Inheritance

FIRE IN THE NIGHT

When darkness fell, Eragon cast a spell to hide himself. Then he patted Saphira on the nose and set out on foot for the Varden’s camp.

Be careful, she said.

Invisible as he was, it was easy to slip past the warriors who kept watch around the periphery of the camp. As long as he was quiet, and as long as the men did not catch sight of his footprints or shadows, he could move about freely.

He wound his way between the woolen tents until he found Roran and Katrina’s. He rapped his knuckles against the central pole, and Roran popped his head out.

“Where are you?” whispered Roran. “Hurry in!”

Releasing the flow of magic, Eragon revealed himself. Roran flinched, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the dark interior of the tent.

“Welcome, Eragon,” said Katrina, rising from where she sat on their tiny cot.

“Katrina.”

“It’s good to see you again.” She gave him a quick embrace.

“Will this take long?” Roran asked.

Eragon shook his head. “It shouldn’t.” Squatting on his heels, he thought for a moment, then began to chant softly in the ancient language. First, he placed spells around Katrina, to protect her against any who might harm her. He made the spells more extensive than he had originally planned, in an attempt to ensure that she and her unborn child would be able to escape Galbatorix’s forces should something happen to both him and Roran. “These wards will shield you from a certain number of attacks,” he told her. “I can’t tell you how many exactly, because it depends on the strength of the blows or spells. I’ve given you another defense as well. If you’re in danger, say the word frethya two times and you’ll vanish from sight.”

“Frethya,” she murmured.

“Exactly. It won’t hide you completely, however. The sounds you make can still be heard, and your footprints will still be visible. No matter what happens, don’t go into water or your position will be obvious at once. The spell will draw its energy from you, which means that you’ll tire faster than usual, and I wouldn’t recommend sleeping while it’s active. You might not wake up again. To end the spell, simply say frethya letta.”

“Frethya letta.”

“Good.”

Then Eragon turned his attention to Roran. He spent longer placing the wards around his cousin-for it was likely Roran would confront a greater number of threats-and he endowed the spells with more energy than he thought Roran would have approved of, but Eragon did not care. He could not bear the thought of defeating Galbatorix only to find that Roran had died during the battle.

Afterward, he said, “I did something different this time, something I should have thought of long ago. In addition to the usual wards, I gave you a few that will feed directly off your own strength. As long as you’re alive, they’ll shield you from danger. But”-he lifted a finger-“they’ll only activate once the other wards are exhausted, and if the demands placed upon them are too great, you’ll fall unconscious and then you’ll die.”

“So in trying to save me, they may kill me?” Roran asked.

Eragon nodded. “Don’t let anyone drop another wall on you, and you’ll be fine. It’s a risk, but worth it, I think, if it keeps a horse from trampling you or a javelin from going through you. Also, I gave you the same spell as Katrina. All you have to do is say frethya twice and frethya letta to turn yourself invisible and visible at will.” He shrugged. “You might find that useful during the battle.”

Roran gave an evil chuckle. “That I will.”

“Just make sure the elves don’t mistake you for one of Galbatorix’s spellcasters.”

As Eragon rose to his feet, Katrina stood as well. She surprised him by grasping one of his hands and pressing it against her chest. “Thank you, Eragon,” she said softly. “You’re a good man.”

He flushed, embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

“Guard yourself well tomorrow. You mean a great deal to both of us, and I expect you to be around to act the doting uncle for our child. I’ll be most put out if you get yourself killed.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. Saphira won’t let me do anything foolish.”

“Good.” She kissed him on both cheeks, then released him. “Farewell, Eragon.”

“Farewell, Katrina.”

Roran accompanied him outside. Motioning toward the tent, Roran said, “Thank you.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

They gripped each other by the forearms and hugged; then Roran said, “Luck be with you.”

Eragon took a long, unsteady breath. “Luck be with you.” He tightened his grip on Roran’s forearm, reluctant to let go, for he knew that they might never meet again. “If Saphira and I don’t come back,” he said, “will you see to it that we’re buried at home? I wouldn’t want our bones to lie here.”

Roran raised his brows. “Saphira would be difficult to lug all the way back.”

“The elves would help, I’m sure.”

“Then yes, I promise. Is there anywhere in particular you would like?”

“The top of the bald hill,” said Eragon, referring to a foothill near their farm. The bare-topped hill had always seemed like an excellent location for a castle, something they had discussed at great length when younger.

Roran nodded. “And if I don’t come back-”

“We’ll do the same for you.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask. If I don’t … you’ll see to Katrina?”

“Of course. You know that.”

“Aye, but I had to be sure.” They gazed at each other for another minute. Finally, Roran said, “We’ll be expecting you for dinner tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

Then Roran slipped back into the tent, leaving Eragon standing alone in the night.

He looked up at the stars and felt a touch of grief, as if he had already lost someone close to him.

After a few moments, he padded away into the shadows, relying upon the darkness to conceal him.

He searched through the camp until he found the tent Horst and Elain shared with their baby girl, Hope. The three of them were still awake, as the infant was crying.

“Eragon!” Horst exclaimed softly when Eragon made his presence known. “Come in! Come in! We haven’t seen much of you since Dras-Leona! How are you?”

Eragon spent the better part of an hour talking with them-he did not tell them of the Eldunari, but he did tell them of his trip to Vroengard-and when Hope finally fell asleep, he bade them farewell and returned to the night.

He next sought out Jeod, whom he found reading scrolls by candlelight while his wife, Helen, slept. When Eragon knocked and stuck his face into the tent, the scarred, thin-faced man put aside his scrolls and left the tent to join Eragon.

Jeod had many questions, and while Eragon did not answer them all, he answered enough that he thought Jeod would be able to guess much of what was about to happen.

Afterward, Jeod laid a hand on Eragon’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you the task that lies ahead. Brom would be proud of your courage.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m sure of it.… If I don’t see you again, you should know: I’ve written a small account of your experiences and of the events that led to them-mainly my adventures with Brom in recovering Saphira’s egg.” Eragon gave him a look of surprise. “I may not get the opportunity to finish it, but I thought it would make a useful addition to Heslant’s work in Domia abr Wyrda.”

Eragon laughed. “I think that would be most fitting. However, if you and I are both alive and free after tomorrow, there are some things I should tell you which will make your account that much more complete and that much more interesting.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Eragon wandered through the camp for another hour or so, pausing by the fires where men, dwarves, and Urgals still sat awake. He spoke briefly with each of the warriors he met, inquired whether they were being fairly treated, commiserated about their sore feet and short rations, and sometimes exchanged a quip or two. He hoped that by showing himself among them, he could lift the warriors’ spirits and strengthen their resolve, and thus spread a sense of optimism throughout the army. The Urgals, he found, were in the best mood; they seemed delighted about the upcoming battle and the opportunities for glory that it would provide.

He had another purpose as well: to spread false information. Whenever someone asked him about attacking Uru’baen, he hinted that he and Saphira would be among the battalion to besiege the northwestern section of the city wall. He hoped that Galbatorix’s spies would repeat the lie to the king as soon as the alarms woke Galbatorix the following morn.

As he looked into the faces of those listening to him, Eragon could not help but wonder which, if any, were Galbatorix’s servants. The thought made him uncomfortable, and he found himself listening for footsteps behind him when he moved from one fire to the next.

At last, when he was satisfied that he had spoken to enough warriors to ensure that the information would reach Galbatorix, he left the fires behind and made his way to a tent that was set slightly away from the others by the southern edge of the camp.

He knocked on the center pole: once, twice, three times. There was no response, so he knocked again, this time louder and longer.

A moment later, he heard a sleepy groan and the rustle of shifting blankets. He waited patiently until a small hand pulled aside the entrance flap and the witch-child, Elva, emerged. She wore a dark robe much too large for her, and by the faint light of a torch some yards away, he could see a frown upon her sharp little face.

“What do you want, Eragon?” she demanded.

“Can’t you tell?”

Her frown deepened. “No, I can’t, only that you want something badly enough to wake me in the middle of the night, which even an idiot could see. What is it? I get little enough rest as is, so this had best be important.”

“It is.”

He spoke without interruption for several minutes, describing his plan, then said, “Without you, it won’t work. You’re the point upon which it all turns.”

She gave an ugly laugh. “Such irony, the mighty warrior relying upon a child to kill the one he cannot.”

“Will you help?”

The girl looked down and scuffed her bare foot against the ground.

“If you do, all this”-he motioned toward the camp and the city beyond-“may end far sooner, and then you will not have to endure quite so much-”

“I’ll help.” She stamped her foot and glared at him. “You don’t have to bribe me. I was going to help anyway. I’m not about to let Galbatorix destroy the Varden just because I don’t like you. You’re not that important, Eragon. Besides, I made a promise to Nasuada, and I intend to keep it.” She cocked her head. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something you’re afraid Galbatorix will find out before we attack. Something about-”

The sound of clanking chains interrupted her.

For a moment, Eragon was confused. Then he realized the sound was coming from the city.

He put his hand on his sword. “Ready yourself,” he said to Elva. “We may have to leave at once.”

Without argument, the girl turned around and disappeared inside the tent.

Reaching out with his mind, Eragon contacted Saphira. Do you hear it?

Yes.

If we have to, we’ll meet you by the road.

The clanking continued for a short while, then there was a hollow boom, followed by silence.

Eragon listened as intently as he could but heard nothing more. He was just about to cast a spell to increase the sensitivity of his ears when there was a dull thud, accompanied by a series of sharp clacks.

Then another …

And another …

A shiver of horror ran down Eragon’s spine. The sound was unmistakably that of a dragon walking on stone. But what a dragon, to hear its steps from over a mile away!

Shruikan, he thought, and his gut clenched with dread.

Throughout the camp, alarm horns blared, and men, dwarves, and Urgals lit torches as the army scrambled to wakefulness.

Eragon spared Elva a sideways glance as she hurried out of the tent, followed by Greta, the old woman who was her caretaker. The girl had donned a short red tunic, over which she wore a mail hauberk just her size.

The footsteps in Uru’baen ceased. The dragon’s shadowy bulk blotted out most of the lanterns and watchlights in the city. How big is he? Eragon wondered, dismayed. Bigger than Glaedr, that was certain. As big as Belgabad? Eragon could not tell. Not yet.

Then the dragon leaped up and out from the city, and he unfurled his massive wings, and their opening was like a hundred black sails filling with wind. When he flapped, the air shook as if from a clap of thunder, and throughout the countryside, dogs bayed and roosters crowed.

Without thinking, Eragon crouched, feeling like a mouse hiding from an eagle.

Elva tugged on the hem of his tunic. “We should go,” she insisted.

“Wait,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

Great swaths of stars vanished as Shruikan wheeled across the sky, climbing higher and higher. Eragon tried to guess the dragon’s size from the outline of his shape, but the night was too dark and the distance too hard to determine. Whatever Shruikan’s exact proportions, he was frighteningly large. At only a century of age, he ought to have been smaller than he was, but Galbatorix seemed to have accelerated his growth, even as he had Thorn’s.

As he watched the shadow drifting above, Eragon hoped with all his might that Galbatorix was not with the dragon, or if he was, that he would not bother to examine the minds of those below. If he did, he would discover-

“Eldunari,” gasped Elva. “That’s what you’re hiding!” Behind her, the girl’s caretaker frowned with puzzlement and started to ask a question.

“Quiet!” growled Eragon. Elva opened her mouth, and he clamped his hand over it, silencing her. “Not here, not now,” he warned. She nodded, and he removed his hand.

At that very moment, a bar of fire as wide as the Anora River arced across the sky. Shruikan whipped his head back and forth, spraying the torrent of blinding flames above the camp and the surrounding fields, and the night filled with a sound like a crashing waterfall. Heat stung Eragon’s upturned face. Then the flames evaporated, like mist in the sun, leaving behind a throbbing afterimage and a smoky, sulfurous smell.

The huge dragon turned and flapped once more-shaking the air-before his formless black shape glided back down toward the city and settled among the buildings. Footsteps followed, then the clanking of the chains, and finally the echoing crack of a gate slamming shut.

Eragon released the breath he had been holding and swallowed, though his throat was dry. His heart was pounding so hard, it was painful. We have to fight … that? he thought, all his old fears rushing back.

“Why didn’t he attack?” asked Elva in a small, fearful voice.

“He wanted to frighten us.” Eragon frowned. “Or distract us.” He searched through the minds of the Varden until he found Jormundur, then gave the warrior instructions to check that all the sentries were still at their posts and to redouble the watch for the remainder of the night. To Elva, he said, “Were you able to feel anything from Shruikan?”

The girl shuddered. “Pain. Great pain. And anger too. If he could, he would kill every creature he met and burn every plant, until there were none left. He’s utterly mad.”

“Is there no way to reach him?”

“None. The kindest thing to do would be to release him from his misery.”

The knowledge made Eragon sad. He had always hoped that they might be able to save Shruikan from Galbatorix. Subdued, he said, “We had best be off. Are you ready?”

Elva explained to her caretaker that she was leaving, which displeased the old woman, but Elva soothed her worries with a few quick words. The girl’s power to see into others’ hearts never ceased to amaze Eragon, and trouble him as well.

Once Greta had granted her consent, Eragon hid both Elva and himself with magic, and then they set off together toward the hill where Saphira was waiting.