In the morning Saphira took off with both Eragon and Arya. Eragon wanted to get away from Murtagh for a time. He shivered, pulling his clothes tighter. It looked like it might snow. Saphira ascended lazily on an updraft and asked, What are you thinking?
Eragon contemplated the Beor Mountains, which towered above them even though Saphira flew far above the ground. That was murder yesterday. I've no other word for it.
Saphira banked to the left. It was a hasty deed and ill considered, but Murtagh tried to do the right thing. The men who buy and sell other humans deserve every misfortune that befalls them. If we weren't committed to helping Arya, I would hunt down every slaver and tear them apart!
Yes, said Eragon miserably, but Torkenbrand was helpless. He couldn't shield himself or run. A moment more and he probably would have surrendered. Murtagh didn't give him that chance. If Torkenbrand had at least been able to fight, it wouldn't have been so bad.
Eragon, even if Torkenbrand had fought, the results would have been the same. You know as well as I do that few can equal you or Murtagh with the blade. Torkenbrand would have still died, though you seem to think it would have been more just or honorable in a mismatched duel.
I don't know what's right! admitted Eragon, distressed. There aren't any answers that make sense.
Sometimes, said Saphira gently, there are no answers. Learn what you can about Murtagh from this. Then forgive him. And if you can't forgive, at least forget, for he meant you no harm, however rash the act was. Your head is still attached, yes?
Frowning, Eragon shifted in the saddle. He shook himself, like a horse trying to rid itself of a fly, and checked Murtagh's position over Saphira's shoulder. A patch of color farther back along their route caught his attention.
Camped by a streambed they had crossed late yesterday were the Urgals. Eragon's heartbeat quickened. How could the Urgals be on foot, yet still gain on them? Saphira saw the monsters as well and tilted her wings, brought them close to her body, and slipped into a steep dive, splitting the air. I don't think they spotted us, she said.
Eragon hoped not. He squinted against the blast of air as she increased the angle of their dive. Their chieftain must be driving them at a breakneck pace, he said.
Yes—maybe they'll all die of exhaustion.
When they landed, Murtagh asked curtly, "What now?"
"The Urgals are overtaking us," said Eragon. He pointed back toward the column's camp.
"How far do we still have to go?" asked Murtagh, putting his hands against the sky and measuring the hours until sunset.
"Normally? . . . I would guess another five days. At the speed we've been traveling, only three. But unless we get there tomorrow, the Urgals will probably catch us, and Arya will certainly die."
"She might last another day."
"We can't count on it," objected Eragon. "The only way we can get to the Varden in time is if we don't stop for anything, least of all sleep. That's our only chance."
Murtagh laughed bitterly. "How can you expect to do that? We've already gone days without adequate sleep. Unless Riders are made of different stuff than us mortals, you're as tired as I am. We've covered a staggering distance, and the horses, in case you haven't noticed, are ready to drop. Another day of this might kill us all."
Eragon shrugged. "So be it. We don't have a choice."
Murtagh gazed at the mountains. "I could leave and let you fly ahead with Saphira. . . . That would force the Urgals to divide their troops and would give you a better chance of reaching the Varden."
"It would be suicide," said Eragon, crossing his arms. "Somehow those Urgals are faster on foot than we are on horseback. They would run you down like a deer. The only way to evade them is to find sanctuary with the Varden." Despite his words, he was unsure if he wanted Murtagh to stay. I like him, Eragon confessed to himself, but I���m no longer certain if that's a good thing.
"I'll escape later," said Murtagh abruptly. "When we get to the Varden, I can disappear down a side valley and find my way to Surda, where I can hide without attracting too much attention."
"So you're staying?"
"Sleep or no sleep, I'll see you to the Varden," promised Murtagh.
With newfound determination, they struggled to distance themselves from the Urgals, yet their pursuers continued to creep nearer. At nightfall the monsters were a third closer than they had been that morning. As fatigue eroded his and Murtagh's strength, they slept in turns on the horses, while whoever was awake led the animals in the right direction.
Eragon relied heavily on Arya's memories to guide them. Because of the alien nature of her mind, he sometimes made mistakes as to the route, costing them precious time. They gradual
ly angled toward the foothills of the eastern arm of mountains, looking for the valley that would lead them to the Varden. Midnight arrived and passed without any sign of it.
When the sun returned, they were pleased to see that the Urgals were far behind. "This is the last day," said Eragon, yawning widely. "If we're not reasonably close to the Varden by noon, I'm going to fly ahead with Arya. You'll be free to go wherever you want then, but you'll have to take Snowfire with you. I won't be able to come back for him."
"That might not be necessary; we could still get there in time," said Murtagh. He rubbed the pommel of his sword.
Eragon shrugged. "We could." He went to Arya and put a hand on her forehead. It was damp and dangerously hot. Her eyes wandered uneasily beneath her eyelids, as if she suffered a nightmare. Eragon pressed a damp rag to her brow, wishing he could do more.
Late in the morning, after they circumnavigated an especially broad mountain, Eragon saw a narrow valley tucked against its far side. The valley was so restricted it could easily be overlooked. The Beartooth River, which Arya had mentioned, flowed out of it and looped carelessly across the land. He smiled with relief; that was where they needed to go.
Looking back, Eragon was alarmed to see that the distance between them and the Urgals had shrunk to little more than a league. He pointed out the valley to Murtagh. "If we can slip in there without being seen, it might confuse them."
Murtagh looked skeptical. "It's worth a try. But they've followed us easily enough so far."
As they approached the valley, they passed under the knotted branches of the Beor Mountains' forest. The trees were tall, with creviced bark that was almost black, dull needles of the same color, and knobby roots that rose from the soil like bare knees. Cones littered the ground, each the size of a horse's head. Sable squirrels chattered from the treetops, and eyes gleamed from holes in the trunks. Green beards of tangled wolfsbane hung from the gnarled branches.
The forest gave Eragon an uneasy feeling; the hair on the back of his neck prickled. There was something hostile in the air, as if the trees resented their intrusion. They are very old, said Saphira, touching a trunk with her nose.
Yes, said Eragon, but not friendly. The forest grew denser the farther in they traveled. The lack of space forced Saphira to take off with Arya. Without a clear trail to follow, the tough underbrush slowed Eragon and Murtagh. The Beartooth River wound next to them, filling the air with the sound of gurgling water. A nearby peak obscured the sun, casting them into premature dusk.
At the valley's mouth, Eragon realized that although it looked like a slim gash between the peaks, the valley was really as wide as many of the Spine's vales. It was only the enormous size of the ridged and shadowy mountains that made it appear so confined. Waterfalls dotted its sheer sides. The sky was reduced to a thin strip winding overhead, mostly hidden by gray clouds. From the dank ground rose a clinging fog that chilled the air until their breath was visible. Wild strawberries crawled among a carpet of mosses and ferns, fighting for the meager sunlight. Sprouting on piles of rotting wood were red and yellow toadstools.
All was hushed and quiet, sounds dampened by the heavy air. Saphira landed by them in a nearby glade, the rush of her wings strangely muted. She took in the view with a swing of her head. I just passed a flock of birds that were black and green with red markings on their wings. I've never seen birds like that before.
Everything in these mountains seems unusual, replied Eragon. Do you mind if I ride you awhile? I want to keep an eye on the Urgals.
Of course.
He turned to Murtagh. "The Varden are hidden at the end of this valley. If we hurry, we might get there before nightfall."
Murtagh grunted, hands on his hips. "How am I going to get out of here? I don't see any valleys joining this one, and the Urgals are going to hem us in pretty soon. I need an escape route."
"Don't worry about it," said Eragon impatiently. "This is a long valley; there's sure to be an exit further in." He released Arya from Saphira and lifted the elf onto Snowfire. "Watch Arya—I'm going to fly with Saphira. We'll meet you up ahead." He scrambled onto Saphira's back and strapped himself onto her saddle.
"Be careful," Murtagh warned, his brow furrowed in thought, then clucked to the horses and hurried back into the forest.
As Saphira jumped toward the sky, Eragon said, Do you think you could fly up to one of those peaks? We might be able to spot our destination, as well as a passage for Murtagh. I don't want to listen to him griping through the entire valley.
We can try, agreed Saphira, but it will get much colder.
I'm dressed warmly.
Hold on, then! Saphira suddenly swooped straight up, throwing him back in the saddle. Her wings flapped strongly, driving their weight upward. The valley shrank to a green line below them. The Beartooth River shimmered like braided silver where light struck it.
They rose to the cloud layer, and icy moisture saturated the air. A formless gray blanket engulfed them, limiting their vision to an arm's length. Eragon hoped they would not collide with anything in the murk. He stuck out a hand experimentally, swinging it through the air. Water condensed on it and ran down his arm, soaking his sleeve.
A blurred gray mass fluttered past his head, and he glimpsed a dove, its wings pumping frantically. There was a white band around its leg. Saphira struck at the bird, tongue lashing out, jaws gaping. The dove squawked as Saphira's sharp teeth snapped together a hair's breadth behind its tail feathers. Then it darted away and disappeared into the haze, the frenzied thumping of its wings fading to silence.
When they breached the top of the clouds, Saphira's scales were covered with thousands of water droplets that reflected tiny rainbows and shimmered with the blue of her scales. Eragon shook himself, spraying water from his clothes, and shivered. He could no longer see the ground, only hills of clouds snaking between the mountains.
The trees on the mountains gave way to thick glaciers, blue and white under the sun. The glare from the snow forced Eragon to close his eyes. He tried to open them after a minute, but the light dazzled him. Irritated, he stared into the crook of his arm. How can you stand it? he asked Saphira.
My eyes are stronger than yours, she replied.
It was frigid. The water in Eragon's hair froze, giving him a shiny helmet. His shirt and pants were hard shells around his limbs. Saphira's scales became slick with ice; hoarfrost laced her wings. They had never flown this high before, yet the mountaintops were still miles above them.
Saphira's flapping gradually slowed, and her breathing became labored. Eragon gasped and panted; there didn't seem to be enough air. Fighting back panic, he clutched Saphira's neck spikes for support.
We . . . have to get out of here, he said. Red dots swam before his eyes. I can't . . . breathe. Saphira seemed not to hear him, so he repeated the message, louder this time. Again there was no response. She can't hear me, he realized. He swayed, finding it hard to think, then pounded on her side and shouted, "Take us down!"
The effort made him lightheaded. His vision faded into swirling darkness.
He regained consciousness as they emerged from the bottom of the clouds. His head was pounding. What happened? he asked, pushing himself upright and looking around with confusion.
You blacked out, answered Saphira.
He tried to run his fingers through his hair, but stopped when he felt icicles. Yes, I know that, but why didn't you answer me?
My brain was confused. Your words didn't make any sense. When you lost consciousness, I knew something was wrong and descended. I didn't have to sink far before I realized what had occurred.
It's a good thing you didn't pass out as well, said Eragon with a nervous laugh. Saphira only swished her tail. He looked wistfully at where the mountain peaks were now concealed by clouds. A pity we couldn't stand upon one of those summits. . . . Well, now we know: we can only fl
y out of this valley the way we came in. Why did we run out of air? How can we have it down here, but not up above?
I don't know, but I'll never dare to fly so close to the sun again. We should remember this experience. The knowledge may be useful if we ever have to fight another Rider.
I hope that never happens, said Eragon. Let's stay down below for now. I've had enough adventure for one day.
They floated on the gentle air currents, drifting from one mountain to the next, until Eragon saw that the Urgal column had reached the valley's mouth. What drives them to such speed, and how can they bear to sustain it?
Now that we are closer to them, Saphira said, I can see that these Urgals are bigger than the ones we've met before. They would stand chest and shoulders over a tall man. I don't know what land they march from, but it must be a fierce place to produce such brutes.
Eragon glared at the ground below—he could not see the detail that she did. If they keep to this pace, they'll catch Murtagh before we find the Varden.
Have hope. The forest may hamper their progress. . . . Would it be possible to stop them with magic?
Eragon shook his head. Stop them . . . no. There are too many. He thought of the thin layer of mist on the valley floor and grinned. But I might be able to delay them a bit. He closed his eyes, selected the words he needed, stared at the mist, and then commanded, "Gath un reisa du rakr!"
There was a disturbance below. From above, it looked as if the ground was flowing together like a great sluggish river. A leaden band of mist gathered in front of the Urgals and thickened into an intimidating wall, dark as a thunderhead. The Urgals hesitated before it, then continued forward like an unstoppable battering ram. The barrier swirled around them, concealing the lead ranks from view.
The drain on Eragon's strength was sudden and massive, making his heart flutter like a dying bird. He gasped, eyes rolling. He struggled to sever the magic's hold on him—to plug the breach through which his life streamed. With a savage growl he jerked away from the magic and broke contact. Tendrils of magic snapped through his mind like decapitated snakes, then reluctantly retreated from his consciousness, clutching at the dregs of his strength. The wall of mist dissipated, and the fog sluggishly collapsed across the ground like a tower of mud sliding apart. The Urgals had not been hindered at all.
Eragon lay limply on Saphira, panting. Only now did he remember Brom saying, "Magic is affected by distance, just like an arrow or a spear. If you try to lift or move something a mile away, it'll take more energy than if you were closer." I won't forget that again, he thought grimly.
You shouldn't have forgotten in the first place, Saphira inserted pointedly. First the dirt at Gil'ead and now this. Weren't you paying attention to anything Brom told you? You'll kill yourself if you keep this up.
I paid attention, he insisted, rubbing his chin. It's just been a while, and I haven't had an opportunity to think back on it. I've never used magic at a distance, so how could I know it would be so difficult?
She growled. Next thing I know you'll be trying to bring corpses back to life. Don't forget what Brom said about that, too.
I won't, he said impatiently. Saphira dipped toward the ground, searching for Murtagh and the horses. Eragon would have helped her, but he barely had the energy to sit up.
Saphira settled in a small field with a jolt, and Eragon was puzzled to see the horses stopped and Murtagh kneeling, examining the ground. When Eragon did not dismount, Murtagh hurried over and inquired, "What's wrong?" He sounded angry, worried, and tired at the same time.
". . . I made a mistake," said Eragon truthfully. "The Urgals have entered the valley. I tried to confuse them, but I forgot one of the rules of magic, and it cost me a great deal."
Scowling, Murtagh jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I just found some wolf tracks, but the footprints are as wide as both of my hands and an inch deep. There are animals around here that could be dangerous even to you, Saphira." He turned to her. "I know you can't enter the forest, but could you circle above me and the horses? That should keep these beasts away. Otherwise there may only be enough left of me to roast in a thimble."
"Humor, Murtagh?" asked Eragon, a quick smile coming to his face. His muscles trembled, making it hard for him to concentrate.
"Only on the gallows." Murtagh rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe that the same Urgals have been following us the whole time. They would have to be birds to catch up with us."
"Saphira said they're larger than any we've seen," remarked Eragon.
Murtagh cursed, clenching the pommel of his sword. "That explains it! Saphira, if you're right, then those are Kull, elite of the Urgals. I should have guessed that the chieftain had been put in charge of them. They don't ride because horses can't carry their weight—not one of them is under eight feet tall—and they can run for days without sleep and still be ready for battle. It can take five men to kill one. Kull never leave their caves except for war, so they must expect a great slaughter if they are out in such force."
"Can we stay ahead of them?"
"Who knows?" said Murtagh. "They're strong, determined, and large in numbers. It's possible that we may have to face them. If that happens, I only hope that the Varden have men posted nearby who'll help us. Despite our skill and Saphira, we can't hold off Kull."
Eragon swayed. "Could you get me some bread? I need to eat." Murtagh quickly brought him part of a loaf. It was old and hard, but Eragon chewed on it gratefully. Murtagh scanned the valley walls, worry in his eyes. Eragon knew he was searching for a way out. "There'll be one farther in."
"Of course," said Murtagh with forced optimism, then slapped his thigh. "We must go."
"How is Arya?" asked Eragon.
Murtagh shrugged. "The fever's worse. She's been tossing and turning. What do you expect? Her strength is failing. You should fly her to the Varden before the poison does any more damage."
"I won't leave you behind," insisted Eragon, gaining strength with each bite. "Not with the Urgals so near."
Murtagh shrugged again. "As you wish. But I'm warning you, she won't live if you stay with me."
"Don't say that," insisted Eragon, pushing himself upright in Saphira's saddle. "Help me save her. We can still do it. Consider it a life for a life—atonement for Torkenbrand's death."
Murtagh's face darkened instantly. "It's not a debt owed. You—" He stopped as a horn echoed through the dark forest. "I'll have more to say to you later," he said shortly, stomping to the horses. He grabbed their reins and trotted away, shooting an angry glare at Eragon.
Eragon closed his eyes as Saphira took flight. He wished that he could lie on a soft bed and forget all their troubles. Saphira, he said at last, cupping his ears to warm them, what if we did take Arya to the Varden? Once she was safe, we could fly back to Murtagh and help him out of here.
The Varden wouldn't let you, said Saphira. For all they know, you might be returning to inform the Urgals of their hiding place. We aren't arriving under the best conditions to gain their trust. They'll want to know why we've brought an entire company of Kull to their very gates.
We'll just have to tell them the truth and hope they believe us, said Eragon.
And what will we do if the Kull attack Murtagh?
Fight them, of course! I won't let him and Arya be captured or killed, said Eragon indignantly.
There was a touch of sarcasm in her words. How noble. Oh, we would fell many of the Urgals—you with magic and blade, whilst my weapons would be tooth and claw—but it would be futile in the end. They are too numerous. . . . We cannot defeat them, only be defeated.
What, then? he demanded. I'll not leave Arya or Murtagh to their mercy.
Saphira waved her tail, the tip whistling loudly. I'm not asking you to. However, if we attack first, we may gain the advantage.
Have you gone crazy? They'll . . . Eragon's voice trailed off as he thought about it. They won't be able to do a thing, he concluded, surprised.
Exactly, said Saphira. We can inflict lots of damage from a safe height.
Let's drop rocks on them! proposed Eragon. That should scatter them.
If their skulls aren't thick enough to protect them. Saphira banked to the right and quickly descended to the Beartooth River. She grasped a mid-sized boulder with her strong talons while Eragon scooped up several fist-sized rocks. Laden with the stones, Saphira glided on silent wings until they were over the Urgal host. Now! she exclaimed, releasing the boulder. There were muffled cracks as the missiles plummeted through the forest top, smashing branches. A second later howls echoed through the valley.
Eragon smiled tightly as he heard the Urgals scramble for cover. Let's find more ammunition, he suggested, bending low over Saphira. She growled in agreement and returned to the riverbed.
It was hard work, but they were able to hinder the Urgals' progress—though it was impossible to stop them altogether. The Urgals gained ground whenever Saphira went for stones. Despite that, their efforts allowed Murtagh to stay ahead of the advancing column.
The valley darkened as the hours slipped by. Without the sun to provide warmth, the sharp bite of frost crept into the air and the ground mist froze on the trees, coating them white. Night animals began to creep from their dens to peer from shadowed hideouts at the strangers trespassing on their land.
Eragon continued to examine the mountainsides, searching for the waterfall that would signify the end of their journey. He was painfully aware that every passing minute brought Arya closer to death. "Faster, faster," he muttered to himself, looking down at Murtagh. Before Saphira scooped up more rocks, he said, Let's take a respite and check on Arya. The day is almost over, and I��m afraid her life is measured in hours, if not minutes.
Arya's life is in Fate's hands now. You made your choice to stay with Murtagh; it's too late to change that, so stop agonizing over it. . . . You're making my scales itch. The best thing we can do right now is to keep bombarding the Urgals. Eragon knew she was right, yet her words did nothing to calm his anxiety. He resumed his search for the waterfall, but whatever lay before them was hidden by a thick mountain ridge.
>
True darkness began to fill the valley, settling over the trees and mountains like an inky cloud. Even with her keen hearing and delicate sense of smell, Saphira could no longer locate the Urgals through the dense forest. There was no moon to help them; it would be hours before it rose above the mountains.
Saphira made a long, gentle left turn and glided around the mountain ridge. Eragon vaguely sensed it pass by them, then squinted as he saw a faint white line ahead. Could that be the waterfall? he wondered.
He looked at the sky, which still held the afterglow of sunset. The mountains' dark silhouettes curved together and formed a rough bowl that closed off the valley. The head of the valley isn't much farther! he exclaimed, pointing at the mountains. Do you think that the Varden know we're coming? Maybe they'll send men out to help us.
I doubt they'll assist us until they know if we are friend or foe, Saphira said as she abruptly dropped toward the ground. I'm returning to Murtagh—we should stay with him now. Since I can't find the Urgals, they could sneak up on him without us knowing.
Eragon loosened Zar'roc in its sheath, wondering if he was strong enough to fight. Saphira landed to the left of the Beartooth River, then crouched expectantly. The waterfall rumbled in the distance. He comes, she said. Eragon strained his ears and caught the sound of pounding hooves. Murtagh ran out of the forest, driving the horses before him. He saw them but did not slow.
Eragon jumped off Saphira, stumbling a bit as he matched Murtagh's pace. Behind him Saphira went to the river so she could follow them without being hindered by the trees. Before Eragon could relay his news, Murtagh said, "I saw you dropping rocks with Saphira—ambitious. Have the Kull stopped or turned back?"
"They're still behind us, but we're almost to the head of the valley. How's Arya?"
"She hasn't died," Murtagh said harshly. His breath came in short bursts. His next words were deceptively calm, like those of a man concealing a terrible passion. "Is there a valley or gorge ahead that I can leave through?"
Apprehensive, Eragon tried to remember if he had seen any breaks in the mountains around them; he had not thought about Murtagh's dilemma for a while. "It's dark," he began evasively, dodging a low branch, "so I might have missed something, but . . . no."
Murtagh swore explosively and came to an abrupt stop, dragging on the horses' reins until they halted as well. "Are you saying that the only place I can go is to the Varden?"
"Yes, but keep running. The Urgals are almost upon us!"
"No!" said Murtagh angrily. He stabbed a finger at Eragon. "I warned you that I wouldn't go to the Varden, but you went ahead and trapped me between a hammer and an anvil! You're the one with the elf's memories. Why didn't you tell me this was a dead end?"
Eragon bristled at the barrage and retorted, "All I knew was where we had to go, not what lay in between. Don't blame me for choosing to come."
Murtagh's breath hissed between his teeth as he furiously spun away. All Eragon could see of him was a motionless, bowed figure. His own shoulders were tense, and a vein throbbed on the side of his neck. He put his hands on his hips, impatience rising.
Why have you stopped? asked Saphira, alarmed.
Don't distract me. "What's your quarrel with the Varden? It can't be so terrible that you must keep it hidden even now. Would you rather fight the Kull than reveal it? How many times will we go through this before you trust me?"
There was a long silence.
The Urgals! reminded Saphira urgently.
I know, said Eragon, pushing back his temper. But we have to resolve this.
Quickly, quickly.
"Murtagh," said Eragon earnestly, "unless you wish to die, we must go to the Varden. Don't let me walk into their arms without knowing how they will react to you. It's going to be dangerous enough without unnecessary surprises."
Finally Murtagh turned to Eragon. His breathing was hard and fast, like that of a cornered wolf. He paused, then said with a tortured voice, "You have a right to know. I . . . I am the son of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn."