Then Saphira drifted over the river and settled beside Eragon. At her approach, the elves cried out in alarm and aimed their weapons toward her. Arya spoke quickly in soothing tones, motioning first at Saphira, then at Eragon. When she paused for breath, Eragon drew back the glove on his right hand, tilted his palm so that the gedwëy ignasia caught the moonlight, and said, as he once had to Arya so long ago, “Eka fricai un Shur’tugal.” I am a Rider and friend. Remembering his lesson from yesterday, he touched his lips, adding, “Atra esterní ono thelduin.”

The elves lowered their weapons as their angled faces lit up with radiant joy. They pressed their forefingers to their lips and bowed to Saphira and him, murmuring their reply in the ancient language.

Then they rose, pointed at the dwarves, and laughed as if at a hidden joke. Drifting back into the forest, they waved their hands and called, “Come, come!”

Eragon followed Arya with Saphira and the dwarves, who were grumbling among themselves. As they passed between the trees, the canopy overhead plunged them into velvet darkness, except where fragments of moonlight gleamed through chinks in the shell of overlapping leaves. Eragon could hear the elves whispering and laughing all around, though he could not see them. Occasionally, they would call directions when he or the dwarves blundered.

Ahead, a fire glowed through the trees, sending shadows racing like sprites across the leafy ground. As Eragon entered the radius of light, he saw three small huts clustered together around the base of a large oak. High in the tree was a roofed platform where a watchman could observe the river and forest. A pole had been lashed between two of the huts: from it hung bundles of drying plants.

The four elves vanished into the huts, then returned with their arms piled high with fruits and vegetables—but no meat—and began preparing a meal for their guests. They hummed as they worked, flitting from one tune to another as the fancy took them. When Orik asked their names, the dark-haired elf pointed to himself and said, “I am Lifaen of House Rílvenar. And my companions are Edurna, Celdin, and Narí.”

Eragon sat beside Saphira, happy for an opportunity to rest and to watch the elves. Though all four were male, their faces resembled Arya’s, with delicate lips, thin noses, and large slanted eyes that shone under their brows. The rest of their bodies matched, with narrow shoulders and slender arms and legs. Each was more fair and noble than any human Eragon had seen, albeit in a rarefied, exotic manner.

Who ever thought I would get to visit the elves’ homeland?Eragon asked himself. He grinned and leaned against the corner of a hut, drowsy with the fire’s warmth. Above him, Saphira’s dancing blue eyes tracked the elves with unwavering precision.

More magic is in this race,she finally remarked,than either humans or dwarves. They do not feel as if they come from the earth or the stone, but rather from another realm, half in, half out, like reflections seen through water.

They certainly are graceful,he said. The elves moved like dancers, their every action smooth and lithe.

Brom had told Eragon that it was rude for someone to speak with their mind to a Rider’s dragon without permission, and the elves adhered to that custom, voicing aloud their comments to Saphira, who would then answer the elves directly. Saphira usually refrained from touching the thoughts of humans and dwarves and allowed Eragon to relay her words, since few members of those races had the training to guard their minds if they wished for privacy. It also seemed an imposition to use such an intimate form of contact for casual exchanges. The elves had no such inhibitions, though; they welcomed Saphira into their minds, reveling in her presence.

At last the food was ready and served on carved plates that felt like dense bone, although wood grain wandered through the flowers and vines decorating the rim. Eragon was also supplied with a flagon of gooseberry wine—made of the same unusual material—with a sculpted dragon wrapped around its stem.

As they ate, Lifaen produced a set of reed pipes and began to play a flowing melody, his fingers running along the various holes. Soon the tallest silver-haired elf, Narí, raised his voice and sang:

O!

The day is done; the stars are bright;

The leaves are still; the moon is white!

Laugh at woe and laugh at foe,

Menoa’s scion now is safe this night!

A forest child we lost to strife;

A sylvan daughter caught by life!

Freed of fear and freed of flame,

She tore a Rider from the shadows rife!

Again the dragons rise on wing,

And we avenge their suffering!

Strong of blade and strong of arm,

The time is ripe for us to kill a king!

O!

The wind is soft; the river deep;

The trees are tall; the birds do sleep!

Laugh at woe and laugh at foe,

The hour has arrived for joy to reap!

When Narí finished, Eragon released his pent-up breath. He had never heard such a voice before; it felt as if the elf had revealed his essence, his very soul. “That was beautiful, Narí-vodhr.”

“A rough composition, Argetlam,” demurred Narí. “But I thank you, nevertheless.”

Thorv grunted. “Very pretty, Master Elf. However, there are matters more serious than reciting verse that we must attend to. Are we to accompany Eragon farther?”

“No,” said Arya quickly, drawing looks from the other elves. “You may return home in the morning. We will assure that Eragon reaches Ellesméra.”

Thorv dipped his head. “Then our task is complete.”