Vel Du Vindr abr Wyrda

by whattoname

What if, in a slight change of fate, the Varden managed to wrestle two eggs from Galbatorix's grasp. How would this change the story? Stick around and find out.

4. Chapter 4

"Why do you think those two Urgals were still in Yazuac?" asked Eragon, after they had been on the trail for a while. "There doesn't seem to be any reason for them to have stayed behind."

"I suspect they deserted the main group to loot the town. What makes it odd is that, as far as I know, Urgals have gathered in force only two or three times in history. It's unsettling that they are doing it now."

"Do you think the Ra'zac caused the attack?"

"I don't know. The best thing we can do is continue away from Yazuac at the fastest pace we can muster. Besides, this is the direction the Ra'zac went: south."

Eragon agreed. "We still need provisions. Is there another town nearby?"

Brom shook his head. "No, but Saphira can hunt for us if we must survive on meat alone. This swath of trees may look small to you, but there are plenty of animals in it. The river is the only source of water for many miles around, so most of the plains animals come here to drink. We won't starve."

Eragon remained quiet, satisfied with Brom's answer. As they rode, loud birds darted around them, and the river rushed by peacefully. It was a noisy place, full of life and energy. Eragon asked, "How did that Urgal get you? Things were happening so fast, I didn't see."

"Bad luck, really," grumbled Brom. "I was more than a match for him, so he kicked Snowfire. The idiot of a horse reared and threw me off balance. That was all the Urgal needed to give me this gash." He scratched his chin. "I suppose you're still wondering about this magic. The fact that you've discovered it presents a thorny problem. Few know it, but every Rider could use magic, though with differing strengths. They kept the ability secret, even at the height of their power, because it gave them an advantage over their enemies. Had everyone known about it, dealing with common people would have been difficult. Many think the king's magical powers come from the fact that he is a wizard or sorcerer. That's not true; it is because he's a Rider."

"What's the difference? Doesn't the fact that I used magic make me a sorcerer?"

"Not at all! A sorcerer, like a Shade, uses spirits to accomplish his will. That is totally different from your power. Nor does that make you a magician, whose powers come without the aid of spirits or a dragon. And you're certainly not a witch or wizard, who get their powers from various potions and spells. "

"Which brings me back to my original point: the problem you've presented. Young Riders like yourself were put through a strict regimen designed to strengthen their bodies and increase their mental control. This regimen continued for many months, occasionally years, until the Riders were deemed responsible enough to handle magic. Up until then, not one student was told of his potential powers. If one of them discovered magic by accident, he or she was immediately taken away for private tutoring. It was rare for anyone to discover magic on his own," he inclined his head toward Eragon, "though they were never put under the same pressure you were."

"Then how were they finally trained to use magic?" asked Eragon. "I don't see how you could teach it to anyone. If you had tried to explain it to me two days ago, it wouldn't have made any sense."

"The students were presented with a series of pointless exercises designed to frustrate them. For example, they were instructed to move piles of stones using only their feet, fill ever draining tubs full of water, and other impossibilities. After a time, they would get infuriated enough to use magic. Most of the time it succeeded."

"What this means," Brom continued, "is that you will be disadvantaged if you ever meet an enemy who has received this training. There are still some alive who are that old: the king for one, not to mention the elves. Any one of those could tear you apart with ease."

"What can I do, then?"

"There isn't time for formal instruction, but we can do much while we travel," said Brom. "I know many techniques you can practice that will give you strength and control, but you cannot gain the discipline the Riders had overnight. You," he looked at Eragon humorously, "will have to amass it on the run. It will be hard in the beginning, but the rewards will be great. It may please you to know that no Rider your age ever used magic the way you did yesterday with those two Urgals."

Eragon smiled at the praise. "Thank you. Does this language have a name?" Brom laughed. "Yes, but no one knows it. It would be a word of incredible power, something by which you could control the entire language and those who use it. People have long searched for it, but no one has ever found it."

"I still don't understand how this magic works," said Eragon. "Exactly how do I use it?"

Brom looked astonished. "I haven't made that clear?"

"No."

Brom took a deep breath and said, "To work with magic, you must have a certain innate power, which is very rare among people nowadays. You also have to be able to summon this power at will. Once it is called upon, you have to use it or let it fade away. Understood? Now, if you wish to employ the power, you must utter the word or phrase of the ancient language that describes your intent. For example, if you hadn't said brisingr yesterday, nothing would have happened."

"So I'm limited by my knowledge of this language?"

"Exactly," crowed Brom. "Also, while speaking it, it's impossible to practice deceit."

Eragon shook his head. "That can't be. People always lie. The sounds of the ancient words can't stop them from doing that."

Brom cocked an eyebrow and said, "Fethrblaka, eka weohnata néiat haina ono. Blaka eom iet lam." A bird suddenly flitted from a branch and landed on his hand. It trilled lightly and looked at them with beady eyes. After a moment he said, "Eitha," and it fluttered away.

"How did you do that?" asked Eragon in wonder.

"I promised not to harm him. He may not have known exactly what I meant, but in the language of power, the meaning of my words was evident. The bird trusted me because he knows what all animals do, that those who speak in that tongue are bound by their word."

"And the elves speak this language?"

"Yes."

"So they never lie?"

"Not quite," admitted Brom. "They maintain that they don't, and in a way it's true, but they have perfected the art of saying one thing and meaning another. You never know exactly what their intent is, or if you have fathomed it correctly. Many times they only reveal part of the truth and withhold the rest. It takes a refined and subtle mind to deal with their culture."

Eragon considered that. "What do personal names mean in this language? Do they give power over people?"

Brom's eyes brightened with approval. "Yes, they do. Those who speak the language have two names. The first is for everyday use and has little authority. But the second is their true name and is shared with only a few trusted people. There was a time when no one concealed his true name, but this age isn't as kind. Whoever knows your true name gains enormous power over you. It's like putting your life into another person's hands. Everyone has a hidden name, but few know what it is."

"How do you find your true name?" asked Eragon.

"Elves instinctively know theirs. No one else has that gift. The human Riders usually went on quests to discover it—or found an elf who would tell them, which was rare, for elves don't distribute that knowledge freely," replied Brom.

"I'd like to know mine," Eragon said wistfully.

Brom's brow darkened. "Be careful. It can be a terrible knowledge. To know who you are without any delusions or sympathy is a moment of revelation that no one experiences unscathed. Some have been driven to madness by that stark reality. Most try to forget it. But as much as the name will give others power, so you may gain power over yourself, if the truth doesn't break you."

And I'm sure that it would not. stated Saphira.

"I still wish to know," said Eragon, determined.

"You are not easily dissuaded. That is good, for only the resolute find their identity, but I cannot help you with this. It is a search that you will have to undertake on your own." Brom moved his injured arm and grimaced uncomfortably.

"Why can't you or I heal that with magic?" asked Eragon. Brom blinked. "No reason- I just never considered it because it's beyond my strength. You could probably do it with the right word, but I don't want you to exhaust yourself."

"I could save you a lot of trouble and pain," protested Eragon.

"I'll live with it," said Brom flatly. "Using magic to heal a wound takes just as much energy as it would to mend on its own. I don't want you tired for the next few days. You shouldn't attempt such a difficult task yet."

"Still, if it's possible to fix your arm, could I bring someone back from the dead?"

The question surprised Brom, but he answered quickly, "Remember what I said about projects that will kill you? That is one of them. Riders were forbidden to try to resurrect the dead, for their own safety. There is an abyss beyond life where magic means nothing. If you reach into it, your strength will flee and your soul will fade into darkness. Wizards, sorcerers, and Riders- all have failed and died on that threshold. Stick with what's possible; cuts, bruises, maybe some broken bones- but definitely not dead people."

Eragon frowned. "This is a lot more complex than I thought."

"Exactly!" said Brom. "And if you don't understand what you're doing, you'll try something too big and die." He twisted in his saddle and swooped down, grabbing a handful of pebbles from the ground. With effort, he righted himself, then discarded all but one of the rocks.

"See this pebble?"

"Yes."

"Take it."

Eragon did and stared at the unremarkable lump. It was dull black, smooth, and as large as the end of his thumb. There were countless stones like it on the trail.

"This is your training."

Eragon looked back at him, confused. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," said Brom impatiently. "That's why I'm teaching you and not the other way around. Now stop talking or we'll never get anywhere. What I want you to do is lift the rock off your palm and hold it in the air for as long as you can. The words you're going to use are stenr reisa. Say them."

"Stenr reisa."

"Good. Go ahead and try."

Eragon focused sourly on the pebble, searching his mind for any hint of the energy that had burned in him the day before. The stone remained motionless as he stared at it, sweating and am I supposed to do this? Finally, he crossed his arms and snapped, "This is impossible."

"No," said Brom gruffly. "I'll say when it's impossible or not. Fight for it! Don't give in this easily. Try again."

Frowning, Eragon closed his eyes, setting aside all distracting thoughts. He took a deep breath and reached into the farthest corners of his consciousness, trying to find where his power resided. Searching, he found only thoughts and memories until he felt something different—a small bump that was a part of him and yet not of him. Excited, he dug into it, seeking what it hid. He felt resistance, a barrier in his mind, but knew that the power lay on the other side. He tried to breach it, but it held firm before his efforts. Growing angry, Eragon drove into the barrier, ramming against it with all of his might until it shattered like a thin pane of glass, flooding his mind with a river of light. "Stenr reisa," he gasped.

The pebble wobbled into the air over his faintly glowing palm. He struggled to keep it floating, but the power slipped away and faded back behind the barrier. The pebble dropped to his hand with a soft plop, and his palm returned to normal. He felt a little tired, but grinned from his success.

"Not bad for your first time," said Brom.

"Why does my hand do that? It's like a little lantern."

"No one's sure," Brom admitted. "The Riders always preferred to channel their power through whichever hand bore the gedwëy ignasia. You can use your other palm, but it isn't as easy." He looked at Eragon for a minute. "I'll buy you some gloves at the next town, if it isn't gutted. You hide the mark pretty well on your own, but we don't want anyone to see it by accident. Besides, there may be times when you won't want the glow to alert an enemy."

"Do you have a mark of your own?"

"No. Only Riders have them," said Brom. "Also, you should know that magic is affected by distance, just like an arrow or a spear. If you try to lift or move something a mile away, it'll take more energy than if you were closer. So if you see enemies racing after you from a league away, let them approach before using magic. Now, back to work! Try to lift the pebble again."

"Again?" asked Eragon weakly, thinking of the effort it had taken to do it just once. "Yes! And this time be quicker about it."

They continued with the exercises throughout most of the day. When Eragon finally stopped, he was tired and ill-tempered. In those hours, he had come to hate the pebble and everything about it. He started to throw it away, but Brom said, "Don't. Keep it."

Eragon glared at him, then reluctantly tucked the stone into a pocket. "We're not done yet," warned Brom, "so don't get comfortable." He pointed at a small plant. "This is called delois." From there on he instructed Eragon in the ancient language, giving him words to memorize, fromvöndr, a thin, straight stick, to the morning star,Aiedail.

That evening they sparred around the fire. Though Brom fought with his left hand, his skill was undiminished. The days followed the same pattern. First, Eragon struggled to learn the ancient words and to manipulate the pebble. Then, in the evening, he trained against Brom with the fake swords. Eragon was in constant discomfort, but he gradually began to change, almost without noticing. Soon the pebble no longer wobbled when he lifted it. He mastered the first exercises Brom gave him and undertook harder ones, and his knowledge of the ancient language grew. Many times Eragon or Brom would hold the green egg after sparring. Brom often spoke to it in low tones, and Eragon found himself wondering if the dragon inside could hear them, but he refrained from voicing such thoughts to either Brom or Saphira.

In their sparring, Eragon gained confidence and speed, striking like a snake. His blows became heavier, and his arm no longer trembled when he warded off attacks. The clashes lasted longer as he learned how to fend off Brom. Now, when they went to sleep, Eragon was not the only one with bruises. Saphira continued to grow as well, but more slowly than before. Her extended flights, along with periodic hunts, kept her fit and healthy. She was taller than the horses now, and much longer. Because of her size and the way her scales sparkled, she was altogether too visible.

Brom and Eragon worried about it, but they could not convince her to allow dirt to obscure her scintillating hide. They continued south, tracking the Ra'zac. It frustrated Eragon that no matter how fast they went, the Ra'zac always stayed a few days ahead of them. At times he was ready to give up, but then they would find some mark or print that would renew his hope. There were no signs of habitation along the Ninor or in the plains, leaving the three companions undisturbed as the days slipped by. Finally, they neared Daret, the first village since Yazuac. Once more Eragon felt a spark of hope, but it was quickly dashed aside when he saw the dragon. It was impossible to miss; even at a distance it appear grand and intimidating as it flew far to the east. Brom cursed.

"Hide!"

Eragon scrambled beneath the nearest trees, as did Brom.

"Tell Saphira to stay away, no matter what may come. We cannot risk them spotting her."

Eragon relayed his words and swallowed, this throat suddenly dry as he watched the purple dragon get smaller. "Who…?"

"One of the King's riders, known as the foresworn. Do not ask for his dragon- I do not know their names."

"His?"

"Kialandi, one of the few riders that betrayed their order to join the King's cause." Brom answered as the sparkling dragon vanished into the distance. His gaze was solemn and his eyes flinty, as if a great anger had been reawakened within him.

Eragon felt nothing from Saphira but smoldering rage, nothing like the all encompassing fear he himself felt.

There was no sign of the foresworn or his purple dragon the next day.

Daret was on the banks of the Ninor River- as it had to be to survive. The village was small and wild-looking, without any signs of inhabitants.

Eragon and Brom approached it with great caution. Saphira hid close to the town this time; if trouble arose, she would be at their sides within seconds. Brom had not wanted her to. He had argued that the purple dragon would with no discernable difficulty discover her should it return, but Saphir could not be dissuaded.

They rode into Daret, striving to be silent. Brom gripped Zar'roc with his good hand, eyes flashing everywhere. Eragon kept his bow partially drawn as they passed between the silent houses, glancing at each other with apprehension.

This doesn't look good, commented Eragon to Saphira. She did not answer, but he felt her prepare to rush after them. He looked at the ground and was reassured to see the fresh footprints of children. But where are they?

Brom stiffened as they entered the center of Daret and found it empty. Wind blew through the desolate town, and dust devils swirled sporadically.

Brom wheeled Snowfire about. "Let's get out of here. I don't like the feel of this." He spurred Snowfire into a gallop. Eragon followed him, urging Cadoc onward. They advanced only a few strides before wagons toppled out from behind the houses and blocked their way. Cadoc snorted and dug in his hooves, sliding to a stop next to Snowfire.

A swarthy man hopped over the wagon and planted himself before them, a broadsword slung at his side and a drawn bow in his hands. Eragon swung his own bow up and pointed it at the stranger, who commanded, "Halt! Put your weapons down. You're surrounded by sixty archers. They'll shoot if you move."

As if on cue, a row of men stood up on the roofs of the surrounding houses. Stay away, Saphira! cried Eragon. There are too many. If you come, they'll shoot you out of the sky. Stay away! She heard, but he was unsure if she would obey. He prepared to use magic. I'll have to stop the arrows before they hit me or Brom.

"What do you want?" asked Brom calmly.

"Why have you come here?" demanded the man.

"To buy supplies and hear the news. Nothing more. We're on the way to my cousin's house in Dras-Leona."

"You're armed pretty heavily." "So are you," said Brom. "These are dangerous times."

"True." The man looked at them carefully. "I don't think you mean us ill, but we've had too many encounters with Urgals and bandits for me to trust you only on your word."

"If it doesn't matter what we say, what happens now?" countered Brom. The men on top of the houses had not moved. By their very stillness, Eragon was sure that they were either highly disciplined… or frightened for their lives. He hoped it was the latter.

"You say that you only want supplies. Would you agree to stay here while we bring what you need, then pay us and leave immediately?"

"Yes."

"All right," said the man, lowering his bow, though he kept it ready. He waved at one of the archers, who slid to the ground and ran over. "Tell him what you want."

Brom recited a short list and then added, "Also, if you have a spare pair of gloves that would fit my nephew, I'd like to buy those too." The archer nodded and ran off.

"The name's Trevor," said the man standing in front of them. "Normally I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances, I think I'll keep my distance. Tell me, where are you from?"

"North," said Brom, "but we haven't lived in any place long enough to call it home. Have Urgals forced you to take these measures?"

"Yes," said Trevor, "and worse fiends. Do you have any news from other towns? We receive word from them rarely, but there have been reports that they are also beleaguered."

Brom turned grave. "I wish it wasn't our lot to bring you these tidings. Nearly a fortnight ago we passed through Yazuac and found it pillaged. The villagers had been slaughtered and piled together. We would have tried to give them a decent burial, but two Urgals attacked us."

Shocked, Trevor stepped back and looked down with tears in his eyes. "Alas, this is indeed a dark day. Still, I don't see how two Urgals could have defeated all of Yazuac. The people there were good fighters- some were my friends."

"There were signs that a band of Urgals had ravaged the town," stated Brom. "I think the ones we encountered were deserters."

"How large was the company?"

Brom fiddled with his saddlebags for a minute. "Large enough to wipe out Yazuac, but small enough to go unnoticed in the countryside. No more than a hundred, and no less than fifty. If I'm not mistaken, either number would prove fatal to you."

Trevor wearily agreed.

"You should consider leaving," Brom continued. "This area has become far too perilous for anyone to live in peace."

"I know, but the people here refuse to consider moving. This is their home- as well as mine, though I have only been here a couple years- and they place its worth above their own lives." Trevor looked at him seriously. "We have repulsed individual Urgals, and that has given the townspeople a confidence far beyond their abilities. I fear that we will all wake up one morning with our throats slashed." The archer hurried out of a house with a pile of goods in his arms. He set them next to the horses, and Brom paid him.

As the man left, Brom asked, "Why did they choose you to defend Daret?"

Trevor shrugged. "I was in the king's army for some years." Brom dug through the items, handed Eragon the pair of gloves, and packed the rest of the supplies into their saddlebags. Eragon pulled the gloves on, being careful to keep his palm facing down, and flexed his hands. The leather felt good and strong, though it was scarred from use.

"Well," said Brom, "as I promised, we will go now." Trevor nodded.

"When you enter Dras-Leona, would you do us this favor? Alert the Empire to our plight and that of the other towns. If word of this hasn't reached the king by now, it's cause for worry. And if it has, but he has chosen to do nothing, that too is cause for worry."

"We will carry your message. May your swords stay sharp," said Brom.

"And yours." The wagons were pulled out of their way, and they rode from Daret into the trees along the Ninor River.

Eragon sent his thoughts to Saphira. We're on our way back. Everything turned out all right.

Her only response was simmering anger. Brom pulled at his beard. "The Empire is in worse condition than I had imagined. When the traders visited Carvahall, they brought reports of unrest, but I never believed that it was this widespread. With all these Urgals around, it seems that the Empire itself is under attack, yet no troops or soldiers have been sent out. It's as if the king doesn't care to defend his domain."

"It is strange," agreed Eragon.

Brom ducked under a low-hanging branch. "Did you use any of your powers while we were in Daret?"

"There was no reason to."

"Wrong," corrected Brom. "You could have sensed Trevor's intentions. Even with my limited abilities, I was able to do that. If the villagers had been bent on killing us, I wouldn't have just sat there. However, I felt there was a reasonable chance of talking our way out of there, which is what I did."

"How could I know what Trevor was thinking?" asked Eragon. "Am I supposed to be able to see into people's minds?"

"Come now," chided Brom, "you should know the answer to that. You could have discovered Trevor's purpose in the same way that you communicate with Cadoc or Saphira. The minds of men are not so different from a dragon's or horse's. It's a simple thing to do, but it's a power you must use sparingly and with great caution. A person's mind is his last sanctuary. You must never violate it unless circumstances force you to. The Riders had very strict rules regarding this. If they were broken without due cause, the punishment was severe."

"And you can do this even though you aren't a Rider?" asked Eragon.

"As I said before, with the right instruction anyone can talk with their minds, but with differing amounts of success. Whether it's magic, though, is hard to tell. Magical abilities will certainly trigger the talent—or becoming linked with a dragon—but I've known plenty who learned it on their own.

Think about it: you can communicate with any sentient being, though the contact may not be very clear. You could spend the entire day listening to a bird's thoughts or understanding how an earthworm feels during a rainstorm. But I've never found birds very interesting. I suggest starting with a cat; they have unusual personalities."

Eragon twisted Cadoc's reins in his hands, considering the implications of what Brom had said. "But if I can get into someone's head, doesn't that mean that others can do the same to me? How do I know if someone's prying in my mind? Is there a way to stop that?"

How do I know if Brom can tell what I'm thinking right now? "Why, yes. Hasn't Saphira ever blocked you from her mind?"

"Occasionally," admitted Eragon. "When she took me into the Spine, I couldn't talk to her at all. It wasn't that she was ignoring me; I don't think she could even hear me. There were walls around her mind that I couldn't get through."

Brom worked on his bandage for a moment, shifting it higher on his arm. "Only a few people can tell if someone is in their mind, and of those, only a handful could stop you from entering. It's a matter of training and of how you think. Because of your magical power, you'll always know if someone is in your mind. Once you do, blocking them is a simple matter of concentrating on one thing to the exclusion of all else.

For instance, if you only think about a brick wall, that's all the enemy will find in your mind. However, it takes a huge amount of energy and discipline to block someone for any length of time. If you're distracted by even the slightest thing, your wall will waver and your opponent will slip in through the weakness."

"How can I learn to do this?" asked Eragon.

"There is only one thing for it: practice, practice, and yet more practice. Picture something in your mind and hold it there to the exclusion of all else for as long as you can. It is a very advanced ability; only a handful ever master it," said Brom.

"I don't need perfection, just safety."If I can get into someone's mind, can I change how he thinks? Every time I learn something new about magic, I grow more wary of it.

When they reached Saphira, she startled them by thrusting her head at them. The horses back stepped nervously. Saphira looked Eragon over carefully and gave a low hiss. Her eyes were flinty. Eragon threw a concerned look at Brom- he had never seen Saphira this angry- then asked, What's wrong?

You! she growled. You are the problem.

Eragon frowned and got off Cadoc. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Saphira swept his legs out from under him with her tail and pinned him with her talons. "What are you doing?" he yelled, struggling to get up, but she was too strong for him. Brom watched attentively from Snowfire. Saphira swung her head over Eragon until they were eye to eye. He squirmed under her unwavering glare.

You! Every time you leave my sight you get into trouble. You're like a new hatchling, sticking your nose into everything. And what happens when you stick it into something that bites back? How will you survive then? I cannot help you when I'm miles away. I've stayed hidden so that no one would see me, but no longer! Not when it may cost you your life.

I can understand why you're upset, said Eragon, but I'm much older than you and can take care of myself. If anything, you're the one who needs to be protected.

She snarled and snapped her teeth by his ear. Do you really believe that? she asked. Tomorrow you will ride me—- not that pitiful deer-animal you call a horse- or else I will carry you in my claws. Are you a Dragon Rider or not? Don't you care for me?

The question burned in Eragon, and he dropped his gaze. He knew she was right, but he was scared of riding her. Their flights had been the most painful ordeal he had ever endured.

"Well?" demanded Brom.

"She wants me to ride her tomorrow," said Eragon lamely. Brom considered it with twinkling eyes.

"Well, you have the saddle. I suppose that if the two of you stay out of sight, it won't be a problem."

Saphira switched her gaze to him, then returned it to Eragon.

"But what if you're attacked or there's an accident or the Forsworn comes this way? I won't be able to get there in time and- " Saphira pressed harder on his chest, stopping his words.

Exactly my point, little one.

Brom seemed to hide a smile. "It's worth the risk. You need to learn how to ride her anyway. Think about it this way: with you flying ahead and looking at the ground, you'll be able to spot any traps, ambushes, or other unwelcome surprises." His smile faltered, and his face took on a more serious demeanor. "And were the Foresworn to return, you must not attempt to fight them. Rather, you must flee. You may yet become a powerful rider, but the Foreworn have been riders for centuries."

Eragon looked back at Saphira and said, Okay, I'll do it. But let me up.

Give me your word.

Is that really necessary?he demanded.

She blinked.

Very well. I give you my word that I will fly with you tomorrow. Satisfied?

I am content.

Saphira let him up and, with a push of her legs, took off. A small shiver ran through Eragon as he watched her twist through the air. Grumbling, he returned to Cadoc and followed Brom. It was nearly sundown when they made camp. As usual, Eragon dueled with Brom before dinner. In the midst of the fight, Eragon delivered such a powerful blow that he snapped both of their sticks like twigs. The pieces whistled into the darkness in a cloud of splintered fragments.

Brom tossed what remained of his stick into the fire and said, "We're done with these; throw yours in as well. You have learned well, but we've gone as far as we can with branches. There is nothing more you can gain from them. It is time for you to use the blade." He removed Undbitr from Eragon's bag and gave it to him.

"We'll cut each other to ribbons," protested Eragon. "Not so. Again you forget magic," said Brom. He held up Zar'roc and turned it so that firelight glinted off the edge. He put a finger on either side of the blade and focused intensely, deepening the lines on his forehead. For a moment nothing happened, then he uttered, "Gëuloth du knífr!" and a small red spark jumped between his fingers.

As it flickered back and forth, he ran his fingers down the length of the sword. Then he twirled it and did the same thing on the other side. The spark vanished the moment his fingers left the metal. Brom held his hand out, palm up, and slashed it with the sword. Eragon jumped forward but was too slow to stop him. He was astonished when Brom raised his unharmed hand with a smile.

"What did you do?" asked Eragon. "Feel the edge," said Brom. Eragon touched it and felt an invisible surface under his fingers. The barrier was about a quarter inch wide and very slippery. "Now do the same on Undbitr," instructed Brom. "Your block will be a bit different than mine, but it should accomplish the same thing."

He told Eragon how to pronounce the words and coached him through the process. It took Eragon a few tries, but he soon had Undbitr's edge protected. Confident, he took his fighting stance.

Before they started, Brom admonished, "These swords won't cut us, but they can still break bones. I would prefer to avoid that, so don't flail around like you normally do. A blow to the neck could prove fatal."

Eragon nodded, then struck without warning. Sparks flew off his blade, and the clash of metal filled their campsite as Brom parried. The sword felt slow and heavy to Eragon after fighting with sticks for so long. Unable to move Undbitr fast enough, he received a sharp rap on his knee. They both had large welts when they stopped, Eragon more so than Brom. He marveled that Undbitr had not been scratched or dented by the vigorous pounding it had received.

The next morning Eragon woke with stiff limbs and purple bruises. He saw Brom carry the saddle to Saphira and tried to quell his uneasiness. By the time breakfast was ready, Brom had strapped the saddle onto Saphira and hung Eragon's bags from it. When his bowl was empty, Eragon silently picked up his bow and went to Saphira. Brom said, "Now remember, grip with your knees, guide her with your thoughts, and stay as flat as you can on her back. Nothing will go wrong if you don't panic."

Eragon nodded, sliding his unstrung bow into its leather tube, and Brom boosted him into the saddle.

Saphira waited impatiently while Eragon tightened the bands around his legs. Are you ready? she asked.

He sucked in the fresh morning air. No, but let's do it!

She agreed enthusiastically. He braced himself as she crouched. Her powerful legs surged and the air whipped past him, snatching his breath away. With three smooth strokes of her wings, she was in the sky, climbing rapidly.

The last time Eragon had ridden Saphira, every flap of her wings had been strained. Now she flew steadily and effortlessly. He clenched his arms around her neck as she turned on edge, banking. The river shrank to a wispy gray line beneath them. Clouds floated around them. When they leveled off high above the plains, the trees below were no more than specks. The air was thin, chilly, and perfectly clear.

"This is wonderfu-" His words were lost as Saphira tilted and rolled completely around. The ground spun in a dizzying circle, and vertigo clutched Eragon. "Don't do that!" he cried. "I feel like I'm going to fall off."

You must become accustomed to it. If I'm attacked in the air, that's one of the simplest maneuvers I will do. she replied.

He could think of no rebuttal, so he concentrated on controlling his stomach. Saphira angled into a shallow dive and slowly approached the ground. Although Eragon's stomach lurched with every wobble, he began to enjoy himself. He relaxed his arms a bit and stretched his neck back, taking in the scenery. Saphira let him enjoy the sights awhile, then said Let me show you what flying is really like.

How? he asked. Relax and do not be afraid. she said. Her mind tugged at his, pulling him away from his body. Eragon fought for a moment, then surrendered control. His vision blurred, and he found himself looking through Saphira's eyes. Everything was distorted: colors had weird, exotic tints; blues were more prominent now, while greens and reds were subdued. Eragon tried to turn his head and body but could not. He felt like a ghost who had slipped out of the ether.

Pure joy radiated from Saphira as she climbed into the sky. She loved this freedom to go anywhere. When they were high above the ground, she looked back at Eragon. He saw himself as she did, hanging on to her with a blank look. He could feel her body strain against the air, using updrafts to rise. All her muscles were like his own. He felt her tail swinging through the air like a giant rudder to correct her course. It surprised him how much she depended on it. Their connection grew stronger until there was no distinction between their identities. They clasped their wings together and dived straight down, like a spear thrown from on high. No terror of falling touched Eragon, engulfed as he was in Saphira's exhilaration. The air rushed past their face. Their tail whipped in the air, and their joined minds reveled in the experience. Even as they plummeted toward the ground, there was no fear of collision. They snapped open their wings at just the right moment, pulling out of the dive with their combined strength. Slanting toward the sky, they shot up and continued back over into a giant loop. As they leveled out, their minds began to diverge, becoming distinct personalities again. For a split second, Eragon felt both his body and Saphira's.

Then his vision blurred and he again sat on her back. He gasped and collapsed on the saddle. It was minutes before his heart stopped hammering and his breathing calmed. Once he had recovered, he exclaimed, That was incredible! How can you bear to land when you enjoy flying so much?

I must eat. she said with some amusement. But I am glad that you took pleasure in it.

Those are spare words for such an experience. I'm sorry I haven't flown with you more; I never thought it could be like that. Do you always see so much blue?

It is the way I am. We will fly together more often now?

Yes! Every chance we get.

Good. she replied in a contented tone.

They exchanged many thoughts as she flew, talking as they had not for weeks. Saphira showed Eragon how she used hills and trees to hide and how she could conceal herself in the shadow of a cloud. They scouted the trail for Brom, which proved to be more arduous than Eragon expected. They could not see the path unless Saphira flew very close to it, in which case she risked being detected.

Near midday, an annoying buzz filled Eragon's ears, and he became aware of a strange pressure on his mind. He shook his head, trying to get rid of it, but the tension only grew stronger. Brom's words about how people could break into others' minds flashed through Eragon's head, and he frantically tried to clear his thoughts.

He concentrated on one of Saphira's scales and forced himself to ignore everything else. The pressure faded for a moment and then returned, greater than ever. A sudden gust rocked Saphira, and Eragon's concentration slipped. Before he could marshal any defenses, the force broke through.

But instead of the invasive presence of another mind, there were only the words, What do you think you're doing? Get down here. I found something important.

Brom? queried Eragon.

Yes, the old man said irritably. Now get that oversized lizard of yours to land. I'm here.

He sent a picture of his location. Eragon quickly told Saphira where to go, and she banked toward the river below. Meanwhile, he strung his bow and drew several arrows. If there's trouble, I'll be ready for it.

As will I. said Saphira. When they reached Brom, Eragon saw him standing in a clearing, waving his arms. Saphira landed, and Eragon jumped off her and looked for danger. The horses were tied to a tree on the edge of the clearing, but otherwise Brom was alone.

Eragon trotted over and asked, "What's wrong?"

Brom scratched his chin and muttered a string of curses. "Don't ever block me out like that again. It's hard enough for me to reach you without having to fight to make myself heard."

"Sorry." He snorted. "I was farther down the river when I noticed that the Ra'zac's tracks had ceased. I backtracked until I found where they had disappeared. Look at the ground and tell me what you see." Eragon knelt and examined the dirt and found a confusion of impressions that were difficult to decipher. Numerous Ra'zac footprints overlapped each other. Eragon guessed that the tracks were only a few days old. Superimposed over them were long, thick gouges torn into the ground. They looked familiar, but Eragon could not say why. He stood, shaking his head.

"I don't have any idea what . . ." Then his eyes fell on Saphira and he realized what had made the gouges. Every time she took off, her back claws dug into the ground and ripped it in the same manner.

"This doesn't make any sense, but the only thing I can think of is that the Ra'zac flew off on dragons. Or else they got onto giant birds and disappeared into the heavens. Tell me you have a better explanation."

Brom shrugged. "I've heard reports of the Ra'zac moving from place to place with incredible speed, but this is the first evidence I've had of it. It will be almost impossible to find them if they have flying steeds. They aren't dragons- I know that much. A dragon would never consent to bear a Ra'zac."

"Even those of the foresworn?"

"Aye, even them."

What do we do? Saphira can't track them through the sky. Even if she could, we would leave you far behind."

"There's no easy solution to this riddle," said Brom. "Let's have lunch while we think on it. Perhaps inspiration will strike us while we eat."

Eragon glumly went to his bags for food. They ate in silence, staring at the empty sky. Once again Eragon thought of home and wondered what Roran was doing. A vision of the burnt farm appeared before him and grief threatened to overwhelm him.

What will I do if we can't find the Ra'zac? What is my purpose then? I could return to Carvahall- he plucked a twig from the ground and snapped it between two fingers- or just travel with Brom and continue my training. Eragon stared out at the plains, hoping to quiet his thoughts.

When Brom finished eating, he stood and threw back his hood. "I have considered every trick I know, every word of power within my grasp, and all the skills we have, but I still don't see how we can find the Ra'zac."

Eragon slumped against Saphira in despair. "Saphira could show herself at some town. That would draw the Ra'zac like flies to honey. But it would be an extremely risky thing to attempt. The Ra'zac would bring soldiers with them, the Foresworn and the king might be interested enough to come himself, which would spell certain death for you and me."

"So what now?" asked Eragon, throwing his hands up.

Do you have any ideas, Saphira?

No.

"That's up to you," said Brom. "This is your crusade."

Eragon ground his teeth angrily and stalked away from Brom and Saphira. Just as he was about to enter the trees, his foot struck something hard. Lying on the ground was a metal flask with a leather strap just long enough to hang off someone's shoulder. A silver insignia Eragon recognized as the Ra'zac's symbol was wrought into it.

Excited, he picked up the flask and unscrewed its cap. A cloying smell filled the air- the same one he had noticed when he found Garrow in the wreckage of their house. He tilted the flask, and a drop of clear, shiny liquid fell on his finger. Instantly Eragon's finger burned as if it were on fire. He yelped and scrubbed his hand on the ground. After a moment the pain subsided to a dull throbbing. A patch of skin had been eaten away. Grimacing, he jogged back to Brom.

"Look what I found." Brom took the flask and examined it, then poured a bit of the liquid into the cap. Eragon started to warn him, "Watch out, it'll burn-"

"My skin, I know," said Brom. "And I suppose you went ahead and poured it all over your hand. Your finger? Well, at least you showed sense enough not to drink it. Only a puddle would have been left of you."

"What is it?" asked Eragon.

"Oil from the petals of the Seithr plant, which grows on a small island in the frigid northern seas. In its natural state, the oil is used for preserving pearls- it makes them lustrous and strong. But when specific words are spoken over the oil, along with a blood sacrifice, it gains the property to eat any flesh. That alone wouldn't make it special- there are plenty of acids that can dissolve sinew and bone- except for the fact that it leaves everything else untouched. You can dip anything into the oil and pull it out unharmed, unless it was once part of an animal or human. This has made it a weapon of choice for torture and assassination. It can be stored in wood, slathered on the point of a spear, or dripped onto sheets so that the next person to touch them will be burned. There are myriad uses for it, limited only by your ingenuity. Any injury caused by it is always slow to heal. It's rather rare and expensive, especially this converted form."

Eragon remembered the terrible burns that had covered Garrow. That's what they used on him, he realized with horror. "I wonder why the Ra'zac left it behind if it's so valuable."

"It must have slipped off when they flew away."

"But why didn't they come back for it? I doubt that the king will be pleased that they lost it."

"No, he won't," said Brom, "but he would be even more displeased if they delayed bringing him news of you. In fact, if the Ra'zac have reached him by now, you can be sure that the king has learned your name. And that means we will have to be much more careful when we go into towns. There will be notices and alerts about you posted throughout the Empire."

Eragon paused to think. "This oil, how rare is it exactly?"

"Like diamonds in a pig trough," said Brom. He amended himself after a second, "Actually, the normal oil is used by jewelers, but only those who can afford it."

"So there are people who trade in it?"

"Perhaps one, maybe two."

"Good," said Eragon. "Now, do the cities along the coast keep shipping records?"

Brom's eyes brightened. "Of course they do. If we could get to those records, they would tell us who brought the oil south and where it went from there."

"And the record of the Empire's purchase will tell us where the Ra'zac live!" concluded Eragon. "I don't know how many people can afford this oil, but it shouldn't be hard to figure out which ones aren't working for the Empire."

"Genius!" exclaimed Brom, smiling. "I wish I had thought of this years ago; it would have saved me many headaches. The coast is dotted with numerous cities and towns where ships can land. I suppose that Teirm would be the place to start, as it controls most of the trade." Brom paused. "The last I heard, my old friend Jeod lives there. We haven't seen each other for many years, but he might be willing to help us. And because he's a merchant, it's possible that he has access to those records."

"How do we get to Teirm?"

"We'll have to go southwest until we reach a high pass in the Spine. Once on the other side, we can head up the coast to Teirm," said Brom. A gentle wind pulled at his hair.

"Can we reach the pass within a week?"

"Easily. If we angle away from the Ninor and to our right, we might be able to see the mountains by tomorrow."

Eragon went to Saphira and mounted her. "I'll see you at dinner, then." When they were at a good height, he said, I'm going to ride Cadoc tomorrow. Before you protest, know that I am only doing it because I want to talk with Brom.

You should ride with him every other day. That way you can still receive your instruction, and I will have time to hunt.

You won't be troubled by it?

It is necessary.

When they landed for the day, he was pleased to discover that his legs did not hurt. The saddle had protected him well from Saphira's scales. Eragon and Brom had their nightly fight, but it lacked energy, as both were preoccupied with the day's events. By the time they finished, Eragon's arms burned from Undbitr's unaccustomed weight.

The next day while they were riding, Eragon asked Brom, "What is the sea like?"

"You must have heard it described before," said Brom.

"Yes, but what is it really like?" Brom's eyes grew hazy, as if he looked upon some hidden scene. "The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps. It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can't. Do you remember what I told you about how the elves came over the sea?"

"Yes."

"Though they live far from the coast, they retain a great fascination and passion for the ocean. The sound of crashing waves, the smell of salt air, it affects them deeply and has inspired many of their loveliest songs.

When they arrived at the Spine's foothills, they turned and followed the mountains south. Eragon was glad to be near the mountains again; they placed comforting boundaries on the world.

Three days later they came to a wide road rutted by wagon wheels. "This is the main road between the capital, Urû'baen, and Teirm," said Brom. "It's widely used and a favorite route for merchants. We have to be more cautious. This isn't the busiest time of year, but a few people are bound to be using the road."

Days passed quickly as they continued to trek along the Spine, searching for the mountain pass. Eragon could not complain of boredom. When not learning the elven language, he was either learning how to care for Saphira or practicing magic. Eragon also learned how to kill game with magic, which saved them time hunting. He would hold a small rock on his hand and shoot it at his prey. It was impossible to miss. The results of his efforts roasted over the fire each night.

And after dinner, Brom and Eragon would spar with swords and, occasionally, fists. The long days and strenuous work stripped Eragon's body of excess fat. His arms became corded, and his tanned skin rippled with lean muscles. Everything about me is turning hard, he thought dryly.

When they finally reached the pass, Eragon saw that a river rushed out of it and cut across the road. "This is the Toark," explained Brom. "We'll follow it all the way to the sea."

"How can we," laughed Eragon, "if it flows out of the Spine in this direction? It won't end up in the ocean unless it doubles back on itself." Brom twisted the ring on his finger.

"Because in the middle of the mountains rests the Woadark Lake. A river flows from each end of it and both are called the Toark. We see the eastward one now. It runs to the south and winds through the brush until it joins Leona Lake. The other one goes to the sea."

After two days in the Spine, they came upon a rock ledge from which they could see clearly out of the mountains. Eragon noticed how the land flattened in the distance, and he groaned at the leagues they still had to traverse. Brom pointed. "Down there and to the north lies Teirm. It is an old city. Some say it's where the elves first landed in Alagaësia. Its citadel has never fallen, nor have its warriors ever been defeated."

He spurred Snowfire forward and left the ledge. It took them until noon the next day to descend through the foothills and arrive at the other side of the Spine, where the forested land quickly leveled out. Without the mountains to hide behind, Saphira flew close to the ground, using every hollow and dip in the land to conceal herself out of an abundance of caution.

Beyond the forest, they noticed a change. The countryside was covered with soft turf and heather that their feet sank into. Moss clung to every stone and branch and lined the streams that laced the ground. Pools of mud pocked the road where horses had trampled the dirt. Before long both Brom and Eragon were splattered with grime. "Why is everything green?" asked Eragon. "Don't they have winter here?"

"Yes, but the season is mild. Mist and fog roll in from the sea and keep everything alive. Some find it to their liking, but to me it's dreary and depressing." When evening fell, they set up camp in the driest spot they could find. As they ate, Brom commented, "You should continue to ride Cadoc until we reach Teirm. It's likely that we'll meet other travelers now that we are out of the Spine, and it will be better if you are with me. An old man traveling alone will raise suspicion. With you at my side, no one will ask questions. Besides, I don't want to show up at the city and have someone who saw me on the trail wondering where you suddenly came from."

"Will we use our own names?" asked Eragon. Brom thought about it. "We won't be able to deceive Jeod. He already knows my name, and I think I trust him with yours. But to everyone else, I will be Neal and you will be my nephew Evan. If our tongues slip and give us away, it probably won't make a difference, but I don't want our names in anyone's heads. People have an annoying habit of remembering things they shouldn't."

After two days of traveling north toward the ocean, Saphira sighted Teirm. A heavy fog clung to the ground, obscuring Brom's and Eragon's sight until a breeze from the west blew the mist away. Eragon gaped as Teirm was suddenly revealed before them, nestled by the edge of the shimmering sea, where proud ships were docked with furled sails. The surf's dull thunder could be heard in the distance.

The city was contained behind a white wall- a hundred feet tall and thirty feet thick- with rows of rectangular arrow slits lining it and a walkway on top for soldiers and watchmen. The wall's smooth surface was broken by two iron portcullises, one facing the western sea, the other opening south to the road. Above the wall- and set against its northeast section- rose a huge citadel built of giant stones and turrets. In the highest tower, a lighthouse lantern gleamed brilliantly. The castle was the only thing visible over the fortifications. Soldiers guarded the southern gate but held their pikes carelessly.

"This is our first test," said Brom. "Let's hope they haven't received reports of us from the Empire and won't detain us. Whatever happens, don't panic or act suspiciously."

Eragon told Saphira, You should land somewhere now and hide. We're going in.

Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Again. she said sourly.

I know. But Brom and I do have some advantages most people don' 'll be all right.

If anything happens, I'm going to pin you to my back and never let you off.

I love you too.

Then I will bind you all the tighter.

Eragon and Brom rode toward the gate, trying to appear casual. A yellow pennant bearing the outline of a roaring lion and an arm holding a lily blossom waved over the entrance. As they neared the wall, Eragon asked in amazement, "How big is this place?"

"Larger than any city you have ever seen," said Brom. At the entrance to Teirm, the guards stood straighter and blocked the gate with their pikes. "Wha's yer name?" asked one of them in a bored tone.

"I'm called Neal," said Brom in a wheezy voice, slouching to one side, an expression of happy idiocy on his face.

"And who's th' other one?" asked the guard. "Well, I wus gettin' to that. This'ed be m'nephew Evan. He's m'sister's boy, not a… "

The guard nodded impatiently. "Yeah, yeah. And yer business here?"

"He's visitin' an old friend," supplied Eragon, dropping his voice into a thick accent. "I'm along t' make sure he don't get lost, if y' get m'meaning. He ain't as young as he used to be- had a bit too much sun when he was young'r. Touch o' the brain fever, y' know."

Brom bobbed his head pleasantly. "Right. Go on through," said the guard, waving his hand and dropping the pike. "Just make sure he doesn't cause any trouble."

"Oh, he won't," promised Eragon. He urged Cadoc forward, and they rode into Teirm. The cobblestone street clacked under the horses' hooves. Once they were away from the guards, Brom sat up and growled, "Touch of brain fever, eh?"

"I couldn't let you have all the fun," teased Eragon. Brom harrumphed and looked away. The houses were grim and foreboding. Small, deep windows let in only sparse rays of light. Narrow doors were recessed into the buildings. The tops of the roofs were flat- except for metal railings- and all were covered with slate shingles.

Eragon noticed that the houses closest to Teirm's outer wall were no more than one story, but the buildings got progressively higher as they went in. Those next to the citadel were tallest of all, though insignificant compared to the fortress. "This place looks ready for war," said Eragon. Brom nodded. "Teirm has a history of being attacked by pirates, Urgals, and other enemies. It has long been a center of commerce. There will always be conflict where riches gather in such abundance. The people here have been forced to take extraordinary measures to keep themselves from being overrun. It also helps that Galbatorix gives them soldiers to defend their city."

"Why are some houses higher than others?"

"Look at the citadel," said Brom, pointing. "It has an unobstructed view of Teirm. If the outer wall were breached, archers would be posted on all the roofs. Because the houses in the front, by the outer wall, are lower, the men farther back could shoot over them without fear of hitting their comrades. Also, if the enemy were to capture those houses and put their own archers on them, it would be an easy matter to shoot them down."

"I've never seen a city planned like this," said Eragon in wonder.

"Yes, but it was only done after Teirm was nearly burned down by a pirate raid," commented Brom. As they continued up the street, people gave them searching looks, but there was not an undue amount of interest. Compared to our reception at Daret, we've been welcomed with open arms. Perhaps Teirm has escaped notice by the Urgals,thought Eragon. He changed his opinion when a large man shouldered past them, a sword hanging from his waist. There were other, subtler signs of adverse times: no children played in the streets, people bore hard expressions, and many houses were deserted, with weeds growing from cracks in their stone-covered yards.

"It looks like they've had trouble," said Eragon.

"The same as everywhere else," said Brom grimly. "We have to find Jeod." They led their horses across the street to a tavern and tied them to the hitching post. "The Green Chestnut… wonderful," muttered Brom, looking at the battered sign above them as he and Eragon entered the building. The dingy room felt unsafe. A fire smoldered in the fireplace, yet no one bothered to throw more wood on it.

A few lonely people in the corners nursed their drinks with sullen expressions. A man missing two fingers sat at a far table, eyeing his twitching stumps. The bartender had a cynical twist to his lips and held a glass in his hand that he kept polishing, even though it was broken. Brom leaned against the bar and asked, "Do you know where we can find a man called Jeod?"

Eragon stood at his side, fiddling with the tip of his bow by his waist. It was slung across his back, but right then he wished that it were in his hands. The bartender said in an overly loud voice, "Now, why would I know something like that? Do you think I keep track of the mangy louts in this forsaken place?" Eragon winced as all eyes turned toward them. Brom kept talking smoothly. "Could you be enticed to remember?" He slid some coins onto the bar. The man brightened and put his glass down. "Could be," he replied, lowering his voice, "but my memory takes a great deal of prodding." Brom's face soured, but he slid more coins onto the bar. The bartender sucked on one side of his cheek undecidedly. "All right," he finally said, and reached for the coins. Before he touched them, the man missing two fingers called out from his table, "Gareth, what in th' blazes do you think you're doing? Anyone on the street could tell them where Jeod lives. What are you charging them for?" Brom swept the coins back into his purse. Gareth shot a venomous look at the man at the table, then turned his back on them and picked up the glass again.

Brom went to the stranger and said, "Thanks. The name's Neal. This is Evan." The man raised his mug to them. "Martin, and of course you met Gareth." His voice was deep and rough. Martin gestured at some empty chairs. "Go ahead and sit down. I don't mind." Eragon took a chair and arranged it so his back was to the wall and he faced the door. Martin raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. "You just saved me a few crowns," said Brom. "My pleasure. Can't blame Gareth, though- business hasn't been doing so well lately." Martin scratched his chin.

"Jeod lives on the west side of town, right next to Angela, the herbalist. Do you have business with him?"

"Of a sort," said Brom.

"Well, he won't be interested in buying anything; he just lost another ship a few days ago." Brom latched onto the news with interest.

"What happened? It wasn't Urgals, was it?"

"No," said Martin. "They've left the area. No one's seen 'em in almost a year. It seems they've all gone south and east. But they aren't the problem. See, most of our business is through sea trade, as I'm sure you know. Well," he stopped to drink from his mug, "starting several months ago, someone's been attacking our ships. It's not the usual piracy, because only ships that carry the goods of certain merchants are attacked. Jeod's one of 'em. It's gotten so bad that no captain will accept those merchants' goods, which makes life difficult around here. Especially because some of 'em run the largest shipping businesses in the Empire. They're being forced to send goods by land. It's driven costs painfully high, and their caravans don't always make it."

"Do you have any idea who's responsible? There must be witnesses," said Brom.

Martin shook his head. "No one survives the attacks. Ships go out, then disappear; they're never seen again." He leaned toward them and said in a confidential tone, "The sailors are saying that it's magic." He nodded and winked, then leaned back.

Brom seemed worried by his words. "What do you think?"

Martin shrugged carelessly. "I don't know. And I don't think I will unless I'm unfortunate enough to be on one of those captured ships."

"Are you a sailor?" asked Eragon.

"No," snorted Martin. "Do I look like one? The captains hire me to defend their ships against pirates. And those thieving scum haven't been very active lately. Still, it's a good job."

"But a dangerous one," said Brom.

Martin shrugged again and downed the last of his beer.

Brom and Eragon took their leave and headed to the west side of the city, a nicer section of Teirm. The houses were clean, ornate, and large. The people in the streets wore expensive finery and walked with authority. Eragon felt conspicuous and out of place.

The herbalist's shop had a cheery sign and was easy to find. A short, curly-haired woman sat by the door. She was holding a frog in one hand and writing with the other. Eragon assumed that she was Angela, the herbalist. On either side of the store was a house. "Which one do you think is his?" he asked.

Brom deliberated, then said, "Let's find out."

He approached the woman and asked politely, "Could you tell us which house Jeod lives in?"

"I could." She continued writing. "Will you tell us?"

"Yes." She fell silent, but her pen scribbled faster than ever. The frog on her hand croaked and looked at them with baleful eyes. Brom and Eragon waited uncomfortably, but she said no more. Eragon was about to blurt something out when Angela looked up.

"Of course I'll tell you! All you have to do is ask. Your first question was whether or not I could tell you, and the second was if I would tell you. But you never actually put the question to me."

"Then let me ask properly," said Brom with a smile. "Which house is Jeod's? And why are you holding a frog?"

"Now we're getting somewhere," she bantered. "Jeod is on the right. And as for the frog, he's actually a toad. I'm trying to prove that toads don't exist- that there are only frogs."

"How can toads not exist if you have one on your hand right now?" interrupted Eragon. "Besides, what good will it do, proving that there are only frogs?"

The woman shook her head vigorously, dark curls bouncing. "No, no, you don't understand. If I prove toads don't exist, then this is a frog and never was a toad. Therefore, the toad you see now doesn't exist. And," she raised a small finger, "if I can prove there are only frogs, then toads won't be able to do anything bad- like make teeth fall out, cause warts, and poison or kill people. Also, witches won't be able to use any of their evil spells because, of course, there won't be any toads around."

"I see," said Brom delicately. "It sounds interesting, and I would like to hear more, but we have to meet Jeod."

"Of course," she said, waving her hand and returning to her writing. Once they were out of the herbalist's hearing, Eragon said, "She's crazy!"

"It's possible," said Brom, "but you never know. She might discover something useful, so don't criticize. Who knows, toads might really be frogs!"

"And my shoes are made of gold," retorted Eragon. They stopped before a door with a wrought-iron knocker and marble doorstep. Brom banged three times. No one answered. Eragon felt slightly foolish. "Maybe this is the wrong house. Let's try the other one," he said.

Brom ignored him and knocked again, pounding loudly. Again no one answered. Eragon turned away in exasperation, then heard someone run to the door. A young woman with a pale complexion and light blond hair cracked it open. Her eyes were puffy; it looked like she had been crying, but her voice was perfectly steady.

"Yes, what do you want?"

"Does Jeod live here?" asked Brom kindly.

The woman dipped her head a little. "Yes, he is my husband. Is he expecting you?" She opened the door no farther.

"No, but we need to talk with him," said Brom.

"He is very busy."

"We have traveled far. It's very important that we see him." Her face hardened.

"He is busy." Brom bristled, but his voice stayed pleasant. "Since he is unavailable, would you please give him a message?" Her mouth twitched, but she consented.

"Tell him that a friend from Gil'ead is waiting outside." The woman seemed suspicious, but said, "Very well." She closed the door abruptly. Eragon heard her footsteps recede.

"That wasn't very polite." he commented.

"Keep your opinions to yourself," snapped Brom. "And don't say anything. Let me do the talking."

He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers. Eragon clamped his mouth shut and looked away. The door suddenly flew open, and a tall man burst out of the house. His expensive clothes were rumpled, his gray hair wispy, and he had a mournful face with short eyebrows. A long scar stretched across his scalp to his temple. At the sight of them, his eyes grew wide, and he sagged against the doorframe, speechless. His mouth opened and closed several times like a gasping fish. He asked softly, in an incredulous voice, "Brom?"

Brom put a finger to his lips and reached forward, clasping the man's arm. "It's good to see you, Jeod! I'm glad that memory has not failed you, but don't use that name. It would be unfortunate if anyone knew I was here."

Jeod looked around wildly, shock plain on his face. "I thought you were dead," he whispered. "What happened? Why haven't you contacted me before?"

"All things will be explained. Do you have a place where we can talk safely?" Jeod hesitated, swinging his gaze between Eragon and Brom, face unreadable.

Finally he said, "We can't talk here, but if you wait a moment, I'll take you somewhere we can."

"Fine," said Brom. Jeod nodded and vanished behind the door.

I hope I can learn something of Brom's past, thought Eragon.

There was a rapier at Jeod's side when he reappeared. An embroidered jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, matched by a plumed hat. Brom cast a critical eye at the finery, and Jeod shrugged self-consciously. He took them through Teirm toward the citadel. Eragon led the horses behind the two men.

Jeod gestured at their destination. "Risthart, the lord of Teirm, has decreed that all the business owners must have their headquarters in his castle. Even though most of us conduct our business elsewhere, we still have to rent rooms there. It's nonsense, but we abide by it anyway to keep him calm. We'll be free of eavesdroppers in there; the walls are thick."

They went through the fortress's main gate and into the keep. Jeod strode to a side door and pointed to an iron ring. "You can tie the horses there. No one will bother them." When Snowfire and Cadoc were safely tethered, he opened the door with an iron key and let them inside. Within was a long, empty hallway lit by torches set into the walls. Eragon was surprised by how cold and damp it was. When he touched the wall, his fingers slid over a layer of slime. He shivered. Jeod snatched a torch from its bracket and led them down the hall. They stopped before a heavy, wooden door. He unlocked it and ushered them into a room dominated by a bearskin rug laden with stuffed chairs. Bookshelves stacked with leather-bound tomes covered the walls. Jeod piled wood in the fireplace, then thrust the torch under it. The fire quickly roared.

"You, old man, have some explaining to do."

Brom's face crinkled with a smile. "Who are you calling an old man? The last time I saw you there was no gray in your hair. Now it looks like it's in the final stages of decomposition."

"And you look the same as you did nearly twenty years ago. Time seems to have preserved you as a crotchety old man just to inflict wisdom upon each new generation. Enough of this! Get on with the story. That's always what you were good at," said Jeod impatiently.

Eragon's ears pricked up, and he waited eagerly to hear what Brom would say. Brom relaxed into a chair and pulled out his pipe. He slowly blew a smoke ring that turned green, darted into the fireplace, then flew up the chimney. "Do you remember what we were doing in Gil'ead?"

"Yes, of course," said Jeod. "That sort of thing is hard to forget."

"An understatement, but true nevertheless," said Brom dryly. "When we were… separated, I couldn't find you. In the midst of the turmoil I stumbled into a small room. There wasn't anything extraordinary in it- just crates and boxes- but out of curiosity, I rummaged around anyway. Fortune smiled on me that hour, for I found what we had been searching for."

An expression of shock ran over Jeod's face. "Once they were in my hands, I couldn't wait for you. At any second I might have been discovered, and all lost. Disguising myself as best I could, I fled the city and ran to the…" Brom hesitated and glanced at Eragon, then said, "ran to our friends. They stored them in a vault, for safekeeping, and made me promise to care for whomever received it. Until the day when my skills would be needed, I had to disappear. No one could know that I was aliv, not even you,though it grieved me to pain you unnecessarily. So I went north and hid in Carvahall."

Eragon clenched his jaw, infuriated that Brom was deliberately keeping him in the dark.

Jeod frowned and asked, "Then our… friends knew that you were alive all along?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "I suppose the ruse was unavoidable, though I wish they had told me. Isn't Carvahall farther north, on the other side of the Spine?"

Brom inclined his head. For the first time, Jeod inspected Eragon. His gray eyes took in every detail. He raised his eyebrows and said, "I assume, then, that you are fulfilling your duty."

Brom shook his head. "No, it's not that simple. They were stolen a while ago- at least that's what I presume, for I haven't received word from our friends, and I suspect their messengers were waylaid- so I decided to find out what I could. Eragon happened to be traveling in the same direction. We have stayed together for a time now."

Jeod looked puzzled. "But if they haven't sent any messages, how could you know that they were- "

Brom overrode him quickly, saying, "Eragon's uncle was brutally killed by the Ra'zac. They burned his home and nearly caught him in the process. He deserves revenge, but they have left us without a trail to follow, and we need help finding them."

Jeod's face cleared. "I see… But why have you come here? I don't know where the Ra'zac might be hiding, and anyone who does won't tell you."

Standing, Brom reached into his robe and pulled out the Ra'zac's flask. He tossed it to Jeod. "There's Seithr oil in there- the dangerous kind. The Ra'zac were carrying it. They lost it by the trail, and we happened to find it. We need to see Teirm's shipping records so we can trace the Empire's purchases of the oil. That should tell us where the Ra'zac's lair is."

Lines appeared on Jeod's face as he thought. He pointed at the books on the shelves. "Do you see those? They are all records from my business. One business. You have gotten yourself into a project that could take months. There is another, greater problem. The records you seek are held in this castle, but only Brand, Risthart's administrator of trade, sees them on a regular basis. Traders such as myself aren't allowed to handle them. They fear that we will falsify the results, thus cheating the Empire of its precious taxes."

"I can deal with that when the time comes," said Brom. "But we need a few days of rest before we can think about proceeding."

Jeod smiled. "It seems that it is my turn to help you. My house is yours, of course. Do you have another name while you are here?"

"Yes," said Brom, "I'm Neal, and the boy is Evan."

"Eragon," said Jeod thoughtfully. "You have a unique name. Few have ever been named after the first Rider. In my life I've read about only three people who were called such."

Eragon was startled that Jeod knew the origin of his name.

Brom looked at Eragon. "Could you go check on the horses and make sure they're all right? I don't think I tied Snowfire to the ring tightly enough."

They're trying to hide something from me. The moment I leave they're going to talk about it. Eragon shoved himself out of the chair and left the room, slamming the door shut. Snowfire had not moved; the knot that held him was fine. Scratching the horses' necks, Eragon leaned sullenly against the castle wall.

It's not fair, he complained to himself. If only I could hear what they are saying.

He jolted upright, electrified. Brom had once taught him some words that would enhance his hearing. Keen ears aren't exactly what I want, but I should be able to make the words work. After all, look what I could do with brisingr! He concentrated intensely and reached for his power. Once it was within his grasp, he said, "Thverr stenr un atra eka hórna!" and imbued the words with his will.

As the power rushed out of him, he heard a faint whisper in his ears, but nothing more. Disappointed, he sank back, then started as Jeod said, "-and I've been doing that for almost eight years now."

Eragon looked around. No one was there except for a few guards standing against the far wall of the keep. Grinning, he sat on the courtyard and closed his eyes.

"I never expected you to become a merchant," said Brom. "After all the time you spent in books. And finding the passageway in that manner! What made you take up trading instead of remaining a scholar?"

"After Gil'ead, I didn't have much taste for sitting in musty rooms and reading scrolls. I decided to help Ajihad as best I could, but I'm no warrior. My father was a merchant as well- you may remember that. He helped me get started. However, the bulk of my business is nothing more than a front to get goods into Surda."

"But I take it that things have been going badly," said Brom.

"Yes, none of the shipments have gotten through lately, and Tronjheim is running low on supplies. Somehow the Empire- at least I think it's them- has discovered those of us who have been helping to support Tronjheim. But I'm still not convinced that it's the Empire. No one sees any soldiers. I don't understand it. Perhaps Galbatorix hired mercenaries to harass us."

"I heard that you lost a ship recently."

"The last one I owned," answered Jeod bitterly. "Every man on it was loyal and brave. I doubt I'll ever see them again… The only option I have left is to send caravans to Surda or Gil'ead, which I know won't get there, no matter how many guards I hire, or charter someone else's ship to carry the goods. But no one will take them now."

"How many merchants have been helping you?" asked Brom. "Oh, a good number up and down the seaboard. All of them have been plagued by the same troubles. I know what you are thinking; I've pondered it many a night myself, but I cannot bear the thought of a traitor with that much knowledge and power. If there is one, we're all in jeopardy. You should return to Tronjheim."

"And take Eragon there?" interrupted Brom. "They'd tear him apart. It's the worst place he could be right now. Maybe in a few months or, even better, a year. Can you imagine how the dwarves will react? Everyone will be trying to influence him, especially Islanzadi. He and Saphira won't be safe in Tronjheim until I at least get them through tuatha du orothrim."

Dwarves! thought Eragon excitedly. Where is this Tronjheim? And why did he tell Jeod about Saphira? He shouldn't have done that without asking me!

"Still, I have a feeling that they are in need of your power and wisdom."

"Wisdom," snorted Brom. "I'm just what you said earlier- a crotchety old man."

"Many would disagree."

"Let them. I've no need to explain myself. No, Ajihad will have to get along without me. What I'm doing now is much more important. But the prospect of a traitor raises troubling questions. I wonder if that's how the Empire knew where to be… " His voice trailed off.

"And I wonder why I haven't been contacted about this," said Jeod.

"Maybe they tried. But if there's a traitor… " Brom paused. "I have to send word to Ajihad. Do you have a messenger you can trust?"

"I think so," said Jeod. "It depends on where he would have to go."

"I don't know," said Brom. "I've been isolated so long, my contacts have probably died or forgotten me. Could you send him to whoever receives your shipments?"

"Yes, but it'll be risky."

"What isn't these days? How soon can he leave?"

"He can go in the morning. I'll send him to Gil'ead. It will be faster," said Jeod.

"What can he take to convince Ajihad the message comes from you?"

"Here, give your man my ring. And tell him that if he loses it, I'll personally tear his liver out. It was given to me by the queen."

"Aren't you cheery," commented Jeod. Brom grunted.

After a long silence he said, "We'd better go out and join Eragon. I get worried when he's alone. That boy has an unnatural propensity for being wherever there's trouble."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really."

Eragon heard chairs being pushed back. He quickly pulled his mind away and opened his eyes.

"What's going on?" he muttered to himself. Jeod and other traders are in trouble for helping people the Empire doesn't favor. Brom found something in Gil'ead and went to Carvahall to hide. What could be so important that he would let his own friend think he was dead for nearly twenty years? He mentioned a queen- when there aren't any queens in the known kingdoms- and dwarves, who, as he himself told me, disappeared underground long ago.

He wanted answers! But he would not confront Brom now and risk jeopardizing their mission. No, he would wait until they left Teirm, and then he would persist until the old man explained his secrets. Eragon's thoughts were still whirling when the door opened.

"Were the horses all right?" asked Brom.

"Fine," said Eragon. They untied the horses and left the castle. As they reentered the main body of Teirm, Brom said, "So, Jeod, you finally got married. And," he winked slyly, "to a lovely young woman. Congratulations."

Jeod did not seem happy with the compliment. He hunched his shoulders and stared down at the street. "Whether congratulations are in order is debatable right now. Helen isn't very happy."

"Why? What does she want?" asked Brom.

"The usual," said Jeod with a resigned shrug. "A good home, happy children, food on the table, and pleasant company. The problem is that she comes from a wealthy family; her father has invested heavily in my business. If I keep suffering these losses, there won't be enough money for her to live the way she's used to." Jeod continued, "But please, my troubles are not your troubles. A host should never bother his guests with his own concerns. While you are in my house, I will let nothing more than an over-full stomach disturb you."

"Thank you," said Brom. "We appreciate the hospitality. Our travels have long been without comforts of any kind. Do you happen to know where we could find an inexpensive shop? All this riding has worn out our clothes."

"Of course. That's my job," said Jeod, lightening up. He talked eagerly about prices and stores until his house was in sight. Then he asked, "Would you mind if we went somewhere else to eat? It might be awkward if you came in right now."

"Whatever makes you feel comfortable," said Brom.

Jeod looked relieved. "Thanks. Let's leave your horses in my stable." They did as he suggested, then followed him to a large tavern. Unlike the Green Chestnut, this one was loud, clean, and full of boisterous people. When the main course arrived—a stuffed suckling pig—Eragon eagerly dug into the meat, but he especially savored the potatoes, carrots, turnips, and sweet apples that accompanied it. It had been a long time since he had eaten much more than wild game. They lingered over the meal for hours as Brom and Jeod swapped stories.

Eragon did not mind. He was warm, a lively tune jangled in the background, and there was more than enough food. The spirited tavern babble fell pleasantly on his ears. When they finally exited the tavern, the sun was nearing the horizon.

"You two go ahead; I have to check on something," Eragon said. He wanted to see Saphira and make sure that she was safely hidden.

Brom agreed absently. "Be careful. Don't take too long."

"Wait," said Jeod. "Are you going outside Teirm?" Eragon hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "Make sure you're inside the walls before dark. The gates close then, and the guards won't let you back in until morning."

"I won't be late," promised Eragon. He turned around and loped down a side street, toward Teirm's outer wall. Once out of the city, he breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air.

Saphira! he called. Where are you?

She guided him off the road, to the base of a mossy cliff surrounded by maples.

He saw her head poke out of the trees on the top and waved.

How am I supposed to get up there?

If you find a clearing, I'll come down and get you.

No, he said, eyeing the cliff, that won't be necessary. I'll just climb up.

It's too dangerous.

And you worry too much. Let me have some fun.

Eragon pulled off his gloves and started climbing. He relished the physical challenge. There were plenty of handholds, so the ascent was easy. He was soon high above the trees. Halfway up, he stopped on a ledge to catch his breath. Once his strength returned, he stretched up for the next handhold, but his arm was not long enough. Stymied, he searched for another crevice or ridge to grasp. There was none. He tried backing down, but his legs could not reach his last foothold. Saphira watched with unblinking eyes.

He gave up and said,I could use some help.

This is your own fault.

Yes! I know. Are you going to get me down or not?

If I weren't around, you would be in a very bad situation.

Eragon rolled his eyes. You don't have to tell me. You're right.

After all, how can a mere dragon expect to tell a man like yourself what to do? In fact, everyone should stand in awe of your brilliance of finding the only dead end. Why, if you had started a few feet in either direction, the path to the top would have been clear. She cocked her head at him, eyes bright.

All right! I made a mistake. Now can you please get me out of here? he pleaded.

She pulled her head back from the edge of the cliff. After a moment he called, "Saphira?" Above him were only swaying trees. "Saphira! Come back!" he roared. With a loud crash Saphira barreled off the top of the cliff, flipping around in midair. She floated down to Eragon like a huge bat and grabbed his shirt with her claws, scratching his back.

He let go of the rocks as she yanked him up in the air. After a brief flight, she set him down gently on the top of the cliff and tugged her claws out of his shirt.

Foolishness, said Saphira gently. Eragon looked away, studying the landscape. The cliff provided a wonderful view of their surroundings, especially the foaming sea, as well as protection against unwelcome eyes. Only birds would see Saphira here. It was an ideal location.

Is Brom's friend trustworthy? she asked.

I don't know.

Eragon proceeded to recount the day's events. There are forces circling us that we aren't aware of. Sometimes I wonder if we can ever understand the true motives of the people around us. They all seem to have secrets.

It is the way of the world. Ignore all the schemes and trust in the nature of each person. Brom is good. He means us no harm. We don't have to fear his plans.

I hope so, he said, looking down at his hands. This finding of the Ra'zac through writing is a strange way of tracking, she remarked. Would there be a way to use magic to see the records without being inside the room?

I'm not sure. You would have to combine the word forseeing with distance… or maybe light distance. Either way, it seems rather difficult. I'll ask Brom.

That would be wise. They lapsed into tranquil silence. You know, we may have to stay here awhile.

Saphira's answer held a hard edge. And as always, I will be left to wait outside.

That is not how I want it. Soon enough we will travel together again.

May that day come quickly.

Eragon smiled and hugged her. He noticed then how rapidly the light was fading.

I have to go now, before I'm locked out of Teirm. Hunt tomorrow, and I will see you in the evening.

She spread her wings. Come, I will take you down.

He got onto her scaly back and held on tightly as she launched off the cliff, glided over the trees, then landed on a knoll. Eragon thanked her and ran back to Teirm. He came into sight of the portcullis just as it was beginning to lower. Calling for them to wait, he put on a burst of speed and slipped inside seconds before the gateway slammed closed.

"Ya cut that a little close," observed one of the guards.

"It won't happen again," assured Eragon, bending over to catch his breath. He wound his way through the darkened city to Jeod's house. A lantern hung outside like a beacon. A plump butler answered his knock and ushered him inside without a word. Tapestries covered the stone walls. Elaborate rugs dotted the polished wood floor, which glowed with the light from three gold candelabra hanging from the ceiling. Smoke drifted through the air and collected above.

"This way, sir. Your friend is in the study." They passed scores of doorways until the butler opened one to reveal a study. Books covered the room's walls. But unlike those in Jeod's office, these came in every size and shape. A fireplace filled with blazing logs warmed the room. Brom and Jeod sat before an oval writing desk, talking amiably.

Brom raised his pipe and said in a jovial voice, "Ah, here you are. We were getting worried about you. How was your walk?"

I wonder what put him in such a good mood? Why doesn't he just come out and ask how Saphira is?

"Pleasant, but the guards almost locked me outside the city. And Teirm is big. I had trouble finding this house."

Jeod chuckled. "When you have seen Dras-Leona, Gil'ead, or even Kuasta, you won't be so easily impressed by this small ocean city. I like it here, though. When it's not raining, Teirm is really quite beautiful."

Eragon turned to Brom. "Do you have any idea how long we'll be here?" Brom spread his palms upward.

"That's hard to tell. It depends on whether we can get to the records and how long it will take us to find what we need. We'll all have to help; it will be a huge job. I'll talk with Brand tomorrow and see if he'll let us examine the records."

"I don't think I'll be able to help," Eragon said, shifting uneasily.

"Why not?" asked Brom. "There will be plenty of work for you."

Eragon lowered his head. "I can't read."

Brom straightened with disbelief. "You mean Garrow never taught you?"

"He knew how to read?" asked Eragon, puzzled.

Jeod watched them with interest.

"Of course he did," snorted Brom. "The proud fool- what was he thinking? I should have realized that he wouldn't have taught you. He probably considered it an unnecessary luxury." Brom scowled and pulled at his beard angrily. "This sets my plans back, but not irreparably. I'll just have to teach you how to read. It won't take long if you put your mind to it."

Eragon winced. Brom's lessons were usually intense and brutally much more can I learn at one time? "I suppose it's necessary," he said ruefully.

"You'll enjoy it. There is much you can learn from books and scrolls," said Jeod. He gestured at the walls. "These books are my friends, my companions. They make me laugh and cry and find meaning in life."

"It sounds intriguing," admitted Eragon. "Always the scholar, aren't you?" asked Brom. Jeod shrugged.

"Not anymore. I'm afraid I've degenerated into a bibliophile."

"A what?" asked Eragon.

"One who loves books," explained Jeod, and resumed conversing with Brom.

Bored, Eragon scanned the shelves. An elegant book set with gold studs caught his attention. He pulled it off the shelf and stared at it curiously. It was bound in black leather carved with mysterious runes. Eragon ran his fingers over the cover and savored its cool smoothness. The letters inside were printed with a reddish glossy ink. He let the pages slip past his fingers. A column of script, set off from the regular lettering, caught his eye. The words were long and flowing, full of graceful lines and sharp points.

Eragon took the book to Brom. "What is this?" he asked, pointing to the strange writing. Brom looked at the page closely and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Jeod, you've expanded your collection. Where did you get this? I haven't seen one in ages."

Jeod strained his neck to see the book. "Ah yes, the Domia abr Wyrda. A man came through here a few years ago and tried to sell it to a trader down by the wharves. Fortunately, I happened to be there and was able to save the book, along with his neck. He didn't have a clue what it was."

"It's odd, Eragon, that you should pick up this book, the Dominance of Fate," said Brom. "Of all the items in this house, it's probably worth the most. It details a complete history of Alagaësia- starting long before the elves landed here and ending a few decades ago. The book is very rare and is the best of its kind. When it was written, the Empire decried it as blasphemy and burned the author, Heslant the Monk. I didn't think any copies still existed. The lettering you asked about is from the ancient language."

"What does it say?" asked Eragon.

It took Brom a moment to read the writing. "It's part of an elven poem that tells of the years they fought the dragons. This excerpt describes one of their kings, Ceranthor, as he rides into battle. The elves love this poem and tell it regularly- though you need three days to do it properly- so that they won't repeat the mistakes of the past. At times they sing it so beautifully it seems the very rocks will cry."

Eragon returned to his chair, holding the book 's amazing that a man who is dead can talk to people through these pages. As long as this book survives, his ideas live. I wonder if it contains any information about the Ra'zac?

He browsed through the book while Brom and Jeod spoke. Hours passed, and Eragon began to drowse.

Out of pity for his exhaustion, Jeod bid them good night. "The butler will show you to your rooms." On the way upstairs, the servant said, "If you need assistance, use the bellpull next to the bed." He stopped before a cluster of three doors, bowed, then backed away.

As Brom entered the room on the right, Eragon asked, "Can I talk to you?"

"You just did, but come in anyway." Eragon closed the door behind himself. "Saphira and I had an idea. Is there- " Brom stopped him with a raised hand and pulled the curtains shut over the window. "When you talk of such things, you would do well to make sure that no unwelcome ears are present."

"Sorry," said Eragon, berating himself for the slip. "Anyway, is it possible to conjure up an image of something that you can't see?" Brom sat on the edge of his bed. "What you are talking about is called scrying. It is quite possible and extremely helpful in some situations, but it has a major drawback. You can only observe people, places, and things that you've already seen. If you were to scry the Ra'zac, you'd see them all right, but not their surroundings. There are other problems as well. Let's say that you wanted to view a page in a book, one that you'd already seen. You could only see the page if the book were open to it. If the book were closed when you tried this, the page would appear completely black." "Why can't you view objects that you haven't seen?" asked Eragon. Even with those limitations, he realized, scrying could be very useful. I wonder if I could view something leagues away and use magic to affect what was happening there?

"Because," said Brom patiently, "to scry, you have to know what you're looking at and where to direct your power. Even if a stranger was described to you, it would still be nigh impossible to view him, not to mention the ground and whatever else might be around him. You have to know what you're going to scry before you can scry it. Does that answer your question?"

Eragon thought for a moment. "But how is it done? Do you conjure up the image in thin air?"

"Not usually," said Brom, shaking his white head. "That takes more energy than projecting it onto a reflective surface like a pool of water or a mirror. Some Riders used to travel everywhere they could, trying to see as much as possible. Then, whenever war or some other calamity occurred, they would be able to view events throughout Alagaësia."

"May I try it?" asked Eragon.

Brom looked at him carefully. "No, not now. You're tired, and scrying takes lots of strength. I will tell you the words, but you must promise not to attempt it tonight. And I'd rather you wait until we leave Teirm; I have more to teach you."

Eragon smiled. "I promise."

"Very well." Brom bent over and very quietly whispered, "Draumr kópa" into Eragon's ear. Eragon took a moment to memorize the words.

"Maybe after we've left Teirm, I can scry Roran. I would like to know how he's doing. I'm afraid that the Ra'zac might go after him."

"I don't mean to frighten you, but that's a distinct possibility," said Brom. "Although Roran was gone most of the time the Ra'zac were in Carvahall, I'm sure that they asked questions about him. Who knows, they may have even met him while they were in Therinsford. Either way, I doubt their curiosity is sated. You're on the loose, after all, and the king is probably threatening them with terrible punishment if you aren't found. If they get frustrated enough, they'll go back and interrogate Roran. It's only a matter of time."

"If that's true, then the only way to keep Roran safe is to let the Ra'zac know where I am so that they'll come after me instead of him."

"No, that won't work either. You're not thinking," admonished Brom. "If you can't understand your enemies, how can you expect to anticipate them? Even if you exposed your location, the Ra'zac would still chase Roran. Do you know why?"

Eragon straightened and tried to consider every possibility. "Well, if I stay in hiding long enough, they might get frustrated and capture Roran to force me to reveal myself. If that didn't work, they'd kill him just to hurt me. Also, if I become a public enemy of the Empire, they might use him as bait to catch me. And if I met with Roran and they found out about it, they would torture him to find out where I was."

"Very good. You figured that out quite nicely," said Brom.

"But what's the solution? I can't let him be killed!" Brom clasped his hands loosely. "The solution is quite obvious. Roran is going to have to learn how to defend himself. That may sound hard-hearted, but as you pointed out, you cannot risk meeting with him. You may not remember this- you were half delirious at the time - but when we left Carvahall, I told you that I had left a warning letter for Roran so he won't be totally unprepared for danger. If he has any sense at all, when the Ra'zac show up in Carvahall again, he'll take my advice and flee."

"I don't like this," said Eragon unhappily.

"Ah, but you forget something."

"What?" he demanded.

"There is some good in all of this. The king cannot afford to have a Rider roaming around that he does not control. Galbatorix is the only known Rider alive besides yourself, but he would like another one under his command. Before he tries to kill you or Roran, he will offer you the chance to serve him. Unfortunately, if he ever gets close enough to make that proposition, it will be far too late for you to refuse and still live."

"You call that some good!"

"It's all that's protecting Roran. As long as the king doesn't know which side you've chosen, he won't risk alienating you by harming your cousin. Keep that firmly in mind. The Ra'zac killed Garrow, but I think it was an ill-considered decision on their part. From what I know of Galbatorix, he would not have approved it unless he gained something from it."

"And how will I be able to deny the king's wishes when he is threatening me with death?" asked Eragon sharply.

Brom sighed. He went to his nightstand and dipped his fingers in a basin of rose water. "Galbatorix wants your willing cooperation. Without that, you're worse than useless to him. So the question becomes, If you are ever faced with this choice, are you willing to die for what you believe in? For that is the only way you will deny him."

The question hung in the air. Brom finally said, "It's a difficult question and not one you can answer until you're faced with it. Keep in mind that many people have died for their beliefs; it's actually quite common. The real courage is in living and suffering for what you believe."

It was late in the morning when Eragon woke. He dressed, washed his face in the basin, then held the mirror up and brushed his hair into place. Something about his reflection made him stop and look closer. His face had changed since he had run out of Carvahall just a short while ago. Any baby fat was gone now, stripped away by traveling, sparring, and training. His cheekbones were more prominent, and the line of his jaw was sharper. There was a slight cast to his eyes that, when he looked closely, gave his face a wild, alien appearance. He held the mirror at arm's length, and his face resumed its normal semblance- but it still did not seem quite his own.

A little disturbed, he slung his bow and quiver across his back, then left the room. Before he had reached the end of the hall, the butler caught up with him and said, "Sir, Neal left with my master for the castle earlier. He said that you could do whatever you want today because he will not return until this evening."

Eragon thanked him for the message, then eagerly began exploring Teirm. For hours he wandered the streets, entering every shop that struck his fancy and chatting with various people. Eventually he was forced back to Jeod's by his empty stomach and lack of money. When he reached the street where the merchant lived, he stopped at the herbalist's shop next door.

It was an unusual place for a store. The other shops were down by the city wall, not crammed between expensive houses. He tried to look in the windows, but they were covered with a thick layer of crawling plants on the interior. Curious, he went inside. At first he saw nothing because the store was so dark, but then his eyes adjusted to the faint greenish light that filtered through the windows. A colorful bird with wide tail feathers and a sharp, powerful beak looked at Eragon inquisitively from a cage near the window.

The walls were covered with plants; vines clung to the ceiling, obscuring all but an old chandelier, and on the floor was a large pot with a yellow flower. A collection of mortars, pestles, metal bowls, and a clear crystal ball the size of Eragon's head rested on a long counter. He walked to the counter, carefully stepping around complex machines, crates of rocks, piles of scrolls, and other objects he did not recognize. The wall behind the counter was covered with drawers of every size. Some of them were no larger than his smallest finger, while others were big enough for a barrel. There was a foot-wide gap in the shelves far above.

A pair of red eyes suddenly flashed from the dark space, and a large, fierce cat leapt onto the counter. It had a lean body with powerful shoulders and oversized paws. A shaggy mane surrounded its angular face; its ears were tipped with black tufts. White fangs curved down over its jaw. Altogether, it did not look like any cat Eragon had ever seen. It inspected him with shrewd eyes, then flicked its tail dismissively. On a whim, Eragon reached out with his mind and touched the cat's consciousness. Gently, he prodded it with his thoughts, trying to make it understand that he was a friend.

You don't have to do that.

Eragon looked around in alarm. The cat ignored him and licked a paw.

Saphira? Where are you? he asked.

No one answered. Puzzled, he leaned against the counter and reached for what looked like a wood rod. That wouldn't be wise.

Stop playing games, Saphira, he snapped, then picked up the rod. A shock of electricity exploded through his body, and he fell to the floor, writhing. The pain slowly faded, leaving him gasping for air.

The cat jumped down and looked at him. You aren't very smart for a Dragon Rider. I did warn you.

You said that! exclaimed Eragon.

The cat yawned, then stretched and sauntered across the floor, weaving its way between objects. Who else?

But you're just a cat! he objected. The cat yowled and stalked back to him. It jumped on his chest and crouched there, looking down at him with gleaming eyes. Eragon tried to sit up, but it growled, showing its fangs. Do I look like other cats?

No…

Then what makes you think I am one?

Eragon started to say something, but the creature dug its claws into his chest.

Obviously your education has been neglected. I- to correct your mistake- am a werecat. There aren't many of us left, but I think even a farm boy should have heard of us.

I didn't know you were real, said Eragon, fascinated. A werecat! He was indeed fortunate. They were always flitting around the edges of stories, keeping to themselves and occasionally giving advice. If the legends were true, they had magical powers, lived longer than humans, and usually knew more than they told.

The werecat blinked lazily. Knowing is independent of being. I did not know you existed before you bumbled in here and ruined my nap. Yet that doesn't mean you weren't real before you woke me.

Eragon was lost by its reasoning. I'm sorry I disturbed you.

I was getting up anyway, it said. It leapt back onto the counter and licked its paw.

If I were you, I wouldn't hold on to that rod much longer. It's going to shock you again in a few seconds.

He hastily put the rod back where he had found it. What is it?

A common and boring artifact, unlike myself.

But what's it for?

Didn't you find out? The werecat finished cleaning its paw, stretched once more, then jumped back up to its sleeping place. It sat down, tucked its paws under its breast, and closed its eyes, purring.

Wait, said Eragon, what's your name?

One of the werecat's slanted eyes cracked open. I go by many names. If you are looking for my proper one, you will have to seek elsewhere. The eye closed.

Eragon gave up and turned to leave.

However, you may call me Solembum.

Thank you, said Eragon seriously.

Solembum's purring grew louder.

The door to the shop swung open, letting in a beam of sunlight. Angela entered with a cloth bag full of plants. Her eyes flickered at Solembum and she looked startled.

"He says you talked with him."

"You can talk with him, too?" asked Eragon.

She tossed her head. "Of course, but that doesn't mean he'll say anything back."

She set her plants on the counter, then walked behind it and faced him. "He likes you. That's unusual. Most of the time Solembum doesn't show himself to customers. In fact, he says that you show some promise, given a few years of work."

"Thanks."

"It's a compliment, coming from him. You're only the third person to come in here who has been able to speak with him. The first was a woman, many years ago; the second was a blind beggar; and now you. But I don't run a store just so I can prattle on. Is there anything you want? Or did you only come in to look?"

"Just to look," said Eragon, still thinking about the werecat. "Besides, I don't really need any herbs."

"That's not all I do," said Angela with a grin. "The rich fool lords pay me for love potions and the like. I never claim that they work, but for some reason they keep coming back. But I don't think you need those chicaneries. Would you like your fortune told? I do that, too, for all the rich fool ladies."

Eragon laughed. "No, I'm afraid my fortune is pretty much unreadable. And I don't have any money."

Angela looked at Solembum curiously. "I think..." She gestured at the crystal ball resting on the counter. "That's only for show anyway; it doesn't do anything. But I do have… Wait here; I'll be right back." She hurried into a room at the back of the shop. She came back, breathless, holding a leather pouch, which she set on the counter. "I haven't used these for so long, I almost forgot where they were. Now, sit across from me and I'll show you why I went to all this trouble."

Eragon found a stool and sat. Solembum's eyes glowed from the gap in the drawers. Angela laid a thick cloth on the counter, then poured a handful of smooth bones, each slightly longer than a finger, onto it. Runes and symbols were inscribed along their sides.

"These," she said, touching them gently, "are the knucklebones of a dragon. Don't ask where I got them; it is a secret I won't reveal. But unlike tea leaves, crystal balls, or even divining cards, these have true power. They do not lie, though understanding what they say is… complicated. If you wish, I will cast and read them for you. But understand that to know one's fate can be a terrible thing. You must be sure of your decision."

Eragon looked at the bones with a feeling of lies what was once one of Saphira's kin. To know one's fate… How can I make this decision when I don't know what lies in wait for me and whether I will like it? Ignorance is indeed bliss. "Why do you offer this?" he asked.

"Because of Solembum. He may have been rude, but the fact that he spoke to you makes you special. Heis a werecat, after all. I offered to do this for the other two people who talked with him. Only the woman agreed to it. Selena was her name. Ah, she regretted it, too. Her fortune was bleak and painful. I don't think she believed it- not at first."

Emotion overcame Eragon, bringing tears to his eyes. "Selena," he whispered to himself. His mother's name. Could it have been her? Was her destiny so horrible that she had to abandon me?

"Do you remember anything about her fortune?" he asked, feeling sick.

Angela shook her head and sighed. "It was so long ago that the details have melted into the rest of my memory, which isn't as good as it used to be. Besides, I'll not tell you what I do remember. That was for her and her alone. It was sad, though; I've never forgotten the look on her face."

Eragon closed his eyes and struggled to regain control of his emotions. "Why do you complain about your memory?" he asked to distract himself. "You're not that old."

Dimples appeared on Angela's cheeks. "I'm flattered, but don't be deceived; I'm much older than I look. The appearance of youth probably comes from having to eat my own herbs when times are lean."

Smiling, Eragon took a deep that was my mother and she could bear to have her fortune told, I can too. "Cast the bones for me," he said solemnly.

Angela's face became grave as she grasped the bones in each hand. Her eyes closed, and her lips moved in a soundless murmur. Then she said powerfully,"Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!" and tossed the bones onto the cloth. They fell all jumbled together, gleaming in the faint light. The words rang in Eragon's ears; he recognized them from the ancient language and realized with apprehension that to use them for magic, Angela must be a witch. She had not lied; this was a true fortunetelling. Minutes slowly passed as she studied the bones. Finally, Angela leaned back and heaved a long sigh. She wiped her brow and pulled out a wineskin from under the counter. "Do you want some?" she asked. Eragon shook his head. She shrugged and drank deeply.

"This," she said, wiping her mouth, "is the hardest reading I've ever done. You were right. Your future is nigh impossible to see. I've never known of anyone's fate being so tangled and clouded. I was, however, able to wrestle a few answers from it." Solembum jumped onto the counter and settled there, watching them both. Eragon clenched his hands as Angela pointed to one of the bones. "I will start here," she said slowly, "because it is the clearest to understand." The symbol on the bone was a long horizontal line with a circle resting on it. "Infinity or long life," said Angela quietly. "This is the first time I have ever seen it come up in someone's future. Most of the time it's the aspen or the elm, both signs that a person will live a normal span of years. Whether this means that you will live forever or that you will only have an extraordinarily long life, I'm not sure. Whatever it foretells, you may be sure that many years lie ahead of you."

No surprises there- I am a Rider, thought Eragon. Was Angela only going to tell him things he already knew?

"Now the bones grow harder to read, as the rest are in a confused pile." Angela touched three of them. "Here the wandering path and lightning bolt lie together- a pattern I've never seen, only heard of.

The wandering path shows that there are many choices in your future, some of which you face even now. I see great battles raging around you, some of them fought for your sake. I see the mighty powers of this land struggling to control your will and destiny. Countless possible futures await you- all of them filled with blood and conflict- but only one will bring you happiness and peace. Beware of losing your way, for you are one of the few who are truly free to choose their own fate. That freedom is a gift, but it is also a responsibility more binding than chains."

Then her face grew sad. "And yet, as if to counteract that, here is the lightning bolt. It is a terrible omen. There is a doom upon you, but of what sort I know not. Part of it lies in a death- one that rapidly approaches and will cause you much grief. But the rest awaits in a great journey.

Her words frightened Eragon. Another death… who must I lose now? His thoughts immediately went to Roran. Angela rubbed her temples and breathed deeply. "The next bone is easier to read and perhaps a bit more pleasant." Eragon examined it and saw a rose blossom inscribed between the horns of a crescent moon.

Angela smiled and said, "An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary, as the moon indicates- for that is a magical symbol - and strong enough to outlast empires. I cannot say if this passion will end happily, but your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare."

Of noble birth! thought Eragon in surprise. How could that ever happen? I have no more standing than the poorest of farmers.

"You used words of power," he noted quietly. Angela's eyes flashed. "What I wouldn't give to see how the rest of your life plays out. You can speak to werecats, know of the ancient language, and have a most interesting future. Also, few young men with empty pockets and rough traveling clothes can expect to be loved by a noblewoman. Who are you?"

Eragon realized that the werecat must not have told Angela that he was a Rider. He almost said, "Evan," but then changed his mind and simply stated, "I am Eragon."

Angela arched her eyebrows. "Is that who you are or your name?" she asked.

"Both," said Eragon with a small smile, thinking of his namesake, the first Rider.

"Now I'm all the more interested in seeing how your life will unfold. Who was the ragged man with you yesterday?"

Eragon decided that one more name couldn't hurt. "His name is Brom." A guffaw suddenly burst out of Angela, doubling her over in mirth. She wiped her eyes and took a sip of wine, then fought off another attack of merriment. Finally, gasping for breath, she forced out,

"Oh… that one! I had no idea!" "What is it?" demanded Eragon.

"No, no, don't be upset," said Angela, hiding a smile. "It's only that- well, he is known by those in my profession. I'm afraid that the poor man's doom, or future if you will, is something of a joke with us."

"Don't insult him! He's a better man than any you could find!" snapped Eragon.

"Peace, peace," chided Angela with amusement. "I know that. If we meet again at the right time I'll be sure to tell you about it. But in the meantime you should-" She stopped speaking as Solembum padded between them. The werecat stared at Eragon with unblinking eyes.

Yes? Eragon asked, irritated.

Listen closely and I will tell you two things. When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls.

Before Eragon could ask what Solembum meant, the werecat walked away, waving his tail ever so gracefully.

Angela tilted her head, coils of dense hair shadowing her forehead. "I don't know what he said, and I don't want to know. He spoke to you and only you. Don't tell anyone else."

"I think I have to go," said Eragon, shaken.

"If you want to," said Angela, smiling again. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you like, especially if you buy some of my goods. But go if you wish; I'm sure that we've given you enough to ponder for a while."

"Yes." Eragon quickly made his way to the door. "Thank you for reading my future." I think.

"You're welcome," said Angela, still smiling. Eragon exited the shop and stood in the street, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the brightness. It was a few minutes before he could think calmly about what he had learned. He started walking, his steps unconsciously quickening until he dashed out of Teirm, feet flying as he headed to Saphira's hiding place. He called to her from the base of the cliff. A minute later she soared down and bore him up to the cliff top. When they were both safely on the ground, Eragon told her about his day.

And so, he concluded, I think Brom's right; I always seem to be where there's trouble.

You should remember what the werecat told you. It's important.

How do you know? he asked curiously.

I'm not sure, but the names he used feel powerful. Kuthian, she said, rolling the word around. No, we should not forget what he said.

Do you think I should tell Brom?

It's your choice, but think of this: he has no right to know your future. To tell him of Solembum and his words will only raise questions you may not want to answer. And if you decided to only ask him what those words mean, he will want to know where you learned them. Do you think you can lie convincingly to him?

No, admitted Eragon. Maybe I won't say anything. Still, this might be too important to hide.

They talked until there was nothing more to say. Then they sat together companionably, watching the trees until dusk. Eragon hurried back to Teirm and was soon knocking on Jeod's door.

"Is Neal back?" he asked the butler. "Yes sir. I believe he's in the study right now." "Thank you," said Eragon. He strode to the room and peeked inside. Brom was sitting before the fire, smoking.

"How did it go?" asked Eragon.

"Bloody awful!" growled Brom around his pipe.

"So you talked to Brand?"

"Not that it did any good. This administrator of trade is the worst sort of bureaucrat. He abides by every rule, delights in making his own whenever it can inconvenience someone, and at the same time believes that he's doing good."

"Then he won't let us see the records?" asked Eragon.

"No," snapped Brom, exasperated. "Nothing I could say would sway him. He even refused bribes! Substantial ones, too. I didn't think I would ever meet a noble who wasn't corrupt. Now that I have, I find that I prefer them when they're greedy bastards." He puffed furiously on his pipe and mumbled a steady stream of curses.

When he seemed to have calmed, Eragon asked tentatively, "So, what now?" "I'm going to take the next week and teach you how to read."

"And after that?"

A smile split Brom's face. "After that, we're going to give Brand a nasty surprise." Eragon pestered him for details, but Brom refused to say more. Dinner was held in a sumptuous dining room. Jeod sat at one end of the table, a hard eyed Helen at the other. Brom and Eragon were seated between them, which Eragon felt was a dangerous place to be. Empty chairs were on either side of him, but he didn't mind the space. It helped to protect him from the glares of their hostess. The food was served quietly, and Jeod and Helen wordlessly began eating. Eragon followed suit, thinking, I've had cheerier meals at funerals. And he had, in Carvahall.

He remembered many burials that had been sad, yes, but not unduly so. This was different; he could feel simmering resentment pouring from Helen throughout the dinner.

Brom scratched a rune on parchment with charcoal, then showed it to Eragon. "This is the letter a, " he said. "Learn it."

With that, Eragon began the task of becoming literate. It was difficult and strange and pushed his intellect to its limits, but he enjoyed it. Without anything else to do and with a good -if sometimes impatient- teacher, he advanced rapidly. A routine was soon established. Every day Eragon got up, ate in the kitchen, then went to the study for his lessons, where he labored to memorize the sounds of the letters and the rules of writing. It got so that when he closed his eyes, letters and words danced in his mind. He thought of little else during that time. Before dinner, he and Brom would go behind Jeod's house and spar.

The servants, along with a small crowd of wide-eyed children, would come and watch. If there was any time afterward, Eragon would practice magic in his room, with the curtains securely closed. His only worry was Saphira. He visited her every evening, but it was not enough time together for either of them.

During the day, Saphira spent most of her time leagues away searching for food; she could not hunt near Teirm without arousing suspicion. Eragon did what he could to help her, but he knew that the only solution for both her hunger and loneliness was to leave the city far behind. Every day more grim news poured into Teirm. Arriving merchants told of horrific attacks along the coast. There were reports of powerful people disappearing from their houses in the night and their mangled corpses being discovered in the morning. Eragon often heard Brom and Jeod discussing the events in an undertone, but they always stopped when he came near. The days passed quickly, and soon a week had gone by. Eragon's skills were rudimentary, but he could now read whole pages without asking Brom's help. He read slowly, but he knew that speed would come with time.

Brom encouraged him, "No matter, you'll do fine for what I have planned." It was afternoon when Brom summoned both Jeod and Eragon to the study.

Brom gestured at Eragon. "Now that you can help us, I think it's time to move ahead."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Eragon. A fierce smile danced on Brom's face.

Jeod groaned. "I know that look; it's what got us into trouble in the first place."

"A slight exaggeration," said Brom, "but not unwarranted. Very well, this is what we'll do…"

We leave tonight or tomorrow, Eragon told Saphira from within his room.

This is unexpected. Will you be safe during this venture?

Eragon shrugged. I don't know. We may end up fleeing Teirm with soldiers on our heels.

He felt her worry and tried to reassure her. It'll be all right. Brom and I can use magic, and we're good fighters.

He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His hands shook slightly, and there was a lump in his throat. As sleep overcame him, he felt a wave of confusion. I don't want to leave Teirm, he suddenly realized. The time I've spent here has been almost normal. What I would give not to keep uprooting myself. To stay here and be like everyone else would be wonderful.

Then, another thought raged through him. But I'll never be able to while Saphira is around. Never.

Dreams owned his consciousness, twisting and directing it to their whims. At times he quaked with fear; at others he laughed with pleasure. Then something changed- it was as though his eyes had been opened for the first time- and a dream came to him that was clearer than any before.

He saw a young woman, bent over by sorrow, chained in a cold, hard cell. A beam of moonlight shone through a barred window set high in the wall and fell on her face. A single tear rolled down her cheek, like a liquid diamond. Eragon rose with a start and found himself crying uncontrollably before sinking back into a fitful sleep.

Eragon woke from his nap to a golden sunset. Red and orange beams of light streamed into the room and fell across the bed. They warmed his back pleasantly, making him reluctant to move. He dozed, but the sunlight crept off him, and he grew cold. The sun sank below the horizon, lighting the sea and sky with color.

Almost time!

He slung his bow and quiver on his back, but left Undbitr in the room; the sword would only slow him, and he was averse to using it. If he had to disable someone, he could use magic or an arrow. He pulled his jerkin over his shirt and laced it securely. He waited nervously in his room until the light faded. Then he entered the hallway and shrugged so the quiver settled comfortably across his back.

Brom joined him, carrying his sword and staff. Jeod, dressed in a black doublet and hose, was waiting for them outside. From his waist swung an elegant rapier and a leather pouch. Brom eyed the rapier and observed, "That toad sticker is too thin for any real fighting. What will you do if someone comes after you with a broadsword or a flamberge?"

"Be realistic," said Jeod. "None of the guards has a flamberge. Besides, this toad sticker is faster than a broadsword."

Brom shrugged. "It's your neck." They walked casually along the street, avoiding watchmen and soldiers. Eragon was tense and his heart pounded. As they passed Angela's shop, a flash of movement on the roof caught his attention, but he saw no one. His palm tingled. He looked at the roof again, but it was still empty. Brom led them along Teirm's outer wall. By the time they reached the castle, the sky was black. The sealed walls of the fortress made Eragon shiver. He would hate to be imprisoned there. Jeod silently took the lead and strode up to the gates, trying to look at ease. He pounded on the gate and waited. A small grille slid open and a surly guard peered out.

"Ya?" he grunted shortly. Eragon could smell rum on his breath.

"We need to get in," said Jeod.

The guard peered at Jeod closer. "Wha' for?"

"The boy here left something very valuable in my office. We have to retrieve it immediately." Eragon hung his head, shamefaced.

The guard frowned, clearly impatient to get back to his bottle. "Ah, wha'ever," he said, swinging his arm. "Jus' make sure 'n give 'im a good beating f'r me."

"I'll do that," assured Jeod as the guard unbolted a small door set into the gate. They entered the keep, then Brom handed the guard a few coins.

"Thank'ee," mumbled the man, tottering away. As soon as he was gone, Eragon pulled his bow from its tube and strung it. Jeod quickly let them into the main part of the castle. They hurried toward their destination, listening carefully for any soldiers on patrol. At the records room, Brom tried the door. It was locked. He put his hand against the door and muttered a word that Eragon did not recognize. It swung open with a faint click. Brom grabbed a torch from the wall, and they darted inside, closing the door quietly. The squat room was filled with wooden racks piled high with scrolls. A barred window was set in the far wall. Jeod threaded his way between the racks, running his eyes over the scrolls. He halted at the back of the room.

"Over here," he said. "These are the shipping records for the past five years. You can tell the date by the wax seals on the corner."

"So what do we do now?" asked Eragon, pleased that they had made it so far without being discovered.

"Start at the top and work down," said Jeod. "Some scrolls only deal with taxes. You can ignore those. Look for anything that mentions Seithr oil." He took a length of parchment from his pouch and stretched it out on the floor, then set a bottle of ink and a quill pen next to it. "So we can keep track of whatever we find," he explained. Brom scooped an armful of scrolls from the top of the rack and piled them on the floor. He sat and unrolled the first one. Eragon joined him, positioning himself so he could see the door. The tedious work was especially difficult for him, as the cramped script on the scrolls was different from the printing Brom had taught him. By looking only for the names of ships that sailed in the northern areas, they winnowed out many of the scrolls. Even so, they moved down the rack slowly, recording each shipment of Seithr oil as they located it. It was quiet outside the room, except for the occasional watchman. Suddenly, Eragon's neck prickled. He tried to keep working, but the uneasy feeling remained. Irritated, he looked up and jerked with surprise—a small boy crouched on the windowsill. His eyes were slanted, and a sprig of holly was woven into his shaggy black hair.

Do you need help? asked a voice in Eragon's head. His eyes widened with shock. It sounded like Solembum.

Is that you? he asked incredulously.

Am I someone else? Eragon gulped and concentrated on his scroll.

If my eyes don't deceive me, you are. The boy smiled slightly, revealing pointed teeth. What I look like doesn't change who I am. You don't think I'm called a werecat for nothing, do you?

What are you doing here? Eragon asked.

The werecat tilted his head and considered whether the question was worth an answer. That depends on what you are doing here. If you are reading those scrolls for entertainment, then I suppose there isn't any reason for my visit. But if what you are doing is unlawful and you don't want to be discovered, I might be here to warn you that the guard whom you bribed just told his replacement about you and that this second official of the Empire has sent soldiers to search for you.

Thank you for telling me, said Eragon.

Told you something, did I? I suppose I did. And I suggest you make use of it. The boy stood and tossed back his wild hair.

Eragon asked quickly, What did you mean last time about the tree and the vault?

Exactly what I said.

Eragon tried to ask more, but the werecat vanished through the window. He announced abruptly, "There are soldiers looking for us."

"How do you know?" asked Brom sharply.

"I listened in on the guard. His replacement just sent men to search for us. We have to get out of here. They've probably already discovered that Jeod's office is empty."

"Are you sure?" asked Jeod.

"Yes!" said Eragon impatiently.

"They're on their way." Brom snatched another scroll from the rack. "No matter. We have to finish this now!" They worked furiously for the next minute, scanning the records as fast as they could. As the last scroll was finished, Brom threw it back onto the rack, and Jeod jammed his parchment, ink, and pen into his pouch. Eragon grabbed the torch. They raced from the room and shut the door, but just as it closed they heard the heavy tramp of soldiers' boots at the end of the hall.

They turned to leave, but Brom hissed furiously, "Damnation! It's not locked." He put his hand against the door. The lock clicked at the same time three armed soldiers came into view. "Hey! Get away from that door!" shouted one of them. Brom stepped back, assuming a surprised expression. The three men marched up to them.

The tallest one demanded, "Why are you trying to get into the records?" Eragon gripped his bow tighter and prepared to run. "I'm afraid we lost our way." The strain was evident in Jeod's voice. A drop of sweat rolled down his neck. The soldier glared at them suspiciously. "Check inside the room," he ordered one of his men. Eragon held his breath as the soldier stepped up to the door, tried to open it, then pounded on it with his mailed fist. "It's locked, sir." The leader scratched his chin. "Ar'right, then. I don't know what you were up to, but as long as the door's locked, I guess you're free to go. Come on." The soldiers surrounded them and marched them back to the keep.

I can't believe it, thought Eragon.They're helping us get away!

At the main gates, the soldier pointed and said, "Now, you walk through those and don't try anything. We'll be watching. If you have to come back, wait until morning."

"Of course," promised Jeod. Eragon could feel the guards' eyes boring into their backs as they hurried out of the castle. The moment that the gates closed behind them, a triumphant grin stretched across his face, and he jumped into the air.

Brom shot him a cautioning look and growled, "Walk back to the house normally. You can celebrate there."

Chastised, Eragon adopted a staid demeanor, but inside he still bubbled with energy.

Once they had hurried back to the house and into the study, Eragon exclaimed, "We did it!"

"Yes, but now we have to figure out if it was worth the trouble," said Brom. Jeod took a map of Alagaësia from the shelves and unrolled it on the desk. On the left side of the map, the ocean extended to the unknown west. Along the coast stretched the Spine, an immense length of mountains. The Hadarac Desert filled the center of the map—the east end was blank. Somewhere in that void hid the Varden. To the south was Surda, a small country that had seceded from the Empire after the Riders' fall. Eragon had been told that Surda secretly supported the Varden. Near Surda's eastern border was a mountain range labeled Beor Mountains. Eragon had heard of them in many stories—they were supposed to be ten times the height of the Spine, though he privately believed that was exaggeration. The map was empty to the east of the Beors. Five islands rested off the coast of Surda: Nía, Parlim, Uden, Illium, and Beirland. Nía was no more than an outcropping of rock, but Beirland, the largest, had a small town. Farther up, near Teirm, was a jagged island called Sharktooth. And high to the north was one more island, immense and shaped like a knobby hand. Eragon knew its name without even looking: Vroengard, the ancestral home of the Riders- once a place of glory, but now a looted, empty shell haunted by strange beasts.

In the center of Vroengard was the abandoned city of Dorú Areaba. Carvahall was a small dot at the top of Palancar Valley. Level with it, but across the plains, sprawled the forest Du Weldenvarden. Like the Beor Mountains, its eastern end was unmapped. Parts of Du Weldenvarden's western edge had been settled, but its heart lay mysterious and unexplored. The forest was wilder than the Spine; the few who braved its depths often came back raving mad, or not at all.

Eragon shivered as he saw Urû'baen in the center of the Empire. King Galbatorix ruled from there with his black dragon, Shruikan, by his side.

Eragon put his finger on Urû'baen. "The Ra'zac are sure to have a hiding place here."

"You had better hope that that isn't their only sanctuary," said Brom flatly. "Otherwise you'll never get near them." He pushed the rustling map flat with his wrinkled hands.

Jeod took the parchment out of his pouch and said, "From what I saw in the records, there have been shipments of Seithr oil to every major city in the Empire over the past five years. As far as I can tell, all of them might have been ordered by wealthy jewelers. I'm not sure how we can narrow down the list without more information."

Brom swept a hand over the map. "I think we can eliminate some cities. The Ra'zac have to travel wherever the king wants, and I'm sure he keeps them busy. If they're expected to go anywhere at anytime, the only reasonable place for them to stay is at a crossroads where they can reach every part of the country fairly easily." He was excited now and paced the room. "This crossroads has to be large enough so the Ra'zac will be inconspicuous. It also has to have enough trade so any unusual requests- special food for their mounts, for example- will go unnoticed."

"That makes sense," said Jeod, nodding. "Under those conditions, we can ignore most of the cities in the north. The only big ones are Teirm, Gil'ead, and Ceunon. I know they're not in Teirm, and I doubt that the oil has been shipped farther up the coast to Narda- it's too small. Ceunon is too isolated… only Gil'ead remains."

"The Ra'zac might be there," conceded Brom. "It would have a certain irony."

"It would at that," Jeod acknowledged softly.

"What about southern cities?" asked Eragon.

"Well," said Jeod. "There's obviously Urû'baen, but that's an unlikely destination. If someone were to die from Seithr oil in Galbatorix's court, it would be all too easy for an earl or some other lord to discover that the Empire had been buying large amounts of it. That still leaves many others, any one of which could be the one we want."

"Yes," said Eragon, "but the oil wasn't sent to all of them. The parchment only lists Kuasta, Dras-Leona, Aroughs, and Belatona. Kuasta wouldn't work for the Ra'zac; it's on the coast and surrounded by mountains. Aroughs is isolated like Ceunon, though it is a center of trade. That leaves Belatona and Dras-Leona, which are rather close together. Of the two, I think Dras-Leona is the likelier. It's larger and better situated."

"And that's where nearly all the goods of the Empire pass through at one time or another, including Teirm's," said Jeod. "It would be a good place for the Ra'zac to hide."

"So… Dras-Leona," said Brom as he sat down and lit his pipe. "What do the records show?" Jeod looked at the parchment. "Here it is. At the beginning of the year, three shipments of Seithr oil were sent to Dras-Leona. Each shipment was only two weeks apart, and the records say they were all transported by the same merchant. The same thing happened last year and the year before that. I doubt any one jeweler, or even a group of them, has the money for so much oil."

"What about Gil'ead?" asked Brom, raising an eyebrow.

"It doesn't have the same access to the rest of the Empire. And," Jeod tapped the parchment, "they've only received the oil twice in recent years." He thought for a moment, then said, "Besides, I think we forgot something- Helgrind."

Brom nodded. "Ah yes, the Dark Gates. It's been many years since I've thought of it. You're right, that would make Dras-Leona perfect for the Ra'zac. I guess it's decided, then; that's where we'll go."

Eragon sat abruptly, too drained of emotion to even ask what Helgrind was.I thought I would be happy to resume the hunt. Instead, I feel like an abyss has opened up before me. Dras-Leona! It's so far away… The parchment crackled as Jeod slowly rolled up the map. He handed it to Brom and said, "You'll need this, I'm afraid. Your expeditions often take you into obscure regions." Nodding, Brom accepted the map.

Jeod clapped him on the shoulder. "It doesn't feel right that you will leave without me. My heart expects to go along, but the rest of me reminds me of my age and responsibilities."

"I know," said Brom. "But you have a life in Teirm. It is time for the next generation to take up the standard. You've done your part; be happy."

"What of you?" asked Jeod. "Does the road ever end for you?"

A hollow laugh escaped Brom's lips. "I see it coming, but not for a while." He extinguished his pipe, and they left for their rooms, exhausted. Before he fell asleep, Eragon contacted Saphira to relate the night's adventures.

In the morning Eragon and Brom retrieved their saddlebags from the stable and prepared to depart. Jeod greeted Brom while Helen watched from the doorway.

With grave looks, the two men clasped hands. "I'll miss you, old man," said Jeod.

"And you I," said Brom thickly. He bowed his white head and then turned to Helen. "Thank you for your hospitality; it was most gracious." Her face reddened. Eragon thought she was going to slap him. Brom continued, unperturbed, "You have a good husband; take care of him. There are few men as brave and as determined as he is. But even he cannot weather difficult times without support from those he loves." He bowed again and said gently, "Only a suggestion, dear lady." Eragon watched as indignation and hurt crossed Helen's face. Her eyes flashed as she shut the door brusquely. Sighing, Jeod ran his fingers through his hair. Eragon thanked him for all his help, then mounted Cadoc. With the last farewells said, he and Brom departed. At Teirm's south gate, the guards let them through without a second glance. As they rode under the giant outer wall, Eragon saw movement in a shadow. Solembum was crouched on the ground, tail twitching. The werecat followed them with inscrutable eyes. As the city receded into the distance, Eragon asked, "What are werecats?"

Brom looked surprised at the question. "Why the sudden curiosity?" "I heard someone mention them in Teirm. They're not real, are they?" said Eragon, pretending ignorance. "They are quite real. During the Riders' years of glory, they were as renowned as the dragons. Kings and elves kept them as companions- yet the werecats were free to do what they chose. Very little has ever been known about them. I'm afraid that their race has become rather scarce recently."

"Could they use magic?" asked Eragon.

"No one's sure, but they could certainly do unusual things. They always seemed to know what was going on and somehow or another manage to get themselves involved." Brom pulled his hood up to block a chill wind.

"What's Helgrind?" asked Eragon, after a moment's thought.

"You'll see when we get to Dras-Leona." When Teirm was out of sight, Eragon reached out with his mind and called, Saphira!

The force of his mental shout was so strong that Cadoc flicked his ears in annoyance. Saphira answered and sped toward them with all of her strength. Eragon and Brom watched as a dark blur rushed from a cloud, then heard a dull roar as Saphira's wings flared open. The sun shone behind the thin membranes, turning them translucent and silhouetting the dark veins. She landed with a blast of air. Eragon tossed Cadoc's reins to Brom.

"I'll join you for lunch."

Brom nodded, but seemed preoccupied. "Have a good time," he said, then looked at Saphira and smiled.

"It's good to see you again."

And you too.

Eragon hopped onto Saphira's shoulders and held on tightly as she bounded upward. With the wind at her tail, Saphira sliced through the air.

Hold on, she warned Eragon, and letting out a wild bugle, she soared in a great loop. Eragon yelled with excitement as he flung his arms in the air, holding on only with his legs.

I didn't know I could stay on while you did that without being strapped into the saddle, he said, grinning fiercely.

Neither did I, admitted Saphira, laughing in her peculiar way.

Eragon hugged her tightly, and they flew a level path, masters of the sky. By noon his legs were sore from riding bareback, and his hands and face were numb from the cold air. Saphira's scales were always warm to the touch, but she could not keep him from getting chilled. When they landed for lunch, he buried his hands in his clothes and found a warm, sunny place to sit.

As he and Brom ate, Eragon asked Saphira, Do you mind if I ride Cadoc?

He had decided to question Brom further about his past.

No, but tell me what he says.

Eragon was not surprised that Saphira knew his plans. It was nearly impossible to hide anything from her when they were mentally linked. When they finished eating, she flew away as he joined Brom on the trail. After a time, Eragon slowed Cadoc and said, "I need to talk to you. I wanted to do it when we first arrived in Teirm, but I decided to wait until now."

"About what?" asked Brom.

Eragon paused. "There's a lot going on that I don't understand. For instance, who are your 'friends,' and why were you hiding in Carvahall? I trust you with my life- which is why I'm still traveling with you- but I need to know more about who you are and what you are doing. What did you steal in Gil'ead, and what is the tuatha du orothrim that you're taking me through? I think that after all that's happened, I deserve an explanation."

"You eavesdropped on us."

"Only once," said Eragon.

"I see that you have yet to learn proper manners," said Brom grimly, tugging on his beard. "What makes you think that this concerns you?"

"Nothing, really," said Eragon shrugging. "Just it's an odd coincidence that you happened to be hiding in Carvahall when I found Saphira's eggand that you also know so much dragonlore. The more I think about it, the less likely it seems. There were other clues that I mostly ignored, but they're obvious now that I look back. Like how you knew of the Ra'zac in the first place and why they ran away when you approached. And I can't help but wonder if you had something to do with the appearance of the eggs. There's a lot you haven't told us, and Saphira and I can't afford to ignore anything that might be dangerous."

Dark lines appeared on Brom's forehead as he reined Snowfire to a halt. "You won't wait?" he asked.

Eragon shook his head stubbornly.

Brom sighed. "This wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so suspicious, but I suppose that you wouldn't be worth my time if you were otherwise." Brom lit his pipe and slowly blew a plume of smoke into the air. "I'll tell you," he said, "but you have to understand that I cannot reveal everything."

Eragon started to protest, but Brom cut him off. "It's not out of a desire to withhold information, but because I won't give away secrets that aren't mine. There are other stories woven in with this narrative. You'll have to talk with the others involved to find out the rest."

"Very well. Explain what you can," said Eragon.

"Are you sure?" asked Brom. "There are reasons for my secretiveness. I've tried to protect you by shielding you from forces that would tear you apart. Once you know of them and their purposes, you'll never have the chance to live quietly. You will have to choose sides and make a stand. Do you really want to know?"

"I cannot live my life in ignorance," said Eragon quietly.

"A worthy goal. Very well."

Brom sighed.

"There is a war raging in Alagaësia between the Varden and the Empire. Their conflict, however, reaches far beyond any incidental armed clashes. They are locked in a titanic power struggle… centered around you." "Me?" said Eragon, disbelieving. "That's impossible. I don't have anything to do with either of them."

"Not yet," said Brom, "but your very existence is the focus of their battles. The Varden and the Empire aren't fighting to control this land or its people. Their goal is to control the next generation of Riders, of whom you are the first. Whoever controls these Riders will become the undisputed master of Alagaësia."

Eragon tried to absorb Brom's statements. It seemed incomprehensible that so many people would be interested in him and Saphira. No one besides Brom had thought he was that important. The whole concept of the Empire and Varden fighting over him was too abstract for him to grasp fully. Objections quickly formed in his mind. "But all the Riders were killed except for the Forsworn, who joined Galbatorix. As far as I know, all but three of them are dead. And you told me in Carvahall that no one knows if there are still dragons in Alagaësia."

"I lied about the dragons," said Brom flatly. "Even though the Riders are gone, there are still three dragon eggs left- all of them in Galbatorix's possession. Actually there is only now, since Saphira hatched and is in possession of another. The king salvaged the three during his last great battle with the Riders."

"So there may soon be a new rider loyal to the king?" asked Eragon with a sinking feeling.

"Exactly," said Brom. "There is a deadly race in progress. Galbatorix is desperately trying to find the people for whom his eggs will hatch, while the Varden are employing every means to kill his candidates or steal the remaining egg."

"But where did the eggs come from? How could anyone have gotten them away from the king? And why do you know all of this?" asked Eragon, bewildered.

"So many questions," laughed Brom bitterly. "There is another chapter to all this, one that took place long before you were born. Back then I was a bit younger, though perhaps not as wise. I hated the Empire- for reasons I'll keep to myself- and wanted to damage it in any way I could. My fervor led me to a scholar, Jeod, who claimed to have discovered a book that showed a secret passageway into Galbatorix's castle. I eagerly brought Jeod to the Varden- who are my 'friends'- and they arranged to have the eggs stolen." The Varden! "However, something went amiss, and our thief got only two eggs. For some reason he fled with them and didn't return to the Varden. When he wasn't found, Jeod and I were sent to bring him and the eggs back." Brom's eyes grew distant, and he spoke in a curious voice.

"That was the start of one of the greatest searches in history. We raced against the Ra'zac and Morzan, the king's finest servant."

"Morzan!" interrupted Eragon. "But he was the one who betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix!"And that happened so long ago! Morzan must have been ancient. It disturbed him to be reminded of how long Riders lived.

"So?" asked Brom, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, he was old, but strong and cruel. He was one of the king's first followers and by far his most loyal. As there had been blood between us before, the hunt for the egg turned into a personal battle. When it was located in Gil'ead, I rushed there and fought Morzan for possession. It was a terrible contest, but I managed to drive him off. During the conflict I was separated from Jeod. There was no time to search for him, so I took the eggs and bore them to the Varden, who asked me to train whomever became the new Riders. I agreed and decided to hide in Carvahall- which I had been to several times before- until the Varden contacted me. I was never summoned."

"Then how did the eggs appear in the Spine?" asked Eragon. " Did someone steal the last?"

Brom grunted. "Small chance of that. He has the remaining egg guarded so thoroughly that it would be suicide to try and steal them. No, Saphira was taken from the Varden, and I think I know how. To protect the eggs, their guardian must have tried to send them to me with magic. The Varden haven't contacted me to explain how they lost the eggs, so I suspect that their runners were intercepted by the Empire and the Ra'zac were sent in their place. I'm sure they were quite eager to find me, as I've managed to foil many of their plans."

"Then the Ra'zac didn't know about me when they arrived in Carvahall," said Eragon with wonder.

"That's right," replied Brom. "If that ass Sloan had kept his mouth shut, they might not have found out about you. Events could have turned out quite differently. In a way I have you to thank for my life. If the Ra'zac hadn't become so preoccupied with you, they might have caught me unawares, and that would have been the end of Brom the storyteller. The only reason they ran was because I'm stronger than the two of them, especially during the day. They must have planned to drug me during the night, then question me about the eggs."

"You sent a message to the Varden, telling them about me?"

"Yes. I'm sure they'll want me to bring you to them as soon as possible."

"But you're not going to, are you?" Brom shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"Why not? Being with the Varden must be safer than chasing after the Ra'zac, especially for a new Rider. And we can't just lug a dragon egg around Alagaësia!"

Brom snorted and looked at Eragon with fondness. "The Varden are dangerous people. If we go to them, you will be entangled in their politics and machinations. Their leaders may send you on missions just to make a point, even though you might not be strong enough for them. I want you to be well prepared before you go anywhere near the Varden. At least while we pursue the Ra'zac, I don't have to worry about someone poisoning your water. This is the lesser of two evils." brom paused, his eyes becoming unfocused. "As for the egg; their is no safer place for a dragon egg then with a dragon."

"I will help you find- and perhaps even kill- the Ra'zac, for they are as much my enemies as yours. But then you will have to make a choice."

"And that would be?" asked Eragon warily.

"Whether to join the Varden," said Brom. "If you kill the Ra'zac, the only ways for you to escape Galbatorix's wrath will be to seek the Varden's protection, flee to Surda, or plead for the king's mercy and join his forces. Even if you don't kill the Ra'zac, you will still face this choice eventually."

Eragon knew the best way to gain sanctuary might be to join the Varden, but he did not want to spend his entire life fighting the Empire like they did. He mulled over Brom's comments, trying to consider them from every angle. "You still didn't explain how you know so much about dragons."

"No, I didn't, did I?" said Brom with a crooked smile. "That will have to wait for another time."

Why me? Eragon asked himself. What made him so special that he should become a Rider?

"Did you ever meet my mother?" he blurted.

Brom looked grave. "Yes, I did."

"What was she like?"

The old man sighed. "She was full of dignity and pride, like Garrow. Ultimately it was her downfall, but it was one of her greatest gifts nevertheless… She always helped the poor and the less fortunate, no matter what her situation."

"You knew her well?" asked Eragon, startled.

"Well enough to miss her when she was gone."

As Cadoc plodded along, Eragon tried to recall when he had thought that Brom was just a scruffy old man who told stories. For the first time Eragon understood how ignorant he had been.

He told Saphira what he had learned. She was intrigued by Brom's revelations, but recoiled from the thought of being one of Galbatorix's possessions.

At last she said, Aren't you glad that you didn't stay in Carvahall? Think of all the interesting experiences you would have missed!

Eragon groaned in mock distress.

When they stopped for the day, Eragon searched for water while Brom made dinner. He rubbed his hands together for warmth as he walked in a large circle, listening for a creek or spring. It was gloomy and damp between the trees. He found a stream a ways from the camp, then crouched on the bank and watched the water splash over the rocks, dipping in his fingertips. The icy mountain water swirled around his skin, numbing it. It doesn't care what happens to us, or anyone else, thought Eragon. He shivered and stood.

An unusual print on the opposing stream bank caught his attention. It was oddly shaped and very large. Curious, he jumped across the stream and onto a rock shelf. As he landed, his foot hit a patch of damp moss. He grabbed a branch for support, but it broke, and he thrust out his hand to break his fall. He felt his right wrist crack as he hit the ground. Pain lanced up his arm. A steady stream of curses came out from behind his clenched teeth as he tried not to howl. Half blind with pain, he curled on the ground, cradling his arm.

Eragon! came Saphira's alarmed cry. What happened?

Broke my wrist… did something stupid… fell.

I'm coming, said Saphira.

No. I can make it back. Don't … come. Trees too close for wings.

She sent him a brief image of her tearing the forest apart to get at him, then said, Hurry.

Groaning, he staggered upright. The print was pressed deeply into the ground a few feet away. It was the mark of a heavy, nail-studded boot. Eragon instantly remembered the tracks that had surrounded the pile of bodies in Yazuac. "Urgal," he spat, wishing that Undbitr was with him; he could not use his bow with only one hand.

His head snapped up, and he shouted with his mind, Saphira! Urgals! Keep Brom safe.

Eragon leapt back over the stream and raced toward their camp, yanking out his hunting knife. He saw potential enemies behind every tree and bush.I hope there's only one Urgal. He burst into the camp, ducking as Saphira's tail swung overhead. "Stop. It's me!" he yelled.

Oops, said Saphira. Her wings were folded in front of her chest like a wall.

"Oops?" growled Eragon, running to her. "You could've killed me! Where's Brom?"

"I'm right here," snapped Brom's voice from behind Saphira's wings. "Tell your crazy dragon to release me; she won't listen to me."

"Let him go!" said Eragon, exasperated. "Didn't you tell him?"

No, she said sheepishly. You just said to keep him safe. She lifted her wings, and Brom stepped forward angrily.

"I found an Urgal footprint. And it's fresh."

Brom immediately turned serious. "Saddle the horses. We're leaving." He put out the fire, but Eragon did not move.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

"My wrist is broken," he said, swaying.

Brom cursed and saddled Cadoc for him. He helped Eragon onto the horse and said, "We have to put a splint on your arm as soon as possible. Try not to move your wrist until then." Eragon gripped the reins tightly with his left hand.

Brom said to Saphira, "It's almost dark; you might as well fly right overhead. If Urgals show up, they'll think twice about attacking with you nearby."

They'd better, or else they won't think again. remarked Saphira as she took off. The light was disappearing quickly, and the horses were tired, but they spurred them on without respite. Eragon's wrist, swollen and red, continued to throb.

A mile from the camp, Brom halted. "Listen," he said. Eragon heard the faint call of a hunting horn behind them. As it fell silent, panic gripped him.

"They must have found where we were," said Brom, "and probably Saphira's tracks. They will chase us now. It's not in their nature to let prey escape." Then two horns winded. They were closer. A chill ran through Eragon.

"Our only chance is to run," said Brom. He raised his head to the sky, and his face blanked as he called Saphira. She rushed out of the night sky and landed. "Leave Cadoc. Go with her. You'll be safer," commanded Brom.

"What about you?" Eragon protested.

"I'll be fine. Now go!" Unable to muster the energy to argue, Eragon climbed onto Saphira while Brom lashed Snowfire and rode away with Cadoc. Saphira flew after him, flapping above the galloping horses. Eragon clung to Saphira as best he could; he winced whenever her movements jostled his wrist. The horns blared nearby, bringing a fresh wave of terror. Brom crashed through the underbrush, forcing the horses to their limits. The horns trumpeted in unison close behind him, then were quiet. Minutes passed.

Where are the Urgals? wondered Eragon. A horn sounded, this time in the distance. He sighed in relief, resting against Saphira's neck, while on the ground Brom slowed his headlong rush. That was close, said Eragon.

Yes, but we cannot stop until- Saphira was interrupted as a horn blasted directly underneath them. Eragon jerked in surprise, and Brom resumed his frenzied retreat. Horned Urgals, shouting with coarse voices, barreled along the trail on horses, swiftly gaining ground. They were almost in sight of Brom; the old man could not outrun them.

We have to do something! exclaimed Eragon.

Drawing upon the power withing himself, Eragon sent the stone he had been using for practise flying with "Jierda!"

It punctured the head of the first urgal, who slumped in the saddle, causing it's stead to stumble and fall. The rest of the brutish creatures were forced to swerve to avoid a collision, slowing them down drastically.

Yes!

Eragon repeated this process until the mass of urgals and horses had been reduced to a chaotic sprawl of injured horses and twelve injured urgals, many of whom writhed upon the ground. Most lie motionless in pools of blood.

Eragon's eyes dropped as soon as he released the magic holding the stone. Fatigue suddenly drained him of strength. His mind felt hazy and dull. As Saphira flew beneath him, he realized that he might have gone too far. The energy needed to dispatch the twelve Urgals was enormous. Fear engulfed him as he struggled to stay conscious. The hypnotic sound of Saphira's wings put him in a bleary trance: up, down; up, down; up, down… When Saphira eventually landed, Eragon was dimly aware of Brom talking with her. Eragon could not understand what they said, but a decision must have been reached because Saphira took off again. His stupor yielded to sleep that covered him like a soft blanket.

Eragon twisted under the blankets, reluctant to open his eyes. He dozed, then a fuzzy thought entered his mind … How did I get here?

Confused, he pulled the blankets tighter and felt something hard on his right arm. He tried to move his wrist. It zinged with pain.

The Urgals! He bolted upright. He lay in a small clearing that was empty save a small campfire heating a stew-filled pot. A squirrel chattered on a branch. His bow and quiver rested alongside the blankets. Attempting to stand made him grimace, as his muscles were feeble and sore. There was a heavy splint on his bruised right arm.

Where is everyone? he wondered forlornly. He tried to call Saphira, but to his alarm could not feel her. Ravenous hunger gripped him, so he ate the stew. Still hungry, he looked for the saddlebags, hoping to find a chunk of bread. Neither the saddlebags nor the horses were in the clearing.

I'm sure there's a good reason for this, he thought, suppressing a surge of uneasiness. He wandered about the clearing, then returned to his blankets and rolled them up. Without anything better to do, he sat against a tree and watched the clouds overhead. Hours passed, but Brom and Saphira did not show up. I hope nothing's wrong.

As the afternoon dragged on, Eragon grew bored and started to explore the surrounding forest. When he became tired, he rested under a fir tree that leaned against a boulder with a bowl-shaped depression filled with clear dew water. Eragon stared at the water and thought about Brom's instructions for scrying. Maybe I can see where Saphira is. Brom said that scrying takes a lot of energy, but I'm stronger than he is.

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. In his mind he formed a picture of Saphira, making it as lifelike as possible. It was more demanding than he expected. Then he said, "Draumr kópa!"and gazed at the water. Its surface became completely flat, frozen by an invisible force. The reflections disappeared and the water became clear. On it shimmered an image of Saphira. Her surroundings were pure white, but Eragon could see that she was flying. Brom sat on her back, beard streaming, sword on his knees.

Eragon tiredly let the image fade. At least they're safe.

He gave himself a few minutes to recuperate, then leaned back over the water. Roran, how are you? In his mind he saw his cousin clearly. Impulsively, he drew upon the magic and uttered the words. The water grew still, then the image formed on its surface. Roran appeared, sitting on an invisible chair. Like Saphira, his surroundings were white. There were new lines on Roran's face- he looked more like Garrow than ever before.

Eragon held the image in place as long as he could. Is Roran in Therinsford? He's certainly nowhere I've been. The strain of using magic had brought beads of sweat to his forehead. He sighed and for a long time was content just to sit.

Then an absurd notion struck him. What if I tried to scry something I created with my imagination or saw in a dream? He smiled. Perhaps I'd be shown what my own consciousness looks like.

It was too tempting an idea to pass by. He knelt by the water once again. What shall I look for? He considered a few things, but discarded them all when he remembered his dream about the woman in the cell. After fixing the scene in his mind, he spoke the words and watched the water intently. He waited, but nothing happened. Disappointed, he was about to release the magic when inky blackness swirled across the water, covering the surface. The image of a lone candle flickered in the darkness, brightening to illuminate a stone cell. The woman from his dream was curled up on a cot in one corner. She lifted her head, dark hair falling back, and stared directly at Eragon. He froze, the force of her gaze keeping him in place. Chills ran up his spine as their eyes locked. Then the woman trembled and collapsed limply.

The water cleared. Eragon rocked back on his heels, gasping. "This can't be." She shouldn't be real; I only dreamed about her! How could she know I was looking at her? And how could I have scryed into a dungeon that I've never seen? He shook his head, wondering if any of his other dreams had been visions.

The rhythmic thump of Saphira's wings interrupted his thoughts. He hurried back to the clearing, arriving just as Saphira landed. Brom was on her back, as Eragon had seen, but Zar'roc was now bloody. Brom's face was contorted; the edges of his beard were stained red. "What happened?" asked Eragon, afraid that he had been wounded.

Brom eyed him grimly. "That piece of magic nearly killed you. You've been sleeping for two days."

"And the urgals?"

"Seven lived to tell their tale. I've spent the last two days trying to track them down."

Eragon leapt to his feet, but Brom stopped his with a hand on his shoulder. "They have been delt with. Rest. Your arm is going to take at least a couple of weeks to heal."

"But we're still going to Dras-Leona, right?" asked Eragon.

Brom rolled his eyes. "Yes, we can keep looking for the Ra'zac, but even if we find them, it won't do any good until you've healed." He began unsaddling Saphira. "Are you well enough to ride?"

"I think so."

"Good, then we can still cover a few miles today."

"Where are Cadoc and Snowfire?"

Brom pointed off to the side. "Over there a ways. I picketed them where there was grass." Eragon prepared to leave, then followed Brom to the horses.

The next day was easier on both of them.

After an especially difficult exercise, Eragon mentioned his scrying of the woman.

Brom pulled on his beard. "You say she was imprisoned?"

"Yes."

"Did you see her face?" asked Brom intently. "Not very clearly. The lighting was bad, yet I could tell that she was beautiful. It's strange; I didn't have any problem seeing her eyes. And she did look at me." Brom shook his head. "As far as I know, it's impossible for anyone to know if they're being scryed upon."

"Do you know who she might be?" asked Eragon, surprised by the eagerness in his own voice.

"Not really," admitted Brom. "If pressed, I suppose I could come up with a few guesses, but none of them would be very likely. This dream of yours is peculiar. Somehow you managed to scry in your sleep something that you'd never seen before- without saying the words of power. Dreams do occasionally touch the spirit realm, but this is different."

"There's more."

Brom's eyebrows rose.

"I think she was an elf."

Brom's expression was that of a man struck by shock. His face grew pale and his eyes widened.

"Are you sure?"

"Her ears were longer and more pointed." Eragon explained. "Wouldn't that make her an elf?"

"Describe her again. In as much detail as you can recall."

So Eragon did. He told Brom that she had long black hair and slanted emerald eyes.

"Do you know who she is?"

The old man was silent for a time, as if he hadn't heard Eragon at all.

After and eternity Brom stirred, shaking his head vigorously. "Nay, I do not know her. If she is an elf, however… we cannot leave her."

Brom's strict training filled nearly every hour as the days slowly blended into weeks. Because of his splint, Eragon was forced to use his left hand whenever they sparred. Before long he could duel as well with his left hand as he had with his right. By the time they crossed the Spine and came to the plains, spring had crept over Alagaësia, summoning a multitude of flowers. The bare deciduous trees were russet with buds, while new blades of grass began to push up between last year's dead stalks. Birds returned from their winter absence to mate and build nests.

The travelers followed the Toark River southeast, along the edge of the Spine. It grew steadily as tributaries flowed into it from every side, feeding its bulging girth. When the river was over a league wide, Brom pointed at the silt islands that dotted the water. "We're close to Leona Lake now," he said. "It's only about two leagues away."

"Do you think we can get there before nightfall?" asked Eragon.

"We can try."

Dusk soon made the trail hard to follow, but the sound of the river at their side guided them. When the moon rose, the bright disk provided enough light to see what lay ahead. Leona Lake looked like a thin sheet of silver beaten over the land. The water was so calm and smooth it did not even seem to be liquid. Aside from a bright strip of moonlight reflecting off the surface, it was indistinguishable from the ground. Saphira was on the rocky shore, fanning her wings to dry them. Eragon greeted her and she said, The water is lovely- deep, cool, and clear.

Maybe I'll go swimming tomorrow, he responded. They set up camp under a stand of trees and were soon asleep. At dawn, Eragon eagerly rushed out to see the lake in daylight. A white capped expanse of water rippled with fan-shaped patterns where wind brushed it. The pure size of it delighted him. He whooped and ran to the water.

Saphira, where are you? Let's have some fun!

The moment Eragon climbed onto her, she jumped out over the water. They soared upward, circling over the lake, but even at that height the opposing shore was not visible.

Would you like to take a bath? Eragon casually asked Saphira.

She grinned wolfishly. Hold on! She locked her wings and sank to the waves, clipping the crests with her claws. The water sparkled in the sunlight as they sailed over it. Eragon whooped again. Then Saphira folded her wings and dived into the lake, her head and neck entering it like a lance. The water hit Eragon like an icy wall, knocking out his breath and almost tearing him off Saphira. He held on tightly as she swam to the surface. With three strokes of her feet, she breached it and sent a burst of shimmering water toward the sky. Eragon gasped and shook his hair as Saphira slithered across the lake, using her tail as a rudder.

Ready?

Eragon nodded and took a deep breath, tightening his arms. This time they slid gently under the water. They could see for yards through the unclouded liquid. Saphira twisted and turned in fantastic shapes, slipping through the water like an eel. Eragon felt as if he were riding a sea serpent of legend. Just as his lungs started to cry for air, Saphira arched her back and pointed her head upward. An explosion of droplets haloed them as she leapt into the air, wings snapping open. With two powerful flaps she gained altitude.

Wow! That was fantastic! exclaimed Eragon.

Yes, said Saphira happily. Though it's a pity you can't hold your breath longer.

Nothing I can do about that, he said, pressing water out of his hair. His clothes were drenched, and the wind from Saphira's wings chilled him. He pulled at his splint- his wrist itched. Once Eragon was dry, he and Brom saddled the horses and started around Leona Lake in high spirits while Saphira playfully dived in and out of the water. Before dinner, Eragon blocked Undbitr's edge in preparation for their usual sparring. Neither he nor Brom moved as they waited for the other to strike first.

Eragon inspected their surroundings for anything that might give him an advantage. A stick near the fire caught his attention. Eragon swooped down, grabbed the stick, and hurled it at Brom. The splint got in his way, though, and Brom easily sidestepped the piece of wood. The old man rushed forward, swinging Zar'roc. Eragon ducked just as the blade whistled over his head. He growled and tackled Brom ferociously. They pitched to the ground, each struggling to stay on top. Eragon rolled to the side and swept Undbitr over the ground at Brom's shins. Brom parried the blow with the hilt of Zar'roc, then jumped to his feet. Twisting as he stood, Eragon attacked again, guiding Undbitr through a complex pattern. Sparks danced from their blades as they struck again and again. Brom blocked each blow, his face tight with concentration. But Eragon could tell that he was tiring. The relentless hammering continued as each sought an opening in the other's defenses.

Then Eragon felt the battle change. Blow by blow he gained advantage; Brom's parries slowed and he lost ground. Eragon easily blocked a stab from Brom. Veins pulsed on the old man's forehead and cords bulged in his neck from the effort. Suddenly confident, Eragon swung Undbitr faster than ever, weaving a web of steel around Brom's sword. With a burst of speed, he smashed the flat of his blade against Brom's guard and knocked the sword to the ground. Before Brom could react, Eragon flicked Undbitr up to his throat. They stood panting, the blue sword tip resting on Brom's collarbone. Eragon slowly lowered his arm and backed away. It was the first time he had bested Brom without resorting to trickery. Brom picked up Zar'roc and sheathed it. Still breathing hard, he said, "We're done for today."

"But we just started," said Eragon, startled.

Brom shook his head. "I can teach you nothing more of the sword. Of all the fighters I've met, only three of them could have defeated me like that, and I doubt any of them could have done it with their left hand." He smiled ruefully. "I may not be as young as I used to be, but I can tell that you're a talented and rare swordsman."

"Does this mean we're not going to spar every night?" asked Eragon.

"Oh, you're not getting out of it," laughed Brom. "But we'll go easier now. It's not as important if we miss a night here or there." He wiped his brow. "Just remember, if you ever have the misfortune to fight an elf- trained or not, female or male- expect to lose. They, along with dragons and other creatures of magic, are many times stronger than nature intended. Even the weakest elf could easily overpower you. The same goes for the Ra'zac- they are not human and tire much more slowly than we do."

"Is there any way to become their equal?" asked Eragon. He sat cross-legged by Saphira. You fought well, she said. He smiled.

Brom seated himself with a shrug. "There are a few, but none are available to you now. Magic will let you defeat all but the strongest enemies. For those you'll need Saphira's help, plus a great deal of luck. Remember, when creatures of magic actually use magic, they can accomplish things that could kill a human, because of their enhanced abilities."

"How do you fight with magic?" asked Eragon.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, leaning on an elbow. "Suppose I was attacked by a Shade. How could I block his magic? Most spells take place instantaneously, which makes it impossible to react in time. And even if I could, how would I nullify an enemy's magic? It seems I would have to know my opponent's intention before he acted." He paused. "I just don't see how it can be done. Whoever attacked first would win."

Brom sighed. "What you are talking about- a 'wizards' duel,' if you will- is extremely dangerous. Haven't you ever wondered how Galbatorix was able to defeat all of the Riders with the help of only a dozen or so traitors?"

"I never thought about it," acknowledged Eragon.

"There are several ways. Some you'll learn about later, but the main one is that Galbatorix was, and still is, a master of breaking into people's minds. You see, in a wizards' duel there are strict rules that each side must observe or else both contestants will die. To begin with, no one uses magic until one of the participants gains access to the other's mind."

Saphira curled her tail comfortably around Eragon and asked, Why wait? By the time an enemy realizes that you've attacked, it will be too late for him to act.

Eragon repeated the question out loud.

Brom shook his head. "No, it won't. If I were to suddenly use my power against you, Eragon, you would surely die, but in the brief moment before you were destroyed, there would be time for a counterattack. Therefore, unless one combatant has a death wish, neither side attacks until one of them has breached the other's defenses."

"Then what happens?" Eragon inquired.

Brom shrugged and said, "Once you're inside your enemy's mind, it's easy enough to anticipate what he will do and prevent it. Even with that advantage, it's still possible to lose if you don't know how to counteract spells." He filled and lit his pipe. "And that requires extraordinarily quick thinking. Before you can defend yourself, you have to understand the exact nature of the forces directed at you. If you're being attacked with heat, you have to know whether it is being conveyed to you through air, fire, light, or some other medium. Only once that's known can you combat the magic by, for instance, chilling the heated material."

"It sounds difficult."

"Extremely," confirmed Brom. A plume of smoke rose from his pipe. "Seldom can people survive such a duel for more than a few seconds. The enormous amount of effort and skill required condemns anyone without the proper training to a quick death. Once you've progressed, I'll start teaching you the necessary methods. In the meantime, if you ever find yourself facing a wizards' duel, I suggest you run away as fast as you can."

They lunched at Fasaloft, a bustling lakeside village. It was a charming place set on a rise overlooking the lake. As they ate in the hostel's common room, Eragon listened intently to the gossip and was relieved to hear no rumors of him and Saphira. The trail, now a road, had grown steadily worse over the past two days. Wagon wheels and iron-shod hooves had conspired to tear up the ground, making many sections impassable. An increase in travelers forced Saphira to hide during the day and then catch up with Brom and Eragon at night.

For days they continued south along Leona Lake's vast shore. Eragon began to wonder if they would ever get around it, so he was heartened when they met men who said that Dras-Leona was an easy day's ride ahead of them. Eragon rose early the following morning. His fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought of finally finding the Ra'zac.

The two of you must be careful. said Saphira. The Ra'zac could have spies watching for travelers that fit your description.

We'll do our best to remain inconspicuous he assured her.

She lowered her head until their eyes met. Perhaps, but realize that I won't be able to protect you as I did with the Urgals. I will be too far away to come to your aid, nor would I survive long in the narrow streets your kind favor. Follow Brom's lead in this hunt; he is sensible.

I know, he said somberly.

Will you go with Brom to the Varden? Once the Ra'zac are killed, he will want to take you to them. And since Galbatorix will be enraged by the Ra'zac's death, that may be the safest thing for us to do.

Eragon rubbed his arms. I don't want to fight the Empire all the time like the Varden do. Life is more than constant war. There'll be time to consider it once the Ra'zac are gone.

Don't be too sure, she warned, then went to hide herself until night.

The road was clogged with farmers taking their goods to market in Dras-Leona. Brom and Eragon were forced to slow their horses and wait for wagons that blocked the way. Although they saw smoke in the distance before noon, it was another league before the city was clearly visible.

Unlike Teirm, a planned city, Dras-Leona was a tangled mess that sprawled next to Leona Lake. Ramshackle buildings sat on crooked streets, and the heart of the city was surrounded by a dirty, pale yellow wall of daubed mud. Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with spires and columns, a tenebrous nightmare ship. Near-vertical sides rose out of the ground like a jagged piece of the earth's bone.

Brom pointed. "That is Helgrind. It's the reason Dras-Leona was originally built. People are fascinated by it, even though it's an unhealthy and malevolent thing." He gestured at the buildings inside the city's wall. "We should go to the center of the city first." As they crept along the road to Dras-Leona, Eragon saw that the highest building within the city was a cathedral that loomed behind the walls. It was strikingly similar to Helgrind, especially when its arches and flanged spires caught the light.

"Who do they worship?" he asked.

Brom grimaced in distaste. "Their prayers go to Helgrind. It's a cruel religion they practice. They drink human blood and make flesh offerings. Their priests often lack body parts because they believe that the more bone and sinew you give up, the less you're attached to the mortal world. They spend much of their time arguing about which of Helgrind's three peaks is the highest and most important and whether the fourth- and lowest- should be included in their worship."

"That's horrible," said Eragon, shuddering.

"Yes," said Brom grimly, "but don't say that to a believer. You'll quickly lose a hand in 'penance.' "

At Dras-Leona's enormous gates, they led the horses through the crush of people. Ten soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd. Eragon and Brom passed into the city without incident. The houses inside the city wall were tall and thin to compensate for the lack of space. Those next to the wall were braced against it. Most of the houses hung over the narrow, winding streets, covering the sky so that it was hard to tell if it was night or day. Nearly all the buildings were constructed of the same rough brown wood, which darkened the city even more. The air reeked like a sewer; the streets were filthy. A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned.

We don't even treat animals like this, thought Eragon, eyes wide with anger. "I won't stay here," he said, rebelling against the sight.

"It gets better farther in," said Brom. "Right now we need to find an inn and form a strategy. Dras-Leona can be a dangerous place to even the most cautious. I don't want to remain on the streets any longer than necessary."

They forged deeper into Dras-Leona, leaving the squalid entrance behind. As they entered wealthier parts of the city, Eragon wondered, How can these people live in ease when the suffering around them is so obvious? They found lodging at the Golden Globe, which was cheap but not decrepit. A narrow bed was crammed against one wall of the room, with a rickety table and a basin alongside it. Eragon took one look at the mattress and said, "I'm sleeping on the floor. There are probably enough bugs in that thing to eat me alive."

"Well, I wouldn't want to deprive them of a meal," said Brom, dropping his bags on the mattress.

Eragon set his own on the floor and pulled off his bow. "What now?" he asked.

"We find food and beer. After that, sleep. Tomorrow we can start looking for the Ra'zac." Before they left the room, Brom warned, "No matter what happens, make sure that your tongue doesn't loosen. We'll have to leave immediately if we're given away." The inn's food was barely adequate, but its beer was excellent. By the time they stumbled back to the room, Eragon's head was buzzing pleasantly. He unrolled his blankets on the floor and slid under them as Brom tumbled onto the bed. Just before Eragon fell asleep, he contacted Saphira: We're going to be here for a few days, but this shouldn't take as long as it did at Teirm. When we discover where the Ra'zac are, you might be able to help us get them. I'll talk to you in the morning. Right now I'm not thinking too clearly.

You've been drinking, came the accusing thought. Eragon considered it for a moment and had to agree that she was absolutely right. Her disapproval was clear, but all she said was, I won't envy you in the morning.

No, groaned Eragon, but Brom will. He drank nearly twice as much as I!

What was I thinking? wondered Eragon in the morning. His head was pounding and his tongue felt thick and fuzzy. As a rat skittered under the floor, Eragon winced at the noise.

How are we feeling? asked Saphira smugly.

Eragon ignored her. A moment later, Brom rolled out of bed with a grumble. He doused his head in cold water from the basin, then left the room. Eragon followed him into the hallway. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To recover."

"I'll come."

At the bar, Eragon discovered that Brom's method of recovery involved imbibing copious amounts of hot tea and ice water and washing it all down with brandy. When they returned to the room, Eragon was able to function somewhat better. Brom belted on his sword and smoothed the wrinkles out of his robe.

"The first thing we need to do is ask some discreet questions. I want to find out where the Seithr oil was delivered in Dras-Leona and where it was taken from there. Most likely, soldiers or workmen were involved in transporting it. We have to find those men and get one to talk." They left the Golden Globe and searched for warehouses where the Seithr oil might have been delivered. Near the center of Dras-Leona, the streets began to slant upward toward a palace of polished granite. It was built on a rise so that it towered above every building except the cathedral. The courtyard was a mosaic of mother-of-pearl, and parts of the walls were inlaid with gold. Black statues stood in alcoves, with sticks of incense smoking in their cold hands. Soldiers stationed every four yards watched passersby keenly.

"Who lives there?" asked Eragon in awe.

"Marcus Tábor, ruler of this city. He answers only to the king and his own conscience, which hasn't been very active recently," said Brom. They walked around the palace, looking at the gated, ornate houses that surrounded it. By midday they had learned nothing useful, so they stopped for lunch. "This city is too vast for us to comb it together," said Brom. "Search on your own. Meet me at the Golden Globe by dusk." He glowered at Eragon from under his bushy eyebrows. "I'm trusting you not to do anything stupid."

"I won't," promised Eragon.

Brom handed him some coins, then strode away in the opposite direction.

Throughout the rest of the day, Eragon talked with shopkeepers and workers, trying to be as pleasant and charming as he could. His questions led him from one end of the city to the other and back again. No one seemed to know about the oil. Wherever he went, the cathedral stared down at him. It was impossible to escape its tall spires. At last he found a man who had helped ship the Seithr oil and remembered to which warehouse it had been taken. Eragon excitedly went to look at the building, then returned to the Golden Globe.

It was over an hour before Brom came back, slumped with fatigue. "Did you find anything?" asked Eragon.

Brom brushed back his white hair. "I heard a great deal of interesting things today, not the least of which is that Morzan will visit Dras-Leona within the week."

"What?" exclaimed Eragon.

Brom slouched against the wall, the lines on his forehead deepening. "It seems that Tábor has taken a few too many liberties with his power, so Galbatorix has sent him teach him a lesson in humility."

"Do you think the king knows of us?" asked Eragon

. "Of course he knows of us, but I'm sure he hasn't been told our location. If he had, we would already be in the Ra'zac's grasp. However, this means that whatever we're going to do about the Ra'zac must be accomplished before Morzan arrives. We don't want to be anywhere within twenty leagues of him. The one thing in our favor is that the Ra'zac are sure to be here, preparing for his visit."

"I want to get the Ra'zac," said Eragon, his fists tightening, "but not if it means fighting Morzan. He could probably tear me to pieces."

That seemed to amuse Brom. "Very good: caution. And you're right; you wouldn't stand a chance against him. Now tell me what you learned today. It might confirm what I heard."

Eragon shrugged. "It was mostly drivel, but I did talk with a man who knew where the oil was taken. It's just an old warehouse. Other than that, I didn't discover anything useful."

"My day was a little more fruitful than yours. I heard the same thing you did, so I went to the warehouse and talked with the workers. It didn't take much cajoling before they revealed that the cases of Seithr oil are always sent from the warehouse to the palace."

"And that's when you came back here," finished Eragon.

"No, it's not! Don't interrupt. After that, I went to the palace and got myself invited into the servants' quarters as a bard. For several hours I wandered about, amusing the maids and others with songs and poems- and asking questions all the while." Brom slowly filled his pipe with tobacco. "It's really amazing all the things servants find out. Did you know that one of the earls has three mistresses, and they all live in the same wing of the palace?" He shook his head and lit the pipe. "Aside from the fascinating tidbits, I was told, quite by accident, where the oil is taken from the palace."

"And that is?" asked Eragon impatiently.

Brom puffed on his pipe and blew a smoke ring. "Out of the city, of course. Every full moon two slaves are sent to the base of Helgrind with a month's worth of provisions. Whenever the Seithr oil arrives in Dras-Leona, they send it along with the provisions. The slaves are never seen again. And the one time someone followed them, he disappeared too."

"I thought the Riders demolished the slave trade," said Eragon.

"Unfortunately, it has flourished under the king's reign."

"So the Ra'zac are in Helgrind," said Eragon, thinking of the rock mountain.

"There or somewhere nearby."

"If they are in Helgrind, they'll be either at the bottom- and protected by a thick stone door- or higher up where only their flying mounts, or Saphira, can reach. Top or bottom, their shelter will no doubt be disguised." He thought for a moment. "If Saphira and I go flying around Helgrind, the Ra'zac are sure to see us- not to mention all of Dras-Leona."

"It is a problem," agreed Brom.

Eragon frowned. "What if we took the place of the two slaves? The full moon isn't far off. It would give us a perfect opportunity to get close to the Ra'zac."

Brom tugged his beard thoughtfully. "That's chancy at best. If the slaves are killed from a distance, we'll be in trouble. We can't harm the Ra'zac if they aren't in sight."

"We don't know if the slaves are killed at all," Eragon pointed out.

"I'm sure they are," said Brom, his face grave. Then his eyes sparkled, and he blew another smoke ring. "Still, it's an intriguing idea. If it were done with Saphira hidden nearby and a… " His voice trailed off. "It might work, but we'll have to move quickly. With Morzan coming, there isn't much time."

"Should we go to Helgrind and look around? It would be good to see the land in daylight so we won't be surprised by any ambushes," said Eragon.

Brom fingered his staff. "That can be done later. Tomorrow I'll return to the palace and figure out how we can replace the slaves. I have to be careful not to arouse suspicion, though- I could easily be revealed by spies and courtiers who know about the Ra'zac."

"I can't believe it; we actually found them," said Eragon quietly. An image of his dead uncle and burned farm flashed through his mind. His jaw tightened.

"The toughest part is yet to come, but yes, we've done well," said Brom. "If fortune smiles on us, you may soon have your revenge and the Varden will be rid of a dangerous enemy. What comes after that will be up to you."

Eragon opened his mind and jubilantly told Saphira, We found the Ra'zac's lair!

Where?

He quickly explained what they had discovered.

Helgrind, she mused. A fitting place for them.

Eragon agreed. When we're done here, maybe we could visit Carvahall.

What is it you want? she asked, suddenly sour. To go back to your previous life? You know that won't happen, so stop mooning after it! At a certain point you have to decide what to commit to. Will you hide for the rest of your life, or will you help the Varden? Those are the only options left to you, unless you join forces with Galbatorix, which I do not and never will accept.

Softly, he said, If I must choose, I cast my fate with the Varden, as you well know.

Yes, but sometimes you have to hear yourself say it. She left him to ponder her words.

Eragon, I will be gone until late tonight. Coins for food are under the mattress. Explore the city, enjoy yourself, but stay unnoticed! Brom

P.S. Avoid the palace. Don't go anywhere without your bow! Keep it strung.

Eragon wiped the wall clean, then retrieved the money from under the bed. He slipped the bow across his back, thinking, I wish I didn't have to go armed all the time.

He left the Golden Globe and ambled through the streets, stopping to observe whatever interested him. There were many intriguing stores, but none quite as exciting as Angela's herb shop in Teirm. At times he glared at the dark, claustrophobic houses and wished that he were free of the city. When he grew hungry, he bought a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread and ate them, sitting on a curb.

Later, in a far corner of Dras-Leona, he heard an auctioneer rattling off a list of prices. Curious, he headed toward the voice and arrived at a wide opening between two buildings. Ten men stood on a waist-high platform. Arrayed before them was a richly dressed crowd that was both colorful and boisterous.

Where are the goods for sale? wondered Eragon. The auctioneer finished his list and motioned for a young man behind the platform to join him. The man awkwardly climbed up, chains dragging at his hands and feet. "And here we have our first item," proclaimed the auctioneer. "A healthy male from the Hadarac Desert, captured just last month, and in excellent condition. Look at those arms and legs; he's strong as a bull! He'd be perfect as a shield bearer, or, if you don't trust him for that, hard labor. But let me tell you, lords and ladies, that would be a waste. He's bright as a nail, if you can get him to talk a civilized tongue!" The crowd laughed, and Eragon ground his teeth with fury. His lips started to form a word that would free the slave, and his arm, newly liberated from the splint, rose. The mark on his palm shimmered.

He was about to release the magic when it struck him, He'd never get away! The slave would be caught before he reached the city walls. Eragon would only make the situation worse if he tried to help. He lowered his arm and quietly cursed.

. He watched helplessly as the slave was sold to a tall, hawk-nosed man. The next slave was a tiny girl, no more than six years old, wrenched from the arms of her crying mother. As the auctioneer started the bidding, Eragon forced himself to walk away, rigid with fury and outrage. It was several blocks before the weeping was inaudible.

I'd like to see a thief try to cut my purse right now, he thought grimly, almost wishing it would happen. Frustrated, he punched a nearby wall, bruising his knuckles. That's the sort of thing I could stop by fighting the Empire, he realized. With Saphira by my side I could free those slaves. I've been graced with special powers; it would be selfish of me not to use them for the benefit of others. If I don't, I might as well not be a Rider at all.

It was a while before he took stock of his bearings and was surprised to find himself before the cathedral. Its twisted spires were covered with statues and scrollwork. Snarling gargoyles crouched along the eaves. Fantastic beasts writhed on the walls, and heroes and kings marched along their bottom edges, frozen in cold marble. Ribbed arches and tall stained-glass windows lined the cathedral's sides, along with columns of differing sizes. A lonely turret helmed the building like a mast. Recessed in shadow at the cathedral's front was an iron-bound door inlaid with a row of silver script that Eragon recognized as the ancient language. As best he could tell, it read: May thee who enter here understand thine impermanence and forget thine attachments to that which is beloved.

The entire building sent a shiver down Eragon's spine. There was something menacing about it, as if it were a predator crouched in the city, waiting for its next victim. A broad row of steps led to the cathedral's entrance. Eragon solemnly ascended them and stopped before the door. I wonder if I can go in?

Almost guiltily he pushed on the door. It swung open smoothly, gliding on oiled hinges. He stepped inside. The silence of a forgotten tomb filled the empty cathedral. The air was chill and dry. Bare walls extended to a vaulted ceiling that was so high Eragon felt no taller than an ant. Stained-glass windows depicting scenes of anger, hate, and remorse pierced the walls, while spectral beams of light washed sections of the granite pews with transparent hues, leaving the rest in shadow. His hands were shaded a deep blue. Between the windows stood statues with rigid, pale eyes. He returned their stern gazes, then slowly trod up the center row, afraid to break the quiet. His leather boots padded noiselessly on the polished stone floor. The altar was a great slab of stone devoid of adornment. A solitary finger of light fell upon it, illuminating motes of golden dust floating in the air. Behind the altar, the pipes of a wind organ pierced the ceiling and opened themselves to the elements. The instrument would play its music only when a gale rocked Dras-Leona.

Out of respect, Eragon knelt before the altar and bowed his head. He did not pray but paid homage to the cathedral itself. The sorrows of the lives it had witnessed, as well as the unpleasantness of the elaborate pageantry that played out between its walls, emanated from the stones. It was a forbidding place, bare and cold. In that chilling touch, though, came a glimpse of eternity and perhaps the powers that lay there. Finally Eragon inclined his head and rose. Calm and grave, he whispered words to himself in the ancient language, then turned to leave. He froze. His heart jumped, hammering like a drum.

The Ra'zac stood at the cathedral's entrance, watching him. Their swords were drawn, keen edges bloody in a crimson light. A sibilant hiss came from the smaller Ra'zac. Neither of them moved. Rage welled up in Eragon. He had chased the Ra'zac for so many weeks that the pain of their murderous deed had dulled within him. But his vengeance was at hand. His wrath exploded like a volcano, fueled even more by his pent-up fury at the slaves' plight. A roar broke from his lips, echoing like a thunderstorm as he snatched his bow from his back. Deftly, he fit an arrow to the string and loosed it. Two more followed an instant later. The Ra'zac leapt away from the arrows with inhuman swiftness. They hissed as they ran up the aisle between the pews, cloaks flapping like raven wings. Eragon reached for another arrow, but caution stayed his hand. If they knew where to find me, Brom is in danger as well! I must warn him! Then, to Eragon's horror, a line of soldiers filed into the cathedral, and he glimpsed a field of uniforms jostling outside the doorway. Eragon gazed hungrily at the charging Ra'zac, then swept around, searching for means of escape. A vestibule to the left of the altar caught his attention. He bounded through the archway and dashed down a corridor that led to a priory with a belfry. The patter of the Ra'zac's feet behind him made him quicken his pace until the hall abruptly ended with a closed door. He pounded against it, trying to break it open, but the wood was too strong. The Ra'zac were nearly upon him. Frantic, he sucked in his breath and barked, "Jierda!" With a flash, the door splintered into pieces and fell to the floor.

Eragon jumped into the small room and continued running. He sped through several chambers, startling a group of priests. Shouts and curses followed him. The priory bell tolled an alarm. Eragon dodged through a kitchen, passed a pair of monks, then slipped through a side door. He skidded to stop in a garden surrounded by a high brick wall devoid of handholds. There were no other exits. Eragon turned to leave, but there was a low hiss as the Ra'zac shouldered aside the door. Desperate, he rushed at the wall, arms pumping. Magic could not help him here- if he used it to break through the wall, he would be too tired to run. He jumped. Even with his arms outstretched, only his fingertips cleared the edge of the wall. The rest of his body smashed against the bricks, driving out his breath. Eragon gasped and hung there, struggling not to fall. The Ra'zac prowled into the garden, swinging their heads from side to side like wolfhounds sniffing for prey. Eragon sensed their approach and heaved with his arms. His shoulders shrieked with pain as he scrambled onto the wall and dropped to the other side. He stumbled, then regained his balance and darted down an alley just as the Ra'zac leapt over the wall. Galvanized, Eragon put on another burst of speed. He ran for over a mile before he had to stop and catch his breath. Unsure if he had lost the Ra'zac, he found a crowded marketplace and dived under a parked wagon.

How did they find me? he wondered, panting. They shouldn't have known where I was… unless something happened to Brom!

He reached out with his mind to Saphira and said, The Ra'zac found me. We're all in danger! Check if Brom's all right. If he is, warn him and have him meet me at the inn. And be ready to fly here as fast as you can. We may need your help to escape.

She was silent, then said curtly, He'll meet you at the inn. Don't stop moving; you're in great danger.

"Don't I know it," muttered Eragon as he rolled out from under the wagon. He hurried back to the Golden Globe, quickly packed their belongings, saddled the horses, then led them to the street.

Brom soon arrived, staff in hand, scowling dangerously. He swung onto Snowfire and asked, "What happened?"

"I was in the cathedral when the Ra'zac just appeared behind me," said Eragon, climbing onto Cadoc. "I ran back as fast as possible, but they could be here at any second. Saphira will join us once we're out of Dras-Leona."

"We have to get outside the city walls before they close the gates, if they haven't already," said Brom. "If they're shut, it'll be nigh impossible for us to leave. Whatever you do, don't get separated from me."

Eragon stiffened as ranks of soldiers marched down one end of the street. Brom cursed, lashed Snowfire with his reins, and galloped away. Eragon bent low over Cadoc and followed. They nearly crashed several times during the wild, hazardous ride, plunging through masses of people that clogged the streets as they neared the city wall. When the gates finally came into view, Eragon pulled on Cadoc's reins with dismay. The gates were already half closed, and a double line of pikemen blocked their way.

"They'll cut us to pieces!" he exclaimed.

"We have to try and make it," said Brom, his voice hard. "I'll deal with the men, but you have to keep the gates open for us." Eragon nodded, gritted his teeth, and dug his heels into Cadoc. They plowed toward the line of unwavering soldiers, who lowered their pikes toward the horses' chests and braced the weapons against the ground. Though the horses snorted with fear, Eragon and Brom held them in place. Eragon heard the soldiers shout but kept his attention on the gates inching shut. As they neared the sharp pikes, Brom raised his hand and spoke. The words struck with precision; the soldiers fell to each side as if their legs had been cut out from under them.

The gap between the gates shrank by the second. Hoping that the effort would not prove too much for him, Eragon drew on his power and shouted, "Du grind huildr!" A deep grating sound emanated from the gates as they trembled, then ground to a stop. The crowd and guards fell silent, staring with amazement. With a clatter of the horses' hooves, Brom and Eragon shot out from behind Dras-Leona's wall. The instant they were free, Eragon released the gates. They shuddered, then boomed shut. He swayed with the expected fatigue but managed to keep riding. Brom watched him with concern. Their flight continued through the outskirts of Dras-Leona as alarm trumpets sounded on the city wall.

Saphira was waiting for them by the edge of the city, hidden behind some trees. Her eyes burned; her tail whipped back and forth.

"Go, ride her," said Brom. "And this time stay in the air, no matter what happens to me. I'll head south. Fly nearby; I don't care if Saphira's seen."

Eragon quickly mounted Saphira. As the ground dwindled away beneath him, he watched Brom gallop along the road.

Are you all right? asked Saphira.

Yes, said Eragon. But only because we were very lucky.

A puff of smoke blew from her nostrils. All the time we've spent searching for the Ra'zac was useless.

I know, he said, letting his head sag against her scales. If the Ra'zac had been the only enemies back there, I would have stayed and fought, but with all the soldiers on their side, it was hardly a fair match!

You understand that there will be talk of us now? This was hardly an unobtrusive escape. Evading the Empire will be harder than ever. There was an edge to her voice that he was unaccustomed to.

I know.

They flew low and fast over the road. Leona Lake receded behind them; the land became dry and rocky and filled with tough, sharp bushes and tall cactuses. Clouds darkened the sky. Lightning flashed in the distance. As the wind began to howl, Saphira glided steeply down to Brom.

He stopped the horses and asked, "What's wrong?"

"The wind's too strong."

"It's not that bad," objected Brom.

"It is up there," said Eragon, pointing at the sky. Brom swore and handed him Cadoc's reins. They trotted away with Saphira following on foot, though on the ground she had difficulty keeping up with the horses. The gale grew stronger, flinging dirt through the air and twisting like a dervish. They wrapped scarves around their heads to protect their eyes. Brom's robe flapped in the wind while his beard whipped about as if it had a life of its own. Though it would make them miserable, Eragon hoped it would rain so their tracks would be obliterated.

Soon darkness forced them to stop. With only the stars to guide them, they left the road and made camp behind two boulders. It was too dangerous to light a fire, so they ate cold food while Saphira sheltered them from the wind. After the sparse dinner, Eragon asked bluntly, "How did they find us?"

Brom started to light his pipe, but thought better of it and put it away. "One of the palace servants warned me there were spies among them. Somehow word of me and my questions must have reached Tábor… and through him, the Ra'zac."

"We can't go back to Dras-Leona, can we?" asked Eragon.

Brom shook his head. "Not for a few years."

Eragon held his head between his hands. "Then should we draw the Ra'zac out? If we let Saphira be seen, they'll come running to wherever she is."

"And when they do, there will be fifty soldiers with them," said Brom. "At any rate, this isn't the time to discuss it. Right now we have to concentrate on staying alive. Tonight will be the most dangerous because the Ra'zac will be hunting us in the dark, when they are strongest. We'll have to trade watches until morning."

"Right," said Eragon, standing. He hesitated and squinted. His eyes had caught a flicker of movement, a small patch of color that stood out from the surrounding nightscape. He stepped toward the edge of their camp, trying to see it better.

"What is it?" asked Brom as he unrolled his blankets. Eragon stared into the darkness, then turned back. "I don't know. I thought I saw something. It must have been a bird." Pain erupted in the back of his head, and Saphira roared. Then Eragon toppled to the ground, unconscious.

A dull throbbing roused Eragon. Every time blood pulsed through his head it brought a fresh wave of pain. He cracked his eyes open and winced; tears rushed to his eyes as he looked directly into a bright lantern. He blinked and looked away. When he tried to sit up, he realized that his hands were tied behind his back. He turned lethargically and saw Brom's arms. Eragon was relieved to see that they were bound together.

Why was that? He struggled to figure it out until the thought suddenly came to him, They wouldn't tie up a dead man! But then who were "they"? He swiveled his head further, then stopped as a pair of black boots entered his vision. Eragon looked up, right into the cowled face of a Ra'zac. Fear jolted through him. He reached for the magic and started to voice a word that would kill the Ra'zac, but then halted, puzzled. He could not remember the word. Frustrated, he tried again, only to feel it slip out of his grasp.

Above him the Ra'zac laughed chillingly. "The drug is working, yesss? I think you will not be bothering us again." There was a rattle off to the left, and Eragon was appalled to see the second Ra'zac fit a muzzle over Saphira's head. Her wings were pinioned to her sides by black chains; there were shackles on her legs. Eragon tried to contact her, but felt nothing.

"She was most cooperative once we threatened to kill you," hissed the Ra'zac. Squatting by the lantern, he rummaged through Eragon's bags, examining and discarding various items until he removed Undbitr.

"What a pretty thing for one so… insignificant. Maybe I will keep it." He leaned closer and sneered, "Or maybe, if you behave, our master will let you polish it." His moist breath smelled like raw meat. Then he turned the sword over in his hands and screeched as he saw the symbol on the scabbard. His companion rushed over. They stood over the sword, hissing and clicking.

At last they faced Eragon. "You will serve our master very well, yesss." Eragon forced his thick tongue to form words: "If I do, I will kill you."

They chuckled coldly. "Oh no, we are too valuable. But you… you are disposable."

A deep snarl came from Saphira; smoke roiled from her nostrils. The Ra'zac did not seem to care. Their attention was diverted when Brom groaned and rolled onto his side.

One of the Ra'zac grabbed his shirt and thrust him effortlessly into the air. "It'sss wearing off."

"Give him more."

"Let'sss just kill him," said the shorter Ra'zac. "He has caused us much grief." The taller one ran his finger down his sword.

"A good plan. But remember, the king's instructions were to keep themalive. "

"We can sssay he was killed when we captured them."

"And what of thisss one?" the Ra'zac asked, pointing his sword at Eragon. "If he talksss?"

His companion laughed and drew a wicked dagger. "He would not dare."

There was a long silence, then, "Agreed."

They dragged Brom to the center of the camp and shoved him to his knees. Brom sagged to one side.

Eragon watched with growing fear. I have to get free! He wrenched at the ropes, but they were too strong to break.

"None of that now," said the tall Ra'zac, poking him with a sword. He nosed the air and sniffed; something seemed to trouble him. The other Ra'zac growled, yanked Brom's head back, and swept the dagger toward his exposed throat. At that very moment a low buzz sounded, followed by the Ra'zac's howl. An arrow protruded from his shoulder. The Ra'zac nearest Eragon dropped to the ground, barely avoiding a second arrow. He scuttled to his wounded companion, and they glared into the darkness, hissing angrily. They made no move to stop Brom as he blearily staggered upright.

"Get down!" cried Eragon. Brom wavered, then tottered toward Eragon. As more arrows hissed into the camp from the unseen attackers, the Ra'zac rolled behind some boulders. There was a lull, then arrows came from the opposite direction. Caught by surprise, the Ra'zac reacted slowly. Their cloaks were pierced in several places, and a shattered arrow buried itself in one's arm. With a wild cry, the smaller Ra'zac fled toward the road, kicking Eragon viciously in the side as he passed. His companion hesitated, then grabbed the dagger from the ground and raced after him. As he left the camp, he hurled the knife at Eragon.

A strange light suddenly burned in Brom's eyes. He threw himself in front of Eragon, his mouth open in a soundless snarl. The dagger struck him with a soft thump, and he landed heavily on his shoulder. His head lolled limply. "No!" screamed Eragon, though he was doubled over in pain. He heard footsteps, then his eyes closed and he knew no more.