“Not even Helen?”

“Not even her.… Anyway, when I finish writing my account of you and Saphira and the rise of the Varden, I’ll send it to our monastery in the Spine, and it will be included as a number of new chapters in Domia abr Wyrda. Your story will not be forgotten, Eragon; that much, at least, I can promise you.”

Eragon found the knowledge strangely affecting. “Thank you,” he said, and grasped Jeod by the forearm.

“And you, Eragon Shadeslayer.”

Afterward, Eragon made his way back to the hall, where he and Saphira had been living along with Roran and Katrina, who were waiting to eat with him.

All through supper, the talk was of Arya and Fírnen. Eragon held his tongue about his plans for departure until after the food was gone and the three of them—and the baby—had retired to a room overlooking the courtyard, where Saphira lay napping with Fírnen. There they sat drinking wine and tea and watching as the sun descended toward the distant horizon.

When an appropriate amount of time had passed, Eragon broached the subject. As he expected, Katrina and Roran reacted with dismay and tried to convince him to change his mind. It took Eragon nearly an hour to lay out his reasons to them, for they argued every point and refused to concede until he answered their objections in exacting detail.

Finally, Roran said, “Blast it, you’re family! You can’t leave!”

“I have to. You know it as well as I do; you just don’t want to admit it.”

Roran struck his fist against the table between them and then strode over to the open window, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

The baby squalled, and Katrina said, “Shh, now,” and patted her on the back.

Eragon joined Roran. “I know it isn’t what you want. I don’t want it either, but I have no choice.”

“Of course you have a choice. You of all people have a choice.”

“Aye, and this is the right thing to do.”

Roran grunted and crossed his arms.

Behind them, Katrina said, “If you leave, you won’t be able to be an uncle to Ismira. Is she supposed to grow up without ever knowing you?”

“No,” said Eragon, going back to her. “I’ll still be able to talk with her, and I’ll see to it that she’s well protected; I may even be able to send her presents from time to time.” He knelt and held out a finger, and the girl wrapped a hand around it and tugged with precocious strength.

“But you won’t be here.”

“No … I won’t be here.” Eragon gently extricated his finger from Ismira’s grip and returned to stand by Roran. “As I said, you could join me.”

The muscles in Roran’s jaw shifted. “And give up Palancar Valley?” He shook his head. “Horst and the others are already preparing to return. We’ll rebuild Carvahall as the finest town in the whole Spine. You could help; it would be like before.”

“I wish I could.”

Below, Saphira uttered a throaty gurgle and nuzzled the side of Fírnen’s neck. The green dragon snuggled closer to her.

In a low voice, Roran said, “Is there no other way, Eragon?”

“Not that Saphira or I can think of.”

“Blast it—it’s not right. You shouldn’t have to go live by yourself in the wilderness.”

“I won’t be entirely alone. Blödhgarm and a few other elves will be going with us.”

Roran made an impatient gesture. “You know what I mean.” He gnawed on the corner of his mustache and leaned on his hands against the stone lip underneath the window. Eragon could see the sinews in his thick forearms knotting and flexing. Then Roran looked at him and said, “What will you do once you get to wherever you’re going?”

“Find a hill or a cliff and build a hall atop it: a hall large enough to house all the dragons and keep them safe. And you? Once you rebuild the village, what then?”

A faint smile appeared on Roran’s face. “Something similar. With the tribute from the valley, I plan to build a castle atop that hill we always talked about. Not a big castle, mind you; just a bit of stonework with a wall, enough to hold off any Urgals who might decide to attack. It’ll probably take a few years, but then we’ll have a proper way to defend ourselves, unlike when the Ra’zac came with the soldiers.” He cast a sideways glance at Eragon. “We’d have room for a dragon as well.”

“Would you have room for two dragons?” Eragon gestured toward Saphira and Fírnen.

“Maybe not.… How does Saphira feel about having to leave him?”

“She doesn’t like it, but she knows it’s necessary.”

“Mmh.”

The amber light from the dying sun accentuated the planes of Roran’s face; somewhat to Eragon’s surprise, he saw the beginnings of lines and wrinkles on his cousin’s brow and around his eyes. He found the signs of encroaching age sobering. How quickly life passes.

Katrina laid Ismira in a cradle. Then she joined them at the window and placed a hand on Eragon’s shoulder. “We’ll miss you, Eragon.”

“And I you,” he said, and touched her hand. “We don’t have to say goodbye quite yet, though. I’d like the three of you to come with us to Ellesméra. You would enjoy seeing it, I think, and that way we could spend another few days together.”

Roran swiveled his head toward Eragon. “We can’t travel all the way to Du Weldenvarden with Ismira. She’s too young. Returning to Palancar Valley is going to be difficult enough; a side trip to Ellesméra is out of the question.”