Section One

Eragon opened his eyes, and the memory of Garrow's death came crashing down over him. He pulled the blanket over his head and wept silently in the warm darkness. How wonderful it would be to lie here forever... far from the world outside. At last, he stopped crying and silently cursed Brom. Only then did he unwillingly wipe his face dry and sit up.

Brom was making breakfast. "Good morning," he said. Eragon grunted in reply. He tucked his icy hands beneath his armpits and huddled by the fire until breakfast was ready. They ate quickly, trying to finish everything before it grew cold. When they were done, Eragon scrubbed his bowl with snow, then spread the stolen hide on the ground.

"What do you want to do with it?" Brom asked. "We can't carry it."

"I want to make a saddle for Saphira."

"Hmm." Brom came closer. "Er, dragons generally have two kinds of saddles. One is very rigid, shaped like a horse saddle, but it takes time and certain tools, neither of which we have. The other is very light—it is simply a padded barrier between rider and dragon. It is used when speed and agility are important, though it is not as comfortable as the first kind."

"Do you know what they look like?" Eragon asked.

"Better than know. I can make one."

"Then please, get started." Eragon stepped aside.

"Very well, but watch carefully. Someday, you may have to do this yourself." After gaining Saphira's consent, Brom measured her neck and chest. Then he cut five straps from the hide, sketched five or six shapes onto it, cut them out, and sliced the remaining scraps into long, thin cords.

Brom stitched the pieces of hide together with the cords, though first he had to punch holes along the seams; Eragon helped him with that. Complex knots were tied through the holes, and each cord was deliberately left with plenty of extra length, so that over the coming months, as Saphira grew, the saddle could be loosened and kept in use.

The main portion of the saddle was sewn from three identically shaped pieces of leather, stuffed with padding. At its front was a thick rope loop, fitted neither too tightly nor too loosely around one of the ridges on Saphira's neck. Two broad straps hung down from either side of her body, passed beneath her belly, and were knotted underneath. Along each of those straps ran a row of ties in place of stirrups; when tightened, they held Eragon's legs firmly in place. A long leather strap passed between Saphira's forelegs, then split in two, looped back around her legs, and rejoined the saddle.

While Brom worked, Eragon repaired his pack and sorted out all their necessities. By the time everything had been successfully finished, the day had ended as well. Looking tired, Brom put the saddle on Saphira's back and checked the tightness of its cords. He adjusted it slightly, then removed it, looking quite pleased.

"Fine work," Eragon said sparingly, offering him a word of praise in return.

Brom nodded. "I did my best. It will be comfortable for you, and the leather is tough enough."

Don't you want to try it? Saphira asked.

Maybe tomorrow, Eragon said, placing the saddle beside the blankets. It's too late now. In truth, after the miserable outcome of his last attempt, he was not looking forward to flying again.

Dinner was soon ready. Though simple, it tasted delicious. As he ate, Brom looked at Eragon across the fire and asked, "Are we leaving tomorrow?"

"There's no reason to stay here."

"I suppose not..." He changed the subject. "Eragon, I must apologize for how things have turned out. I never wanted any of this to happen. Your home should not have suffered such a calamity. If there were anything I could do to change matters, I would not hesitate even if it cost me my life. This is a predicament for all of us." Eragon sat in silence, avoiding Brom's gaze. Then Brom continued, "We need horses."

"Maybe you do, but I have Saphira."

Brom shook his head. "No horse can outrun a flying dragon. But Saphira is too young to carry both of us, and for safety's sake, we should stay together. Riding is still far faster than walking."

"But that will make it harder to catch the Ra'zac," Eragon objected. "Riding Saphira, I might find them in a day or two. Trying to overtake them by land on horseback will take much longer—if we can catch them at all."

Brom said slowly, "Because I am traveling with you, you must find a way to seize this slim chance."

Eragon considered it seriously, then muttered, "Fine. We'll find horses. But you'll have to buy them. I don't have a single coin, and I don't want to steal anymore. It's wrong."

"That depends on where you stand." Brom smiled as he patiently instructed him. "Before you begin this journey, remember that your enemies, the Ra'zac, are the king's hunting hounds. Wherever they go, they are protected; no law can restrain them. In the cities, they have abundant resources and servants willing to do their bidding. Remember this as well: to Galbatorix, nothing is more urgent than subduing you or destroying you—though news of your existence may not yet have reached his ears. The longer you evade the Ra'zac, the more violently his rage will swell. He knows full well that with every passing day, you grow stronger; every minute and every second that passes gives you a chance to join forces with those who oppose him. You must be cautious in all things, for turning from hunter to prey is as easy as turning one's hand over."

Brom's forceful words convinced Eragon. He played with a small twig in his hand and fell into thought. "Enough talk," Brom said. "It is late, and these old bones of mine ache. We'll discuss the rest tomorrow." Eragon nodded and built a campfire.

A gray-white dawn arrived on knife-cutting winds. The sky was bleak, and the forest lay silent. After a simple breakfast, Brom and Eragon extinguished the fire, shouldered their packs, and prepared to leave. Eragon hung his crossbow and quiver from one side of his pack, where he could reach them at once. Saphira was fitted with the saddle; she had to carry it until they found packhorses. Eragon carefully tied Zar'roc to her back as well. He did not want to carry too much, and in his hands, the sword would be little more useful than a club.

Among the brambles, Eragon felt quite secure, but once he emerged from them, every movement he made became deliberately cautious. Saphira spread her wings and took flight, circling overhead. They passed the farmstead again and found that the trees there had grown much sparser.

I will come back... Eragon silently vowed as he looked at the broken walls and shattered roof. This journey cannot, and will not, be an endless wandering. Once the danger has passed, I will return here... He straightened his chest and gazed southward toward that strange, vast land.

They traveled along the road while Saphira flew overhead. She headed toward the western mountains and gradually vanished into the horizon. Eragon watched her fly farther and farther away, and his heart felt bitter. Though no one else was around them now, they still could not remain together. She had to stay hidden in case they encountered other travelers on the road.

The Ra'zac's tracks were vague in the remaining snow, but Eragon was not worried. They did not seem to have left the main road, which was the best route out of the valley through the wilderness. But once they left the valley, the road would split into several branches. Then determining which one the Ra'zac had taken would require no small amount of thought.

They traveled in concentrated silence. The scabbed wound on Eragon's leg split open, blood continually seeping out. To distract himself, he asked, "What abilities do dragons have, exactly? You said you knew something about their powers."

Brom laughed aloud. The sapphire ring on his hand flashed as he gestured while speaking. "Unfortunately, compared to what I wish to know, what I know now is pitifully little. People have explored the question you raised for hundreds of years without exhausting it, so you must understand that any gaps in what I tell you are only natural. Dragons have always been mysterious and unfathomable, though perhaps not by deliberate choice.

"Before I truly begin answering your question, you need a basic understanding of dragons. If you have no notion of the foundations, then focusing midway on matters built upon them will only leave you tangled in fruitless confusion. I will begin with a dragon's life. If you are not tired afterward, we can continue with other subjects."

Brom explained how dragons mated and how they hatched their eggs. "You should know," he said, "that once a dragon lays an egg, the hatchling inside is already ready to emerge at any time. Yet it lies still, sometimes waiting for years until the proper moment arrives. When dragons lived in the wild, that moment was usually determined by the availability of food. But after they formed their pact with the elves, a certain number of dragon eggs—usually one or two—were delivered to the Dragon Riders every year. Those eggs, or rather, the hatchlings within them, waited without emerging until the person fated to become a Dragon Rider appeared before them—and how they sensed this remains a mystery. People would often line up to touch dragon eggs, hoping one of them would be chosen."

"So you mean that if Saphira had not met me, she might have stayed inside her egg and never come out?" Eragon asked.

"Very likely. If she had not liked you, she would not have emerged."

He felt deeply proud. Among all the countless living beings of Alagaësia, Saphira had chosen him. He did not know how long she had waited. Thinking of her trapped within that cramped shell, surrounded by boundless darkness, he could not help shuddering.

Brom continued to fill him with knowledge about dragons, explaining their diet. A fully grown dragon could go for months without eating, but during mating season it had to eat every week. Some plants could heal their illnesses, while others could make them sick. There were many different ways to protect their claws and clean their scales.

He also spoke of techniques for dealing with a dragon attack, and of how to fight another dragon while on foot, on horseback, or riding a dragon. Their bellies were armored and hard as iron, but their underarms were very vulnerable. Eragon kept asking questions, and Brom seemed quite pleased by his eagerness to learn. Time slipped away unnoticed in their conversation.

By evening, they were already very close to Therinsford Village. The sky slowly darkened, and they had to find somewhere to spend the night. Eragon asked, "What sort of person was Zar'roc's former owner?"

"A valiant and battle-hardened warrior," Brom said. "Powerful, with a name known far and wide."

"What was his name?"

"I don't want to say." Eragon protested, but Brom kept his lips sealed. "I do not mean to keep you in the dark, not at all. But for now, knowing certain things would only add danger and worry. I have no reason to trouble you with them until the day you have both the time and the ability to resolve them one by one. I only wish to protect you, so you will not be used by evil forces."

Eragon glared at him. "You know what? I think you just enjoy being mysterious! I have long wanted to part ways with you, and I cannot be bothered to puzzle over these things! If you want to say something, say it plainly. Stop hemming and hawing!"

"Calm down. When the time comes, everything will become clear." Brom tried to soothe him gently. Eragon snorted, thoroughly dissatisfied.

They found a very comfortable place to make camp. While dinner cooked over the fire, Saphira flew down to join them. Did you have time to hunt? Eragon asked.

She snorted disdainfully. If you two had been any slower, I could have flown across the sea and back and still caught up with you.

You don't have to be so high and mighty about it. Besides, once we have horses, we'll move faster.

She exhaled a puff of smoke. Perhaps, but can we catch the Ra'zac? They are several days ahead of us. And I worry they may guess that we are following behind them. Otherwise, why destroy the farmstead with such brutal methods? Unless they meant to anger you and lure you out to follow them.

I don't know, Eragon said uneasily. Saphira curled up beside his feet, and he leaned against her belly, warm and comfortable. Brom sat beside the fire, whittling two long sticks. Suddenly, he flung one of them at Eragon. The stick spun over the fire, and Eragon caught it instinctively.

"Take this!" Brom shouted, gripping his stick and rising to his feet.

Eragon looked at the stick in his hand. It had been roughly carved into a wooden sword. Brom wanted to spar with him? What chance did this old man have? If he wanted to play, Eragon would indulge him. But if he thought he could beat him, he was asking for trouble.