No surprises there—I am a Rider,thought Eragon. Was Angela only going to tell him things he already knew?

“Now the bones grow harder to read, as the rest are in a confused pile.” Angela touched three of them. “Here the wandering path, lightning bolt, and sailing ship all lie together—a pattern I’ve never seen, only heard of. The wandering path shows that there are many choices in your future, some of which you face even now. I see great battles raging around you, some of them fought for your sake. I see the mighty powers of this land struggling to control your will and destiny. Countless possible futures await you—all of them filled with blood and conflict—but only one will bring you happiness and peace. Beware of losing your way, for you are one of the few who are truly free to choose their own fate. That freedom is a gift, but it is also a responsibility more binding than chains.”

Then her face grew sad. “And yet, as if to counteract that, here is the lightning bolt. It is a terrible omen. There is a doom upon you, but of what sort I know not. Part of it lies in a death—one that rapidly approaches and will cause you much grief. But the rest awaits in a great journey. Look closely at this bone. You can see how its end rests on that of the sailing ship. That is impossible to misunderstand. Your fate will be to leave this land forever. Where you will end up I know not, but you will never again stand in Alagaësia. This is inescapable. It will come to pass even if you try to avoid it.”

Her words frightened Eragon.Another death . . . who must I lose now? His thoughts immediately went to Roran. Then he thought about his homeland.What could ever force me to leave?And where would I go? If there are lands across the sea or to the east, only the elves know of them.

Angela rubbed her temples and breathed deeply. “The next bone is easier to read and perhaps a bit more pleasant.” Eragon examined it and saw a rose blossom inscribed between the horns of a crescent moon.

Angela smiled and said, “An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary, as the moon indicates—for that is a magical symbol—and strong enough to outlast empires. I cannot say if this passion will end happily, but your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare.”

Of noble birth,thought Eragon in surprise.How could that ever happen? I have no more standing than the poorest of farmers.

“Now for the last two bones, the tree and the hawthorn root, which cross each other strongly. I wish that this were not so—it can only mean more trouble—but betrayal is clear. And it will come from within your family.”

“Roran wouldn’t do that!” objected Eragon abruptly.

“I wouldn’t know,” said Angela carefully. “But the bones have never lied, and that is what they say.”

Doubt wormed into Eragon’s mind, but he tried to ignore it. What reason would there ever be for Roran to turn on him? Angela put a comforting hand on his shoulder and offered him the wineskin again. This time Eragon accepted the drink, and it made him feel better.

“After all that, death might be welcome,” he joked nervously.Betrayal from Roran? It couldn’t happen! It won’t!

“It might be,” said Angela solemnly, then laughed slightly. “But you shouldn’t fret about what has yet to occur. The only way the future can harm us is by causing worry. I guarantee that you’ll feel better once you’re out in the sun.”

“Perhaps.”Unfortunately, he reflected wryly,nothing she said will make sense until it has already happened. If it really does, he amended himself. “You used words of power,” he noted quietly.

Angela’s eyes flashed. “What I wouldn’t give to see how the rest of your life plays out. You can speak to werecats, know of the ancient language, and have a most interesting future. Also, few young men with empty pockets and rough traveling clothes can expect to be loved by a noblewoman. Who are you?”

Eragon realized that the werecat must not have told Angela that he was a Rider. He almost said, “Evan,” but then changed his mind and simply stated, “I am Eragon.”

Angela arched her eyebrows. “Is that who you are or your name?” she asked.

“Both,” said Eragon with a small smile, thinking of his namesake, the first Rider.

“Now I’m all the more interested in seeing how your life will unfold. Who was the ragged man with you yesterday?”

Eragon decided that one more name couldn’t hurt. “His name is Brom.”

A guffaw suddenly burst out of Angela, doubling her over in mirth. She wiped her eyes and took a sip of wine, then fought off another attack of merriment. Finally, gasping for breath, she forced out, “Oh . . . that one! I had no idea!”

“What is it?” demanded Eragon.

“No, no, don’t be upset,” said Angela, hiding a smile. “It’s only that—well, he is known by those in my profession. I’m afraid that the poor man’s doom, or future if you will, is something of a joke with us.”

“Don’t insult him! He’s a better man than any you could find!” snapped Eragon.

“Peace, peace,” chided Angela with amusement. “I know that. If we meet again at the right time I’ll be sure to tell you about it. But in the meantime you should—” She stopped speaking as Solembum padded between them. The werecat stared at Eragon with unblinking eyes.

Yes?Eragon asked, irritated.

Listen closely and I will tell you two things. When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls.