There was a disturbance below. From above, it looked as if the ground was flowing together like a great sluggish river. A leaden band of mist gathered in front of the Urgals and thickened into an intimidating wall, dark as a thunderhead. The Urgals hesitated before it, then continued forward like an unstoppable battering ram. The barrier swirled around them, concealing the lead ranks from view.

The drain on Eragon’s strength was sudden and massive, making his heart flutter like a dying bird. He gasped, eyes rolling. He struggled to sever the magic’s hold on him—to plug the breach through which his life streamed. With a savage growl he jerked away from the magic and broke contact. Tendrils of magic snapped through his mind like decapitated snakes, then reluctantly retreated from his consciousness, clutching at the dregs of his strength. The wall of mist dissipated, and the fog sluggishly collapsed across the ground like a tower of mud sliding apart. The Urgals had not been hindered at all.

Eragon lay limply on Saphira, panting. Only now did he remember Brom saying, “Magic is affected by distance, just like an arrow or a spear. If you try to lift or move something a mile away, it’ll take more energy than if you were closer.”I won’t forget that again, he thought grimly.

You shouldn’t have forgotten in the first place,Saphira inserted pointedly.First the dirt at Gil’ead and now this. Weren’t you paying attention to anything Brom told you? You’ll kill yourself if you keep this up.

I paid attention,he insisted, rubbing his chin. It’s just been a while, and I haven’t had an opportunity to think back on it. I’ve never used magic at a distance, so how could I know it would be so difficult?

She growled.Next thing I know you’ll be trying to bring corpses back to life. Don’t forget what Brom said about that, too.

I won’t,he said impatiently. Saphira dipped toward the ground, searching for Murtagh and the horses. Eragon would have helped her, but he barely had the energy to sit up.

Saphira settled in a small field with a jolt, and Eragon was puzzled to see the horses stopped and Murtagh kneeling, examining the ground. When Eragon did not dismount, Murtagh hurried over and inquired, “What’s wrong?” He sounded angry, worried, and tired at the same time.

“. . . I made a mistake,” said Eragon truthfully. “The Urgals have entered the valley. I tried to confuse them, but I forgot one of the rules of magic, and it cost me a great deal.”

Scowling, Murtagh jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I just found some wolf tracks, but the footprints are as wide as both of my hands and an inch deep. There are animals around here that could be dangerous even to you, Saphira.” He turned to her. “I know you can’t enter the forest, but could you circle above me and the horses? That should keep these beasts away. Otherwise there may only be enough left of me to roast in a thimble.”

“Humor, Murtagh?” asked Eragon, a quick smile coming to his face. His muscles trembled, making it hard for him to concentrate.

“Only on the gallows.” Murtagh rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe that the same Urgals have been following us the whole time. They would have to be birds to catch up with us.”

“Saphira said they’re larger than any we’ve seen,” remarked Eragon.

Murtagh cursed, clenching the pommel of his sword. “That explains it! Saphira, if you’re right, then those are Kull, elite of the Urgals. I should have guessed that the chieftain had been put in charge of them. They don’t ride because horses can’t carry their weight—not one of them is under eight feet tall—and they can run for days without sleep and still be ready for battle. It can take five men to kill one. Kull never leave their caves except for war, so they must expect a great slaughter if they are out in such force.”

“Can we stay ahead of them?”

“Who knows?” said Murtagh. “They’re strong, determined, and large in numbers. It’s possible that we may have to face them. If that happens, I only hope that the Varden have men posted nearby who’ll help us. Despite our skill and Saphira, we can’t hold off Kull.”

Eragon swayed. “Could you get me some bread? I need to eat.” Murtagh quickly brought him part of a loaf. It was old and hard, but Eragon chewed on it gratefully. Murtagh scanned the valley walls, worry in his eyes. Eragon knew he was searching for a way out. “There’ll be one farther in.”

“Of course,” said Murtagh with forced optimism, then slapped his thigh. “We must go.”

“How is Arya?” asked Eragon.

Murtagh shrugged. “The fever’s worse. She’s been tossing and turning. What do you expect? Her strength is failing. You should fly her to the Varden before the poison does any more damage.”

“I won’t leave you behind,” insisted Eragon, gaining strength with each bite. “Not with the Urgals so near.”

Murtagh shrugged again. “As you wish. But I’m warning you, she won’t live if you stay with me.”

“Don’t say that,” insisted Eragon, pushing himself upright in Saphira’s saddle. “Help me save her. We can still do it. Consider it a life for a life—atonement for Torkenbrand’s death.”

Murtagh’s face darkened instantly. “It’s not a debt owed. You—” He stopped as a horn echoed through the dark forest. “I’ll have more to say to you later,” he said shortly, stomping to the horses. He grabbed their reins and trotted away, shooting an angry glare at Eragon.