INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

TO BE A DRAGONRIDER

Eragon glared up at Brom as the man undid the ropes that bound his wrists. Eragon had been gagged, the taste of the ash-stained cloth in his mouth made his throat ache. His dragon was curled around Brom's shoulders, which was soaked with rain and dirt.

"Now, don't be foolish. You nearly got us killed." Brom said with a grimace as he cut a tight knot with his knife. Eragon lurched forward as his bindings fell from his arms, rubbing his wrists. Eragon's dragon sniffed at him, and licked his nose delicately, her warm tongue sliding against his raw skin. Brom spoke truly.
The men, Imperial men, attacked Carvahall the night before. Garrow had thought they were coming after Brom, and walked down into the town to reason with the soldiers.

He had been the first die. Or at least that is what he thought. He had not seen Garrow following the attack. Roran and the regional soldiers raised their weapons against their Imperial allies, but they were too few, too untrained.
The Imperial shock troops cut them down like animals. Eragon did not see Roran after he went storming down into the town with his blade, ready to defend his people. He had told Eragon and Brom to hide, and then he vanished. He was most likely dead.

Brom gathered his sword and took Eragon with him, planning to escape into the forest. Eragon had shouted and beat and screamed, attempting to return into the town and fight until his death like Roran had.

"There is nothing you can do, you fool!" Brom had hissed at him as he swatted him with the heavy sheath of his sword. The blow had knocked Eragon to the forest floor, where Brom tied and gaged him, then heaved the kicking youth over his shoulder as Brom walked to where Eragon had hid his dragon.

She came out willingly, pushing the wooden wall away from the tree, frightened. She had smelt the death coming from the town. Eragon had shouted a warning to her, but she took no heed, clinging closer to Brom, jumping up to wrap herself to his free arm. They ran  throughout the entire night, even through the freezing rain that jumped from heavy leaves like springboards and landed on top of their heads.

Despite himself, Eragon had fallen asleep from exhaustion, and now here he was, spitting out the gag that Brom had given him.

"I could have saved them." Eragon snarled as he looked at the moist ground below him. On his knees, he placed both hands to the forest floor, squeezing wet dirt between his fingers.

"I could have done something!" he cried again. Brom's mouth twisted in anger.

"Silence! You want them to find us, too? You could do nothing. Roran and Garrow sacrificed themselves for you, and you would throw that away? You do them no honor by running back like a child. Compose yourself or else I'll bind you again."

Eragon did silence himself for a time, morning air rushing through his hair as it rustled the leaves of thick trees. It was coming alive, the wood, tiny creatures chirping and gibbering to each other.

"Why?" He whispered. Brom raised his eyebrow and sighed.

"Why what?"

Eragon swallowed as he raised his head, tears wetting his checks.

"Why did they kill everyone? Why did you save me? I'm useless. Why. . . Why is this happening?" He broke down and began to sob, falling over and holding himself like a newborn as he rolled in his grief.

Brom watched him impassively for a moment, and then answered.

"Because you are a Dragon Rider. . . They massacred your town because you are a Dragon Rider, Eragon."

Eragon gave Brom a shadowy glare.

"That title means nothing to me." He rasped.

Carvahall is gone. He had always imagined that he and his dragon would just live in peace, hiding away from Carvahall whenever the Empire came too close. But now, those dreams were destroyed, gone in the fires that burned his home.

"What do I do? Where do I go?" He asked Brom, rising from the ground, his hands caked with mud.

"You will train with me. I will teach you what you need to know, Eragon. It will not be an easy path, and I cannot even guarantee your safety. I can only promise you one thing: Your life will never be the same." Brom shifted, hefting his sword across the back of his neck and turning away from Eragon.

"We are not safe. We're still too close." He said brusquely as he marched forward.

Eragon's dragon waited by him. He watched Brom disappear into the brush. Eragon wiped his eyes, muck spreading across his face as he did so.

He rose to his feet, and followed Brom, the dragon padding next to him. The going was easy, for the most part. Northern forests were large, with massive trees that seemed as permanent as ancient castles. The land was flat between swathes of trees, large roots curling underneath a layer of earth.

Brom offered no conversation, and aside from his heavy breathing, he was silent. Eragon's dragon filled his head with amazed statements, marveling at how vast the world was. Eragon found himself in the same state of mind, despite his cold grief.

He knew the north was vast, but this large? It seemed endless. The trees continued forever, mute sentinels standing watch in a cold world. The ground sunk in with every step that Eragon took, and when he lifted his foot, he would often times find resistance as congealed mud locked his feet in a sloppy hold. They walked until the sun began to set behind the tips of evergreen pines. Brom decided to camp in the elements, cold settling in on their shoulders.

"Could we have a fire?" Eragon asked as he rested his back against the trunk of a thick tree.

He held his dragon closer, grateful for her warmth. Brom was standing before them, focused on the surrounding forest as it sunk into darkness.

"No fires tonight." Brom turned towards Eragon and coughed.

"I don't want to risk it. We are still close to your town." He sat down near Eragon, placing his sword down by his side.

Eragon huddled closer to his dragon.

"This cold is going to kill me.." He complained as his hands went numb from the elements. Brom laughed quietly.

"As a Dragon Rider, only the sword can kill you. Nothing else. You will grow weak if you do not eat, and cold if you are not warmed, and you will walk the line of death... but you will not truly die." Brom informed him almost casually.

The prospect shocked Eragon to the core.

"Are you saying that I'm immortal?" He whispered, not believing what Brom told him.

"Aye. Now try to get some sleep." Brom ordered, lying down on his back, ignoring the mud and the cold.

Eragon closed his eyes, attempting to focus his mind away from his family, and to the rest his body desperately needed.

Brom was right, he repeated to himself while his mind faded.
Life had truly changed, and it would never be the same.