Eragon gasped.
Ahead, a bend in the river had revealed a group of ferocious-looking creatures. Each was twenty feet long, and had attenuated tails and leathery wings. They were flying in a manner akin to dragons, twisting and turning in the air with unparalleled grace. At first, Eragon had thought them to be dragons, but soon he realised that they were, in truth, Fanghur, for they were smaller and thinner than dragons, and more serpentine-like.
At least thirty of them filled the sky ahead, blotting out the low spring sun and shrieking their bone-tingling cries. It was an awesome sight; short of dragons themselves, Eragon thought they were perhaps the most beautiful of Alagaësia's creatures. Their leathery hides glowed softly in the evening light, making the tips of their wings and their underbellies look plated with the finest silver.
For a moment Eragon allowed himself to be caught up in the image, but before long he roused himself from his stupor, and thought instead of the dangers the Fanghur might pose. He remembered their abilities to hunt and destroy their prey with their minds and their ear-splitting shriek, both of which could prove harmful to them and their cargo.
Pointing this out to Saphira, Eragon said, they could prove harmful to us.
Not when I'm around, Saphira answered. Worry not, little one, for we are safe.
Grunting, Eragon tried to relax. He lowered his shoulders and unclenched his fists, and focussed instead of emptying his mind of all the worries and troubles that were held therein.
Ever since he had parted with Arya and Fírnen, and before them Roran, Katrina, Orik and Nasuada, Eragon had felt a profound sense of unease. At first, he had seen what lay ahead in a peaceful manner, and, in many ways, he had even relished the task at hand. But as their journey had continued, he had grown worried. Every step of the way, since he had found Saphira's egg in the spine all those many months ago, Eragon had been guided and helped. First by Brom, but then by Murtagh, Ajihad, Nasuada and Arya. When he had freed Arya from Durza's Clutches in Gil'ead, Murtagh had helped him; without him, he would have been at the shade's mercy, and would soon have been spirited away to Urû'baen and thence the King himself. When he finally killed Durza, it had been more by accident than anything else, and he had done so only with the help of Arya and Saphira. The same was true for every battle, be it at Feinster or on the Burning Planes, and for his final confrontation of Galbatorix. Then, he would not have been able to kill him at all were it not for the help of Umaroth, Glaedr, and the rest of the Eldunari, and Arya, Murtagh, Thorn and even Elva, the witch-child. He was, and always had been, at the mercy of others, but now he was alone. Save for Blödhgarm and a few of his elven spellcasters, he and Saphira were tasked with the challenge of rebuilding the Riders. It was a daunting prospect.
Since they had left Heddarth, they had sailed along the Edda River for seeming mile after mile. Their boat, Talíta, was faster than Eragon could have ever imagined possible; it seemed to glide over the waters as if they did not exist, cutting through them with no more difficulty than it would take Eragon to raise a finger.
On a number of occasions during their voyage, he and Saphira had flown out over the wilderness together. They did it in part to scout; for they were constantly remaining alert and watchful of dangers and both wanted to be familiar with the land that would become their home, but they also revelled in the chance to be alone, in each other's company. It was only the knowledge of each other that stopped them from giving in to their grief, for they had each lost a great deal and mourned deeply for the parting of their loved ones and the lands that they had called home.
On the evening of the fourth day since they had left Heddarth, Eragon and Saphira sighted, far to the east, a range of mountains. They had neither the sheer size of the Beors, nor the ever-present winter of the peaks of the Spine, but they had a certain savage beauty about them, for they were devoid life, save a few grazing herds of mountain-goats, and their cliffs and peaks were harsh, cold, and cruel, like senseless guardians to the wilderness around them.
Upon this such wilderness were low, rolling hills of grass and, on them, herds of various animals the likes of which neither Eragon nor any of the elves could make out until they were closer. On the peaks' southern flanks lay vast swathes of forest, with, from the looks of it, contained many different types of tree: both evergreens and deciduous in their manner, and pines, oaks, birches and maples in their types.
From the peaks flowed numerous small streams and rivulets, all tributaries to a single, larger river. The River wound its way through valleys and hills and onto the flat plains below, where, after a while, it flooded into a great lake. One the western edge of the lake, which was nearest to Eragon and Saphira, the Edda river flowed into it.
It was magnificent to behold.
Upon seeing the mountains, the land around them and the lake and river, Eragon said to Saphira, We would be hard pressed to find a better place for our needs than this. The mountains are easily suited to the dragons' needs, there would also be good places for settlements in the valleys.
Yes, agreed Saphira, and the foothills will provide good animals for hunting… Mmmmh, I can already imagine the taste of those deer in my mouth.
And with that Saphira flew with all haste back to Talíta, seeking to tell the elves of their discovery.
The ship had moored along the side of a small meander in the river, and the elves had already disembarked and started preparing camp. Even as Saphira flew towards them, a fire sprung into existence, bathing the gathered elves in a flickering orange glow. Often the elves would spend the night on the ship, without mooring it, and float on through the night without stopping. It came as a surprise for Eragon, then, that his companions had chosen to spend the night on the shore.
Spread her enormous wings outwards, Saphira slowed her pace and landed amongst the assembled elves. She dropped into a low crouch, allowing for Eragon to unbuckle himself and drop onto the ground. He straightened up quickly and briefly took in his surroundings.
They had chosen to camp on a narrow outcrop of land which was nestled between the two bends of the meander. Behind it was a small, dense wood, with formidable looking trees that seemed to eye them eerily through the fading light of the evening. Around the edge of the wood many plants grew, and Eragon knew that the dense foliage would continue far into the woods, for the ground was soft and the soil fertile. It was the result of the river, which filled its flood plain with minerals and provided the soil with a richness that allowed for plants to grow easily. It was good soil.
In front of him the elves loomed through the dusk, their faces long and thin, their expressions somewhat subdued. Each carried a sword belted to his or her own waist, although Eragon saw that one, the elf Arwæn, had his slung in its scabbard over his back. The swords were all of the same, leaf-shaped elven design which was common among their race. Every one of his companions, he knew, was as skilled with a blade as he, if not more so, and every single one was more than able in their command of the ancient language.
Only seven of the elves were present. Two of them, Liànö and Fernìen, had stayed behind, along with the Dragon-Man Cuaroc, to guard the eggs and Eldunarí.
'What news, Shadeslayer?' asked Blödhgarm. His blue-black fur rippled in a passing wind, and Eragon saw an expectant gleam in his yellow hawk-eyes.
'The best,' said Eragon, a smile playing on his lips. 'To the east, on the horizon, lies a range of mountains. A river flows from them, into a great lake, the same as the one this river flows into. The mountains are high, but not too high, and nor is it too cold, for no snow covers them, except on the tips of their peaks. The valleys would make a fine place to settle, where we could raise the dragons well.'
As he finished, Saphira cast out to them all in her mind and added, 'There are foothills too, with enough animals and livestock to keep a hundred-score dragons happy'. She hummed deep in her chest then, as if heartened by the thought of all the livestock that awaited her.
Blödhgarm considered what they had said, and then, speaking slowly and quietly, he said 'It appears we will not have to search as far as we once thought. This sounds like fine place to raise the dragons and create a new home for the riders.' He smiled then, baring his sharp white teeth to Eragon and Saphira. 'Tomorrow we shall seek this place you speak of. Until then, though, we must rest and eat, for we have stopped little since we departed Alagaësia, and I fear that are hearts and minds have become burdened with the task that lies ahead. Let it not be so! There is much to be merry for, so let us feast and dance and be glad!'
And so they ate, all around the camp fire, and the elves sang and danced and laughed and were merry. Saphira sat drinking mead and tearing at the carcass of a deer she had caught. Occasionally she would entertain the elves by catching food that they tossed up at her, but more often than not, she was content to be still and listen to the elves merriment, humming along when they sang and occasionally sharing a story or two.
Eragon's mood, increased already by his discovery, was greatly improved, and soon he was laughing and dancing and singing with the others, his belly warmed by the mead. He talked of his time in Vroengard, and his experiences with Brom, and occasionally he would tell a tale or two from Carvahall.
At some point in the night, the Eldunarí reached out to them from the ship, and begun to share thoughts and experiences of their own. To these the elves listened with rapt attention, honoured to hear tell the tales of old.
Soon the night was nigh, and when he could stay awake no longer, Eragon excused himself and he and Saphira walked from the camp. They crested a small hill, and at the top they stood together, two silent guardians of the night, silhouetted against the pearly moon. They thought of things done, things undone, and things yet to be done, and, despite his worries, Eragon beheld a great sense of peace in his heart.
They watched they night grow old, and, when they were done, they turned by silent consent and walked together back to the camp. No words had passed between them, but somehow Eragon felt closer to her, and as he did he felt more secure, and more sure of what he had to do. She nestled down next to his tent, but instead of going inside, Eragon remained with her. She lifted one vein-ridden wing, and beneath it Eragon lay, by her side.
Saphira, he said.
Little One.
He was at peace at last.