Eragon felt his lethargic eyes begin to droop; he made no effort to resist the urge. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with air. Slowly, he allowed small doses of air to gradually exit his sealed lips as he exhaled. Basking in his new calm, he strained his ears until his hearing extended as far as they possibly could. Likewise, he filled his nose with the odors wafting through the campsite.
It had been two nights. Two nights since he, Saphira, the elves, and the Eldunarí had ventured into Urgalgra – the land annexed by the native Urgals. It had been somewhat unsettling to have his vessel pull up on shore and see the respect, awe, and even fear that the creatures had displayed when Eragon exited the ship. Although Eragon knew the Urgals' emotions stemmed from their own fear of his unparalleled power, it was still disturbing to relive the aftereffects of going from a farm boy to the new leader of the Dragon Riders. It reminded him of a child who leaves his hometown to receive an apprenticeship in his father's profession and upon returning home finds that the people who had once treated him as a child now view him as an adult.
It's amazing, isn't it? Surprised, Eragon absentmindedly turned to see from where Saphira had addressed him, only to remember that she was yards away and outside his tent.
Though he sensed what Saphira was going on about from images swarming around in her mind, he nevertheless wished to converse with her though open dialogue, so he played along. What is?
That the Urgals still live in other parts of the world, as do the elves. It only makes you wonder which species in Alagaësia also inhabit other regions. Or more interestingly, whether species we've never heard of exist elsewhere.
Eragon inhaled again, practicing the meditation Oromis had taught him so long ago. He had listened to Saphira with genuine interest; he was similarly awed. I know.
He paused for a while, sighing as he felt his limbs relax, and knowing that although he had given his word to leave Urgalgra and would thus have to continue searching for a home for the Eldunarí elsewhere, he no longer had the legitimate fear of the past few years pressure him anymore. Galbatorix is dead. The thought still seemed surreal.
After several minutes of meditating, he protruded his thoughts until he lightly tapped Saphira's mind. He smiled as he glimpsed an image of a deer standing before her. She was wearing the ring Orik had given her as a gift when last they met, which allowed her to stalk her prey without warning alerting them of her whereabouts. Then, both through his mental link and physically, he heard her roar. Within moments, the deer limply hung dead from her ravenous maw.
Telegraphically, he heard Saphira make an amused sound which oddly resembled a chuckle. Sorry, she said, chewing the meat. But I had to do that.
She continued crunching, then tossed the back half of the deer in the air and caught it with her sharp fangs, even as she would when toying with a live animal. I've just been thinking . . . you know, there's absolutely no fun in using this ring or ensnaring my prey with a mental attack. It reminds me of how Rhunön pointed out that using magic for her craft would deprive her of any pleasure or feeling of accomplishment since she has an eternity to work, and magic would leave her too much at ease and with an abundance of free time. I similarly feel petty and shallow when I need to resort to tactics such as magic to accomplish something I'd be able to do with relative ease regardless.
Eragon chortled. A wise observation.
Eragon sensed Saphira casually flick her tail. Why, thank you. She paused to toss her head and snap her jaws. Through his heightened sense of hearing, Eragon heard the audible crack of the deer's bones as they snapped. Anyhow, in all seriousness, what was it you wished to inquire of me when you tapped my mind?
It had to do with the Urgals. I've been thinking . . . In practical terms, what do you think is the most important thing that we've learned throughout our journey?
Saphira thought for a moment, ceasing her maw movement, and Eragon sensed her stiffen. She perched thus for several moments. Then: I don't know . . . what?
A wry smile touched his lips as he felt her mind brush against his, trying to glean a clue from his mind. But to no avail. Eragon had deliberately shielded his mind from her. Remember when Oromis asked us why we were fighting Galbatorix when we were potentially causing more harm than we were preventing? He had pointed out that while Galbatorix was indeed ruthless and selfish, his madness generally did not affect the average person in the Empire. The Varden marching in to attack, however, would inevitably affect everyone in the vicinity of the cities we overtook – and perhaps everyone in general. Remember how I struggled with answering that question?
A hint of recognition from Saphira touched Eragon's mind. She did indeed recall when Oromis had dabbled in philosophy with them and how the question Eragon reminded her of had troubled him. She also recalled how she had been much quicker than him to rationalize why it was worth overthrowing Galbatorix, and how she had refused granting Eragon the answer until he had thought of it himself. I remember.
Good, then you must have put two and two together and realized that I'm not going to give you the answer until you think about it yourself.
A snort was her response. Fine.
๛
Eragon!
Eragon leaped from his cot, heart racing. His head spun as he tried to place the mental voice – a familiar one, unmistakably that of a dragon – which had called out to him.
Again: Eragon!
Eragon quickly recovered from the daytime slumber which had crept up on him. He now realized that the voice was Glaedr's.
Eragon was already sprinting out of the tent, Brisingr halfway out of its scabbard. Before Glaedr could elaborate, Eragon heard a fiendish howl piece the night.
Eragon's scalp pricked. He faintly recognized the sound of that voice . . .
Running yet faster in the direction of the voice, Eragon quickly murmured words in the ancient language to ease his path through the dense woods. A myriad of needled bushes and plants gracefully parted as he passed by them.
Another yowl resounded, nearly similar in tone and pitch, but clearly from a different individual. This one had sounded so quick, it was almost as if the creature who had released the noise was unable to complete it.
Extending his mind, Eragon drew upon the energy of the Eldunarí, who he had, along with the dragon eggs, well protected in a reserve beside his camp with magical spells. They hastily assisted him.
With the new landslide of energy propelling him forward, Eragon reached the site of the commotion within seconds.
What he saw literally made his mouth drop open. It clumsily hung there, saliva beginning to form at its corners.
A pile of Urgal corpses lay in the center of the clearing. Still standing, a single Urgal was swaying, clutching a spear embedded within its chest. And standing near the pile of dead bodies, his face deathly white and livid, stood Blödhgarm.