“What do you mean? I have killed scores of your kin.” Unbidden, excerpts from one of Oromis’s scrolls rose in Eragon’s memory. He remembered reading that Urgals, both male and female, determined their rank in society through combat, and that it was this practice, above all else, that had led to so many conflicts between Urgals and other races. Which meant, he realized, that if they admired his feats in battle, then they may have accorded him the same status as one of their war chiefs.

“By killing Durza, you freed us from his control. We are in your debt, Firesword. None of our rams will challenge you, and if you visit our halls, you and the dragon, Flametongue, will be welcomed as no outsiders ever before.”

Of all the responses Eragon had expected, gratitude was the last, and it was the one he was least prepared to deal with. Unable to think of anything else, he said, “I won’t forget.” He switched his gaze to the other Urgals, then returned it to Garzhvog and his yellow eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Aye, Rider.”

As Eragon reached toward Garzhvog’s consciousness, it reminded him of how the Twins invaded his mind when he first entered Farthen Dûr. That observation was swept away as he immersed himself in the Urgal’s identity. The very nature of his search—looking for malevolent intent perhaps hidden somewhere in Garzhvog’s past—meant Eragon had to examine years of memories. Unlike the Twins, Eragon avoided causing deliberate pain, but he was not overly gentle. He could feel Garzhvog flinch with occasional pangs of discomfort. Like dwarves and elves, the mind of an Urgal possessed different elements than a human mind. Its structure emphasized rigidity and hierarchy—a result of the tribes the Urgals organized themselves into—but it felt rough and raw, brutal and cunning: the mind of a wild animal.

Though he made no effort to learn more about Garzhvog as an individual, Eragon could not help absorbing pieces of the Urgal’s life. Garzhvog did not resist. Indeed, he seemed eager to share his experiences, to convince Eragon that Urgals were not his born enemies.We cannot afford to have another Rider rise up who seeks to destroy us, said Garzhvog.Look well, O Firesword, and see if we are truly the monsters you call us. . . .

So many images and sensations flashed between them, Eragon almost lost track: Garzhvog’s childhood with the other members of his brood in a ramshackle village built deep in the heart of the Spine; his dam brushing his hair with an antler comb and singing a soft song; learning to hunt deer and other prey with his bare hands; growing larger and larger until it was apparent that the old blood still flowed in his veins and he would stand over eight feet tall, making him a Kull; the dozens of challenges he made, accepted, and won; venturing out of the village to gain renown, so he might mate, and gradually learning to hate, distrust, and fear—yes,fear —a world that had condemned his race; fighting in Farthen Dûr; discovering they had been manipulated by Durza; and realizing that their only hope of a better life was to put aside old differences, befriend the Varden, and see Galbatorix overthrown. Nowhere was there evidence that Garzhvog lied.

Eragon could not understand what he had seen. Tearing himself from Garzhvog’s mind, he dove into each of the three remaining Urgals. Their memories confirmed the facts presented by Garzhvog. They made no attempt to conceal that they had killed humans, but it had been done at the command of Durza when the sorcerer controlled them, or when fighting humans over food or land.We did what we had to in order to care for our families, they said.

When he finished, Eragon stood before Garzhvog and knew the Urgal’s bloodline was as regal as any prince’s. He knew that, though uneducated, Garzhvog was a brilliant commander and as great a thinker and philosopher as Oromis himself.He’s certainly brighter than me, admitted Eragon to Saphira. Baring his throat as a sign of respect, he said out loud, “Nar Garzhvog,” and for the first time, he was aware of the lofty origins of the titlenar. “I am proud to have you at my side. You may tell the Herndall that so long as the Urgals remain true to their word and do not turn against the Varden, I shall not oppose you.” Eragon doubted that he would everlike an Urgal, but the iron certitude of his prejudice only a few minutes before now seemed ignorant, and he could not retain it in good conscience.

Saphira flicked him on the arm with her barbed tongue, making the mail clink together.It takes courage to admit you were wrong.

Only if you are afraid of looking foolish, and I would have looked far more foolish if I persisted with an erroneous belief.

Why, little one, you just said something wise.Despite her teasing, he could sense her warm pride in what he had accomplished.

“Again, we are in your debt, Firesword,” said Garzhvog. He and the other Urgals pressed their fists against their jutting brows.

Eragon could tell that Nasuada wanted to know the details of what had just transpired but that she restrained herself. “Good. Now that this is settled, I must be off. Eragon, you’ll receive my signal from Trianna when the time has arrived.” With that she strode away into the darkness.

As Eragon settled against Saphira, Orik sidled up to him. “It’s lucky we dwarves are going to be here, eh? We’ll watch the Kull like hawks, we will. We won’t let them catch you while your back is turned. The moment they attack, we’ll cut their legs out from under them.”

“I thought you agreed with Nasuada’s accepting the Urgals’ offer.”

“That doesn’t mean I trust them or want to be right alongside them, now does it?” Eragon smiled and did not bother to argue; it would be impossible to convince Orik that the Urgals were not rapacious killers when he himself had refused to consider the possibility until sharing an Urgal’s memories.