Percy's POV

After Eragon and I eventually took a break from running, we were stretching since neither of us was used to running for so long without stopping. Eragon's stomach gurgled. He was lying on his back, legs folded under at the knees—stretching his thighs. The sound was so unexpected, Eragon bolted upright, groping for his staff. I chuckled at him, thankful I wasn't that paranoid yet. The wind whistled across the empty land. The sun had set, and in its absence, everything was blue and purple. Nothing moved, save for the blades of grass that fluttered and Sloan, whose fingers slowly opened and closed in response to some vision in his enchanted slumber. A bone-biting cold heralded the arrival of true night. Eragon relaxed and allowed himself a small smile.

I was also hungry, and my amusement quickly faded as I realized that we didn't have any supplies. water would be easy to get since both Eragon and I could get it from the ground. Both Eragon and I could get it by using magic, but I could also do it by using my powers. The problem would be finding food in the desolate place where we had stopped to rest for the moment. Under normal circumstances, I would have just used my powers from Hestia to summon our food, but that also costs me energy, and after the fight in Helgrind, shadow travelling myself, Eragon, and Sloan back to the ground, and then running nonstop the rest of the day I was tired. Despite that, I thought that I might still have enough strength left to conjure us all some food. I explained my powers to Eragon, and his eyes widened in surprise. He commented, "That's what Roran meant when he said that you helped ensure that the villagers had enough food while you were travelling to Surda,"

I nodded and asked him what he wanted. Once he had decided, I was surprised by what he asked for since it had meat in it. Maybe he had decided that he needed more than just fruit, vegetables, and bread to have enough energy over the next few days. Regardless I didn't comment on it and just summoned the food.

Eragon hesitated to eat it at first, perhaps still reluctant to eat meat. Before long though, he obeyed the command of his hunger and ate. I had also summoned food for myself, and I was eating it wondering what we were going to do with Sloan,

Eragon studied Sloan's hands; the butcher lay a yard or two away, where Eragon had placed him. Dozens of thin white scars crisscrossed his long, bony fingers, with their oversized knuckles and long fingernails that, while they had been meticulous in Carvahall, were now ragged, torn, and blackened with accumulated filth. The scars testified to the relatively few mistakes Sloan had made during the decades he had spent wielding knives. His skin was wrinkled and weathered and bulged with wormlike veins, yet the muscles underneath were hard and lean. Eragon sat on his haunches and crossed his arms over his knees. "we can't just let him go," he murmured. If he did, Sloan might track down Roran and Katrina, a prospect that Eragon and I both considered unacceptable. Besides, even though we weren't going to kill Sloan, we both believed that the butcher should be punished for his crimes. I hadn't known Byrd well, but during the short time I had known him, he had seemed to be a good man. I also remembered Byrd's wife, Felda, who was now a widow, and their children who were now fatherless. I spent most of my life without a good father figure, only once my mom had met my stepdad Paul did I have a good father figure in my life. Chiron had been kind of like a father to me, and I rarely saw my birth father Poseidon, and he had betrayed me along with the other gods, so now I consider Paul to be my father, Poseidon can go to Tartarus for all I care. Regardless, Byrd's death seemed extremely cruel, and I felt the watchman's family deserved justice, even if they never learned about it. What, however, would constitute proper punishment? Neither Eragon nor I thought it would be right to kill Sloan, but I wasn't sure what else we should do with him.

gesturing at the butcher, I asked, "What should we do with him?"

Eragon didn't reply, instead, he rose to his feet, walked over to Sloan, bent toward his ear and said, "Vakna." With a jolt, Sloan woke, scrabbling at the ground with his sinewy hands. The remnants of his eyelids quivered as, by instinct, the butcher tried to lift them and look at his surroundings. Instead, he remained trapped in his own personal night. when I'd realized what Eragon was doing I'd also gotten up and walked over to Sloan.

I said, "Here, eat this." I shoved some chicken that I had just conjured up toward Sloan, who, although he could not see it, surely must have smelled the food.

"Where am I?" asked Sloan. With trembling hands, he began to explore the rocks and plants in front of him. He touched his torn wrists and ankles and appeared confused to discover that his fetters were gone.

Eragon replied, "The elves—and also the Riders in days gone by—called this place Mírnathor. The dwarves refer to it as Werghadn, and humans as the Gray Heath. If that does not answer your question, then perhaps it will if I say we are a number of leagues southeast of Helgrind, where you were imprisoned." Sloan mouthed the word Helgrind. "You rescued me?"

"We did."

"What about—"

"Leave your questions. Eat this first." His harsh tone acted like a whip on the butcher; Sloan cringed and reached with fumbling fingers for the food. While he ate, Eragon and I retreated to our places where we had previously been sitting. After an initial, tentative lick to determine what it was we had given him, Sloan dug into the food. With each bite, he crammed as much flesh into his mouth as he could and only chewed once or twice before swallowing and repeating the process. He stripped each bone clean with the efficiency of a man who possessed an intimate understanding of how animals were constructed and what was the quickest way to disassemble them. The bones he dropped into a neat pile on his left. After the final morsel of meat vanished Sloan straightened his back, drew his hand across his lips, tucked his long hair behind his ears, and said, "Thank you, strange sirs, for your hospitality. It has been so long since I had a proper meal, I think I prize your food even above my own freedom. . . . If I may ask, do you know of my daughter, Katrina, and what has happened to her? She was imprisoned with me in Helgrind." His voice contained a complex mixture of emotions: respect, fear, and submission in the presence of an unknown authority; hope and trepidation as to his daughter's fate; and determination as unyielding as the mountains of the Spine.

I replied, "She is with Roran."

Sloan gaped. "Roran! How did he get here? Did the Ra'zac capture him as well? Or did—"

Eragon spoke again, "The Ra'zac and their steeds are dead."

"You Killed them? How? . . . Who—" For an instant, Sloan froze, as if he were stuttering with his entire body, and then his cheeks and mouth went slack and his shoulders caved in and he clutched at a bush to steady himself. He shook his head. "No, no, no. . . .No . . . . It can't be. The Ra'zac spoke of this; they demanded answers I didn't have, but I Thought . . . That is, who would believe . . . ?" His sides heaved with such violence, I wondered if he would hurt himself. In a gasping whisper, as if he were forced to speak after being punched in the middle, Sloan said, "You can't be Eragon. " Sloan turned toward me before continuing, "And you are Perseus,"

Eragon replied, slowing his speech so each word struck like a hammer blow and carried all the weight of his dignity, station, and anger. "I am Eragon and far more. I am Argetlam and Shadeslayer and Firesword. My dragon is Saphira, she who is also known as Bjartskular and Flametongue. We were taught by Brom, who was a Rider before us, and by the dwarves and by the elves. We have fought the Urgals and a Shade and Murtagh, who is Morzan's son. We serve the Varden and the peoples of Alagaësia.

I have to say, I was kind of impressed by Eragon's speech. Although I'm not usually one to throw my titles and achievements around, I was a bit tempted to do it right now so Sloan would know what we are both capable of. I said, "You're right Sloan, I am Perseus, Rider of the dragonÁgrios, son of the sea god Poseidon, great grandson of Hecate, the goddess of magic, blessed by Hades the god of the dead, and also by Hestia the goddess of the hearth and home. I fought and defeated Ares, the god of war, I have fought many deities, the ra'zac, and many other monsters the likes of which you couldn't even imagine. I have also survived two wars,"

My list of titles and achievements had also surprised Eragon, but he quickly got over it. I had also considered leaving Poseidon out of my speech altogether, but I decided that I should mention him if only to help make my point. After that Eragon said, ''We have brought you here, Sloan Aldensson, to pass judgment upon you for murdering Byrd and for betraying Carvahall to the Empire."

I know I left out a bunch of my titles, but it's not like Sloan would know what the underworld and Tartarus were. I knew that he was probably still skeptical of the fact that I'm a demigod, I honestly didn't care though, I just didn't feel like wasting time listening to him if he still had the balls to insult us.

Sloan finally spoke, "You lie! You cannot be—"

"Lie?" roared Eragon. "I do not lie!"

After that, I suspected Eragon had used his mind to force Sloan to see that we had told the truth. Obviously, Eragon couldn't prove all the things I had said, but some of his memories would definitely prove that I was a rider. After Eragon withdrew from his mind, Sloan quivered until his demeanour became cold and flinty. "Blast you," he said. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Eragon Son of None, or you Perseus. Understand this, though: I did what I did for Katrina's sake and nothing else."

Eragon replied, "We know. That's the only reason you're still alive."

"Do what you want with me, then. I don't care, so long as she's safe. . . . Well, go on! What's it to be? A beating? A branding? They already had my eyes, so one of my hands? Or will you leave me to starve or to be recaptured by the Empire?"

"We have not decided yet."

Sloan nodded with a sharp motion and pulled his tattered clothes tight around his limbs to ward off the night cold. He sat with military precision, gazing with blank, empty eye sockets into the shadows that ringed our camp. He did not beg. He did not ask for mercy. He did not deny his acts or attempt to placate us. He simply sat and waited.

We sat in silence as we considered what we should do with Sloan. I hadn't known Sloan well, but it had been obvious that he hadn't liked me. I suspected that it might've had something to do with the fact that I had come from the Spine. Regardless of what he thinks of me, I knew he cared about Katrina, perhaps a bit too much. Even if all the things he'd done had been for Katrina, he'd still murdered someone and betrayed the whole village. After a little while, I heard Eragon whisper something under his breath. I hadn't been able to make out the words, but I thought they might have been from the ancient language. I didn't know what Eragon was doing, but if he didn't tell me I was probably going to ask him about it.

Eragon whispered the words again, but this time I was able to make out what they were. That didn't help me understand what Eragon was trying to do though. I noticed that After Eragon said the words, Sloan shifted in place, and we heard him mutter, ". . . someone walking on my grave."

A moment or two after that, I noticed that Eragon was reaching out to me with his mind, clearly wanting to speak to me telepathically. I let him enter my mind, before asking, "what were you doing Eragon?"

"I found Sloan's true name. I also have an idea for how we can punish him,"

I was surprised by that, the knowledge that Hecate had given me had included the fact that basically everything has a true name, including people, and the fact that Eragon had found Sloan's when he wasn't really even trying to, surprised me. I knew that people's true names could be used to control them.

We continued talking telepathically as we discussed Eragon's plan.

Eventually, once we had decided on the plan, and all that we had left to do was to contact the Elven queen to find out if she would agree to Eragon's plan, we got up to look for a suitable location to scry her.

Sloan tilted his head in our direction as we rose and walked out of the camp into the starlit land beyond. "Where are you going? " asked Sloan. We remained silent.