Disclaimer: All rights to the Inheritance Cycle belong to Christopher Paolini and Knopf Books

The trio of travelers had been trekking for half a day on their way to Bullridge. According to Brom the group was near the meeting point where they would be escorted the rest of the way by a small group of Varden soldiers. However, how near they were remained a mystery to the former farm boy. However, the trip seemed longer due to the lack of talking among the companions. Brom had proven truly taciturn. Roran believed it to be due to a personal reaction to the tale he had told the night before. An unintended benefit, however, was that Roran had plenty of time to think about said reaction. It had him wondering and he could tell that Saphira was just as curious. Unfortunately for the bonded pair the answer to this particular mystery was not forth coming this day.

Having given up on the problem for the time being Roran took in the landscape. Unfortunately, the landscape happened to be fairly dull. The group were in the middle of the plains, which meant that little to nothing of what was in sight was worth notice. Even Saphira couldn't see much near them despite her advantages of height and draconic vision. With little else to do Roran returned to the realm of his thoughts, wondering just who Brom was. He was no mere story teller that much was for certain, at least, not until a fairly recent time of his life. But what Brom was before coming to Carvahal was another mystery altogether. But, just like the mystery of Morzan's wife, no answers were forth coming. This is a pattern of thought that continued for much of the rest of the day.

The monotony was broken, however, when Roran got word (or thought, as was the case) from Saphira. "I see something on the horizon! Though, it is too far away for me to actually make out any real details." Finally, some good news and a break from the unending plains.

Saphira had apparently told this to Brom as well, as he added his knowledge of the area to the conversation. "That would be Bullridge!" he called out. "We're going to go through the night. We'll find an inn there and meet up with the caravan the following morning." To Roran it seemed that Brom sounded much more upbeat than the last time he had spoken. Of course, that was several hours ago, so an upturn in mood was expected. It was also welcomed. Despite the change, however, Brom was still proving to be quiet. Thus, Roran settled himself in for more silence.

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Roran found himself woken up by an incessant knocking on his door at far too early of an hour for his liking. But it was what was necessary as they needed to meet up with the Varden caravan soon. Even so, as Roran gathered his pack and headed to meet with Brom downstairs he wished he could have had five more minutes.

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After getting dressed and saying good morning to Saphira (though, it was more of a feeling of acknowledgement than an actual conversation. Saphira was fairly far away from the town.) he descended the stairs to find Brom waiting for him. With only a good morning shared between the two they set out to meet the Varden. As they walked, Roran wanted to ask where this meeting was to take place but without knowing who they could trust he didn't want to risk them being overheard. So instead they walked in silence.

As they walked down the streets, Roran looked about him. To most of the citizens of the Empire this was a fairly backwater place. It was an average small town. There were some shops strewn about selling all of the necessities. There was a blacksmith and a butcher. There were even stalls for people to sell various bits of produce. In many ways it felt to Roran like he was in a larger version of Carvahal. There were even soldiers harassing the people about taxes. That caught Roran's attention. It was a common enough sight in the Empire, but Roran found an unusual meaning in it this time. Now he was in a position to end this sort of thing, or so he was supposed to be. Now he began to understand what his role in the resistance was to be. He was the equalizer. He was there to balance the scales. He decided he would start here.

Brom saw what had Roran's attention captured so fully and he saw the way that Roran's hands clenched in anger at the man's treatment. In a way he found it to be a good sign. It meant Roran was willing to be a hero. The downside, though, was that Roran might be willing to run off and be a hero. And this was not a fight for him to get involved in yet. He was far too important.

Then Roran began to move and it seemed that that was exactly what Roran was about to do. Brom was panicking on the inside, though he would never let it show, especially around Roran. He reached out to grab Roran by the arm hoping to keep his attention long enough to talk some sense into him. "Don't," he told the young man. "This is not something you can afford to get involved in."

"But I can't just let this go! If I'm supposed to be helping people then that's what I should be doing!" he said.

"I know, and I understand that it's hard to just let this go! I hate it too! But you are too important and too untrained to be risking your life for something like this! Unfortunately, it's something you need to accept now!" he told the young Rider.

Roran gained a look of intense contemplation. Then, as Brom thought he would have to restrain Roran further, the Rider asked a surprising question. "How much money do we have?"

Due to his surprise it took Brom a moment to answer. "About two Crowns worth in assorted coin."

Before he could ask why Roran wanted to know the young rider was already onto his next question. "When we join up with the caravan we won't be needing that money, will we?"

Now Brom could see where this was going. With a smile he said, "Not really, no." Before Roran could ask his next question, Brom held out the coin pouch to the Rider in training catching him by surprise this time. The surprised look quickly faded, though, as he accepted the money silently. Then he headed toward the group of soldiers followed by Brom, who wished to be nearby if this plan went poorly.

As the pair approached the group the soldiers turned and looked at the travel-worn duo with a hint of disdain and a touch of annoyance. The two noted that one of them had grabbed the man by the front of his shirt while they were talking. "What do you want?" he asked. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I over-heard you talking to this man about some overdue taxes and I couldn't help but wondering how much he could possibly owe." Roran said to the apparent leader of the group of soldiers.

"Five Sovereigns. What's it to you!?" He demanded.

At this point Roran pulled out five Sovereigns in assorted coins and reached his hand out to the soldier. "That'll cover this man's debt. After that you can go back about your day."

The man seemed to think this over for a moment before agreeing. He took the coins and released the man he had been harassing with a shove. The entire time, Brom looked on with a barely suppressed smile as he saw the skill with which Roran handled the situation. As he and his men left the man walked up and thanked Roran. "If you hadn't come along I have no idea what they would do to me and my shop!" he said. "Thank you for saving me from those thugs! They would have taxed me of my last coin if it weren't for you! If there's anything I can do to help just let me know!"

Roran looked at the man and, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, told him, "You can help me by going home and going on with your life."

"Please, at least let me know the name of my savior!" the man pleaded.

Roran saw no reason to deprive this man of such a small favor. "My name is Roran," he said.

"Thank you, Roran! I won't forget this!" Then he ran off, likely to tell whatever family he might have about his good fortune.

Roran heard Brom approach from behind. "You handled that surprisingly well," he said. Roran could hear a smile on his voice. "For a while there I thought I was going to have to pull you away."

Roran was legitimately surprised to hear that. Brom wasn't generally one to dispense compliments. And, lately, he hadn't been one to be cheerful. A cheerful compliment was simply unheard of. "I couldn't just let that go on. So I decided to take a different route," he explained.

"Just remember, Roran, you mean more to the Varden than you know. You can't help everyone," Brom told him. After that nothing more needed to be said between the two men. Just a nod of acknowledgement from Brom and the pair were off again.

During the walk to meet with the caravan Roran realized that Brom hadn't mentioned anything about where they were meeting with the Varden troops. He knew that they seemed to be heading to the outskirts of Bullridge, which gave him a suspicion. It was a suspicion that, for the sake of his nose, Roran sincerely hoped to turn out to be false.

As the two neared the outer edge of the town Roran started picking up a scent. It was one that filled him with a touch of dread. It filled him with dread because he could also faintly hear the sound of a group coming from the direction of the odor. This only worked to confirm his suspicions. Especially since they were continuing to head toward it. As they wove around houses and cleared the town the stench continued to grow stronger. It wasn't long before Roran's nostrils began to sting and his eyes began to water. Once the two cleared the town, Roran could finally see what he could smell. They were by a tannery. And, on the other side of the tannery, was a group of men, who were, fortunately enough for them, upwind and out of the smell. If he were to be honest, though, it was a sensible place to have a clandestine meeting as virtually no one would be near such a place if they had no need of it.*

"Hello!" said Brom, catching their attention. As they turned toward the pair Roran could see them tense, though subtly. It was obvious they were nervous.

"And who might you be, old man?" called the apparent leader of the group. He appeared to be approaching the middle of his life, though he could tell the man still possessed a formidable prowess.

Instead of answering as Roran expected, Brom pulled a ring from his pocket and showed it to the group of men. At first it seemed non-descript, but Roran quickly realized that it was, in fact, a signet ring, though he had no idea what the sign on the ring meant. The men, however, obviously did. They immediately began working in getting their bags packed. At this point, the leader walked up to the pair. "I see you've arrived, Brom," he said, "Forgive me. It's been so long that I didn't recognize you at first. And this must be the Rider," he concluded with a hint of restrained excitement, looking at Roran.

The fact that this man already knew that he was the Rider had Roran a bit suspicious. It made sense and he knew it made sense. But it still unsettled him a bit. "Yes. Who are you?" he asked brusquely.

"Forgive me I've gotten ahead of myself. I'm Jormunder," he said.

"So they have you leading caravans now, do they?" Brom asked jovially. Again, Roran was surprised at how much Brom had been breaking free from the mold gloom that had been about him lately. He could tell that Saphira was also surprised.

"Normally, no. But this is something else entirely. I mean, the last Rider! That warrants the attention of the second in command at the very least, don't you think?" the man said jovially.

"Second in command now, are you? You've really advanced quite quickly in my absence," Brom told him.

"Quickly to you, perhaps, but you've been gone for almost sixteen years now. It took me quite some time to get there, though." Roran took note of that. Sixteen years. He felt as though that was a major piece in the puzzle of Brom's life, but he couldn't place it just yet.

"But enough catching up for now," the man said, "I've been rude not to introduce myself. I am Jormundur." Then he looked at Roran and said, "As you can tell I already know Brom. However, I ask for the honor of knowing your name, young Rider."

"My name is Roran," he replied.

"Well met, Roran," Jormundur said. "However, we should get moving soon. Tell me, where is your dragon at?"

"Don't worry, Jormundur. Saphira is nearby. She'll meet up with us once we're away from the town. It wouldn't do for her to be seen by the townspeople," Roran answered.

"Sensible," he said. "I like that. Very well, I await the appearance of your dragon, Saphira. Let us waste no more time, as I feel my men would enjoy such a sight as well." With nothing left to say the group set out on their way.

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An hour after leaving the town, Bullridge was no longer in sight. Along the way they had picked up a set of pack mules hiden amongst a nearby copse of trees. So far the trip had been made in relative silence. There was little two hear but the rhythmic steps of the group as it continued to the secret base of the Varden. For the entire trip he could see the men growing anxious, presumably wishing to see the dragon, the symbol of hope for the entire Varden. Well, they were far enough away that Saphira wouldn't be seen by the town, so Roran decided to give Saphira the mental signal to head toward them.

At no point had Saphira been more than a few miles away from them and could travel far faster than the rest of them. Thus, it was not long before the sound of massive wing beats could be heard on the wind. Shortly after, Saphira was a discernable, draconic form in the distant sky. Of course, this did not go unnoticed by the Varden. A murmur of worry quickly rose amongst the soldiers. Roran decided not to let it go on long to avoid people jumping to violent conclusions. "Not to worry," he told them with mild amusement, which he kept concealed, "That's Saphira coming toward us, as I said would happen."

The soldiers seemed to become invigorated by that revelation as a wave of excitement went through the group. After all, it wasn't often that one got to see a dragon up close, especially not one that is to be one of the champions of your cause. Such was their eagerness that Jormundur called a halt to wait for the dragoness to arrive. It wouldn't take long and it would surely invigorate the rest of the caravan.

It was not a long wait for Saphira to land amongst the caravan in all of the glory of her blue, glittering scales (which she had been fussing about for hours now, wishing to inspire awe with her arrival), an act which drew cheers from the soldiers. The pack animals, not so much. Still, it was a great moment for the men despite having to rein in frightened mules. Saphira wasn't finished surprising them, though. "Hello everyone," she said to all of them.

This, of course, got quite the reaction out of the unprepared Varden soldiers. Roran could pick up statements of "The dragon talked!", "Did you hear that!?", and similar statements. "Seems you've caused a bit of a stir," Roran said to his dragon.

"Should it be any other way?" she asked with a (mostly) false sense of entitlement. "I am, after all, a dragon."

Roran smiled. "This will surely help with moral. Not that it was low in the first place, but still…"

Saphira stayed for a while longer, soaking in the attention like a dry rag. However, they needed to keep trekking along, and so Saphira eventually took to the skies again while the caravan continued the journey to the Varden base.

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Eragon awoke lying on the ground which had been chilled by the early morning air. Though winter was over the mornings still proved to be fairly cold, a fact that wasn't helped by Eragon's currently naked form. Last night had seen another full moon, which brought about another change.

Eragon quickly got up from his place next to the smoldering remains of a fire, which had strips of meat hung above it to be crudely smoked, and began to dress. After the first change back at Carvahal he had taken to undressing beforehand. After all, he only had the one set of clothes, so they would have to last. So, for the last three months, Eragon had spent the night of the full moon in the buff.

Once he had gotten dressed he began taking down some of the meat, which had come from a deer that he had caught last night, and set about sating his great hunger. Something he could say he was thankful for was that his werewolf form was excellent for hunting. He had been catching what he could every full moon and curing the meat as best he could, making something like a deer last for quite some time. He had also been scrounging for whatever seeds could be found this early into spring. The downside, though, was that he ended up with a ravenous hunger after every change. It always felt like he hadn't eaten all day.

Three months ago if someone had told him that he would end up as a werewolf heading to become the savior of the rest of the race he would think they'd gone mad. Even so, that's exactly how he found himself now. As a werewolf savior skulking through the Spine to avoid the Empire's attention and it was all so that he could get revenge against a pair of unknown creatures that had killed his uncle. He had always dreamed of going on an adventure, but now that he was on one it was nothing like he had imagined it would be. He had never considered what he might have to leave behind. Or what might be taken from him. And wasn't entirely sure of what he was going to do once he found the werewolves either.

Despite his worries he could take solace in the fact that they wouldn't matter today, for today would be spent curing more meat. More meat that he was going to use for this journey. One he never expected to go on except in his wildest dreams. But the reality was proving to be far different than any daydream or fantasy he had had.