"Tornac, after the man who taught me how to fight." Murtagh patted the horse's side. "He was given to me when he was just a foal. You'd be hard pressed to find a more courageous and intelligent animal in all of Alagaesia, Saphira excepted, of course."

"He is a magnificent beast," said Eragon admiringly.

Murtagh laughed. "Yes, but Snowfire is as close to his match as I've ever seen."

They covered only a short distance that day, yet Eragon was glad to be on the move again. It kept his mind off other, more morbid matters. They were riding through unsettled land. The road to Dras-Leona was several leagues to their left. They would skirt the city by a wide margin on the way to Gil'ead, which was almost as far to the north as Carvahall.

They sold Cadoc in a small village. As the horse was led away by his new owner, Eragon regretfully pocketed the few coins he had gained from the transaction. It was difficult to relinquish Cadoc after crossing half of Alagaesia-and outracing Urgals-on him.

The days rolled by unnoticed as their small group traveled in isolation. Eragon was pleased to find that he and Murtagh shared many of the same interests; they spent hours debating the finer points of archery and hunting.

There was one subject, however, they avoided discussing by unspoken consent: their pasts. Eragon did not explain how he had found Saphira, met Brom, or where he came from. Murtagh was likewise mute as to why the Empire was chasing him. It was a simple arrangement, but it worked.

Yet because of their proximity, it was inevitable that they learned about each other. Eragon was intrigued by Murtagh's familiarity with the power struggles and politics within the Empire. He seemed to know what every noble and courtier was doing and how it affected everyone else. Eragon listened carefully, suspicions whirling through his mind.

The first week went by without any sign of the Ra'zac, which allayed some of Eragon's fears. Even so, they still kept watches at night. Eragon had expected to encounter Urgals on the way to Gil'ead, but they found no trace of them. I thought these remote places would be teeming with monsters, I thought these remote places would be teeming with monsters, he mused. he mused. Still, I'm not one to complain if they've gone elsewhere. Still, I'm not one to complain if they've gone elsewhere.

He dreamed of the woman no more. And though he tried to scry her, he saw only an empty cell. Whenever they passed a town or city, he checked to see if it had a jail. If it did, he would disguise himself and visit it, but she was not to be found. His disguises became increasingly elaborate as he saw notices featuring his name and description-and offering a substantial reward for his capture-posted in various towns.

Their travels north forced them toward the capital, Uru'baen. It was a heavily populated area, which made it difficult to escape notice. Soldiers patrolled the roads and guarded the bridges. It took them several tense, irritable days to skirt the capital.

Once they were safely past Uru'baen, they found themselves on the edge of a vast plain. It was the same one that Eragon had crossed after leaving Palancar Valley, except now he was on the opposite side. They kept to the perimeter of the plain and continued north, following the Ramr River.

Eragon's sixteenth birthday came and went during this time. At Carvahall a celebration would have been held for his entrance into manhood, but in the wilderness he did not even mention it to Murtagh.

At nearly six months of age, Saphira was much larger. Her wings were massive; every inch of them was needed to lift her muscular body and thick bones. The fangs that jutted from her jaw were nearly as thick around as Eragon's fist, their points as sharp as Zar'roc.

The day finally came when Eragon unwrapped his side for the last time. His ribs had healed completely, leaving him with only a small scar where the Ra'zac's boot had cut his side. As Saphira watched, he stretched slowly, then with increasing vigor when there was no pain. He flexed his muscles, pleased. In an earlier time he would have smiled, but after Brom's death, such expressions did not come easily.

He tugged his tunic on and walked back to the small fire they had made. Murtagh sat next to it, whittling a piece of wood. Eragon drew Zar'roc. Murtagh tensed, though his face remained calm. "Now that I am strong enough, would you like to spar?" asked Eragon.

Murtagh tossed the wood to the side. "With sharpened swords? We could kill each other."

"Here, give me your sword," said Eragon. Murtagh hesitated, then handed over his long hand-and-a-half sword. Eragon blocked the edges with magic, the way Brom had taught him. While Murtagh examined the blade, Eragon said, "I can undo that once we're finished."

Murtagh checked the balance of his sword. Satisfied, he said, "It will do." Eragon safed Zar'roc, settled into a crouch, then swung at Murtagh's shoulder. Their swords met in midair. Eragon disengaged with a flourish, thrust, and then riposted as Murtagh parried, dancing away.

He's fast! thought Eragon. thought Eragon.

They struggled back and forth, trying to batter each other down. After a particularly intense series of blows, Murtagh started laughing. Not only was it impossible for either of them to gain an advantage, but they were so evenly matched that they tired at the same rate. Acknowledging with grins each other's skill, they fought on until their arms were leaden and sweat poured off their sides.

Finally Eragon called, "Enough, halt!" Murtagh stopped in mid-blow and sat down with a gasp. Eragon staggered to the ground, his chest heaving. None of his fights with Brom had been this fierce.

As he gulped air, Murtagh exclaimed, "You're amazing! I've studied swordplay all my life, but never have I fought one like you. You could be the king's weapon master if you wanted to."

"You're just as good," observed Eragon, still panting. "The man who taught you, Tornac, could make a fortune with a fencing school. People would come from all parts of Alagaesia to learn from him."

"He's dead," said Murtagh shortly.

"I'm sorry."

Thus it became their custom to fight in the evening, which kept them lean and fit, like a pair of matched blades. With his return to health, Eragon also resumed practicing magic. Murtagh was curious about it and soon revealed that he knew a surprising amount about how it worked, though he lacked the precise details and could not use it himself. Whenever Eragon practiced speaking in the ancient language, Murtagh would listen quietly, occasionally asking what a word meant.

On the outskirts of Gil'ead they stopped the horses side by side. It had taken them nearly a month to reach it, during which time spring had finally nudged away the remnants of winter. Eragon had felt himself changing during the trip, growing stronger and calmer. He still thought about Brom and spoke about him with Saphira, but for the most part he tried not to awaken painful memories.

From a distance they could see the city was a rough, barbaric place, filled with log houses and yapping dogs. There was a rambling stone fortress at its center. The air was hazy with blue smoke. The place seemed more like a temporary trading post than a permanent city. Five miles beyond it was the hazy outline of Isenstar Lake.

They decided to camp two miles from the city, for safety. While their dinner simmered, Murtagh said, "I'm not sure you should be the one to go into Gil'ead."

"Why? I can disguise myself well enough," said Eragon. "And Dormnad will want to see the gedwey ignasia as proof that I really am a Rider."

"Perhaps," said Murtagh, "but the Empire wants you much more than me. If I'm captured, I could eventually escape. But if you you are taken, they'll drag you to the king, where you'll be in for a slow death by torture-unless you join him. Plus, Gil'ead is one of the army's major staging points. Those aren't houses out there; they're barracks. Going in there would be like handing yourself to the king on a gilded platter." are taken, they'll drag you to the king, where you'll be in for a slow death by torture-unless you join him. Plus, Gil'ead is one of the army's major staging points. Those aren't houses out there; they're barracks. Going in there would be like handing yourself to the king on a gilded platter."

Eragon asked Saphira for her opinion. She wrapped her tail around his legs and lay next to him. You shouldn't have to ask me; he speaks sense. There are certain words I can give him that will convince Dormnad of his truthfulness. And Murtagh's right; if anyone is to risk capture it should be him, because he would live through it. You shouldn't have to ask me; he speaks sense. There are certain words I can give him that will convince Dormnad of his truthfulness. And Murtagh's right; if anyone is to risk capture it should be him, because he would live through it.

He grimaced. I don't like letting him put himself in danger for us. I don't like letting him put himself in danger for us. "All right, you can go," he said reluctantly. "But if anything goes wrong, I'm coming after you." "All right, you can go," he said reluctantly. "But if anything goes wrong, I'm coming after you."

Murtagh laughed. "That would be fit for a legend: how a lone Rider took on the king's army single-handedly." He chuckled again and stood. "Is there anything I should know before going?"

"Shouldn't we rest and wait until tomorrow?" asked Eragon cautiously.

"Why? The longer we stay here, the greater the chance that we'll be discovered. If this Dormnad can take you to the Varden, then he needs to be found as quickly as possible. Neither of us should remain near Gil'ead longer than a few days."

Again wisdom flies from his mouth, commented Saphira dryly. She told Eragon what should be said to Dormnad, and he relayed the information to Murtagh. commented Saphira dryly. She told Eragon what should be said to Dormnad, and he relayed the information to Murtagh.

"Very well," said Murtagh, adjusting his sword. "Unless there's trouble, I'll be back within a couple of hours. Make sure there's some food left for me." With a wave of his hand, he jumped onto Tornac and rode away. Eragon sat by the fire, tapping Zar'roc's pommel apprehensively.

Hours passed, but Murtagh did not return. Eragon paced around the fire, Zar'roc in hand, while Saphira watched Gil'ead attentively. Only her eyes moved. Neither of them voiced their worries, though Eragon unobtrusively prepared to leave-in case a detachment of soldiers left the city and headed toward their camp.

Look, snapped Saphira. snapped Saphira.

Eragon swiveled toward Gil'ead, alert. He saw a distant horseman exit the city and ride furiously toward their camp. I don't like this, I don't like this, he said as he climbed onto Saphira. he said as he climbed onto Saphira. Be ready to fly. Be ready to fly.

I'm prepared for more than that.

As the rider approached, Eragon recognized Murtagh bent low over Tornac. No one seemed to be pursuing him, but he did not slow his reckless pace. He galloped into the camp and jumped to the ground, drawing his sword. "What's wrong?" asked Eragon.

Murtagh scowled. "Did anyone follow me from Gil'ead?"

"We didn't see anyone."

"Good. Then let me eat before I explain. I'm starving." He seized a bowl and began eating with gusto. After a few sloppy bites, he said through a full mouth, "Dormnad has agreed to meet us outside Gil'ead at sunrise tomorrow. If he's satisfied you really are a Rider and that it's not a trap, he'll take you to the Varden."

"Where are we supposed to meet him?" asked Eragon.

Murtagh pointed west. "On a small hill across the road."

"So what happened?"

Murtagh spooned more food into his bowl. "It's a rather simple thing, but all the more deadly because of it: I was seen in the street by someone who knows me. I did the only thing I could and ran away. It was too late, though; he recognized me."

It was unfortunate, but Eragon was unsure how bad it really was. "Since I don't know your friend, I have to ask: Will he tell anyone?"

Murtagh gave a strained laugh. "If you had had met him, that wouldn't need answering. His mouth is loosely hinged and hangs open all the time, vomiting whatever happens to be in his mind. The question isn't met him, that wouldn't need answering. His mouth is loosely hinged and hangs open all the time, vomiting whatever happens to be in his mind. The question isn't whether whether he will tell people, but he will tell people, but whom whom he will tell. If word of this reaches the wrong ears, we'll be in trouble." he will tell. If word of this reaches the wrong ears, we'll be in trouble."

"I doubt that soldiers will be sent to search for you in the dark," Eragon pointed out. "We can at least count on being safe until morning, and by then, if all goes well, we'll be leaving with Dormnad."

Murtagh shook his head. "No, only you will accompany him. As I said before, I won't go to the Varden."

Eragon stared at him unhappily. He wanted Murtagh to stay. They had become friends during their travels, and he was loath to tear that apart. He started to protest, but Saphira hushed him and said gently, Wait until tomorrow. Now is not the time. Wait until tomorrow. Now is not the time.

Very well, he said glumly. They talked until the stars were bright in the sky, then slept as Saphira took the first watch. he said glumly. They talked until the stars were bright in the sky, then slept as Saphira took the first watch.

Eragon woke two hours before dawn, his palm tingling. Everything was still and quiet, but something sought his attention, like an itch in his mind. He buckled on Zar'roc and stood, careful not to make a sound. Saphira looked at him curiously, her large eyes bright. What is it? What is it? she asked. she asked.

I don't know, said Eragon. He saw nothing amiss. said Eragon. He saw nothing amiss.

Saphira sniffed the air curiously. She hissed a little and lifted her head. I smell horses nearby, but they're not moving. They reek with an unfamiliar stench.

Eragon crept to Murtagh and shook his shoulder. Murtagh woke with a start, yanked a dagger from under his blankets, then looked at Eragon quizzically. Eragon motioned for him to be silent, whispering, "There are horses close by."

Murtagh wordlessly drew his sword. They quietly stationed themselves on either side of Saphira, prepared for an attack. As they waited, the morning star rose in the east. A squirrel chattered.

Then an angry snarl from behind made Eragon spin around, sword held high. A broad Urgal stood at the edge of the camp, carrying a mattock with a nasty spike. Where did he come from? We haven't seen their tracks anywhere! Where did he come from? We haven't seen their tracks anywhere! thought Eragon. The Urgal roared and waved his weapon, but did not charge. thought Eragon. The Urgal roared and waved his weapon, but did not charge.

"Brisingr!" barked Eragon, stabbing out with magic. The Urgal's face contorted with terror as he exploded in a flash of blue light. Blood splattered Eragon, and a brown mass flew through the air. Behind him, Saphira bugled with alarm and reared. Eragon twisted around. While he had been occupied with the first Urgal, a group of them had run up from the side. Of all the stupid tricks to fall for! Of all the stupid tricks to fall for!

Steel clashed loudly as Murtagh attacked the Urgals. Eragon tried to join him but was blocked by four of the monsters. The first one swung a sword at his shoulder. He ducked the blow and killed the Urgal with magic. He caught a second one in the throat with Zar'roc, wheeled wildly, and slashed a third through the heart. As he did, the fourth Urgal rushed at him, swinging a heavy club.

Eragon saw him coming and tried to lift his sword to block the club, but was a second too slow. As the club came down on his head, he screamed, "Fly, Saphira!" A burst of light filled his eyes and he lost consciousness.

DU SuNDAVAR FREOHR The first things Eragon noticed were that he was warm and dry, his cheek was pressed against rough fabric, and his hands were unbound. He stirred, but it was minutes before he was able to push himself upright and examine his surroundings.

He was sitting in a cell on a narrow, bumpy cot. A barred window was set high in the wall. The iron-bound door with a small window in its top half, barred like the one in the wall, was shut securely.

Dried blood cracked on Eragon's face when he moved. It took him a moment to remember that it was not his. His head hurt horribly-which was to be expected, considering the blow he had taken-and his mind was strangely fuzzy. He tried to use magic, but could not concentrate well enough to remember any of the ancient words. They must have drugged me, They must have drugged me, he finally decided. he finally decided.

With a groan he got up, missing the familiar weight of Zar'roc on his hip, and lurched to the window in the wall. He managed to see out of it by standing on his toes. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the bright light outside. The window was level with the ground. A street full of busy people ran past the side of his cell, beyond which were rows of identical log houses.

Feeling weak, Eragon slid to the floor and stared at it blankly. What he had seen outside disturbed him, but he was unsure why. Cursing his sluggish thinking, he leaned back his head and tried to clear his mind. A man entered the room and set a tray of food and a pitcher of water on the cot. Wasn't that nice of him? Wasn't that nice of him? thought Eragon, smiling pleasantly. He took a couple of bites of the thin cabbage soup and stale bread, but was barely able to stomach it. thought Eragon, smiling pleasantly. He took a couple of bites of the thin cabbage soup and stale bread, but was barely able to stomach it. I wish he had brought me something better, I wish he had brought me something better, he complained, dropping the spoon. he complained, dropping the spoon.

He suddenly realized what was wrong. I was captured by Urgals, not men! How did I end up here? I was captured by Urgals, not men! How did I end up here? His befuddled brain grappled with the paradox unsuccessfully. With a mental shrug he filed the discovery away for a time when he would know what to do with it. His befuddled brain grappled with the paradox unsuccessfully. With a mental shrug he filed the discovery away for a time when he would know what to do with it.

He sat on the cot and gazed into the distance. Hours later more food was brought in. And I was just getting hungry, And I was just getting hungry, he thought thickly. This time he was able to eat without feeling sick. When he finished, he decided it was time for a nap. After all, he was on a bed; what else was he going to do? he thought thickly. This time he was able to eat without feeling sick. When he finished, he decided it was time for a nap. After all, he was on a bed; what else was he going to do?

His mind drifted off; sleep began to envelop him. Then a gate clanged open somewhere, and the din of steel-shod boots marching on a stone floor filled the air. The noise grew louder and louder until it sounded like someone banging a pot inside Eragon's head. He grumbled to himself. Can't they let me rest in peace? Can't they let me rest in peace? Fuzzy curiosity slowly overcame his exhaustion, so he dragged himself to the door, blinking like an owl. Fuzzy curiosity slowly overcame his exhaustion, so he dragged himself to the door, blinking like an owl.

Through the window he saw a wide hallway nearly ten yards across. The opposing wall was lined with cells similar to his own. A column of soldiers marched through the hall, their swords drawn and ready. Every man was dressed in matching armor; their faces bore the same hard expression, and their feet came down on the floor with mechanical precision, never missing a beat. The sound was hypnotic. It was an impressive display of force.

Eragon watched the soldiers until he grew bored. Just then he noticed a break in the middle of the column. Carried between two burly men was an unconscious woman.

Her long midnight-black hair obscured her face, despite a leather strip bound around her head to hold the tresses back. She was dressed in dark leather pants and shirt. Wrapped around her slim waist was a shiny belt, from which hung an empty sheath on her right hip. Knee-high boots covered her calves and small feet.

Her head lolled to the side. Eragon gasped, feeling like he had been struck in the stomach. She was the woman from his dreams. Her sculpted face was as perfect as a painting. Her round chin, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes gave her an exotic look. The only mar in her beauty was a scrape along her jaw; nevertheless, she was the fairest woman he had ever seen.

Eragon's blood burned as he looked at her. Something awoke in him-something he had never felt before. It was like an obsession, except stronger, almost a fevered madness. Then the woman's hair shifted, revealing pointed ears. A chill crept over him. She was an elf.

The soldiers continued marching, taking her from his sight. Next strode a tall, proud man, a sable cape billowing behind him. His face was deathly white; his hair was red. Red like blood.

As he walked by Eragon's cell, the man turned his head and looked squarely at him with maroon eyes. His upper lip pulled back in a feral smile, revealing teeth filed to points. Eragon shrank back. He knew what the man was. A Shade. A Shade. So help me . . . a Shade. So help me . . . a Shade. The procession continued, and the Shade vanished from view. The procession continued, and the Shade vanished from view.

Eragon sank to the floor, hugging himself. Even in his bewildered state, he knew that the presence of a Shade meant that evil was loose in the land. Whenever they appeared, rivers of blood were sure to follow. What is a Shade doing here? The soldiers should have killed him on sight! What is a Shade doing here? The soldiers should have killed him on sight! Then his thoughts returned to the elf-woman, and he was grasped by strange emotions again. Then his thoughts returned to the elf-woman, and he was grasped by strange emotions again.

I have to escape. But with his mind clouded, his determination quickly faded. He returned to the cot. By the time the hallway fell silent, he was fast asleep. But with his mind clouded, his determination quickly faded. He returned to the cot. By the time the hallway fell silent, he was fast asleep.

As soon as Eragon opened his eyes, he knew something was different. It was easier for him to think; he realized that he was in Gil'ead. They made a mistake; the drug's wearing off! They made a mistake; the drug's wearing off! Hopeful, he tried to contact Saphira and use magic, but both activities were still beyond his reach. A pit of worry twisted inside him as he wondered if she and Murtagh had managed to escape. He stretched his arms and looked out the window. The city was just awakening; the street was empty except for two beggars. Hopeful, he tried to contact Saphira and use magic, but both activities were still beyond his reach. A pit of worry twisted inside him as he wondered if she and Murtagh had managed to escape. He stretched his arms and looked out the window. The city was just awakening; the street was empty except for two beggars.

He reached for the water pitcher, ruminating about the elf and Shade. As he started to drink, he noticed that the water had a faint odor, as if it contained a few drops of rancid perfume. Grimacing, he set the pitcher down. The drug must be in there and maybe in the food as well! The drug must be in there and maybe in the food as well! He remembered that when the Ra'zac had drugged him, it had taken hours to wear off. He remembered that when the Ra'zac had drugged him, it had taken hours to wear off. If I can keep from drinking and eating for long enough, I should be able to use magic. Then I can rescue the elf. . . . If I can keep from drinking and eating for long enough, I should be able to use magic. Then I can rescue the elf. . . . The thought made him smile. He sat in a corner, dreaming about how it could be done. The thought made him smile. He sat in a corner, dreaming about how it could be done.

The portly jailer entered the cell an hour later with a tray of food. Eragon waited until he departed, then carried the tray to the window. The meal was composed only of bread, cheese, and an onion, but the smell made his stomach grumble hungrily. Resigning himself to a miserable day, he shoved the food out the window and onto the street, hoping that no one would notice.

Eragon devoted himself to overcoming the drug's effects. He had difficulty concentrating for any length of time, but as the day progressed, his mental acuity increased. He began to remember several of the ancient words, though nothing happened when he uttered them. He wanted to scream with frustration.

When lunch was delivered, he pushed it out the window after his breakfast. His hunger was distracting, but it was the lack of water that taxed him most. The back of his throat was parched. Thoughts of drinking cool water tortured him as each breath dried his mouth and throat a bit more. Even so, he forced himself to ignore the pitcher.

He was diverted from his discomfort by a commotion in the hall. A man argued in a loud voice, "You can't go in there! The orders were clear: no one is to see him!"

"Really? Will you be the one to die stopping me, Captain?" cut in a smooth voice.

There was a subdued, "No . . . but the king-"

"I will handle the king," interrupted the second person. "Now, unlock the door." will handle the king," interrupted the second person. "Now, unlock the door."