A dark road

Murtagh sat on his bed in the corner of his dark room in Urû'baen. His arms were hugged tightly around his knees which were bent up against his chest, as if he was trying to hold himself together. Despite his best efforts he felt as though he was falling apart.

It had been almost two weeks since he had fled from the elven army at Gil'ead. Murtagh and his dragon, Thorn, had been losing the fight against the ancient elven rider Oromis and his dragon Glaedr. Sensing their trouble the dark King Galbatorix had intervened by taking control of Murtagh's body. Although Murtagh had had no control over himself, he was still awake the whole time. He could feel his mouth moving but it wasn't his voice that had came out, instead it was the deep, rich, alien voice of Galbatorix. He could feel the familiar weight of Zar'roc in his hands as it knocked his opponent's sword from his hands, and then he had felt his arms swinging Zar'roc, without any hesitation or compassion towards the ancient rider...

Murtagh...

Thorn's familiar warning voice spoke in Murtagh's head.

Murtagh lifted his wet face off his knees to look at the red dragon sitting in the corner diagonal him, he hadn't even realised he'd been crying. He knew Thorn was right, there was no point dwelling on what he couldn't change. Galbatorix knew his and Thorn's true names and could therefore control them; force them to do his evil bidding throughout Alagaësia. Murtagh and Thorn had no choice but to carry out his orders. Once Murtagh had twisted an order in his head to prevent himself from having to capture his own younger brother and bring him before with king in Urû'baen.

Eragon... Murtagh frowned thinking about his brother. Before he had been captured and brought to the king's palace Murtagh had had no idea that he and Eragon were brothers. The two of them had been good friends; growing up in the palace Murtagh had never been close to anyone before he had met Eragon and the two of them were very similar, they both enjoyed hunting and Eragon was the best swordsman Murtagh had knew, besides himself and the king. Despite their similarities Murtagh had been shocked to learn that they were brothers.

Murtagh wondered what would have happened if him and Eragon had figured out their relationship themselves. By unspoken consent neither of them had talked about their past while travailing together from Dras-Leona to the Varden, who were hidden away in the Beor Mountains, but once they were there Murtagh had been forced into revealing the truth of his heritage to Eragon. Murtagh was the son of Morzan, the dragon rider who had betrayed his order to Galbatorix and who had helped bring around the fall. After revealing the secret that he had protected for so long it had seemed impossible for Murtagh to stop. He told Eragon everything, how he was given to a wet nurse after his birth, how his mother had only been allowed to visit him every few months, how his father, Morzan had almost killed him when he was only three years old and how his mother had disappeared, only to return many months later in extremely poor health. Eragon had told Murtagh that he never even knew his mother. After disappearing for six years she had shown up at her brother Garrow's house, near Carvahall, alone and pregnant. After she had given birth she stayed around long enough to name her son Eragon before disappearing again. The only detail either of them had left out of their stories was the name of their mother, Selena.

Murtagh couldn't help but resent Eragon for the way their lives had turned out. It hardly seemed fair that Eragon got to be raised in Carvahall while he, Murtagh, had to live with his father, until his death and then was sent to grow up in the king's palace in Urû'baen. Eragon had a family, he had friends, he had gotten to grow up without fear and pain. As much as he didn't like to admit it to himself, Murtagh had enjoyed telling Eragon that he too was the son of a monster. He had felt a strange savage pleasure at seeing the pain in his younger brother's eyes as he had realised that Murtagh was telling the truth. It made Murtagh feel better somehow to know that someone else would have to share the same burden he had been forced to carry his whole life.

Thorn's voice again interrupted his thoughts. I didn't choose a farm boy to be my rider Murtagh, I chose you. Eragon may have something's that you don't, but if you hadn't grown up in Urû'baen and if you hadn't been captured and brought back, I could never of hatched for you.

Murtagh lifted his head again and smiled slightly. Yes, he thought, but Eragon's a rider too remember, he has Saphira.

You would rather be the rider of blue-scales than of me?

Murtagh felt hurt coming across the mental link that he and Thorn shared. He crawled down off his bed and went to curl up next to his best friend. No that's not what I meant at all... I'm sorry, I love you Thorn; you're the only good thing in my life.

Good, Thorn said.

Murtagh could tell he hadn't offended him too bad, he could feel Thorn was feeling a bit more cheerful. Making a mental note to be more careful of his thoughts, Murtagh laid down against Thorn's side, being careful to avoid his tail which had been bitten by the giant gold dragon Glaedr during their battle atGil'ead. Murtagh had heeled it as best he could but it was still caused Thorn pain. Sorrow engulfed Murtagh as the memories of Gil'ead came rushing back, threatening to tear him apart again.
Thorn however didn't seem to notice Murtagh's distress, he had became suddenly distracted.

I wouldn't really blame you.

What? Murtagh tore himself away from his dark thoughts.

I wouldn't blame you... she really is a fantastic flyer, and she is so strong and proud, and her talons they are so strong... I would know. Thorn made a deep noise in his throat that startled Murtagh until he realised that the dragon was laughing.

Chills ran through Murtagh's spine upon hearing his dragon's thoughts, fortunately Thorn was not paying attention.

Because of Murtagh's lingering sense of loyalty to Eragon and The Varden, he and Thorn struggled enough when fighting against Eragon and Saphira, if Thorn was developing any sort of feelings towards Saphira it would make things a lot harder on him. Unsure of what to say Murtagh stuttered but was saved having to answer by the door being flung open harshly.

The man standing in the door way was tall, about a head taller than Murtagh, he had wide shoulders and thick arms. His straight black hair fell messily around his face and he wore a sneer on his face as he looked down at Murtagh. Despite the man's build he was not a soldier; he wore the red robes of an imperial magician. Murtagh recognised the man as his caretaker Ywain.

Ywain was perhaps six years older than Murtagh. Murtagh didn't know much about him besides the fact he was an incredibly powerful and ruthless magician. Despite his powerful appearance Ywain wasn't much of a swordsman, in fact Murtagh had seen children who thought better than Ywain. During his rider training Ywain had said that he wanted to test Murtagh's ability with a sword. It always brought a smile to Murtagh's face to remember the look on Ywain's face as Murtagh had disarmed him and had had pressed his sword against Ywain's throat within ten seconds. Embarrassed Ywain had lashed out with his magic, sending scorching pain throughout Murtagh's body.

"What do you want?" Murtagh spat at Ywain. Despite Ywain superior magical ability Murtagh wasn't remotely scared of the man, he knew if Ywain ever tried anything the king would have his head. Murtagh was far more valuable to the king.

Ywain smiled, "where are your manners Murtagh?" he said in an overly friendly voice that greatly annoyed Murtagh.

At Thorn's warning Murtagh bit back the reply on his tongue and instead contented himself with merely glaring at the magician.

Ywain laughed, clearly pleased at angering Murtagh. "The king wants to see you immediately," he said. Ywain smiled again, but the smile didn't reach his eyes which were full of hate, "I do suggest that you remember your manners with him".
Ywain swept out of the room without another word leaving Murtagh with no choice but to follow.

Murtagh stood outside the kings throne room with Ywain, silently listening as a spy from The Varden gave a report to the king. Thorn had remained behind but he would still hear what the king wanted to say through their mental link.

"A shade?" The king asked, "in Feinster? Are you sure?"

Murtagh lent closer to the door listening closely. Shades were among the most evil of creatures in Alagaësia. They were created when evil spirits took hold of a person and over powered them until they had complete control of the person's body. If there was indeed a shade in Feinster, where last Murtagh heard The Varden were attacking, then it was indeed troubling news. Shades were extremely dangerous, not only were they powerful magicians, but they were extremely strong and fast. The king once had a shade in his employment, Durza. Before he had been forced into serving the king Murtagh had came face to face with Durza. He could only watch helplessly as it had fought with Eragon. Eragon was a skilled swordsman but he was no match for the shade, it had been a miracle that they had escaped the encounter alive. Eragon had later defeated Durza in the battle at Farthen Dûr, a feat so remarkable it had earned him the name 'Shadeslayer'.

"I... I'm quite sure my lord," the spy stammered. "They say that when the magicians of Feinster realised that The Varden were going to win, they retreated into the keep and created the monster".

"Created?" Murtagh heard the excitement in the kings voice and felt dread engulf him. He knew the king well enough to know what was going to happen next. The king would want to create as many of the abominations as possible and, Murtagh shivered, besides the king and Ywain Murtagh was the most powerful magician in the empire. The king never done any work himself, he was certainly going to order Murtagh and Ywain to experiment until they could replicate the evils of Feinster's magicians.

"And what happened to this shade? You say it was defeated, how?" Murtagh could hear anger in the kings voice.

"The dragon rider Eragon and the elf Arya, from what I was heard the shade had the elf by the throat before it was somehow distracted by the rider, Eragon. The elf made the most of the shades distraction and stabbed it though the heart."

The king was silent for a while. "Very well," he said, "your dismissed, return to The Varden."

Murtagh backed away from the door as he heard footsteps approaching. The spy looked at him as they walked past. Murtagh ignored him and kept his gaze straight ahead. While The Varden called Murtagh a traitor, he had no choice. It sickened him to think that someone could betray their family and friends and yet continue to live among them, spying on them and supplying information that could lead to their deaths.

The king stared at the wall silently for a few moments; he seemed to be doing some very quick thinking. Finally he looked over to the doorway were Murtagh was waiting.

"Enter," he said.