“It was a spell we gave the dwarves long ago. They use it with great skill.”

Eragon reached up and scratched his chin and cheeks, feeling the patches of stubble that had begun to appear. “Could you teach me more magic while we travel?”

She looked at him, her balance perfect on the undulating logs. “It is not my place. A teacher is waiting for you.”

“Then tell me this, at least,” he said. “What does the name of my sword mean?”

Arya’s voice was very soft. “Miseryis your sword. And so it was until you wielded it.”

Eragon stared with aversion at Zar’roc. The more he learned about his weapon, the more malevolent it seemed, as if the blade could cause misfortune of its own free will.Not only did Morzan kill Riders with it, but Zar’roc’s very name is evil. If Brom had not given it to him, and if not for the fact that Zar’roc never dulled and could not be broken, Eragon would have thrown it into the river at that very moment.

Before it grew any darker, Eragon swam out to Saphira. They flew together for the first time since leaving Tronjheim and soared high above the Az Ragni, where the air was thin and the water below was only a purple streak.

Without the saddle, Eragon gripped Saphira tightly with his knees, feeling her hard scales rub the scars from their first flight.

As Saphira tilted to the left, rising on an updraft, he saw three brown specks launch themselves from the mountainside below and ascend rapidly. At first Eragon took them to be falcons, but as they neared, he realized that the animals were almost twenty feet long, with attenuated tails and leathery wings. In fact, they looked like dragons, though their bodies were smaller, thinner, and more serpentine than Saphira’s. Nor did their scales glitter, but were dappled green and brown.

Excited, Eragon pointed them out to Saphira.Could they be dragons? he asked.

I don’t know.She floated in place, inspecting the newcomers as they spiraled around them. The creatures seemed puzzled by Saphira. They darted toward her, only to hiss and swoop overhead at the last moment.

Eragon grinned and reached out with his mind, trying to touch their thoughts. As he did, the three recoiled and shrieked, opening their maws like hungry snakes. Their piercing keen was mental as well as physical. It tore through Eragon with a savage strength, seeking to incapacitate him. Saphira felt it too. Continuing the racking cry, the creatures attacked with razor claws.

Hold on,warned Saphira. She folded her left wing and spun halfway around, avoiding two of the animals, then flapped quickly, rising above the other. At the same time, Eragon worked furiously to block the shriek. The instant his mind was clear, he reached for the magic.Don’t kill them, said Saphira.I want the experience.

Though the creatures were more agile than Saphira, she had the advantage of bulk and strength. One of the creatures dove at her. She flipped upside down—falling backward—and kicked the animal in the chest.

The shriek dropped in intensity as her injured foe retreated.

Saphira flared her wings, looping right side up so she faced the other two as they converged on her. She arched her neck, Eragon heard a deep rumble between her ribs, and then a jet of flame roared from her jaws. A molten-blue halo engulfed Saphira’s head, flashing through her gemlike scales until she sparkled gloriously and seemed to be lit from within.

The two dragon-beasts squawked in dismay and veered to either side. The mental assault ceased as they sped away, sinking back toward the mountainside.

You almost threw me off,said Eragon, loosening his cramped arms from around her neck.

She looked at him smugly.Almost, but not quite.

That’s true,he laughed.

Flushed with the thrill of victory, they returned to the rafts. As Saphira landed amid two great fins of water, Orik shouted, “Are you hurt?”

“No,” called Eragon. The icy water whirled around his legs as Saphira swam to the side of the raft. “Were they another race unique to the Beors?”

Orik pulled him onto the raft. “We call them Fanghur. They’re not as intelligent as dragons and they can’t breathe fire, but they are still formidable foes.”

“So we discovered.” Eragon massaged his temples in an attempt to alleviate the headache the Fanghur’s attack had brought on. “Saphira was more than a match for them, however.”

Of course,she said.

“It’s how they hunt,” explained Orik. “They use their minds to immobilize their prey while they kill it.”

Saphira flicked water at Eragon with her tail.It’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll try it next time I go hunting.

He nodded.It could come in handy in a fight too.

Arya came to the edge of the raft. “I’m glad you did not kill them. Fanghur are rare enough that those three would have been sorely missed.”

“They still manage to eat enough of our herds,” growled Thorv from inside the cabin. The dwarf marched out to Eragon, champing irritably under the twisted knots of his beard. “Do not fly anymore while in these Beor Mountains, Shadeslayer. It is difficult enough to keep you unharmed without you and thine dragon fighting wind-vipers.”

“We’ll stay on the ground until we reach the plains,” promised Eragon.

“Good.”

When they stopped for the night, the dwarves moored the rafts to aspen trees along the mouth of a small stream. Ama started a fire while Eragon helped Ekksvar pull Snowfire onto land. They picketed the stallion on a strip of grass.

Thorv oversaw the erection of six large tents. Hedin gathered firewood to last until morning, and Dûthmér carried supplies off the second raft and began making dinner. Arya took up watch on the edge of camp, where she was soon joined by Ekksvar, Ama, and Tríhga when they finished their tasks.