Eragon: Book One (The Inheritance cycle 1)

ERAGON TWISTED UNDER the blankets, reluctant to open his eyes. He dozed, then a fuzzy thought entered his mind … How did I get here? Confused, he pulled the blankets tighter and felt something hard on his right arm. He tried to move his wrist. It zinged with pain. The Urgals! He bolted upright.

He lay in a small clearing that was empty save a small campfire heating a stew-filled pot. A squirrel chattered on a branch. His bow and quiver rested alongside the blankets. Attempting to stand made him grimace, as his muscles were feeble and sore. There was a heavy splint on his bruised right arm.

Where is everyone? he wondered forlornly. He tried to call Saphira, but to his alarm could not feel her. Ravenous hunger gripped him, so he ate the stew. Still hungry, he looked for the saddlebags, hoping to find a chunk of bread. Neither the saddlebags nor the horses were in the clearing. I’m sure there’s a good reason for this, he thought, suppressing a surge of uneasiness.

He wandered about the clearing, then returned to his blankets and rolled them up. Without anything better to do, he sat against a tree and watched the clouds overhead. Hours passed, but Brom and Saphira did not show up. I hope nothing’s wrong.

As the afternoon dragged on, Eragon grew bored and started to explore the surrounding forest. When he became tired, he rested under a fir tree that leaned against a boulder with a bowl-shaped depression filled with clear dew water.

Eragon stared at the water and thought about Brom’s instructions for scrying. Maybe I can see where Saphira is. Brom said that scrying takes a lot of energy, but I’m stronger than he is. … He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. In his mind he formed a picture of Saphira, making it as lifelike as possible. It was more demanding than he expected. Then he said, “Draumr kópa!” and gazed at the water.

Its surface became completely flat, frozen by an invisible force. The reflections disappeared and the water became clear. On it shimmered an image of Saphira. Her surroundings were pure white, but Eragon could see that she was flying. Brom sat on her back, beard streaming, sword on his knees.

Eragon tiredly let the image fade. At least they’re safe. He gave himself a few minutes to recuperate, then leaned back over the water. Roran, how are you? In his mind he saw his cousin clearly. Impulsively, he drew upon the magic and uttered the words.

The water grew still, then the image formed on its surface. Roran appeared, sitting on an invisible chair. Like Saphira, his surroundings were white. There were new lines on Roran’s face—he looked more like Garrow than ever before. Eragon held the image in place as long as he could. Is Roran in Therinsford? He’s certainly nowhere I’ve been.

The strain of using magic had brought beads of sweat to his forehead. He sighed and for a long time was content just to sit. Then an absurd notion struck him. What if I tried to scry something I created with my imagination or saw in a dream? He smiled. Perhaps I’d be shown what my own consciousness looks like.

It was too tempting an idea to pass by. He knelt by the water once again. What shall I look for? He considered a few things, but discarded them all when he remembered his dream about the woman in the cell.

After fixing the scene in his mind, he spoke the words and watched the water intently. He waited, but nothing happened. Disappointed, he was about to release the magic when inky blackness swirled across the water, covering the surface. The image of a lone candle flickered in the darkness, brightening to illuminate a stone cell. The woman from his dream was curled up on a cot in one corner. She lifted her head, dark hair falling back, and stared directly at Eragon. He froze, the force of her gaze keeping him in place. Chills ran up his spine as their eyes locked. Then the woman trembled and collapsed limply.

The water cleared. Eragon rocked back on his heels, gasping. “This can’t be.” She shouldn’t be real; I only dreamed about her! How could she know I was looking at her? And how could I have scryed into a dungeon that I’ve never seen? He shook his head, wondering if any of his other dreams had been visions.

The rhythmic thump of Saphira’s wings interrupted his thoughts. He hurried back to the clearing, arriving just as Saphira landed. Brom was on her back, as Eragon had seen, but his sword was now bloody. Brom’s face was contorted; the edges of his beard were stained red. “What happened?” asked Eragon, afraid that he had been wounded.

“What happened?” roared the old man. “I’ve been trying to clean up your mess!” He slashed the air with the sword, flinging drops of blood along its arc. “Do you know what you did with that little trick of yours? Do you?”

“I stopped the Urgals from catching you,” said Eragon, a pit forming in his stomach.

“Yes,” growled Brom, “but that piece of magic nearly killed you! You’ve been sleeping for two days. There were twelve Urgals. Twelve! But that didn’t stop you from trying to throw them all the way to Teirm, now did it? What were you thinking? Sending a rock through each of their heads would have been the smart thing to do. But no, you had to knock them unconscious so they could run away later. I’ve spent the last two days trying to track them down. Even with Saphira, three escaped!”

“I didn’t want to kill them,” said Eragon, feeling very small.

“It wasn’t a problem in Yazuac.”

“There was no choice then, and I couldn’t control the magic. This time it just seemed … extreme.”

“Extreme!” cried Brom. “It’s not extreme when they wouldn’t show you the same mercy. And why, oh why, did you show yourself to them?”

“You said that they had found Saphira’s footprints. It didn’t make any difference if they saw me,” said Eragon defensively.

Brom stabbed his sword into the dirt and snapped, “I said they had probably found her tracks. We didn’t know for certain. They might have believed they were chasing some stray travelers. But why would they think that now? After all, you landed right in front of them! And since you let them live, they’re scrambling around the countryside with all sorts of fantastic tales! This might even get back to the Empire!” He threw his hands up. “You don’t even deserve to be called a Rider after this, boy.” Brom yanked his sword out of the ground and stomped to the fire. He took a rag from inside his robe and angrily began to clean the blade.

Eragon was stunned. He tried to ask Saphira for advice, but all she would say was, Speak with Brom.

Hesitantly, Eragon made his way to the fire and asked, “Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

Brom sighed and sheathed his sword. “No, it wouldn’t. Your feelings can’t change what happened.” He jabbed his finger at Eragon’s chest. “You made some very bad choices that could have dangerous repercussions. Not the least of which is that you almost died. Died, Eragon! From now on you’re going to have to think. There’s a reason why we’re born with brains in our heads, not rocks.”

Eragon nodded, abashed. “It’s not as bad as you think, though; the Urgals already knew about me. They had orders to capture me.”

Astonishment widened Brom’s eyes. He stuck his unlit pipe in his mouth. “No, it’s not as bad as I thought. It’s worse! Saphira told me you had talked with the Urgals, but she didn’t mention this.” The words tumbled out of Eragon’s mouth as he quickly described the confrontation. “So they have some sort of leader now, eh?” questioned Brom.

Eragon nodded.

“And you just defied his wishes, insulted him, and attacked his men?” Brom shook his head. “I didn’t think it could get any worse. If the Urgals had been killed, your rudeness would have gone unnoticed, but now it’ll be impossible to ignore. Congratulations, you just made enemies with one of the most powerful beings in Alagaësia.”

“All right, I made a mistake,” said Eragon sullenly.

“Yes, you did,” agreed Brom, eyes flashing. “What has me worried, though, is who this Urgal leader is.”

Shivering, Eragon asked softly, “What happens now?”

There was an uncomfortable pause. “Your arm is going to take at least a couple of weeks to heal. That time would be well spent forging some sense into you. I suppose this is partially my fault. I’ve been teaching you how to do things, but not whether you should. It takes discretion, something you obviously lack. All the magic in Alagaësia won’t help you if you don’t know when to use it.”

“But we’re still going to Dras-Leona, right?” asked Eragon.

Brom rolled his eyes. “Yes, we can keep looking for the Ra’zac, but even if we find them, it won’t do any good until you’ve healed.” He began unsaddling Saphira. “Are you well enough to ride?”

“I think so.”

“Good, then we can still cover a few miles today.”

“Where are Cadoc and Snowfire?”

Brom pointed off to the side. “Over there a ways. I picketed them where there was grass.” Eragon prepared to leave, then followed Brom to the horses.

Saphira said pointedly, If you had explained what you were planning to do, none of this would have happened. I would have told you it was a bad idea not to kill the Urgals. I only agreed to do what you asked because I assumed it was halfway reasonable!

I don’t want to talk about it.

As you wish, she sniffed.

As they rode, every bump and dip in the trail made Eragon grit his teeth with discomfort. If he had been alone, he would have stopped. With Brom there, he dared not complain. Also, Brom started drilling him with difficult scenarios involving Urgals, magic, and Saphira. The imagined fights were many and varied. Sometimes a Shade or other dragons were included. Eragon discovered that it was possible to torture his body and mind at the same time. He got most of the questions wrong and became increasingly frustrated.

When they stopped for the night, Brom grumbled shortly, “It was a start.” Eragon knew that he was disappointed.