Inheritance

Book Three: Empire

Night had finally fallen on the Burning Plains, enshrouding everything in darkness and obliterating the atrocities that had been committed by both sides that day where the winds of fate had finally turned. The Varden had emerged successful and, with the aid of the dwarven reinforcements, destroyed the vast army of King Galbatorix.

However, there prevailed a general feeling of grief around the camp. The Varden had pulled through despite being severely outnumbered but that did nothing to quell the sadness that lingered throughout the camp; the kind of wretchedness that forced men to their knees, tears wetting the parched grounds, the battle had severely diminished the Varden's numbers and death hung over the camp like a black thundercloud forcing everyone into a gloomy silence. The only sound that could be heard was the deep, melancholic requiem that reverberated through the camp. The lament of the dwarves as they lost their beloved King wound its way deep into hearts of the warriors, reminding them of their own losses.

As the night wore on, the camp fires slowly began to extinguish, the soldiers finally succumbing to their weariness and retiring to their bunks in the hope that a few hours rest might somehow quell the pain that they had endured. Soon, only one lone fire remained in the Varden camp.

Eragon watched the fire flicker slightly as a gust of wind passed through the camp. Next to him, his brother Roran slept, leaving Eragon to ponder on the battle yesterday and while he was glad that they had won; he remembered his own bitter defeat. All these men rest their hopes on me. They expect me to be the one to face Galbatorix and win. How can I? My prowess as a Rider was shown to me yesterday. Even with all the training and my new powers, I was unable to defeat Morzan's son.

Eragon decided to refrain from calling him Murtagh for that had been the name of his friend who had accompanied him to Surda, who had saved his life and acknowledging that this was the same friend who now served the evil King pained him far more than all the wounds he had received that day.

My brother.

Eragon witnessed that scene in his head over and over again, remembering those shattering words. No. Roran is my brother and my only task now is to stop grieving and help him rescue Katrina from the Ra'zac. A grim determination replaced the hopelessness that had previously engulfed the young rider. He had failed that day but that did not mean that he had to fail the next day. He would get Katrina back for Roran then he would head back to Ellesméra and finish his training. Perhaps if the elves knew of his defeat at the hands of Morzan's heir, they might permit him to delve into those magics that they themselves feared to acknowledge, let alone use. Eragon gripped at his side, hoping to feel the familiar texture of Za'rocs wire-bound hilt but when his hand grasped only air, Eragon was forced to remind himself of another loss he had endured that day.

Misery. A fitting name for that accursed blade for that is all it has caused. A Rider without a sword, defeated in battle by one he had considered his friend. Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Eragon barked a humourless laugh at his own pitiful state. Saphira, awoken by the sound, fixed him with one of her shining, omniscient eyes.

You sit there exhausted, little one and yet you continue to torture yourself over something you could not help instead of letting yourself get some rest so that you can do something where you can help. Get your energy back Eragon so that tomorrow we can embark on another foolhardy adventure to get your brothers woman back from the nest of the Ra'zac. You will have your chance with Murtagh someday but that day is not today so let it go. I am as much shamed as you are for we were both defeated. Let it go Shadeslayer and sleep.

Eragon agreed, as always thankful for Saphira's comforting presence. "Brisingr Astyär" murmured Eragon, extinguishing the fire with magic. Slowly, his muscles still sore from the battle, Eragon made his way to his own bunk and collapsed, sleep overcoming him within minutes.

That night, Eragon was beset with nightmares of Murtagh's red dragon mocking him from afar; laughing at his own inadequacy. This was replaced by Elva staring at him with her ancient, violet eyes, penetrating him until he felt his very soul was laid bare.

You made me what I am Argetlam and be it gift or curse, let this be my repayment to you o mighty Shadeslayer. Another loss awaits you as you tread down this path and the manner in which you deal with this loss will surely affect the outcome of this entire world. Protect those you love for it is their protection that will surely save you from those paths you should not face. Know this and know this well, Ardor Vebelis Kuthian awaits you and should you choose to walk away when the time comes, you will end up facing the same destiny as He did. This is my warning to you and Eragon and be it gift or curse, heed it well. Fare thee well Era-

"-gon, Eragon!" wake up you damned fool! Eragon was shaken awake by his brother Roran. As Eragon focused on the world around him, he noticed a mad gleam in his brother's eye. "You promised me Shadeslayer and I hold you to it. It is time to absolve yourself. Ever second wasted is another second my wife must face with those awful creatures. Come brother. Let us make haste. The pits of hell wait for no man!"

Eragon nodded. His destiny had been made clear to him now.