Prologue - September 16th
The door came bashing down, throwing dust all over the front room. I ran out, up the stairs and to the end of the corridor. I reached up for the almost invisible trap door that would lead me to safety. It had no handle, so you had to push up, and then let it fall. I did just that. The flap opened, letting loose a ladder. I climbed up, constantly aware of the fact that a gang of men were making their way through the house, trashing ever room they came in. I pulled back the ladder and closed the trap door. My parents weren't home, they should be safe. I went to the furthest part of the attic and curled up into a ball. I heard a grunt of pain from my father, a bone chilling scream from my mother, and I knew it was over. This was it. They had come. It had been six months since we hadn't paid Galbatorix's taxes, and now his men had come to kill us for it. They stormed thought the house, bashing down every door, trying to find someone hiding; trying to find me. Finally, after what seemed like ages of bashing, breaking and scavenging, they left. The silence was ear piercing. The only thing that ran through my mind was relief, the relief of a survivor. Then, like a second tsunami, rolling in after the first, it hit me. My parents were dead. They had been killed by Galbatorix, whom, until now, I had though of with a neutral, non passionate feeling. Now he had left me a fifteen-year-old orphan, with no friends, family and no where to go.