I did not have much leisure time to mourn Murtagh's loss or Tornac's death. I'd barely recovered from Torix's venting when something ticked him off anew; at this rate, I was fit to fall apart before he regained his composure. But, this time, the consequences of his foul temper and the events that caused it would shake Alagaesia to its bones.

In any other circumstance, I would have been hard-pressed to stay awake. I'd been roused by Torix's mental shout hours before I would have naturally risen and then summoned to the meeting chamber for the second time in three days. I slumped into my working clothes and marched down in a foul temper. Even Shruikan was not my equal when woken prematurely (I was less likely to eat those I passed, but much more likely to growl). And yet, when I arrived in the meeting hall, I lost all taste for rancor- the situation was too tenuous to risk expressing it.

Torix was half-dressed with a house coat tossed carelessly over his broad shoulders. He stood stiff as a corpse, back-lit by the glow of two dozen different faces coming from mirrors placed all around him. One image hung suspended in the air, several others were warped into window panes. I crept silently to a seat to observe the goings on- I wasn't fool enough to draw extra attention to myself. Only one of the mirrors arrayed here was typically in this room- an ornate construction about a Morzan-and-a-half tall. In it was a familiar figure- Durza stood straight-backed and grim in a plain stone room. The rest of them I recognized without trouble; agents scattered across Alagaesia in service of the Empire. (Many of them were mages I'd hand-selected for the task!) But even I'd never seen this many of them reporting in at once; especially at such a late hour.

Durza's stiff posture and clenched jaw portended disaster. Still, he sounded calm enough as he said, "We have acquired the courier-"

"You have failed." The king's tone was clipped and brief, but no less devastating because of it. "The elf is a decoration, no more. You were instructed to secure it on pain of death."

Elf? A prickle of amplified unease accompanied the thought. Elves were notoriously difficult to find- let alone capture alive! The only thing that Galbatorix could value more was…

The shade did not bother to defend himself. "We will extract the egg's location from her, Your Majesty." A sheen of sweat covered Durza's face. His pasty skin looked like glazed china.

A moment of tense silence followed this assertion. The shade's hand twitched; the first betrayal of real apprehension I'd ever seen from him. Torix cricked his neck with a pop like a log splitting in a fire- I heard it clear across the room. "Obtain what information you may from her, but leave at least some portion of her sanity intact- she could still be useful. If you prove yourself incapable of even that much- which seems likely at this rate- I will see to her myself. Until then, you are removed from fieldwork." Durza tried to interject, but Torix slid across him like a blade against glass. "And be grateful I don't split you apart and use the denizens within your worthless hide to create something more competent. Dismissed."

Of all the threats and admonishments, the cool disrespect toward Durza of all beings (pride incarnate!) was probably the worst thing Galbatorix could have done in punishment. He bowed his head, hiding an expression of deep, molten hatred behind a curtain of red hair. His figure faded and the image in his mirror returned to its glossy reflection of the room.

I caught a glimpse of Galbatorix's face in the darkened glass and felt a familiar thrill of fear. Even the debacle at Cantos hadn't made him this angry- in the past hundred years, only a handful of things ever had. "To the rest of you," every occupant of every image straightened at once, "Scatter to the winds. Scour this entire continent for the egg." He rattled off a list of orders, giving extra import to places known to house rebels. I dearly regretted every bit of my efforts building my spy network when I saw it mobilized then. I'd woven a meticulous net, after all. Now it was to be employed to crush the last hope Alagaesia had of a free rider. I hung my head- in shame or grief, I couldn't say. At least his attention will be diverted from a hunt for Murtagh. It's the most I can hope for now.

"Lilleth."

I snapped my attention back to him. All the other images had vanished by then, leaving us in near-impenetrable darkness. "Sir-" I didn't even see the blow coming. It turned my head completely to the side, and I only just managed to catch myself on a knee instead of crumbling to the floor. I realized belatedly that I was the only one physically present; there was no one else on whom he could vent his spleen.

He controlled the urge to continue the outburst, but only just. He straightened his coat with the air of a man facing a simple-minded inferior. "You will go north, toward Ceunon. The caravans will be wintering there soon enough, so learn what you may from them. If they have no information, head south until you make it back to Uru'baen. If you discover the egg, report to me at once. We will decide your next course of action from there." Though he made no more move toward me, I wasted no time in rising from my seat. When next he spoke, his voice was soft as a downy chick- though that did nothing to lessen the implied threat. "Given your recent failures, you can ill afford to test me further."

He may as well have spoken Murtagh's name. While I'd kept myself dutifully ignorant of any actual plan, Galbatorix blamed me no less- clearly, my friend had acquired every bit of my disobedience over the years. I bowed low and left without another word.

I was on the road before first light.

I was happy to escape that explosive situation with only a bruise. Though I must confess, "happy" is not the word I would choose to explain my overall mood. Katana and I had basically nothing to gain from the egg being returned to Galbatorix- a fate that had almost come to be.

Not that I was eager for the Varden or elves to sink their claws into it either, but even that messy circumstance would be preferable to Torix gaining yet another slave.

I've spoken before about the limitations of oaths. While he'd been explicit about where I was to go and why, he was notably vague about "when". As such, I dragged my feet as much as I dared. I encountered the caravan very near to their destination indeed. If it weren't for a vicious blizzard that slowed their progress, I may not have been able to catch up to them. But, as they were delayed, I caught their tail just three day's journey from a very familiar village.

The snow crept into my paper-thin boots until they were soaked through. It was a miserable undertaking, walking alone on a snow-covered mountain path with no better gear than the meanest beggar, but my previous ventures into the region taught me the necessity of it. I was also more lightly armed and dressed than I would have liked- the same blue-wool dress I'd worn to visit Anthony's home and two daggers stuffed inside a sleeping roll on my back. The shabby grey cloak I'd acquired in a clearing just off this very road, though neither it nor any other part of my attire was enough to fend off the cold entirely. I think I'd sell my soul for a warm hearth right about now, or to have Starsong on my belt.

What soul? Katana, unbothered by cold in life and now even more so in death, was along for moral support more than anything else. She was also a valuable source of energy, as the case required, but really I just wanted her company. It's not even that cold for this time of year! You were in a much worse state when we first met.

My heart warmed at the referenced memory. It was cold enough that night to freeze me solid! If it wasn't for that lucky bit of shelter and your extra warmth, I might have died on that moronic trip.

Then I offer you a, 'you're welcome,' in retrospect.

I snorted. Thank you. Our banter continued in comfort until we spotted the curl of smoke over the treetops. Let's see if this trader camp is more fortunate than the last.

Hard to be much worse.

This time, I approached the camp in the full light of day. It was totally different sight than the burgled one I'd stumped upon- children laughed and chased each other between wagons and brightly colored tents, lazy hounds snoozed in whatever bit of sun they could find, and dozens of adults bustled about doing this task or that. The nearest to me, an older woman hanging washing on a line, spotted me and ducked under her work to intercept me. "Good morning traveler! Might there be something we can do you for?"

Businessmen to the last of them. I paused a few strides away from her. "Might be, Ma'am. I'm in a bit of trouble, and I was wondering if you could spare room for an extra traveler?"

She frowned, rubbing her hands on her apron. "Bad timing, that. We've only got one stop left before we're stuck until the spring melt, and there isn't much in Carvahall or Ceunon for strangers."

Anyone else in Uru'baen would have been hard-pressed to even find Carvahall on a map. But, to me, it roused a sense of undeservedly strong nostalgia. "I Just need a town to resupply and maybe barter or work for a horse. Mine was hobbled in a potter's hole, poor thing." It was a common enough excuse- any road with good clay underneath was prone to being dug out by craftspeople desperate to meet demand. "I wouldn't bother you at all, but it seems we're heading the same way and it's been so terribly cold." A well-timed gust of frigid wind accented my point. I didn't need to fake my shiver.

The older woman frowned in obvious sympathy. "Bad luck indeed," she hummed and smacked her lips, "Can you feed yourself? We haven't much to spare."

"I have a few bites left, and my Papa taught me how to hunt when I was small." It was technically true- Xanist had taught me almost as much as Formora had, and he was certainly the more patient teacher. "Anybody here trade in furs and the like?"

The woman nodded, already turning back to her laundry. "Bulgin might do- he's just come back from gathering firewood, in the silly orange hat. If you don't mind my asking, what's a little thing like you doing traveling northways this time of year?"

"No choice. I don't have any family left. Spent the last year with a friend of mine, but she passed in childbed. She has a brother who lives in Therinsford, so I thought I may as well see if they need an extra hand."

She gave a sagely nod of comprehension. "Therinsford is an easy journey from Carvahall- though less so in snow like this. You shouldn't have too much trouble with it. 'Till then, you can ride with me- I have an extra seat since my husband left us last year."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not! I kicked his sorry arse to the curb- mongrel didn't have the heart to ride with us any longer." She winked at me. "I'll be grateful for the company, Miss…?"

"Lilly." I normally would never lead with my real name, but there were at least two people in this region to whom it was already known. I couldn't risk being caught in a lie, especially since I intended to visit them. "And you?"

"Call me Nana; everyone else does."

Working to set up camp with the others was almost enjoyable. I secretly used magic to gather my share of food, and I made polite conversation with the group ladies. It was easy enough to tell that they didn't know anything about my mission, so I put the egg out of my mind. I was honestly just happy to be out of the capital; every moment free of Galbatorix's company was a pleasant one. And, by the by, I was eager and a little nervous to see what had become of the boy left there so long ago.

"And, from that day, he has ruled us."

I finally opened my eyes. The old man's retelling of the familiar tale, while certainly lacking in many areas, was probably the closest thing to reality many of these people would ever know. The tense hush absorbed the crowd, even as he shuffled to the edge of the group and retreated into the throng. People slowly shuffled and stretched out and meandered off to their various residences. I stayed perched on the end of a wagon for just a little longer, chewing on the path before me.

Brom was leaning on his staff as he spoke with the troubadours. I could tell they were enjoying him, the way their tinkling laughter carried over the crowd. Good to see the bastard hasn't changed much. He looked even older than he had before, snow-white beard, balded crown, hooked nose, and eyes wrinkled almost to sightlessness. Of course, he would be living a half day's walk from his own son.

He could complicate matters, Katana said.

So long as I avoided him it shouldn't make a difference. Minimally, I decided not to make myself known so near to him and a crowd of innocents. I vaulted off the wagon and decided to spend the rest of the evening with my journey-mates and make the walk to Garrow's home the next morning when they broke camp.

-:- -:- -:-

Brom's version of my " family's " history kept sleep at arm's length for most of the night. Of all the details that were lacking, I think the fall of Jarnunvosk was the most incomplete. "A stray arrow pierced his dragon's heart. Without the arts to save her, she died in his arms"... Gender discrepency aside, the whole affair was completely unlike the truth. Would that it were true! In that circumstance, though still tragic, his eldunari would have been recoverable. And Galbatorix might be a very different man now.

Plenty of Indlvarn fell into grief-madness as well; there is no certainty of anything. Katana, I knew, was as troubled as I was by this altered version of history, though by different parts of it than I. He gave no motive to any of the forsworn. And he said nothing of the banishing.

We both knew how impossible it would be to understand the thirteen without at least comprehending that much. And so much of what Torix has devolved into is linked to their fates. Not the sadism, perhaps, but the impulsive disregard for everything; obsession with power for its own sake.

We must simply agree to disagree on that point.

Gildor, Gelmir, Xanist, Eltereth, and Kialandi would never have followed him in his current state. Amroth, Siyamak, Ellessar, Formora, Balor, and Beren couldn't be bothered either way-

Idril would have preferred him as he is.

I shivered despite the warmth of my bedroll. No doubt. And Morzan, I paused, shouldering the weight of grief and bitterness that came with any thought of the man. Morzan would have followed him to the ends of the earth, no matter what state he was in.

As he eventually did.

I decided not to ruminate o'er long on that subject in particular. Something else irked me, though to a much lesser extent. I shouldn't be surprised he knew so little of Jay- Torix rarely speaks of him to even his closest companions. I myself have only heard his name a half dozen times. But Brom recounted the final battle with Vrael almost perfectly, despite only Galbatorix having left that place alive. He must have heard it from Selena and I know that she heard it from me. Is that really all he retained from his acquaintanceship with us? Is all other nuance to be lost to history?

Katana dodged the meat of my question- quite unsubtly. He must have also been possessed by some kind of fondness; for Selena at least.

I accepted her misinterpretation; it would only agitate us more to dwell on things beyond changing. For her only; and how could he do otherwise? She was so uniquely lovable. My mental image of Selena was imperfect; tarnished as it was by nostalgia and adoration.

Katana, ever the contrarian, asked, Are you so sure of that? Many people in the Empire and Varden considered her in a very different light.

I was in no mood to entertain her admonishments. Still, I knew she only ever meant the best for both of us; I answered her as rationally as I could. I know you're predisposed to hate my rose-tinted glasses… but, in this case, may I please leave them intact? Whatever her flaws may have been, and she certainly had as many as any other person, she's cold in the ground now. It makes no difference if I put her on a pedestal in my memory.

Katana accepted my acknowledged blind spot with better humor than I could have hoped. Still, she was not yet done with me. It seems she's not alone in that position. Xanist is almost saint-like in your recollections.

I would have groaned if a group of traders weren't still in full conversation a few strides away. Another corpse I'd rather not resurrect, thank you very much. He paid for his sins; let him rest in peace.

Is that it then? Once you've been sufficiently punished for all your shortcomings, you'll be content to join the dead?

I'd never loathed our intimacy as much as I did then. I struggled for a response that would suit the gravity of her accusation. That isn't-

Fair? And since when has any part of our path been fair?

I'm not going anywhere-

Until Eragon is safe, Murtagh is rescued, Galbatorix is dead, and the eggs are hatched… but what then? Are we to embrace complacency? Where is that indomitable will at the core of my rider- the will that sent a little girl into the wilderness; and coaxed her forward on frozen limbs? Her emotional outburst was more intense than it had been in a very long time. I got the distinct impression it had been quietly building for many months if not years. I'm afraid for you; for the way you've been acting: fire banked, claws dull, toothless, and meek! Throwing yourself into Galbatorix's path is bad enough, but I get the impression that part of you feels it's deserved!

Maybe it is! I gripped into my blankets, recoiling from the admission… from everything it entailed. I failed, Katana! Over and over again, I have failed at every single task I've undertaken. I failed as a daughter, as a runaway, as a rider, as a rebel, as a spy, as a lover, and as a friend. Everything I touch crumbles to ashes- why should Murtagh be any different? The only thing I've ever done successfully was serve Torix- and damn it all, even that was a failure in the end! I'm a blight to Alagaesia. I abhorred the words that must follow; they'd haunted me as long as I'd known the man, As much of a blight as Galbatorix himself.

Like dragon; like rider. Katana's somber echoing of that old phrase did not feel like commiseration, but rather accusation! I too was a less-than-adequate student. I could neither protect nor comfort nor even rescue my rider. I am incapable of breeding. Her mention of the old wound with only the echo of pain was a staggering show of growth and healing. She continued, I could not even save my last elder, someone I once admired as a potential mate, from the grips of madness. So I ask you, my rider and friend, do I also deserve equal torments?

Instinctively I recoiled from the thought of Katana suffering in any way; I loved her too dearly to even consider it. No.

Then why do you? Were any of these things done with malice? Did you, even once, intend harm by the actions you took?

Murder and duplicity aside? No. But Intentions only matter until they reach consequences-

Katana took scornfully to my sarcasm. And is torturing yourself- physically and mentally- going to undo any of those consequences? She let us stew in uncomfortable silence for a long while. Then, in a much gentler tone, she added, It has not all been in vain. Surda is freed, when we both know they would have been unequal to the challenge of holding off Ellessar. Your time with Galbatorix, as abhorrent as it was, allowed you to manage the Empire's affairs better than he would have on his own. You undermined Balor and saved Felice and all the rest from ruin. You gave Selena joy and, in the end, offered her peace. Many Varden troops survive who would not have otherwise. And I know you couldn't forget the most important point: Murtagh yet lives. A hatchling doomed to misery found comfort in the hours he spent with you.

Tears leaked from my closed eyes. My throat burned from the overflowing emotion; inexpressible gratitude soaking into our link. It still doesn't feel like enough.

Then do more good; offer more hope; and prevent more pain. And, should the day ever come when you feel you have given enough, let the shadows rest in peace and build a better future with me.

I was powerless to combat my own logic. Breathless from the emotional turmoil I offered a simple, Elrun, fricai.

I will consider myself thanked once I know you've actually heard me.

I do… and I will.

-:- -:- -:-

I'd barely closed my eyes when an excited voice interrupted my peace. "Big as a cow skull it was, and blue as a summer sky. Looked like marble, or maybe sodalite?" The speaker was most likely the jeweler and oddity expert, Merlock.

"In plain common speech, if you please!" The second voice was less recognizable, but definitely another of the traders.

"Like," here a pause for some rummaging in a box, "this kind of gemstone. But huge!"

His listeners "Oooh" ed appropriately. The second voice spoke again, "So, what'd you offer them for it?"

"I didn't dare make an offer! Who's got the money to buy a thing like that north of Dras Leona? And I'll be buggered before I cart it halfway across Alagaesia to find out it's worthless."

By this time, I'd crept from my bedroll and started replacing my boots. There could not possibly be two such objects in Alagaesia- it has to be my target. I moved silently as possible to not miss a word of the goings-on. The second voice asked the same questions I was dying to, "Why'd you think it'd be worthless? And who around here could have something like that?"

"Because, and I'd swear it on my grandad's wooden teeth, the damned thing was hollow!" The appropriate amount of disbelief swept through his audience. "I told 'em all this straight, then they thanked me very politely and trundled off." A new voice asked who possessed the mysterious 'hollow stone'. Merlock answered after a hum, "It was some boy and his uncle… though I can't remember their names now. They said they found it in the Spine."

It can't possibly be… the odds of that are astronomical! I slipped from their camp without wasting a moment more.

-:- -:- -:-

I almost didn't expect anyone to still reside in the battered old cottage. It lacked the light and warmth of my original visit- a bucket of wildflowers on the front stoop was overgrown, and the shutters were weathered to shabbiness by fifteen added years of brutal winters. If I walked all the way out here just to find that they've moved, I'll have no choice but to start asking around- and there's no better way to get a small town's heckles up. Resigned to the worst, I knocked some snow off my foot against the porch steps and knocked exactly as I had so long ago.

The young man who answered was tall and strong, certainly not Garrow. But, to my relief, he most certainly shared a resemblance to the man- he even had their family's signature grey eyes. He sized me up, a bit of youthful nerves still visible underneath his well-built exterior. "Hello?"

"Hello," I cleared my throat, to cover my momentary lapse in concentration, "does Garrow still live here?"

"Depends who's asking." A more crumpled version of the man I remembered joined the younger man in the doorway. I realized that the younger must be Roran, the little boy from all those years ago. Gods, I am old… older than anyone should be. Garrow was staring me down with his mouth pressed into a tight line. "What do you want?"

"You might not remember me, but we've met once before-"

Garrow waved a hand to silence me. "Aye. I remember." His son seemed ready to ask a question, but his father just shook his head like an old dog. "Roran, go help Eragon with Birtha. Give us some time to talk." To the youth's credit, he didn't ask questions in the moment. He nodded politely to both of us and trotted down the porch. "You may as well come in." Without further ado, he turned and retreated into the gloomy kitchen.

I followed. Everything was exactly as it had been, down to the very table over which I'd thrown my cloak in my rush to get inside. And yet… some things were unmistakably different- a basket of knitting that was gone, a layer of dust no self-respecting farmer's wife would tolerate, a larder lacking the organization of a tender housekeeper. And no Marian. Could she really have died so young? I decided not to broach the subject with this man I hardly knew. "Sorry to bother you again-"

"You haven't bothered me; not yet, anyway. If that's all you're here to do, then you may as well head back where you came from."

I sat at the table while he pulled out a jug of water and two tin cups. I accepted mine with a smile. "Still cheerful as ever, I see."

"As much as a man can be these days."

I wasn't sure how to start. I settled on the worst and easiest subject, "Selena-"

"She's dead, isn't she?" My initial reaction was shock at his calm declaration. But there was resigned tension around his eyes- eyes that I could tell just from sitting beside him that had never cried in front of a living soul but had known their share of tears nevertheless. I nodded. He sighed and tossed his own glass back like he was wishing it were something stronger than water. "I knew. I can't say how… just a feeling I had." He sniffed and smiled nostalgically, "She always had a talent for attracting trouble."

I raised my cup in a toast at that. "She died almost as soon as she got back. Some illness struck her on the road."

"That's to be expected. She wasn't ready to travel; Marian said as much. But that's all done now." He rubbed the edge of his cup. With surprising severity, he asked, "Did you come for Eragon?" The sudden ice in his voice betrayed his casual demeanor.

I leaned back and shook my head. "I would never! She left him with you for a very good reason. I promised his mother that I would help him if ever he needed it. If he's happy here, then I have no reason to wish him anywhere else." Garrow relaxed somewhat after this speech. I ventured to ask, "How is he?"

"Exactly as much trouble as his mother, of course." The old man smiled. "It was just as well that he was here since Roran is my only child. It's been good for them to grow up together." He leaned back and sized me up again. "Why are you here, if not to take him?"

"The less you know about that, the better."

He held up his hands. "That's just fine with me. If you need a roof you can stay a night or two, but we can barely feed ourselves. This winter is shaping up to be a fierce one already."

"I appreciate the charity, but I'm alright." I wanted desperately to ask about the egg, but transitioning to such an obviously suspicious subject so soon after being asked about my purpose was folly of the gravest kind; somehow, I needed to induce him to broach the matter. As it was, I could tell I'd quite exhausted his taste for conversation. "Thank you for the chat."

"Always interesting, Ms. Lilly. But, one thing: it isn't charity. Selena considered you family, so you're mine too. I may not be a fancy man, but I at least respect that much."

A surprising bout of tenderness for the man sprouted from my already deep affection for his sister. Not only was he the well-loved big brother of a dear friend, he was also an honorable and straight-shooting sort that was easy to respect and admire.. I bowed my head to Garrow. "That means more than you could know. I wish good fortunes to you and yours."

He waved me off. "Give all that to the boys. I've no need for luck anymore. The only thing I have to look forward to is grandchildren."

I laughed, more than sharing the sentiment though unable to express it. "Well, then I hope they're twice as lovely as Marian and have twice your stubbornness"

"Not possible."

I smiled, promised to visit at least once more, and made my way out.

-:- -:- -:-

I took a meandering path back to town. It led me along the edge of Garrow's property, dangerously close to the forbidding border of the Spine proper. It was the only place in the world that gave Torix apprehension- not even ancient crypts made him half so uneasy. That information may prove useful someday.

The long walk gave me plenty of time to think. He doesn't need to know where I found it, only that I found it. There's no reason this can't end peacefully- the family can't sell it and it won't do them much good for anything else. I'm sure I can convince Garrow to part with it, so long as I make it a casual subject. I was so lost in my ruminations that I almost missed a boy, notably different from Roran in age and build, edging from the border fields into the tree line. All the while he kept looking over both shoulders- I was too far away to be visible to his less-powerful eyes. Considering how far were were from any other abode, I had only one guess who this fledgling might be. Where is the young master Eragon off to, and with so much paranoia?

Trailing the youth was more exertive than I'd expected. He seemed comfortable in the woods; much more so than I. His every step was perfectly placed; quiet, unobtrusive, and sure. The only sign of unease was his constant scanning for pursuit.

Of course, it would take a lot more than a teenage human, even a particularly adept hunter, to spot me.

In the end, I had to be satisfied with keeping him just out of sight but well within hearing for my own protection. Perhaps he's concealed the egg out here. If I can ascertain the rough area, I can retrieve it as soon as he leaves. The boy would no doubt be saddened by the loss of his unique treasure, but it would be safest to hurt his feelings instead of risking his life.

An eerily familiar screech jolted me out of my thoughts. I would have recognized that cry from a coma; nay, from the grave! He isn't concealing an egg anymore.

Katana clung to the echo of the sound so fervently that it reverberated in my head. Her spirits soared to heights I hadn't seen since we were only infants ourselves; in a time and place lost to hazy memory. There is a new hatchling!

-:- -:- -:-

My thoughts ran wildly the whole way to Carvahall.

On one hand, this was a minor miracle. My excessive practice of bending orders and interpreting loopholes finally paid off and then some. I'd been ordered to find and retrieve a dragon egg. Those orders contained no provision for what should be done if there no longer was an egg to find. On one hand, I was outside of Uru'baen with no active order to follow for the first time in nearly five years! In any other circumstance, this lapse would have sent me into raptures.

But then all the repercussions of this development unfolded in painful clarity: there was a new rider in Alagaesia, and it was Eragon! Son of Selena and Brom, half-brother to Murtagh, and now final hope for the future of dragonkind. I couldn't have felt more conflicted if it was Hrothgar [that thrice-damned, monument of all things appalling] himself!

My options were limited.

I could always return to Uru'baen. Of course, if I did, Torix would have the full extent of the truth in minutes, and that only if he were willing to wait for me to explain before ripping the information out of my head. Once he knew, the boy wouldn't stand a chance in any hell. He wouldn't be killed; no, much worse than that. He would be enslaved, probably driven mad sooner or later, and forced to continue this cycle of hate and violence. Option two was less straightforward: Brom- the last free dragon rider, founder of the Varden, my personal enemy, and the new disciple's biological father- lived in this very town! If I left, it would save me a lot of trouble… at the expense of never sleeping peacefully again. If I stayed, it could mean my life.

Damn it all, there is no other choice. If I return now, Eragon will be even worse off than his brother.

We must go to Brom. Katana acknowledged the unpleasant truth before I could. Whatever else comes of it, he needs to know.

You're right, I groused, but I don't have to be happy about it.

-:- -:- -:-

It's actually rather simple to find a mage's home in a town of non-mages: scan the whole place for the slightest trace of magic. Brom's few wards, such as they were, would have been imperceptible to a lesser magician. By their placement I assumed they were mostly alarms; just to be sure he wouldn't be caught off his guard.

Which was inconvenient as that was exactly what I wanted to do.

I settled into an uncomfortable nook between two equally shabby buildings. The longer he keeps me waiting, the less friendly I will be. I ascertained fairly quickly that Brom was not within his residence. I folded my legs beneath me and settled in for a long wait.

-:- -:- -:-

When he finally did make his way back, my legs had long since fallen asleep. Before he reached his door, I stepped out of the shadows and cleared my throat. He froze, but otherwise did not seem to react. I had no doubt that, underneath the dye, his palm was glowing white-hot with banked potential (as mine certainly was). I held my hands up in front of myself to show that they were empty. "Eka weohnata néiat haina, mar threyja eom thorta medh ono."

He eased off his defensive posture, if only slightly. "And why should I speak with you? What can there be that we have not said?" His tone cracked across like a whip.

"Things have changed," he cocked his head, but I refused to continue until we were somewhere more private.

He sized me up for a painfully long while. I knew his reputation well enough to understand his thought process. Even if I have found a way to intend him harm and lie about it, there's nothing I can do to him in his home that I can't do just as easily out here. And, at least inside, bystanders are less likely. "Come in, but don't touch anything."

I followed him into the unassuming building. And glad I was that I'd withstood the cold. If I had tripped his little warding spell, he likely would have disappeared over the distant horizon before I even laid eyes on him. I picked a path through his diligently organized clutter and alighted on a chair. He didn't sit, just stood between me and the door in some vague attempt at a threat. "You look terrible," I said with forced cheer.

"You don't look much better." I took the 'compliment' with a gracious nod. He continued, "But what could I expect of a royal on the road." He paused meaningfully, "Alone?"

"Obviously. He hasn't done his own dirty work in almost a century. I'm starting to wonder if he still knows how."

"Let's not find out."

We sat in eerie silence. Every variation of opening the matter seemed to trip some oath or other-and he was in no particular rush to listen to me anyway.

Finally, Brom surrendered to the awkwardness of the situation. "What brings you here?"

"I need to speak with you." Any direct mention of the egg would count as discussing Torix's business business. I'd need to coax him into asking in a way I could answer.

"Well?" He wrestled with his impatience insincerely. "What is it?"

"I cannot tell you." He swore, but I dropped a heavy tome to the floor to silence him. "No, listen to me, damn you! I can't tell you."

Realization dawned in his eyes. "He made you swear oaths."

I sighed in relief; at least now he knew the game we were playing. "I can neither confirm nor deny."

"Which means yes." I examined my nails as a reply. "So, if you are here and not attempting to kill or capture me, then something else brought you to Carvahall."

"I'll give you one guess. Your hint is, "Gil'ead."

He nodded slowly and sat. "The egg, then." He leaned forward anxiously. "Has it been recaptured?"

"Not exactly. Its handler…" I felt a tingle along my skin as the oaths again rejected every variation of the truth. Finally, I settled on saying, "She is unwell," with the gravest possible expression.

"Is she alive?"

"Unfortunately."

He winced, but hid it dutifully; we both knew the kinds of malice Torix could unleash (though I more intimately than he). "And the egg?"

"Gone."

"Gone!?" His staff thudded against the planks at his feet. "Barzul, this makes a mess of things!"

"More than you know." We'd finally reached the point where I could point him in the right direction. "It is not missing, it is gone. It no longer exists. She tried to send it to you, I can only assume."

"I never received it! And what could you possibly mean 'gone'-"

"It. Doesn't. Exist. There is one less and also one more of its kind in Alagaesia. The container is gone." I stared daggers at him, trying to make him understand.

He met my eyes, his own buried under his wildly unkempt brows as he thought. Then, as if drawn forward, he sat up as straight as he could. "She has hatched."

I bowed my head, relieved to be done with the farce of abridged communication. "And not just to anyone; to your son."

He tensed and glowered at me. The mere mention of Eragon between us two carried with it all the unpleasantness of our parting conversation; most kenly, the accusations hurled on both sides. He found his voice again after an awkward pause. "And… the king-?"

"Will not hear this from me, not yet at least. I was sent out with a very particular task which has now been rendered impossible. As such, I have no pressing need to report to him."

"Until you return to Uru'baen-"

"I have no intention of returning to Uru'baen."

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I certainly won't tell you." He seemed like he was about to snap at me so I held a hand up, "Just be grateful I only noticed the situation when it was already too late and not before."

He sighed, finally sounding his full age and weariness. "Grateful, ay?" He leaned back in his chair, mulling over the new and shocking developments. "Of course, this would happen."

"Honestly, you should have tested him sooner." I wiggled my fingers on my marked hand. "He could have been partially trained by now. At the very least, you should have taken him away. Why wait?"

Brom rubbed the tip of his nose like he was allergic to the query. "I wanted him to have a chance at peace." There was painful sincerity in that admission.

I empathized with the sentiment, if not the speaker. I pictured Murtagh's pensive, disappointed stare- the last thing I'd seen before I turned my back on him, hopefully forever. "A member of this family? Not a chance."

A choked laugh blistered from him, though I felt it was unintentional. "So, what's your part to be in all of this?"

I chuckled to myself, standing to leave. "To give Galbatorix pain, of course. I told you long ago; that's the only goal that still matters to me."

"That and Selena." The tender respect he paid her name gratified me.

At least he truly cared for her; I can have some peace that she was appreciated in life by more than just me. Though my back was to him, I paused to speak. "And, by extension, all those she loved."

The complex and irritating web of these affairs have only just begun to unspool in this recounting, and yet I'm already wracked with all the residual anxieties they conjured.

It had to be Eragon! Multiple races, multiple countries, and a hundred fucking years of carting this egg around… and it chose a fifteen-year-old boy. And not just any boy, but one at the edge of civilization, no book learning, and a family tree that was practically ablaze to Amroth's taste. Never mind the fact that he was one of only two people in the world that I'd given my word to keep safe. Ha! What a disaster, what a mess, what a farce! Fate has jokes enough for all Alagaesia, but those she plays on this boy and those closest to him are the cruelest I've ever seen.

Of course, they may be reason enough for that… but that subject is not suited to this journal or any other. Even Galbatorix, reckless moron that he so often was, never put that information into writing. In this alone, I will follow my mentor's example.

In any case, events were about to unfurl in Carvahall that would severely displease the king… and traumatize a boy so keenly that he would decide to become a hunter of hunters- a title he was in no way ready to claim. At least he got a notoriously sturdy mentor to guide the way… and a determined protector to shadow his steps.