Chapter Two

Trouble Brewing

Eragon lay shirtless on his back, sleeping fitfully. Sweat glistened on his chest and his eyes roved back and forth beneath their lids. He tossed and turned, wrapping the coarse woolen blanket tightly around himself.

He leaped from Saphira's back and brought his sword down in a cleaving arc in the same motion. Zar'roc bit through metal, flesh, and bone with ease, and blood gushed from the soldier's split head and pooled onto the ground below…

Eragon felt blinding pain in his side as an arrow found its way through the links in his mail armor and embedded itself within his flesh. He gritted his teeth and tore it out, and then turned in the direction from which the projectile had come. The soldier stood not far away, terror playing across the man's face as Eragon picked a fallen soldier's spear off of the ground and hurled it at him. Eragon's mouth split into a wicked smile as the spear punched through the soldier's middle and threw his screaming, bleeding body backwards…

Eragon awoke with a start. That was strange, he thought. I shouldn't be dreaming anymore…He rolled slowly off of his straw pallet and pushed himself to his feet. The world spun momentarily and he almost lost his balance, but he caught himself. He shook his head absently and began to slip his clothing on. His dreams replayed themselves again and again through his head, each detail rendered vividly as though it were happening before his very eyes. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind but found the task far too difficult. He reached down to pick his sword up – and remembered that he did not have one anymore. He sighed. The same thing had happened almost every day since the Varden's victorious return from the Burning Plains.

Saphira, he called, aren't we supposed to leave for Farthen Dûr today?

Yes, little one, came the reply. Her voice boomed through his head, causing him to wince. Eragon, what troubles you? She asked suddenly.

I…I had a dream last night, he thought slowly. We were back on the Burning Plains again. I had to relive every time I killed someone. I thought elves weren't supposed to dream, Saphira?

Eragon felt a brief surge of troubled emotion pass through his mind, and then Saphira said, I thought you said that you did not in fact sleep, but rather you passed into a state of restful awareness. I would have thought dreaming would be impossible in that.

Aye. And Saphira, every time I killed someone I…I enjoyed it. Every time I saw an enemy soldier I wanted to just choke the life from him with my bare hands, to make him feel pain as I have felt ever since Garrow was killed. I like the feeling, Saphira, and I know I shouldn't, but…He trailed off.

It is understandable that you would feel rage in the face of that which has taken so much from you Eragon, but do not let it control you. Now, Nasuada is probably waiting to bid us farewell. We should go.

Eragon murmured an affirmation and pushed aside the flaps of his tent. The first rays of dawn played across his face and he squinted his eyes against the light. He looked around and spotted Saphira's miniscule outline against the grey-blue sky. Moments later she circled down and landed with a thud next to Eragon. Without a word the duo began to walk slowly to Nasuada's hut.

Eragon raised his hand and was about to knock on the door when it swung inward. Nasuada's face peered from around the edge and she strode out to meet them. She hugged Eragon tightly and said, "Good morning Eragon. Saphira," she murmured, inclining her head respectfully.

Greetings, Saphira's said, and Eragon repeated the words, adding his own salutations.

Nasuada sighed. "Eragon," she began softly, "I know that you are upset with me for my decision to remain absent from Hrothgar's funeral, but believe me when I say that I regret this deeply. The truth of the matter is, however, that there are…problems…I must attend to. I fear that if I do not remain, they may grow out of control. Please, though – do give my best wishes to Hrothgar's memory."

"Of course, Nasuada, I understand," Eragon said quietly. He sighed. "I will try to return as soon as I can. If these problems are bad enough to warrant your absence from the funeral, then I believe it would be in everyone's best interests for Saphira and me to be here in case things get too touchy."

"Thank you. I'm sure things won't get too out of hand, though."

"Not with you're iron grip over the Varden, of course," Eragon said with a grin. Nasuada punched him lightly in the arm and smiled slightly. The sound of feet pounding lightly against the dirt rang through Eragon's elven ears and he turned around to see Arya trotting up to them. He began to raise his fingers in the traditional greeting but she waved it away absently.

"Greetings, Saphira. Good morning Eragon and Nasuada. Orik and the dwarves say they wish to leave soon," Arya said when she reached them, "so you should pack your belongings." She looked at Nasuada for a moment and then, in an uncharacteristic gesture, drew her into a quick embrace. "I wish you luck in dealing with whatever trouble has cropped up, Nasuada. We shall hurry back once the ceremony is over to assist you."

"Thank you Arya. Eragon has already given me similar assurances. Now you three should go before the dwarves become impatient."

With a final farewell, Saphira, Eragon, and Arya turned away, leaving the leader of the Varden to deal with the new threat alone.

Twenty minutes later, Eragon and Saphira strode up to the crowd of dwarves, humans, and elves that would be attending Hrothgar's funeral. Almost all of the Varden had wished to return to Farthen Dûr to pay their last respects to the leader who had given them so much, but another such exodus would have been unwise with the stability of the rebel community in such a fragile state. And so a select few important individuals had been chosen to attend the ceremony.

Eragon spied Orik ahead and walked up to him. The dwarf turned toward Eragon as the Rider knelt to embrace his squat friend.

"Ah, Eragon, you are a sight for these sore eyes of mine," Orik said in a husky voice, and smiled at Eragon, though the gesture did not reach his sad eyes; the dwarf had yet to recover from his adopted father's death.

"And it is good to see you, Orik," Eragon said softly. "Tell me – when do we leave?"

"We are ready to go now, in fact. We await only Arya."

Eragon nodded. "Very well."

Ten minutes later Arya, perched atop a pure white stallion, rode towards them. "I apologize for my tardiness," she said when she was closer. "I was helping Nasuada tidy a few things up before we left."

"Well, now that you're here, we'd best be on our way. No sense in waiting," grumbled Orik. He stalked off to where the rest of the dwarves were gathered around four others of their kind, each supporting a large bronze shield. A white sheet obscured what rested upon the shields, but Eragon knew that the figure belonged to King Hrothgar. He saw Orik stop when he reached the shields and reach a hand out to tenderly touch his father figure. One of the burly dwarves patted him gently on the shoulder, and suddenly Eragon felt hate well within him. His mind became clouded with black rage and he imagined killing Murtagh just as brutally as the dwarvan king had been slain. Images of Eragon's hands wrapped around Murtagh's throat floated across the Rider's mind, images of swords, pain, and torture –

"Come, Eragon – the caravan has started moving."

Eragon shook himself and turned to see Arya staring at him intently. The rage vanished from his mind as he looked upon her pristine features, and he mumbled, "Right. Of course." He put his hand on Saphira's massive leg and she lowered her shoulder so that he could climb up onto her saddle. He caught one last glimpse of Arya before Saphira pushed off the ground and launched herself into the air.

A lone figure watched from the shadows as the caravan moved slowly out of sight. She pulled her hood lower over her face and crouched deeper into the shadows as a guard walked past the alley where she was hidden. She remained unnoticed as the guard strode away and looked back out as he disappeared around a corner. She smiled. Eragon was out of the way, which left her little opposition. Nasuada would be as helpless as an infant bird without the protection of her Rider.