Brom stiffened as they entered the center of Daret and found it empty. Wind blew through the desolate town, and dust devils swirled sporadically. Brom wheeled Snowfire about. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like the feel of this.” He spurred Snowfire into a gallop. Eragon followed him, urging Cadoc onward.

They advanced only a few strides before wagons toppled out from behind the houses and blocked their way. Cadoc snorted and dug in his hooves, sliding to a stop next to Snowfire. A swarthy man hopped over the wagon and planted himself before them, a broadsword slung at his side and a drawn bow in his hands. Eragon swung his own bow up and pointed it at the stranger, who commanded, “Halt! Put your weapons down. You’re surrounded by sixty archers. They’ll shoot if you move.” As if on cue, a row of men stood up on the roofs of the surrounding houses.

Stay away, Saphira!cried Eragon.There are too many. If you come, they’ll shoot you out of the sky. Stay away! She heard, but he was unsure if she would obey. He prepared to use magic.I’ll have to stop the arrows before they hit me or Brom.

“What do you want?” asked Brom calmly.

“Why have you come here?” demanded the man.

“To buy supplies and hear the news. Nothing more. We’re on the way to my cousin’s house in Dras-Leona.”

“You’re armed pretty heavily.”

“So are you,” said Brom. “These are dangerous times.”

“True.” The man looked at them carefully. “I don’t think you mean us ill, but we’ve had too many encounters with Urgals and bandits for me to trust you only on your word.”

“If it doesn’t matter what we say, what happens now?” countered Brom. The men on top of the houses had not moved. By their very stillness, Eragon was sure that they were either highly disciplined . . . or frightened for their lives. He hoped it was the latter.

“You say that you only want supplies. Would you agree to stay here while we bring what you need, then pay us and leave immediately?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” said the man, lowering his bow, though he kept it ready. He waved at one of the archers, who slid to the ground and ran over. “Tell him what you want.”

Brom recited a short list and then added, “Also, if you have a spare pair of gloves that would fit my nephew, I’d like to buy those too.” The archer nodded and ran off.

“The name’s Trevor,” said the man standing in front of them. “Normally I’d shake your hand, but under the circumstances, I think I’ll keep my distance. Tell me, where are you from?”

“North,” said Brom, “but we haven’t lived in any place long enough to call it home. Have Urgals forced you to take these measures?”

“Yes,” said Trevor, “and worse fiends. Do you have any news from other towns? We receive word from them rarely, but there have been reports that they are also beleaguered.”

Brom turned grave. “I wish it wasn’t our lot to bring you these tidings. Nearly a fortnight ago we passed through Yazuac and found it pillaged. The villagers had been slaughtered and piled together. We would have tried to give them a decent burial, but two Urgals attacked us.”

Shocked, Trevor stepped back and looked down with tears in his eyes. “Alas, this is indeed a dark day. Still, I don’t see how two Urgals could have defeated all of Yazuac. The people there were good fighters—some were my friends.”

“There were signs that a band of Urgals had ravaged the town,” stated Brom. “I think the ones we encountered were deserters.”

“How large was the company?”

Brom fiddled with his saddlebags for a minute. “Large enough to wipe out Yazuac, but small enough to go unnoticed in the countryside. No more than a hundred, and no less than fifty. If I’m not mistaken, either number would prove fatal to you.” Trevor wearily agreed. “You should consider leaving,” Brom continued. “This area has become far too perilous for anyone to live in peace.”

“I know, but the people here refuse to consider moving. This is their home—as well as mine, though I have only been here a couple years—and they place its worth above their own lives.” Trevor looked at him seriously. “We have repulsed individual Urgals, and that has given the townspeople a confidence far beyond their abilities. I fear that we will all wake up one morning with our throats slashed.”

The archer hurried out of a house with a pile of goods in his arms. He set them next to the horses, and Brom paid him. As the man left, Brom asked, “Why did they choose you to defend Daret?”

Trevor shrugged. “I was in the king’s army for some years.”

Brom dug through the items, handed Eragon the pair of gloves, and packed the rest of the supplies into their saddlebags. Eragon pulled the gloves on, being careful to keep his palm facing down, and flexed his hands. The leather felt good and strong, though it was scarred from use. “Well,” said Brom, “as I promised, we will go now.”

Trevor nodded. “When you enter Dras-Leona, would you do us this favor? Alert the Empire to our plight and that of the other towns. If word of this hasn’t reached the king by now, it’s cause for worry. And if it has, but he has chosen to do nothing, that too is cause for worry.”

“We will carry your message. May your swords stay sharp,” said Brom.

“And yours.”

The wagons were pulled out of their way, and they rode from Daret into the trees along the Ninor River. Eragon sent his thoughts to Saphira.We’re on our way back. Everything turned out all right. Her only response was simmering anger.