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Morzan stared across the ice. Even in the shade of the cave mouth, he still had to squint against the brutal glare of the sunlight. If he set out at a dead run, how far would he get before Durza hunted him down?
He shook his head to banish the thought. He’d made his choice; there was no turning back from it just because he was homesick and disgusted with himself. Weakness would earn him nothing.
Wings beat through the sky. He looked up to see Shruikan’s familiar shadow flash across the mountainside. Following in his wake was a green dragon he had never seen before, carrying a Rider on his back.
Well, he’d supposed it was only a matter of time before Galbatorix managed to steal another discontented Rider from the ranks. Who would it be this time? He hoped not another thug like Enduriel or Formora. Despite being chosen by dragons, neither of them adhered much to the ideals the Riders cleaved to. They craved power and the impunity to harm whom they wished when they wished. Galbatorix promised that to them and that was enough. He was certain neither of them nor Formora’s twin Kialandí spent much time thinking about Galbatorix’s plan or his methods.
“Morzan,” greeted Galbatorix as he climbed the primitive stairs hacked into the mountainside that led into the cave system. “I never asked you to stand sentinel until my return, my friend. You must be cold. Come inside and take your ease; I have done well today.”
The resonant voice Galbatorix used so well rolled over Morzan, soothing away the nagging doubts that plagued him. If it was possible, he’d listen to Galbatorix speak for hours, no matter what he happened to say. He nodded obediently and followed the other Rider inside. The newcomer fell into step beside him.
Morzan took stock of his new companion from the corner of his eye. Another elf, tall in the way all his people were. He had blue eyes that danced with sardonic amusement and red hair worn oddly short. Most of it was shorn close to his skull, with only the forelock hanging down toward his eyes. Morzan had never seen an elf with short hair before.
“I found Glaerun in his banishment on the eastern borders,” Galbatorix said, carelessly shedding his cape on a carved stone table as they stepped into his audience hall. “No doubt his is a name you’ve heard before, Morzan.”
Little stings of shock raced down Morzan’s spine. He did know Glaerun’s name. In fact, it was thanks to what he knew of Glaerun that he was in this place at all. Still, he schooled his face into blankness; there was no telling what would anger Galbatorix, and his mind still ached from the last contest of wills he’d had with his master.
“I have heard the name,” he confirmed because the silence demanded to be filled. “Your treatment at the Elders’ hands was despicable. All but cast from the Order, shunned by your fellows for the simple crime of falling in love… I am certain you must seek revenge.”
“A crime indeed,” Galbatorix mused. His dark eyes flicked between the two and Morzan tried not to show the tension gathering in his shoulders. “Sadly, I find myself in agreement with our despised Elders, my friends. A crime such as Glaerun’s is an affront against nature itself. I have taken you to myself. I will not cast you out should it happen again. I will kill you.”
Glaerun arched a fine auburn brow.
“I have sworn you my loyalty in vows that cannot be broken, Galbatorix,” he said in a lilting, cultured tenor. “Surely you have no need for threats to feel trust toward me.”
“I only express my expectations,” Galbatorix purred in return. “You and Morzan have both left behind your so-called loved ones among the Riders. See to it those weaknesses remain in the past where they belong.”
With a flick of his long fingers, Galbatorix dismissed them. Morzan bowed and left the room, keeping his steps measured and unhurried.
It wasn’t wise to scurry from the eyes of a madman.
To his dismay, Glaerun followed him back to the cave mouth. They stood together just short of the sunlight.
“I suppose it would be foolish for you and I to become friends,” Glaerun said, breaking the long stretch of silence.
“Quite foolish,” Morzan agreed. “I have no need for a friend; you would only be a weakness. Besides, Galbatorix is watching both of us carefully. Any semblance of intimacy would make him kill us both. I suspected as much before, but your arrival has made his opinion quite clear.”
“Do you wish me to apologize?” the elf asked whimsically. He lounged against a spire of rock and regarded Morzan from beneath lowered lashes.
“I wish nothing from you. That is the first step to not making friends with someone. Don’t you have exploring to do or belongings to stow in a spare room somewhere?”
“I own very little. My dragon has all our worldly goods stowed in his packs; I may retrieve them when I please. As for my surroundings, well - You could hardly expect a forest raised being to rejoice at the idea of living in the ground like a rabbit. I’d much rather get to know you.”
Morzan drew himself to his full height, facing Glaerun head on and staring him down. He’d quickly discovered that was the best way to get rid of people. He might not be as tall as the elves, but he was more physically imposing, and he knew his mismatched eyes unsettled a people who valued physical symmetry and beauty above all else. The glowering silence and a hand on the hilt of his sword usually sent anyone who bothered him packing.
“Who was he?” Glaerun asked, giving no evidence of intimidation. “Your so-called crime against nature, as our elders would say.”
“He means nothing anymore,” Morzan ground out. His jaw ached from how tightly his teeth pressed together. His heart stuttered in his chest.
Brom had to mean nothing. As long as he meant nothing, there was no reason for Galbatorix to directly target him. He was still in danger, obviously, but if he was one faceless Rider in a crowd of them, he’d be safer. It was the only thing Morzan could do for him anymore. Never speak his name, keep him from his thoughts, and above all, never give Galbatorix a reason to go looking for him.
Morzan knew there was no way Brom would ever abandon the Order to join them. He took his responsibility to the world so seriously and he was naïve enough to imagine making a difference was possible. He’d never turn his back on his people.
So, death was the only outcome. Sooner or later, Brom would die when Galbatorix brought his contingent of traitors out of hiding. Morzan didn’t believe in gods, but he prayed that he would have nothing to do with it when Brom finally fell.
“As you say,” Glaerun said, shrugging elegantly. “Still, if you ever feel the weight of your secrets pulling you to the ground, come and find me. We can share our sins in confidence.”
He inclined his head and smiled brightly before gliding into the cave.
Morzan huddled into his cloak and stared across the glacier without seeing it. His mind was full of the boy he’d left behind, on the edge of gangly adulthood, finally matured to the point where his hooked beak of a nose looked intimidating rather than comical.
He missed Brom so much it felt like a wound, draining his life away from him no matter how he tried to stem the loss. As if he was a garment, one thread spooling back to Brom, and the further he went the more he unraveled.
He tilted his head back and sighed, releasing a long plume of white breath into the sky. All the years of training to control himself, to know his limits and when to go beyond them, and he was still so weak. He couldn’t put one person behind him even when the rest of the Riders would have held him in contempt if they knew the truth. He’d left them behind to seek out a better place, one where he didn’t need to live in fear that one misstep would cost him everything he cared for. One person wasn’t worth giving up that chance.
Of course, he hadn’t found that place. If anything, Galbatorix was worse than the threat of the Elders had ever been. They wouldn’t kill him if they found out; Glaerun was proof of that. Here, he’d already lost everything he cared for, other than his dragon, and one misstep could cost him his life.
Such a fool I’ve been. And still, there’s no going back. For good or ill, I’ve chosen my path.
Morzan scoffed at himself. He knew full well that his path would only hold suffering going forward. Perhaps he would accept Glaerun’s offer of friendship. Surely, he could still find one tiny point of happiness in the midst of his self-inflicted misery?
“Ah, Morzan,” hissed a voice behind him.
Morzan controlled himself and turned as if he’d known Durza was standing behind him. More than anyone else in the traitors’ camp, he wanted to avoid clashing with the Shade.
“The master sent me to find you,” Durza said. His maroon eyes glittered slyly. “Come attend to him.”
“I obey,” Morzan replied. He turned his back on the light and strode into the dark cave mouth.