Section One

On the way home, Roran said, "There was a stranger from Therinsford at Horst's today."

"What was his name?" Eragon leaped aside to avoid a patch of ice, then kept striding forward. His cheeks and eyes ached from the cold.

"Dempton. He came to have Horst make some millstones." Roran said. His thick legs plowed through the deep snow, clearing a path for Eragon behind him.

"Doesn't Therinsford have its own blacksmith?"

"It does," Roran replied, "but his craftsmanship isn't good enough." He glanced at Eragon, shrugged, and added, "The millstones are for a mill. Dempton wants to expand his mill, and he offered me a job. If I'm willing, I'll leave with him when he comes to collect them."

Mill workers never rested all year. In winter, people brought things to them to be ground; during harvest season, they bought grain, ground it into flour, and sold it again. The work was exhausting and dangerous, and workers often lost fingers—or even whole hands—beneath the enormous millstones. "Are you going to tell Garrow?" Eragon asked.

"Yes." A determined, pleased smile flickered across Roran's face.

"Why? You know what he'll think if we leave home. Anything you say will only stir up trouble. We'd be better off pretending it never happened and having a quiet dinner."

"No. I want this job."

Eragon stopped. "Why?" They stood face-to-face, white breath billowing between them. "I know money is hard to earn, but we always pull through. You don't have to leave home."

"No, I don't have to, but I want to earn money for myself." Roran tried to continue, but Eragon stood in his way.

"What do you need money for?" he asked.

Roran drew his shoulders back slightly. "I want to get married."

Eragon was stunned, his mind foggy. He remembered seeing Katrina kiss Roran on market day in the village. But marriage? "Katrina?" he asked weakly, only wanting confirmation. Roran nodded. "Have you asked her yet?"

"Not yet. But when spring comes, and I can afford a house, I will."

"There's too much to do on the farm now. You can't leave," Eragon objected. "Wait until we've got everything arranged before you go."

"No," Roran said with a slight smile. "Spring is when I'm needed most. The land has to be plowed and sown, the crops need weeding—not to mention all the other household chores. Now is the best time for me to leave. All we do every day is wait for winter to pass and spring to come. You and Garrow can manage without me. If all goes well, I'll soon be back working on the farm, with a wife by my side."

Reluctantly, Eragon admitted that Roran had a point. He shook his head, unable to tell whether he felt more surprised or angry. "All I can do is wish you luck, but Garrow might fly into a rage."

"We'll see."

They continued on, silence standing between them. Eragon's thoughts were in turmoil, and it would take time before he could face this change with any happiness. When they got home, Roran did not immediately tell Garrow his plans, but Eragon knew he soon would.

Eragon went to see his dragon, for the first time since it had called his name. Knowing that it was no lesser than himself made him uneasy all the way there.

Eragon.

"Is that the only thing you can say?" he asked irritably.

Yes.

The unexpected answer made his eyes widen, and then he dropped heavily onto the ground. Now it even had a sense of humor. What next? Unable to contain himself, he snapped a dead branch beneath his foot. Roran's decision had put him in a foul mood. The dragon sent him a questioning feeling, so he told it what had happened. At first, he merely raised his voice; then he began shouting senselessly into the air, and at last he hung his head and slammed his fist into the ground.

"I don't want him to leave. That's all." He spoke helplessly. The dragon watched him without revealing anything, listening and learning. Eragon muttered a few curses and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked thoughtfully at the dragon and said, "You need a name. Today I heard a few interesting ones. Maybe there's one you'll like." He silently reviewed the list Brom had given him and found two names that appealed to him. They were mighty and noble, and pleasing to the ear. "What do you think of Vanilor, or his successor, Eridor? They were both great dragons."

No, the dragon said. It sounded as if all his effort had merely secretly amused it. Eragon.

"That's my name. You can't call yourself that." He rubbed his chin. "Well, if you don't like those, there are others." He continued to recall the long list of names, but the dragon rejected every suggestion. It seemed to be laughing at Eragon for failing to understand something, but he never noticed, only kept racking his brains. "There's Ingothold. He killed..." Suddenly, inspiration flashed through him. That's the problem! I've been choosing from male names. But you're a she!

Yes. The dragon drew her wings together behind her with reserved dignity.

Now that he knew what he was looking for, he offered half a dozen names. Miremel was only mentioned in passing; it was unsuitable—after all, it was the name of a brown dragon. Opheila and Lenora were rejected as well. Eragon was almost ready to give up when he suddenly remembered the last name Brom had murmured. Eragon liked it, but would the dragon?

He asked her:

"Would you like to be called Saphira?" Her wise eyes looked at him. Deep in his heart, he felt her satisfaction.

Yes. Something seemed to be playing in his mind, her answer stirring softly like music drifting from the distant horizon. He grinned at her, and Saphira murmured softly.

By dinner, the sun had set. Outside, a wild wind howled, shaking the house. Eragon kept his eyes fixed on Roran, waiting for the inevitable moment. Finally—"Someone is willing to hire me to work at a mill in Therinsford... I want to go."

Garrow calmly swallowed his mouthful, set down his fork, leaned back in his chair, raised his arms, and laced his fingers behind his head. Then he dryly uttered a single sentence: "Why?"

Roran explained his reasons while Eragon ate distractedly.

"I see." Garrow said only that, then stared at the ceiling in silence. No one moved; they were all waiting for his reaction. "When are you leaving?"

"What?" Roran was startled.

Garrow leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Did you think I would stop you? I hope you'll start a family soon too. Seeing this household flourish again would be a joyful thing. Katrina would be fortunate to marry you."

Disbelief filled Roran's face, then he relaxed and smiled in relief. "So when are you leaving?" Garrow asked again.

Only then could Roran speak. "When Dempton comes back for the millstones."

Garrow nodded. "And that will be...?"

"Two weeks from now."

"Good. We'll have time to prepare. It will take some getting used to, with only the two of us left at home, but if nothing goes wrong, it won't be for long." He looked across the table. "Eragon, did you know about this?"

With a thoroughly unhappy expression, Eragon shrugged. "I only found out today... It's madness."

Garrow rubbed his face with one hand. "This is the natural course of life." He rose from his chair. "Everything will be all right. Time will set everything in order. But for now, we need to wash the dishes." Eragon and Roran silently helped him nearby.