A good while. I’ve been watching Brom for most of that time. He was fine until a minute ago when he started thrashing. I woke you once he fell to the floor.
He stretched, wincing as his ribs twinged painfully. A hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. Brom’s eyes snapped opened and fixed a glassy stare on Eragon. “You!” he gasped. “Bring me the wineskin!”
“Brom?” exclaimed Eragon, pleased to hear him talk. “You shouldn’t drink wine; it’ll only make you worse.”
“Bring it, boy — just bring it. .,” sighed Brom. His hand slipped off Eragon’s shoulder.
“I’ll be right back — hold on.” Eragon dashed to the saddlebags and rummaged through them frantically. “I can’t find it!” he cried, looking around desperately.
“Here, take mine,” said Murtagh, holding out a leather skin.
Eragon grabbed it and returned to Brom. “I have the wine,” he said, kneeling. Murtagh retreated to the cave’s mouth so they could have privacy.
Brom’s next words were faint and indistinct. “Good. .” He moved his arm weakly. “Now. . wash my right hand with it.”
“What—” Eragon started to ask.
“No questions! I haven’t time.” Mystified, Eragon unstoppered the wineskin and poured the liquid onto Brom’s palm. He rubbed it into the old man’s skin, spreading it around the fingers and over the back of the hand. “More,” croaked Brom. Eragon splashed wine onto his hand again. He scrubbed vigorously as a brown dye floated off Brom’s palm, then stopped, his mouth agape with amazement. There on Brom’s palm was the gedwëy ignasia.
“You’re a Rider?” he asked incredulously.
A painful smile flickered on Brom’s face. “Once upon a time that was true. . but no more. When I was young. . younger than you are now, I was chosen. . chosen by the Riders to join their ranks. While they trained me, I became friends with another apprentice. . Morzan, before he was a Forsworn.” Eragon gasped — that had been over a hundred years ago. “But then he betrayed us to Galbatorix. . and in the fighting at Dorú Areaba — Vroengard’s city — my young dragon was killed. Her name. . was Saphira.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” asked Eragon softly.
Brom laughed. “Because. . there was no need to.” He stopped. His breathing was labored; his hands were clenched. “I am old, Eragon. . so old. Though my dragon was killed, my life has been longer than most. You don’t know what it is to reach my age, look back, and realize that you don’t remember much of it; then to look forward and know that many years still lie ahead of you. . After all this time I still grieve for my Saphira. . and hate Galbatorix for what he tore from me.” His feverish eyes drilled into Eragon as he said fiercely, “Don’t let that happen to you. Don’t! Guard Saphira with your life, for without her it’s hardly worth living.”
“You shouldn’t talk like this. Nothing’s going to happen to her,” said Eragon, worried.
Brom turned his head to the side. “Perhaps I am rambling.” His gaze passed blindly over Murtagh, then he focused on Eragon. Brom’s voice grew stronger. “Eragon! I cannot last much longer. This. . this is a grievous wound; it saps my strength. I have not the energy to fight it. . Before I go, will you take my blessing?”
“Everything will be all right,” said Eragon, tears in his eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”
“It is the way of things. . I must. Will you take my blessing?” Eragon bowed his head and nodded, overcome. Brom placed a trembling hand on his brow. “Then I give it to you. May the coming years bring you great happiness.” He motioned for Eragon to bend closer. Very quietly, he whispered seven words from the ancient language, then even more softly told him what they meant. “That is all I can give you. . Use them only in great need.”
Brom blindly turned his eyes to the ceiling. “And now,” he murmured, “for the greatest adventure of all. . ”
Weeping, Eragon held his hand, comforting him as best he could. His vigil was unwavering and steadfast, unbroken by food or drink. As the long hours passed, a gray pallor crept over Brom, and his eyes slowly dimmed. His hands grew icy; the air around him took on an evil humor. Powerless to help, Eragon could only watch as the Ra’zac’s wound took its toll.
The evening hours were young and the shadows long when Brom suddenly stiffened. Eragon called his name and cried for Murtagh’s help, but they could do nothing. As a barren silence dampened the air, Brom locked his eyes with Eragon’s. Then contentment spread across the old man’s face, and a whisper of breath escaped his lips. And so it was that Brom the storyteller died.
With shaking fingers, Eragon closed Brom’s eyes and stood. Saphira raised her head behind him and roared mournfully at the sky, keening her lamentation. Tears rolled down Eragon’s cheeks as a sense of horrible loss bled through him. Haltingly, he said, “We have to bury him.”
“We might be seen,” warned Murtagh.
“I don’t care!”
Murtagh hesitated, then bore Brom’s body out of the cave, along with his sword and staff. Saphira followed them. “To the top,” Eragon said thickly, indicating the crown of the sandstone hill.
“We can’t dig a grave out of stone,” objected Murtagh.
“I can do it.”
Eragon climbed onto the smooth hilltop, struggling because of his ribs. There, Murtagh lay Brom on the stone.
Eragon wiped his eyes and fixed his gaze on the sandstone. Gesturing with his hand, he said, “Moi stenr!” The stone rippled. It flowed like water, forming a body-length depression in the hilltop. Molding the sandstone like wet clay, he raised waist-high walls around it.
They laid Brom inside the unfinished sandstone vault with his staff and sword. Stepping back, Eragon again shaped the stone with magic. It joined over Brom’s motionless face and flowed upward into a tall faceted spire. As a final tribute, Eragon set runes into the stone:
HERELIESBROM
Who was a Dragon Rider
And like a father
To me.
May his name live on in glory.
Then he bowed his head and mourned freely. He stood like a living statue until evening, when light faded from the land.
That night he dreamed of the imprisoned woman again.
He could tell that something was wrong with her. Her breathing was irregular, and she shook — whether from cold or pain, he did not know. In the semidarkness of the cell, the only thing clearly illuminated was her hand, which hung over the edge of the cot. A dark liquid dripped from the tips of her fingers. Eragon knew it was blood.
D IAMONDTOMB
When Eragon woke, his eyes were gritty, his body stiff. The cave was empty except for the horses. The litter was gone; no sign of Brom remained. He walked to the entrance and sat on the pitted sandstone.So the witch Angela was correct — there was a death in my future, he thought, staring bleakly at the land. The topaz sun brought a desert heat to the early morning.
A tear slid down his listless face and evaporated in the sunlight, leaving a salty crust on his skin. He closed his eyes and absorbed the warmth, emptying his mind. With a fingernail, he aimlessly scratched the sandstone. When he looked, he saw that he had writtenWhy me?
He was still there when Murtagh climbed up to the cave, carrying a pair of rabbits. Without a word he seated himself by Eragon. “How are you?” he asked.
“Very ill.”
Murtagh considered him thoughtfully. “Will you recover?” Eragon shrugged. After a few minutes of reflection, Murtagh said, “I dislike asking this at such a time, but I must know. . Is your Bromthe Brom? The one who helped steal a dragon egg from the king, chased it across the Empire, and killed Morzan in a duel? I heard you say his name, and I read the inscription you put on his grave, but I must know for certain, Was that he?”
“It was,” said Eragon softly. A troubled expression settled on Murtagh’s face. “How do you know all that? You talk about things that are secret to most, and you were trailing the Ra’zac right when we needed help. Are you one of the Varden?”
Murtagh’s eyes became inscrutable orbs. “I’m running away, like you.” There was restrained sorrow in his words. “I do not belong to either the Varden or the Empire. Nor do I owe allegiance to any man but myself. As for my rescuing you, I will admit that I’ve heard whispered tales of a new Rider and reasoned that by following the Ra’zac I might discover if they were true.”
“I thought you wanted to kill the Ra’zac,” said Eragon.
Murtagh smiled grimly. “I do, but if I had, I never would have met you.”
But Brom would still be alive. . I wish he were here. He would know whether to trust Murtagh.Eragon remembered how Brom had sensed Trevor’s intentions in Daret and wondered if he could do the same with Murtagh. He reached for Murtagh’s consciousness, but his probe abruptly ran into an iron-hard wall, which he tried to circumvent. Murtagh’s entire mind was fortified.How did he learn to do that? Brom said that few people, if any, could keep others out of their mind without training. So who is Murtagh to have this ability? Pensive and lonely, Eragon asked, “Where is Saphira?”