When Nasuada finished her lecture on the dwarf clans, she, Eragon, and Saphira spent several minutes figuring out how Eragon could slip out of the camp without being noticed. After they had finally hammered out the details of the plan, Eragon and Saphira returned to their tent and told Blödhgarm what they had decided.

To Eragon’s surprise, the fur-covered elf did not object. Curious, Eragon asked, “Do you approve?”

“It is not my place to say whether I approve or not,” Blödhgarm replied, his voice a low purr. “But since Nasuada’s stratagem does not seem to put either of you in unreasonable danger, and by means of this you may have the opportunity to further your learning in Ellesméra, neither I nor my brethren shall object.” He inclined his head. “If you will excuse me, Bjartskular, Argetlam.” Skirting Saphira, the elf exited the tent, allowing a bright flash of light to pierce the darkness inside as he pushed aside the entrance flap.

For a handful of minutes, Eragon and Saphira sat in silence, then Eragon put his hand on the top of her head. Say what you will, I will miss you.

And I you, little one.

Be careful. If anything happened to you, I would . . .

And you as well.

He sighed. We’ve been together only a few days, and already we must part again. I find it hard to forgive Nasuada for that.

Do not condemn her for doing what she must.

No, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Move swiftly then, so I may soon join you in Farthen Dûr.

I wouldn’t mind being so far away from you if only I could still touch your mind. That’s the worst part of it: the horrible sense of emptiness. We dare not even speak to each other through the mirror in Nasuada’s tent, for people would wonder why you kept visiting her without me.

Saphira blinked and flicked out her tongue, and he sensed a strange shift in her emotions.

What? he asked.

I . . . She blinked again. I agree. I wish we could remain in mental contact when we were at great distances from each other. It would reduce our worry and trouble and would allow us to confound the Empire more easily. She hummed with satisfaction as he sat next to her and began to scratch the small scales behind the corner of her jaw.

FOOTPRINTS OF SHADOW

With a series of giddy leaps, Saphira carried Eragon through the camp to Roran and Katrina’s tent. Outside the tent, Katrina was washing a shift in a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing the white fabric against a board of ridged wood. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes as a cloud of dust from Saphira’s landing drifted over her.

Roran stepped out of the tent, buckling on his belt. He coughed and squinted in the dust. “What brings you here?” he asked as Eragon dismounted.

Speaking quickly, Eragon told them of his impending departure and impressed upon them the importance of keeping his absence a secret from the rest of the villagers. “No matter how slighted they feel because I supposedly refuse to see them, you cannot reveal the truth to them, not even to Horst or Elain. Let them think I have become a rude and ungrateful lout before you so much as utter a word about Nasuada’s scheme. This I ask of you, for the sake of everyone who has pitted themselves against the Empire. Will you do it?”

“We would never betray you, Eragon,” said Katrina. “Of that, you need have no doubts.”

Then Roran said that he too was leaving.

“Where?” exclaimed Eragon.

“I just received my assignment a few minutes ago. We are going to raid the Empire’s supply trains, somewhere well north of us, behind enemy lines.”

Eragon gazed at the three of them in turn. First Roran, serious and determined, already tense with anticipation of battle; then Katrina, worried and trying to conceal it; and then Saphira, whose nostrils flickered with small tongues of flame, which sputtered as she breathed. “So we are all going our separate ways.” What he did not say, but which hung over them like a shroud, was that they might never again see each other alive.

Grasping Eragon by the forearm, Roran pulled him close and hugged him for a moment. He released Eragon and stared deep into his eyes. “Guard your back, brother. Galbatorix isn’t the only one who would like to slip a knife between your ribs when you aren’t looking.”

“Do the same yourself. And if you find yourself facing a spellcaster, run in the opposite direction. The wards I placed around you won’t last forever.”

Katrina hugged Eragon and whispered, “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

Together, Roran and Katrina went to Saphira and touched their foreheads to her long, bony snout. Her chest vibrated as she produced a pure bass note deep within her throat. Remember, Roran, she said, do not make the mistake of leaving your enemies alive. And, Katrina? Do not dwell on that which you cannot change. It will only worsen your distress. With a rustle of skin and scales, Saphira unfolded her wings and enveloped Roran, Katrina, and Eragon in a warm embrace, isolating them from the world.

As Saphira lifted her wings, Roran and Katrina stepped away while Eragon climbed onto her back. He waved at the newlywed couple, a lump in his throat, and continued waving even as Saphira took to the air. Blinking to clear his eyes, Eragon leaned against the spike behind him and gazed up at the tilting sky.

To the cook tents now? asked Saphira.

Aye.

Saphira climbed a few hundred feet before she aimed herself at the southwestern quadrant of the camp, where pillars of smoke drifted up from rows of ovens and large, wide pit fires. A thin stream of wind slipped past her and Eragon as she glided downward toward a clear patch of ground between two open-walled tents, each fifty feet long. Breakfast was over, so the tents were empty of men when Saphira landed with a loud thump.