp against his palms.

He grabbed the neck spike in front of the saddle and held on tight—not bothering to strap down his legs—as Thorn took off.

The crescent moon was near the top of the sky as Thorn sailed over the southern edge of Isenstar Lake, looking for the marshy area the fisherman had mentioned. Murtagh considered casting the spell he normally used to hide Thorn from people on the ground but decided against it. No boats lay on the dark water below, and he wanted to save his strength.

He thought as they flew, and the more he thought, the more uneasy he felt.

What’s wrong? Thorn asked.

I’m worried that Durza might have done something unreasonably clever with Muckmaw.

How so?

Spells take energy, yes? And that energy has to come from somewhere. Durza couldn’t sustain the wards he set on the fish when he wasn’t here. So the energy has to come from Muckmaw.

Where is the problem in that?

Murtagh shrugged, feeling an itch between his shoulder blades. Maybe there isn’t one. Only, when Muckmaw was small, how could it have maintained wards strong enough to deflect spears and swords and the like?

For a moment, the only sound was the sweep of Thorn’s wings. Perhaps no one tried to kill the fish until it was bigger.

Maybe.

…Do you think Durza used the same spell to grow Muckmaw that Galbatorix used on me?

A sudden tiredness came over Murtagh. Remembering the past always left him feeling old and sad. There’s no way to know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

Mmh.

They flew in silence until a patch of bright-tipped reeds appeared along the shore: the tops of the cattails catching the moon and starlight.