Eragon [en]

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They ate silently. Murtagh jabbed at his food. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced, putting down his bowl without another word.

“Good night,” said Eragon. He lay next to Saphira, his arms under his head. She curled her long neck around him, like a cat wrapping its tail around itself, and laid her head alongside his. One of her wings extended over him like a blue tent, enveloping him in darkness.

Good night, little one.

A small smile lifted Eragon’s lips, but he was already asleep.

THE GLORY OF TRONJHEIM

Eragon jolted upright as a growl sounded in his ear. Saphira was still asleep, her eyes wandering sightlessly under her eyelids, and her upper lip trembled, as if she were going to snarl. He smiled, then jerked as she growled again.

She must be dreaming, he realized. He watched her for a minute, then carefully slid out from under her wing. He stood and stretched. The room was cool, but not unpleasantly so. Murtagh lay on his back in the far corner, his eyes closed.

As Eragon stepped around Saphira, Murtagh stirred. “Morning,” he said quietly, sitting up.

“How long have you been awake?” asked Eragon in a hushed voice.

“Awhile. I’m surprised Saphira didn’t wake you sooner.”

“I was tired enough to sleep through a thunderstorm,” said Eragon wryly. He sat by Murtagh and rested his head against the wall. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No. It’s impossible to tell in here.”

“Has anyone come to see us?”

“Not yet.”

They sat together without moving or speaking. Eragon felt oddly bound to Murtagh. I’ve been carrying his father’s sword, which would have been his... his inheritance. We’re alike in many ways, yet our outlook and upbringing are totally different. He thought of Murtagh’s scar and shivered. What man could do that to a child?

Saphira lifted her head and blinked to clear her eyes. She sniffed the air, then yawned expansively, her rough tongue curling at the tip. Has anything happened? Eragon shook his head. I hope they give me more food than that snack last night. I’m hungry enough to eat a herd of cows.

They’ll feed you, he assured her.

They’d better. She positioned herself near the door and settled down to wait, tail flicking. Eragon closed his eyes, enjoying the rest. He dozed awhile, then got up and paced around. Bored, he examined one of the lanterns. It was made of a single piece of teardrop-shaped glass, about twice the size of a lemon, and filled with soft blue light that neither wavered nor flickered. Four slim metal ribs wrapped smoothly around the glass, meeting at the top to form a small hook and again at the bottom where they melded together into three graceful legs. The whole piece was quite attractive.

Eragon’s inspection was interrupted by voices outside the room. The door opened, and a dozen warriors marched inside. The first man gulped when he saw Saphira. They were followed by Orik and the bald man, who declared, “You have been summoned to Ajihad, leader of the Varden. If you must eat, do so while we march.” Eragon and Murtagh stood together, watching him warily.

“Where are our horses? And can I have my sword and bow back?” asked Eragon.

The bald man looked at him with disdain. “Your weapons will be returned to you when Ajihad sees fit, not before. As for your horses, they await you in the tunnel. Now come!”

As he turned to leave, Eragon asked quickly, “How is Arya?”

The bald man hesitated. “I do not know. The healers are still with her.” He exited the room, accompanied by Orik.

One of the warriors motioned. “You go first.” Eragon went through the doorway, followed by Saphira and Murtagh. They returned through the corridor they had traversed the night before, passing the statue of the quilled animal. When they reached the huge tunnel through which they had first entered the mountain, the bald man was waiting with Orik, who held Tornac’s and Snowfire’s reins.

“You will ride single file down the center of the tunnel,” instructed the bald man. “If you attempt to go anywhere else, you will be stopped.” When Eragon started to climb onto Saphira, the bald man shouted, “No! Ride your horse until I tell you otherwise.”

Eragon shrugged and took Snowfire’s reins. He swung into the saddle, guided Snowfire in front of Saphira, and told her, Stay close in case I need your help.

Of course, she said.

Murtagh mounted Tornac behind Saphira. The bald man examined their small line, then gestured at the warriors, who divided in half to surround them, giving Saphira as wide a berth as possible. Orik and the bald man went to the head of the procession.

After looking them over once more, the bald man clapped twice and started walking forward. Eragon tapped Snowfire lightly on his flanks. The entire group headed toward the heart of the mountain. Echoes filled the tunnel as the horses’ hooves struck the hard floor, the sounds amplified in the deserted passageway. Doors and gates occasionally disturbed the smooth walls, but they were always closed.

Eragon marveled at the sheer size of the tunnel, which had been mined with incredible skill — the walls, floor, and ceiling were crafted with flawless precision. The angles at the bases of the walls were perfectly square, and as far as he could tell, the tunnel itself did not vary from its course by even an inch.

As they proceeded, Eragon’s anticipation about meeting Ajihad increased. The leader of the Varden was a shadowy figure to the people within the Empire. He had risen to power nearly twenty years ago and since then had waged a fierce war against King Galbatorix. No one knew where he came from or even what he looked like. It was rumored that he was a master strategist, a brutal fighter. With such a reputation, Eragon worried about how they would be received. Still, knowing that Brom had trusted the Varden enough to serve them helped to allay his fears.

Seeing Orik again had brought forth new questions in his mind. The tunnel was obviously dwarf work — no one else could mine with such skill — but were the dwarves part of the Varden, or were they merely sheltering them? And who was the king that Orik had mentioned? Was it Ajihad? Eragon understood now that the Varden had been able to escape discovery by hiding underground, but what about the elves? Where were they?

For nearly an hour the bald man led them through the tunnel, never straying nor turning. We’ve probably already gone a league, Eragon realized. Maybe they’re taking us all the way through the mountain! At last a soft white glow became visible ahead of them. He strained his eyes, trying to discern its source, but it was still too far away to make out any details. The glow increased in strength as they neared it.

Now he could see thick marble pillars laced with rubies and amethysts standing in rows along the walls. Scores of lanterns hung between the pillars, suffusing the air with liquid brilliance. Gold tracery gleamed from the pillars’ bases like molten thread. Arching over the ceiling were carved raven heads, their beaks open in mid- screech. At the end of the hallway rested two colossal black doors, accented by shimmering silver lines that depicted a seven-pointed crown that spanned both sides.

The bald man stopped and raised a hand. He turned to Eragon. “You will ride upon your dragon now. Do not attempt to fly away. There will be people watching, so remember who and what you are.”

Eragon dismounted Snowfire, and then clambered onto Saphira’s back. I think they want to show us off, she said as he settled into the saddle.

We’ll see. I wish I had Zar’roc, he replied, tightening the straps around his legs.

It might be better that you aren’t wearing Morzan’s sword when the Varden first see