Prologue
A crimson sunset envelopes the land of Alagaesia in a thick red mist; traders and merchants quicken their pace along weathered roads, glancing nervously around themselves and often shivering despite the humidity of the air.
To brave the open planes at nightfall is a risk than none but the fool-hardy wish to undertake.
A farmer reaps what he can from his pitiful fields and retreats into a crudely made hut, wondering whether he's harvested enough for his own let alone his villages welfare.
Throughout the land war has taken its toll on the Empires inhabitants, taxes have been raised in order to fund non-existent protection from urgals and bandits, and entire villages are being conscripted into a little known war between the King Galbatorix's empire and the elusive Varden.
To the west, alongside the Burning Planes the Jiet River seems to sum up the state of the land, dismembered body parts and deep red blood accompany the usual chalky dirt and flotsam flowing south towards Surda. Alongside the river the Burning Planes are in a sorrier state than usual, piles upon piles of slain warriors, Empire and Varden, Dwarven and Human roast together under the bloodied sky.
The Varden's camp remains on the brink of the battlefield, a day after their important victory. But the mood of the triumphant heroes is one of despair and desperation. Another rider has joined the ranks of Galbatorix; one of unnatural power, whom many of the Varden once fought alongside and a blood brother to the last hope of those who oppose the Empire.
As dawn's desperation rises from the ashes Eragon Shadeslayer shifts restlessly in his trance like sleep. Beset by re-awakened nightmares from the past, can this confused hero save himself, Let alone an entire kingdom?