“Where are they going?!”
“Away.” Her chin trembled. Then she took a breath, released it, and stood taller than before.
Cursing again, Eragon bent and pulled open the saddlebags. Within, he found a number of smallish Eldunarí enclosed in padded cases. “Arya! Blödhgarm!” he shouted, pointing at the saddlebags. The two elves nodded.
Eragon ran over to Saphira. He did not have to explain himself; she understood. She spread her wings as he climbed onto her back, and the moment he was settled in the saddle, she took flight from the courtyard.
Cheers rose from the city as the Varden caught sight of her.
Saphira flapped quickly, following Thorn’s musky scent trail through the air. It led her south, out from under the shadow of the overhang, and then it turned and curved up and around the great stone outcrop, heading north, toward the Ramr River.
For several miles, the trail ran straight and level. When the broad, tree-lined river was almost underneath them, the scent began to angle downward.
Eragon studied the ground ahead and saw a flash of red by the foot of a small hill on the other side of the river. Over there, he said to Saphira, but she had already spotted Thorn.
She spiraled down and landed softly atop the hill, where she had the advantage of height. The air off the water was cool and moist, carrying with it the scent of moss, mud, and sap. Between the hill and the river lay a sea of nettles. The plants grew in such thick profusion, the only way to pass through them would have been to cut a path. Their dark, sawtooth leaves rubbed against each other with a gentle susurration that blended with the sound of the rushing river.
By the edge of the nettles sat Thorn. Murtagh stood next to him, adjusting the girth on his saddle.
Eragon loosened Brisingr in its sheath, then cautiously approached.
Without turning around, Murtagh said, “Have you come to stop us?”
“That depends. Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. North, maybe … somewhere away from other people.”
“You could stay.”
Murtagh uttered a bark of mirthless laughter. “You know better than that. It would only cause Nasuada problems. Besides, the dwarves would never stand for it. Not after I killed Hrothgar.” He glanced over his shoulder at Eragon. “Galbatorix used to call me Kingkiller. You’re Kingkiller as well now.”
“It seems to run in the family.”
“You’d better keep an eye on Roran, then.… And Arya is a dragonkiller. That can’t be easy for her—an elf killing a dragon. You should talk to her and make sure she’s all right.”
Murtagh’s insight surprised Eragon. “I will.”
“There,” said Murtagh, giving the strap a final tug. Then he turned to face Eragon, and Eragon saw that he had been holding Zar’roc close against his body, drawn and ready to use. “So, again: have you come to stop us?”
“No.”
Murtagh gave a thin smile and sheathed Zar’roc. “Good. I would hate to have to fight you again.”
“How were you able to break free of Galbatorix? It was your true name, wasn’t it?”
Murtagh nodded. “As I said, I’m not … we’re not”—he touched Thorn’s side—“what we once were. It just took a while to realize it.”
“And Nasuada.”
Murtagh frowned. Then he turned away and stared out over the sea of nettles. As Eragon joined him, Murtagh said in a low voice, “Do you remember the last time we were at this river?”
“It would be hard to forget. I can still hear the screams of the horses.”
“You, Saphira, Arya, and me, all together and sure that nothing could stop us.…”
In the back of his mind, Eragon could feel Saphira and Thorn talking to each other. Saphira, he knew, would tell him later what had passed between them.
“What will you do?” he asked Murtagh.
“Sit and think. Maybe I’ll build a castle. I have the time.”
“You don’t have to leave. I know it would be … difficult, but you have family here: me and also Roran. He’s your cousin as well as mine, and you’ve never even met him.… You belong as much to Carvahall and Palancar Valley as you do to Urû’baen, maybe more.”
Murtagh shook his head and continued to stare over the nettles. “It wouldn’t work. Thorn and I need time alone; we need time to heal. If we stay, we’d be too busy to figure things out for ourselves.”
“Good company and staying busy are often the best cure for a sickness of the soul.”
“Not for what Galbatorix did to us.… Besides, it would be painful to be around Nasuada right now, for both her and me. No, we have to leave.”
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“Until the world no longer seems quite so hateful and we no longer feel like tearing down mountains and filling the sea with blood.”
To that, Eragon had no response. They stood looking at the river, where it lay behind a line of low willow trees. The rustling of the nettles grew louder, stirred by the westward wind.
Then Eragon said, “When you no longer wish to be alone, come find us. You’ll always be welcome at our hearth, wherever that may be.”
“We will. I promise.” To Eragon’s surprise, he saw a gleam appear in Murtagh’s eyes. It vanished a second later. “You know,” Murtagh said, “I never thought you could do it … but I’m glad you did.”
“I was lucky. And it wouldn’t have been possible without your help.”
“Even so.… You found the Eldunarí in the saddlebags?”
Eragon nodded.
“Good.”
Should we tell them? Eragon asked Saphira, hoping that she would agree.
She thought for a moment. Yes, but do not say where. You tell him, and I will tell Thorn.
As you wish. To Murtagh, Eragon said, “There’s something you should know.”
Murtagh gave him a sideways glance.
“The egg that Galbatorix had—it isn’t the only one in Alagaësia. There are more, hidden in the same place where we found the Eldunarí we brought with us.”
Murtagh turned toward him, disbelief evident on his face. At the same time, Thorn arched his neck and uttered a joyful trumpet that scared a flight of swallows from the branches of a nearby tree.
“How many more?”
“Hundreds.”
For a moment, Murtagh seemed unable to speak. Then: “What will you do with them?”
“Me? I think Saphira and the Eldunarí will have some say in the matter, but probably find somewhere safe for the eggs to hatch, and start to rebuild the Riders.”
“Will you and Saphira train them?”
Eragon shrugged. “I’m sure the elves will help. You could as well, if you join us.”
Murtagh tilted his head back and released a long breath. “The dragons are going to return, and the Riders as well.” He laughed softly. “The world is about to change.”
“It has already changed.”
“Aye. So you and Saphira will become the new leaders of the Riders, while Thorn and I will live in the wilderness.” Eragon tried to say something, to comfort him, but Murtagh stopped him with a look. “No, it is as it should be. You and Saphira will make better teachers than we would.”