"Help me hold him down. He's going to hurt himself!" Eragons' cry cut through the cavern.
Lorena and Murtagh jumped up and rushed over to Eragon who was attempting to hold Brom who had fallen off the ledge and was thrashing. The three managed to restrain him and his convulsions ceased. Then they carefully returned him to the ledge.
Eragon touched the old man's head then worriedly said, "Get me water and a cloth." Lorena brought them, and Eragon gently bathed Brom's face, trying to cool his burning skin. Brom woke suddenly, and firmly grabbed Eragon by the shoulder. "You!" he gasped. "Bring the wineskin!"
"Brom?" exclaimed Eragon. "You shouldn't drink wine; it'll only make you worse."
"Bring it, boy – just bring it...," sighed Brom as his hand slipped off Eragon's shoulder.
"I'll be right back – hold on." Eragon dashed to the saddlebags and rummaged through them frantically. "I can't find it!" he cried, looking around desperately.
"Here, take mine," said Murtagh, holding out a leather skin.
Eragon grabbed it and returned to Brom. "I have the wine," he said, kneeling. Lorena and Murtagh retreated to the cavern's mouth to give them privacy.
They watched the pair, curious as to why Eragon began to wash Brom's palm.
"He's not going to last much longer." Murtagh sighed.
Lorena glanced at him, and sat down in the sunlight. "Hopefully Eragon can make what time he has left as comfortable as possible." Murtagh joined her.
"You're a Rider?" Eragon asked loudly. Brom began telling a tale.
Murtagh opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. They sat in silence.
Lorena brooded over over the last few weeks of her life. Just a couple of months ago she had entered into womanhood when she turned sixteen, then a month later slavers ransacked her home. Splitting her parents from her to be sold at different cities. She squeezed her eyes shut as she thought about her burning house and her little brother, as if the images would disappear.
Taking a shaky breathe she opened her eyes to see Murtagh staring at her. She looked away awkwardly.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Lorena whispered as she blinked away the tears, "Just thinking of things I shouldn't. Tell me, why are you hunting the Ra'zac?"
Murtagh glanced over at the old man as he whispered to Eragon. "They're the allies of an enemy of mine."
Lorena nodded and looked out of the cavern. The sun burned at its hottest, lighting up her auburn hair into a fiery red. She shuffled away from the sun, and rested her head against the cavern wall.
They sat in silence. Lorena and Murtagh stayed at the lip of the cavern, giving Eragon privacy as he clasped Brom's hand. The evening hours were young and the shadows long when Brom suddenly stiffened. Eragon called his name and cried for help, but they could do nothing. As a barren silence dampened the air, Brom locked eyes with Eragon's. Then contentment spread across the old man's face, and a whisper of breath escaped his lips. And so it was that Brom the storyteller died.
With shaking fingers, Eragon closed Brom's eyes and stood. Saphira raised her head behind him and roared mournfully at the sky, keening her lamentation. Tears rolled down Eragon's cheeks. Haltingly, he said, "We have to bury him."
"We might be seen," warned Murtagh.
"I don't care!"
Murtagh hesitated, then bore Brom's body out of the cave, Lorena with his sword and staff. Saphira followed them. "To the top," Eragon said thickly, indicating the crown of the sandstone hill.
"We can't dig a grave out of stone," objected Murtagh.
"I can do it."
When they reached the top Murtagh lay Brom on the stone.
Eragon wiped his eyes and fixed his gaze on the sandstone. Gesturing with his hand, he said, "Moi stenr!" The stone rippled. It flowed like water, forming a body-length depression in the hilltop. Moulding the sandstone like wet clay, he raised waist-high walls around it.
They laid Brom inside the unfinished sandstone vault with his staff and sword. Stepping back, Eragon again shaped the stone with magic. It joined over Brom's motionless face and flowed upwards into a tall faceted spire. As a final tribute, Eragon set runes into the stone:
Here Lies Brom
Who was a Dragon Rider
And like a father
To me.
May his name live on in glory.
Then he bowed his head and mourned freely. He stood like a living statue until evening, when light faded from the land.
