/Words in an ancient language/
Preface:
The story of a man who lived by the words of this poem.
—
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,
seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd,
till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
By Walt Whitman
/
Lead clouds covered the sky. The sun barely peeked through them, making the street gloomy, like evening. A serious battle was going on in the square of the small town of Yazuak. Brom was fighting two Urgals. Completely absorbed in the fight, he did not notice the third opponent who tried to approach from behind. Having dealt with his pair of enemies, the man heard the sound of a fallen body behind him. Turning around and already preparing to fight a new opponent, he saw a dead Urgal sprawled on the stones, and a man standing next to the corpse.
The stranger's face was hidden in the shadow of a deep hood, and in his hands he clutched twin knives, from which warm red blood dripped onto the stones. The stranger examined the corpses with some interest, threw them into a pile of bodies in the square and only then looked at Brom. Without ceasing to watch the unexpected assistant warily and without lowering his sword, the old man said carefully:
— Thank you for your help.
— You are welcome, — the boy answered indifferently, removing his hood. It seemed that he was in a peaceful mood. — Where is your companion? At the entrance to the city, I found tracks of two horses.
The stranger turned out to be a young man of about fifteen or sixteen years old, whose dark gray eyes with a blood-red tint looked indifferently at the old man. The vertical pupils gave the guy away as a non-human.
"We must be careful," thought Brom. — "He does not look like an elf. Perhaps this is a shade or some other creation of Galbatorix. True, I have not seen such shades. I will not attack for now. He does not seem to be going to attack. I hope he really just helped, and is not hunting Eragon. What a look. It gives me goosebumps. What the..?"
A rumble was heard from the alley on the right, and blue reflections played on the walls of the nearby houses. Brom and the stranger hurried there. Entering the alley, they saw Eragon lying on the ground and two Urgals burning with blue flame. The stranger was next to the unconscious Rider in a flash, checking his pulse.
- What a half-baked mage, - the young man growled quietly. - Now he will lie unconscious all day. We need to leave. Darkness knows how many of these creatures are here.
Brom frowned. Who knows what intentions the stranger has? On the other hand, if he wanted to kill Eragon, he would have done it already. Together, grabbing the hapless sorcerer by the arms, they returned to the square. Having seated and tied the young man to the saddle of a red stallion, the company moved towards the exit of the city. On the outskirts, next to the very first house, stood a large black horse with thick brushes on its hooves. The stranger easily jumped into the saddle.
- Maybe you will tell me who you are? - asked Brom, mounting his white horse. - I can't just trust you.
- I suggest we ride away from the city, find some inconspicuous and large enough clearing in the forest and calmly explain ourselves there, - the stranger fell silent, and then slowly and hesitantly said:
— /You are not my enemies. I will not harm you, as long as you do not try to harm me/. Is that how it sounds in the ancient language?
— I should believe you, — Brom nodded, making a mental note that the stranger was probably a mage. — But later you will tell me about yourself, what you can, of course. What is your name?
— Simur, son of Darkstars. And you?
— I am Brom, and my companion is Eragon.
Simur nodded and pulled the hood over his head, again hiding his face, which for some reason Brom did not remember. The company galloped away from the city.
