“I am not a lord,” Eragon said, “and he is not mad. I’m not sure what he is, but he has an uncommon ability. If he gets better or worse, please inform one of Du Vrangr Gata.”

The healer curtsied. “As you wish, Shadeslayer. I’m sorry for my mistake, Shadeslayer.”

“How was he hurt?”

“A soldier cut off his fingers when he tried to block a sword with his hand. Later, one of the missiles from the Empire’s catapults landed upon his leg, crushing it beyond repair. We had to amputate. The men who were beside him said that when the missile struck, he immediately began screaming about the light, and when they picked him up, they noticed that his eyes had turned pure white. Even his pupils have disappeared.”

“Ah. You have been most helpful. Thank you.”

It was dark when Eragon and Nasuada finally left the healers’ tents. Nasuada sighed and said, “Now I could use a mug of mead.” Eragon nodded, staring down between his feet. They started back to her pavilion, and after a while, she asked, “What are you thinking, Eragon?”

“That we live in a strange world, and I’ll be lucky if I ever understand more than a small portion of it.” Then he recounted his conversation with the man, which she found as interesting as he had.

“You should tell Arya about this,” said Nasuada. “She might know what these ‘others’ could be.”

They parted at her pavilion, Nasuada going inside to finish reading a report, while Eragon and Saphira continued on to Eragon’s tent. There Saphira curled up on the ground and prepared to sleep as Eragon sat next to her and gazed at the stars, a parade of wounded men marching before his eyes.

What many of them had told him continued to reverberate through his mind: We fought for you, Shadeslayer.

WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT

Roran opened his eyes and stared at the drooping canvas overhead.

A thin gray light pervaded the tent, leaching objects of their color, rendering everything a pale shadow of its daylight self. He shivered. The blankets had slid down to his waist, exposing his torso to the cold night air. As he pulled them back up, he noticed that Katrina was no longer by his side.

He saw her sitting by the entrance to the tent, staring up at the sky. She had a cloak wrapped over her shift. Her hair fell to the small of her back, a dark tangled bramble.

A lump formed in Roran’s throat as he studied her.

Dragging the blankets with him, he sat beside her. He placed an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him, her head and neck warm against his chest. He kissed her on the brow. For a long while, he contemplated the glimmering stars with her and listened to the regular pattern of her breathing, the only sound besides his own in the sleeping world.

Then she whispered, “The constellations are shaped differently here. Have you noticed?”

“Aye.” He shifted his arm, fitting it against the curve of her waist and feeling the slight bulge of her growing belly. “What woke you?”

She shivered. “I was thinking.”

“Oh.”

Starlight gleamed in her eyes as she twisted in his arms and gazed at him. “I was thinking about you and us . . . and our future together.”

“Those are heavy thoughts for so late at night.”

“Now that we are married, how do you plan to care for me and for our child?”

“Is that what worries you?” He smiled. “You won’t starve; we have gold enough to assure that. Besides, the Varden will always see to it that Eragon’s cousins have food and shelter. Even if something were to happen to me, they would continue to provide for you and the baby.”

“Yes, but what do you intend to do?”

Puzzled, he searched her face for the source of her agitation. “I am going to help Eragon end this war so we can return to Palancar Valley and settle down without fear of soldiers dragging us off to Urû’baen. What else would I do?”

“You will fight with the Varden, then?”

“You know I will.”

“As you would have fought today if Nasuada had let you?”

“Yes.”

“What of our baby, though? An army on the march is no place to raise a child.”

“We cannot run away and hide from the Empire, Katrina. Unless the Varden win, Galbatorix will find and kill us, or he will find and kill our children, or our children’s children. And I do not think the Varden will achieve victory unless everyone does their utmost to help them.”

She placed a finger over his lips. “You are my only love. No other man shall ever capture my heart. I will do everything I can to lighten your burden. I will cook your meals, mend your clothes, and clean your armor. . . . But once I give birth, I will leave this army.”

“Leave!” He went rigid. “That’s nonsense! Where would you go?”

“Dauth, perhaps. Remember, Lady Alarice offered us sanctuary, and some of our people are still there. I would not be alone.”

“If you think I’m going to let you and our newborn child go tramping across Alagaësia by yourselves, then—”

“You don’t need to shout.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” Clasping his hand between hers and pressing it against her heart, she said, “It’s not safe here. If it were only the two of us, I could accept the danger, but not when it is our baby who might die. I love you, Roran, I love you so much, but our child has to come before anything we want for ourselves. Otherwise, we do not deserve to be called parents.” Tears shone in her eyes, and he felt his own eyes dampen. “It was you, after all, who convinced me to leave Carvahall and hide in the Spine when the soldiers attacked. This is no different.”