“Then how did Saphira’s egg appear in the Spine? Was another one stolen from the king?” asked Eragon.

Brom grunted. “Small chance of that. He has the remaining two guarded so thoroughly that it would be suicide to try and steal them. No, Saphira was taken from the Varden, and I think I know how. To protect the egg, its guardian must have tried to send it to me with magic.

“The Varden haven’t contacted me to explain how they lost the egg, so I suspect that their runners were intercepted by the Empire and the Ra’zac were sent in their place. I’m sure they were quite eager to find me, as I’ve managed to foil many of their plans.”

“Then the Ra’zac didn’t know about me when they arrived in Carvahall,” said Eragon with wonder.

“That’s right,” replied Brom. “If that ass Sloan had kept his mouth shut, they might not have found out about you. Events could have turned out quite differently. In a way I have you to thank for my life. If the Ra’zac hadn’t become so preoccupied with you, they might have caught me unawares, and that would have been the end of Brom the storyteller. The only reason they ran was because I’m stronger than the two of them, especially during the day. They must have planned to drug me during the night, then question me about the egg.”

“You sent a message to the Varden, telling them about me?”

“Yes. I’m sure they’ll want me to bring you to them as soon as possible.”

“But you’re not going to, are you?”

Brom shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Why not? Being with the Varden must be safer than chasing after the Ra’zac, especially for a new Rider.”

Brom snorted and looked at Eragon with fondness. “The Varden are dangerous people. If we go to them, you will be entangled in their politics and machinations. Their leaders may send you on missions just to make a point, even though you might not be strong enough for them. I want you to be well prepared before you go anywhere near the Varden. At least while we pursue the Ra’zac, I don’t have to worry about someone poisoning your water. This is the lesser of two evils. And,” he said with a smile, “it keeps you happy while I train you. . . . Tuatha du orothrim is just a stage in your instruction. Iwill help you find—and perhaps even kill—the Ra’zac, for they are as much my enemies as yours. But then you will have to make a choice.”

“And that would be . . . ?” asked Eragon warily.

“Whether to join the Varden,” said Brom. “If you kill the Ra’zac, the only ways for you to escape Galbatorix’s wrath will be to seek the Varden’s protection, flee to Surda, or plead for the king’s mercy and join his forces. Even if you don’t kill the Ra’zac, you will still face this choice eventually.”

Eragon knew the best way to gain sanctuary might be to join the Varden, but he did not want to spend his entire life fighting the Empire like they did. He mulled over Brom’s comments, trying to consider them from every angle. “You still didn’t explain how you know so much about dragons.”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” said Brom with a crooked smile. “That will have to wait for another time.”

Why me?Eragon asked himself. What made him so special that he should become a Rider? “Did you ever meet my mother?” he blurted.

Brom looked grave. “Yes, I did.”

“What was she like?”

The old man sighed. “She was full of dignity and pride, like Garrow. Ultimately it was her downfall, but it was one of her greatest gifts nevertheless. . . . She always helped the poor and the less fortunate, no matter what her situation.”

“You knew her well?” asked Eragon, startled.

“Well enough to miss her when she was gone.”

As Cadoc plodded along, Eragon tried to recall when he had thought that Brom was just a scruffy old man who told stories. For the first time Eragon understood how ignorant he had been.

He told Saphira what he had learned. She was intrigued by Brom’s revelations, but recoiled from the thought of being one of Galbatorix’s possessions. At last she said,Aren’t you glad that you didn’t stay in Carvahall? Think of all the interesting experiences you would have missed! Eragon groaned in mock distress.

When they stopped for the day, Eragon searched for water while Brom made dinner. He rubbed his hands together for warmth as he walked in a large circle, listening for a creek or spring. It was gloomy and damp between the trees.

He found a stream a ways from the camp, then crouched on the bank and watched the water splash over the rocks, dipping in his fingertips. The icy mountain water swirled around his skin, numbing it.It doesn’t care what happens to us, or anyone else, thought Eragon. He shivered and stood.

An unusual print on the opposing stream bank caught his attention. It was oddly shaped and very large. Curious, he jumped across the stream and onto a rock shelf. As he landed, his foot hit a patch of damp moss. He grabbed a branch for support, but it broke, and he thrust out his hand to break his fall. He felt his right wrist crack as he hit the ground. Pain lanced up his arm.

A steady stream of curses came out from behind his clenched teeth as he tried not to howl. Half blind with pain, he curled on the ground, cradling his arm.Eragon! came Saphira’s alarmed cry.What happened?

Broke my wrist . . . did something stupid . . . fell.

I’m coming,said Saphira.

No—I can make it back. Don’t . . . come. Trees too close for . . . wings.