They kept a swift pace in anticipation of the food and drink they would soon enjoy. As they approached the small houses, they could see smoke from a dozen chimneys, but there was no one in the streets. An abnormal silence enveloped the village. By unspoken consent they stopped before the first house. Eragon abruptly said, “There aren’t any dogs barking.”

“No.”

“Doesn’t mean anything, though.”

“. . . No.”

Eragon paused. “Someone should have seen us by now.”

“Yes.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone come out?”

Brom squinted at the sun. “Could be afraid.”

“Could be,” said Eragon. He was quiet for a moment. “And if it’s a trap? The Ra’zac might be waiting for us.”

“We need provisions and water.”

“There’s the Ninor.”

“Still need provisions.”

“True.” Eragon looked around. “So we go in?”

Brom flicked his reins. “Yes, but not like fools. This is the main entrance to Yazuac. If there’s an ambush, it’ll be along here. No one will expect us to arrive from a different direction.”

“Around to the side, then?” asked Eragon. Brom nodded and pulled out his sword, resting the bare blade across his saddle. Eragon strung his bow and nocked an arrow.

They trotted quietly around the town and entered it cautiously. The streets were empty, except for a small fox that darted away as they came near. The houses were dark and foreboding, with shattered windows. Many of the doors swung on broken hinges. The horses rolled their eyes nervously. Eragon’s palm tingled, but he resisted the urge to scratch it. As they rode into the center of town, he gripped his bow tighter, blanching. “Gods above,” he whispered.

A mountain of bodies rose above them, the corpses stiff and grimacing. Their clothes were soaked in blood, and the churned ground was stained with it. Slaughtered men lay over the women they had tried to protect, mothers still clasped their children, and lovers who had tried to shield each other rested in death’s cold embrace. Black arrows stuck out of them all. Neither young nor old had been spared. But worst of all was the barbed spear that rose out of the peak of the pile, impaling the white body of a baby.

Tears blurred Eragon’s vision and he tried to look away, but the dead faces held his attention. He stared at their open eyes and wondered how life could have left them so easily.What does our existence mean when it can end like this? A wave of hopelessness overwhelmed him.

A crow dipped out of the sky, like a black shadow, and perched on the spear. It cocked its head and greedily scrutinized the infant’s corpse. “Oh no you don’t,” snarled Eragon as he pulled back the bowstring and released it with a twang. With a puff of feathers, the crow fell over backward, the arrow protruding from its chest. Eragon fit another arrow to the string, but nausea rose from his stomach and he threw up over Cadoc’s side.

Brom patted him on the back. When Eragon was done, Brom asked gently, “Do you want to wait for me outside Yazuac?”

“No . . . I’ll stay,” said Eragon shakily, wiping his mouth. He avoided looking at the gruesome sight before them. “Who could have done . . .” He could not force out the words.

Brom bowed his head. “Those who love the pain and suffering of others. They wear many faces and go by many disguises, but there is only one name for them: evil. There is no understanding it. All we can do is pity and honor the victims.”

He dismounted Snowfire and walked around, inspecting the trampled ground carefully. “The Ra’zac passed this way,” he said slowly, “but this wasn’t their doing. This is Urgal work; the spear is of their make. A company of them came through here, perhaps as many as a hundred. It’s odd; I know of only a few instances when they have gathered in such . . .” He knelt and examined a footprint intently. With a curse he ran back to Snowfire and leapt onto him.

“Ride!” he hissed tightly, spurring Snowfire forward. “There are still Urgals here!” Eragon jammed his heels into Cadoc. The horse jumped forward and raced after Snowfire. They dashed past the houses and were almost to the edge of Yazuac when Eragon’s palm tingled again. He saw a flicker of movement to his right, then a giant fist smashed him out of the saddle. He flew back over Cadoc and crashed into a wall, holding on to his bow only by instinct. Gasping and stunned, he staggered upright, hugging his side.

An Urgal stood over him, face set in a gross leer. The monster was tall, thick, and broader than a doorway, with gray skin and yellow piggish eyes. Muscles bulged on his arms and chest, which was covered by a too small breastplate. An iron cap rested over the pair of ram’s horns curling from his temples, and a roundshield was bound to one arm. His powerful hand held a short, wicked sword.

Behind him, Eragon saw Brom rein in Snowfire and start back, only to be stopped by the appearance of a second Urgal, this one with an ax. “Run, you fool!” Brom cried to Eragon, cleaving at his enemy. The Urgal in front of Eragon roared and swung his sword mightily. Eragon jerked back with a startled yelp as the weapon whistled past his cheek. He spun around and fled toward the center of Yazuac, heart pounding wildly.

The Urgal pursued him, heavy boots thudding. Eragon sent a desperate cry for help to Saphira, then forced himself to go even faster. The Urgal rapidly gained ground despite Eragon’s efforts; large fangs separated in a soundless bellow. With the Urgal almost upon him, Eragon strung an arrow, spun to a stop, took aim, and released. The Urgal snapped up his arm and caught the quivering bolt on his shield. The monster collided with Eragon before he could shoot again, and they fell to the ground in a confused tangle.