Answers to reviews:

Clagann: Well, I got twenty chapters of this ready to be posted, so...

Dreagon D. Dragon: My bad.

Spedyalarm: It was a while ago, but I ended up deleting it for reasons. Have thought of bringing it back, actually.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.

The next morning Eragon avoided bringing to mind any of the recent events; they were too painful for him to consider. Instead, he focused his energies on figuring out how to find and kill the Ra'zac. I'll do it with my bow, he decided, imagining how the cloaked figures would look with arrows sticking out of them.

He had difficulty even standing up. His muscles cramped with the slightest movement, and one of his fingers was hot and swollen. When they were ready to leave, he mounted Cadoc and said acidly, "If this keeps up, you're going to batter me to pieces."

"I wouldn't push you so hard if I didn't think you were strong enough." Brom said.

"For once, I wouldn't mind being thought less of," muttered Eragon.

Cadoc pranced nervously as Saphira approached. Saphira eyed the horse with something close to disgust and said, There's nowhere to hide on the plains, so I'm not going to bother trying to stay out of sight. I'll just fly above you from now on. She nudged Eragon gently, flicked her eyes toward Daemon briefly before taking to the sky. Eragon thought he felt a curious sensation from her for an instant, but quickly dismissed it as his mind just not being fully awake yet.

She took off, and they began the steep descent. In many places the trail all but disappeared, leaving them to find their own way down. At times they had to dismount and lead the horses on foot, holding on to trees to keep from falling down the slope. The ground was scattered with loose rocks, which made the footing treacherous. The ordeal left them hot and irritable, despite the cold.

They stopped to rest when they reached the bottom near midday. The Anora River veered to their left and flowed northward. A biting wind scoured the land, whipping them unmercifully. The soil was parched, and dirt flew into their eyes.

The trail split in three once it reached the plains. The first branch turned north, toward Ceunon, one of the greatest northern cities; the second one led straight across the plains; and the last went south. They examined all three for traces of the Ra'zac and eventually found their tracks, heading directly into the grasslands.

"It seems they've gone to Yazuac," said Brom with a perplexed air.

"How far is it?" Daemon asked, having seen where Yazuac was located on a map of Alagaësia, but was unsure of the distance to cover to get there.

"Due east and four days away, if all goes well. It's a small village situated by the Ninor River." He gestured at the Anora, which streamed away from them to the north. "Our only supply of water is here. We'll have to replenish our waterskins before attempting to cross the plains. There isn't another pool or stream between here and Yazuac."

They filled the waterskins, watered the horses, and drank as much as they could from the river. Saphira joined them and took several gulps of water. Fortified, they turned eastward and started across the plains.

Eragon decided that it would be the wind that drove him crazy first. Everything that made him miserable—his chapped lips, parched tongue, and burning eyes—stemmed from it. The ceaseless gusting followed them throughout the day. Evening only strengthened the wind, instead of subduing it.

Since there was no shelter, they were forced to camp in the open. Eragon found some scrub brush, a short tough plant that thrived on harsh conditions, and pulled it up. He made a careful pile and tried to light it, but the woody stems only smoked and gave off a pungent smell. Frustrated, he tossed the tinderbox aside. "One of you try it, it's impossible!"

"I have an easier way than simply getting angry." Daemon remarked dryly before he came over and crouched down, inhaled then exhaled a word. "Yol!"

From his mouth came a burst of fire and it ignited the brush, setting it on fire and got the campfire going. He smirked at the amazed looks on Brom and Eragon's faces.

"I take it this is one of your 'Shouts'." Brom stated more than asked, getting a nod from the Dragonborn.

"Correct. They are spoken in the language of the dragons. One word can be dangerous, but to use all three together... it's more destructive depending on how you've mastered and mediated on the words." Daemon explained. "What I said was 'Yol'. In the common tongue, it means 'Fire'. Together, all three words are 'Yol Toor Shul' Which mean Fire Inferno Sun."

"Interesting." Brom mused. "I'd like to hear more of the magic in your land, but not right now."

They sparred with mock swords while the food cooked. Fatigue made it hard on both of them, so they kept the session short. After they had eaten, they lay next to Saphira and slept, grateful for her shelter.

Due to the conditions from last night, the travellers were greeted with the same cold wind the next morning, sweeping over the dreadful flatness. Their lips had cracked during the night; every time they smiled or talked, beads of blood covered them. Licking them only made it worse. They let the horses drink sparingly from their supply of water before mounting them. The day was a monotonous trek of endless plodding.

Things seemed to look up for them on the third day due to the fact that the wind had stopped. However, their good mood died down when saw the sky ahead of them was dark with thunderheads.

Brom grimaced at the sight of the clouds. "Normally I wouldn't go into a storm like that, but we're in for a battering no matter what we do, so we might as well get some distance covered."

It was still calm when they reached the storm front. As they entered its shadow, Eragon looked up. The thundercloud had an exotic structure, forming a natural cathedral with a massive arched roof. With some imagination he could see pillars, windows, soaring tiers, and snarling gargoyles. It was a wild beauty.

Daemon looked ahead and frowned as he noticed something. a giant ripple raced toward them through the grass, flattening it. It took him a second to realize that the wave was a tremendous blast of wind.

"Brave yourselves." Daemon warned his companions who soon noticed what he had saw and they hunched their shoulders in preparation. Daemon pitied any flying creature that was in the air right now, like birds, an owl, even Saph- His eyes widened in horrifying realization and he looked at Eragon, who had come to the same thought as he did. Turning to the sky, they yelled. One with his voice, the other with his mind.

"SAPHIRA! LAND NOW!"

Their faces, along with Brom's, paled as they watched Saphira dive toward the ground. Eragon's eyes widened. "She's not going to make it!"

Saphira angled back the way they had come, to gain time. As they watched, the tempest's wrath struck them like a hammer blow. Daemon held onto Shadowmere's reigns and Eragon held onto Cadoc's to prevent himself from flying off. Cadoc swayed and dug his hooves into the ground, mane snapping in the air. The wind tore at their clothes with invisible fingers while the air darkened with billowing clouds of dust.

Both Daemon and Eragon squinted, trying to find Saphira but they managed to catch sight of her quickly. They saw her land heavily and then crouch, clenching the ground with her talons. The wind reached her just as she started to fold her wings. With an angry yank, it unfurled them and dragged her into the air. For a moment she hung there, suspended by the storm's force. Then it slammed her down on her back. Due to the rocky path, and with the way her legs slammed down, she gained several cuts that began to weep blood.

"Come on!" Daemon shouted to Eragon and urged Shadowmwre onwards to the dragoness, Eragon behind on Cadoc.

Eragon quickly shouted to Saphira. Saphira! Try to stay on the ground! We're coming! He felt a grim acknowledgment from her.

As they neared Saphira, a massive gust of wind threw the two off the saddle and onto the ground. Daemon yelled out in pain when his right arm was cut by a jagged rock, blood already weeping out like any deep cut. Eragon looked over in concern upon hearing his cry, and saw the blood beginning to stain Daemon's long-sleeved shirt where the cut was in the first place.

"I'll be fine!" The Dragonborn waved him off. "We need to get to Saphira! Now!"

Saphira was only three yards away, but they could get no closer because of her flailing wings. She struggled to fold them against the overpowering gale. They rushed at each side of her wings, when another massive gust of wind threw all three of them off their feet. However, Daemon slammed into Saphira's side and his cut came into contact with one of the cuts on Saphira's legs, the dragoness' blood entering Daemon's cut and into his bloodstream.

Daemon's eyes widened as he felt pain unlike anything he had ever felt! His vision blurred and nausea consumed him, his legs shaking and nearly giving out from underneath him but he managed to muster the strength to keep himself up and to stay conscious.

That's it! He growled, looked at the sky and shouted. "LOK VAH KOOR!"

The Shout burst from his mouth and into the sky, doing it's job in calming the weather and stopping the wind. Allowing everything to calm down. Eragon sighed in relief and leaned against Saphira, who he could feel was trembling. Are you all right?

She took a moment to answer. I... I think so. She sounded shaken. Nothing's broken—I couldn't do anything; the wind wouldn't let me go. I was helpless. With a shudder, she fell silent.

Eragon placed a hand on her neck. Don't worry, you're safe now. Daemon took care of things.

She sent a wave of gratitude and love over their link. Thank you, little one. Without you and Daemon I...Daemon! Are you alright? Together she and Eragon both looked to Daemon, standing nearby clutching his right arm. The fresh cut was somehow gone, replaced instead by an angry red welt. His face was still grimaced with pain, but he managed a weak smile.

"I'll live, don't worry. You?"

Yes she nodded her head slowly. Pushing herself to her feet, she kept the two at her side as they made their way back to Brom.

Before the light faded, they stopped for the night in a shallow depression. Too exhausted to spar, they went straight to sleep. However, Daemon didn't got to sleep like his companions did. Instead, he sat up and tried rolling his right sleeve up but just ripped it off to get better access to the angry red welt on his arm, to better examine it. The cut was closed, which was a relief, there was only a trail of dried blood going down his arm but it was easily washable. What confused him was the intense pain he experienced after coming into contact with Saphira, as well as how fast the wound healed from a cut into a welt. The welt had an eerie shine to it, which reflected the moonlight. Added to that was the sudden, yet constant, nausea and headache that had appeared shortly after.

Maybe it was caused when I hit the back of my head against Saphira's side. Daemon theorized to himself, having felt the back of his head collide with Saphira. I just need to sleep and I'll be 100% in the morning.

However, Daemon proved himself wrong the following morning. When he woke up, he felt much worse than he did the night before. The headache hadn't gone away and it hurt like a giant had stepped on his head without crushing it. He refused to eat anything in fear that he'll bring it back up and empty his contents. His skin had also paled, and his eyes were dulled. His ill-looking state was not lost on his companions who voiced their concerns but Daemon told them not to worry about him, claiming he was fine.

Brom dropped the matter, and though Saphira doubted the Force-user's words, she too dropped it. Eragon was the only one who refused to do so.

"Are you sure you're alright, Daemon?" Eragon asked with concern. "You look very unwell and pale. Maybe you should rest for the day and we can continue to Yazuac tomorrow or something."

Daemon shook his head. "No, Eragon. We need provisions as Brom said. Don't worry about me, I've been through worse than a case of illness. I'll be fine, I promise."

Eragon nodded, trusting his friend's words and went over to Cadoc. Shadowmere, ever one to know when something was wrong with his rider, came over and snorted in his face several times. Shadowmere was very displeased at how he was acting right now while he was ill.

"I'll be fine, Shadowmere, you know me." Daemon said with a weak smile as he carefully got onto his horse's saddle but his body felt weak and he leaned on Shadowmere's neck.

Brom noted his weakened state. "When we're in Yazuac, we'll ask for some herbs or for the village healer to take a look at you." He said encouragingly, getting a nod from Daemon.

They soon set off towards Yazuac. As the day wore on, it was Saphira who spotted the village first, but it was not until later in the day that the rest of them saw it as a dark bump on the horizon. Yazuac was still very far away; it was only visible because of the plain's uniform flatness. As they rode closer, a dark winding line appeared on either side of the town and disappeared in the distance.

"The Ninor River," said Brom, pointing at it.

Eragon pulled Cadoc to a stop. "Saphira will be seen if she stays with us much longer. Should she hide while we go into Yazuac?"

Brom scratched his chin and looked at the town. "See that bend in the river? Have her wait there. It's far enough from Yazuac so no one should find her, but close enough that she won't be left behind. We'll go through the town, get what we need, and then meet her."

I don't like it, said Saphira when Eragon had explained the plan. This is irritating, having to hide all the time like a criminal.

You know what would happen if we were revealed. She grumbled but gave in and flew away low to the ground.

They kept a swift pace in anticipation of the food and drink they would soon enjoy. As they approached the small houses, they could see smoke from a dozen chimneys, but there was no one in the streets. An abnormal silence enveloped the village. By unspoken consent they stopped before the first house. Eragon abruptly said, "There aren't any dogs barking."

"No."

"Doesn't mean anything, though." Daemon pointed out, managing to hold himself up and look around.

"...No."

Eragon paused. "Someone should have seen us by now."

"Yes."

"Then why hasn't anyone come out?"

Brom squinted at the sun. "Could be afraid."

"Could be," said Eragon. He was quiet for a moment. "And if it's a trap? The Ra'zac might be waiting for us."

"We need provisions and water."

"There's the Ninor."

"Still need provisions."

"True." Eragon looked around. "So we go in?"

Brom flicked his reins. "Yes, but not like fools. This is the main entrance to Yazuac. If there's an ambush, it'll be along here. No one will expect us to arrive from a different direction."

"Around to the side, then?" asked Eragon. Brom nodded and pulled out his sword, resting the bare blade across his saddle. Eragon strung his bow and nocked an arrow. Daemon unsheathed his sword, gripping it tightly despite his weakened state.

They trotted quietly around the town and entered it cautiously. The streets were empty, except for a small fox that darted away as they came near. The houses were dark and foreboding, with shattered windows. Many of the doors swung on broken hinges. The horses rolled their eyes nervously. Eragon's palm tingled, but he resisted the urge to scratch it. As they rode into the center of town, he gripped his bow tighter, blanching.

"Gods above," he whispered.

A mountain of bodies rose above them, the corpses stiff and grimacing. Their clothes were soaked in blood, and the churned ground was stained with it. Slaughtered men lay over the women they had tried to protect, mothers still clasped their children, and lovers who had tried to shield each other rested in death's cold embrace. Black arrows stuck out of them all. Neither young nor old had been spared. But worst of all was the barbed spear that rose out of the peak of the pile, impaling the white body of a baby.

Unable to fight the battle against nausea any longer, Daemon leaned over and threw up over Shadowmere's side, coughing as he did so. Eragon felt ready to join him.

Tears blurred Eragon's vision and he tried to look away, but the dead faces held his attention. He stared at their open eyes and wondered how life could have left them so easily. What does our existence mean when it can end like this? A wave of hopelessness overwhelmed him.

A crow dipped out of the sky, like a black shadow, and perched on the spear. It cocked its head and greedily scrutinized the infant's corpse. "Oh no you don't," snarled Eragon as he pulled back the bowstring and released it with a twang. With a puff of feathers, the crow fell over backward, the arrow protruding from its chest. Eragon fit another arrow to the string, but nausea rose from his stomach and he threw up over Cadoc's side.

Brom patted them both on the back. When they were done, Brom asked gently, "Do you two want to wait for me outside Yazuac?"

"No... we'll stay," said Eragon shakily, speaking for himself and Daemon, wiping his mouth. He avoided looking at the gruesome sight before them. "Who could have done..." He could not force out the words.

"Those who love the pain and suffering of others." Daemon spoke with disgust, having seen similar work done back in Skyrim by bandits, the Silver Hand, the Forsworn...

Brom nodded. "They wear many faces and go by many disguises, but there is only one name for them: evil. There is no understanding it. All we can do is pity and honor the victims."

He dismounted Snowfire and walked around, inspecting the trampled ground carefully. "The Ra'zac passed this way," he said slowly, "but this wasn't their doing. This is Urgal work; the spear is of their make. A company of them came through here, perhaps as many as a hundred. It's odd; I know of only a few instances when they have gathered in such..." He knelt and examined a footprint intently. With a curse he ran back to Snowfire and leapt onto him.

"Ride!" He hissed tightly, spurring Snowfire forward. "There are still Urgals here!"

Eragon jammed his heals into Cadoc, and Daemon did the same with Shadowmere. They dashed past the houses and were almost to the edge of Yazuac when Eragon's palm tingled again. He saw a flicker of movement to his right, then a giant fist smashed into his chest, throwing him off the saddle and he landed on the ground with grunts. Gasping and stunned, Eragon staggered upright, hugging his side.

An Urgal stood over him, face set in a gross leer. The monster was tall, thick, and broader than a doorway, with gray skin and yellow piggish eyes. Muscles bulged on his arms and chest, which was covered by a too small breastplate. An iron cap rested over the pair of ram's horns curling from his temples, and a roundshield was bound to one arm. His powerful hand held a short, wicked sword.

Behind him, Eragon saw Brom rein in Snowfire and start back, only to be stopped by the appearance of a second Urgal, this one with an ax. "Run, you fool!" Brom cried to Eragon, cleaving at his enemy. The Urgal in front of Eragon roared and swung his sword mightily. Eragon shut his eyes, screamed in his head for Saphira, and braced for the inevitable pain.

The sound of steel chasing made his eyes snap open to see Daemon standing between him and the Urgal, sword in hand and blocking the Urgal's attack His earlier weak state was forgotten, now replaced with a burning desire to protect his friends. His dark blue eyes burned just as equally.

"Get out of here, Eragon!" Daemon shouted as he battled the Urgal, but due to his body still being weak he wasn't able to easily best it as he normally would've. "Now!"

But Eragon couldn't move. He was frozen in place he watched his two companions fight the gray-skinned brutes. Brom was trading fierce blows with his Urgal, and Jayden was doing the same with the one he was up against. They seemed to have the upper hand, when there was a loud smack, and Snowfire reared, whinnying. Brom doubled over in his saddle, blood streaming down his arm. The Urgal beside him howled in triumph and raised his ax for the death blow.

Daemon whirled around at the sound of the horse's cry, which was a mistake as the Urgal he had been about to kill slammed the end of it's weapon into the back of Daemon's head, knocking him out col and his body fell down with a thud. Both Urgals howled in triumph, raising their weapons for a killing blow.

A deafening scream tore out of Eragon as he charged the Urgals, headfirst. The Urgals paused in astonishment, then faced him contemptuously. Eragon ducked under the one with the ax and clawed the second Urgal's side, leaving bloody furrows. The Urgal's face twisted with rage. He slashed again, but missed as Eragon dived to the side and scrambled down an alley.

Eragon concentrated on leading the Urgals away from Daemon and Brom. He slipped into a narrow passageway between two houses, saw it was a dead end, and slid to a stop. He tried to back out, but the Urgals had already blocked the entrance. They advanced, cursing him in their gravelly voices. Eragon swung his head from side to side, searching for a way out, but there was none.

As he faced the Urgals, images flashed in his mind: dead villagers piled around the spear and an innocent baby who would never grow to adulthood. Brom, Daemon, Saphira. A burning, fiery power gathered from every part of his body. It was more than a desire for justice. It was his entire being rebelling against the fact of death—that he would cease to exist. The power grew stronger and stronger until he felt ready to burst from the contained force.

He stood tall and straight, all fear gone. He raised his bow smoothly. The Urgals laughed and lifted their shields. Eragon sighted down the shaft, as he had done hundreds of times, and aligned the arrowhead with his target. The energy inside him burned at an unbearable level. He had to release it, or it would consume him. A word suddenly leapt unbidden to his lips.

He shot, yelling, "Brisingr!"

The arrow hissed through the air, glowing with a crackling blue light. It struck the lead Urgal on the forehead, and the air resounded with an explosion. A blue shock wave blasted out of the monster's head, killing the other Urgal instantly. It reached Eragon before he had time to react, and it passed through him without harm, dissipating against the houses.

Eragon stood panting, then looked at his icy palm. The gedwëy ignasia was glowing like white-hot metal, yet even as he watched, it faded back to normal. He clenched his fist, then a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He felt strange and feeble, as if he had not eaten for days. His knees buckled, and he sagged against a wall.

Once a modicum of strength returned to him, Eragon staggered out of the alley, skirting the dead monsters. He did not get far before Cadoc trotted to his side. "Good, you weren't hurt," mumbled Eragon. He noticed, without particularly caring, that his hands were shaking violently and his movements were jerky. He felt detached, as if everything he saw were happening to someone else.

He found Daemon first, the Dragonborn being tended to by Shadowmere who worriedly nudged his rider's face with his snout. Quickly rushing to his knocked out friend and rolling him onto his back gently, Eragon looked his friend over for injuries, but aside from the blow to the head, he was okay. Eragon placed his hand on Daemon's forehead only to yank it back as if he had been burned. Daemon's skin was burning like fire! e had lost what little color remained and his skin was coated with a sheet of sweat. Eragon tried to wake him, but received no response. He could have been dead, if not for the labored breaths making his chest rise.

Knowing there was nothing he could do for him right now, Eragon gently lowered Jayden onto his back before going to check on Brom. First, he had to calm Snowfire down before he went over to the old man who was still slumped motionless in the saddle. There was a long, blood-soaked cut on the old man's right arm. The wound bled profusely, but it was neither deep nor wide. Still, Eragon knew it had to be bound before Brom lost too much blood. He stroked Snowfire for a moment, then slid Brom out of the saddle. The weight proved too much for him, and Brom dropped heavily to the ground. Eragon was shocked by his own weakness.

A scream of rage filled his head. Saphira dived out of the sky and landed fiercely in front of him, keeping her wings half raised. She hissed angrily, eyes burning. Her tail lashed, and Eragon winced as it snapped overhead. Are you hurt? she asked, rage boiling in her voice.

"No," he assured her as he laid Brom on his back.

She growled and exclaimed, Where are the ones who did this? I will tear them apart!

He wearily pointed in the direction of the alley. "It'll do no good; they're already dead."

You killed them? Saphira sounded surprised.

He nodded. "Somehow." With a few terse words, he told her what had happened while he searched his saddlebags for the rags in which Zar'roc had been wrapped.

Saphira gave him a reassuring and comforting nuzzle. You've grown, little one.

Eragon grunted. He found a long rag and carefully rolled back Brom's sleeve. With a few deft strokes he cleaned the cut and bandaged it tightly. I wish we were still in Palancar Valley, he said to Saphira. There, at least, I knew what plants were good for healing. Here, I don't have any idea what will help him. He retrieved Brom's sword from the ground, wiped it, then returned it to the sheath on Brom's belt.

We should leave, said Saphira. There may be more Urgals lurking about.

Can you carry Brom? Your saddle will hold him in place, and you can protect him. The dragoness nodded her head and gently grasped the back of Brom's attire in her teeth before liftung him up and placing him over her saddle.

Yes, but I'm not leaving you alone. Saphira said firmly, then she glanced at Daemon and her voice waivered at the condition of the young man she'd become good friends with. What about Daemon?

Eragon looked over his fallen friend again. He's alive, but I can't wake him. There's something wrong with him, Saphira. His skin burns as if it was fire and he looks much worse than he did this morning. He thought for a moment. I need to get him on Shadowmere's back. Help me, please.

Doing the same thing she did with Brom, Saphira gently grabbed the back of Daemon's shirt in her teeth and lifted him from the ground. She placed him over Shadowmere's saddle, speaking with the horse mentally to assure him Daemon will be okay. Out of all the three horses, Shadowmere was the only one she tolerated enough to speak with mentally. Eragon slipped Brom's legs through Saphira's saddle's straps and tightened them. He looked up when the old man moaned and shifted.

Brom blinked blearily, putting a hand to his head. He gazed down at Eragon with concern. "Did Saphira get here in time?"

Eragon shook his head. "I'll explain it later. You and Daemon are hurt and need tended to. We need to get out of here, quickly."

"Yes," said Brom, gingerly touching his arm. "Do you know where my sword... Ah, I see you found it."

Eragon finished tightening the straps. "Saphira's going to take you and follow me by air."

"Are you sure you want me to ride her?" asked Brom. "I can ride Snowfire."

"Not with that arm. This way, even if you faint, you won't fall off."

Brom nodded. "I'm honored." He wrapped his good arm around Saphira's neck, and she took off in a flurry, springing high into the sky. Eragon backed away, buffeted by the eddies from her wings, and returned to the horses. He picked up Daemon's sword and shoved it into one of the saddlebags so it was safe.

He tied Snowfire behind Cadoc, ensured Shadowmere was beside Cadoc, then left Yazuac, returning to the trail and following it southward. It led through a rocky area, veered left, and continued along the bank of the Ninor River. Ferns, mosses, and small bushes dotted the side of the path. It was refreshingly cool under the trees, but Eragon did not let the soothing air lull him into a sense of security. He stopped briefly to fill the waterskins and let the horses drink. Glancing down, he saw the Ra'zac's spoor. At least we're going in the right direction. Saphira circled overhead, keeping a keen eye on him.

It disturbed him that they had seen only two Urgals. The villagers had been killed and Yazuac ransacked by a large horde, yet where was it? Perhaps the ones we encountered were a rear guard or a trap left for anyone who was following the main force.

His thoughts turned to how he had killed the Urgals. An idea, a revelation, slowly wormed its way through his mind. He, Eragon—farm boy of Palancar Valley—had used magic. Magic! It was the only word for what had happened. It seemed impossible, but he could not deny what he had seen. Somehow I've become a sorcerer or wizard! But he did not know how to use this new power again or what its limits and dangers might be. How can I have this ability? Was it common among the Riders? And if Brom knew of it, why didn't he tell me? He shook his head in wonder and bewilderment.

He conversed with Saphira to check on Brom's condition and to share his thoughts. She was just as puzzled as he was about the magic. Saphira, can you find us a place to stay? I can't see very far down here. While she searched, he continued along the Ninor.

The summons reached him just as the light was fading. Come. Saphira sent him an image of a secluded clearing in the trees by the river. Eragon turned the horses in the new direction and nudged them into a trot. With Saphira's help it was easy to find, but it was so well hidden that he doubted anyone else would notice it.

A small, smokeless fire was already burning when he entered the clearing. Brom sat next to it, tending his arm, which he held at an awkward angle. Saphira was crouched beside him, her body tense. She looked intently at Eragon and asked, Are you sure you aren't hurt?

Not on the outside... but I'm not sure about the rest of me.

I should have been there sooner.

Don't feel bad. We all made mistakes today. Mine was not staying closer to you. Her gratitude for that remark washed over him. He looked at Brom. "How are you?"

The old man glanced at his arm. "It's a large scratch and hurts terribly, but it should heal quickly enough. I need a fresh bandage; this one didn't last as long as I'd hoped." They boiled water to wash Brom's wound. Then Brom tied a fresh rag to his arm and stood. "Right, let's see what's wrong with our Dragonborn friend."

Together, Brom and Eragon pulled Daemon off Shadowmere's saddle and gently lowered him to the ground. Eragon stepped back next to Saphira while Brom crouched down to examine their friend. After a few seconds, Brom let out a curse.

"Idiot boy!" Brom growled before looking at Eragon and Saphira. "Despite his reassurances earlier, he is most definitely not fine."

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" Eragon asked worriedly, something shared with Saphira.

Brom took another examination of Daemon's condition, his eyes passing over the sweating, burning skin, then they landed on the red welt on Daemon's right arm. Picking the arm up, but not touching the welt, Brom frowned as he examined it before looking at Eragon. "What's this? How did he get this?"

"It's where he cut his arm during the storm last night." Eragon said before shaking his head. "But a cut can't have healed that fast into a welt, right?"

Brom hummed in reply as he looked thoughtfully at the welt before shaking his head slightly. "I don't know what's wrong with him. If it was a simple blow to the head, then he should've awoken by now."

"Well, he has looked pretty sick lately... ever since last night." Eragon said, having seen his friend look a little off after last night which only got worse this morning and from then on. "Maybe it has something to do with that."

"Maybe..." Brom said, his eyes on the welt. "Think back, did anything happen last night when he sustained the cut?"

"I don't know..." Eragon shook his head, frowning as he attempted to recall. "We rushed to Saphira, trying to keep her wings down so the wind didn't throw her around anymore. Then the gust of wind threw us off our feet and he gained that cut. I don't know what happened afterwards, but I think he slammed into her. "Saphira confirmed this with a growl. "And that was it, then he started looking ill."

Brom looked down at Daemon, ideas forming in his head but none explained the condition Daemon was in. Sighing, the old man sat back. "I'm sorry, Eragon, but this is something I have never seen before. We can only hope and have faith that he has the strength to pull through on his own to recovery. But, we should ensure he's kept warm and comfortable."

Eragon nodded solemnly, and placed his hand on his friend's warm brow. Please be okay Daemon. We need you here with us. He returned to Saphira's side, and she nuzzled him. He felt her emotions through their link, both worried and hopeful.

He is strong, Eragon. He will pull through.

I hope you're right Saphira, I really do.

As he leaned against the dragoness' side, Brom told him to recount what happened in Yazuac. Eragon nervously clasped his hands and told the story without embellishment. Brom remained silent throughout it, his face inscrutable. When Eragon finished, Brom looked down at the ground.

For a long time the only sound was the snapping fire. Brom finally stirred. "Have you used this power before?"

"No. Do you know anything about it?"

"A little." Brom's face was thoughtful. "It seems I owe you a debt for saving my life. I hope I can return the favor someday. You should be proud; few escape unscathed from slaying their first Urgal. But the manner in which you did it was very dangerous. You could have destroyed yourself and the whole town."

"It wasn't as if I had a choice," said Eragon defensively. "The Urgals were almost upon me. If I had waited, they would have chopped me into pieces!"

Brom stamped his teeth vigorously on the pipe stem. "You didn't have any idea what you were doing."

"Then tell me," challenged Eragon. "I've been searching for answers to this mystery, but I can't make sense of it. What happened? How could I have possibly used magic? No one has ever instructed me in it or taught me spells."

Brom's eyes flashed. "This isn't something you should be taught—much less use!"

"Well, I have used it, and I may need it to fight again. But I won't be able to if you don't help me. What's wrong? Is there some secret I'm not supposed to learn until I'm old and wise? Or maybe you don't know anything about magic!"

"Boy!" roared Brom. "You demand answers with an insolence rarely seen. If you knew what you asked for, you would not be so quick to inquire. Do not try me." He paused, then relaxed into a kinder countenance. "The knowledge you ask for is more complex than you understand."

Eragon rose hotly in protest. "I feel as though I've been thrust into a world with strange rules that no one will explain."

"I understand," said Brom. He fiddled with a piece of grass. "It's late and we should sleep, but I will tell you a few things now, to stop your badgering. This magic—for it is magic—has rules like the rest of the world. If you break the rules, the penalty is death, without exception. Your deeds are limited by your strength, the words you know, and your imagination."

"What do you mean by words?" asked Eragon.

"More questions!" cried Brom. "For a moment I had hoped you were empty of them. But you are quite right in asking. When you shot the Urgals, didn't you say something?"

"Yes, brisingr." The fire flared, and a shiver ran through Eragon. Something about the word made him feel incredibly alive.

"I thought so. Brisingr is from an ancient language that all living things used to speak. However, it was forgotten over time and went unspoken for eons in Alagaësia, until the elves brought it back over the sea. They taught it to the other races, who used it for making and doing powerful things. The language has a name for everything, if you can find it."

"But what does that have to do with magic?" interrupted Eragon.

"Everything! It is the basis for all power. The language describes the true nature of things, not the superficial aspects that everyone sees. For example, fire is called brisingr. Not only is that a name for fire, it is the name for fire. If you are strong enough, you can use brisingr to direct fire to do whatever you will. And that is what happened today."

Eragon thought about it for a moment. "Why was the fire blue? How come it did exactly what I wanted, if all I said was fire?"

"The color varies from person to person. It depends on who says the word. As to why the fire did what you wanted, that's a matter of practice. Most beginners have to spell out exactly what they want to happen. As they gain more experience, it isn't as necessary. A true master could just say water and create something totally unrelated, like a gemstone. You wouldn't be able to understand how he had done it, but the master would have seen the connection between water and the gem and would have used that as the focal point for his power. The practice is more of an art than anything else. What you did was extremely difficult."

Saphira interrupted Eragon's thoughts. Brom is a magician! That's how he was able to light the fire on the plains. He doesn't just know about magic; he can use it himself!

Eragon's eyes widened. You're right!

Ask him about this power, but be careful of what you say. It is unwise to trifle with those who have such abilities. If he is a wizard or sorcerer, who knows what his motives might have been for settling in Carvahall?

Eragon kept that in mind as he said carefully, "Saphira and I just realized something. You can use this magic, can't you? That's how you started the fire our first day on the plains."

Brom inclined his head slightly. "I am proficient to some degree."

"Then why didn't you fight the Urgals with it? In fact, I can think of many times when it would have been useful—you could have shielded us from the storm and kept the dirt out of our eyes."

After refilling his pipe, Brom said, "Some simple reasons, really. I am not a Rider, which means that, even at your weakest moment, you are stronger than I. And I have outlived my youth; I'm not as strong as I used to be. Every time I reach for magic, it gets a little harder."

Eragon dropped his eyes, abashed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Brom as he shifted his arm. "It happens to everyone."

"Where did you learn to use magic?"

"That is one fact I'll keep to myself... Suffice it to say, it was in a remote area and from a very good teacher. I can, at the very least, pass on his lessons." Brom snuffed his pipe with a small rock. "I know that you have more questions, and I will answer them, but they must wait until morning."

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Until then, I will say this to discourage any experiments: magic takes just as much energy as if you used your arms and back. That is why you felt tired after destroying the Urgals. And that is why I was angry. It was a dreadful risk on your part. If the magic had used more energy than was in your body, it would have killed you. You should use magic only for tasks that can't be accomplished the mundane way."

"How do you know if a spell will use all your energy?" asked Eragon, frightened.

Brom raised his hands. "Most of the time you don't. That's why magicians have to know their limits well, and even then they are cautious. Once you commit to a task and release the magic, you can't pull it back, even if it's going to kill you. I mean this as a warning: don't try anything until you've learned more. Now, enough of this for tonight."

Eragon sighed but nodded as he settled into his bedroll, leaning his head against Saphira's side. He casted one last glance at Daemon's unconscious form, worry and concern filling him as he prayed to all the gods that his friend would recover. Saphira comforted him as best as she could before they let sleep take him.

Everyone was unaware of the changes going through Daemon's body as the night wore on.

When Eragon awoke, it was very early morning. The sun was barely beginning it's rise over the horizon. The young Rider's thoughts flashed back to what happened in Yazuac, the pile of corpses they found... the Urgals... what happened to Daemon. Turning his head to look over where Daemon was, Eragon intended to see if his friend's condition had gotten better this morning. However, upon looking where they had placed Daemon's body, he froze and a strangled cry of surprise escaped him, waking up Saphira and Brom in the process before they looked where Eragon was looking, spotting the same thing he did.

There, where Daemon had been laying just hours ago... was a dragon.

How about that for a cliffhanger, folks? I was thinking of having Daemon be out for the whole Yazuac thing, only to make a surprise appearance as a dragon and save his friends, but I think rushing that kind of thing was not a good idea. His body was going through the changes, his blood adapting to Saphira's which made him look ill. If I had rushed his transformation into a dragon, it wouldn't have worked.