And so it was. Roran took another shift rowing and, by the time he returned to the deck, the whirlpool was subsiding. The vortex’s ghastly howl faded into the usual noise of the wind; the water assumed a calm, flat quality that betrayed no hint of the habitual violence visited upon that location; and the contorted fog that had writhed above the abyss melted under the warm rays of the sun, leaving the air as clear as oiled glass. Of the Boar’s Eye itself—as Roran saw when he retrieved the spyglass from among the rowers—nothing remained but the selfsame disk of yellow foam rotating upon the water.

And in the center of the foam, he thought he could discern, just barely, three broken masts and a black sail floating round and round and round in an endless circle. But it might have been his imagination.

Leastways, that’s what he told himself.

Elain came up beside him, one hand resting on her swollen belly. In a small voice, she said, “We were lucky, Roran, more lucky than we had reason to expect.”

“Aye,” he agreed.

TOABERON

Underneath Saphira, the pathless forest stretched wide to each white horizon, fading as it did from the deepest green to a hazy, washed-out purple. Martins, rooks, and other woodland birds flitted above the gnarled pines, uttering shrieks of alarm when they beheld Saphira. She flew low to the canopy in order to protect her two passengers from the arctic temperatures in the upper reaches of the sky.

Except for when Saphira fled the Ra’zac into the Spine, this was the first time she and Eragon had had the opportunity to fly together over a great stretch of distance without having to stop or hold back for companions on the ground. Saphira was especially pleased with the trip, and she delighted in showing Eragon how Glaedr’s tutelage had enhanced her strength and endurance.

After his initial discomfort abated, Orik said to Eragon, “I doubt I could ever be comfortable in the air, but I can understand why you and Saphira enjoy it so. Flying makes you feel free and unfettered, like a fierce-eyed hawk hunting his prey! It sets my heart a-pounding, it does.”

To reduce the tedium of the journey, Orik played a game of riddles with Saphira. Eragon excused himself from the contest as he had never been particularly adept at riddles; the twist of thought necessary to solve them always seemed to escape him. In this, Saphira far exceeded him. As most dragons are, she was fascinated by puzzles and found them quite easy to unravel.

Orik said, “The only riddles I know are in Dwarvish. I will do mine best to translate them, but the results may be rough and unwieldy.” Then he asked:

Tall I am young.

Short I am old.

While with life I do glow,

Urûr’s breath is my foe.

Not fair,growled Saphira.I know little of your gods. Eragon had no need to repeat her words, for Orik had granted permission for her to project them directly into his mind.

Orik laughed. “Do you give up?”

Never.For a few minutes, the only sound was the sweep of her wings, until she asked,Is it a candle?

“Right you are.”

A puff of hot smoke floated back into Orik’s and Eragon’s faces as she snorted.I do poorly with such riddles. I’ve not been inside a house since the day I hatched, and I find enigmas difficult that deal with domestic subjects. Next she offered:

What herb cures all ailments?

This proved a terrible poser for Orik. He grumbled and groaned and gnashed his teeth in frustration. Behind him, Eragon could not help but grin, for he saw the answer plain in Saphira’s mind. Finally, Orik said, “Well, what is it? You have bested me with this.”

By the black raven’s crime, and by this rhyme,

the answer would be thyme.

Now it was Orik’s turn to cry, “Not fair! This is not mine native tongue. You cannot expect me to grasp such wordplay!”

Fair is fair. It was a proper riddle.

Eragon watched the muscles at the back of Orik’s neck bunch and knot as the dwarf jutted his head forward. “Ifthat is your stance, O Irontooth, then I’d have you solve this riddle that every dwarf child knows.”

I am named Morgothal’s Forge and Helzvog’s Womb.

I veil Nordvig’s Daughter and bring gray death,

And make the world anew with Helzvog’s Blood.

What be I?

And so they went, exchanging riddles of increasing difficulty while Du Weldenvarden sped past below. Gaps in the thatched branches often revealed patches of silver, sections of the many rivers that threaded the forest. Around Saphira, the clouds billowed in a fantastic architecture: vaulting arches, domes, and columns; crenelated ramparts; towers the size of mountains; and ridges and valleys suffused with a glowing light that made Eragon feel as if they flew through a dream.

So fast was Saphira that, when dusk arrived, they had already left Du Weldenvarden behind and entered the auburn fields that separated the great forest from the Hadarac Desert. They made their camp among the grass and hunkered round their small fire, utterly alone upon the flat face of the earth. They were grim-faced and said little, for words only emphasized their insignificance in that bare and empty land.

Eragon took advantage of their stop to store some of his energy in the ruby that adorned Zar’roc’s pommel. The gem absorbed all the power he gave it, as well as Saphira’s when she lent her strength. It would, concluded Eragon, be a number of days before they could saturate both the ruby and the twelve diamonds concealed within the belt of Beloth the Wise.

Weary from the exercise, he wrapped himself in blankets, lay beside Saphira, and drifted into his waking sleep, where his night phantasms played out against the sea of stars above.