Dawnbreaker [Inheritance Cycle]

3. Palancar Valley

The sun rose the next morning with a glorious conflagration of pink and yellow.

The air was fresh, sweet, and very cold. Ice edged the streams, and small pools were completely frozen over. After a breakfast of porridge, Eragon and Serafyna returned to the glen and examined the charred area underneath the light of the newly risen sun.

The morning light revealed no new details, so they started for home. The rough game trail was faintly worn and, in places, nonexistent. Because it had been forged by animals, it often backtracked and took long detours. Yet for all its flaws, it was still the fastest way out of the mountains.

The Spine was one of the only places that King Galbatorix could not call his own. Stories were still told about how half his army disappeared after marching into its ancient forests.

A cloud of misfortune and bad luck seemed to hang over it. Though the trees grew tall and the sky shone brightly, few people could stay in the Spine for long without suffering an accident. Serafyna was one of those few—not through any particular gift, it seemed to her, but because of persistent vigilance and sharp reflexes that came naturally to her.

She, along with her brother, had hiked in the mountains for years, yet she was still wary of them. Every time they thought the Spine had surrendered its secrets, something happened to upset her understanding of them—like the stones' appearance.

They kept up a brisk pace, and the leagues steadily disappeared.

In late evening the siblings arrived at the edge of a precipitous ravine. The Anora River rushed by far below, heading to Palancar Valley. Gorged with hundreds of tiny streams, the river was a brute force, battling against the rocks and boulders that barred its way.

A low rumble filled the air. They camped in a thicket near the ravine and watched the moonrise before going to bed. It grew colder over the next day and a half. Traveling quickly, they saw little of the wary wildlife.

A bit past noon, Serafyna heard the Igualda Falls blanketing everything with the dull sound of a thousand splashes. The trail led them onto a moist slate outcropping, which the river sped past, flinging itself into empty air and down mossy cliffs.

Before her lay Palancar Valley, exposed like an unrolled map. The base of the Igualda Falls, more than a half-mile below, was the northernmost point of the valley.

A little ways from the falls was Carvahall, a cluster of brown buildings. White smoke rose from the chimneys, defiant of the wilderness around it. At this height, farms were small square patches no bigger than the end of his finger. The land around them was tan or sandy, where dead grass swayed in the wind.

The Anora River wound from the falls toward Palancar's southern end, reflecting great strips of sunlight. Far in the distance, it flowed past the village Therinsford and the lonely mountain Utgard. Beyond that, she knew only that it turned north and ran to the sea.

After a pause, they left the outcropping and started down the trail, carefully picking through the path.

When they arrived at the bottom, soft dusk was creeping over everything, blurring colors and shapes into gray masses. Carvahall's lights shimmered nearby in the twilight; the houses cast long shadows.

Aside from Therinsford, Carvahall was the only village in Palancar Valley. The settlement was secluded and surrounded by harsh, beautiful land. Few traveled here except merchants and trappers.

The village was composed of stout log buildings with low roofs—some thatched, others shingled. Smoke billowed from the chimneys, giving the air a woody smell. The buildings had wide porches where people gathered to talk and conduct business.