At last, a straightforward answer …

A frown creased Arya’s brow. “But what would you do on Vroengard?”

“I don’t know!” said Eragon, his temper rising. He debated whether it was worth confronting Glaedr about his remarks; the dragon seemed to be needling Eragon on purpose. “It depends on what we find. Once we’re there, we’ll try to open the Rock of Kuthian and discover whatever secrets it contains. If it’s a trap …” He shrugged. “Then we’ll fight.”

Arya’s expression grew increasingly troubled. “The Rock of Kuthian … The name seems weighted with significance, but I cannot say why; it echoes in my mind, like a song I once knew but have since forgotten.” She shook her head and put her hands to her temples. “Ah, now it is gone.…” She looked up. “Forgive me, what were we speaking of?”

“Going to Vroengard,” Eragon said slowly.

“Ah, yes … but for what purpose? You’re needed here, Eragon. In any case, nothing of value remains on Vroengard.”

Aye, said Glaedr. It is a dead and abandoned place. After the destruction of Doru Araeba, the few of us who had escaped returned to search for anything that might be of use, but the Forsworn had already picked the ruins clean.

Arya nodded. “Whatever put this idea in your head in the first place? I don’t understand how you could believe deserting the Varden now, when they’re at their most vulnerable, could possibly be wise. And for what? To fly to the far ends of Alagaësia without cause or reason? I had thought better of you.… You cannot leave just because you are uncomfortable with your new station, Eragon.”

Eragon decoupled his mind from Arya and Glaedr, and signaled to Saphira to do the same. They don’t remember! … They can’t remember!

It is magic. Deep magic, like the spell that hides the names of the dragons who betrayed the Riders.

But you haven’t forgotten about the Rock of Kuthian, have you?

Of course not, she said, her mind flashing green with pique. How could I when we are so closely joined?

A sense of vertigo gripped Eragon as he considered the implications. In order to be effective, the spell would have to erase the memories of everyone who knew about the rock in the first place and also the memories of anyone who heard or read about it thereafter. Which means … the whole of Alagaësia is in the thrall of this enchantment. No one can escape its reach.

Except for us.

Except for us, he agreed. And the werecats.

And, perhaps, Galbatorix.

Eragon shivered; it felt as if spiders made of ice crystals were crawling up and down his spine. The size of the deception astounded him and left him feeling small, vulnerable. To cloud the minds of elves, dwarves, humans, and dragons alike, and without arousing the slightest hint of suspicion, was a feat so difficult, he doubted it could have been accomplished by a deliberate application of craft; rather, he believed it could only have been done by instinct, for such a spell would be far too complicated to put into words.

He had to know who was responsible for manipulating the minds of everyone in Alagaësia, and why. If it was Galbatorix, then Eragon feared that Solembum was right and the Varden’s defeat was inevitable.

Do you think this was the work of dragons, as was the Banishing of the Names? he asked.

Saphira was slow to answer. Perhaps. But then, as Solembum said to you, there are many powers in Alagaësia. Until we go to Vroengard, we won’t know for certain one way or another.

If ever we do.

Aye.

Eragon ran his fingers through his hair. He suddenly felt exceptionally tired. Why does everything have to be so hard? he wondered.

Because, said Saphira, everyone wants to eat, but no one wants to be eaten.

He snorted, grimly amused.

Despite the speed with which he and Saphira could exchange thoughts, their conversation had lasted long enough for Arya and Glaedr to notice.

“Why have you closed your minds to us?” asked Arya. Her gaze flicked toward one wall of the tent—the wall nearest to where Saphira lay curled in the darkness beyond. “Is something wrong?”

You seem perturbed, Glaedr added.

Eragon stifled a humorless chuckle. “Perhaps because I am.” Arya watched with concern as he went over to the cot and sat on the edge. He let his arms hang limp and heavy between his legs. He was silent for a moment as he made the shift from the language of his birth to that of the elves and magic, whereupon he said, “Do you trust Saphira and me?”

The resulting pause was gratifyingly brief.

“I do,” replied Arya, also in the ancient language.

As do I, Glaedr likewise said.

Shall I, or shall you? Eragon quickly asked Saphira.

You want to tell them, so tell them.

Eragon looked up at Arya. Then, still in the ancient language, he said to both her and Glaedr, “Solembum has told me the name of a place, a place on Vroengard, where Saphira and I may find someone or something to help us defeat Galbatorix. However, the name is enchanted. Every time I say the name, you soon forget it.” A faint expression of shock appeared on Arya’s face. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe you,” Arya slowly said.

I believe that you believe what you are saying, Glaedr growled. But that does not necessarily make it so.

“How else can I prove it? You won’t remember if I tell you the name or share my memories with you. You could question Solembum, but again, what good would it do?”

What good? For one, we can prove that you haven’t been tricked or deceived by something that only appeared to be Solembum. And as for the spell, there may be a way to demonstrate its existence. Summon the werecat, and then we shall see what can be done.