Murtagh

Murtagh’s frustration grew. In the stables, he saw evidence for what Carabel had mentioned: a wagon readied for departure, saddles laid out, bridles being repaired. A blacksmith was seeing to the shoes of several horses, including Captain Wren’s black charger, a great fearsome beast by the name of Beralt.

When Murtagh asked about the preparations, Esvar shrugged and said, “Couldn’t say. Captain’s business.”

Murtagh took consolation in the fact that whatever was planned had yet to happen. Regardless, it hardened his opinion toward Wren and the guards. If Carabel was right, at least some of them were engaged in inexcusable villainy.

As they were shifting firewood for the captain’s quarters, as well as the kitchens, Gert came by. “We had word from th’ fortress,” he said. “First thing tomorrow, Lord Relgin wants to see th’ one what killed Muckmaw. Best make sure your boots are shined and your hair is combed, Task. Won’t do to offend his Lordship.”

“Yessir.” An iron door seemed to slam shut inside Murtagh’s mind. There was no choice now. He couldn’t stay among the guards past the night. An appearance at Relgin’s court would be the surest way of breaking his disguise.

Once the sun was down and the guards were asleep, he had to try to reach Silna. It would be his only chance. Don’t give up, he thought. I’m coming.

***

Evening had settled over Gil’ead, and the streets were mired in purple shadow. Warm candlelight started to appear behind shuttered windows, and lanterns and torches bobbed along the ways as late travelers and early carousers hurried to their destinations.

Murtagh trotted between the wooden buildings, nose wrinkled in distaste at the smoke that had settled across the city along with the late-afternoon chill. His duties with the guards were over for the day, but Wren’s company closed and locked their gatehouse at sundown, so he had only a few minutes of freedom left.

Was that a familiar face among the knot of men and women standing by the door of a common house across the street? No…no, he didn’t think so. He ducked his head and hurried on, trusting that the tabard of the city watch was all anyone would see when they looked at him.

At the eastern edge of Gil’ead, he found a lone poplar tree by the edge of a barley field. After checking that no one else was in the vicinity, he sat and closed his eyes and focused on the thread of thought that joined him to Thorn.

As the window between their minds widened, the dragon’s relief was a palpable sensation washing over Murtagh’s body. For a time, they merely enjoyed their shared embrace, and then Murtagh said, Are you safe? Has anyone found you?

Only a wandering jackrabbit, who was much surprised.

I can imagine. Did you eat it?

Murtagh could feel Thorn snort. To what end? I find larger pieces of meat stuck between my teeth. What of you? How goes it?

He made no attempt to hide his aggravation. They’ve kept me running ragged all day long. I haven’t had more than five minutes to myself.

Do they smell something wrong with you?

I don’t think so. It’s just how they operate. I’m going to try for the door once everyone’s asleep. If all goes well, I can sneak Silna out without being noticed, and then I’ll take her to Carabel, and we can be rid of this city.

Thorn noticed his grimness at once. Why do you hate it so?

Words were insufficient, so Murtagh shared the images and feelings dominating his mind—Esvar’s comments about Eragon and Saphira; his own conflicted response to being so close to the death place of his father; the sense of unity he’d experienced moving together with the other men in the yard; his distaste at breaking another oath; and in general, the deep and growing discomfort Murtagh felt for the situation and his place within it.

This is why I prefer to avoid your kind, said Thorn. They are too difficult, too complicated. Things are simpler when we stick to the sky.

If only we could.

Then, too, Murtagh shared the men’s comments about Nasuada and her need for an heir. And he made no attempt to hide his distress at the thought.

Thorn hummed in his mind, and in Murtagh’s mind, he saw the dragon’s tail wrapping around him, as if to protect and comfort him.