Chapter 10

Eragon grinned, pleased.

Yesterday, the day after his conversation with Arya, had been very fruitful indeed. A road now led from the top of the cliff down to the forest below. It had been easy enough to construct; a simple spell tilled the earth and leveled it, and the elves, along with Glaedr and the rest of the Eldunari, had provided the strength for the spell. The road was smooth, and delicate vines and flowers entwined around the rocks that regularly dotted the grass beside it; a side effect of the elves' singing, although the plants they had been singing to were much grander than these small flowers.

The cliff top was still mostly bare, but the elves had constructed a stone courtyard and fountain from which sparkling clear water cascaded. Yaela and Rivani, two of the female elves, were currently seated around the fountain. They crooned in the ancient language, their spells delicately engraving symbols and glyphs in the smooth stone. It was a breathtaking sight.

Where the cliff had been bare of little more than grass before, a stone path lead from the east of the courtyard and into a magnificent garden, where five more elves sat, their hands linked. They were singing, and the plants were growing even as Eragon watched. He tried to identify all the species of plants and flowers he saw, but could only name less than half. He smiled; he knew that by the time the sanctuary was completed, the garden would rival those in Elesmera.

It crossed Eragon's mind that they couldn't keep simply calling it, 'the island'- it deserved a proper name. He pondered the matter, and was turning words over in his mind when Saphira landed beside him with a thud that shook the earth. He placed his hand on her side as she inspected the courtyard. He could tell she was also pleased.

It will be larger than we thought, I think, she said cautiously. Libraries, living quarters, kitchens, training grounds; this is a good start, but we have much to do.

I know. In a way he welcomed the challenge; it would be something to focus his passions on. He couldn't help thinking of the ancient Vroengaurd; he knew that in the beginning anything that they wrought would pale in comparison to its majesty. He yearned to create a place that would be deemed nearly as beautiful, if not its equal. It would take hundreds of years, if not thousands, to match the grandeur of the ancient city.

He squinted at the sun. The courtyard is nice, but we can't construct much else until the prisoners get here.

He had contacted Nasuada the previous morning, and she had appeared very relieved when Eragon told her he had accepted her offer. She informed him that she was gathering the prisoners and that they would arrive at the island in the next two weeks.

He was still unsure how he felt about the refuge being built by the labor of prisoners; it would be more appropriate if it was created by himself, the elves, and Eldunari. However, he had reached the conclusion that there simply wasn't enough time. He scowled. It is what it is, he decided. He took comfort in the fact that the prisoners themselves might glean some lost dignity in the knowledge that they were helping the dragons and Riders.

He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that he was so close to the mainland. For a long time before leaving, he'd steeled himself to spending the rest of his life away from those he loved most; apart from Saphira, of course. Although Angela's prophecy still gnawed at his heart, and something about the island didn't sit right with him, he was well on his way to accepting the fact that some things were out of his control.

He sat on a rock and watched Saphira. Her pregnancy had yet to manifest itself much, other than an increased appetite and a fierce protectiveness and devotion that lingered in her mind at all times. She said little about the situation, but Eragon sensed the excitement that tinged her every thought. The elves, too, had been overjoyed; Blodgharm informed them that if they had been less pressed for time and resources, there would have been week-long feasts and celebrations all over Du Weldenvarden.

His eyes drifted over the landscape as he continued to think of the dragon's pact he had changed. I have changed the course of history in so many ways, he thought. If he'd had that thought months before, he might have felt queasy. As it was, he accepted the fact that he'd turned the old order upside down. All the races, combined into one as Riders…it is as it should be.

A sudden inspiration gripped him. Of course. He still didn't know what he should call the island, but it only made sense to incorporate the languages of all the races who would be living there. A human name for the city-structure, a dwarf name for the mountains, an Urgal name for the forest, and an elven name-the ancient language that binds us all in magic- for the island itself. What do you think, Saphira?

She sniffed. A good idea, I suppose, although it doesn't matter either way. Names are powerful things, but I see no reason why you two-legs insist on naming everything from the river you swim in to the horse that plows your field.

He chuckled. Nevertheless, this place will have a grand standing in the history of us all; and, if I have my way, it'll be around for a very long time.

Saphira hummed. Little one, she said. She abruptly spread her wings. I promised Blodgharm I would help move the Eldunari and the unbonded eggs today and pick suitable locations for them; will you fly with me first?

He grinned and leaped upon her back. Must you ask?