I hope you are right.

The rest of their flight to Vroengard Island was uneventful. They encountered no storms over the sea; the only clouds that barred their way were thin and wispy and posed no danger to them or the gulls with whom they shared the sky.

Saphira landed on Vroengard before the same half-ruined nesting house where they had stayed during their previous visit. There she waited while Eragon walked into the forest and wandered among the dark, lichen-encrusted trees until he found several of the shadow birds he had encountered before and, after them, a patch of moss infested with the hopping maggots Nasuada had told him Galbatorix called burrow grubs. Using the name of names, Eragon gave both of the animals a proper title in the ancient language. The shadow birds he called sundavrblaka and the burrow grubs íllgrathr. The second of the two names amused him in a grim sort of way, as it meant “bad hunger.”

Satisfied, Eragon returned to Saphira, and they spent the night resting and talking with Glaedr and the other Eldunarí.

At dawn, they went to the Rock of Kuthian. They spoke their true names, and the graved doors within the mossy spire opened, and Eragon, Saphira, and the Eldunarí descended to the vault below. In that deep-set cavern, lit by the lake of molten stone that lay beneath the roots of Mount Erolas, the guardian of the eggs, Cuaroc, helped them place each egg into a separate casket. Then they piled the caskets near the center of the chamber, along with the five Eldunarí who had stayed within the cavern to help protect the eggs.

With Umaroth’s help, Eragon cast the same spell he had once before and placed the eggs and hearts into a pocket of space that hung behind Saphira, where neither she nor he could touch it.

Cuaroc accompanied them out of the vault. The metal feet of the dragon-headed man clanged loudly against the tunnel floor as he climbed to the surface alongside them.

Once they were outside, Saphira grasped Cuaroc between her talons—for he was too large and heavy to sit comfortably upon her back—and she took flight, rising above the circular valley that lay in the heart of Vroengard.

Across the sea, dark and shining, flew Saphira. Then over the Spine, the peaks like blades of ice and snow, and the rifts between them like rivers of shadow. She diverted north and crossed over Palancar Valley—so that she and Eragon might have one last look at their childhood home, if only from high above—and then over the Bay of Fundor, which was scalloped with lines of foam-crested waves, like so many rolling mountains. Ceunon, with its steep, many-layered roofs and sculptures of dragon heads, was their next landmark of note, and soon afterward, the leading edge of Du Weldenvarden appeared, the pines tall and strong.

Nights they spent camped by streams and ponds, the light of their fires reflecting off Cuaroc’s polished metal body, while frogs and insects chorused about them. In the distance, they ofttimes heard the howls of hunting wolves.

Once at Du Weldenvarden, Saphira flew for an hour toward the center of the great forest, whereupon the elves’ wards stopped her from proceeding any farther. Then she landed and walked through the invisible barrier of magic, Cuaroc striding alongside her, and again took flight.

League after league of trees sailed by underneath them, with little variation save for clusters of deciduous trees—oaks and elms and birch and aspen and languorous willows—which often lined the waterways below. Past a mountain, the name of which Eragon had forgotten, and the elven city of Osilon, and then trackless acres of pines, each unique and yet nearly identical to its countless brethren.

At last, in late evening, when both the moon and the sun hung low upon opposing horizons, Saphira arrived at Ellesméra and glided down to land amid the living buildings of the elves’ largest, and proudest, of cities.

Arya and Fírnen were waiting for them, along with Roran and Katrina. As Saphira drew near, Fírnen reared and spread his wings, uttering a joyful roar that frightened birds into the air for a league around. Saphira answered in kind as she settled onto her hind legs and gently placed Cuaroc on the ground.

Eragon unbuckled his legs and slid down off Saphira’s back.

Roran ran up, grasped him by the forearm, and clapped him on the shoulder while Katrina hugged him on the other side. Laughing, Eragon said, “Ah! Stop, let me breathe! So, how do you like Ellesméra?”

“It’s beautiful!” said Katrina, smiling.

“I thought you were exaggerating,” said Roran, “but it’s every bit as impressive as you said. The hall we’ve been staying in—”

“Tialdarí Hall,” said Katrina.

Roran nodded. “That. It’s given me some ideas as to how we should rebuild Carvahall. And then there’s Tronjheim and Farthen Dûr …” He shook his head and uttered a low whistle.

Eragon laughed again and started walking along the forest path toward the western edge of Ellesméra, they leading him. Arya joined them, looking every bit as much a queen as her mother once had. “Well met by moonlight, Eragon. Welcome back.”

He looked at her. “Well met indeed, Shadeslayer.”

She smiled at his use of the title, and the dusk beneath the swaying trees seemed to grow brighter.

Once Eragon had removed Saphira’s saddle, she and Fírnen took flight—although Eragon knew Saphira was exhausted from their journey—and together they disappeared in the direction of the Crags of Tel’naeír. As they departed, Eragon heard Fírnen say, I caught three deer for you this morning. They are waiting for you on the grass by Oromis’s hut.