In a low, distant voice, Oromis said, “We will begin anew tomorrow, with this and other subjects.” From his profile, Eragon could tell that Oromis had regained his customary expression of impassive reserve. “Is that agreeable to you?”

“Yes, Master,” said Eragon, grateful for the question.

“I think it best if, from now on, you endeavor to speak only in the ancient language. We have little time at our disposal, and this is the fastest way for you to learn.”

“Even when I talk to Saphira?”

“Even then.”

Adopting the elven tongue, Eragon vowed, “Then I will work ceaselessly until I not only think, but dream, in your language.”

“If you achieve that,” said Oromis, replying in kind, “our venture may yet succeed.” He paused. “Instead of flying directly here in the morning, you will accompany the elf I send to guide you. He will take you to where those of Ellesméra practice swordplay. Stay for an hour, then continue on as normal.”

“Won’t you teach me yourself?” asked Eragon, feeling slighted.

“I have naught to teach. You are as good a swordsman as ever I have met. I know no more of fighting than you, and that which I possess and you do not, I cannot give you. All that remains for you is to preserve your current level of skill.”

“Why can’t I do that with you . . . Master?”

“Because I do not appreciate beginning the day with alarum and conflict.” He looked at Eragon, then relented and added, “And because it will be good for you to become acquainted with others who live here. I am not representative of my race. But enough of that. Look, they approach.”

The two dragons glided across the flat disk of the sun. First came Glaedr with a roar of wind, blotting out the sky with his massive bulk before he settled on the grass and folded his golden wings, then Saphira, as quick and agile as a sparrow beside an eagle.

As they had that morning, Oromis and Glaedr asked a number of questions to ensure that Eragon and Saphira had paid attention to each other’s lessons. They had not always, but by cooperating and sharing information between themselves, they were able to answer all of the questions. Their only stumbling block was the foreign language they were required to communicate in.

Better,rumbled Glaedr afterward.Much better. He bent his gaze toward Eragon.You and I will have to train together soon.

“Of course, Skulblaka.”

The old dragon snorted and crawled alongside Oromis, half hopping with his front leg to compensate for his missing limb. Darting forward, Saphira nipped at the end of Glaedr’s tail, tossing it into the air with a flip of her head, like she would to break the neck of a deer. She recoiled as Glaedr twisted round and snapped at her neck, exposing his enormous fangs.

Eragon winced and, too late, covered his ears to protect them from Glaedr’s roar. The speed and intensity of Glaedr’s response suggested to Eragon that this was not the first time Saphira had annoyed him throughout the day. Instead of remorse, Eragon detected an excited playfulness in her—like a child with a new toy—and a near-blind devotion to the other dragon.

“Contain yourself, Saphira!” said Oromis. Saphira pranced backward and settled on her haunches, though nothing in her demeanor expressed contrition. Eragon muttered a feeble excuse, and Oromis waved a hand and said, “Begone, both of you.”

Without arguing, Eragon scrambled onto Saphira. He had to urge her to take flight, and once she did, she insisted on circling over the clearing three times before he got her to angle toward Ellesméra.

What possessed you to bite him?he demanded. He thought he knew, but he wanted her to confirm it.

I was only playing.

It was the truth, since they spoke in the ancient language, yet he suspected that it was but a piece of a larger truth.Yes, and at what game? She tensed underneath him.You forget your duty. By . . . He searched for the right word. Unable to find it, he reverted to his native speech,By provoking Glaedr, you distract him, Oromis, and me—and hinder what we must accomplish. You’ve never been so thoughtless before.

Do not presume to be my conscience.

He laughed then, heedless for a moment of where he sat among the clouds, rolling to his side until he almost dropped from the peak of her shoulders.Oh, rich irony that, after the times you’ve told me what to do. I amyour conscience, Saphira, as much as you are mine. You’ve had good reason to chastise and warn me in the past, and now I must do the same for you: stop pestering Glaedr with your attentions.

She remained silent.

Saphira?

I hear you.

I hope so.

After a minute of peaceful flying, she said,Two seizures in one day. How are you now?

Sore and ill.He grimaced.Some of it’s from the Rimgar and sparring, but mostly it’s the aftereffects of the pain. It’s like a poison, weakening my muscles and clouding my mind. I just hope that I can remain sane long enough to reach the end of this training. Afterward, though . . . I don’t know what I’ll do. I certainly can’t fight for the Varden like this.

Don’t think about it,she counseled.You can do nothing about your condition, and you’ll only make yourself feel worse. Live in the present, remember the past, and fear not the future, for it doesn’t exist and never shall. There is only now.

He patted her shoulder and smiled with resigned gratitude. To their right, a goshawk rode a warm air current while it patrolled the broken forest for signs of furred or feathered quarry. Eragon watched it, pondering the question that Oromis had given him: How could he justify fighting the Empire when it would cause so much grief and agony?