Ten soldiers entered the room. They swept through it hurriedly, looking under only a couple of tables, and continued on their way. Eragon leaned against a table leg, sighing. The respite made him suddenly aware of his burning stomach and parched throat. A tankard and a plate of half-eaten food on the other side of the room caught his attention.

Eragon dashed from his hiding place, grabbed the food, then scurried back to the table. There was amber beer in the tankard, which he drank in two great gulps. Relief seeped through him as the cool liquid ran down his throat, soothing the irritated tissue. He suppressed a belch before ravenously tearing into a hunk of bread.

Murtagh returned carrying Zar’roc, a strange bow, and an elegant sword without a sheath. Murtagh gave Zar’roc to Eragon. “I found the other sword and bow in the guardroom. I’ve never seen weapons like them before, so I assumed they were the elf’s.”

“Let’s find out,” said Eragon through a mouthful of bread. The sword—slim and light with a curved crossguard, the ends of which narrowed into sharp points—fit the elf’s sheath perfectly. There was no way to tell if the bow was hers, but it was shaped so gracefully he doubted it could be anyone else’s. “What now?” he asked, cramming another bite of food into his mouth. “We can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later the soldiers will find us.”

“Now,” said Murtagh, taking out his own bow and fitting an arrow to the string, “we wait. Like I said, our escape has been arranged.”

“You don’t understand; there’s a Shade here! If he finds us, we’re doomed.”

“A Shade!” exclaimed Murtagh. “In that case, tell Saphira to come immediately. We were going to wait until the watch changed, but delaying even that long is too dangerous now.” Eragon relayed the message succinctly, refraining from distracting Saphira with questions. “You messed up my plans by escaping yourself,” groused Murtagh, watching the room’s entrances for soldiers.

Eragon smiled. “In that case, perhaps I should have waited.Your timing was perfect, though. I wouldn’t have been able to even crawl if I had been forced to fight all those soldiers with magic.”

“Glad to be of some use,” remarked Murtagh. He stiffened as they heard men running nearby. “Let’s just hope the Shade doesn’t find us.”

A cold chuckle filled the banquet room. “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.”

Murtagh and Eragon spun around. The Shade stood alone at the end of the room. In his hand was a pale sword with a thin scratch on the blade. He unclasped the brooch that held his cape in place and let the garment fall to the floor. His body was like a runner’s, thin and compact, but Eragon remembered Brom’s warning and knew that the Shade’s appearance was deceiving; he was many times stronger than a normal human.

“So, my youngRider, do you wish to test yourself against me?” sneered the Shade. “I shouldn’t have trusted the captain when he said you ate all your food. I will not make that mistake again.”

“I’ll take care of him,” said Murtagh quietly, putting down his bow and drawing his sword.

“No,” said Eragon under his breath. “He wants me alive, not you. I can stall him for a short while, but then you’d better have a way out for us.”

“Fine, go,” said Murtagh. “You won’t have to hold him off for long.”

“I hope not,” said Eragon grimly. He drew Zar’roc and slowly advanced. The red blade glinted with light from torches on the wall.

The Shade’s maroon eyes burned like coals. He laughed softly. “Do you really think to defeat me, Du Súndavar Freohr? What a pitiful name. I would have expected something more subtle from you, but I suppose that’s all you’re capable of.”

Eragon refused to let himself be goaded. He stared at the Shade’s face, waiting for a flicker of his eyes or twitch of his lip, anything that would betray his next move.I can’t use magic for fear of provoking him to do the same. He has to think that he can win without resorting to it—which he probably can.

Before either of them moved, the ceiling boomed and shook. Dust billowed from it and turned the air gray while pieces of wood fell around them, shattering on the floor. From the roof came screams and the sound of clashing metal. Afraid of being brained by the falling timber, Eragon flicked his eyes upward. The Shade took advantage of his distraction and attacked.

Eragon barely managed to get Zar’roc up in time to block a slash at his ribs. Their blades met with a clang that jarred his teeth and numbed his arm.Hellfire! He’s strong! He grasped Zar’roc with both hands and swung with all of his might at the Shade’s head. The Shade blocked him with ease, whipping his sword through the air faster than Eragon had thought possible.

Terrible screeches sounded above them, like iron spikes being drawn across rock. Three long cracks split the ceiling. Shingles from the slate roof fell through the fissures. Eragon ignored them, even when one smashed into the floor next to him. Though he had trained with a master of the blade, Brom, and with Murtagh, who was also a deadly swordsman, he had never been this outclassed. The Shade wasplaying with him.

Eragon retreated toward Murtagh, arms trembling as he parried the Shade’s blows. Each one seemed more powerful than the last. Eragon was no longer strong enough to call upon magic for help even if he had wanted to. Then, with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, the Shade knocked Zar’roc out of Eragon’s hand. The force of the blow sent him to his knees, where he stayed, panting. The screeching was louder than ever. Whatever was happening, it was getting closer.