Chapter 1 - Riders

Eragon leaned forward into his saddle, his eyes drooping with weariness. He was exhausted, and he felt from Saphira that she was too. They had been flying for days towards the Hadarac Desert, approaching Alagaesia for the first time in two centuries.

Eragon, I'm exhausted. So is Thorn. Let's make camp on the border so we're refreshed when we reach Vroengard, Murtagh sent through his mind.

Agreed, Eragon responded, and the two riders and dragons set down in a clearing, right on the border of the desert.

It has been too long since my scales have reached this land, Saphira said, to the three others.

"I agree," said Murtagh, "My legs are stiff. We should get some rest and then return to Vroengard."

Eragon hummed in agreement. He briefly reached his mind out towards the desert, searching for life across the barren sea. Afterwards, he reached into his satchel, grabbing an apple.

Something is wrong, said Thorn, with Murtagh nodding his head.

Eragon took a bite of the apple. What is it? Saphira asked. Eragon could tell she was slightly annoyed at not knowing what it was that was bothering Thorn, but only because they had been bonded almost three centuries.

"The wild dragons of Du Fells Nangoroth. I cannot sense them," Murtagh responded for Thorn, the bond between the pair just as strong as Eragon and Saphira's.

Eragon set down his apple, reaching his mind out to the desert again, this time specifically for the birthplace of dragons.

I do not feel them either, little one, Saphira said, to him only. Her voice was quiet, almost timid, and very different from the commanding presence she usually had.

We cannot rest here, said their final companion, Nadar. The eldunari of the fallen dragon's voice boomed throughout their minds, something the two riders hadn't heard in some time. Something isn't right in the land. I cannot feel the elves either.

This worried Eragon. He reached his mind towards Du Weldenvarden and found the elves unreachable. A quick look at Murtagh revealed his brother felt the same. His thoughts began to race, and he had to fight for control to keep his mind from spiraling.

Saphira keened softly, her worry evident. Eragon patted her neck and pushed his mind towards her own, working to calm them both down.

"We should go to Ellesmera," Murtagh grunted, "If anything, Evandar might have an idea why the dragons left Du Fells Nangoroth. If something is wrong in the land, we shouldn't make headway to Vroengard yet. The riders stationed there should know something about what's happened."

Saphira acknowledged Murtagh for the both of them, and Eragon climbed once more on her back. He looked over to see Murtagh checking Thorn's saddlebags, ensuring that Nadar's eldunari was secured, as well as the brilliant purple Rider's sword, Vara. Only once Murtagh had mounted Thorn and the two brothers shared a glance did Saphira rise from the ground.

The two dragons rose to incredible heights, the air thumping with sounds of thunder as Thorn and Saphira gained altitude. Only when the land was barely visible below them and Saphira was satisfied with their height did they fly towards Ellesmera. The dragons' beauty always brought a smile to Eragon's face, even after centuries. Saphira and Thorn cut through the air like a sharpened blade, flying alongside each other was natural. Saphira flew first, she was always the better flier, though Thorn was still incredible. Saphira was the one of the best before they left on their journey, and she had only gotten better since. Thorn flew directly behind Saphira, using the air tunnel she created to keep speed. Before the death of Nadar and his rider, Amani, the dragons flew in a triangle formation, but they flew faster with just the two dragons.

I am worried little one Saphira said to Eragon alone.

I am too, he replied, The disappearance of the dragons at their heart could be easy to explain, maybe they decided they were better fitted for Vroengard, but not being able to even feel the elves is off-putting. It's not like Evandar to hide himself. Something must have happened.

Eragon reached towards the mirror he kept in one of Saphira's saddlebags. He cast a simple spell, attempting to scry Evandar. When that didn't work, he tried to scry his old master, Oromis. Frustrated, he tried again, this time attempting to reach Vrael, their leader. The frustration quickly morphed to worry when Vrael would not answer.

I tried to scry Naevir, and then Oromis. Neither responded, Murtagh spoke to him through their mind.

I tried Oromis too, as well as Vrael and Evandar. No response, Eragon replied.

We should not worry until we reach the elven capital, Thorn advised, Someone will have answers.

Saphira hummed an agreement, so Eragon began clearing his thoughts. He briefly grazed his hand along their most precious saddlebag, the contents of which always gave him tranquility. It worked for Saphira as well, as she pushed a reminder of gratitude towards him.

The four companions flew for an hour before reaching the small elven city of Ceris. Eragon had visited the city twice before, both briefly. Eragon had been friends with the Elven king, and had accompanied him to the city not as a Rider, but as an acquaintance. The city was small, he remembered, more of an outpost than a city. Saphira located a valley near the entrance, and the two dragons descended down into it.

"I didn't visit the elves much when we were in Alagaesia, but was the forest always this quiet?" Murtagh asked Eragon.

"No," Eragon replied. Murtagh was right. Before they left, Du Weldenvarden was always ripe with life and noise. The elves ventured throughout the forest and did as they pleased, and it was not uncommon for them to wander around their cities, hoping to be the first to greet a Rider should they appear. The elves treated dragons, and by extension riders, with the utmost respect. The elves lived long lives, many believed them to be immortal, and the way they spent their days made time feel as if it was flying. It was one of the many reasons Eragon preferred to be among elves in his youth, spending half a century among them before their journey.

Where are the elves? Saphira thought aloud, echoing Eragon's own. The Riders stood silent in the forest, the brothers mirroring each other's guarded stances. Neither had drawn their blades, but both had their hands at the ready. Eragon watched as the trees ebbed and he knew Murtagh was doing the same. The trees swayed softly, and Eragon felt himself holding his breath. In the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the trees and heard a soft twang of a bow string.

Snap.

It was fast, but the arrow was not intended to kill. Eragon looked to his side and saw the arrow lodged deep into his shoulder. Saphira tensed, ready to pounce, and Thorn let out a hearty roar.

"Hold!" Eragon shouted in the ancient language, almost a plea. He held his right palm outwards, the gedwey ignasia on display towards their attackers. "We are Riders! Of the order! This is my dragon Saphira, my brother Murtagh, and his dragon Thorn." At their introductions, both dragons let another roar out, shaking the very ground they stood on. "We've only recently returned from our journey, we only wish to speak," He said in the ancient language.

Their attackers slowly approached the Riders, very much on edge. Murtagh ripped the arrow from his shoulder and healed it with a spell, before speaking in the ancient language, "We were on a mission from our leader, Vrael. We wish to speak with the riders in Ellesmera about the state of Alagaesia."

Still, the attackers, there were four, held their weapons, giving the dragons a wide berth.

Tell them, Saphira, Eragon said, The elves respect your kind more than any other. The riders speak the truth, said Saphira, to the group, We have no wish to fight today, but give us a reason and we will claw our way to Ellesmera.

The elves did not mind the threat, however, for they lowered their weapons immediately upon hearing Saphira speak. A smile grew upon their faces. Eragon shared a glance with Murtagh, and the brothers silently agreed to stay on guard, both having their hands on their swords.

One of the elves, the one who shot Murtagh, matched gazes with Eragon. "The two of you do not serve the Black King or his Forsworn?" She asked.

Eragon shook his head, a part of him confused. He responded in the ancient language, "I do not know of the Black King or his Forsworn, the only one I serve is Vrael, the leader of the ancient order of dragon riders."

The elves then looked at him, puzzled. "You do not know Galbatorix?" she asked, spitting the name out in distaste.

"No," Murtagh responded, again in the ancient language so the elves knew their honesty, "We do not know this Galbatorix."

The elves looked at each other, murmuring softly. One of them, a male, spoke to Eragon, "Forgive me, Shur'tugal, but we do not understand. How do you not know of the Black King."

"The four of us left these lands long ago, and have only now returned. We would have flown to Ilirea to meet with Vrael before flying to Vroengard to appear before the council. We only changed course because we could not feel the wild dragons at Du Fells Nangoroth, and we could not scry anyone in Du Weldenvarden," Eragon replied.

The original elf, the woman, spoke again, her words like a melody, "How long were you gone, Riders, that you would call the great city by its old name?"

Eragon tilted his head, confused, but Murtagh answered the question, his eyes narrowing, "We left the continent two hundred years ago, on an expedition to the east." The tale was half true, however the real reason lay in Saphira's saddlebags. Only the Elder's knew of the entire reason they left.

The elves before them fell into a deep silence, their gazes switching between their own group and the group of riders. Eragon felt Murtagh push his mind towards his own. What has happened while we were away? Who is this Galbatorix, and why does speaking his name fill them with such disgust?

Eragon shook his head, I do not know. It can't be good.

The elves turned back towards them, the male who spoke to them before raising his fingers to his brow. "Atra esterni ono thelduin, Eragon Shur'tugal, Murtagh Shur'tugal."

Eragon raised his fingers, remembering the words from a distant past. He watched as Murtagh mirrored his own movements, "Mor,ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."

The elf smiled, "Forgive us, Riders and great dragons, for our rude introduction. I am Lifean, and these are Nari, Laufin, and Wydren." As he spoke he gestured the introduction at the other elves.

The female, Nari, approached Thorn, bowing "Forgive me, Bloodscales, for my rudeness and for firing upon our rider."

Thorn gazed at her, however Eragon knew it was only for dramatic silence. You are forgiven, elfling, but do not aim to harm my rider again, or you will suffer a gruesome death to my claws.

Nari nodded, and straightened back up. "We have sent a messenger to Ellesmera, Shur'tugal. It seems you have much to catch up on. The queen will answer your questions, make haste."

The queen? Eragon thought, however Murtagh mounted Thorn at once, eliminating the ability for Eragon to ask any more questions. Eragon followed suit, and the riders set flight towards Ellesmera, hoping to find answers about the Black King, Galbatorix, and the Forsworn.