Daret was on the banks of the Ninor River—as it had to be to survive. The village was small and wild-looking, without any signs of inhabitants. Eragon and Brom approached it with great caution. Saphira hid close to the town this time; if trouble arose, she would be at their sides within seconds.

They rode into Daret, striving to be silent. Brom gripped his sword with his good hand, eyes flashing everywhere. Eragon kept his bow partially drawn as they passed between the silent houses, glancing at each other with apprehension.This doesn’t look good, commented Eragon to Saphira. She did not answer, but he felt her prepare to rush after them. He looked at the ground and was reassured to see the fresh footprints of children.But where are they?

Brom stiffened as they entered the center of Daret and found it empty. Wind blew through the desolate town, and dust devils swirled sporadically. Brom wheeled Snowfire about. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like the feel of this.” He spurred Snowfire into a gallop. Eragon followed him, urging Cadoc onward.

They advanced only a few strides before wagons toppled out from behind the houses and blocked their way. Cadoc snorted and dug in his hooves, sliding to a stop next to Snowfire. A swarthy man hopped over the wagon and planted himself before them, a broadsword slung at his side and a drawn bow in his hands. Eragon swung his own bow up and pointed it at the stranger, who commanded, “Halt! Put your weapons down. You’re surrounded by sixty archers. They’ll shoot if you move.” As if on cue, a row of men stood up on the roofs of the surrounding houses.

Stay away, Saphira!cried Eragon.There are too many. If you come, they’ll shoot you out of the sky. Stay away! She heard, but he was unsure if she would obey. He prepared to use magic.I’ll have to stop the arrows before they hit me or Brom.

“What do you want?” asked Brom calmly.

“Why have you come here?” demanded the man.

“To buy supplies and hear the news. Nothing more. We’re on the way to my cousin’s house in Dras-Leona.”

“You’re armed pretty heavily.”

“So are you,” said Brom. “These are dangerous times.”

“True.” The man looked at them carefully. “I don’t think you mean us ill, but we’ve had too many encounters with Urgals and bandits for me to trust you only on your word.”

“If it doesn’t matter what we say, what happens now?” countered Brom. The men on top of the houses had not moved. By their very stillness, Eragon was sure that they were either highly disciplined . . . or frightened for their lives. He hoped it was the latter.

“You say that you only want supplies. Would you agree to stay here while we bring what you need, then pay us and leave immediately?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” said the man, lowering his bow, though he kept it ready. He waved at one of the archers, who slid to the ground and ran over. “Tell him what you want.”

Brom recited a short list and then added, “Also, if you have a spare pair of gloves that would fit my nephew, I’d like to buy those too.” The archer nodded and ran off.

“The name’s Trevor,” said the man standing in front of them. “Normally I’d shake your hand, but under the circumstances, I think I’ll keep my distance. Tell me, where are you from?”

“North,” said Brom, “but we haven’t lived in any place long enough to call it home. Have Urgals forced you to take these measures?”

“Yes,” said Trevor, “and worse fiends. Do you have any news from other towns? We receive word from them rarely, but there have been reports that they are also beleaguered.”

Brom turned grave. “I wish it wasn’t our lot to bring you these tidings. Nearly a fortnight ago we passed through Yazuac and found it pillaged. The villagers had been slaughtered and piled together. We would have tried to give them a decent burial, but two Urgals attacked us.”

Shocked, Trevor stepped back and looked down with tears in his eyes. “Alas, this is indeed a dark day. Still, I don’t see how two Urgals could have defeated all of Yazuac. The people there were good fighters—some were my friends.”

“There were signs that a band of Urgals had ravaged the town,” stated Brom. “I think the ones we encountered were deserters.”

“How large was the company?”

Brom fiddled with his saddlebags for a minute. “Large enough to wipe out Yazuac, but small enough to go unnoticed in the countryside. No more than a hundred, and no less than fifty. If I’m not mistaken, either number would prove fatal to you.” Trevor wearily agreed. “You should consider leaving,” Brom continued. “This area has become far too perilous for anyone to live in peace.”

“I know, but the people here refuse to consider moving. This is their home—as well as mine, though I have only been here a couple years—and

they place its worth above their own lives.” Trevor looked at him seriously. “We have repulsed individual Urgals, and that has given the townspeople a confidence far beyond their abilities. I fear that we will all wake up one morning with our throats slashed.”

The archer hurried out of a house with a pile of goods in his arms. He set them next to the horses, and Brom paid him. As the man left, Brom asked, “Why did they choose you to defend Daret?”

Trevor shrugged. “I was in the king’s army for some years.”

Brom dug through the items, handed Eragon the pair of gloves, and packed the rest of the supplies into their saddlebags. Eragon pulled the gloves on, being careful to keep his palm facing down, and flexed his hands. The leather felt good and strong, though it was scarred from use. “Well,” said Brom, “as I promised, we will go now.”

Trevor nodded. “When you enter Dras-Leona, would you do us this favor? Alert the Empire to our plight and that of the other towns. If word of this hasn’t reached the king by now, it’s cause for worry. And if it has, but he has chosen to do nothing, that too is cause for worry.”

“We will carry your message. May your swords stay sharp,” said Brom. “And yours.”

The wagons were pulled out of their way, and they rode from Daret into the trees along the Ninor River. Eragon sent his thoughts to Saphira.We’re on our way back. Everything turned out all right. Her only response was simmering anger.

Brom pulled at his beard. “The Empire is in worse condition than I had imagined. When the traders visited Carvahall, they brought reports of unrest, but I never believed that it was this widespread. With all these Urgals around, it seems that the Empire itself is under attack, yet no troops or soldiers have been sent out. It’s as if the king doesn’t care to defend his domain.”

“It is strange,” agreed Eragon.

Brom ducked under a low-hanging branch. “Did you use any of your powers while we were in Daret?”

“There was no reason to.”

“Wrong,” corrected Brom. “You could have sensed Trevor’s intentions. Even with my limited abilities, I was able to do that. If the villagers had been bent on killing us, I wouldn’t have just sat there. However, I felt there was a reasonable chance of talking our way out of there, which is what I did.”

“How could I know what Trevor was thinking?” asked Eragon. “Am I supposed to be able to see into people’s minds?”

“Come now,” chided Brom, “you should know the answer to that. You could have discovered Trevor’s purpose in the same way that you

communicate with Cadoc or Saphira. The minds of men are not so different from a dragon’s or horse’s. It’s a simple thing to do, but it’s a power you must use sparingly and with great caution. A person’s mind is his last sanctuary. You must never violate it unless circumstances force you to. The Riders had very strict rules regarding this. If they were broken without due cause, the punishment was severe.”

“And you can do this even though you aren’t a Rider?” asked Eragon. “As I said before, with the right instruction anyone can talk with their

minds, but with differing amounts of success. Whether it’s magic, though, is hard to tell. Magical abilities will certainly trigger the talent—or becoming linked with a dragon—but I’ve known plenty who learned it on their own. Think about it: you can communicate with any sentient being, though the contact may not be very clear. You could spend the entire day listening to a bird’s thoughts or understanding how an earthworm feels during a rainstorm. But I’ve never found birds very interesting. I suggest starting with a cat; they have unusual personalities.”

Eragon twisted Cadoc’s reins in his hands, considering the implications of what Brom had said. “But if I can get into someone’s head, doesn’t that mean that others can do the same to me? How do I know if someone’s prying in my mind? Is there a way to stop that?”How do I know if Brom can tell what I’m thinking right now?

“Why, yes. Hasn’t Saphira ever blocked you from her mind?” “Occasionally,” admitted Eragon. “When she took me into the Spine, I

couldn’t talk to her at all. It wasn’t that she was ignoring me; I don’t think she could even hear me. There were walls around her mind that I couldn’t get through.”

Brom worked on his bandage for a moment, shifting it higher on his arm. “Only a few people can tell if someone is in their mind, and of those, only a handful could stop you from entering. It’s a matter of training and of how you think. Because of your magical power, you’ll always know if someone is in your mind. Once you do, blocking them is a simple matter of concentrating on one thing to the exclusion of all else. For instance, if you only think about a brick wall, that’s all the enemy will find in your mind. However, it takes a huge amount of energy and discipline to block someone for any length of time. If you’re distracted by even the slightest thing, your wall will waver and your opponent will slip in through the weakness.”

“How can I learn to do this?” asked Eragon.

“There is only one thing for it: practice, practice, and yet more practice. Picture something in your mind and hold it there to the exclusion of all else for as long as you can. It is a very advanced ability; only a handful ever

master it,” said Brom.

“I don’t need perfection, just safety.”If I can get into someone’s mind, can I change how he thinks? Every time I learn something new about magic, I grow more wary of it.

When they reached Saphira, she startled them by thrusting her head at them. The horses backstepped nervously. Saphira looked Eragon over carefully and gave a low hiss. Her eyes were flinty. Eragon threw a concerned look at Brom—he had never seen Saphira this angry—then asked,What’s wrong?

You,she growled.You are the problem.

Eragon frowned and got off Cadoc. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Saphira swept his legs out from under him with her tail and pinned him with her talons. “What are you doing?” he yelled, struggling to get up, but she was too strong for him. Brom watched attentively from Snowfire.

Saphira swung her head over Eragon until they were eye to eye. He squirmed under her unwavering glare.You! Every time you leave my sight you get into trouble. You’re like a new hatchling, sticking your nose into everything. And what happens when you stick it into something that bites back? How will you survive then? I cannot help you when I’m miles away. I’ve stayed hidden so that no one would see me, but no longer! Not when it may cost you your life.

I can understand why you’re upset,said Eragon,but I’m much older than you and can take care of myself. If anything, you’re the one who needs to be protected.

She snarled and snapped her teeth by his ear.Do you really believe that? she asked.Tomorrow you will ride me—not that pitiful deer-animal you call a horse—or else I will carry you in my claws. Are you a Dragon Rider or not? Don’t you care for me?

The question burned in Eragon, and he dropped his gaze. He knew she was right, but he was scared of riding her. Their flights had been the most painful ordeal he had ever endured.

“Well?” demanded Brom.

“She wants me to ride her tomorrow,” said Eragon lamely.

Brom considered it with twinkling eyes. “Well, you have the saddle. I suppose that if the two of you stay out of sight, it won’t be a problem.” Saphira switched her gaze to him, then returned it to Eragon.

“But what if you’re attacked or there’s an accident? I won’t be able to get there in time and—”

Saphira pressed harder on his chest, stopping his words.Exactly my point, little one.

Brom seemed to hide a smile. “It’s worth the risk. You need to learn how to ride her anyway. Think about it this way: with you flying ahead and looking at the ground, you’ll be able to spot any traps, ambushes, or other unwelcome surprises.”

Eragon looked back at Saphira and said,Okay, I’ll do it. But let me up. Give me your word.

Is that really necessary?he demanded. She blinked.Very well. I give you my word that I will fly with you tomorrow. Satisfied?

I am content.

Saphira let him up and, with a push of her legs, took off. A small shiver ran through Eragon as he watched her twist through the air. Grumbling, he returned to Cadoc and followed Brom.

It was nearly sundown when they made camp. As usual, Eragon dueled with Brom before dinner. In the midst of the fight, Eragon delivered such a powerful blow that he snapped both of their sticks like twigs. The pieces whistled into the darkness in a cloud of splintered fragments. Brom tossed what remained of his stick into the fire and said, “We’re done with these; throw yours in as well. You have learned well, but we’ve gone as far as we can with branches. There is nothing more you can gain from them. It is time for you to use the blade.” He removed Zar’roc from Eragon’s bag and gave it to him.

“We’ll cut each other to ribbons,” protested Eragon.

“Not so. Again you forget magic,” said Brom. He held up his sword and turned it so that firelight glinted off the edge. He put a finger on either side of the blade and focused intensely, deepening the lines on his forehead. For a moment nothing happened, then he uttered, “Gëuloth du knífr!” and a small red spark jumped between his fingers. As it flickered back and forth, he ran his fingers down the length of the sword. Then he twirled it and did the same thing on the other side. The spark vanished the moment his fingers left the metal.

Brom held his hand out, palm up, and slashed it with the sword. Eragon jumped forward but was too slow to stop him. He was astonished when Brom raised his unharmed hand with a smile. “What did you do?” asked Eragon.

“Feel the edge,” said Brom. Eragon touched it and felt an invisible surface under his fingers. The barrier was about a quarter inch wide and very slippery. “Now do the same on Zar’roc,” instructed Brom. “Your block will be a bit different than mine, but it should accomplish the same thing.”

He told Eragon how to pronounce the words and coached him through the process. It took Eragon a few tries, but he soon had Zar’roc’s edge protected. Confident, he took his fighting stance. Before they started, Brom

admonished, “These swords won’t cut us, but they can still break bones. I would prefer to avoid that, so don’t flail around like you normally do. A blow to the neck could prove fatal.”

Eragon nodded, then struck without warning. Sparks flew off his blade, and the clash of metal filled their campsite as Brom parried. The sword felt slow and heavy to Eragon after fighting with sticks for so long. Unable to move Zar’roc fast enough, he received a sharp rap on his knee.

They both had large welts when they stopped, Eragon more so than Brom. He marveled that Zar’roc had not been scratched or dented by the vigorous pounding it had received.

T HROUGH A DRAGON’SEYE

The next morning Eragon woke with stiff limbs and purple bruises. He saw Brom carry the saddle to Saphira and tried to quell his uneasiness. By the time breakfast was ready, Brom had strapped the saddle onto Saphira and hung Eragon’s bags from it.

When his bowl was empty, Eragon silently picked up his bow and went to Saphira. Brom said, “Now remember, grip with your knees, guide her with your thoughts, and stay as flat as you can on her back. Nothing will go wrong if you don’t panic.” Eragon nodded, sliding his unstrung bow into its leather tube, and Brom boosted him into the saddle.

Saphira waited impatiently while Eragon tightened the bands around his legs.Are you ready? she asked.

He sucked in the fresh morning air.No, but let’s do it! She agreed enthusiastically. He braced himself as she crouched. Her powerful legs surged and the air whipped past him, snatching his breath away. With three smooth strokes of her wings, she was in the sky, climbing rapidly.

The last time Eragon had ridden Saphira, every flap of her wings had been strained. Now she flew steadily and effortlessly. He clenched his arms around her neck as she turned on edge, banking. The river shrank to a wispy gray line beneath them. Clouds floated around them.

When they leveled off high above the plains, the trees below were no more than specks. The air was thin, chilly, and perfectly clear. “This is wonderfu—” His words were lost as Saphira tilted and rolled completely around. The ground spun in a dizzying circle, and vertigo clutched Eragon. “Don’t do that!” he cried. “I feel like I’m going to fall off.”

You must become accustomed to it. If I’m attacked in the air, that’s one of the simplest maneuvers I will do,she replied. He could think of no rebuttal, so he concentrated on controlling his stomach. Saphira angled into a shallow dive and slowly approached the ground.

Although Eragon’s stomach lurched with every wobble, he began to enjoy himself. He relaxed his arms a bit and stretched his neck back, taking in the scenery. Saphira let him enjoy the sights awhile, then said,Let me show you what flying is really like.

How?he asked.

Relax and do not be afraid,she said.

Her mind tugged at his, pulling him away from his body. Eragon fought for a moment, then surrendered control. His vision blurred, and he found himself looking through Saphira’s eyes. Everything was distorted: colors had weird, exotic tints; blues were more prominent now, while greens and reds were subdued. Eragon tried to turn his head and body but could not. He felt like a ghost who had slipped out of the ether.

Pure joy radiated from Saphira as she climbed into the sky. She loved this freedom to go anywhere. When they were high above the ground, she looked back at Eragon. He saw himself as she did, hanging on to her with a blank look. He could feel her body strain against the air, using updrafts to rise. All her muscles were like his own. He felt her tail swinging through the air like a giant rudder to correct her course. It surprised him how much she depended on it.

Their connection grew stronger until there was no distinction between their identities. They clasped their wings together and dived straight down, like a spear thrown from on high. No terror of falling touched Eragon, engulfed as he was in Saphira’s exhilaration. The air rushed past their face. Their tail whipped in the air, and their joined minds reveled in the experience. Even as they plummeted toward the ground, there was no fear of collision. They snapped open their wings at just the right moment, pulling out of the dive with their combined strength. Slanting toward the sky, they shot up

and continued back over into a giant loop.

As they leveled out, their minds began to diverge, becoming distinct personalities again. For a split second, Eragon felt both his body and Saphira’s. Then his vision blurred and he again sat on her back. He gasped and collapsed on the saddle. It was minutes before his heart stopped hammering and his breathing calmed. Once he had recovered, he exclaimed,That was incredible! How can you bear to land when you enjoy flying so much?

I must eat,she said with some amusement.But I am glad that you took pleasure in it.

Those are spare words for such an experience. I’m sorry I haven’t flown with you more; I never thought it could be like that. Do you always see so much blue?

It is the way I am. We will fly together more often now? Yes! Every chance we get.

Good,she replied in a contented tone.

They exchanged many thoughts as she flew, talking as they had not for weeks. Saphira showed Eragon how she used hills and trees to hide and how she could conceal herself in the shadow of a cloud. They scouted the trail for Brom, which proved to be more arduous than Eragon expected. They could not see the path unless Saphira flew very close to it, in which case she risked being detected.

Near midday, an annoying buzz filled Eragon’s ears, and he became aware of a strange pressure on his mind. He shook his head, trying to get rid of it, but the tension only grew stronger. Brom’s words about how people could break into others’ minds flashed through Eragon’s head, and he frantically tried to clear his thoughts. He concentrated on one of Saphira’s scales and forced himself to ignore everything else. The pressure faded for a moment and then returned, greater than ever. A sudden gust rocked Saphira, and Eragon’s concentration slipped. Before he could marshal any defenses, the force broke through. But instead of the invasive presence of another mind, there were only the words,What do you think you’re doing? Get down here. I found something important.

Brom?queried Eragon.

Yes,the old man said irritably.Now get that oversized lizard of yours to land. I’m here. . . . He sent a picture of his location. Eragon quickly told Saphira where to go, and she banked toward the river below. Meanwhile, he strung his bow and drew several arrows.

If there’s trouble, I’ll be ready for it. As will I,said Saphira.

When they reached Brom, Eragon saw him standing in a clearing, waving his arms. Saphira landed, and Eragon jumped off her and looked for danger. The horses were tied to a tree on the edge of the clearing, but otherwise Brom was alone. Eragon trotted over and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Brom scratched his chin and muttered a string of curses. “Don’t ever block me out like that again. It’s hard enough for me to reach you without having to fight to make myself heard.”

“Sorry.”

He snorted. “I was farther down the river when I noticed that the Ra’zac’s tracks had ceased. I backtracked until I found where they had disappeared. Look at the ground and tell me what you see.”

Eragon knelt and examined the dirt and found a confusion of impressions that were difficult to decipher. Numerous Ra’zac footprints overlapped each

other. Eragon guessed that the tracks were only a few days old. Superimposed over them were long, thick gouges torn into the ground. They looked familiar, but Eragon could not say why.

He stood, shaking his head. “I don’t have any idea what . . .” Then his eyes fell on Saphira and he realized what had made the gouges. Every time she took off, her back claws dug into the ground and ripped it in the same manner. “This doesn’t make any sense, but the only thing I can think of is that the Ra’zac flew off on dragons. Or else they got onto giant birds and disappeared into the heavens. Tell me you have a better explanation.”

Brom shrugged. “I’ve heard reports of the Ra’zac moving from place to place with incredible speed, but this is the first evidence I’ve had of it. It will be almost impossible to find them if they have flying steeds. They aren’t dragons—I know that much. A dragon would never consent to bear a Ra’zac.” “What do we do? Saphira can’t track them through the sky. Even if she

could, we would leave you far behind.”

“There’s no easy solution to this riddle,” said Brom. “Let’s have lunch while we think on it. Perhaps inspiration will strike us while we eat.” Eragon glumly went to his bags for food. They ate in silence, staring at the empty sky. Once again Eragon thought of home and wondered what Roran was doing. A vision of the burnt farm appeared before him and grief threatened to overwhelm him.What will I do if we can’t find the Ra’zac? What is my purpose then? I could return to Carvahall— he plucked a twig from the ground and snapped it between two fingers—or just travel with Brom and continue my training.Eragon stared out at the plains, hoping to quiet his

thoughts.

When Brom finished eating, he stood and threw back his hood. “I have considered every trick I know, every word of power within my grasp, and all the skills we have, but I still don’t see how we can find the Ra’zac.” Eragon slumped against Saphira in despair. “Saphira could show herself at some town. That would draw the Ra’zac like flies to honey. But it would be an extremely risky thing to attempt. The Ra’zac would bring soldiers with them, and the king might be interested enough to come himself, which would spell certain death for you and me.”

“So what now?” asked Eragon, throwing his hands up.Do you have any ideas, Saphira?

No.

“That’s up to you,” said Brom. “This is your crusade.”

Eragon ground his teeth angrily and stalked away from Brom and Saphira. Just as he was about to enter the trees, his foot struck something hard. Lying on the ground was a metal flask with a leather strap just long

enough to hang off someone’s shoulder. A silver insignia Eragon recognized as the Ra’zac’s symbol was wrought into it.

Excited, he picked up the flask and unscrewed its cap. A cloying smell filled the air—the same one he had noticed when he found Garrow in the wreckage of their house. He tilted the flask, and a drop of clear, shiny liquid fell on his finger. Instantly Eragon’s finger burned as if it were on fire. He yelped and scrubbed his hand on the ground. After a moment the pain subsided to a dull throbbing. A patch of skin had been eaten away.

Grimacing, he jogged back to Brom. “Look what I found.” Brom took the flask and examined it, then poured a bit of the liquid into the cap. Eragon started to warn him, “Watch out, it’ll burn—”

“My skin, I know,” said Brom. “And I suppose you went ahead and poured it all over your hand. Your finger? Well, at least you showed sense enough not to drink it. Only a puddle would have been left of you.”

“What is it?” asked Eragon.

“Oil from the petals of the Seithr plant, which grows on a small island in the frigid northern seas. In its natural state, the oil is used for preserving pearls—it makes them lustrous and strong. But when specific words are spoken over the oil, along with a blood sacrifice, it gains the property to eat any flesh. That alone wouldn’t make it special—there are plenty of acids that can dissolve sinew and bone—except for the fact that it leaves everything else untouched. You can dip anything into the oil and pull it out unharmed, unless it was once part of an animal or human. This has made it a weapon of choice for torture and assassination. It can be stored in wood, slathered on the point of a spear, or dripped onto sheets so that the next person to touch them will be burned. There are myriad uses for it, limited only by your ingenuity. Any injury caused by it is always slow to heal. It’s rather rare and expensive, especially this converted form.”

Eragon remembered the terrible burns that had covered Garrow.That’s

what they used on him, he realized with horror. “I wonder why the Ra’zac left it behind if it’s so valuable.”

“It must have slipped off when they flew away.”

“But why didn’t they come back for it? I doubt that the king will be pleased that they lost it.”

“No, he won’t,” said Brom, “but he would be even more displeased if they delayed bringing him news of you. In fact, if the Ra’zac have reached him by now, you can be sure that the king has learned your name. And that means we will have to be much more careful when we go into towns. There will be notices and alerts about you posted throughout the Empire.”

Eragon paused to think. “This oil, how rare is it exactly?”

“Like diamonds in a pig trough,” said Brom. He amended himself after a second, “Actually, the normal oil is used by jewelers, but only those who can afford it.”

“So there are people who trade in it?” “Perhaps one, maybe two.”

“Good,” said Eragon. “Now, do the cities along the coast keep shipping records?”

Brom’s eyes brightened. “Of course they do. If we could get to those records, they would tell us who brought the oil south and where it went from there.”

“And the record of the Empire’s purchase will tell us where the Ra’zac live!” concluded Eragon. “I don’t know how many people can afford this oil, but it shouldn’t be hard to figure out which ones aren’t working for the Empire.”

“Genius!” exclaimed Brom, smiling. “I wish I had thought of this years ago; it would have saved me many headaches. The coast is dotted with numerous cities and towns where ships can land. I suppose that Teirm would be the place to start, as it controls most of the trade.” Brom paused. “The last I heard, my old friend Jeod lives there. We haven’t seen each other for many years, but he might be willing to help us. And because he’s a merchant, it’s possible that he has access to those records.”

“How do we get to Teirm?”

“We’ll have to go southwest until we reach a high pass in the Spine. Once on the other side, we can head up the coast to Teirm,” said Brom. A gentle wind pulled at his hair.

“Can we reach the pass within a week?”

“Easily. If we angle away from the Ninor and to our right, we might be able to see the mountains by tomorrow.”

Eragon went to Saphira and mounted her. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.” When they were at a good height, he said,I’m going to ride Cadoc tomorrow. Before you protest, know that I am only doing it because I want to talk with Brom.

You should ride with him every other day. That way you can still receive your instruction, and I will have time to hunt.

You won’t be troubled by it? It is necessary.

When they landed for the day, he was pleased to discover that his legs did not hurt. The saddle had protected him well from Saphira’s scales.

Eragon and Brom had their nightly fight, but it lacked energy, as both were preoccupied with the day’s events. By the time they finished, Eragon’s

arms burned from Zar’roc’s unaccustomed weight.

AS ONG FOR THEROAD

The next day while they were riding, Eragon asked Brom, “What is the sea like?”

“You must have heard it described before,” said Brom. “Yes, but what is it really like?”

Brom’s eyes grew hazy, as if he looked upon some hidden scene. “The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps. It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can’t. Do you remember what I told you about how the elves came over the sea?”

“Yes.”

“Though they live far from the coast, they retain a great fascination and passion for the ocean. The sound of crashing waves, the smell of salt air, it affects them deeply and has inspired many of their loveliest songs. There is one that tells of this love, if you want to hear it.”

“I would,” said Eragon, interested.

Brom cleared his throat and said, “I will translate it from the ancient language as best I can. It won’t be perfect, but perhaps it will give you an idea of how the original sounds.” He pulled Snowfire to a stop and closed his eyes. He was silent for a while, then chanted softly:

O liquid temptress ’neath the azure sky, Your gilded expanse calls me, calls me. For I would sail ever on,

Were it not for the elven maid, Who calls me, calls me.

She binds my heart with a lily-white tie, Never to be broken, save by the sea,

Ever to be torn twixt the trees and the waves.

The words echoed hauntingly in Eragon’s head. “There is much more to that song, the ‘Du Silbena Datia.’ I have only recited one of its verses. It tells the sad tale of two lovers, Acallamh and Nuada, who were separated by longing for the sea. The elves find great meaning in the story.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Eragon simply.

The Spine was a faint outline on the horizon when they halted that evening.

When they arrived at the Spine’s foothills, they turned and followed the mountains south. Eragon was glad to be near the mountains again; they placed comforting boundaries on the world. Three days later they came to a wide

road rutted by wagon wheels. “This is the main road between the capital, Urû’baen, and Teirm,” said Brom. “It’s widely used and a favorite route for merchants. We have to be more cautious. This isn’t the busiest time of year, but a few people are bound to be using the road.”

Days passed quickly as they continued to trek along the Spine, searching for the mountain pass. Eragon could not complain of boredom. When not learning the elven language, he was either learning how to care for Saphira or practicing magic. Eragon also learned how to kill game with magic, which saved them time hunting. He would hold a small rock on his hand and shoot it at his prey. It was impossible to miss. The results of his efforts roasted over the fire each night. And after dinner, Brom and Eragon would spar with swords and, occasionally, fists.

The long days and strenuous work stripped Eragon’s body of excess fat. His arms became corded, and his tanned skin rippled with lean muscles.Everything about me is turning hard, he thought dryly.

When they finally reached the pass, Eragon saw that a river rushed out of it and cut across the road. “This is the Toark,” explained Brom. “We’ll follow it all the way to the sea.”

“How can we,” laughed Eragon, “if it flows out of the Spine inthis direction? It won’t end up in the ocean unless it doubles back on itself.”

Brom twisted the ring on his finger. “Because in the middle of the mountains rests the Woadark Lake. A river flows from each end of it and both are called the Toark. We see the eastward one now. It runs to the south and winds through the brush until it joins Leona Lake. The other one goes to the sea.”

After two days in the Spine, they came upon a rock ledge from which

they could see clearly out of the mountains. Eragon noticed how the land flattened in the distance, and he groaned at the leagues they still had to traverse. Brom pointed. “Down there and to the north lies Teirm. It is an old city. Some say it’s where the elves first landed in Alagaësia. Its citadel has never fallen, nor have its warriors ever been defeated.” He spurred Snowfire forward and left the ledge.

It took them until noon the next day to descend through the foothills and arrive at the other side of the Spine, where the forested land quickly leveled out. Without the mountains to hide behind, Saphira flew close to the ground, using every hollow and dip in the land to conceal herself.

Beyond the forest, they noticed a change. The countryside was covered with soft turf and heather that their feet sank into. Moss clung to every stone and branch and lined the streams that laced the ground. Pools of mud pocked the road where horses had trampled the dirt. Before long both Brom and

Eragon were splattered with grime.

“Why is everything green?” asked Eragon. “Don’t they have winter here?”

“Yes, but the season is mild. Mist and fog roll in from the sea and keep everything alive. Some find it to their liking, but to me it’s dreary and depressing.”

When evening fell, they set up camp in the driest spot they could find. As they ate, Brom commented, “You should continue to ride Cadoc until we reach Teirm. It’s likely that we’ll meet other travelers now that we are out of the Spine, and it will be better if you are with me. An old man traveling alone will raise suspicion. With you at my side, no one will ask questions. Besides, I don’t want to show up at the city and have someone who saw me on the trail wondering where you suddenly came from.”

“Will we use our own names?” asked Eragon.

Brom thought about it. “We won’t be able to deceive Jeod. He already knows my name, and I think I trust him with yours. But to everyone else, I will be Neal and you will be my nephew Evan. If our tongues slip and give us away, it probably won’t make a difference, but I don’t want our names in anyone’s heads. People have an annoying habit of remembering things they shouldn’t.”