Murtagh

Murtagh’s jaw tightened, but he did as she said and described how he had ingratiated himself within Captain Wren’s company and then how he had made his way into the catacombs beneath the barracks.

The werecat spread the fingers on her free hand and dug them into the top of the desk. “Ssss. And what saw you thereafter, human?”

Murtagh gestured at Silna. “Surely your daughter can tell you.”

“Your eyes see differently than hers.”

He grunted. Then he described the two chambers he’d found after the war room: the magical workshop and the garden of rare and unknown plants. When he mentioned the strange egg in the garden, Carabel stiffened and her spiked hair fluffed, as if she were frightened.

“What is it?” Murtagh asked.

“An ancient wrongness that will need to be dealt with,” said Carabel, examining the tips of her nails. “Rest assured, human, I will see to it that the problem is taken care of.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what this wrongness is?”

Her lips split in a sly little smile. “Every piece of information has a price, human. What would you be willing to pay for such a lovely morsel?”

“I would have thought I already earned it.”

She laughed, her voice like silver coins tumbling. “No, no. Each mouse you wish to catch is different. Each mouse is new. This is a separate matter.”

Talking with the cat, he decided, was like playing a game of hazard where the rules changed with each throw of the dice. Very well, if I have to be tricksy, I’ll be tricksy. “A secret for a secret, then. Will that satisfy you?”

Carabel licked her fangs as she considered. “Is it a good secret, human?”

“As good as any I know.”

“Hmm. A strong claim, that.” She picked at a scratch in the desktop. “Very well. A secret for a secret. The egg belongs to the creatures known in this tongue as the Ra’zac.” She added a trill to the r at the beginning of the name, and the sound sent a prickle down Murtagh’s spine.

He swore explosively and paced in a circle before coming back to face the desk. “Them? Those foul creatures! How?”

The werecat raised her delicate eyebrows. “You must have known that Galbatorix hid some of their eggs about the land.”

“He never spoke of it.” Murtagh made a face, annoyed with himself. “I suppose I should have guessed as much. He always was devious. What is it doing here, though?”

A low half purr, half growl rumbled in Carabel’s chest. “That is indeed the question, human.”

“If I’d known what it was…” He shook his head. He would have melted the egg in a blast of fire fit to rival even the flames Thorn produced. As Carabel had said, the Ra’zac were a wrongness. They were the hunters of humans, nightmares of the night that fed off the flesh of people.

Murtagh remembered the moment he’d seen them crouched around the campfire where they’d caught and bound Eragon, Saphira, and Brom: stooped figures in dark hoods that hid their vulturelike beaks and round, bulging eyes, pupilless and devoid of white. He’d shot at them with his bow and driven them away. Though not before they succeeded in mortally wounding Brom….

He shook himself from the shadows of the past.

“If I’d had word of it beforehand,” said Carabel, “I would have said as such to you. Now your secret, if you please, human.”

A rough knocking sounded.

Murtagh started, and then the study door opened to show Bertolf’s broad face. He peered at Murtagh suspiciously. “Were you wanting me, ma’am? It’s near time for breakfast, but the kitchens are behind today.”

Carabel waved a hand. “Leave us for now, Bertolf. I’ll ring if I want you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man bowed and withdrew.

The werecat focused on Murtagh once again, fierce and serious. “Your secret now.”

From his belt, he removed the second bird-skull amulet and placed it on the desk. Silna hissed, arched her back, and batted the amulet onto the floor.

Murtagh bent and picked it up. Moving slowly, he placed the amulet on the corner of the desk farthest from Silna.

The kitten spat at the amulet and then hopped down to the floor and went to sit curled on the study hearth.

With an expression of distaste, Carabel hooked the amulet with a fingernail and held it up to examine. “I fail to understand,” she said. “You have already shown me this unpleasant trinket. Although”—her nose wrinkled—“there is a different scent to it now.”

“I took that amulet off the spellcaster,” Murtagh said. And he showed her the original amulet in the pouch on his belt.

The tips of Carabel’s tufted ears pressed against the side of her head. She growled then, a deep, throaty emanation that made the front of her shift vibrate. Hearing such a primal, animalistic sound coming from such a human-looking being made the hair on Murtagh’s neck stand upright. “Arven. He of Du Vrangr Gata,” she said.

“Indeed.”

“Sss. The situation is worse than I feared, Rider.”