“I don’t know!” snapped Murtagh. His skin was red, his eyes bloodshot. He picked up a pot and muttered a curse. “We don’t have enough water. And the horses have to drink.”

Eragon was just as irritated by the heat and dryness, but he held his temper in check. “Bring the horses.” Saphira dug a hole for him with her claws, then he closed his eyes, releasing the spell. Though the ground was parched, there was enough moisture for the plants to live on and enough for him to fill the hole several times over.

Murtagh refilled the waterskins as water pooled in the hole, then stood aside and let the horses drink. The thirsty animals quaffed gallons. Eragon was forced to draw the liquid from ever deeper in the earth to satisfy their desire. It taxed his strength to the limit. When the horses were finally sated, he said to Saphira,If you need a drink, take it now. Her head snaked around him and she took two long draughts, but no more.

Before letting the water flow back into the ground, Eragon gulped down as much as he could, then watched the last drops melt back into the dirt. Holding the water on the surface was harder than he had expected.But at least it’s within my abilities, he reflected, remembering with some amusement how he had once struggled to lift even a pebble.

It was freezing when they rose the next day. The sand had a pink hue in the morning light, and the sky was hazy, concealing the horizon. Murtagh’s mood had not improved with sleep, and Eragon found his own rapidly deteriorating. During breakfast, he asked, “Do you think it’ll be long before we leave the desert?”

Murtagh glowered. “We’re only crossing a small section of it, so I can’t imagine that it’ll take us more than two or three days.”

“But look how far we’ve already come.”

“All right, maybe it won’t! All I care about right now is getting out of the Hadarac as quickly as possible. What we’re doing is hard enough without having to pick sand from our eyes every few minutes.”

They finished eating, then Eragon went to the elf. She lay as one dead—a corpse except for her measured breathing. “Where lies your injury?” whispered Eragon, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “How can you sleep like this and yet live?” The image of her, alert and poised in the prison cell, was still vivid in his mind. Troubled, he prepared the elf for travel, then saddled and mounted Snowfire.

As they left the camp, a line of dark smudges became visible on the horizon, indistinct in the hazy air. Murtagh thought they were distant hills. Eragon was not convinced, but he could make out no details.

The elf’s plight filled his thoughts. He was sure that something had to be done to help her or she would die, though he knew not what that might be. Saphira was just as concerned. They talked about it for hours, but neither of them knew enough about healing to solve the problem confronting them.

At midday they stopped for a brief rest. When they resumed their journey, Eragon noticed that the haze had thinned since morning, and the distant smudges had gained definition.

No longer were they indistinct purple-blue lumps, but rather broad, forest-covered mounds with clear outlines. The air above them was pale white, bleached of its usual hue—all color seemed to have been leached out of a horizontal band of sky that lay on top of the hills and extended to the horizon’s edges.

He stared, puzzled, but the more he tried to make sense of it, the more confused he became. He blinked and shook his head, thinking that it must be some illusion of the desert air. Yet when he opened his eyes, the annoying incongruity was still there. Indeed, the whiteness blanketed half the sky before them. Sure that something was terribly wrong, he started to point this out to Murtagh and Saphira when he suddenly understood what he was seeing.

What they had taken to be hills were actually the bases of gigantic mountains, scores of miles wide. Except for the dense forest along their lower regions, the mountains were entirely covered with snow and ice. It was this that had deceived Eragon into thinking the sky white. He craned back his neck, searching for the peaks, but they were not visible. The mountains stretched up into the sky until they faded from sight. Narrow, jagged valleys with ridges that nearly touched split the mountains like deep gorges. It was like a ragged, toothy wall linking Alagaësia with the heavens.

There’s no end to them!he thought, awestruck. Stories that mentioned the Beor Mountains always noted their size, but he had discounted such reports as fanciful embellishments. Now, however, he was forced to acknowledge their authenticity.

Sensing his wonder and surprise, Saphira followed his gaze with her own. Within a few seconds she recognized the mountains for what they were.I feel like a hatchling again. Compared to them, even I feel small!

We must be near the edge of the desert,said Eragon.It’s only taken two days and we can already see the far side and beyond!

Saphira spiraled above the dunes.Yes, but considering the size of those peaks, they could still be fifty leagues from here. It’s hard to gauge distances against something so immense. Wouldn’t they be a perfect hiding place for the elves or the Varden?

You could hide more than the elves and Varden,he stated.Entire nations could exist in secret there, hidden from the Empire. Imagine living with those behemoths looming over you!He guided Snowfire to Murtagh and pointed, grinning.

“What?” grunted Murtagh, scanning the land.

“Look closely,” urged Eragon.

Murtagh peered closely at the horizon. He shrugged. “What, I don’t—” The words died in his mouth and gave way to slack-jawed wonder. Murtagh shook his head, muttering, “That’s impossible!” He squinted so hard that the corners of his eyes crinkled. He shook his head again. “I knew the Beor Mountains were large, but not that monstrous size!”