Prolouge

A cold, sharper and more intense than any other settled into his bones as he stood watching the sky. Like other worldly watchers, the stars paid him no attention as he waited and simply watched as the frost bitten night wore on. His breath rose in a mist before him, swirling into nothingness as it was swept away into the darkness. Soon, he told himself. It'll happen soon.

Afraid that he'd miss it, he refused the desire to move about in order to wake up his cold numb limbs. He denied his two apprentices such indulgences too. Soon. It had to be soon …

It had taken a long time for them to get here: he'd spent the past decade and a half watching and waiting for the signs the king told him would be there. It was one of the main reasons – other than the control – that the man had been searching for the true name of the ancient language. Without that name what the king intended for him to do was impossible.

A biting wind tore through his hair and tugged at his clothes as a cloud passed over the moon, obscuring the faint light and throwing them into darkness. Dawn was little more than an hour away. A movement beside him caught his attention: "Be still." He hissed at the dwarf on his right. The Urgal on his left glanced at his fellow but otherwise remained as he was; still and silent standing guard over the lonely hill top.

Not long now, he told himself. All the signs, all the calculations and so forth had pointed to this day – this night. He couldn't have possibly got it wrong. If he was wrong then he was on his own and alone he could not do what the king wanted done; the two apprentices at his sides were barely adequate for the purpose of tonight's ordeal.

A ghostly shape blotted out half the sky as three dragons drifted towards them and settled down on the frost covered ground behind their Riders. "Master," the dwarf attempted in a voice fearful of reprimand.

"What?" why couldn't the dragons of hatched for humans or elves like they should? What use were dwarves? Urgals were no more than simple-minded beasts but at least they could follow an order and not question it all the damn time.

"How much longer do you intend for us to remain standing here freezing to death?"

"Until I say so," he looked at the dwarf and resisted the temptation to hit him. "Now be still and shut up!" A low growl from his dragon affirmed his statement and the two apprentices grew still as statues and silent as graves as they returned to their watch of the night.

How much longer are we going to wait?

Sunrise. He grunted shortly in his mind in response to the dragon's question.

Do you think we got it wrong?

We can't have. We checked and double checked everything: it's tonight.

Tonight is almost over. The dragon pointed out; he got no reply.

Sixteen years he had waited. The chances of him actually achieving what he intended to do were slim, yet if he had done everything right – and he was certain he had – then there would be no reason for failure. To use one of the Forbidden Spells, as he was about to, was to open your very soul and life force to the fabric of pure magic. Magic permeated the air and held together everything that made up the world; what he intended to do would tear a hole through all that and open up a bridge – a pathway – between this world and the next.

In other words, he intended to bring the dead back.

And it was possible only because his brother had been stupid enough to let him alone. But that wasn't important right now, he'd thank that brother soon enough … the fool should've realised that there was no redemption – no way back to the life and ideals he'd once held on to – for him. The king had forced him to become a man he no longer had any reason or desire to change. Because the man he was now wasn't treated like something unpleasant on the bottom of a boot.

If you can't be loved, he reasoned. Settle for being feared.

The pale light of dawn was fast approaching and still nothing had happened. He could not begin the incantation until the phenomenon occurred. Scrolls and books and stores of knowledge he alone had found and knew of had informed him – nay taught him – that the lights he was waiting for were a result of that other world – the void – pressing against the walls of this one. The lights were the wards of living protecting their world from the dead. Yet if he achieved what he envisioned then the pathway he would create would also bring life back into whomever walked it. It was … dangerous magic … forbidden magic … it was Du Wydra Nángorörh …

He shook his head. Where were they? Records told him that the phenomenon only occurred on this day every seven years. He couldn't afford to wait that long; his brother and the others were bound to be getting suspicious by now. The sense that something was amiss in the world was after all, mounting and increasing day by day. Surely they'd of realised the hatchlings were missing by now? Or did they assume that they'd encountered some misfortune and died?

As the sun peeked over the horizon he gave up. The moment he turned away in disgust the Urgal let out a coarse yell; "Look!"

Spinning on his heel, and nearly slipping on the icy ground, he saw it at last. The lights. The brightening sky was awash with colours of every hue writhing around the lofty ceiling of the world. Almost like a hoard of dragons were obscuring the atmosphere or a living rainbow had appeared. For a moment they all stood and stared at the sky; drinking in the mystery and majesty of what they were witnessing before he jerked his senses back to reality and why they were there.

Uttering curt commands to the dwarf and Urgal beside him, he wasted no time. Taking a deep breath, aware that he had until the lights ceased, he began to chant in the ancient language. Words and formulas and phrases forbidden flew from his tongue as he let the darkest and rawest of magic loose upon that place where two worlds collided. For ten full minutes he spoke, until, with a noise incomprehensible, soundless and numbing, a ripping vibrating tear appeared in the sky.

Almost as if a giant had forced his fingers through the wall of the world and jerked it apart with little regard for what he'd just done. A jagged, frayed and irregular hole hung in the air as he began the second spell. The dwarf beside him dropped to the ground dead and a moment later so did his dragon. He gritted his teeth and reached out all around him to any and every source and store of energy he could find and thus use to maintain the spell.

Trees as old as time itself withered and died as grass shrivelled and animals – from the tiny to the gigantic – keeled over as their life force was sucked out of them like a leech draining blood. The very ground he stood on yielded and surrendered and died as he searched and found and claimed more and more energy. He cared not where it came from; if it was in his grasp it was his to use. The discovery that such a method was possible was not as significant as it would've been had he not of been in the midst of breaking apart reality; he wondered if the king had known about this trick.

And still it craved more. More than he had and more than he was able to find. Just as the cold reaches of fear gripped his gut as he suddenly realised that he might've gone too far, the magic ceased and the tear was filled with a blinding light unlike any ever seen before. He threw a hand up to shield his eyes as everything around them was bathed in that glow. His dragon hissed at the brightness. The magic took hold and the drop in his strength was beyond measure as he staggered to his knees and the Urgal and his dragon fainted.

Squinting, he saw the unmistakeable silhouette of a man striding towards them out of that breach. Unable to make anything out about who it was, he dragged himself upright and watched through shaded eyes as the man approached. Abruptly the light dimmed and ebbed away until it was nothing more than a tear in the sky filled with incomprehensible possibilities and danger.

In the unexpected dim light of dawn, he turned his gaze upon the figure who'd just so casually strolled out of the void and death. A moment's contemplation as they studied one another; the recently dead man gazed at the sword on his hip and then to the red dragon behind him before opening his mouth and speaking: "You learnt your lessons well I see … son."

"You weren't supposed to come through!" he spat back. This was not what he'd intended at all and not what had been planned.

A chill smile stretched across his father's lips. "The king was unable to make it across. Something to do with what that Shadeslayer boy did. But no fear, my son, we can build an Empire greater than he was ever capable of doing!"

Eragon jerked awake and sat bolt upright, tearing himself away from the dream. His heart racing, he gazed around the room with long disused battle senses ready, aware of his clammy skin and heaving chest. Saphira grunted in her sleep as she shifted to a more comfortable position on the over large cushion. A small smile lit his face as he beheld her. A dream, he mused, lying back down on the bed. Nothing more.

Moments later his regular breathing and heartbeat once more filled the room in a comforting harmony with Saphira's as he settled back to sleep in the arms of his companion. She murmured something in her sleep and reached out to him as he allowed slumber to claim him. A dream … just a dream …