As Murtagh and Thorn had learned to their sorrow and despair during their subjugation in Urû’baen.
Thorn too spoke his true name, a deep singing sound that made Murtagh’s skin feel as if laved with warm water. Then the day’s tensions ebbed from their limbs, and they fell into close slumber.
Morning brought freezing fog from the ocean and a thick layer of feathered frost. Ice crystals cracked loose as Murtagh crawled out from under Thorn’s wing and squinted toward the pale disk of the rising sun, thin and rose pink above the edge of Du Weldenvarden. Streamers of mist ribboned upward from the treetops, the entire forest steaming with stored warmth from the previous day.
Murtagh shivered and pulled his cloak closer. The morning cold never got any easier.
He checked their surroundings and was pleased to see no sign of search or pursuit.
Confident that they’d escaped detection, he allowed himself the luxury of a small fire, built with scraps of dry hordebrush he foraged from the top and sides of the knoll.
Thorn lit the fire for him, igniting the woody stems with a single, tiny puff of flame from his nostrils.
“Thank you,” said Murtagh, and he meant it. Fiddling with flint and tinder when your fingers were half numb wasn’t fun, and he preferred to avoid using magic for everyday tasks. Magic made its own sort of noise for those with the ears to hear it, and it was impossible to know who might be listening.
Breakfast was flatbread and bacon and two dried apples, with a cup of elderberry tea to warm his insides. Thorn watched as he ate but had no food of his own; the dragon had devoured several deer not three days earlier and wouldn’t need to feed again for the better part of a week.
By the time Murtagh finished, the morning had warmed enough to melt the frost and dissipate the morning haze.
He took out the bird-skull amulet and the coal-like stone and laid them on a scrap of cloth between himself and Thorn.
Thorn sniffed the two objects, and the tip of his tongue flicked out between his teeth. As he scented the stone, the scales along the back of his head and neck flared, like those of a pinecone opening in a fire.
“What?” said Murtagh, leaning forward. “What is it?”
A shiver ran Thorn’s sinuous length, and he cowered in a way that Murtagh had only ever seen him do before Shruikan. The stone smells wrong.
“How so?”
Like…blood and hate and anger.
Murtagh scratched his cheek. His beard was prickling again. “Could it be magic?”
Another flicker of Thorn’s tongue. Maybe. But then it should affect you as well.
“Unless it’s meant only for dragons.” Murtagh picked up the rock, bounced it in his hand. On a whim, he extended his mind toward the piece of stone, thinking perhaps it held some secret spark of consciousness bound within. But he felt nothing. He frowned and returned it to the cloth. “We need to find out where it came from.”
Thorn hissed like a snake. No. You want to find out where it came from. There is a difference. We should destroy the rock or else bury it where none will find it. There is evil here. Leave it, forget it, do not pursue it.
“You know I can’t.”
A growl rumbled in Thorn’s throat, and his scales rippled. You can! Listen to Umaroth. He warned us for good reason.
“And what reason is that?”
It matters not!
Thorn released a huff of black smoke and reached with one taloned paw toward the rock and amulet, as if to sweep them aside.
“No!” Murtagh cried, and sprang to his feet so he blocked Thorn’s way. They stared at each other, neither backing down. The air between them seemed to vibrate with the force of the dragon’s glittering glare.
Move aside.
“No.”
This hunt will bring nothing but sorrow.
“I don’t believe that.”
Fingerling flames danced along Thorn’s tongue, and the inside of his mouth glowed like a bellowed forge. When has fate ever gone as we wish? Let this go.
“I can’t,” said Murtagh. A familiar grimness descended upon him. “I can’t sleep easy knowing there’s a wolf stalking around in the dark. Something so dangerous Umaroth won’t even give us its name.”
Some secrets are better left buried.
“No! No, no, no. Do you want to wake up one morning to find out that we’ve been outmatched, outmaneuvered, and outsmarted? Not me. Not ever again.” Murtagh stopped, hands clenched, and his nostrils flared as he steadied his breathing. He fixed Thorn with an iron gaze. “Never.”
The dragon released a long, snaking hiss and said, Isn’t what we have enough? All the earth and sky is ours to travel. We sleep when we want, eat as we will. We paid our price, we shed our blood.
“And we’re still not safe!” With a conscious effort, Murtagh lowered his voice, though his words remained as intense as before. “We never will be, but perhaps we can catch our enemies unaware. Umaroth is hiding something from us, and I won’t rest until I know what it is.”
Thorn breathed out a stream of black smoke that enveloped the stone and the bird-skull amulet. Were you to take those to Eragon or Arya—
“This has nothing to do with them!” Murtagh ran a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. “I want answers. And I want to be useful.”
Being yourself is use enough. We do not need to prove ourselves to anyone.
He laughed bitterly. “Maybe if you’re a dragon. But I’ve always had to prove myself, and I always will. There’s no easy path through life when you’re born as Morzan’s son.”
He went to Thorn and put his hands on either side of the dragon’s scaled snout. “Besides, you and I, we are Dragon and Rider. We swore no oaths to the Riders—”
Thorn arched his neck in a proud curve, though he left his head in Murtagh’s hands. And I will swear no more oaths of fealty. No words will bind me, nor shackles or fetters.
“No,” Murtagh agreed. “Nor me. But we owe a debt to those who came before. We wear their mantle, whether we wish it or not, and I find myself reluctant to dishonor their memory by ignoring this.”
Thorn snuffed. No one would know if we chose another path.
“We would know, and that is enough.” He gestured toward the rock and bird-skull amulet. “That there is work for a Rider and Dragon, as it was of old.”
The dragon turned his head then, to better see Murtagh. So shall we fly about fighting evil and righting wrongs wherever we find them? Is that how you wish to spend your days?
Murtagh’s lips quirked. “Not entirely, but perhaps we can do some good here and there while we attend to our own interests.”
As you did with the girl.
“As I did with the girl.” He put a hand on Thorn’s cheek then, and opened his mind as much as he could to the dragon’s inner eye. Look, he said, and let Thorn feel the fullness of his heart.
Finally, Thorn uttered a soft growl and pulled his head away. I understand.