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The Last Scion
By : RotSeele
Category: A through F > Eragon
Views: 5097 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.
Chapter List
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... --> Ancient Language is being spoken

Captured!
Murtagh’s legs burned. His lungs burned and blood ran freely into his eyes, blinding him. He couldn’t tell what direction he was being forced to walk in, only that the darkness clouding his mind allowed him enough liberty that he could move and not much else. His hands were bound tight behind his back both by rope and magic and so when he fell he had no hope of catching himself before real damage could be inflicted. He remembered bits and pieces – fighting with Ajihad and the Twins against the Urgals; being attacked from behind by magic as something else tore into his mind – and he knew not what had happened to the Varden’s leader. He knew not if Ajihad still lived. Murtagh knew he and his captors were still in the Beor Mountains, far from Farthen Dûr and any semblance of aid from the Varden, the dwarves, or Eragon and Saphira. The black haired youth fought to clear his vision, wanting to look upon his enemies and discover the best way to destroy them and escape. Unfortunately, the Urgals kept moving at a horribly grueling pace, making sure Murtagh had no chance to rest and, more importantly, no chance to retaliate. Magic washed through him, revitalizing his body for more brutal pain, but it kept him going. And as far as Murtagh cared, as long as he was alive, he would endure anything. He would get free whether under his own power or negligence from his captors, and he would run the wilds to get back to Eragon.
Eragon. Would he even realize Murtagh was gone? Would he realize he was alive? Would Eragon being a search for him? Murtagh had to cling to that hope if only because it gave him something to use to keep his spirit up. He refused to believe that he would be abandoned again and railed against the idea that Eragon would abandon him. While they held different views on the world, they were still friends, and friends did not abandon each other. Not like parents abandoned their child. In that dark hour, Murtagh dwelled on the memory of his mother. For all her skills, she could have saved him from his father. Selena was able to leave the castle time after time, and yet she left him to rot in his father’s care, and when Morzan had met his end, to the care of Galbatorix. In her abandonment, she had caused the death of Tornac, and had caused Murtagh to become the man he was today – bitter and jaded, and highly honourable. He had an idea of where he was being taken and clung to his hope and his honour and hoped Eragon would mount a rescue. He simply had to endure until then.
Murtagh was out of breath when a halt was called and that bloody blindfold was washed away as frigid water was dumped over his head. Coughing and spluttering, Murtagh cracked one dark eye open and felt the entire colour drain from his face. He stared up at the Urgals and two identical men who were supposed to be his allies. The Varden’s allies. One of the Twins looked down at Murtagh and grinned.
“So nice to see you awake, Murtagh Morzansson.” He said in a giddy, querulous voice.
“Shut up.” Murtagh snarled, twisting his bound hands to try and free them. Before the rope even had a chance to come loose, it tightened and pain wracked his body. Though he grit his teeth to keep himself from screaming, he still whimpered when the pain ended.
“Do you know, Murtagh, that you shouldn’t talk back to us?”
“After all, we hold your life in our hands.”
Murtagh panted, glaring at the Twins, feeling blood dribble down his chin from where he had bitten his lip. “Even if you kill me, all I will be is a martyr.”
The Twins laughed as one. “Kill you?”
“No, we won’t kill you. You see, Galbatorix wants you alive.”
“And how do you think Lord Galbatorix will react when we tell him our secret?”
Murtagh’s body drew taut as another spell crashed into his senses, and this time Murtagh did scream as his body contorted. He tried to focus on a far-off memory, to try and block out the pain. It stopped abruptly and the boy gasped for air, feeling as if his lungs were too small to hold all the air he needed. Sweat rolled down his face from the pain, and by the time Murtagh had managed to get something resembling control, all he could hear was raucous laughter coming from the Twins. A hand buried in his hair and yanked his head up so Murtagh was forced to stair into one of the Twins’ eyes.
“What’s the matter, Murtagh?” the man said cruelly. “Want to know our secret?”
Murtagh gathered enough strength to spit into his captor’s eyes. The Twin yelped and threw Murtagh’s head back. Murtagh grit his teeth against the sharp pain and screamed again as more magic-induced pain was forced into his body. When it was over, Murtagh could hardly move, sweat and blood and tears on his skin making him shiver. There was guttural speech above him but he could not understand, only that some of what was being said was concerning him. Someone knelt beside him and placed a large hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t meant to be a comforting gesture, but the touch alone gave Murtagh some reason to fight, opening his eyes to look up at an Urgal, shivering. The Urgal just stared at him with the eyes of a slave under a spell, but the creature’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile. It was short lived, but Murtagh felt hope, and he was lifted up to stand on shaking legs. He couldn’t keep his balance and fell forward to his knees, giving a groan as his knees took the brunt of his fall. He was simply hauled up again and forced to stand, the Urgal showing no mercy to the human. One of the Twins smirked at the young man.
“Are you sure you do not wish to know our secret?” he asked the hurting boy. “Are you sure you do not wish to know what we do?”
Murtagh snarled. “Anything you say now will be a lie.”
The Twins laughed in unison before they pointed at Murtagh’s heart. “What reason do we have to lie to you, when you know the truth with your own heart?”
Perhaps Murtagh’s eyes gave the Twins the confidence to continue their teasing, or perhaps Murtagh gave them unspoken permission. Whatever the case may have been the Urgal who had helped Murtagh to stand held him steady as the Twins came forward, leaning close to the young man’s ears.
“You are not the only one who possesses your father’s name,” they hissed together. “Your mother gave birth to one more brat. You know him so very well, Murtagh.”
Murtagh recoiled, eyes wide. “No!” he yelled in denial. “You’re lying!”
“Are we?” The Twins chortled. “You saw her in him! You saw your mother’s eyes in his own! Eragon is your brother!”
Murtagh snarled and strained against the Urgal holding him still, trying to attack the Twins in denial of their words. The Twins pulled back, laughing, and Murtagh screamed as his body seized with the throes of another spell, muscles cramping as he crumpled to the ground. When the spell stopped, Murtagh was hardly coherent, crying unashamedly. A boot scuffed beside his head.
“Strip him.”
Helpless, Murtagh felt his body manipulated, felt his clothes and belongings ripped from his body and left unceremoniously in the tunnel. More hands touched at his skin, human hands, and a robe that smelled strongly of horses covered his naked form. He gasped out in pain as he was forced to his feet and forced to walk. A rope was lashed about his neck and hissing voices cast spell after spell on him, ensuring the young man couldn’t escape unaided. Murtagh’s world was a blur for the next few hours. Herded along by Urgals, Murtagh let his mind wander. His thoughts focused on Eragon and he wondered how he didn’t see it before. True, Eragon had never told Murtagh his mother’s name, Murtagh should’ve seen Selena in his brother’s eyes. They couldn’t possibly be related. It was a lie. His mother had died when Murtagh had been three, months after Morzan had wounded him with Zar’roc. He closed his eyes and fought against despair. Despite all, he believed the lie, believed that Eragon was his younger brother. Too much made sense. Selena’s strange disappearances, after Morzan had exploded in a drunken rage. Had Morzan known Selena carried another son?
Murtagh dropped to his knees when the Twins called another halt, and looked up into the clear night sky. Farthen Dûr was behind them by nearly a mile, and the Hadarac lay ahead. The ensorcelled rope around his neck tightened, but Murtagh hardly had the strength to resist any longer. If the Twins had been more confident in keeping their prisoner in their grasp, no doubt they could keep Murtagh heeled with just food and water alone. The young man drank the offered water greedily, not caring if it was poisoned or foul in some way. What mattered was that it was water and it would sustain him. He ate just as greedily, having not eaten for what seemed to be weeks, but Murtagh managed to get a hold of his self-control at the last moment, and looked up to see the Twins smiling at him as if they had seen him become an animal. Murtagh tensed, but tonight, they left him alone. He couldn’t sleep, lying awake and cold among his Urgal guard. He watched the stars, hoping, wishing, they could ease the turmoil inside him. Murtagh knew where the Twins were taking him and to whom he would be given to. If he couldn’t escape, then he had to fight in a different way. Murtagh needed to protect Eragon and Saphira; he refused to be used against them.
Dawn came far too soon, driving away the stars and the comforting darkness. Murtagh had formed his plan, though, and he was prepared for the pain of the Twins’ spells. They cast spell after spell on him, and when they failed to get the reaction they desired, they changed tactics. This time, Murtagh did scream as claws tore into his mind, shredding and tearing as if they were insects eating him from the inside out.
“Resist us,” one Twin hissed, “and we’ll destroy you.”
“You are vulnerable, Murtagh.” The other said, chuckling. “We know all your secrets. Your dark little dreams. You’re alive by our will.”
Murtagh snarled and swallowed his scream and head-butted the Twin closest to him. The injured Twin fell back clutching his nose and Murtagh experienced a flash of sheer joy at the sight of blood before a spell wracked his body with such intensity his body arched back and there was a distinct pop in his spine. The spell didn’t stop, and Murtagh was screaming still when the spell was released. Blood ran freely down his chin from a harsh bite to his tongue and sweat and tears mixed to sting his eyes. An Urgal hauled him up and held him by his upper arm as Murtagh’s legs shook too much to hold his weight. The Twin with the bloody nose grabbed Murtagh’s chin and forced the young man to look into his eyes.
“Fight all you want, boy, but your fate is sealed. You will never escape us.”
Murtagh stared, panting, and mustered enough strength to spit blood into the Twin’s eyes. As the one holding his chin recoiled, his brother slammed a fist into Murtagh’s diaphragm. The dark-haired boy let out a sound that was a mix of pain and a fierce exhale, and Murtagh slumped in the Urgal’s hold, drifting in and out of consciousness. He focused his eyes on one of the Twins and watched, numb, as a finger was pointed toward him. He waited for the spell to be cast, for the pain, but it never came. The Urgal holding him jerked up on his arm and tossed Murtagh over its shoulder as if the human were a sack of potatoes. The march began again.
Murtagh watched the ground move as he was carried away from the rocks and smooth stone of Farthen Dûr, through tunnels and back out into sunlight so bright his eyes watered. He was dropped only when the Twins deemed it necessary to rest for food and water, two things Murtagh very much wanted and was denied. The days wore on like this the further away from the Dwarven vale the strange party went. Murtagh was given very little water and even less food, mostly alive due to a few rejuvenation spells one of the Twins cast on him. When he was given the precious items, he took them warily, now more concerned with the quality of than the quantity. Murtagh was no stranger to starvation, having experienced such a thing during his training as a youngster. He was more concerned with what the food and water might be laced with, but eventually, he did give in to his body’s demands and wolfed down what was offered.
A week after his capture, estimated if only because Murtagh’s glimpses of the sun and moon were sparse, they finally exited the mountain range of the Beor and entered the sands of the Hadarac.
To Murtagh, it felt as though his journey was reversing itself, as only a few weeks ago he traversed these same sands with Eragon and Saphira. He had been heading to freedom then. Now he was heading for slavery, and, if Murtagh was extremely lucky, death.
They rested during the day to avoid the worst of the sun’s heat and traveled at night despite the frigid temperature. Murtagh used the darkness to his advantage, managing to loosen the ropes around his wrists long enough to steal a small dagger from one of his Urgal guards. He wrapped the dagger in the folds of his robe and settled to plot his escape. He needed to be methodical about it, and go about it slowly so his captors didn’t catch on to what he was doing. He worked first on fraying the rope around his neck, carefully slicing through the thick cord where it was knotted in the noose. He did this lying down when they rested only so he wouldn’t slit his own throat. When the knot was frayed enough that a simple jerk would rend it apart, Murtagh focused on his foes.
He would have to deal with the Urgal guarding him first. Then he could slip past the perimeter guards easily enough. He knew the way back to Farthen Dûr and with any luck, Eragon would be flying overhead to spot him. He marked his trail with small piles of loose pebbles when he was able, and when the sky darkened with no sign of a moon, Murtagh took the chance offered him.
He pretended to stumble and yanked on the rope about his neck. The abused knot tore loose and Murtagh threw the noose away as he scrambled to run. He dropped the ropes about his wrists and drew his knife as his Urgal keeper came after him. Murtagh ducked under the Urgal’s outstretched hand and rammed his ill-gotten weapon between its ribs. The Urgal looked somewhere between shocked and overjoyed, but Murtagh didn’t stay to watch it die. He pulled out his weapon and disappeared into the dunes.
He ran as long as he could, finding his markers and following them as hope swelled in his heart. He was going to make it! He was going to be free! Murtagh dragged his aching, sore body up an incline and rolled down the other side, landing in a heap at the bottom of the dune. He lay there panting, covered in sweat and feeling horribly thirsty. Murtagh rested only a moment before he forced himself up and pressed on.
It was nearing nightfall and Murtagh was positive he’d made no progress through the unforgiving Hadarac. His feet burned and ached and his skin was red and raw from the wind and sun. His lungs burned and his mouth was dry. Still, he pressed on, hoping to find an oasis before he died of dehydration.
Murtagh collapsed from exhaustion at dawn and dragged his body a few more feet before his arms finally gave out. How long he lay there he didn’t know, but he thought he saw a dragon circling in the sky above him. The vulture landed beside Murtagh and cocked its head at him, waiting for him to die.
*So this is how it ends then,* Murtagh thought. *Am I doomed to become a gentle memory?* The vulture squawked viciously as another shadow fell over Murtagh. Rough hands of the Urgals yanked him up by the back of his collar, and Murtagh hung there, listless and nearly lifeless. The Twins approached with the rest of the Urgal horde they commanded and looked at Murtagh with distaste.
“Bring him.” One Twin commanded.
The Urgal obeyed, carrying Murtagh by the scruff as if he were a puppy. It dropped him at the Twins’ feet and grunted. Murtagh’s dark eyes focused on their faces and he saw hatred there.
“You’ve caused us too much trouble, son of Morzan.” One spat. “Be grateful we can’t kill you.”
“However, we can punish you.” The second twin said, and he pointed a finger at the young man. “If ropes cannot hold you, perhaps spells can.”
Murtagh recoiled as that finger touched his forehead. He hated that touch, wanted it gone, but two strong Urgal hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to keep still.
The Twin bared his teeth in a savage grin. “ Fall ill if you run from us. Feel ill if you think of fleeing .”
Murtagh screamed and writhed against his captors as he felt the spell adhere to his skin. He didn’t understand what the Twin was saying, but he knew enough to realize his attempts to escape were over. His body wracked with pain from another assault of torturous spells and Murtagh collapsed against the hold of the Urgals. He couldn’t endure any more and gratefully fell into the blackness on unconsciousness.
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The Last Scion	By : RotSeele Category: A through F > Eragon Views: 5097 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.

The Last Scion