Eragon [en]

out of a horizontal band of sky that lay on top of the hills and extended to the horizon’s edges.

He stared, puzzled, but the more he tried to make sense of it, the more confused he became. He blinked and shook his head, thinking that it must be some illusion of the desert air. Yet when he opened his eyes, the annoying incongruity was still there. Indeed, the whiteness blanketed half the sky before them. Sure that something was terribly wrong, he started to point this out to Murtagh and Saphira when he suddenly understood what he was seeing.

What they had taken to be hills were actually the bases of gigantic mountains, scores of miles wide. Except for the dense forest along their lower regions, the mountains were entirely covered with snow and ice. It was this that had deceived Eragon into thinking the sky white. He craned back his neck, searching for the peaks, but they were not visible. The mountains stretched up into the sky until they faded from sight. Narrow, jagged valleys with ridges that nearly touched split the mountains like deep gorges. It was like a ragged, toothy wall linking Alagaesia with the heavens.

There’s no end to them! he thought, awestruck. Stories that mentioned the Beor Mountains always noted their size, but he had discounted such reports as fanciful embellishments. Now, however, he was forced to acknowledge their authenticity.

Sensing his wonder and surprise, Saphira followed his gaze with her own. Within a few seconds she recognized the mountains for what they were. I feel like a hatchling again. Compared to them, even I feel small!

We must be near the edge of the desert, said Eragon. It’s only taken two days and we can already see the far side and beyond!

Saphira spiraled above the dunes. Yes, but considering the size of those peaks, they could still be fifty leagues from here. It’s hard to gauge distances against something so immense. Wouldn’t they be a perfect hiding place for the elves or the Varden?

You could hide more than the elves and Varden, he stated. Entire nations could exist in secret there, hidden from the Empire. Imagine living with those behemoths looming over you! He guided Snowfire to Murtagh and pointed, grinning.

“What?” grunted Murtagh, scanning the land.

“Look closely,” urged Eragon.

Murtagh peered closely at the horizon. He shrugged. “What, I don’t—” The words died in his mouth and gave way to slack-jawed wonder. Murtagh shook his head, muttering, “That’s impossible!” He squinted so hard that the corners of his eyes crinkled. He shook his head again. “I knew the Beor Mountains were large, but not that monstrous size!”

“Let’s hope the animals that live there aren’t in proportion to the mountains,” said Eragon lightly.

Murtagh smiled. “It will be good to find some shade and spend a few weeks in leisure. I’ve had enough of this forced march.”

“I’m tired too,” admitted Eragon, “but I don’t want to stop until the elf is cured... or she dies.”

“I don’t see how continuing to travel will help her,” said Murtagh gravely. “A bed will do her more good than hanging underneath Saphira all day.”

Eragon shrugged. “Maybe... When we reach the mountains, I could take her to Surda — it’s not that far. There must be a healer there who can help her; we certainly can’t.”

Murtagh shaded his eyes with his hand and stared at the mountains. “We can talk about it later. For now our goal is to reach the Beors. There, at least, the Ra’zac will have trouble finding us, and we will be safe from the Empire.”

As the day wore on, the Beor Mountains seemed to get no closer, though the landscape changed dramatically. The sand slowly transformed from loose grains of reddish hue to hard-packed, dusky-cream dirt. In place of dunes were ragged patches of plants and deep furrows in the ground where flooding had occurred. A cool breeze wafted through the air, bringing welcome refreshment. The horses sensed the change of climate and hurried forward eagerly.

When evening subdued the sun, the mountains’ foothills were a mere league away. Herds of gazelles bounded through lush fields of waving grass. Eragon caught Saphira eyeing them hungrily. They camped by a stream, relieved to be out of the punishing Hadarac Desert.

A PATH REVEALED

Fatigued and haggard, but with triumphant smiles, they sat around the fire, congratulating each other. Saphira crowed jubilantly, which startled the horses. Eragon stared at the flames. He was proud that they had covered roughly sixty leagues in five days. It was an impressive feat, even for a rider able to change mounts regularly.

I am outside of the Empire. It was a strange thought. He had been born in the Empire, lived his entire life under Galbatorix’s rule, lost his closest friends and family to the king’s servants, and had nearly died several times within his domain. Now Eragon was free. No more would he and Saphira have to dodge soldiers, avoid towns, or hide who they were. It was a bittersweet realization, for the cost had been the loss of his entire world.

He looked at the stars in the gloaming sky. And though the thought of building a home in the safety of isolation appealed to him, he had witnessed too many wrongs committed in Galbatorix’s name, from murder to slavery, to turn his back on the Empire. No longer was it just vengeance — for Brom’s death as well as Garrow’s — that drove him. As a Rider, it was his duty to assist those without strength to resist Galbatorix’s oppression.

With a sigh he abandoned his deliberation and observed the elf stretched out by Saphira. The fire’s orange light gave her face a warm cast. Smooth shadows flickered under her cheekbones. As he stared, an idea slowly came to him.

He could hear the thoughts of people and animals — and communicate with them in that manner if he chose to — but it was something he had done infrequently except with Saphira. He always remembered Brom’s admonishment not to violate someone’s mind unless absolutely necessary. Save for the one time he had tried to probe Murtagh’s consciousness, he had refrained from doing so.

Now, however, he wondered if it were possible to contact the elf in her comatose state. I might be able to learn from her memories why she remains like this. But if she recovers, would she forgive me for such an intrusion?... Whether she does or not, I must try. She’s been in this condition for almost a week. Without speaking of his intentions to Murtagh or Saphira, he knelt by the elf and placed his palm on her brow.

Eragon closed his eyes and extended a tendril of thought, like a probing finger, toward the elf’s mind. He found it without difficulty. It was not fuzzy and filled with pain as he had anticipated, but lucid and clear, like a note from a crystal bell. Suddenly an icy dagger drove into his mind. Pain exploded behind his eyes with splashes of color. He recoiled from the attack but found himself held in an iron grip, unable to retreat.

Eragon fought as hard as he could and used every defense he could think of. The dagger stabbed into his mind again. He frantically threw his own barriers before it, blunting the attack. The pain was less excruciating than the first time, but it jarred his concentration. The elf took the opportunity to ruthlessly crush his defenses.

A stifling blanket pressed down on Eragon from all directions, smothering his thoughts. The overpowering force slowly contracted, squeezing the life out of him bit by bit, though he held on, unwilling to give up.

The elf tightened her relentless grip even more, so as to extinguish him like a snuffed candle. He desperately cried in the ancient language, “Eka ai fricai un Shur’tugal!” I am a Rider and friend! The deadly embrace did not loosen its hold, but its constriction halted and surprise emanated from her.

Suspicion followed a second later, but he knew she would believe him; he could not have lied in the ancient language. However, while he had said he was a friend, that did not mean he meant her no harm. For all she knew, Eragon believed himself to be her friend, making the statement true for him, though she might not consider him one. The ancient language does have its limitations, thought Eragon, hoping that the elf would be curious enough to risk freeing him.

She was. The pressure lifted, and the barriers around her mind hesitantly lowered. The elf warily let their thoughts touch, like two wild animals meeting for the first time. A cold shiver ran down Eragon’s side. Her mind