There was not enough time to react . . . not enough time. . . .

The bandits who attacked during the night, killing Haeg. The rage Carsaib had felt and the spirits he had summoned for vengeance. But the spirits were stronger than he expected. They turned on him, possessing mind and body. He had screamed. He was-I AM DURZA!

The sword smote heavily across Eragon's back, cutting through both mail and skin. He screamed as pain blasted through him, forcing him to his knees. Agony bowed his body in half and obliterated all thought. He swayed, barely conscious, hot blood running down the small of his back. Durza said something he could not hear.

In anguish, Eragon raised his eyes to the heavens, tears streaming down his cheeks. Everything had failed. The Varden and dwarves were destroyed. He was defeated. Saphira would give herself up for his sake-she had done it before-and Arya would be recaptured or killed. Why had it ended like this? What justice could this be? All was for nothing.

As he looked at Isidar Mithrim far above his tortured frame, a flash of light erupted in his eyes, blinding him. A second later, the chamber rang with a deafening report. Then his eyes cleared, and he gaped with disbelief.

The star sapphire had shattered. An expanding torus of huge dagger-like pieces plummeted toward the distant floor-the shimmering shards near the walls. In the center of the chamber, hurtling downward headfirst, was Saphira. Her jaws were open and from between them erupted a great tongue of flame, bright yellow and tinged with blue. On her back was Arya: hair billowing wildly, arm uplifted, palm glowing with a nimbus of green magic.

Time seemed to slow as Eragon saw Durza tilt his head toward the ceiling. First shock, then anger contorted the Shade's face. Sneering defiantly, he raised his hand and pointed at Saphira, a word forming on his lips.

A hidden reserve of strength suddenly welled up inside Eragon, dredged from the deepest part of his being. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. He plunged through the barrier in his mind and took hold of the magic. All his pain and rage focused on one word: "Brisingr!"

Zar'roc blazed with bloody light, heatless flames running along it . . .

He lunged forward . . .

And stabbed Durza in the heart.

Durza looked down with shock at the blade protruding from his breast. His mouth was open, but instead of words, an unearthly howl burst from him. His sword dropped from nerveless fingers. He grasped Zar'roc as if to pull it out, but it was lodged firmly in him.

Then Durza's skin turned transparent. Under it was neither flesh nor bone, but swirling patterns of darkness. He shrieked even louder as the darkness pulsated, splitting his skin. With one last cry, Durza was rent from head to toe, releasing the darkness, which separated into three entities who flew through Tronjheim's walls and out of Farthen Dur. The Shade was gone.

Bereft of strength, Eragon fell back with arms outstretched. Above him, Saphira and Arya had nearly reached the floor-it looked as if they were going to smash into it with the deadly remains of Isidar Mithrim. As his sight faded, Saphira, Arya, the myriad fragments-all seemed to stop falling and hang motionless in the air.

THE MOURNING SAGE.

Snatches of the Shade's memories continued to flash through Eragon. A whirlwind of dark events and emotions overwhelmed him, making it impossible to think. Submerged in the maelstrom, he knew neither who nor where he was. He was too weak to cleanse himself of the alien presence that clouded his mind. Violent, cruel images from the Shade's past exploded behind his eyes until his spirit cried out in anguish at the bloody sights.

A pile of bodies rose before him . . . innocents slaughtered by the Shade's orders. He saw still more corpses-whole villages of them-taken from life by the sorcerer's hand or word. There was no escape from the carnage that surrounded him. He wavered like a candle flame, unable to withstand the tide of evil. He prayed for someone to lift him out of the nightmare, but there was no one to guide him. If only he could remember what he was supposed to be: boy or man, villain or hero, Shade or Rider; all was jumbled together in a meaningless frenzy. He was lost, completely and utterly, in the roiling mass.

Suddenly a cluster of his own memories burst through the dismal cloud left by the Shade's malevolent mind. All the events since he had found Saphira's egg came to him in the cold light of revelation. His accomplishments and failures were displayed equally. He had lost much that was dear to him, yet fate had given him rare and great gifts; for the first time, he was proud of simply who he was. As if in response to his brief self-confidence, the Shade's smothering blackness assaulted him anew. His identity trailed into the void as uncertainty and fear consumed his perceptions. Who was he to think he could challenge the powers of Alagaesia and live?

He fought against the Shade's sinister thoughts, weakly at first, then more strongly. He whispered words of the ancient language and found they gave him enough strength to withstand the shadow blurring his mind. Though his defenses faltered dangerously, he slowly began to draw his shattered consciousness into a small bright shell around his core. Outside his mind he was aware of a pain so great it threatened to blot out his very life, but something-or someone-seemed to keep it at bay.

He was still too weak to clear his mind completely, but he was lucid enough to examine his experiences since Carvahall. Where would he go now . . . and who would show him the way? Without Brom, there was no one to guide or teach him.

Come to me.

He recoiled at the touch of another consciousness-one so vast and powerful it was like a mountain looming over him. This was who was blocking the pain, he realized. Like Arya's mind, music ran through this one: deep amber-gold chords that throbbed with magisterial melancholy.

Finally, he dared ask, Who . . . who are you? Who . . . who are you?

One who would help. With a flicker of an unspoken thought, the Shade's influence was brushed aside like an unwanted cobweb. Freed from the oppressive weight, Eragon let his mind expand until he touched a barrier beyond which he could not pass. With a flicker of an unspoken thought, the Shade's influence was brushed aside like an unwanted cobweb. Freed from the oppressive weight, Eragon let his mind expand until he touched a barrier beyond which he could not pass. I have protected you as best I can, but you are so far away I can do no more than shield your sanity from the pain. I have protected you as best I can, but you are so far away I can do no more than shield your sanity from the pain.

Again: Who are you to do this? Who are you to do this?

There was a low rumble. I am Osthato Chetowa, the Mourning Sage. And Togira Ikonoka, the Cripple Who Is Whole. Come to me, Eragon, for I have answers to all you ask. You will not be safe until you find me. I am Osthato Chetowa, the Mourning Sage. And Togira Ikonoka, the Cripple Who Is Whole. Come to me, Eragon, for I have answers to all you ask. You will not be safe until you find me.

But how can I find you if I don't know where you are? he asked, despairing. he asked, despairing.

Trust Arya and go with her to Ellesmera-I will be there. I have waited many seasons, so do not delay or it may soon be too late. . . . You are greater than you know, Eragon. Think of what you have done and rejoice, for you have rid the land of a great evil. You have wrought a deed no one else could. Many are in your debt.

The stranger was right; what he had accomplished was worthy of honor, of recognition. No matter what his trials might be in the future, he was no longer just a pawn in the game of power. He had transcended that and was something else, something more. He had become what Ajihad wanted: an authority independent of any king or leader.

He sensed approval as he reached that conclusion. You are learning, You are learning, said the Mourning Sage, drawing nearer. A vision passed from him to Eragon: a burst of color blossomed in his mind, resolving into a stooped figure dressed in white, standing on a sun-drenched stone cliff. said the Mourning Sage, drawing nearer. A vision passed from him to Eragon: a burst of color blossomed in his mind, resolving into a stooped figure dressed in white, standing on a sun-drenched stone cliff. It is time for you to rest, Eragon. When you wake, do not speak of me to anyone, It is time for you to rest, Eragon. When you wake, do not speak of me to anyone, said the figure kindly, face obscured by a silver nimbus. said the figure kindly, face obscured by a silver nimbus. Remember, you must go to the elves. Now, sleep. . . . Remember, you must go to the elves. Now, sleep. . . . He raised a hand, as if in benediction, and peace crept through Eragon. He raised a hand, as if in benediction, and peace crept through Eragon.

His last thought was that Brom would have been proud of him.

"Wake," commanded the voice. "Awake, Eragon, for you have slept far too long." He stirred unwillingly, loath to listen. The warmth that surrounded him was too comfortable to leave. The voice sounded again. "Rise, Argetlam! You are needed!"

He reluctantly forced his eyes open and found himself on a long bed, swathed in soft blankets. Angela sat in a chair beside him, staring at his face intently. "How do you feel?" she asked.

Disoriented and confused, he let his eyes roam over the small room. "I . . . I don't know," he said, his mouth dry and sore.

"Then don't move. You should conserve your strength," said Angela, running a hand through her curly hair. Eragon saw that she still wore her flanged armor. Why was that? A fit of coughing made him dizzy, lightheaded, and ache all over. His feverish limbs felt heavy. Angela lifted a gilt horn from the floor and held it to his lips. "Here, drink."

Cool mead ran down his throat, refreshing him. Warmth bloomed in his stomach and rose to his cheeks. He coughed again, which worsened his throbbing head. How did I get here? There was a battle . . . we were losing . . . then Durza and . . . "Saphira!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. He sagged back as his head swam and clenched his eyes, feeling sick. "What about Saphira? Is she all right? The Urgals were winning . . . she was falling. And Arya!" "Saphira!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. He sagged back as his head swam and clenched his eyes, feeling sick. "What about Saphira? Is she all right? The Urgals were winning . . . she was falling. And Arya!"

"They lived," assured Angela, "and have been waiting for you to wake. Do you wish to see them?" He nodded feebly. Angela got up and threw open the door. Arya and Murtagh filed inside. Saphira snaked her head into the room after them, her body too big to fit through the doorway. Her chest vibrated as she hummed deeply, eyes sparkling.

Smiling, Eragon touched her thoughts with relief and gratitude. It is good to see you well, little one, It is good to see you well, little one, she said tenderly. she said tenderly.

And you too, but how-?

The others want to explain it, so I will let them.

You breathed fire! I saw you! I saw you!

Yes, she said with pride. she said with pride.

He smiled weakly, still confused, then looked at Arya and Murtagh. Both of them were bandaged: Arya on her arm, Murtagh around his head. Murtagh grinned widely. "About time you were up. We've been sitting in the hall for hours."

"What . . . what happened?" asked Eragon.

Arya looked sad. But Murtagh crowed, "We won! It was incredible! When the Shade's spirits-if that's what they were-flew across Farthen Dur, the Urgals ceased fighting to watch them go. It was as though they were released from a spell then, because their clans suddenly turned and attacked each other. Their entire army disintegrated within minutes. We routed them after that!"

"They're all dead?" asked Eragon.

Murtagh shook his head. "No, many of them escaped into the tunnels. The Varden and dwarves are busy ferreting them out right now, but it's going to take a while. I was helping until an Urgal banged me on the head and I was sent back here."

"They aren't going to lock you up again?"

His face grew sober. "No one really cares about that right now. A lot of Varden and dwarves were killed; the survivors are busy trying to recover from the battle. But at least you have cause to be happy. You're a hero! Everyone's talking about how you killed Durza. If it hadn't been for you, we would have lost."

Eragon was troubled by his words but pushed them away for later consideration. "Where were the Twins? They weren't where they were supposed to be-I couldn't contact them. I needed their help."

Murtagh shrugged. "I was told they bravely fought off a group of Urgals that broke into Tronjheim somewhere else. They were probably too busy to talk with you."

That seemed wrong for some reason, but Eragon could not decide why. He turned to Arya. Her large bright eyes had been fixed upon him the entire time. "How come you didn't crash? You and Saphira were . . ." His voice trailed off.

She said slowly, "When you warned Saphira of Durza, I was still trying to remove her damaged armor. By the time it was off, it was too late to slide down Vol Turin-you would have been captured before I reached the bottom. Besides, Durza would have killed you before letting me rescue you." Regret entered her voice, "So I did the one thing I could to distract him: I broke the star sapphire."

And I carried her down, added Saphira. added Saphira.

Eragon struggled to understand as another bout of lightheadedness made him close his eyes. "But why didn't any of the pieces hit you or me?"

"I didn't allow them to. When we were almost to the floor, I held them motionless in the air, then slowly lowered them to the floor-else they would have shattered into a thousand pieces and killed you," stated Arya simply. Her words betrayed the power within her.

Angela added sourly, "Yes, and it almost killed you as well. It's taken all of my skill to keep the two of you alive."

A twinge of unease shot through Eragon, matching the intensity of his throbbing head. My back . . . My back . . . But he felt no bandages there. "How long have I been here?" he asked with trepidation. But he felt no bandages there. "How long have I been here?" he asked with trepidation.

"Only a day and a half," answered Angela. "You're lucky I was around, otherwise it would've taken you weeks to heal-if you had even lived." Alarmed, Eragon pushed the blankets off his torso and twisted around to feel his back. Angela caught his wrist with her small hand, worry reflected in her eyes. "Eragon . . . you have to understand, my power is not like yours or Arya's. It depends on the use of herbs and potions. There are limits to what I can do, especially with such a large-"

He yanked his hand out of her grip and reached back, fingers groping. The skin on his back was smooth and warm, flawless. Hard muscles flexed under his fingertips as he moved. He slid his hand toward the base of his neck and unexpectedly felt a hard bump about a half-inch wide. He followed it down his back with growing horror. Durza's blow had left him with a huge, ropy scar, stretching from his right shoulder to the opposite hip.

Pity showed on Arya's face as she murmured, "You have paid a terrible price for your deed, Eragon Shadeslayer."

Murtagh laughed harshly. "Yes. Now you're just like me."

Dismay filled Eragon, and he closed his eyes. He was disfigured. Then he remembered something from when he was unconscious . . . a figure in white who had helped him. A cripple who was whole-Togira Ikonoka. He had said, Think of what you have done and rejoice, for you have rid the land of a great evil. You have wrought a deed no one else could. Many are in your debt. . . . Think of what you have done and rejoice, for you have rid the land of a great evil. You have wrought a deed no one else could. Many are in your debt. . . .

Come to me Eragon, for I have answers to all you ask.

A measure of peace and satisfaction consoled Eragon.

I will come.

END OF BOOK ONE.

THE STORY WILL CONTINUE IN.

Eldest, BOOK TWO OF INHERITANCE.

PRONUNCIATION.

Ajihad-AH-zhi-hod Alagaesia-al-uh-GAY-zee-uh Arya-AR-ee-uh Carvahall-CAR-vuh-hall Dras-Leona-DRAHS-lee-OH-nuh Du Weldenvarden-doo WELL-den-VAR-den Eragon-EHR-uh-gahn Farthen Dur-FAR-then DURE (dure rhymes with rhymes with lure lure) Galbatorix-gal-buh-TOR-icks Gil'ead-GILL-ee-id Jeod-JODE (rhymes with load load) Murtagh-MUR-tag (mur rhymes with rhymes with purr purr) Ra'zac-RAA-zack Saphira-suh-FEAR-uh Shruikan-SHREW-kin Teirm-TEERM Tronjheim-TRONJ-heem Vrael-VRAIL Yazuac-YA-zoo-ack Zar'roc-ZAR-rock THE ANCIENT LANGUAGE.

Note: As Eragon is not yet a master of the ancient language, his words and remarks were not not translated literally, so as to save readers from his atrocious grammar. Quotations from other characters, however, have been left untouched. translated literally, so as to save readers from his atrocious grammar. Quotations from other characters, however, have been left untouched.

Ai varden abr du Shur'tugals gata vanta.-A warden of the Riders lacks passage.

Aiedail-the morning star arget-silver Argetlam-Silver Hand Atra gulai un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waise skolir fra rauthr.-Let luck and happiness follow you and may you be shielded from misfortune.

Boetq istalri!-Broad fire!

breoal-family; house brisingr-fire Deloi moi!-Earth, change!

delois-a green-leafed plant with purple flowers Domia abr Wyrda-Dominance of Fate (book) dras-city draumr kopa-dream stare Du grind huildr!-Hold the gate!

"Du Silbena Datia"-"The Sighing Mists" (a poem song) Du Sundavar Freohr-Death of the Shadows Du Vrangr Gata-The Wandering Path Du Weldenvarden-The Guarding Forest Edoc'sil-Unconquerable eitha-go; leave Eka ai fricai un Shur'tugal!-I am a Rider and friend!

ethgri-invoke Fethrblaka, eka weohnata neiat haina ono. Blaka eom iet lam.-Bird, I will not harm you. Flap to my hand.

garjzla-light Gath un reisa du rakr!-Unite and raise the mist!

gedwey ignasia-shining palm Geuloth du knifr!-Dull the knife!

Helgrind-The Gates of Death iet-my (informal) jierda-break; hit Jierda theirra kalfis!-Break their calves!

Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!-Memory! Fate! Thought!

Moi stenr!-Stone, change!

Nagz reisa!-Blanket, rise!

Osthato Chetowa-the Mourning Sage pomnuria-my (formal) Ristvak'baen-Place of Sorrow (baen-used here and in Uru'baen, the capital of the Empire-is always pronounced bane bane and is an expression of great sadness/grief) and is an expression of great sadness/grief) seithr-witch Shur'tugal-Dragon Rider Skulblaka, eka celobra ono un mulabra ono un onr Shur'tugal ne haina. Atra nosu waise fricai.-Dragon, I honor you and mean you and your Rider no harm. Let us be friends.

slytha-sleep Stenr reisa!-Raise stone!

thrysta-thrust; compress Thrysta deloi.-Compress the earth.