CHAPTER FIVE

The storm

The days drifted by like the slow march of an inevitable storm. I kept myself busy, observing from a distance, waiting for the right moment to confront Eragon about the monumental secret he now carried. It had been a month since the egg had hatched for him, and though I knew he needed time to adjust to the staggering reality of becoming a Dragon Rider, my patience had its limits.

After much thought, I approached Brom with my intentions. "It's time," I told him one crisp morning. "Eragon's had long enough to process what's happening. We need to speak with him—and Saphira."

Brom gave me his trademark skeptical look, his blue eyes narrowing under his bushy eyebrows. "And you think he's ready?"

"If he's not, I'll handle it carefully. Let me take the lead on this," I pressed. "He'll respond better if it comes from someone who's not... well, you."

That earned me a derisive snort, but after much back-and-forth, Brom reluctantly agreed. "Fine," he muttered. "But don't make a mess of it."

As fate would have it, I didn't have to go looking for Eragon. As at that moment, a knock at Brom's door disrupted our discussion. Brom rose, leaning heavily on his cane for show, and shuffled to the door. When he opened it, there stood Eragon, looking sheepish and unsure of himself.

"Well, that makes life easier," I thought, smirking to myself.

"What do you want, boy?" Brom barked, his gruff demeanor masking the calculating mind beneath.

Eragon hesitated before answering. "Roran's in town getting a chisel fixed, so I had some free time. I was hoping you'd answer a few questions... about the Riders."

I glanced at Brom, sending a mental prod. Perfect opportunity. Brom sent back a curt reply. I'll take the lead. Don't interfere. I gave a mental nod, conceding.

Brom opened the door wider, gesturing for Eragon to enter. He stepped inside and immediately froze upon seeing me sitting at the table. "Oh, Mark! I didn't know you'd be here," he said, trying to mask his surprise.

"Hello Eragon," I said with a polite nod, keeping my tone neutral. "Good to see you."

He sat down, clearly trying to suppress his nerves, and turned his attention to Brom. "I was hoping you could tell me more about the Dragon Riders. Their history... their accomplishments."

Brom leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Ah, so you want to hear tales of grandeur, do you? Very well. Let's begin with the dragons themselves."

He launched into an account of the dragons' origin, weaving a tapestry of ancient legends and truths. He spoke of the bond between Riders and their dragons, the balance they brought to the world, and their unparalleled feats. Eragon listened intently, hanging on Brom's every word, his questions tumbling out one after another.

"How long do dragons live?" he asked.

"Longer than you or I can imagine," Brom replied. "They are as eternal as the mountains, as enduring as the stars. Few things can end their lives."

"And their intelligence?" Eragon pressed.

Brom chuckled, though there was an edge of sadness in it. "Far greater than yours, boy. Dragons are creatures of immense wisdom. They see the world in ways we cannot comprehend."

The questions continued, and I remained silent, letting the familiar cadence of the conversation from the books play out. But when Eragon asked, "I heard their scales shine like gems. Is that true?" my attention snapped back to the room.

Brom paused, his eyes narrowing. "And where did you hear such a thing?"

Eragon faltered. "A... a trader mentioned it."

I nearly scoffed aloud but settled for a mental jab at Brom. He's a terrible liar.

We'll get him up to speed soon enough, Brom replied, amusement tinged with exasperation.

"And this trader's name?" Brom asked, his voice deceptively casual.

"I... I don't remember," Eragon stammered, his gaze darting to the floor.

I rolled my eyes, unable to hide my smirk. Really? I sent to Brom. Even I could do better than that.

Brom ignored me, moving on to dragon names. Eragon leaned forward eagerly as Brom listed a few, his voice growing softer with each, "There was Jura, Hírador, and Fundor—who fought the giant sea snake. Galzra, Briam, Ohen the Strong, Gretiem, Beroan, Roslarb," He paused, his eyes distant, then whispered the final name: "Saphira."

The weight of that name hung in the air, and for a moment, Brom's pain was palpable. I felt a pang of sympathy for the old man, but I remained quiet, watching as Eragon fidgeted nervously. He began to rise, mumbling his thanks for the information, but Brom's voice cut through the room, sharp and precise.

"So," Brom said, his tone deceptively light. "Have you decided what you're going to call your dragon?"

The color drained from Eragon's face, his expression frozen in shock. His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came out. His wide eyes darted between Brom and me, searching for some hint of misunderstanding, some clue that what he'd just heard wasn't true. The realization that his carefully guarded secret was no longer his alone dawned on him like a crashing wave, leaving him visibly unsteady.

For a moment, the room was cloaked in silence, heavy and oppressive. Then, in a voice that trembled with uncertainty, Eragon managed a shaky, "W-what are you talking about?"

Brom leaned forward, his piercing gaze drilling into Eragon's. His voice was low, deliberate, and unyielding, each word a blade cutting through the boy's defenses. "Don't play coy with me, boy. Mark here recognized the egg the morning you wandered out of the Spine. We've been watching you ever since. We knew the dragon had hatched for you. And now, you're a Rider." Brom's tone sharpened as he added, "Do you deny it? Even with the Gedwëy ignasia, the Rider's mark, emblazoned on your palm?"

Before Eragon could respond, Brom reached out and seized his hand, flipping it palm-up. There it was—the shimmering, silvery mark that proclaimed Eragon's destiny. Eragon turned scarlet, his embarrassment, frustration, and disbelief spilling over in waves. He jerked his hand back as though burned, his eyes narrowing as he turned on me.

"You knew? This whole time, you knew?" His voice rose, tinged with hurt and anger. "And you didn't say anything?"

I sighed, meeting his gaze with an apologetic expression. "I knew," I admitted quietly, my tone soft but steady. "But I felt you weren't ready to hear it. And I was afraid that if I approached you too soon, you might panic and try to get rid of the egg."

Eragon's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. For a moment, he said nothing, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You should have told me anyway," he muttered finally, his voice tight.

"I know," I said sincerely. "And I'm sorry for that."

Brom cut in sharply, his gravelly voice slicing through the tension. "Apologies can wait. What's done is done. What matters now is that you're a Rider, whether you like it or not. And that means you need training—real training. The king will send his men after you when he learns of your existence. And he will learn of it; it's only a matter of time."

"I don't want to fight the king, or anyone!" Eragon shot back, his voice cracking with desperation. "I never asked for this. I never wanted to be part of the war!"

Brom's lips tightened, but it was I who spoke first. "Sometimes, we don't get a choice, Eragon. Destiny has other plans for you, whether you agree with them or not. The moment that egg hatched, your path was set."

Eragon's shoulders sagged, the weight of my words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He glanced between the two of us, his face a mixture of defiance and resignation. "And where do you two fit into all of this?" he asked finally, his voice quieter now but still laced with suspicion.

Brom straightened in his chair, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his weathered features. "I am an agent of the Varden," he said simply, the weight of his revelation hanging in the air. "Tasked with finding and training the next Rider. That is my duty."

Eragon nodded slowly, then turned to me, his brows furrowing. His gaze was expectant, almost accusing, as if daring me to reveal my role in the unfolding drama.

I raised my hands in mock surrender, forcing a weak chuckle. "Oh, me? I'm just training under Brom. A warrior in the fight against tyranny, that's all." My attempt at levity didn't land, and Brom shook his head, clearly unimpressed.

Eragon's confusion deepened, his lips parting as if to press me for more. But he seemed to think better of it and instead directed his focus back to Brom. "Fine," he said reluctantly, his voice heavy with resignation. "I'll train under you. And when the time comes... I'll go with you to meet the Varden."

Brom's expression softened just slightly, approval flickering in his sharp blue eyes. "Good," he said with a firm nod. Then he stood, his cane tapping against the wooden floor as he motioned toward the door. "Now, let's go meet your dragon, shall we?"

Eragon blinked, startled. "You—you want to see it?"

Brom's lips curled ever so slightly, the faintest shadow of a smile on his weathered face, but his tone remained gruff, as though testing Eragon's resolve. "It? Do you not know your dragon's gender yet?" He shook his head, letting the rhetorical question linger before continuing. "And yes, I want to see your dragon. If I'm going to train you, I need to know who you've bonded with. Now, move along, boy. We don't have all day."

Eragon hesitated, visibly flustered. "I—I can't. Not right now," he stammered. "I have to meet Roran soon, and if I'm late, he'll come looking for me. I can't risk that."

Brom's sharp gaze lingered on Eragon, as if gauging the boy's honesty. Finally, with a begrudging nod, he relented. "Fine. A few days then, but no more. When you're free of distractions, we'll meet your dragon, and your training will begin. No excuses, no delays."

Relief flickered across Eragon's face as he nodded. "I'll let you know when." With that, he made his exit, though his steps seemed heavier, burdened by the weight of what lay ahead.

I remained behind as Brom settled back into his chair, his eyes narrowing in thought. "What about you, Mark?" he asked, his tone casual but his gaze probing. "What are your plans for the day?"

"I've got a few projects to finish up," I replied, stretching out the tension in my shoulders. "Once that's done, I'm calling it a night."

Brom gave a curt nod. "Good. Rest while you can. Things are about to get... complicated."

With a quick farewell, I left Brom's home, my mind already racing with preparations.

The days passed quickly, and soon the time came for us to meet Saphira. Eragon led us into the woods, his nervous energy palpable. As we walked, he explained the events that had transpired since the dragon hatched. "She's a female," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "And after some discussion, we settled on the name Saphira. It felt... right."

Brom's expression softened for the briefest of moments before his usual stoicism returned. "A noble name," he murmured.

We arrived in a clearing deep within the forest. There, tucked against the edge of the tree line, was a makeshift shelter—clearly constructed with care. Eragon hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and calling out.

The air seemed to shift as a massive shadow swept over us. With a rush of wind, Saphira landed gracefully beside Eragon, her sapphire-blue scales glinting like polished gemstones in the dappled sunlight. Her wings folded neatly against her sides as she turned her sharp, intelligent gaze toward Brom and me.

Eragon caressed her head affectionately, his face alight with a mix of pride and wonder. "Mark, Brom," he said, his voice steady despite his nerves, "meet Saphira."

Brom stepped forward first, his expression reverent. He bowed deeply, placing a hand over his heart. "Greetings, Saphira," he said with uncharacteristic warmth. "It is an honor to meet you."

Following his lead, I stepped forward and bowed as well, trying to convey my respect for the young dragon. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Saphira," I said sincerely.

Saphira inclined her head regally, and Eragon smiled as he relayed her greeting. "She says it's an honor to meet you both as well."

Brom straightened, his sharp eyes glinting. "May I?" he asked, reaching a hand toward Saphira's neck.

Eragon nodded, but as Brom's hand made contact, Saphira recoiled, pulling back with a low rumble of displeasure.

"She knows," I said, sending Brom a mental message. She must have felt your mark, she knows you're a Rider.

Brom's only response was a subtle nod, his face unreadable. Turning to Eragon, he cleared his throat. "There's much to learn and little time to do it. The sooner we begin, the better. The king's agents will come looking for you, and they won't wait."

Eragon frowned, his hand resting on Saphira's side. "I can't just leave Garrow alone," he said firmly. "He's already lost so much. I can't abandon him."

I stepped forward, my tone gentle but firm. "We'll make a plan for Garrow. But right now, your training comes first. If you're not ready when they come, there won't be anything left to protect."

Reluctantly, Eragon nodded. "Alright. But I'm not leaving Carvahall until I know Garrow is safe."

Brom clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure it out, boy. For now, we'll meet here daily for training until the time comes to leave."

The rest of the day passed with quiet conversation. Saphira's personality quickly became evident—noble, intelligent, and wise beyond her years, yet with a streak of vanity that made her endearing. Eragon voiced his concerns about Roran leaving and Garrow's wellbeing, and I did my best to reassure him, though the looming threat of the Ra'zac was ever-present in my mind.

As the sun dipped low, we bid our farewells. "Give my regards to Roran and Garrow," I said to Eragon as we parted ways.

On the walk back to town, Brom was unusually quiet, his gaze distant. After a while, I broke the silence. "What's on your mind?" I asked, though I already had a good idea.

He exhaled slowly, his voice heavy with sorrow. "My son now has a dragon—a dragon that shares the same name as my fallen companion. And she even looks the same." He shook his head, his expression dark. "I pray to the gods this isn't history repeating itself."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's not," I said firmly. "This is a new beginning, not a repeat of the past. Whatever fate has in store, we'll face it together."

Brom said nothing, but his nod was enough.

That night, as I sat in my room sharpening my enchanted steel sword, I thought of the Ra'zac. Tomorrow, they would come for Garrow. But this time, things would be different. This time, I was ready.

The morning sun broke through the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over Carvahall, but it did little to soothe the tension twisting in my chest. Today was the day. The Ra'zac were coming. I woke early, the weight of anticipation urging me into action.

After washing my face with cold water from the basin, I quickly donned my simple clothes—nothing that would draw suspicion. My sword, forged with my own hands and imbued with powerful enchantments, was hidden just outside the village, concealed in a hollow beneath an old oak. I planned to retrieve it on my way to Garrow's farm.

I threw myself into my chores with a practiced nonchalance, the goal being to act as normal as possible. The last thing I needed was anyone suspecting what I was about to do. My mind raced with strategies, contingencies, and spells I could use. The knowledge that the Ra'zac were near made my gut churn, but I pushed the fear aside.

As I finished stacking a pile of firewood, Horst approached, his broad frame casting a long shadow. "Mark," he said, his voice laced with concern. "I thought you should know—there are some strange visitors in the village. They've been asking about Eragon. Something about a rock he found."

This was it. My heart skipped a beat. Keeping my voice steady, I replied, "Thanks, Horst. I'll check on him, make sure he's alright."

Horst frowned. "Be careful, lad. Something about those men… doesn't sit right."

"I will. I plan to stay at Eragon's tonight," I added quickly, hoping to avoid any more questions.

Horst nodded reluctantly. "Alright, but stay sharp."

As I made my way toward the edge of the village, I nearly collided with Brom, who stumbled forward, clutching his side. Blood stained his tunic, and his face was pale.

"Brom!" I exclaimed, rushing to steady him. "What happened?"

"The Ra'zac," he hissed through gritted teeth. "They know about Eragon. They're heading to Garrow's farm as we speak."

My stomach dropped. "You need to rest. Stay here in the village and keep an eye out in case they or Eragon return."

Brom's eyes narrowed. "Are you mad? You can't take them on alone. They're not ordinary opponents."

"I'll manage," I said firmly. "You're in no condition to fight, and frankly, you'd only slow me down. Trust me—I've prepared for this."

He opened his mouth to argue but paused, his sharp gaze assessing me. "Do you even have a weapon?"

I nodded. "A sword. My own creation. And it's enchanted."

Brom grumbled something under his breath but finally relented. "Fine. But don't get yourself killed, boy. You're no use to anyone dead."

"I don't plan on dying today, if I'm not back by tomorrow morning, come find me," I said with a faint smile before turning on my heel.

I retrieved my sword and a small pack of supplies from the hollow beneath the oak, then began sprinting toward Garrow's farm. The fields blurred past me as I pushed myself to my limits, every muscle in my body screaming with exertion. I couldn't afford to be late.

When I arrived, Garrow was in the field, tilling the soil with slow, deliberate movements. He looked up, surprised to see me.

"Mark? What are you doing here?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Roran just left, and Eragon's still out."

"I know, I came to see Eragon, I thought I'd wait for him until he returned," I said quickly. "If it's alright, I'd like to stay the night, I need to discuss something important with you two."

Garrow hesitated, his eyes searching mine. For a moment, I thought he would refuse, but then he nodded. "We don't have much, but you're welcome to stay."

"Thank you. And don't worry about the food—I'll help out."

I spent the afternoon helping Garrow till the land, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the horizon. If the Ra'zac were going to attack, it would likely be under cover of darkness. My stomach churned with anticipation. This was going to be my first real fight—no supervision, no backup. Just me and my blade.

As night fell, I helped Garrow prepare a simple meal. We ate in silence, his worry for Eragon evident in the lines etched on his face.

"Eragon's fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "I just remembered; he mentioned going hunting in the Spine. I had forgotten, my apologies, he said he would be back tomorrow morning."

That seemed to ease his mind, and after showing me to a small corner of the house to sleep, Roran's old room, he retired for the night.

But I didn't sleep. Instead, I donned my vest armor and pauldron, their crystals thrumming with raw energy. I whispered a spell in the ancient language, weaving a protective barrier around myself against the noxious fumes the Ra'zac used to incapacitate their prey. Then, I waited.

The first sign of their approach was the unnatural silence. No crickets chirped, no night birds called. Then, the faint sound of wings. I kicked myself for forgetting this detail—the Ra'zac had brought their mounts, the Lethrblaka.

Four Ra'zac emerged from the darkness, their grotesque forms illuminated by the pale moonlight. Behind them loomed the massive, leathery shapes of two Lethrblaka, their yellow eyes gleaming with malice.

The leader called out, its voice a chilling hiss. "Boy! We know you're here. Come out!"

I met Garrow in the main room. He was pale, his hands trembling. "Mark, what is going on, why is it deathly silent all of a suddenly, and is that a sword?"

"Stay behind me," I said, drawing my sword. The enchanted blade shimmered faintly in the dim light, a testament to the magic coursing through it.

Garrow nodded, too afraid to argue.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside and into the clearing, the Ra'zac's eyes snapping toward me like predators locking onto prey.

"Well," I said, my voice steady despite the terror clawing at my insides, "Isn't this a surprise, it would seem we have guests." My sword glinted in the moonlight, a silent challenge.

The moon bathed the farm in pale silver light, casting eerie shadows over the fields. The Ra'zac stood before me, their grotesque forms illuminated faintly, their hunched bodies and insect-like features making my stomach churn. Their voices were sharp and hissed, slicing through the silence like a blade.

"Youuu areee not the boy weee seek," one of them said, its tone dripping with malice. "Whereee isss the boy? Tell usss, and weee will let you liveee."

Behind me, Garrow trembled. His voice quaked with fear. "By the gods… what are they? Why are they looking for Eragon?"

Without looking at him, I replied, my voice calm but firm, "They want the stone Eragon found. We'll talk later. For now, hide behind the well and stay out of sight."

Garrow hesitated for only a moment before he moved toward the well, his steps unsteady.

The Ra'zac hissed in unison, their voices venomous. "Youuu think you can sssave the boy? Youuu areee outclassed. Weee will kill youuu… and eat youuu."

I smirked, keeping my tone steady and my confidence unshaken. "Galbatorix's dogs resorting to scare tactics? How predictable. You serve a coward, and it shows."

The taunt landed as I'd hoped. The Ra'zac screeched in fury, their dark forms snapping forward like coiled springs. Their speed would have been blinding to most, but to me, they moved as if through molasses. I'd prepared for this moment, pouring hours into training and spell craft.

The well behind me began to tremble as I quietly chanted in the ancient language. Water rose, a glistening serpent slithering toward the surface, hovering just shy of the well's edge. At the same time, I prepared another spell, a dazzling were light designed to blind and disorient. Timing was everything.

The Ra'zac surged forward, their talons gleaming. I dropped into a loose stance, my sword humming faintly with enchantments. The first Ra'zac lunged, and I twisted, sidestepping with a flourish. My sword flashed, a single clean arc severing its beaked head.

The second closed in, slashing viciously. I blocked the blow with a resounding clang, using the force to pivot and kick the third Ra'zac hard in the chest, sending it sprawling. As the fourth lunged at me, I grabbed the second and swung it into the attack, letting its companion take the brunt of the strike. it crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

The fourth Ra'zac hissed, scrambling back as I finished my spell. The were light burst into existence, flooding the clearing with a searing brilliance. The Ra'zac and their mounts, the monstrous Lethrblaka, screeched and flailed, momentarily blinded.

Seizing the opportunity, I shouted another spell, hurling the collected water at the Lethrblaka. As it struck, I whispered a freezing incantation, and the water solidified into jagged spears, piercing one of the beasts through its chest. It let out a guttural roar before collapsing in a heap, dead.

My heart pounded as I faced the remaining Lethrblaka and its Ra'zac riders. The energy reserves in my vest were nearly drained, and I felt the weight of fatigue creeping in. The third Ra'zac staggered to its feet, shielding its face from the fading light.

"Impossible," it rasped. "This village is not supposed to have one as strong as you. Who are you?"

I allowed myself a grim smile. "Why should I tell you? You'll be dead soon enough."

The Ra'zac shrieked and charged, its talons outstretched. I met it halfway, our blows ringing out in the stillness of the night. My muscles burned with exertion, but I fought with precision, each strike calculated.

In the chaos, I heard a gasp. My blood ran cold as I realized Garrow had stepped out of his hiding place, awe etched on his face as he watched the battle.

"Garrow, no!" I screamed, but the fourth Ra'zac seized the opening, hurling a vial that shattered against Garrow's leg. The pungent smell of seithr oil filled the air as his screams pierced the night.

Rage flared within me. "Jierda!" I roared, unleashing a telekinetic blast that sent the Ra'zac hurtling away. I sprinted to Garrow, who writhed in agony, the oil eating away at his flesh.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the two remaining Ra'zac toss small objects toward the farmhouse. They exploded on impact, flames engulfing the building.

The surviving Ra'zac scrambled onto the last Lethrblaka, their retreat marked by a sinister hiss. "Ittt isss not overrr, boy. Weee will find youuu."

I didn't watch them go. My focus was on Garrow, who was pale and shaking, his leg a mangled mess. Acting quickly, I recited a cleansing incantation, removing the remaining oil. Then I began to sing in the ancient language, weaving a healing spell, using my limited knowledge of Biology, I hoped this would be enough to save his life. My voice trembled, but the magic responded, mending what it could.

When I finished, Garrow's breathing steadied, and his complexion returned to normal, though he remained unconscious.

The farmhouse blazed behind me, the heat searing my skin. Summoning the last of my strength, I pulled water from the well, dousing the flames before they could spread. The effort left me drained; my vest reserves completely spent.

As dawn broke, I knelt in the dirt, carving a message for Eragon into the ground: Was attacked, Gone to town with Garrow. Come as soon as possible. Please burn the bodies of the Ra'zac.

Hoisting Garrow onto my back, I began the long trek to Carvahall, my steps heavy but determined. "Well," I muttered under my breath, "this is going to be fun to explain to the town folk."