The Western Horizon

Chapter 1

It had been long since Eragon and Saphira had seen Alagaesia. Too long. He knew if he were to return, few would recognize him. His shoulders had broadened, his face had become more angular, and the half-pointed, half-round ears of his youth had given way to a more pronounced point as the transformation from the Agaeti Blodhren had fully completed itself after his fifth year in Arngor. After over a decade of physical and mental training under the Eldunari, he now walked with the confidence of a man who had lived a hundred lifetimes rather than just one-sixth of one.

For the past fifteen years, he and Saphira had toiled to create a new home for wild dragons, bonded dragons, and riders alike. The work was far from easy. Even with the strength the Eldunari lent them, it took a total of four years to complete the first stages of the city, and it would not be complete for a long while yet.

The later parts were slowly being constructed as part of the completion of rider training. Singing in the ancient language was often utilized to assist in a myriad of architectural aspects throughout the mountain city, and the Eldunari felt that riders would feel a greater attachment and thus respect for a city they had a hand in building. It was magnificent, of course.

The sheer size of Arngor was astounding. There was plenty of game for the dragons throughout the forests and open plains, as well as caves in the mountains and beaches where many dragons enjoyed basking in the sun. In a sense, he felt complete when he saw the many dragons thriving. It was a fulfillment of at least part of his destiny. The knowledge that Saphira was no longer alone and that other dragons would not bear the same fear of extinction was enough to keep him going, even if his attitude was often melancholy. He was proud of all they had accomplished.

While he had come to love his role as the "father" of the dragon riders, the notion and title were a bit absurd after the first dwarf and next elf rider were chosen, seeing as they were 40 and 213 years his senior, respectively. Bohlr was the first dwarf rider, and his maroon dragon Kuthvir hatched for him around three years after Firnen hatched for Arya. Eragon wasn't as surprised as the others when the purple dragon Eldrvarì chose Yaela as his rider. He had often wondered why the dragons had not yet chosen from the group of accomplished spell-casters. Despite their age discrepancy, Bohlr and Yaela treated him with respect, and Bohlr initially with a little bit of awe as he was still young in the eyes of dwarves. Then came the first urgal rider, Dulvek. His dragon Ungvek (urgal for strong-headed) was the first golden dragon to hatch since Glaedr, and the egg itself was twice as big as Saphira's had been when he found it in the Spine. Since then, many more had come to Arngor to train, and Saphira and Eragon had done their best to mold them into peacekeepers, scholars, and warriors in their own right.

He loved the time he spent with Saphira in Arngor, but he still felt almost as empty as the day he left on the Talita. The farm boy he used to be would have jumped at this opportunity. It was the adventure of a lifetime, and the dragons had trusted him above all others. Still, it was all somewhat hollow without the one he longed to share it with.

Saphira provided him with all the companionship he needed. She was his partner of heart and mind, and he was always grateful for her. He was grateful for her, for the elves, and for the many students he had been blessed to train thus far. Each of them had surpassed his expectations. However, he still felt empty without the one who held his heart. It did not matter that he filled his days with lessons, flying, or an endless study of the world around them. He missed her.

One of Eragon's favorite additions to Arngor was a library that encompassed all the known histories and languages of humans, urgals, elves, and dwarves, as well as every plant and animal ever recorded in Alagaesia. What they had found on the journey and in their eastern home thus far was also included in the vast store of knowledge along with the secrets of the Rider Order.

Hidden deep within the heart of the mountains were a myriad of caves, and Saphira inhabited the largest of them. As the senior of her race, the wild dragons, the riders, and bonded dragons that hatched since then all looked at her with wonder due to her sheer size. Her presence now commanded respect, and while she had indeed essentially raised the wild dragons, many of the males vied for her attentions still.

The riders with dragons that had come from Alagaesia seemed to know better, as most of them had seen at least a year of training with Arya and Firnen before making the long journey to Arngor. Eragon found it interesting that not one of the bonded dragons had ever attempted to mate with the fierce dragoness.

"Dragons do not mate for life!" Saphira's thoughts interrupted his reverie. "I wonder how many times Arya has heard that from Firnen." I thought back with a hint of mirth. It was time. After fifteen long years, Eragon Shadeslayer, Lead-rider and Kingkiller, would return to Alagaesia.

Had he attempted this even a year ago, he did not think Arngor could thrive in his absence. However, since he now had a right hand in Yaela after many years of training her as a rider, he felt much more at ease with the idea of a short break from his duties. To his surprise, after years of wishing for it, the Eldunari had suggested he take a break from training his students to visit the fourth annual games being held in Tronjheim this Spring. He couldn't be gone for an extended period, but the people of Alagaesia had to know that he was still working towards their collective goals; that he cared. The memories of humans were fickle, and besides, this was one of his only opportunities to truly surprise his old friends. They'd all be so busy with preparations they would likely never see him coming.

Then there was the matter of the Rider Council. He hadn't told anyone besides Blodhgarm and Yaela of his aim to reconfigure it. Many would want him to stand on tradition, but Eragon felt the old Rider Council was prone to jealousy and pettiness. Worse still, there were too many involved in the politics of the order to make decisions quickly. The Eldunari had shown him of the many disputes, and he wished to avoid dissention among his brethren. Many of them were like children or siblings to him in the beginning of their days in Arngor. After years of training and teaching them, he was proud to call them friends even if they still insisted upon bestowing him with the title of Ebrithil or Lead Rider. Once they were riders in full, he viewed them as equals. He was no better than them, though his legend across Alagaesia now loomed large. His absence in the land made the people whisper all kinds of theories for his disappearance.

While he remembered Angela's prophecy still, the minds of ancient dragons had bonded with him, guiding and building his mental capacity, his logic, and ultimately his wisdom. He now knew that prophecy was an inaccurate art. He could just as easily never return to Arngor. So he had set aside the parts he wished untrue while still holding hope for his "love that would outlast empires."

He feared and welcomed Arya's reaction to his presence. They had remained in contact over the years, but it seemed to him a form of torture. As much as he relished seeing those emerald orbs that only one face held, every time he did, he burned for her. It wasn't a new phenomenon, but one that plagued him often, and he still struggled to maintain his composure. They spoke once every six months or so when she was visiting Nasuada or Orik, but it was always so formal. He wanted to talk to his friend Arya, not the queen. She couldn't often venture outside the magic barriers of the forest though, and they communicated some through grass-boat letters.

He looked forward to her letters so much that he sometimes dreamed of receiving another, only to wait many more weeks before he'd see a perfectly constructed sail floating in the breeze. She wrote to him of nothing of import, merely her musings and thoughts on the joys of being bonded to Firnen. He wrote to her of the goings on in Arngor and shared with her some of his poetry, which he had taken to in his spare time. The years dissolved quickly with the both of them working diligently for the betterment of Alagaesia.

In his tenth year in Arngor he finally came to the conclusion that they couldn't even have this small form of connection anymore. The letters were making her political life progressively more difficult. The elven lords were attempting to use her friendship with him as political leverage, saying they should be favored above the other races due to her standing with him.

Arya wore the perfect mask, but he was still easy to read, and her opponents had often driven an unspoken wedge between them. Worse still, some tried to get her to use it as an advantage for the elven nation, citing elven superiority in magic as their reason for why they should get more eggs. They were willfully blind to the fact that this would upset the balance between the races.

Glaedr had finally pointed the issue out to him. His lack of composure when scrying was a threat to her, to them, and to the order and peace in Alagaesia as a whole.

After his master had seen fit to admonish him, Eragon had shut himself and his personal queries to the queen down. They now spoke only of problems facing the various races, and it was less and less frequent. He hadn't received a letter from her in all that time. The last one he sent was the most pointed. It was too forward he was sure. He had written a short poem in the hopes that it would be the thing to convince her to come to them. They needed to speak in person. She needed training, and he needed answers. So he wrote the words that it now seemed were his undoing:

Great big caves and an ocean blue

The largest pines make me think of you

Though I know you have your forest true

This one is new to you and old to few

Will you come see it my fair queen?

And bring the one both big and green

before you answer that you can't

Know that I ask not alone

For others old and ancient too

Told me I must beseech you

If that is not enough then please

Ask of Firnen his expertise

For one also big but blue

Awaits her mate

Another she shall not pursue

If that is not enough still then

I shall forevermore put down my pen

The golden one who oft speaks true

Said mere words were not enough to subdue

The fears you have to love anew

My words are forward

This I know

But I grow weary of waiting

Love is naught but an aching hole

She never replied. In five years, nothing. They barely even spoke through the mirror anymore. In truth, Eragon thought he had lost her. Not that he had ever really HAD her, but just before he had left, she had given him hope. After his repeated lack of composure and now the letter, she had been avoiding him just as he had been nothing but formal with her. Her rejection was even worse because there was no explanation.

His mind wandered to fifteen years past; the last time he had been in Alagaesia. There was just something different about that day on the Talita. He mulled it over and over in his mind, dissecting each look and word until Saphira actually screamed at him through their bond. "Grow up!" She roared with all the might of a dragon. "I'm tired of your circular thoughts. We have a duty to my race, and while we have performed it to the best of our ability, you have been a miserable sack of potatoes this entire time! I miss Firnen just as much, but I don't wallow in our duty. A dragon does not spend her days pining! She is the queen of the skies. You are a dragon rider, Eragon. You have the ability to change the fate of Alagaesia, not just your own. If you're unhappy with your lot, do something about it!"

But what could he do? The most he could hope for was simply seeing her in person in Tronjheim. And what of the time apart? Five years ago, he still couldn't even fathom leaving Arngor. He wanted to desperately, but he had trained only ten riders in as many years at that time. "One day, one day, one day," he had chanted to himself. One day he would not be needed in Arngor, and they could go to them.

The eggs had been slow to hatch at first, but in the past five years, they seemed somewhat less picky. Or maybe they just knew there were enough riders in full to handle training more of them. Their order was now a total of 27, including Murtagh and Arya. Maybe it was simply that a prolonged peace between the races had given more the opportunity to touch an egg in recent years, Eragon thought. Without the struggle to put food on the table, thriving relations and trade between the races had given Alagaesia a different look in a short period of time. Orik and Nasuada, who he kept in much more regular contact with these days, had told him much about these changes. Unfortunately, they never told him anything about the one person he truly wished to hear from, and now he never asked.

After five years of this torture, the eldunari could see that something must change. Elves were flourishing, and Eragon's power had grown immense with his training, but he had become volatile. Emotion fuels magic and Eragon's emotions were a tangled mess. He needed to return for closure if nothing else, and the eldunari finally agreed! He informed Blodhgarm and Yaela, packed his things, and he left Arngor for the first time in over fifteen years. That was eight days ago.

"Eragon, look!" Saphira cried, flapping her wings eagerly. "Look to the western horizon!" There, he could see through her brilliantly blue-tinged sight, the fork in the Edda river. Hedarth lay just between the split, but he wasn't about to let news of their arrival reach Farthen Dur before them, so he quickly cloaked Saphira and himself. He wrapped them in magic, creating an illusion that replaced her brilliant sparkling scales with camouflage. This was an adaptation he had created for relative invisibility in the sky because it used infinitely less energy to maintain a color change than the energy needed to become completely invisible. He had modeled the magic off of a strange reptile living in Arngor that was able to change its colors and blend into any background at will. Of course, he didn't really need extra energy these days. Now he used the camouflage out of habit more than anything else.

They landed in a grove of trees by a familiar mountain. Moldun the Proud was in the northeastern part of the Beors. They were close. He quickly stripped Saphira of her saddle, knowing she had been irritated by the straps the entire flight. He already needed to make this one bigger. As soon as she was released, Saphira leapt into the air with the grace of a dancer, winging her way towards the nearest prey. She was still camouflaged, which was honestly just cheating for her. They were actually still four days ahead of the games themselves, but he knew the trip was long, and many of the nobles of the various races would likely arrive around the same time as them, give or take a day.

After Eragon had eaten some fruit and quenched his thirst, he felt Saphira nearing. "How was the hunt?" He thought to her. "Too easy." She shared with him her memory of snatching two doe and a stag from a small clearing. All three animals were terrified by the giant blob of ever-changing color streaking towards them from above. "They never knew what hit them," Eragon said in response to her glee. Pride and mirth washed through their bond from Saphira. Even though he detested the killing of creatures, it was quite difficult not to praise his Saphira for her prowess as a hunter. He knew she absolutely adored it. Her pride was legendary at this point, and for good reason. "You're queen of the skies and always shall be," he thought to her with sincerity.

After they had both rested a bit, Eragon re-saddled Saphira, and they set off for the last leg of the trip. By the end of the day, he would see his foster brother again, and hopefully his family would be present for the games as well. If they weren't, he'd simply fly to Carvahall afterwards, but he relished the opportunity to see Roran compete, and he was almost certain he would.