The Age of the Dragon 4: On Silver Wings

Chapter 12 Bonus

Murtagh walked with Galbatorix, the crowd of soldiers pausing at the top of the stairs before the two of them proceeded down to where Fallyn was being held. He'd wanted to come to see her but had refrained from going, afraid of how she would react to him.

Afraid of the anger and hate he was sure she would have.

The distant fading of her voice, notes that were familiar to him from the Suledin poem, brought comfort and shame to him.

"I'm beginning to hate that poem," he thought sullenly as he stood by the braiser, unable to look at her. "I don't feel any comfort when I'm constantly reminded to endure..."

She made no demands, and she didn't even seem to acknowledge Galbatorix's presence as he removed his gloves slowly. She began speaking again as if reciting something. It had its own cadence and tone. Another poem, he suspected, though this one was in a tongue he understood.

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

Foul and corrupt are they

Who have taken His gift

And turned it against His children.

They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.

They shall find no rest in this world

Or beyond.

"No rest..." he grimaced to himself, shifting the coals around sullenly. "Certainly, I would agree."

He half listened as Galbatorix greeted her, not hearing her reply or even react. He heard Galbatorix speaking lowly in her ear, commenting on her beauty.

He felt something twist in his gut, filling him with nausea, as he fought to maintain a neutral expression and give away nothing. She did not reply to him, instead humming the tune of a familiar lullaby under her breath. He couldn't help but shift slightly, wanting to look at her but still too afraid.

Galbatorix began speaking to her, but she seemed to be bent on ignoring him, never replying to his taunts or reacting to snide comments. He would ask her where Fang and gone, and she would fall silent. He would comment on the death of Glaedr and Oromis, and she would hum some song. Eventually, he could see Galbatorix grow impatient, whispering something in her ear, though his only response was another poem. Judging by the content, Murtagh suspected it was another verse of the one from before.

Galbatorix's response was to press a finger into one of the silver marks on her arm. At last, he got a reaction that was neither defiant silence nor uncaring disinterest as she hissed in pain.

"I have always wondered about these markings," Galbatorix said. "And it is through Murtagh that I have come to learn their origins. The markings of a slave, such great pain that they erased all memory of your past, that it almost killed you."

Murtagh scowled, displeased that his knowledge was being used against her.

"Then you should know my tolerance for pain is such that you may have to kill me before I submit," she responded dryly. "You know nothing of my markings."

"I know they grant you power beyond what is normally possible," he said, tracing one of the markings. "I know it is the source of your storms, your wordless magic... your ability to tear out a man's heart with your hands."

"You sound eager for a demonstration," she growled, the markings flaring to life.

"Do not be so eager," he responded. "Tear out my heart, and you will find yours will stop beating, too, vhenan."

Murtagh paused, noticing the glow in the room had faded, leaving only the glow of the fire. "Vhenan? I've heard her use it a few times, but I have no idea what it means," he peered over his shoulder at her, seeing her gritting her teeth with barely contained anger.

"Mar solas ena mar din," she spat.

Galbatorix leaned away from her, his expression barely hiding his own irritation.

"As you wish," he said darkly. "Murtagh, come, show yourself. You're being impolite to our guest."

Murtagh internally groaned, not ready to actually face her as he turned around. Her golden eyes didn't turn to him, fixed on the ceiling as her lips moved soundlessly.

A pang of sorrow clenched his heart, and he clenched his jaw and stared ahead.

"Murtagh was somewhat reluctant when he first entered my service, but he has since proven to be a most apt student. He has his father's talents. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, sir," Murtagh spoke, his voice rough.

Fallyn snorted.

"I don't know if I should be relieved or offended that she doesn't think I'm like my father..." Murtagh thought wryly.

"You disagree?" Galbatorix pressed. "I suppose you would have known Morzan's talents better than I."

Murtagh frowned behind his mask. "What does that mean? What kind of relationship did she and my father have?"

"He surprised me when he killed old King Hrothgar on the burning plains," Galbatorix continued. "I didn't expect him to turn on his former friends with such eagerness, but then, our Murtagh is full of rage and bloodlust, he is. He would tear out the throat of a Kull with his bare hands if I gave him the chance, and I have. Nothing pleases you so much as killing, now, does it?"

"No, sir," he didn't want to agree. He wanted to leave. "Please, please... I don't want this..."

Galbatorix laughed softly.

"Murtagh Kingkiller... 'Tis a fine name, a name fit for a legend, but not one you should seek to earn again, except at my direction."

"I think I'd rather like to have that name," Fallyn's eyes flickered towards Galbatorix as she laughed slightly. "After I tear out your still-beating heart and thrust it down your own throat."

"You know what would happen to yours if you should attempt that," Galbatorix said smoothly.

"I don't know," Fallyn said. "I might become desperate enough to try anyway."

"We shall see," he said. "While I have trained him extensively in the art of killing and magic, I have neglected his instruction in the subtle arts of persuasion, which is why I have brought him here with me today. He has some experience as the object of such arts but never as the practitioner, and it is high time he learns to master them. And what better way to learn than here, with you?"

Fallyn's lip curled in a defiant smirk.

"Try me," she said lightly. "You'll find that I am not so easy to break."

"Take up an iron," Galbatorix said, waving a hand towards the brasier.

Murtagh's hands curled into fists, silently refusing. "I don't want this. I won't do it!"

Then Galbatorix spoke his name, the reminder of his nature and true self-inducing pride and shame. He shuddered, then twisted, grasped one of the iron rods, and pulled it from the brazier haltingly. Sparks sprayed into the air as the iron came free of the coals, several glittering embers falling toward the ground.

"I don't want this..." he repeated to himself, jaw clenched as he fought his body as it moved on its own.

Fallyn eyed the glowing metal, and Murtagh could see the flash of anxiety pass through her eyes as they moved from the glowing metal to his face and back again. He could see her chest rise and fall a little faster, the subtle signs of fear.

Her golden eyes flickered towards Galbatorix again, and the poem spilled from her lips again.

Foul and corrupt are you

Who have taken My gift

And turned it against My children.

"Murtagh?"

He clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see how her face would twist, wishing he didn't have to hear the blood-curdling scream that pierced his ears the moment the sizzle of metal on flesh began.