“Hrmm.” Uvek closed his hands around the blackstone as he sat hunched, thinking. Then he said, “There is other way, if you want, Murtagh-man, but…” The Urgal shrugged. “Is not often done, and never with hornless. Is rite of qazhqargla. You become blood brother to Uvek. Then your word is mine, and mine is yours, and we share our honor.”
Murtagh set his teeth as he stared at the dark ceiling. His choices were few, and if he and Thorn couldn’t break free of Bachel…Thorn. He sent his mind seeking toward the dragon and, with what energy he could muster, tried to impress on Thorn the nature of his dilemma.
In return, he received a vague, unfocused response, tinged with understanding and resignation. Murtagh knew what Thorn meant. The dragon would accept whatever choice Murtagh made. He trusted Murtagh, and Murtagh never, ever wanted to break that trust. He already felt guilty enough about bringing Thorn to Nal Gorgoth and not departing earlier, when Thorn had suggested….
“What say you, Murtagh-man?”
Murtagh grimaced as he pushed himself more upright. “My honor…is questioned by…many…. You…may…not want it.”
Uvek’s top lip wrinkled, showing his fangs in a grotesque smile. “I will take chance, accept burden, Murtagh-man. Will you?”
The cool underground air soothed Murtagh’s throat as he filled his lungs and tried to clear his head. He didn’t feel smart enough to solve the most basic problem, and regardless of how he looked at the matter, he couldn’t think of another solution.
The walls he and Thorn had built about themselves could not hold. Not any longer.
“All right,” he croaked. “I…will become blood brother.”
“Is not so easy, Murtagh-man.”
“…never is.”
Uvek began to mutter in his native language then, rocking back and forth. Murtagh closed his eyes and let the harsh words wash over him in rhythmic waves. After a minute, Uvek grunted. “This you will need to say, Murtagh-man.” And he spoke several lines of Urgalish that, as far as Murtagh was concerned, might as well have been a convoluted exercise specifically designed to keep him from completing the rite.
For what seemed like the better part of an hour, Uvek coached him in the proper pronunciation of the words. Murtagh had to often rest, and just as often he forgot what Uvek had already taught him.
At last, the Urgal made a huff of frustration and said, “Will do. Gods will understand your intent.”
A belated realization occurred to Murtagh. “…wait…. You don’t have me swear in…ancient language?”
Uvek cocked his head. “You mean weirding words, Murtagh-man? No. They are not of Urgralgra, so why use? If man or Urgralgra will not keep oath in one language, they will not keep in another.”
Relief and a slight sense of amusement made Murtagh chuckle. “…suppose…you’re right.” He had thought Uvek would have him use the ancient language, which was a large part of why Murtagh had been so reluctant.
“Hrmm.” Then Uvek tapped his forearm and motioned toward Murtagh. “To finish qazhqargla, must join blood and speak words. You understand?”
Murtagh gave a weary nod. “Why…why is it always…blood?”
“Blood is powerful, Murtagh-man. Blood is life. Surely hornless know this too?”
“…we…know.” Murtagh rolled back the sleeve on his left arm and then stared blankly at his bare skin for a moment. “…problem…I don’t have…knife.”
Uvek’s heavy brow beetled. “Why need knife, Murtagh-man? Use nails.” He held up his left forefinger, showing the thick, shovel-like nail growing from the tip.
Murtagh held up his own finger. “…too weak.”
“Ghra. I forget how soft hornless are. What if—”
“Wait.” Murtagh unfastened the clasp that held his cloak around his neck. There was a pin on the back, and while it wasn’t particularly sharp, he thought it would work. “…use this.”
Uvek grunted. “Good. Cut here.” And he drew a line just below his hand. “Then we touch, share blood.”
Murtagh grimaced slightly but nodded. The hall was narrow enough that they ought to be able to reach across it.
“Ready now, Murtagh-man?”
“…ready.”
In his cell, Uvek hunched over his arm, and he scraped his left thumbnail across his right wrist with a slow, deliberate movement. The Urgal showed no sign of pain as the thumbnail cut into his thick hide, and a line of black blood welled from his flesh.
Murtagh looked away. He took a breath, clenched his jaw, and then—fast as he could, and with as much strength as seemed necessary—dragged the point of the pin across the skin of his left wrist, creating a red-hot stripe of pain.
He cursed under his breath. The pin had only cut halfway or so through his skin. He clenched his jaw again and, without pausing to anticipate the pain, yanked the pin across his wrist a second time.
Blood flooded the angry red stripe, and he let out his breath in a gasp.
Then Uvek pushed his arm between the bars of his cell—it was a tight fit, but with some force, he managed—and Murtagh did the same from his side, and they pressed their blood-slicked wrists together. The Urgal’s arm was hot to the touch, and his blood burned against Murtagh’s skin.
Uvek spoke his half of the oath in Urgalish, and then it was Murtagh’s turn. He took his time, sounding the words as Uvek had taught him and striving to avoid mistakes. The meaning of the words was, or so Uvek had claimed, something to the effect of: “I, Murtagh Dragon Rider, join myself as brother to Uvek Windtalker. Let his blood flow in my veins even as mine flows in his. This I swear by Great-Horned Svarvok, and if I fail to uphold this sacred bond, may all manner of misfortune befall me and my tribe.” The oath may not have been worded in the ancient language, but it was a serious matter all the same. Murtagh felt the weight of the words as he spoke them.
Upon completion, they withdrew their arms and tended their wounds. Uvek grunted. “The qazhqargla is complete. Now we are brothers, Murtagh-man.”
“…brothers.” It felt strange to say. The only brother—half brother, really—Murtagh had known was Eragon, and their relationship had hardly been fraternal. And though Murtagh still worried about the obligations his oath imposed, he found it…comforting in a way, to be joined as such with Uvek. The customs of Urgals differed from those of humans, but he felt sure that if he were to call upon Uvek for help, the Urgal would answer without hesitation.
First, of course, they had to escape Nal Gorgoth.
“Here, Murtagh-man. The healing charm. Perhaps it help you.”
“…perhaps,” Murtagh mumbled, accepting the blackstone pebble from Uvek. The stone was warm in his palm, and the knotted strip tied around it pleasantly textured. He tried two things then: First to draw any remaining power from the pebble. In that, he met with total failure. Uvek had spoken true. Not the slightest scrap of energy still lay in the charm. Second to imbue some of his own strength into the blackstone. Even if he couldn’t directly cast a spell, Murtagh hoped that he could at least use the energy in his body to fuel the charm.
The hope proved in vain. No matter how hard he tried, Murtagh could not break the dam in his mind that prevented him from loosing the power he contained.
Uvek noticed his frustration. “Does not it work, Murtagh-man?”
“…no…No!” Murtagh closed his eyes and felt tears leak from the corners. “…no…I need…strength for the charm, but…”
“You cannot give because of Breath.” Uvek nodded sagely, and he appeared troubled. “I had same problem. Is there no solution?…Murtagh-man, are you still awake?”