With the aid of magic, Eragon drew out the shaft, then he and Saphira worked to repair the man’s innards, using some of the warrior’s own energy to fuel the spell. It took several minutes. Afterward, the man examined his belly, pressing his hands against the flawless skin, then gazed at Eragon, tears brimming in his eyes. “I . . . Shadeslayer, you . . .”

Eragon handed him his waterskin. “Here, keep it. You have greater need of it than I.”

A hundred yards beyond, Eragon and Saphira breached an acrid wall of smoke. There they came upon Orik and ten other dwarves—some women—arrayed around the body of Hrothgar, who lay upon four shields, resplendent in his golden mail. The dwarves tore at their hair, beat their breasts, and wailed their lamentations to the sky. Eragon bowed his head and murmured, “Stydja unin mor’ranr, Hrothgar Könungr.”

After a time, Orik noticed them and rose, his face red from crying and his beard torn free of its usual braid. He staggered over to Eragon and, without preempt, asked, “Did you kill the coward responsible for this?”

“He escaped.” Eragon could not bring himself to explain that the Rider was Murtagh.

Orik stamped his fist into his hand. “Barzûln!”

“But I swear to you upon every stone in Alagaësia that, as one of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, I’ll do everything I can to avenge Hrothgar’s death.”

“Aye, you’re the only one besides the elves strong enough to bring this foul murderer to justice. And when you find him . . . grind his bones to dust, Eragon. Pull his teeth and fill his veins with molten lead; make him suffer for every minute of Hrothgar’s life that he stole.”

“Wasn’t it a good death? Wouldn’t Hrothgar have wanted to die in battle, with Volund in his hand?”

“In battle, yes, facing an honest foe who dared stand and fight like a man. Not brought low by a magician’s trickery. . . .” Shaking his head, Orik looked back at Hrothgar, then crossed his arms and tucked his chin against his collarbone. He took several ragged breaths. “When my parents died of the pox, Hrothgar gave me a life again. He took me into his hall. He made me his heir. Losing him . . .” Orik pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, covering his face. “Losing him is like losing my father again.”

The grief in his voice was so clear, Eragon felt as if he shared the dwarf’s sorrow. “I understand,” he said.

“I know you do, Eragon. . . . I know you do.” After a moment, Orik wiped his eyes and gestured at the ten dwarves. “Before anything else is done, we have to return Hrothgar to Farthen Dûr so he can be entombed with his predecessors. Dûrgrimst Ingeitum must choose a new grimstborith, and then the thirteen clan chiefs—including the ones you see here—will select our next king from among themselves. What happens next, I know not. This tragedy will embolden some clans and turn others against our cause. . . .” He shook his head again.

Eragon put his hand on Orik’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that now. You have but to ask, and my arm and my will are at your service. . . . If you want, come to my tent and we can share a cask of mead and toast Hrothgar’s memory.”

“I’d like that. But not yet. Not until we finish pleading with the gods to grant Hrothgar safe passage to the afterlife.” Leaving Eragon, Orik returned to the circle of dwarves and added his voice to their keening.

Continuing on through the Burning Plains, Saphira said,Hrothgar was a great king.

Aye, and a good person.Eragon sighed.We should find Arya and Nasuada. I couldn’t even heal a scratch right now, and they need to know about Murtagh.

Agreed.

They angled south toward the Varden’s encampment, but before they traveled more than a few yards, Eragon saw Roran approaching from the Jiet River. Trepidation filled him. Roran stopped directly in front of them, planted his feet wide apart, and stared at Eragon, working his jaw up and down as if he wanted to talk but was unable to get the words past his teeth.

Then he punched Eragon on the chin.

It would have been easy for Eragon to avoid the blow, but he allowed it to land, rolling away from it a bit so Roran did not break his knuckles.

It still hurt.

Wincing, Eragon faced his cousin. “I guess I deserved that.”

“That you did. We have to talk.”

“Now?”

“It can’t wait. The Ra’zac captured Katrina, and I need your help to rescue her. They’ve had her ever since we left Carvahall.”

So that’s it.In an instant, Eragon realized why Roran appeared so grim and haunted, and why he had brought the entire village to Surda.Brom was right, Galbatorix sent the Ra’zac back to Palancar Valley. Eragon frowned, torn between his responsibility to Roran and his duty to report to Nasuada. “There’s something I need to do first, and then we can talk. All right? You can accompany me if you want. . . .”

“I’ll come.”

As they traversed the pockmarked land, Eragon kept glancing at Roran out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he said in a low voice, “I missed you.”

Roran faltered, then responded with a curt nod. A few steps later, he asked, “This is Saphira, right? Jeod said that was her name.”

“Aye.”

Saphira peered at Roran with one of her glittering eyes. He bore her scrutiny without turning away, which was more than most people could do.I have always wanted to meet Eragon’s nest-mate.

“She speaks!” exclaimed Roran when Eragon repeated her words.