Eldest [en]

Sweeping her tail over him, Saphira knocked a score of men out of his way. In the lull that followed, Eragon looked over at his throbbing arm and said, “Waise heill.” He also healed his bruises, relying upon Zar’roc’s ruby, as well as the diamonds in the belt of Beloth the Wise.

Then the two of them pressed onward.

Eragon and Saphira choked the Burning Plains with mountains of their enemies, and yet the Empire never faltered or fell back. For every man they killed, another stepped forth to take his place. A sense of hopelessness engulfed Eragon as the mass of soldiers gradually forced the Varden to retreat toward their own camp. He saw his despair mirrored in the faces of Nasuada, Arya, King Orrin, and even Angela when he passed them in battle.

All our training and we still can’t stop the Empire, raged Eragon. There are just too many soldiers! We can’t keep this up forever. And Zar’roc and the belt are almost depleted.

You can draw energy from your surroundings if you have to.

I won’t, not unless I kill another of Galbatorix’s magicians and can take it from the soldiers. Otherwise, I’ll just be hurting the rest of the Varden, since there are no plants or animals here I can use to support us.

As the long hours dragged by, Eragon grew sore and weary and — stripped of many of his arcane defenses — accumulated dozens of minor injuries. His left arm went numb from the countless blows that hammered his mangled shield. A scratch on his forehead kept blinding him with rivulets of hot, sweat-mixed blood. He thought one of his fingers might be broken.

Saphira fared no better. The soldiers’ armor tore the inside of her mouth, dozens of swords and arrows cut her unprotected wings, and a javelin punctured one of her own plates of armor, wounding her in the shoulder. Eragon saw the spear coming and tried to deflect it with a spell but was too slow. Whenever Saphira moved, she splattered the ground with hundreds of drops of blood.

Beside them, three of Orik’s warriors fell, and two of the Kull.

And the sun began its descent toward evening.

As Eragon and Saphira prepared for their seventh and final assault, a trumpet sounded in the east, loud and clear, and King Orrin shouted, “The dwarves are here! The dwarves are here!”

Dwarves? Eragon blinked and glanced around, confused. He saw nothing but soldiers. Then a jolt of excitement raced through him as he understood. The dwarves! He climbed onto Saphira and she jumped into the air, hanging for a moment on her tattered wings as they surveyed the battlefield.

It was true — a great host marched out of the east toward the Burning Plains. At its head strode King Hrothgar, clad in gold mail, his jeweled helm upon his brow, and Volund, his ancient war hammer, gripped in his iron fist. The dwarf king raised Volund in greeting when he saw Eragon and Saphira.

Eragon howled at the top of his lungs and returned the gesture, brandishing Zar’roc in the air. A surge of renewed vigor made him forget his wounds and feel fierce and determined again. Saphira added her voice to his, and the Varden looked to her with hope, while the Empire’s soldiers hesitated with fear.

“What did you see?” cried Orik as Saphira dropped back to earth. “Is it Hrothgar? How many warriors did he bring?”

Ecstatic with relief, Eragon stood in his stirrups and shouted, “Take heart, King Hrothgar is here! And it looks like every single dwarf is behind him! We’ll crush the Empire!” After the men stopped cheering, he added, “Now take your swords and remind these flea-bitten cowards why they should fear us. Charge!”

Just as Saphira leaped toward the soldiers, Eragon heard a second cry, this one from the west: “A ship! A ship is coming up the Jiet River!”

“Blast it,” he snarled. We can’t let a ship land if it’s bringing reinforcements for the Empire. Contacting Trianna, he said, Tell Nasuada that Saphira and I will take care of this. We’ll sink the ship if it’s from Galbatorix.

As you wish, Argetlam, replied the sorceress.

Without hesitation, Saphira took flight, circling high over the trampled, smoking plain. As the relentless clamor of combat faded from his ears, Eragon took a deep breath, feeling his mind clear. Below, he was surprised by how scattered both armies had become. The Empire and the Varden had disintegrated into a series of smaller groups contending against one another over the entire breadth and width of the Burning Plains. It was into this confused tumult that the dwarves inserted themselves, catching the Empire from the side — as Orrin had done earlier with his cavalry.

Eragon lost sight of the battle when Saphira turned to her left and soared through the clouds in the direction of the Jiet River. A gust of wind blew the peat smoke out of their way and unveiled a large three-masted ship riding upon the orange water, rowing against the current with two banks of oars. The ship was scarred and damaged and flew no colors to declare its allegiance. Nevertheless, Eragon readied himself to destroy the vessel. As Saphira dove toward it, he lifted Zar’roc overhead and loosed his savage war cry.

CONVERGENCE

Roran stood at the prow of the Dragon Wing and listened to the oars swish through the water. He had just finished a stint rowing and a cold, jagged ache permeated his right shoulder. Will I always have to deal with this reminder of the Ra’zac? He wiped the sweat from his face and ignored the discomfort, concentrating instead on the river ahead, which was obscured by a bank of sooty clouds.

Elain joined him at the railing. She rested a hand on her swollen belly. “The water looks evil,” she said. “Perhaps we should have stayed in Dauth, rather than drag ourselves in search of more trouble.”

He feared she spoke the truth. After the Boar’s Eye, they had sailed east from the Southern Isles back to the coast and then up the mouth of the Jiet River to Surda’s port city of Dauth. By the time they made landfall, their stores were exhausted and the villagers sickly.

Roran had every intention of staying in Dauth, especially after they received an enthusiastic welcome from its governor, Lady Alarice. But that was before he was told about Galbatorix’s army. If the Varden were defeated, he would never see Katrina again. So, with the help of Jeod, he convinced Horst and many of the other villagers that if they wanted to live in Surda, safe from the Empire, they had to row up the Jiet River and assist the Varden. It was a difficult task, but in the end Roran prevailed. And once they told Lady Alarice about their quest, she gave them all the supplies they wanted.

Since then, Roran often wondered if he made the right choice. By now everyone hated living on the Dragon Wing. People were tense and short-tempered, a situation only aggravated by the knowledge they were sailing toward a battle. Was it all selfishness on my part? wondered Roran. Did I really do this for the benefit of the villagers, or only because it will bring me one step closer to finding Katrina?

“Perhaps we should have,” he said to Elain.

Together they watched as a thick layer of smoke gathered overhead, darkening the sky, obscuring the sun, and filtering the remaining light so that everything below was colored a nauseating hue of orange. It produced an eerie twilight the likes of which Roran had never imagined. The sailors on deck looked about fearfully and muttered charms of protection, pulling out stone amulets to ward off the evil eye.

“Listen,” said Elain. She tilted her head. “What is that?”

Roran strained his ears and caught the faint ring of metal striking metal. “That,” he said, “is the sound of our destiny.” Twisting, he shouted back over his shoulder, “Captain, there’s fighting just ahead!”

“Man the ballistae!” roared Uthar. “Double-time on those oars, Bonden. An’ every able-bodied man jack among you better be ready or you’ll be using your guts for pillows!”

Roran remained where he was as the Dragon Wing exploded with activity. Despite the increase in noise, he could still hear swords and shields clanging together in the distance. The screams of men were audible now, as were the roars of some giant beast.

He glanced over as Jeod joined them at the prow. The merchant’s face was pale. “Have you ever been in