Eragon: Chapter 32

THEY LUNCHED AT Fasaloft, a bustling lakeside village. It was a charming place set on a rise overlooking the lake. As they ate in the hostel’s common room, Eragon listened intently to the gossip and was relieved to hear no rumors of him and Saphira.

The trail, now a road, had grown steadily worse over the past two days. Wagon wheels and iron-shod hooves had conspired to tear up the ground, making many sections impassable. An increase in travelers forced Saphira to hide during the day and then catch up with Brom and Eragon at night.

For days they continued south along Leona Lake’s vast shore. Eragon began to wonder if they would ever get around it, so he was heartened when they met men who said that Dras-Leona was an easy day’s ride ahead of them.

Eragon rose early the following morning. His fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought of finally finding the Ra’zac.

, said Saphira.

.

, he assured her.

She lowered her head until their eyes met.

.

, he said somberly.

.

Eragon rubbed his arms.

.

, she warned, then went to hide herself until night.

The road was clogged with farmers taking their goods to market in Dras-Leona. Brom and Eragon were forced to slow their horses and wait for wagons that blocked the way.

Although they saw smoke in the distance before noon, it was another league before the city was clearly visible. Unlike Teirm, a planned city, Dras-Leona was a tangled mess that sprawled next to Leona Lake. Ramshackle buildings sat on crooked streets, and the heart of the city was surrounded by a dirty, pale yellow wall of daubed mud.

Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with spires and columns, a tenebrous nightmare ship. Near-vertical sides rose out of the ground like a jagged piece of the earth’s bone.

Brom pointed. “

is Helgrind. It’s the reason Dras-Leona was originally built. People are fascinated by it, even though it’s an unhealthy and malevolent thing.” He gestured at the buildings inside the city’s wall. “We should go to the center of the city first.”

As they crept along the road to Dras-Leona, Eragon saw that the highest building within the city was a cathedral that loomed behind the walls. It was strikingly similar to Helgrind, especially when its arches and flanged spires caught the light. “Who do they worship?” he asked.

Brom grimaced in distaste. “Their prayers go to Helgrind. It’s a cruel religion they practice. They drink human blood and make flesh offerings. Their priests often lack body parts because they believe that the more bone and sinew you give up, the less you’re attached to the mortal world. They spend much of their time arguing about which of Helgrind’s three peaks is the highest and most important and whether the fourth—and lowest—should be included in their worship.”

“That’s horrible,” said Eragon, shuddering.

“Yes,” said Brom grimly, “but don’t say that to a believer. You’ll quickly lose a hand in ‘penance.’”

At Dras-Leona’s enormous gates, they led the horses through the crush of people. Ten soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd. Eragon and Brom passed into the city without incident.

The houses inside the city wall were tall and thin to compensate for the lack of space. Those next to the wall were braced against it. Most of the houses hung over the narrow, winding streets, covering the sky so that it was hard to tell if it was night or day. Nearly all the buildings were constructed of the same rough brown wood, which darkened the city even more. The air reeked like a sewer; the streets were filthy.

A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned.

, thought Eragon, eyes wide with anger. “I won’t stay here,” he said, rebelling against the sight.

“It gets better farther in,” said Brom. “Right now we need to find an inn and form a strategy. Dras-Leona can be a dangerous place to even the most cautious. I don’t want to remain on the streets any longer than necessary.”

They forged deeper into Dras-Leona, leaving the squalid entrance behind. As they entered wealthier parts of the city, Eragon wondered, They found lodging at the Golden Globe, which was cheap but not decrepit. A narrow bed was crammed against one wall of the room, with a rickety table and a basin alongside it. Eragon took one look at the mattress and said, “I’m sleeping on the floor. There are probably enough bugs in that thing to eat me alive.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive them of a meal,” said Brom, dropping his bags on the mattress. Eragon set his own on the floor and pulled off his bow.

“What now?” he asked.

“We find food and beer. After that, sleep. Tomorrow we can start looking for the Ra’zac.” Before they left the room, Brom warned, “No matter what happens, make sure that your tongue doesn’t loosen. We’ll have to leave immediately if we’re given away.”

The inn’s food was barely adequate, but its beer was excellent. By the time they stumbled back to the room, Eragon’s head was buzzing pleasantly. He unrolled his blankets on the floor and slid under them as Brom tumbled onto the bed.

Just before Eragon fell asleep, he contacted Saphira:

.

, came the accusing thought. Eragon considered it for a moment and had to agree that she was absolutely right. Her disapproval was clear, but all she said was, .

, groaned Eragon, .