He spoke the ancient words, “Waíse heill!” A burn shimmered under his palm, and new, unmarked skin flowed over it, joining together without a scar. He passed over bruises or other wounds that were not life-threatening — healing them all would consume the energy he needed for more serious injuries. As Eragon toiled, he marveled that the elf was still alive. She had been repeatedly tortured to the edge of death with a precision that chilled him.
Although he tried to preserve the elf’s modesty, he could not help but notice that underneath the disfiguring marks, her body was exceptionally beautiful. He was exhausted and did not dwell upon it — though his ears turned red at times, and he fervently hoped that Saphira did not know what he was thinking.
He labored through dawn, pausing only at brief intervals to eat and drink, trying to replenish himself from his fast, the escape, and now healing the elf. Saphira remained by his side, lending her strength where she could. The sun was well into the sky when he finally stood, groaning as his cramped muscles stretched. His hands were gray and his eyes felt dry and gritty. He stumbled to the saddlebags and took a long drink from the wineskin. “Is it done?” asked Murtagh.
Eragon nodded, trembling. He did not trust himself to speak. The camp spun before him; he nearly fainted.You did well, said Saphira soothingly.
“Will she live?”
“I don’t — don’t know,” he said in a ravaged voice. “Elves are strong, but even they cannot endure abuse like this with impunity. If I knew more about healing, I might be able to revive her, but. .” He gestured helplessly. His hand was shaking so badly he spilled some of the wine. Another swig helped to steady him. “We’d better start riding again.”
“No! You must sleep,” protested Murtagh.
“I. . can sleep in the saddle. But we can’t afford to stay here, not with the soldiers closing on us.”
Murtagh reluctantly gave in. “In that case I’ll lead Snowfire while you rest.” They resaddled the horses, strapped the elf onto Saphira, and departed the camp. Eragon ate while he rode, trying to replace his depleted energy before he leaned forward against Snowfire and closed his eyes.
W ATER FROMSAND
When they stopped for the evening, Eragon felt no better and his temper had worsened. Most of the day had been spent on long detours to avoid detection by soldiers with hunting dogs. He dismounted Snowfire and asked Saphira,How is she?
I think no worse than before. She stirred slightly a few times, but that was all.Saphira crouched low to the ground to let him lift the elf out of the saddle. For a moment her soft form pressed against Eragon. Then he hurriedly put her down.
He and Murtagh made a small dinner. It was difficult for them to fight off the urge to sleep. When they had eaten, Murtagh said, “We can’t keep up this pace; we aren’t gaining any ground on the soldiers. Another day or two of this and they’ll be sure to overtake us.”
“What else can we do?” snapped Eragon. “If it were just the two of us and you were willing to leave Tornac behind, Saphira could fly us out of here. But with the elf, too? Impossible.”
Murtagh looked at him carefully. “If you want to go your own way, I won’t stop you. I can’t expect you and Saphira to stay and risk imprisonment.”
“Don’t insult me,” Eragon muttered. “The only reason I’m free is because of you. I’m not going to abandon you to the Empire. Poor thanks that would be!”
Murtagh bowed his head. “Your words hearten me.” He paused. “But they don’t solve our problem.”
“What can?” Eragon asked. He gestured at the elf. “I wish she could tell us where the elves are; perhaps we could seek sanctuary with them.”
“Considering how they’ve protected themselves, I doubt she’d reveal their location. Even if she did, the others of her kind might not welcome us. Why would they want to shelter us anyway? The last Riders they had contact with were Galbatorix and the Forsworn. I doubt that left them with pleasant memories. And I don’t even have the dubious honor of being a Rider like you. No, they would not want me at all.”
They would accept us,said Saphira confidently as she shifted her wings to a more comfortable position.
Eragon shrugged. “Even if they would protect us, we can’t find them, and it’s impossible to ask the elf until she regains consciousness. We must flee, but in which direction — north, south, east, or west?”
Murtagh laced his fingers together and pressed his thumbs against his temples. “I think the only thing we can do is leave the Empire. The few safe places within it are far from here. They would be difficult to reach without being caught or followed. . There’s nothing for us to the north except the forest Du Weldenvarden — which we might be able to hide in, but I don’t relish going back past Gil’ead. Only the Empire and the sea lie westward. To the south is Surda, where you might be able to find someone to direct you to the Varden. As for going east. .” He shrugged. “To the east, the Hadarac Desert stands between us and whatever lands exist in that direction. The Varden are somewhere across it, but without directions it might take us years to find them.”
We would be safe, though,remarked Saphira.As long as we didn’t encounter any Urgals.
Eragon knitted his brow. A headache threatened to drown his thoughts in hot throbs. “It’s too dangerous to go to Surda. We would have to traverse most of the Empire, avoiding every town and village. There are too many people between us and Surda to get there unnoticed.”
Murtagh raised an eyebrow. “So you want to go across the desert?”
“I don’t see any other options. Besides, that way we can leave the Empire before the Ra’zac get here. With their flying steeds, they’ll probably arrive in Gil’ead in a couple of days, so we don’t have much time.”
“Even if we do reach the desert before they get here,” said Murtagh, “they could still overtake us. It’ll be hard to outdistance them at all.”
Eragon rubbed Saphira’s side, her scales rough under his fingers. “That’s assuming they can follow our trail. To catch us, though, they’ll have to leave the soldiers behind, which is to our advantage. If it comes to a fight, I think the three of us can defeat them. . as long as we aren’t ambushed the way Brom and I were.”
“If we reach the other side of the Hadarac safely,” said Murtagh slowly, “where will we go? Those lands are well outside of the Empire. There will be few cities, if any. And then there is the desert itself. What do you know of it?”
“Only that it’s hot, dry, and full of sand,” confessed Eragon.
“That about sums it up,” replied Murtagh. “It’s filled with poisonous and inedible plants, venomous snakes, scorpions, and a blistering sun. You saw the great plain on our way to Gil’ead?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Eragon answered anyway, “Yes, and once before.”
“Then you are familiar with its immense range. It fills the heart of the Empire. Now imagine something two or three times its size, and you’ll understand the vastness of the Hadarac Desert. That is what you’re proposing to cross.”
Eragon tried to envision a piece of land that gigantic but was unable to grasp the distances involved. He retrieved the map of Alagaësia from his saddlebags. The parchment smelled musty as he unrolled it on the ground. He inspected the plains and shook his head in amazement. “No wonder the Empire ends at the desert. Everything on the other side is too far away for Galbatorix to control.”
Murtagh swept his hand over the right side of the parchment. “All the land beyond the desert, which is blank on this map, was under one rule when the Riders lived. If the king were to raise up new Riders under his command, it would allow him to expand the Empire to an unprecedented size. But that wasn’t the point I was trying to make. The Hadarac Desert is so huge and contains so many dangers, the chances are slim that we can cross it unscathed. It is a desperate path to take.”
“Weare desperate,” said Eragon firmly. He studied the map carefully. “If we rode through the belly of the desert, it would take well over a month, perhaps even two, to cross it. But if we angle southeast, toward the Beor Mountains, we could cut through much faster. Then we can either follow the Beor Mountains farther east into the wilderness or go west to Surda. If this map is accurate, the distance between here and the Beors is roughly equal to what we covered on our way to Gil’ead.”
“But that took us nearly a month!”
Eragon shook his head impatiently. “Our ride to Gil’ead was slow on account of my injuries. If we press ourselves, it’ll take only a fraction of that time to reach the Beor Mountains.”
“Enough. You made your point,” acknowledged Murtagh. “Before I consent, however, something must be solved. As I’m sure you noticed, I bought supplies for us and the horses while I was in Gil’ead. But how can we get enough water? The roving tribes who live in the Hadarac usually disguise their wells and oases so no one can steal their water. And carrying enough for more than a day is impractical. Just think about how much Saphira drinks! She and the horses consume more water at one time than we do in a week. Unless you can make it rain whenever we need, I don’t see how we can go the direction you propose.”
Eragon rocked back on his heels. Making rain was well beyond his power. He suspected that not even the strongest Rider could have done it. Moving that much air was like trying to lift a mountain. He needed a solution that would not drain all of his strength.I wonder if it’s possible to convert sand into water? That would solve our problem, but only if it doesn’t take too much energy.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Let me experiment, then I’ll give you an answer.” Eragon strode out of the camp, with Saphira following closely.
What are you going to try?she asked.
“I don’t know,” he muttered.Saphira, could you carry enough water for us?
She shook her enormous head.No, I wouldn’t even be able to lift that much weight, let alone fly with it.
Too bad.He knelt and picked up a stone with a cavity large enough for a mouthful of water. He pressed a clump of dirt into the hollow and studied it thoughtfully. Now came the hard part. Somehow he had to convert the dirt into water.But what words should I use? He puzzled over it for a moment, then picked two he hoped would work. The icy magic rushed through him as he breached the familiar barrier in his mind and commanded, “Deloi moi!”
Immediately the dirt began to absorb his strength at a prodigious rate. Eragon’s mind flashed back to Brom’s warning that certain tasks could consume all of his power and take his life. Panic blossomed in his chest. He tried to release the magic but could not. It was linked to him until the task was complete or he was dead. All he could do was remain motionless, growing weaker every moment.
Just as he became convinced that he would die kneeling there, the dirt shimmered and morphed into a thimbleful of water. Relieved, Eragon sat back, breathing hard. His heart pounded painfully and hunger gnawed at his innards.
What happened?asked Saphira.
Eragon shook his head, still in shock from the drain on his body’s reserves. He was glad that he had not tried to transmute anything larger.This. . this won’t work, he said.I don’t even have the strength to give myself a drink.