Section Three

Eragon decided that the wind was the culprit driving them nearly mad. Every misery—cracked lips, parched throat, burning eyes—was its handiwork. The endless wind chased them all day long, and at night it never paused; instead, it only grew fiercer and fiercer.

There was nowhere to hide, so they had to camp in the open. Eragon gathered some branches from a low, hardy plant that flourished in harsh conditions. He piled them into a heap and tried to light them, but they only gave off black smoke and a sharp, pungent smell. After struggling in vain for half the day, he tossed the tinderbox to Brom in frustration. "I can't get it lit, especially with this blasted wind. See if you can do any better, or we'll be eating dinner cold."

Brom knelt before the pile and studied it carefully. He shifted several branches, then struck the flint. A shower of sparks flew into the kindling, but it still only smoked without catching fire. Brom frowned and tried again, with no better luck than Eragon. "Brisingr!" he muttered angrily, striking the flint once more. Flames suddenly leaped up. He stepped back with a satisfied look. "There! It must have been smoldering inside all along."

While dinner cooked over the fire, they took out their wooden swords and practiced sparring. It was hard on them both, exhausted as they were, and they ended the session quickly. After eating, they slept beside Saphira, grateful for her protection.

The cold wind, sharp as a blade, swept across the frighteningly open plains and awaited them again the next day. Eragon's lips had split completely overnight; tiny beads of blood seeped out whenever he spoke or smiled, and licking them only made matters worse. Brom was in the same condition. Before mounting up, they rationed out some of their stored water for the horses. The day was nothing but a monotonous, grueling march upon march.

On the third day, Eragon woke feeling thoroughly rested, and with the wind having stopped as well, his spirits immediately lifted. But his good mood soon sank again when he saw the road ahead blanketed by dark thunderclouds.

Brom stared at the clouds, his brows deeply furrowed. "Normally, I wouldn't walk straight into a storm like that. But there's nowhere to escape to now, so we might as well keep moving."

When they reached the edge of the rainclouds, everything around them was still calm. Once they entered their shadow, Eragon looked up and felt as if he had stepped into a magnificent cathedral built by nature's divine craftsmanship. Above him rose layer upon layer of tangled vaults. With only a little imagination, beams and pillars, long windows, towering staircases, and grotesque gargoyles all sprang vividly to life, filled with a wild beauty.

Eragon lowered his head and saw waves of grass rolling toward them. It took him a moment to realize that it was a gale. Brom saw it too. They hunched their shoulders and prepared for the storm.

Just as the wind was about to reach them, a terrible thought chilled Eragon to the bone. He twisted around in the saddle at once and cried aloud with both voice and mind, "Saphira! Land, quickly!" Brom's face went white. Above them, Saphira was diving toward the ground. She could not withstand it!

To buy time, Saphira turned and flew back the way she had come. As they watched helplessly, the storm struck, like a heavy hammer slamming into them. Eragon could barely breathe under the pressure of the wind. He clung desperately to his saddle, his ears filled with a savage howling. Cadoc swayed, driving his hooves deep into the earth while his mane flew wildly. Invisible fingers of wind tore at their clothes, raising clouds of dust that blotted out the sky and sun, leaving the world bleak and dim.

Eragon bent forward and searched everywhere for Saphira. He saw her hit the ground hard, curl into a ball, and dig her claws fiercely into the soil. Before she could fold her wings away, the gale rushed upon her. With an enraged cry, her wings were torn open by the wind and she was lifted into the air. For a long moment she drifted atop the storm, then was hurled down again, landing on her back.

Eragon wrenched Cadoc around and drove him back the way they had come. His heels hammered against the horse's sides while his will urged it onward. Saphira! he cried. Stay on the ground if you can! I'm coming! He felt her desperate agreement. Not far from Saphira, Cadoc refused to take another step. Eragon leaped down and sprinted toward her.

The crossbow on his back struck against his head. A blast of wind knocked him off balance, and he pitched forward, hitting the ground and sliding a long way. Cursing, he climbed back up, paying no heed to the fresh injuries scattered across his body.

Saphira was only three yards away, but her furiously beating wings kept him from reaching her. She was doing everything she could to fold them against the force of the gale. He rushed toward her right wing, intending to force it down, but the wind lifted her again. She somersaulted over his head, the sharp ridges along her back passing only inches from his skull. Saphira clutched the ground tightly, struggling to hold herself steady.

Her wings were slowly being blown open again, and she was about to be tossed into another helpless tumble. Eragon threw himself onto her left wing. At last, the joint folded firmly shut, and Saphira pulled the wing tight against her side. Then Eragon vaulted over her back and rolled onto the other wing. It suddenly rose, flinging him away. He rolled with the force, sprang up again, and seized the wing. Saphira pulled with all her strength while he pushed with all his might. After a brief struggle, they both exerted themselves in one fierce burst, and that wing finally settled flat as well.

Eragon leaned against Saphira, panting like a bellows. Are you all right? He could feel her trembling violently.

It took her a long while to answer. I... I think so, she said, her voice shaking. I'm not hurt—but I was utterly helpless. The wind had me in its grip, and I couldn't control myself. She shuddered and fell silent.

He looked at her anxiously. Don't worry. You're safe now. Cadoc stood sheltered from the wind some distance away. Eragon reached out with his mind and sent him back to Brom. Then he climbed onto Saphira's back. She crawled forward across the ground, pushing into the wind. He ducked his head and held tightly to her.

They found Brom, and his shout came through the storm. "Is she hurt?"

Eragon shook his head and climbed down from Saphira's back. Cadoc whinnied and trotted nervously toward him. He stroked the horse's long face just as Brom pointed ahead. A gray-white curtain of rain swayed toward them, sweeping across the land. "What else is coming?" Eragon shouted, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself as he shivered involuntarily. The downpour arrived in an instant, freezing cold and biting. Within moments, they were soaked through and trembling from head to toe.

Lightning split the heavens, flickering bright and dark. Blue bolts danced low in the sky, weaving across the horizon, followed by thunder powerful enough to shake the world. It was magnificent and beautiful, yet beautiful with another kind of terrifying savagery. Strikes set fires blazing throughout the grass, only for the torrential rain to extinguish them at once.

The storm raged for a long time, but as daylight faded, the thunderclouds bearing lightning and roaring thunder finally wandered elsewhere. The clouds broke open, revealing a sunset like molten gold and a thousand radiant sights. A shaft of sunlight shone through a gap in the clouds, gilding the black masses with rainbow colors. Everything before them was cast in stark contrast: one side dazzlingly bright, the other steeped in heavy shadow, creating a strange texture. The blades of grass stood strong and straight, like marble pillars. Things that had once seemed plain and ordinary now possessed an unearthly beauty. Eragon felt as though he were standing inside a painting.

The land, restored to calm, gave off a fresh scent that soothed them all and revived their spirits. Saphira stretched herself, raised her head and neck, and let out a joyous cry. It startled the horses into running, but Eragon and Brom smiled happily at her overflowing vitality.

Before dusk swallowed everything, they made camp in a shallow hollow. Neither of them had the strength left to fight, and they sank directly into sleep.

Though they had replenished some water during the storm, by morning not a single drop remained. "I hope we're going the right way," Eragon said, shaking his empty waterskin until it rattled. "If we don't reach Yazuac today, we'll be in trouble."

Brom seemed utterly confident. "I've traveled this road before. We'll see Yazuac before the sun goes down."

Eragon smiled skeptically. "Maybe you can see things I can't. Everything within miles looks exactly the same here. How can you be sure you haven't taken the wrong road?"

"Because I don't navigate by the ground. I find my way by the sun and stars, and they never lead anyone astray. Come on! Let's move faster. Worrying yourself blind is foolish. Yazuac lies ahead."

His words proved entirely true. Saphira spotted the village first. Eragon and Brom did not see a vague shadow on the horizon until afternoon. Yazuac was still far away; it was only visible from so far because the wilderness was so flat and unobstructed. As they drew closer, they could see a winding black line curve sharply around both sides of the village before disappearing into the distance.

Brom pointed. "The Ninor River."

Eragon reined Cadoc in. "If Saphira stays with us, people will see her. Shouldn't she hide when we enter the village?"

Brom stroked his chin and looked toward the village. "See that great bend in the river? Tell her to wait there. It's far enough away that the villagers of Yazuac won't notice her, but close enough that she won't be left behind. We'll pass through the village, get the supplies we need, then meet up with her."

I don't like this, Saphira said after hearing Eragon's plan. It's infuriating, always hiding like a criminal.

You know what will happen if anyone finds you. She complained a few more times, but she obeyed and flew away low to the ground.

The thought of soon having food and water put a spring in their steps. The cramped houses drew nearer and nearer, and they could already see more than ten thin columns of cooking smoke rising. Yet there was no sign of anyone in the streets. The entire village was strangely quiet. As they neared the closest house, Eragon and Brom stopped at the same time. Eragon said, "There are no dogs barking."

"No."

"But that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"...No."

Eragon paused, then added, "Someone should have seen us by now."

"They should have."

"Then why hasn't anyone come out to look?"

Brom glanced at the slanting sun. "Maybe they're afraid."

"Maybe." Eragon fell silent for a moment. "What if it's a trap? Maybe the Ra'zac are waiting for us to walk into their net."

"We need food and water."

"Isn't there the Ninor River?"

"We still need food."

"That's true." Eragon scanned the area. "Then we go in?"

Brom shook the reins. "Yes, but not like fools. This is the main entrance to Yazuac. If there's an ambush, it will be here. No one will expect us to enter the village from another direction."

"So we go around?" Eragon asked. Brom nodded, drew his sword in a flash, and laid it across his saddle. Eragon cocked his crossbow and set a feathered arrow in place.

They silently made a wide circle and entered the village on full alert. The streets were deserted. Only a frightened little fox darted away like smoke. Every house was black and hollow-looking, full of ill omen. Windows everywhere had been shattered, and doors swayed on broken hinges. The horses were tense and restless, their eyes darting about in panic. A tingling itch came from Eragon's palm, but he resisted the urge to scratch it. They reached the center of the village, and all color suddenly drained from Eragon's face. Both hands clenched tightly around his crossbow. "Gods," he whispered.

Before them lay a mountain of corpses, rigid and twisted. Blood had soaked through their clothing and stained the littered ground. Men lay over the women they had tried to protect. Mothers clutched their children tightly. Lovers had found eternal rest in Death's cold embrace while trying to save one another. A black arrow pierced every body; neither the elderly nor the young had been spared. Worst of all, a spear rose high from the summit of the dead, and on it was impaled the pale body of an infant.

Tears blurred Eragon's vision. He desperately tried to turn away, not to look any longer. But the faces of the dead gripped his gaze. He stared into their unclosed eyes and marveled at how fragile life was, how easily it could leave them. If this was all there was, if everything simply ended this way, what meaning did life have? Despair and helplessness drowned him like a crushing flood.

A crow descended from the sky like a black shadow and landed on the spear. Tilting its head, it greedily eyed the baby's corpse. "Ah, you can't do that!" Eragon shouted furiously, raising his crossbow and firing. With a sharp hiss, feathers scattered everywhere as the crow toppled backward, an arrow shaft jutting from its breast. Eragon loaded another arrow, but nausea suddenly rose in him. He turned to Cadoc's side and vomited violently.

Brom patted his back gently. When Eragon had finished, he said softly, "Do you want to wait outside the village for me?"

"No... I'll stay here." Eragon wiped his mouth. His body swayed, but he refused to look again at the horrible sight before him. "Who could do something like..." He could not finish.

Brom lowered his head in thought. "Those who bring nothing but suffering. They wear countless faces and disguises, but they have only one name: demons. None of this can be understood. All we can do is offer the dead respect and compassion."

He dismounted from Snowfire and walked around the area, carefully examining the chaotic tracks on the ground. "The Ra'zac came through here," he said slowly. "But they didn't do this. Giants did. The spears are their work. A group passed through here, perhaps as many as a hundred. This is very strange. In all my memory, there have only been a few times when so many giants gathered together..." He knelt and studied a footprint intently. With a curse, he ran back to Snowfire and vaulted into the saddle.

"Run!" he hissed urgently, driving Snowfire forward with a squeeze of his legs. "The giants are still here!" Eragon struck Cadoc's sides with his heels. The horse sprang forward, following close behind Snowfire. They raced through the streets like the wind and were almost out of the village when Eragon's palm began to itch again. He glimpsed something rushing at him from the right, then a huge fist struck him and sent him flying from the saddle into a wall. The world spun around him. All he could do was clutch his crossbow instinctively and gasp for breath. He pressed a hand to the pain and struggled to stand.

A giant stood before him, staring at him with evil in its eyes. The creature was tall and broad, wider than a door, with gray-white skin and narrow yellow eyes like a pig's. Its chest and arms bulged with muscle, making its breastplate seem absurdly small. Curved horns thrust out from either temple, supporting an iron helmet between them. A round shield was strapped to one arm, while the other powerful claw gripped an ugly short sword.

Behind it, Eragon saw Brom riding Snowfire toward him, only to have his path blocked by another giant wielding a battle-axe. "Run, fool!" Brom shouted at Eragon, slashing his sword at the enemy. The giant before Eragon roared and swung its short sword with tremendous force. Eragon cried out and jumped back. The blade passed just beside his face. He turned and ran toward the center of the village, his heart pounding wildly.

The giant pursued him, its heavy footsteps driving him onward. Eragon called desperately for Saphira and ran even faster. Yet the giant kept closing in, opening its blood-filled maw, baring its fangs in a soundless howl. Just as it was about to catch him, Eragon raised his crossbow, stopped abruptly, turned and aimed, then fired. The giant lifted its shield to knock the bolt aside and charged him hard, leaving no chance to fire again. They crashed into a tangled heap on the ground.

Eragon sprang up and rushed back toward Brom. Brom was high atop Snowfire, fighting his opponent in a desperate battle. Where are the other giants? Eragon thought frantically. Are there only these two in Yazuac? A tremendous impact rang out, and Snowfire reared with a shriek. Brom bent over the saddle, blood pouring down his arm. Beside him, the giant gave a victorious howl and raised its axe for the killing blow.

A scream sharp enough to rupture eardrums burst from Eragon's throat as he lowered his head and charged the giant. The axe-wielding giant started, then turned toward him with contempt. Gripping the axe in both hands, it chopped down fiercely. Eragon ducked beneath the blow and raked his hand across the giant's body, leaving several bloody marks. The giant flew into a rage, its face twisting with fury as it swung the axe again. But Eragon evaded that strike too, leaping aside and fleeing down an alley.

Eragon only wanted to draw the giant away from Brom. He darted into a narrow passage between houses, only to discover it was a dead end. He turned to retreat, but the two giants had already blocked the entrance. They advanced step by step, their rough voices hurling curses at him. Eragon looked left and right for a way out, but there was nowhere to escape—not even if he had wings.

He looked at the hideous giants, and scenes flashed through his mind: the murdered villagers piled beneath the spear, the innocent baby who would never have a chance to grow up. Thinking of their miserable fate, scorching power erupted from every part of his body. It was not merely a thirst for justice. It was his entire will gathering to resist the doom of death—otherwise, he would vanish from the world. The strength swelled greater and greater. He felt ready, the suppressed power poised to burst forth at any moment.

Eragon stood tall, every trace of fear gone. Slowly, he raised his crossbow. The giants chattered and laughed grotesquely, bringing their round shields before themselves. Eragon lowered the shaft, just as he had done hundreds and thousands of times before, and aligned the arrowhead with his target. The energy inside him had built to its peak. If he did not release it now, it would devour him instead. A word suddenly sprang from his mouth. He fired the bolt and bellowed, "Brisingr!"

The arrow shrieked through the air, trailing leaping blue fire. It struck the first giant in the forehead, then exploded with a thunderous roar. A violent blue shockwave burst from inside the creature's skull and killed the other giant in an instant. Eragon had no time to react before the shockwave reached him, yet it did not harm a single hair on his body. It dissipated behind the houses.

Eragon panted heavily and looked at his cold palm. Gedwëy ignasia glowed like white-hot metal, but even as he glanced at it, it quickly dimmed and returned to normal. He clenched his fist. Suddenly drained of all strength, he felt weak and strange, as if he had not eaten for days. His legs gave way, and he slumped against the wall.

When his body finally regained a little strength, Eragon staggered around the giants' corpses and out of the alley. Cadoc came running toward him before he had gone far. "Thank goodness you're not hurt," he murmured. Eragon suddenly noticed that his hands were shaking violently, and that every movement was stiff and slow. He felt dazed, as though everything that had just happened had happened to someone else.

Eragon found Snowfire, its nostrils flared and ears flattened as it danced nervously near a wall, ready to bolt. Brom still hung unconscious over the saddle. Eragon soothed Snowfire with his mind. Once the horse had calmed, he walked over to Brom.

A long, bloody wound was clearly visible on the old man's right arm. Blood poured from it, though fortunately it was neither too deep nor too wide. Still, Eragon knew he had to bind it before Brom lost too much blood. He gently stroked Snowfire for a while, then tried to drag Brom from the saddle. It was plainly more than he could manage. Brom fell heavily to the ground, startling Eragon with the depth of his own weakness.

A furious shriek flashed through his mind. Saphira burst from the clouds and landed violently before him, her wings still half-spread. She snarled in rage, fire seeming ready to blaze from her eyes, while her tail lashed like a whip. Are you hurt? Her furious voice exploded over his head, startling Eragon.

"No." He reassured her as he lifted Brom onto his back.

She growled low and looked around. Where are the ones who did this? I'll tear them to pieces!

Wearily, he pointed toward the alley. "No need. They're already dead."

You killed them? Saphira asked in disbelief.

He nodded. "I don't know how." In only a few words, he told Saphira what had happened while searching through the saddlebags for the strips of cloth originally meant to wrap Zar'roc.

You've grown up, Saphira said solemnly.

Eragon muttered something under his breath. He found a long strip of cloth, carefully rolled up Brom's sleeve, then skillfully cleaned and tightly bound the wound. If only we were in Palancar Valley, he told Saphira. At least there, I know what herbs can heal his wound. Here, I haven't the faintest idea how to help him. He retrieved Brom's sword from the ground, wiped it clean, and slid it into the scabbard at Brom's belt.

We need to leave, Saphira said. There may be other giants lying in wait.

"Can you carry Brom? Your saddle can secure him, and you can protect him."

I can, but I won't leave you alone.

"Then fly nearby. Let's get out of here quickly." He fastened the saddle onto Saphira, then tried to lift Brom, but his exhausted strength failed him again. "Saphira—help me."

Saphira stretched out her long neck and caught Brom's robe between her teeth. Arching her neck, she lifted the old man from the ground like a cat carrying a kitten, then placed him on her back. Eragon tucked Brom's feet into the saddle straps and tied them securely. At that moment, Brom groaned and stirred.

Eragon looked up. Brom was pressing a hand to his forehead, blinking groggily. He looked down at Eragon, concern plain on his face. "Did Saphira get here in time?"

Eragon shook his head. "I'll explain later. Your arm is injured. I bound it as well as I could, but you need to find somewhere safe and recover."

"Yes." Brom carefully touched his wounded arm. "Do you know where my sword is... ah, you found it."

Eragon finished securing every strap. "Saphira will carry you in flight while following me."

"Are you sure you want me to ride her?" Brom asked. "I can ride Snowfire."

"Not with your arm like that. This way, even if you pass out, you won't fall."

Brom nodded. "I'm deeply honored." He wrapped his good arm around Saphira's neck. She stirred up a gust of wind and shot into the sky. Eragon staggered back several steps from the vortex raised by her wings, then went to the two horses.

He tied Snowfire behind Cadoc, left Yazuac, and headed south along a narrow path. The road led through a stretch of stony ground, then turned left and followed the Ninor River. Ferns, moss, and low shrubs lined both sides of the path. The scent of the trees was cool and fresh, but the peaceful surroundings did not make Eragon relax. He stopped only long enough to let the horses drink their fill and refill the waterskins. Then he found the Ra'zac's tracks on the ground again. At least we're going in the right direction. Saphira circled overhead, her sharp eyes constantly watching his movements.

One question kept troubling him: they had seen only two giants. A group had destroyed the village and slaughtered the villagers, so where were the rest? Maybe the two we met were rear guards, or maybe this is a trap for anyone following the main force.

His thoughts turned again to how he had killed the two giants. An idea—or perhaps a revelation—slowly began to rise in his mind. He, Eragon—a farm boy from Palancar Valley—had used magic. Magic! It was the only explanation. It sounded absurd, but he could not deny what his own eyes had seen. Somehow, I've become a magician or sorcerer! But he knew nothing about how to use this new power again, nor about its strength or its dangers. Why do I have this ability? Is it common among Dragon Riders? If Brom knows, why didn't he tell me? Confused, he shook his head.

He asked Saphira about Brom's condition and told her his thoughts. Saphira was as puzzled by his magic as he was. Saphira, can you find somewhere to rest? I can't see far beneath all this. She searched around while he continued along the Ninor River.

Just as the daylight began to fade, Saphira called to him. Come here. She sent him an image of a clearing hidden in dense woods near the river. Eragon gently turned Cadoc's head, loosened the reins, and broke into a trot. With Saphira's help, they soon found the place. It was so well hidden that Eragon doubted anyone could ever notice it.

When he entered, a small fire was already burning, yet no black smoke rose from it. Brom sat beside it tending to his wound, struggling to hold up his injured arm. Saphira crouched beside him, tense and watchful. She stared hard at Eragon. Are you certain you aren't hurt?

"No external wounds... beyond that, I don't know."

I should have arrived sooner.

Don't be sad. We all made mistakes today. I shouldn't have left your side. Her gratitude at those words flowed into his heart. Eragon looked at Brom. "How are you?"

The old man looked at his arm. "The wound is large and rather serious, but it will heal quickly. I need clean bandages. This one hasn't held as long as I expected." They boiled water and cleaned Brom's wound. Brom changed into fresh bandages and told Eragon, "I need something to eat, and you look half-starved yourself. Let's eat first, then have a proper talk."

Once their stomachs were full and their limbs warm, Brom lit his pipe. "Now, I think it's time you told me what happened while I was unconscious. I'm dying of curiosity." Firelight illuminated his face, throwing his thick brows into sharp relief above his eyes.

Somewhat nervous, Eragon clasped his hands together and told him exactly what had happened without embellishment. Brom listened in silence, impossible to read. When Eragon finished, Brom stared at the ground. For a long time, the only sound around them was the crackle of burning branches. At last, he broke the silence. "Have you used that power before?"

"No. How much do you know about it?"

"A little." Brom considered the matter. "It seems I owe you a debt. You saved my life. I hope I can repay it someday. You should be proud of yourself. Few people kill a giant for the first time and escape without a scratch. But the way you did it was extremely dangerous. You might have destroyed yourself along with the entire village."

"I had no choice," Eragon argued. "The giants were right there. If I had hesitated for even a moment, they would have chopped me into pieces!"

Brom bit down on his pipe stem. "You still have no idea what you did."

"Then tell me!" Eragon demanded. "I've been racking my brains, but I can't make sense of it. What happened? How could I possibly use magic? No one ever taught me, or told me any spells."

Brom's eyes flickered. "This is not something you should learn—still less use!"

"Oh, but I already have, and perhaps I'll need it in battle again. But without your help, I don't know how to use it. What is going on? Is there some secret I'm not supposed to know until I'm old and wise? Or do you know absolutely nothing about magic yourself?"

"Boy!" Brom snapped. "Your manner of asking for answers is remarkably arrogant. If you knew what you were asking about, you would not be so eager to learn. Do not test me." He paused, and his expression softened. "What you ask is more complex than you can understand."

Eragon shot to his feet, agitated. "I feel as if I've stumbled into another world for no reason, where there are strange rules everywhere and no one will explain them!"

"I understand." Brom toyed with a blade of grass. "It's late. We should sleep. But I'll tell you a few things, so you'll stop pestering me with questions. This magic—it is indeed magic—has rules of its own, like everything else in this world. If you break those rules, the price is death, with no exception. What you can do is limited by your own strength, the words you know, and your imagination."

"What do you mean, the words I know?" Eragon asked.

"More questions!" Brom exclaimed. "Sometimes I wish you didn't have quite so many. But you are right to ask. When you shot your arrow at the giant, didn't you say something?"

"Yes. Brisingr." The fire before him flickered. Eragon shivered slightly. There was something in that word that made him feel an incredible vitality.

"I thought so. Brisingr comes from an ancient language once shared among all living beings. But as time passed, it was gradually forgotten, buried in Alagaësia for generations until the elves brought it back from beyond the sea. They taught the language to every race, and all used it to wield great power. Everything has a name in that language, if you can find it."

"But what does that have to do with magic?" Eragon interrupted.

"Everything! It is the foundation of all spells. What this language names is the true essence of all things, not the outward appearances people see. Take fire, for example. It is called 'Brisingr.' That is not merely fire's name—it is the name of fire's essence. If you are strong enough, you can use Brisingr to command fire to act according to your will. That is what happened today."

Eragon thought for a moment, then asked, "Why was the fire blue? I only said the word for fire. How did it happen to do exactly what I wanted?"

"The color differs from person to person, depending on who speaks the word. As for why the fire did exactly what you wanted, that requires practice. Most beginners have to state their intent in full. Once they are skilled, they need not be so wordy. A true master might say only the word 'water,' yet create something completely unrelated, such as a gem. You may find it unbelievable, but he sees some connection between water and the gem and uses it as the key to the spell. Such practice is more properly called an art. What you managed was already very remarkable."

Saphira interrupted Eragon's thoughts. Brom is a magician! That is why he could light the branches in the wilderness. He does not merely know about magic—he knows how to use it!

Eragon's eyes lit up. You're right!

Ask him about magic, but choose your words carefully. It is not wise to act rashly before someone with such power. If he is a magician or a sorcerer, who knows what motives he had for hiding in Palancar Valley?

Taking her advice, Eragon asked cautiously, "Saphira and I just remembered something. You understand magic, don't you? That's why you could light our campfire on the first day we entered the wilderness."

Brom nodded slightly. "To a certain extent, I am skilled in it."

"Then why didn't you use it against the giants? I can think of many times it would have helped—you could have shielded us from that storm, or kept the wind and dust from blinding us."

Brom filled his pipe before answering. "The reason is simple. I am not a Dragon Rider. That means that even when you are at your weakest, you are stronger than I am. And I am no longer young, no longer as strong as I once was. Every use of magic is harder for me."

Eragon lowered his gaze and said uneasily, "I'm sorry."

"No need." Brom shifted his arm. "Everyone grows old."

"Where did you learn magic?"

"That is a secret... At most, I can say it was in a distant place, taught by a very skilled master. What I can do is pass his knowledge on." He used a small stone to knock out his pipe. "I know you still have many questions. I will answer them one by one, but tomorrow."

He leaned toward Eragon, a faint gleam in his eyes. "I will tell you this much, to put an end to every reckless thought in your mind: using magic consumes physical strength, just as using your arms or back does. That is why you were exhausted after killing those two giants, and why I was angry. For you, this is extremely dangerous. If the energy needed to cast a spell exceeds the energy stored within your body, it will cost you your life. Therefore, you must only turn to magic when ordinary means cannot accomplish your goal."

"Then how can you know whether a spell will consume all your energy?" Eragon asked, greatly frightened in retrospect.

Brom raised both hands. "Most of the time, you cannot know in advance. That is why magicians must understand themselves especially well. Even then, they must proceed with caution. Once you use magic to achieve an end, there is no turning back, even if it is about to take your life. I tell you this as a warning: until you understand more, do not act rashly. That is enough for tonight."

They spread out their bedding. Saphira sounded pleased. Our strength is growing stronger and stronger, Eragon. Both of ours. Soon, no one will be able to block our path.

Yes, but which path will we choose?

Whichever path we want, she answered with great ambition, then settled down to rest.

"How did you know there were still giants lying in wait in Yazuac?" Eragon asked after they set out the next day. "It doesn't seem to make any sense for them to stay behind."

"My guess is that those two giants slipped away from the group on their own and remained in the village to loot and pillage. What is truly baffling is that, as far as I know, giants have gathered in large groups only two or three times in history. Seeing them move in packs like this is deeply unsettling."

"Do you think the Ra'zac planned the attack?"

"I don't know. The wisest thing we can do is keep putting distance between ourselves and Yazuac as quickly as possible. Besides, the Ra'zac were heading this way: south."

Eragon agreed. "But we still need supplies. Are there any other towns or villages nearby?"

Brom shook his head. "No. But once our food runs out, Saphira can hunt for us. That stretch of trees may look small to you, but there are plenty of animals inside. This river is the only source of water for miles around, so many animals in the wilderness come here to drink. We won't starve."

Reassured by Brom's answer, Eragon said nothing more for a long while. They rode onward, with gentle water flowing nearby and birds chirping noisily all around, the world brimming with life and vigor. Eragon asked, "How did that giant hurt you? It happened too fast for me to see clearly."

"Pure bad luck," Brom complained. "He was no match for me at all, so he kicked Snowfire. That foolish horse got frightened and reared up, throwing me off balance. That was exactly what the giant wanted, and then I fell for it." He scratched his chin. "I suppose you are still curious about magic. Your discovery has raised a troublesome issue. Few people know that every Dragon Rider can use magic, though their power differs. They kept it tightly guarded, even during the height of their authority, because it gave them a considerable advantage over enemies. If everyone knew, even dealing with ordinary people would become harder than before. People believe the king's power comes from being a magician, but that is not true. It is because he is a Dragon Rider."

"What's the difference? I can use magic—does that mean I've become a magician?"

"Not at all! A magician, such as a Shade, can summon spirits and demons to fulfill his will. That is completely different from the ability you possess. Nor are you a sorcerer, for their power does not come from dragons or from the strength of the mind. And you are certainly not a wizard, for they rely on all manner of potions and charms to cast spells.

"This returns us to the trouble I mentioned. Young Dragon Riders like you once underwent strict, intensive training to strengthen their bodies and improve their control over mental power. Such training often lasted months, sometimes even years, until the Dragon Rider was considered capable of controlling magic. Before that, no trainee was told of this potential. If one of them accidentally discovered an ability to use magic, he or she would immediately be taken away for special instruction. It is rare to become aware of one's magical power entirely on one's own." He nodded at Eragon. "But they never faced the kind of danger you did."

"So how did they eventually learn to use magic?" Eragon asked. "I can't imagine any way to teach it to someone. If you'd told me all this two days ago, I wouldn't have understood a word."

"The trainees were given a series of meaningless tasks, intended only to frustrate them. For example, they were ordered to move piles of stones using only their feet, or fill a pipe that constantly drained water—impossible tasks, all of them. After a while, they became angry enough to use magic. This method generally worked."

"That means," Brom continued, "if you encounter an enemy who has received this kind of training, you'll be at a great disadvantage. Some of these old ones are still alive: the king is one, not to mention the elves. Any one of them could reduce you to ashes with a wave of the hand."

"Then what should I do?"

"There's no time for formal training right now, but we can learn as we travel," Brom said. "I know many techniques suited to your practice, ones that can increase your strength and control, but you can't acquire all a Dragon Rider's cultivation overnight. You"—he looked at Eragon with amusement—"will have to learn as you go. It'll be hard at first, but greatly beneficial. There's something you'll be glad to know: no Dragon Rider has ever, at your age, used the kind of power you used against those two giants yesterday."

Eragon smiled at the praise. "Thank you. Does that ancient language have a name?"

Brom smiled. "It does, but no one knows it. It must be a word of astonishing power. If you knew it, you could control the entire ancient language, as well as those who used it. People have searched bitterly for it, but always in vain."

"I still don't understand how magic works," Eragon said. "How exactly am I supposed to use it?"

Brom said in surprise, "Haven't I told you?"

"No."

He drew a deep breath, then said, "To use magic, you must possess a certain inborn ability, something exceedingly rare among people nowadays. You must also be able to summon that ability at will. Once it is called forth, you must either put it to use or make it recede. Do you understand? Then, if you wish to use it, you must speak the word or phrase in the ancient language that matches your intent. For instance, if you hadn't said Brisingr yesterday, nothing would have happened."

"So my ability is limited by my knowledge of the ancient language?"

"Exactly," Brom said gladly. "And there's more: when speaking it, it's impossible to lie."

Eragon shook his head. "That's impossible. People lie all the time. The ancient language can't stop them."

Brom raised an eyebrow and spoke a phrase. "Fethrblaka, eka weohnata nei athaina ono. Blaka eom iet lam." (Bird, I will not harm you. Fly onto my palm.) A small bird suddenly flitted lightly over the treetops and landed in his hand. It watched them with bright, round eyes and began to sing sweetly. After a while, Brom said, "Ethia." (Go.) The bird fluttered its wings and flew away.

"How did you do that?" Eragon asked, greatly astonished.

"I promised not to harm it. It may not have understood my intentions exactly, but under the power of the language, the meaning of my words became obvious. The bird trusted me because it, like all other animals, knows that those who speak this language are bound by their words."

"The elves speak this language too?"

"Yes."

"Then they never lie?"

"Not entirely," Brom said. "They claim they never lie, and in one sense that is true. But they are masters of the art of implication. What they say is one thing, what they actually mean another. You will never clearly know their intentions, nor be able to guess them. They often tell only part of the truth and withhold the rest. To understand their culture, one must have a subtle and keen mind."

Eragon thought carefully. "What do a person's names represent in this language? Can they affect someone?"

A flash of approval passed through Brom's eyes. "Yes, that's right. Those who speak this language have two names. One is used in ordinary life and has little power. But the other is the name of their true essence, known only to a few closest and most trusted people. There was once a time when everyone made their true names public, but that is no longer done. Whoever knows your true name has supreme power over you, as though you had placed your life in another's palm. Therefore, everyone has a secret name, almost never known to outsiders."

"How do you find out what your true name is?" Eragon asked.

"Elves know instinctively. Other races lack that gift. Human Dragon Riders must seek it tirelessly—or find an elf who can tell them. It is difficult, because elves do not reveal it easily."

"I want to know mine," Eragon said eagerly.

Brom's face darkened. "Be careful. It may be terrible. To know your own essence, without any disguise or comfort, is to receive a revelation, and no one can face such a revelation without being shaken. Some have gone mad from that naked truth, while more have tried desperately to forget it. Yet just as the name gives others power, it can also grant you great mastery over yourself—provided it does not break you."

I don't think it will, Saphira declared.

"I still want to know," Eragon said firmly.

"You're quite stubborn. Good. Only those who stand unwavering can find their true selves. In this, I can offer no help. The search can only be undertaken by oneself." Brom shifted his injured arm and drew his brows together in discomfort.

"Why can't we use magic to heal your wound?" Eragon asked.

Brom blinked. "There's no reason—I haven't considered it only because I can't do it. Perhaps you could if you spoke the right word, but I don't want to drain your strength."

"But I can spare you trouble and pain," Eragon argued.

"I can bear it," Brom said flatly. "Healing a wound with magic takes as much energy as it would take for the wound to heal naturally. I don't want you exhausted for the next few days of travel. You aren't ready for an attempt that difficult."

"And if it's possible to heal your arm, could it bring the dead back to life?"

The question caught Brom completely by surprise, but he answered quickly. "Remember the things I said could kill you? This is one of them. For the safety of Dragon Riders themselves, they are strictly forbidden from attempting to raise the dead. Beyond life lies a boundless chaos, where the force of magic means nothing. If you enter that realm of chaos, your energy will vanish without a trace, and your soul will slowly wither in the darkness. Sorcerers, magicians, and Dragon Riders—none who dared cross that forbidden boundary escaped death in failure. You must know your limits. Wounds, bruises, even certain broken bones may be attempted—but never dream of bringing back the dead."

Eragon frowned. "It's far more complicated than I imagined."

"Exactly!" Brom said. "If you do not fully understand what you are doing, then you are attempting something beyond your power, and it will cost you your life." He bent over in the saddle, scooped up a handful of pebbles from the ground, then straightened with effort and tossed most of them away, leaving only one. "See this pebble?"

"Yes."

"Take it." Eragon accepted it and looked at the utterly ordinary little stone. It was gray-black, smooth-surfaced, and as large as his thumb. Countless pebbles just like it lay along the road. "This is your training."

Eragon gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," Brom said impatiently. "That's why I'm teaching you instead of doing something else. Now stop talking, or we'll never get anywhere. What I want you to do is make that stone leave your palm and remain in the air as long as possible. The word you will use is Stenrreias—raise stone. Repeat it after me."

"Stenrreias."

"Good. Go practice."

Unhappily, Eragon focused his attention on the stone and tried to scrape together even the faintest trace of the energy that had filled him the previous day. But the stone did not so much as twitch. Sweat broke out over his body, and frustration welled in his heart. Why do I have to do this? At last, he crossed his arms and shouted, "It's impossible."

"No," Brom said harshly. "I decide what is possible. Try! Don't give up so easily. Again!"

Eragon closed his eyes, furrowed his brow, cast aside every stray thought, then drew a deep breath and delved into the most hidden corners of his mind, searching for the power concealed there. He searched and searched, finding only thoughts and memories, until he sensed something unfamiliar—a thing that was part of him, yet did not belong to him. His heart surged, and he pressed deeper, seeking its hiding place. A resistance, a barrier from the depths of his consciousness, pushed him away, but he knew what he sought lay beyond it. He tried to break through, but it always remained just beyond reach. Anger rose in Eragon. Gathering all his mental strength, he launched a fierce assault and finally forced his way past the barrier. It shattered with a crash like brittle glass, and light flooded into his mind like a rushing river.

"Stenrreias," he said breathlessly. The stone wobbled as it rose from his faintly glowing palm. He tried to make it hover in the air, but the power vanished in an instant, retreating behind the barrier once more. The pebble dropped back into his hand with a soft plop, and his palm returned to normal. He felt a touch of weariness, but he still grinned at his success.

"That's not bad for your first time," Brom said.

"What happened to my hand? It looked like a little lamp."

"No one knows," Brom said. "Dragon Riders generally prefer to cast spells with the hand marked by Gedwëy ignasia. You can use the other one, but it will be somewhat more difficult." He studied Eragon for a moment. "At the next village, I'll buy you a pair of gloves, if it hasn't been destroyed. You've been careful to hide that hand, but it would be bad if someone saw it by accident. Besides, you won't want its glow alerting enemies in the future."

"Do you have a mark of your own?"

"No, only Dragon Riders do," Brom said. "And you should know that magic's effectiveness is affected by distance, just as with bows and spears. If you want to lift or move something a league away, it will take more effort than moving something nearby. So if enemies are still over a league behind us, wait until they come closer before using magic. Now get back to practicing! Try lifting the stone again."

"Again?" Eragon asked weakly, thinking that he had already used every ounce of strength he possessed just doing it once.

"Yes! And this time, do it faster."

They practiced for most of the day. By the time they were finally able to stop, Eragon was exhausted and ill-tempered. During the practice, he had come to hate that stone and everything connected with it. He raised his hand to fling it far away, but Brom said, "Don't throw it away. Keep it." Eragon glared at him and reluctantly put the stone into his pocket.

"We're not finished yet," Brom warned, "so don't relax." He pointed to a tiny plant and said, "It's called Delois." From then on, he began teaching Eragon the ancient language, making him memorize nouns ranging from Vondr, a thin, straight twig, to Aiedail, the morning star.

At night, they fenced beside the campfire. Though Brom held his sword in his left hand, his skill was not diminished in the slightest.

The days passed in the same pattern, one after another. By day, Eragon struggled to learn the ancient language and practiced controlling the stone. At night, he dueled Brom with wooden swords. His days remained difficult, yet changes came little by little, almost unnoticed. Soon, the small pebble no longer wobbled when it rose. He mastered the first exercise Brom had given him and began more difficult training, while his knowledge of the ancient language also improved greatly.

When fencing, Eragon's movements became like a nimble serpent darting from its hole—fast and precise. His strikes grew heavy and powerful, and his blocks no longer trembled. Once he could withstand Brom's attacks, their sparring sessions lengthened greatly. Now, he was no longer the only one going to sleep covered in bruises.

Saphira continued to grow as well, though much more slowly than before. Long flights and regular hunting kept her healthy and strong. She was now taller than a horse, and far longer as well. Her enormous size, combined with the dazzling gleam of her scales, made her especially conspicuous. Brom and Eragon worried greatly about this. Yet they could not persuade her to dirty herself and conceal the radiance that flashed from her body.

They traveled south, following the Ra'zac's trail. Eragon simmered with resentment; no matter how fast they went, the Ra'zac always remained several days' journey ahead. Whenever he became discouraged and thought of giving up, they would find some tiny clue that rekindled his hope.

There was no sign of people along the Ninor River or across the plains, and the three of them could travel day after day without disturbance. At last, Daret, the first village beyond Yazuac, lay not far ahead.