Eragon [en]

they send it along with the provisions. The slaves are never seen again. And the one time someone followed them, he disappeared too.”

“I thought the Riders demolished the slave trade,” said Eragon.

“Unfortunately, it has flourished under the king’s reign.”

“So the Ra’zac are in Helgrind,” said Eragon, thinking of the rock mountain.

“There or somewhere nearby.”

“If they are in Helgrind, they’ll be either at the bottom — and protected by a thick stone door — or higher up where only their flying mounts, or Saphira, can reach. Top or bottom, their shelter will no doubt be disguised.” He thought for a moment. “If Saphira and I go flying around Helgrind, the Ra’zac are sure to see us — not to mention all of Dras-Leona.”

“It is a problem,” agreed Brom.

Eragon frowned. “What if we took the place of the two slaves? The full moon isn’t far off. It would give us a perfect opportunity to get close to the Ra’zac.”

Brom tugged his beard thoughtfully. “That’s chancy at best. If the slaves are killed from a distance, we’ll be in trouble. We can’t harm the Ra’zac if they aren’t in sight.”

“We don’t know if the slaves are killed at all,” Eragon pointed out.

“I’m sure they are,” said Brom, his face grave. Then his eyes sparkled, and he blew another smoke ring. “Still, it’s an intriguing idea. If it were done with Saphira hidden nearby and a...” His voice trailed off. “It might work, but we’ll have to move quickly. With the king coming, there isn’t much time.”

“Should we go to Helgrind and look around? It would be good to see the land in daylight so we won’t be surprised by any ambushes,” said Eragon.

Brom fingered his staff. “That can be done later. Tomorrow I’ll return to the palace and figure out how we can replace the slaves. I have to be careful not to arouse suspicion, though — I could easily be revealed by spies and courtiers who know about the Ra’zac.”

“I can’t believe it; we actually found them,” said Eragon quietly. An image of his dead uncle and burned farm flashed through his mind. His jaw tightened.

“The toughest part is yet to come, but yes, we’ve done well,” said Brom. “If fortune smiles on us, you may soon have your revenge and the Varden will be rid of a dangerous enemy. What comes after that will be up to you.”

Eragon opened his mind and jubilantly told Saphira, We found the Ra’zac’s lair!

Where? He quickly explained what they had discovered. Helgrind, she mused. A fitting place for them.

Eragon agreed. When we’re done here, maybe we could visit Carvahall.

What is it you want? she asked, suddenly sour. To go back to your previous life? You know that won’t happen, so stop mooning after it! At a certain point you have to decide what to commit to. Will you hide for the rest of your life, or will you help the Varden? Those are the only options left to you, unless you join forces with Galbatorix, which I do not and never will accept.

Softly, he said , If I must choose, I cast my fate with the Varden, as you well know.

Yes, but sometimes you have to hear yourself say it. She left him to ponder her words.

WORSHIPERS OF HELGRIND

Eragon was alone in the room when he woke. Scrawled onto the wall with a charcoal stick was a note that read:

Eragon,

I will be gone until late tonight. Coins for food are under the mattress. Explore the city, enjoy yourself, but stay unnoticed!

Brom

P.S. Avoid the palace. Don’t go anywhere without your bow! Keep it strung.

Eragon wiped the wall clean, then retrieved the money from under the bed. He slipped the bow across his back, thinking, I wish I didn’t have to go armed all the time.

He left the Golden Globe and ambled through the streets, stopping to observe whatever interested him. There were many intriguing stores, but none quite as exciting as Angela’s herb shop in Teirm. At times he glared at the dark, claustrophobic houses and wished that he were free of the city. When he grew hungry, he bought a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread and ate them, sitting on a curb.

Later, in a far corner of Dras-Leona, he heard an auctioneer rattling off a list of prices. Curious, he headed toward the voice and arrived at a wide opening between two buildings. Ten men stood on a waist-high platform. Arrayed before them was a richly dressed crowd that was both colorful and boisterous. Where are the goods for sale? wondered Eragon.

The auctioneer finished his list and motioned for a young man behind the platform to join him. The man awkwardly climbed up, chains dragging at his hands and feet. “And here we have our first item,” proclaimed the auctioneer. “A healthy male from the Hadarac Desert, captured just last month, and in excellent condition. Look at those arms and legs; he’s strong as a bull! He’d be perfect as a shield bearer, or, if you don’t trust him for that, hard labor. But let me tell you, lords and ladies, that would be a waste. He’s bright as a nail, if you can get him to talk a civilized tongue!”

The crowd laughed, and Eragon ground his teeth with fury. His lips started to form a word that would free the slave, and his arm, newly liberated from the splint, rose. The mark on his palm shimmered. He was about to release the magic when it struck him, He’d never get away! The slave would be caught before he reached the city walls. Eragon would only make the situation worse if he tried to help. He lowered his arm and quietly cursed. Think! This is how you got into trouble with the Urgals.

He watched helplessly as the slave was sold to a tall, hawk-nosed man. The next slave was a tiny girl, no more than six years old, wrenched from the arms of her crying mother. As the auctioneer started the bidding, Eragon forced himself to walk away, rigid with fury and outrage.

It was several blocks before the weeping was inaudible. I’d like to see a thief try to cut my purse right now, he thought grimly, almost wishing it would happen. Frustrated, he punched a nearby wall, bruising his knuckles.

That’s the sort of thing I could stop by fighting the Empire, he realized. W ith Saphira by my side I could free those slaves. I’ve been graced with special powers; it would be selfish of me not to use them for the benefit of others. If I don’t, I might as well not be a Rider at all.

It was a while before he took stock of his bearings and was surprised to find himself before the cathedral. Its twisted spires were covered with statues and scrollwork. Snarling gargoyles crouched along the eaves. Fantastic beasts writhed on the walls, and heroes and kings marched along their bottom edges, frozen in cold marble. Ribbed arches and tall stained-glass windows lined the cathedral’s sides, along with columns of differing sizes. A lonely turret helmed the building like a mast.

Recessed in shadow at the cathedral’s front was an iron-bound door inlaid with a row of silver script that Eragon recognized as the ancient language. As best he could tell, it read: May thee who enter here understand thine impermanence and forget thine attachments to that which is beloved.

The entire building sent a shiver down Eragon’s spine. There was something menacing about it, as if it were a predator crouched in the city, waiting for its next victim.