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They lunched at Fasaloft, a bustling lakeside village. It was a charming place set on a rise overlooking the lake. As they ate in the hostel's common room, Daemon and Eragon listened intently to the gossip and was relieved to hear no rumors of them and Saphira.

The trail, now a road, had grown steadily worse over the past two days. Wagon wheels and iron-shod hooves had conspired to tear up the ground, making many sections impassable. An increase in travelers forced Saphira to hide during the day and then catch up with the trio at night.

For days they continued south along Leona Lake's vast shore. Eragon began to wonder if they would ever get around it, so he was heartened when they met men who said that Dras-Leona was an easy day's ride ahead of them.

Eragon rose early the following morning. His fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought of finally finding the Ra'zac. The three of you must be careful, said Saphira. The Ra'zac could have spies watching for travelers that fit your description.

We'll do our best to remain inconspicuous, he assured her.

She lowered her head until their eyes met. Perhaps, but realize that I won't be able to protect you as I did with the Urgals. I will be too far away to come to your aid, nor would I survive long in the narrow streets your kind favor. Follow Brom's lead in this hunt; he is sensible. And Daemon will protect you.

I know, he said somberly.

Will you go with Brom to the Varden? Once the Ra'zac are killed, he will want to take you to them. And since Galbatorix will be enraged by the Ra'zac's death, that may be the safest thing for us to do.

Eragon rubbed his arms. I don't want to fight the Empire all the time like the Varden do. Life is more than constant war. There'll be time to consider it once the Ra'zac are gone.

Don't be too sure, she warned, gave him a nuzzle, licked Daemon's cheek then went to hide herself until night.

The road was clogged with farmers taking their goods to market in Dras-Leona. they were forced to slow their horses and wait for wagons that blocked the way. Although they saw smoke in the distance before noon, it was another league before the city was clearly visible. Unlike Teirm, a planned city, Dras-Leona was a tangled mess that sprawled next to Leona Lake. Ramshackle buildings sat on crooked streets, and the heart of the city was surrounded by a dirty, pale yellow wall of daubed mud. Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with spires and columns, a tenebrous nightmare ship. Near-vertical sides rose out of the ground like a jagged piece of the earth's bone.

Brom pointed. "That is Helgrind. It's the reason Dras-Leona was originally built. People are fascinated by it, even though it's an unhealthy and malevolent thing." He gestured at the buildings inside the city's wall. "We should go to the center of the city first."

As they crept along the road to Dras-Leona, Eragon saw that the highest building within the city was a cathedral that loomed behind the walls. It was strikingly similar to Helgrind, especially when its arches and flanged spires caught the light. "Who do they worship?" he asked.

Brom grimaced in distaste. "Their prayers go to Helgrind. It's a cruel religion they practice. They drink human blood and make flesh offerings. Their priests often lack body parts because they believe that the more bone and sinew you give up, the less you're attached to the mortal world. They spend much of their time arguing about which of Helgrind's three peaks is the highest and most important and whether the fourth—and lowest—should be included in their worship."

"That's horrible!" Eragon said with horror and disgust.

"Oh I've seen worst kind of religion." Daemon said with a shiver as he remembered how some cults would pray to their chosen Daedric Princes and offer sacrifices for anything in return, fame, money, land, women, but they'd suffer in the end because making deals with Daedric Princes never ended well for any mortal.

At Dras-Leona's enormous gates, they led the horses through the crush of people. Ten soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd. Daemon, Eragon and Brom passed into the city without incident.

The houses inside the city wall were tall and thin to compensate for the lack of space. Those next to the wall were braced against it. Most of the houses hung over the narrow, winding streets, covering the sky so that it was hard to tell if it was night or day. Nearly all the buildings were constructed of the same rough brown wood, which darkened the city even more. The air reeked like a sewer; the streets were filthy.

A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned. Eragon looked at Daemon. "Have you ever seen anything like this in Skyrim?"

"Yes." Daemon said with a low growl, his mind turning to the sight he saw in Windhelm. A Dunmer woman and her child being beaten and mocked for their race, and a homeless girl, Sofia, left out on the streets in the cold with no one caring for her.

"It gets better farther in," said Brom. "Right now we need to find an inn and form a strategy. Dras-Leona can be a dangerous place to even the most cautious. I don't want to remain on the streets any longer than necessary."

They forged deeper into Dras-Leona, leaving the squalid entrance behind. They found lodging at the Golden Globe, which was cheap but not decrepit. A narrow bed was crammed against one wall of the room, with a rickety table and a basin alongside it.

"What now?" Eragon asked.

"We find food and beer. After that, sleep. Tomorrow we can start looking for the Ra'zac." Before they left the room, Brom warned, "No matter what happens, make sure that your tongue doesn't loosen. We'll have to leave immediately if we're given away."

Leaving their packs in the room, they headed down to the tavern to eat. The food was passable, but Eragon and Brom both enjoyed the beer. Eragon encouraged Daemon to try some, but the Dragonborn declined. He got drunk once and did a lot of stuff in one night under his drunken state, things he didn't want to remember.

Good thing he didn't, because he had to drag a drunk Brom and Eragon back to the room and dumped them onto their beds. He huffed and shook his head before he contacted Saphira to let her know of the situation... as well as the state of her Rider and Brom.

I don't envy them in the morning. She said and Daemon agreed with her as he sat in a chair, wished her goodnight before falling asleep.


Daemon and Saphira were unable to keep the smug comments back as they teased Eragon and Brom who woke up with bad hangovers. because Saphira wasn't here, Daemon was given glares from both Brom and Eragon. After recovering thanks to Brom's method of hot tea and ice water, they made their way into the city to try and find news about the Seithr oil.

They left the Golden Globe and searched for warehouses where the Seithr oil might have been delivered. Near the center of Dras-Leona, the streets began to slant upward toward a palace of polished granite. It was built on a rise so that it towered above every building except the cathedral.

The courtyard was a mosaic of mother-of-pearl, and parts of the walls were inlaid with gold. Black statues stood in alcoves, with sticks of incense smoking in their cold hands. Soldiers stationed every four yards watched passersby keenly.

"Who lives there?" asked Eragon in awe.

"Marcus Tábor, ruler of this city. He answers only to the king and his own conscience, which hasn't been very active recently," said Brom. They walked around the palace, looking at the gated, ornate houses that surrounded it.

By midday they had learned nothing useful, so they stopped for lunch. "This city is too vast for us to comb it together," said Brom. "Search on your own. Meet me at the Golden Globe by dusk." He glowered at the two from under his bushy eyebrows. "I'm trusting you both not to do anything stupid."

"We're not that bad." Daemon scoffed as he accepted some coins from Brom, he and Eragon watching the storyteller walk away. "Let's go, Eragon."

Throughout the rest of the day, Daemon and Eragon searched for anything leading to the Ra'zac and their location, Daemon using his skilled tongue of speech to learn from shopkeepers and workers. The questions led them from one end of the city to the other and back again. No one seemed to know about the oil.

Eventually, they found a man who had helped ship the Seithr oil and remembered to which warehouse it had been taken. Daemon and Eragon returned to the Golden Globe and met up with Brom. "Find anything?" Daemon asked as soon as they met up with the old man.

Brom brushed back his white hair. "I heard a great deal of interesting things today, not the least of which is that Galbatorix will visit Dras-Leona within the week."

"What?" exclaimed Eragon. Daemon's eyes widened.

Brom slouched against the wall, the lines on his forehead deepening. "It seems that Tábor has taken a few too many liberties with his power, so Galbatorix has decided to come teach him a lesson in humility. It's the first time the king has left Urû'baen in over ten years."

"Do you think he knows of us?" asked Daemon.

"Of course he knows of us, but I'm sure he hasn't been told our location. If he had, we would already be in the Ra'zac's grasp. However, this means that whatever we're going to do about the Ra'zac must be accomplished before Galbatorix arrives. We don't want to be anywhere within twenty leagues of him. The one thing in our favor is that the Ra'zac are sure to be here, preparing for his visit."

"I want to get the Ra'zac," said Eragon, his fists tightening, "but not if it means fighting the king. He could probably tear me to pieces."

"From what I've heard of him, Galbatorix would easily defeat you." Daemon said with his arms crossed. "But I've faced stronger than him. But right now, I've no desire to meet the King as I'm sure you two don't. So, any idea as to where the Ra'zac would be stationed while they wait for the king?"

Brom slowly filled his pipe with tobacco. "It's really amazing all the things servants find out. Did you know that one of the earls has three mistresses, and they all live in the same wing of the palace?" He shook his head and lit the pipe. "Aside from the fascinating tidbits, I was told, quite by accident, where the oil is taken from the palace."

"And that is...?" asked Eragon impatiently.

Brom puffed on his pipe and blew a smoke ring. "Out of the city, of course. Every full moon two slaves are sent to the base of Helgrind with a month's worth of provisions. Whenever the Seithr oil arrives in Dras-Leona, they send it along with the provisions. The slaves are never seen again. And the one time someone followed them, he disappeared too."

"I thought the Riders demolished the slave trade," said Eragon.

"Unfortunately, it has flourished under the king's reign."

"So Helgrind is where the Ra'zac will be." Daemon mused.

"There or somewhere nearby."

"If they are in Helgrind, they'll be either at the bottom—and protected by a thick stone door—or higher up where only their flying mounts, or Saphira, can reach. Top or bottom, their shelter will no doubt be disguised." Eragon thought for a moment. "If Saphira and I go flying around Helgrind, the Ra'zac are sure to see us—not to mention all of Dras-Leona."

"It is a problem," agreed Brom.

Eragon frowned. "What if we took the place of the two slaves? The full moon isn't far off. It would give us a perfect opportunity to get close to the Ra'zac."

Brom tugged his beard thoughtfully. "That's chancy at best. If the slaves are killed from a distance, we'll be in trouble. We can't harm the Ra'zac if they aren't in sight."

"We don't know if the slaves are killed at all," Eragon pointed out.

"I'm sure they are," said Brom, his face grave. Then his eyes sparkled, and he blew another smoke ring. "Still, it's an intriguing idea. If it were done with Saphira and Daemon hidden nearby for backup and a..." His voice trailed off. "It might work, but we'll have to move quickly. With the king coming, there isn't much time."

"Should we go to Helgrind and look around? It would be good to see the land in daylight so we won't be surprised by any ambushes," said Eragon.

Brom fingered his staff. "That can be done later. Tomorrow I'll return to the palace and figure out how we can replace the slaves. I have to be careful not to arouse suspicion, though—I could easily be revealed by spies and courtiers who know about the Ra'zac."

They resolved to work out the finer details in the morning, as little more could be done this day. Eragon jubilantly told Saphira that they had finally found his uncle's killers, and that vengeance may soon be had.

Helgrind, she spat. A fitting place for them.

Eragon agreed with her. When this is over, maybe we can go back to Carvahall...

What is it you want? she asked, suddenly sour. To go back to your previous life? or Daemon back to Skyrim? You know that won't happen, so stop mooning after it! At a certain point you have to decide what to commit to. Will you hide for the rest of your life, or will you help the Varden? Those are the only options left to you, unless you join forces with Galbatorix, which I do not and never will accept.

Softly, he said, If I must choose, I cast my fate with the Varden, as you well know.

Yes, but sometimes you have to hear yourself say it. She then chuckled in amusement. Perhaps I could run off with Daemon if you can't make up your mind, he seems to know his path.

Eragon rolled his eyes. He knows Saphira was just teasing, but she was making it clear what she wanted to do, what she had made her mind on.


The Rider and the Dragonborn were alone in the room when they next woke. A hastily scribbled note from Brom explained that he had gone to find more information regarding their plan of action, and that he would be back late this evening. They left the Golden Globe and ambled through the streets, stopping to observe whatever interested them. They soon found themselves at the cathedral in the city center. They marveled at the building's architecture for a moment, then ventured inside.

Its twisted spires were covered with statues and scrollwork. Snarling gargoyles crouched along the eaves. Fantastic beasts writhed on the walls, and heroes and kings marched along their bottom edges, frozen in cold marble. Ribbed arches and tall stained-glass windows lined the cathedral's sides, along with columns of differing sizes. A lonely turret helmed the building like a mast.

Recessed in shadow at the cathedral's front was an iron-bound door inlaid with a row of silver script that they recognized as the ancient language. As best they could tell, it read: May thee who enter here understand thine impermanence and forget thine attachments to that which is beloved.

The entire building sent a shiver down Eragon's spine, even Daemon felt uneasy being near this building. There was something menacing about it, as if it were a predator crouched in the city, waiting for its next victim. Eragon and Daemon walked through the rows of wooden pews and approached the altar. Daemon remained standing, gazing at the numerous windows and statues. Eragon knelt in front of the granite altar and bowed his head in tribute. Not to Helgrind or the terrible worship its people practiced, but to the grand building itself. An odd silence met them and a small chill traveled down both their spines – something was not right.

Turning to look around a bit, Daemon froze and grabbed Eragon who stood and followed his gaze. The Ra'zac stood at the cathedral's entrance, watching them. Their swords were drawn, keen edges bloody in a crimson light. A sibilant hiss came from the smaller Ra'zac. Neither of them moved.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Until an unrelenting force flew and struck the creatures, sending them flying back into a line of soldiers that were running to the doorway.

"Run!" Daemon shouted and dragged Eragon towards a door to their right that led to a corridor. They ran and ran, putting distance between them and the Ra'zac before the beasts could recover and chase after them. They sped through several chambers, startling a group of priests. Shouts and curses followed him. The priory bell tolled an alarm. They dodged through a kitchen, passed a pair of monks, then slipped through a side door. They skidded to stop in a garden surrounded by a high brick wall devoid of handholds. There were no other exits.

Skidding to a halt at another door, Eragon desperately tried the handle. "It's locked!" he panicked. They could hear the Ra'zac's footsteps in the distance, coming in their direction.

Daemon moved Eragon aside and gave the door a big kick that splintered the door and it fell apart. they ran through before coming to a halt at a high stone wall. The wall was devoid of handholds to climb it, and there were no other exits. Bracing his back against the wall, Daemon cupped his hands together and faced Eragon. "Come on!"

Eragon put his foot in his friend's hold and together they pushed, propelling Eragon up onto the top of the wall. Daemon took a few steps back before he ran and leaped, his hands grabbing the top of the wall and he pulled himself up next to Eragon, the two sliding over and jumping down to the other side, quickly bolting down the street until Daemon pulled Eragon into a shadowy alleyway.

"Stick to the shadows." Daemon whispered to Eragon as they moved through the alleyway.

"How did they find us?" Eragon asked as they kept moving, taking a small break to get their breath back, they continued on, eventually coming into a crowded marketplace but kept their heads down.

"Not sure." Daemon answered Eragon' question as he looked around for any sign of the king's soldiers or the Ra'zac. "Let's contact Saphira and tell her what happened, then grab Brom and get the hell out of this city."

After they contacted Saphira and told her to alert Brom, to which she relayed that he'll meet them at the inn, they made their way back to the Golden Globe, making sure to keep out of sight and sticking to dark alleyways to avoid detection. Daemon had a history of this from his days in the Dark Brotherhood. They eventually met up with Brom, readied the horses and soon they were riding out of Dras-Leona.

Once they were away from the city, Eragon transferred of Cadoc's back and onto Saphira and they flew away, Brom and Daemon galloping along below. Clouds darkened the sky. Lightning flashed in the became too much for Saphira and she had to go on foot. The gale grew stronger, flinging dirt through the air and twisting like a dervish. They wrapped scarves around their heads to protect their eyes. Brom's robe flapped in the wind while his beard whipped about as if it had a life of its own. Though it would make them miserable, Eragon hoped it would rain so their tracks would be obliterated.

Soon darkness forced them to stop. With only the stars to guide them, they left the road and made camp behind two boulders. It was too dangerous to light a fire, so they ate cold food while Saphira sheltered them from the wind.

After the sparse dinner, Daemon asked bluntly, "How did they find us?"

Brom started to light his pipe, but thought better of it and put it away. "One of the palace servants warned me there were spies among them. Somehow word of me and my questions must have reached Tábor... and through him, the Ra'zac."

"We can't go back to Dras-Leona, can we?" asked Eragon.

Brom shook his head. "Not for a few years."

The mood was somber and chilled. They all knew the Ra'zac would be hunting them now; the group's only goal for the near future was to survive. They would have to take turns standing guard tonight.

"I'll take the first watch." Daemon offered as he stood and peered into the darkness of the trees, his eyes narrowing. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he stepped towards it. This caught Brom and Eragon's attention as well. "What is it?" the old man asked in a low voice.

"I'm not-" Daemon was starting to say before he felt something hit the back of his head and his vision went dark, but he was able to hear Saphira's roar.


A dull throbbing roused Eragon. Every time blood pulsed through his head it brought a fresh wave of pain. He cracked his eyes open and winced; tears rushed to his eyes as he looked directly into a bright lantern. He blinked and looked away. When he tried to sit up, he realized that his hands were tied behind his back.

He turned lethargically and saw Brom's arms. Eragon was relieved to see that they were bound together. Why was that? He struggled to figure it out until the thought suddenly came to him, They wouldn't tie up a dead man! But then who were "they"? He swiveled his head further, then stopped as a pair of black boots entered his vision.

Eragon looked up, right into the cowled face of a Ra'zac. Fear jolted through him. He reached for the magic and started to voice a word that would kill the Ra'zac, but then halted, puzzled. He could not remember the word. Frustrated, he tried again, only to feel it slip out of his grasp.

Above him the Ra'zac laughed chillingly. "The drug is working, yesss? I think you will not be bothering us again."

There was a rattle off to the left, and Eragon was appalled to see the second Ra'zac fit a muzzle over Saphira's head. Her wings were pinioned to her sides by black chains; there were shackles on her legs. Beside her, Daemon was bound and gagged. Eragon tried to contact his dragon, but felt nothing.

"She was most cooperative once we threatened to kill you and your friend," hissed the Ra'zac. Squatting by the lantern, he rummaged through Eragon's bags, examining and discarding various items until he removed Zar'roc. "What a pretty thing for one so... insignificant. Maybe I will keep it." He leaned closer and sneered, "Or maybe, if you behave, our master will let you polish it." His moist breath smelled like raw meat.

Then he turned the sword over in his hands and screeched as he saw the symbol on the scabbard. His companion rushed over. They stood over the sword, hissing and clicking. At last they faced Eragon. "You will serve our master very well, yesss."

Eragon forced his thick tongue to form words: "If I do, I will kill you."

They chuckled coldly. "Oh no, we are too valuable. But you..." He gestured to Eragon and Daemon. "You are disposable." A deep snarl came from Saphira; smoke roiled from her nostrils. The Ra'zac did not seem to care.

Daemon grunted something out through the rope around his mouth when one of the Ra'zac ran up and kicked him in the right shoulder hard enough to dislocate it, causing a muffled shout of pain to leave Daemon. The Ra'zac then punched Daemon in the back of the head, knocking him out.

Their attention was diverted when Brom groaned and rolled onto his side. One of the Ra'zac grabbed his shirt and thrust him effortlessly into the air. "It'sss wearing off."

"Give him more."

"Let'sss just kill him," said the shorter Ra'zac. "He has caused us much grief."

The taller one ran his finger down his sword. "A good plan. But remember, the king's instructions were to keep them alive."

"We can sssay he was killed when we captured them."

"And what of thisss one?" the Ra'zac asked, pointing his sword at Eragon. "If he talksss?"

His companion laughed and drew a wicked dagger. "He would not dare."

There was a long silence, then, "Agreed."

They dragged Brom to the center of the camp and shoved him to his knees. Brom sagged to one side. Eragon watched with growing fear. I have to get free! He wrenched at the ropes, but they were too strong to break. "None of that now," said the tall Ra'zac, poking him with a sword. He nosed the air and sniffed; something seemed to trouble him.

The other Ra'zac growled, yanked Brom's head back, and swept the dagger toward his exposed throat. At that very moment a low buzz sounded, followed by the Ra'zac's howl. An arrow protruded from his shoulder. The Ra'zac nearest Eragon dropped to the ground, barely avoiding a second arrow. He scuttled to his wounded companion, and they glared into the darkness, hissing angrily. They made no move to stop Brom as he blearily staggered upright. "Get down!" cried Eragon.

Brom wavered, then tottered toward Eragon. As more arrows hissed into the camp from the unseen attackers, the Ra'zac rolled behind some boulders. There was a lull, then arrows came from the opposite direction. Caught by surprise, the Ra'zac reacted slowly. Their cloaks were pierced in several places, and a shattered arrow buried itself in one's arm.

With a wild cry, the smaller Ra'zac fled toward the road, kicking Eragon viciously in the side as he passed. His companion hesitated, then grabbed the dagger from the ground and raced after him. As he left the camp, he hurled the knife at Eragon.

A strange light suddenly burned in Brom's eyes. He threw himself in front of Eragon, his mouth open in a soundless snarl. The dagger struck him with a soft thump, and he landed heavily on his shoulder. His head lolled limply.

"No!" screamed Eragon, though he was doubled over in pain. He heard footsteps, then his eyes closed and he knew no more.


For a long while, Eragon was aware only of the burning in his side. Each breath was painful. It felt as though he had been the one stabbed, not Brom. His sense of time was skewed; it was hard to tell if weeks had gone by, or only a few minutes. When consciousness finally came to him, he opened his eyes and peered curiously at a campfire several feet away. His hands were still tied together, but the drug must have worn off because he could think clearly again. Saphira, are you injured?

No, but you three are. She was crouched over Eragon and the others, wings spread protectively on either side.

Saphira, you didn't make that fire, did you? And you couldn't have gotten out of those chains by yourself.

No.

I didn't think so. Eragon struggled to his knees and saw a young man sitting on the far side of the fire.

The stranger, dressed in battered clothes, exuded a calm, assured air. In his hands was a bow, at his side a long hand-and-a-half sword. A white horn bound with silver fittings lay in his lap, and the hilt of a dagger protruded from his boot. His serious face and fierce eyes were framed by locks of brown hair. He appeared to be a few years older than Eragon, maybe about the same age as Daemon or a year younger, and perhaps an inch or so taller. Behind him a gray war-horse was picketed. The stranger watched Saphira warily.

"Who are you?" asked Eragon, taking a shallow breath.

The man's hands tightened on his bow. "Murtagh." His voice was low and controlled, but curiously emotional.

Eragon pulled his hands underneath his legs so they were in front of him. He clenched his teeth as his side flared with pain. "Why did you help us?"

"You aren't the only enemies the Ra'zac have. I was tracking them."

"You know who they are?"

"Yes."

Eragon concentrated on the ropes that bound his wrists and reached for the magic. He hesitated, aware of Murtagh's eyes on him, then decided it didn't matter. "Jierda!" he grunted. The ropes snapped off his wrists. He rubbed his hands to get the blood flowing.

Murtagh sucked in his breath. Eragon braced himself and tried to stand, but his ribs seared with agony. He fell back, gasping between clenched teeth. Murtagh tried to come to his aid, but Saphira stopped him with a growl.

Daemon groaned as he awoke and raised his head before he looked at his bound hands before he created fire in his hands as best as he can with bound hands, causing them to burn and free his hands, allowing him to take the rope off his mouth and he sucked in some air through his mouth.

"That's bloody disgusting." Daemon said as he stood, his dislocated arm hanging and swaying with his movements. He went over to Eragon and checked on his side, causing Eragon to wince as Daemon lifted his shirt before he sucked in a breath upon seeing Eragon's injury. A blotchy bruise extended down his left side. The red, swollen skin was broken in several places. Above them, Saphira lowered her head until it was right next to them, worry and concern for her two boys emanating from her. Daemon gently pressed the wound, and Eragon gave a yelp while Saphira whimpered at seeing her Rider in pain. Daemon shook his head, "Broken ribs, two for sure. It's lucky you're not hacking up blood."

Eragon slipped the shirt back on. "Yes... I'm lucky." Daemon looked at Murtagh who grabbed a blanket. Daemon took it and carefully bound Eragon's chest. Eragon went over to Brom while Daemon stood and looked at Saphira,

Saphira, grab my wrist.

What? she paused, glancing from his eyes to his arm, and back again, her mind figuring out what he wanted. No, Daemon...I can't..

Please, just hold it. I'll do it, he reassured her.

Giving another soft whimper she complied, taking his limp wrist in her maw. She held on gently but firmly. Daemon took a few steadying breaths, then jerked his body away from her head as she held on. A wet squelch and audible pop echoed out as Daemon's shoulder was snapped back into place. He gave a cry of pain and his knees buckled, he fell forward onto Saphira's neck. She held him upright and whimpered, his pain shared across their link.

"That hurt." Daemon groaned as he rolled his shoulder a few times and clenched and unclenched his fist several times.

With Eragon, he tried healing Brom, getting Saphira's help. Daemon picked up the dagger used to stab Brom and sniffed it, grimacing a little at the smell. "Poison." he muttered with a sigh. By now, the poison will be in Brom's blood, Daemon won't be able to save him with his healing, and he didn't have any Cure Poison potions with him, but the magic of these lands might be different. Unfortunately, Eragon could only heal the surface. Any damage on the inside was beyond their control.

Murtagh made a quick soup as Eragon and Daemon pieced together a makeshift litter for Saphira to carry Brom's limp form. After gulping down the soup and readying the horses, they placed Brom on the litter, and the three youths watched as Saphira grasped the old man and laboriously took flight. A low whistle came from Murtagh, "Never thought I'd see a sight like that."

Eragon got himself onto Cadoc while Daemon got onto Shadowmere. Eragon turned to Murtagh. "Thanks for helping us. You should leave now. Ride as far away from us as you can. You'll be in danger if the Empire finds you with us. We can't protect you, and I wouldn't see harm come to you on our account."

"A pretty speech," said Murtagh, grinding out the fire, "but where will you go? Is there a place nearby that you can rest in safety?"

"No," admitted Eragon.

Murtagh's eyes glinted as he fingered the hilt of his sword. "In that case, I think I'll accompany you until you're out of danger. I've no better place to be. Besides, if I stay with you, I might get another shot at the Ra'zac sooner than if I were on my own. Interesting things are bound to happen around a Rider."

Eragon wavered, unsure if he should accept help from a complete stranger. He looked at Daemon and the two spoke mentally. What do you think?

Daemon was silent for a few seconds before he said. If he proves to be untrustworthy or a threat to us, Saphira can always chase him away.

Eragon nodded and looked at Murtagh. "Join us if you wish." He shrugged.

The trio rode away from the camp and into the darkness, guided only by an oxbow moon. Eragon wanted to question Murtagh further, but he kept silent in order to conserve energy. After riding in silence for a while, he felt Daemon's mind join his and the two discussed another item that bothered them: Daemon's dragon nature as well as being Dragonborn. Their new companion had already pieced together that Eragon was a Dragon Rider, and that information may prove troublesome enough. It was decided that Daemon's secret would be kept, at least until the time came where it became absolutely necessary to reveal it. Daemon joked that Saphira may not be happy when she found out she may be without her scaly companion for sometime, and Eragon couldn't help but chuckle softly, his ribs giving a small twinge.

Near dawn Saphira said, I must stop. My wings are tired and Brom needs attention. I discovered a good place to stay, about two miles ahead of where you are.

They found her sitting at the base of a broad sandstone formation that curved out of the ground like a great hill. Its sides were pocked with caves of varying sizes. Similar domes were scattered across the land. Saphira looked pleased with herself. I found a cave that can't be seen from the ground. It's large enough for all of us, including the horses. Follow me. She turned and climbed up the sandstone, her sharp claws digging into the rock. The horses had difficulty, as their shod hooves could not grip the sandstone. Daemon, Eragon and Murtagh had to pull and shove the animals for almost an hour before they managed to reach the cave.

The cavern was a good hundred feet long and more than twenty feet wide, yet it had a small opening that would protect them from bad weather and prying eyes. Darkness swallowed the far end, clinging to the walls like mats of soft black wool.

Good choice. Daemon said, patting her neck and she hummed happily at his words as well as his touch.

They ate quietly, then tried to give Brom water, but the old man would not drink. Stymied, they spread out their bedrolls and slept.