Eragon: Book One (The Inheritance cycle 1)
Eragon: Chapter 38

WHEN ERAGON WOKE, his eyes were gritty, his body stiff. The cave was empty except for the horses. The litter was gone; no sign of Brom remained. He walked to the entrance and sat on the pitted sandstone. So the witch Angela was correct—there was a death in my future, he thought, staring bleakly at the land. The topaz sun brought a desert heat to the early morning.

A tear slid down his listless face and evaporated in the sunlight, leaving a salty crust on his skin. He closed his eyes and absorbed the warmth, emptying his mind. With a fingernail, he aimlessly scratched the sandstone. When he looked, he saw that he had written Why me?

He was still there when Murtagh climbed up to the cave, carrying a pair of rabbits. Without a word he seated himself by Eragon. “How are you?” he asked.

“Very ill.”

Murtagh considered him thoughtfully. “Will you recover?” Eragon shrugged. After a few minutes of reflection, Murtagh said, “I dislike asking this at such a time, but I must know … Is your Brom the Brom? The one who helped steal a dragon egg from the king, chased it across the Empire, and killed Morzan in a duel? I heard you say his name, and I read the inscription you put on his grave, but I must know for certain, Was that he?”

“It was,” said Eragon softly. A troubled expression settled on Murtagh’s face. “How do you know all that? You talk about things that are secret to most, and you were trailing the Ra’zac right when we needed help. Are you one of the Varden?”

Murtagh’s eyes became inscrutable orbs. “I’m running away, like you.” There was restrained sorrow in his words. “I do not belong to either the Varden or the Empire. Nor do I owe allegiance to any man but myself. As for my rescuing you, I will admit that I’ve heard whispered tales of a new Rider and reasoned that by following the Ra’zac I might discover if they were true.”

“I thought you wanted to kill the Ra’zac,” said Eragon.

Murtagh smiled grimly. “I do, but if I had, I never would have met you.”

But Brom would still be alive. … I wish he were here. He would know whether to trust Murtagh. Eragon remembered how Brom had sensed Trevor’s intentions in Daret and wondered if he could do the same with Murtagh. He reached for Murtagh’s consciousness, but his probe abruptly ran into an iron-hard wall, which he tried to circumvent. Murtagh’s entire mind was fortified. How did he learn to do that? Brom said that few people, if any, could keep others out of their mind without training. So who is Murtagh to have this ability? Pensive and lonely, Eragon asked, “Where is Saphira?”

“I don’t know,” said Murtagh. “She followed me for a time when I went hunting, then flew off on her own. I haven’t seen her since before noon.” Eragon rocked onto his feet and returned to the cave. Murtagh followed. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m not sure.” And I don’t want to think about it either. He rolled up his blankets and tied them to Cadoc’s saddlebags. His ribs hurt. Murtagh went to prepare the rabbits. As Eragon shifted things in his bags, he uncovered Zar’roc. The red sheath glinted brightly. He took out the sword … weighed it in his hands.

He had never carried Zar’roc nor used it in combat—except when he and Brom had sparred—because he had not wanted people to see it. That concerned Eragon no more. The Ra’zac had seemed surprised and frightened by the sword; that was more than enough reason for him to wear it. With a shudder he pulled off his bow and belted on Zar’roc. From this moment on, I’ll live by the sword. Let the whole world see what I am. I have no fear. I am a Rider now, fully and completely.

He sorted through Brom’s bags but found only clothes, a few odd items, and a small pouch of coins. Eragon took the map of Alagaësia and put the bags away, then crouched by the fire. Murtagh’s eyes narrowed as he looked up from the rabbit he was skinning. “That sword. May I see it?” he asked, wiping his hands.

Eragon hesitated, reluctant to relinquish the weapon for even a moment, then nodded. Murtagh examined the symbol on the blade intently. His face darkened. “Where did you get this?”

“Brom gave it to me. Why?”

Murtagh shoved the sword back and crossed his arms angrily. He was breathing hard. “That sword,” he said with emotion, “was once as well known as its owner. The last Rider to carry it was Morzan—a brutal, savage man. I thought you were a foe of the Empire, yet here I replace you bearing one of the Forsworn’s bloody swords!”

Eragon stared at Zar’roc with shock. He realized that Brom must have taken it from Morzan after they fought in Gil’ead. “Brom never told me where it came from,” he said truthfully. “I had no idea it was Morzan’s.”

“He never told you?” asked Murtagh, a note of disbelief in his voice. Eragon shook his head. “That’s strange. I can think of no reason for him to have concealed it.”

“Neither can I. But then, he kept many secrets,” said Eragon. It felt unsettling to hold the sword of the man who had betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix. This blade probably killed many Riders in its time, he thought with revulsion. And worse, dragons! “Even so, I’m going to carry it. I don’t have a sword of my own. Until such time as I get one, I’ll use Zar’roc.”

Murtagh flinched as Eragon said the name. “It’s your choice,” he said. He returned to skinning, keeping his gaze focused downward.

When the meal was ready, Eragon ate slowly, though he was quite hungry. The hot food made him feel better. As they scraped out their bowls, he said, “I have to sell my horse.”

“Why not Brom’s?” asked Murtagh. He seemed to have gotten over his bad temper.

“Snowfire? Because Brom promised to take care of him. Since he … isn’t around, I’ll do it for him.”

Murtagh set his bowl on his lap. “If that’s what you want, I’m sure we can replace a buyer in some town or village.”

“We?” asked Eragon.

Murtagh looked at him sideways in a calculating way. “You won’t want to stay here for much longer. If the Ra’zac are nearby, Brom’s tomb will be like a beacon for them.” Eragon had not thought of that. “And your ribs are going to take time to heal. I know you can defend yourself with magic, but you need a companion who can lift things and use a sword. I’m asking to travel with you, at least for the time being. But I must warn you, the Empire is searching for me. There’ll be blood over it eventually.”

Eragon laughed weakly and found himself crying because it hurt so much. Once his breath was back, he said, “I don’t care if the entire army is searching for you. You’re right. I do need help. I would be glad to have you along, though I have to talk to Saphira about it. But I have to warn you, Galbatorix just might send the entire army after me. You won’t be any safer with Saphira and me than if you were on your own.”

“I know that,” said Murtagh with a quick grin. “But all the same, it won’t stop me.”

“Good.” Eragon smiled with gratitude.

While they spoke, Saphira crawled into the cave and greeted Eragon. She was glad to see him, but there was deep sadness in her thoughts and words. She laid her big blue head on the floor and asked, Are you well again?

Not quite.

I miss the old one.

As do I … I never suspected that he was a Rider. Brom! He really was an old man—as old as the Forsworn. Everything he taught me about magic he must have learned from the Riders themselves.

Saphira shifted slightly. I knew what he was the moment he touched me at your farm.

And you didn’t tell me? Why?

He asked me not to, she said simply.

Eragon decided not to make an issue of it. Saphira never meant to hurt him. Brom kept more than that secret, he told her, then explained about Zar’roc and Murtagh’s reaction to it. I understand now why Brom didn’t explain Zar’roc’s origins when he gave it to me. If he had, I probably would have run away from him at the first opportunity.

You would do well to rid yourself of that sword, she said with distaste. I know it’s a peerless weapon, but you would be better off with a normal blade rather than Morzan’s butchery tool.

Perhaps. Saphira, where does our path go from here? Murtagh offered to come with us. I don’t know his past, but he seems honest enough. Should we go to the Varden now? Only I don’t know how to replace them. Brom never told us.

He told me, said Saphira.

Eragon grew angry. Why did he trust you, but not me, with all this knowledge?

Her scales rustled over the dry rock as she stood above him, eyes profound. After we left Teirm and were attacked by the Urgals, he told me many things, some of which I will not speak of unless necessary. He was concerned about his own death and what would happen to you after it. One fact he imparted to me was the name of a man, Dormnad, who lives in Gil’ead. He can help us replace the Varden. Brom also wanted you to know that of all the people in Alagaësia, he believed you were the best suited to inherit the Riders’ legacy.

Tears welled in Eragon’s eyes. This was the highest praise he could have ever received from Brom. A responsibility I will bear honorably.

Good.

We will go to Gil’ead, then, stated Eragon, strength and purpose returning to him. And what of Murtagh? Do you think he should come with us?

We owe him our lives, said Saphira. But even if that weren’t so, he has seen both you and me. We should keep him close so he doesn’t furnish the Empire with our location and descriptions, willingly or not.

He agreed with her, then told Saphira about his dream. What I saw disturbed me. I feel that time is running out for her; something dreadful is going to happen soon. She’s in mortal danger—I’m sure of it—but I don’t know how to replace her! She could be anywhere.

What does your heart say? asked Saphira.

My heart died a while back, said Eragon with a hint of black humor. However, I think we should go north to Gil’ead. With any luck, one of the towns or cities along our path is where this woman is being held. I’m afraid that my next dream of her will show a grave. I couldn’t stand that.

Why?

I’m not sure, he said, shrugging. It’s just that when I see her, I feel as if she’s precious and shouldn’t be lost. … It’s very strange. Saphira opened her long mouth and laughed silently, fangs gleaming. What is it? snapped Eragon. She shook her head and quietly padded away.

Eragon grumbled to himself, then told Murtagh what they had decided. Murtagh said, “If you replace this Dormnad and then continue on to the Varden, I will leave you. Encountering the Varden would be as dangerous for me as walking unarmed into Urû’baen with a fanfare of trumpets to announce my arrival.”

“We won’t have to part anytime soon,” said Eragon. “It’s a long way to Gil’ead.” His voice cracked slightly, and he squinted at the sun to distract himself. “We should leave before the day grows any older.”

“Are you strong enough to travel?” asked Murtagh, frowning.

“I have to do something or I’ll go crazy,” said Eragon brusquely. “Sparring, practicing magic, or sitting around twiddling my thumbs aren’t good options right now, so I choose to ride.”

They doused the fire, packed, and led the horses out of the cave. Eragon handed Cadoc’s and Snowfire’s reins to Murtagh, saying, “Go on, I’ll be right down.” Murtagh began the slow descent from the cave.

Eragon struggled up the sandstone, resting when his side made it impossible to breathe. When he reached the top, he found Saphira already there. They stood together before Brom’s grave and paid their last respects. I can’t believe he’s gone … forever. As Eragon turned to depart, Saphira snaked out her long neck to touch the tomb with the tip of her nose. Her sides vibrated as a low humming filled the air.

The sandstone around her nose shimmered like gilded dew, turning clear with dancing silver highlights. Eragon watched in wonder as tendrils of white diamond twisted over the tomb’s surface in a web of priceless filigree. Sparkling shadows were cast on the ground, reflecting splashes of brilliant colors that shifted dazzlingly as the sandstone continued to change. With a satisfied snort, Saphira stepped back and examined her handiwork.

The sculpted sandstone mausoleum of moments before had transformed into a sparkling gemstone vault—under which Brom’s untouched face was visible. Eragon gazed with yearning at the old man, who seemed to be only sleeping. “What did you do?” he asked Saphira with awe.

I gave him the only gift I could. Now time will not ravage him. He can rest in peace for eternity.

Thank you. Eragon put a hand on her side, and they left together.