Chapter 28

A green Dragon, young – having not yet breathed her first breath of fire—screamed and writhed in bitter agony. Caught in a trap, her right foreleg bled profusely, and a net covered her, pinning her to the rocky ground and preventing her great teeth and claws from breaking free.

"Come now, baby Dragon, it can't hurt so bad," an unseen voice rumbled and echoed through the cavern. An unnatural green glow encircled the young Dragon as a dark and evil magic enveloped her.

"You'll feel much better after this is all over," the voice rumbled again.

When the owner of the voice finished his foul magic work, the green Dragon crouched in submission.

"See, Dragon's aren't so bad when you can control them." The voice's owner stepped towards the young Dragon and ran his hands along the green scales, pausing to trace their razor sharp edges. "I have a little job for you to do, my dear."

Eragon jumped awake, screaming aloud. At the same moment, Bid'Daum's white eyes flew open, and he roared with the anger of a thousand Dragons. No Dragon should ever cower so lowly in submission, they thought as one as the roar echoed and rang through the cave where they slept.

Bid'Daum, did you dream—.

Yes, I had the same dream, Bid'Daum finished for him.

That Dragon was the one that attacked Lilathnia! Eragon cried.

The white Dragon growled.

And that Elf was Master Dronuthen! What do you think this means? Is the green Dragon still alive? he asked, bewildered.

Eragon, I do not think this is a dream of the future.

What do you mean?

This was a Dragon dream. Dragons do not dream of the future, but of the past.

The thought, the realization, left the Elf feeling numb.

I need a drink. He stumbled out of the cave, into the morning light. The sudden brightness caused him to stumble, and he fell into the shallow river and let the water flow over him as he slowly drank. His body shook, and he couldn't clearly form his thoughts. Bid'Daum crouched above him along the river's bank, feeling equally disturbed and disquieted as he rumbled low in his throat.

"Eragon!" a voice far in the distance called. Elf and Dragon darted upright and froze in fear.

It is far away, Bid'Daum said at last, crouching lower into his forelegs and yawning wide.

Without further sound or scent of an approach, the two friends relaxed, and the Elf bent over the water to drink once more. A snap of a twig alerted them a moment later that their assumptions had been wrong, for Master Nolfavrell stumbled into view, rushing through the foliage and onto the bank on the far side of the river.

Seeing the young Elf lying peacefully in the shallow of the river, he exclaimed, "Eragon, I heard your cry and a Dragon's roar. I was most worried. Are you alright?" When Eragon made no move to answer, the old Master glanced about, his eyes lighting on Bid'Daum crouching above them, he cried out and drew his sword. He cursed in the Elvish language before he yelled in the Ancient Language, "Back foul, beast! You shall not have him!"

How amusing, Bid'Daum thought without moving.

How can you remain so calm about this? Eragon cried, leaping to his feet.

The old Master surged into the deep of the river, the water reaching no higher than his chest, charging at the white Dragon. The young Elf jumped to intercept him. "No!" he cried. Grasping the Master's arms, he shouted, "Drop your sword!"

"What are you saying, Eragon? He'll kill us and eat us!" The Master struggled against his pupil's iron grasp, recoiling from his mad student and cursing as he tried to free himself and slay the Dragon crouching for its attack.

Recalling words that he had once spoken to Eragon, Bid'Daum retorted, You'd hardly make for a satisfying meal, old Elf.

The Master abruptly stopped his struggle against the young Elf. "Have I gone mad or did that beast actually speak to me?"

You are mad, and this is a dream. But I do have a name. It is Bid'Daum. Not 'That Beast'. You'd do well to remember it.

Bid'Daum, don't tease him, Eragon warned. Aloud he said, "He is real, Master Nolfavrell, and he is my friend."

"Your friend," he dumbly repeated, the sword handing limp from his hands.

"Yes. If you'd sit down, I'll explain everything," Eragon coaxed, a shiver of anxiety racking his body. I feared this day might come. What do I say? What do I do? He pleaded Bid'Daum answer him.

You admire this creature? his Dragon asked, snorting as he breathed deep the Master's odd scent.

Yes, I do. He has taught me much.

Then if you look up to this teacher, have faith that you have put your admiration on the right creature and tell him the truth of us. Bid'Daum rumbled softly, punctuating his opinion.

The old Elf remained silent as Eragon took the sword from his hands, led him through the river, and bid him sit on a moss covered rock.

"It is a long story," the young Elf began, fidgeting with the frayed fringe of his tunic, "and I beg you to listen careful. Do not clutch and cling to the old fear that harasses your heart. Do not be poisoned by the myths and hatreds of our forefathers, for what I am about to tell you is something new and different entirely from all that we learned of our Dragon neighbors."

And so Eragon told his old Master their story from its beginning to its present. The old Elf listened silently and intently, clutching hard at his breast and muttering strange words from time to time, and as his pupil finished his fantastic story, he uncurled his fingers from over his heart and pressed them tightly to his lips.

As the ensuing silence became unbearable, Eragon pleaded, "Please say something."

The Old Master removed his fingers from his lips and opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he sang. As the bright morning light filtered through the trees and fell over the gathered party, he hummed a melody sweet, deep, and somber, and sang these words aloud:

Out of the ashes of a fallen empire

Out of the darkness of war

Through the heat of the dragon's fire

A bond shall be forged.

A glimmer of hope shall shine

A flame of peace shall blaze

Until the start of another age.

The ominous words sung instead of read had a strange effect upon Eragon and set him to shivering. Why is he singing the words of the prophecy? I did not tell him of that part.

Bid'Daum rumbled, leaning in closer towards the old Master.

Eragon itched to cry aloud, halting the old Master in his musical recitation, but the two verses of the prophecy were soon spent. Believing it to be the end, the young Elf relaxed. However, the old Elf did not stop his song. Instead, he sang another verse:

Look, children, as they rise

Together the sun shall glint off scales and spear

They will mount upon the clouds

And decree a never ending peace.

When the old Elf finished, he cried aloud, "Where did you hear that prophecy? Why did you sing those words?"

The Master smiled kindly, gazing solemnly at the pair as his voice betrayed him, wavering with deep emotion. "You two are the ones we've been waiting for. The two of you are going to change Alagaesia forever."

Speak, Old Elf, Bid'Daum growled, his apprehension overcoming his long-lasting patience. What mean you by this? What is this that you speak of?

But the old Master did not hear the Dragon's hostility. "I had dreams of a new world, of a brighter future. Such things I dreamed, Eragon, they are more vast and brilliant than the sea. I have been dreaming for so very long without hope. And now that you are here, with your blazing white Dragon by your side, your wyrda—your fate—brings me such hope that I can hardly bear to breathe. I dream anew. You, Eragon, and you, Bid'Daum are going to usher forth a new world."

Master Nolfavrell's words washed over Eragon. He could not pretend to understand the magnitude of the old Elf's words or the meaning of his wyrda, but he felt afloat in the sea of fate, drawn onward and swept forward. Deep inside he knew that once fate caught a creature, that being could never get away.

I think, said Bid'Daum, staring at the old Master, that we have an ally.