Eragon book 3

Hrothgar's Funeral

The air was filled with the smell of blood and of smoke: the ruins of war. Eragon's boot crunched on the ash strewn land as he made his way around to Roran's tent with Saphira. It was three days after the battle in the Burning Plains and already the clanging of swords and battle cries rang clear in his mind. He breathed in the foul air and opened the flap of the tent. Inside was his cousin Roran, sitting on his bed and studying a map.

He broods much on his captured fiancé, said Saphira sadly.

Aye. To think that he ventured all the way here with the whole of Carvahall to seek help for Katrina is amazing, answered Eragon thoughtfully.

I agree with you. However, we must concentrate on the task at hand.

Galbatorix?

Yes. And Murtagh. You must beware of that one.

I will.

I hope so… he has changed. More than we know I fear.

I know, but we can't do anything about that.

Saphira stayed silent but he could feel her doubts through their link.

He smiled at her to let her know that he was there for her. Roran noticed their arrival and his face snapped up. He stood up and clasped Eragon's arms, grinning.

"Eragon."

"Roran."

"So, brother. How has it been? I've hardly seen you around these days because you're always running off to some meeting!" said Roran, pretending to be offended.

Eragon smiled ruefully. "My apologies. I've been cleaning up the mess. There were a couple of things Saphira and I had to take care of."

Roran nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, while you were doing that I was planning our route on the map… and packing provisions for the journey. You said we were flying to Helgrind and here it is."

He waved an airy hand at the map which had a red line for their route drawn on it. Eragon examined it and smiled.

Saphira peeped at it and grunted.

For Eragon's nestling, you have talent.

"Thank you," replied Roran, taking it as a compliment.

They were just about to discuss Katrina's rescue when the flap rustled and Arya entered. Like always, Eragon's heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She fixed her emerald eyes onto his face.

"The funeral is about to begin... unless you wish to stay here," she said to him.

Eragon nodded and his heart saddened. "Of course. I'll come."

He glanced at Roran and he followed suit. The three exited the tent to feel the smoky air on their faces. Together, they navigated their way around the deceased bodies of soldiers until they heard the weeping sounds of countless dwarves nearby. Eragon felt a lump in his throat and forced it down. He saw the dwarves beating their chest and tears streaming down their bearded faces. Then he heard a voice in his head.

Eragon, do not approach or attempt to talk to them, as they are in mourning, said Arya.

Why? Will they be angry? Eragon asked, alarmed.

Yes… it is difficult to explain.

I'll bear your words in mind then.

Good.

Thousands had gathered there to wish the murdered dwarven king and the soldiers a successful sending to the void. Widows mourned for their dead husbands and the people were a sea of black. It did not matter that they had duties to fulfil or a tyrant to bring down; it was a day of weeping. A dwarven priest had travelled to the Burning Plains for Hrothgar and the dead. He stood up and walked up to the platform they had built. The dwarf was smaller than the others, the size of a mere child. But he had the face of a wise being and Eragon had an inkling of what he was like. The priest made an impressive speech praising Hrothgar and his good deeds, and how brave every lost soldier was in the fight.

"And may we overthrow Galbatorix and his evil doings in the end," he concluded. In the priest's hand was a flaming torch and he lit Hrothgar with it. They had no time for the funeral to be held in the dwarves' homeland so it had been decided to let it take place in the war lands. Hrothgar's coffin flamed up and the air was filled with the dwarves' wailing. Amongst them, Eragon spotted Orik and felt his own tears well up in his eyes. Saphira breathed on his hair, ruffling it.

Take heart Eragon. Soon all of Alagaesia's heroes' deaths shall be avenged, reassured Saphira.

I know, but I can't help it.

It's all right Eragon. This is a day of mourning.

And so the day went on with more crying and low spirits. But already in each heart, there was a feeling of anger and determination. Galbatorix would pay.

The stars illuminated the ink black sky with power and the moon cast a glow around the funeral ceremony, giving the gathered people hope for the future. No one talked and no one moved. They all spent the night outdoors. Eragon stayed awake watching the stars until he too fell asleep.

That night a dream came to him, delving deep into his consciousness.

A glint of metal, the sun blazing in the background, threatening to melt him. A man with crimson armour blocked his path, his face shadowed. Eragon met him in combat with a blue tinted sword burnished clean. The two danced a duel of flashing swords, each dodging and twisting to an imagined rhythm. Suddenly the image vanished, leaving darkness and Eragon panicked. Cold bars caged him and a burning pain erupted in his stomach…

Eragon gasped and sat up immediately, waking from the disturbing scene. Sweat beaded his forehead and his hair was sticking up in odd angles. From the darkness, a small hand gripped his arm.

He flinched and peered into the dark. Two green eyes stared back at him.

"Arya?"

"Is something amiss?" she whispered softly.

"No it's noth-" he tried to say but she forestalled him.

"No it is not. These are dark times Eragon and you would do well to tell me."

So Eragon told her of his dream, speaking in a monotone. Strangely, the pain in his stomach still lingered. The elf princess stayed silent for a moment before answering.

"This is indeed news. If you have seen the future, you must not forget about it. However, your fate will be unavoidable… do not brood on it too much or it will be your undoing. For the moment, you must sleep and preserve your strength. We do not know when another war may descend on us."

"Aye… thank you Arya. I- good night," replied Eragon.

"Sleep well."

Still breathing heavily, Eragon lay down again and looked up at the sky, hoping to see a constellation. There was none.