INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

CAOMHIM

Brom clutched his stomach as men towered over him. Two of their own lay dead, killed by his hand. Blood poured from his wound, and he breathed raggedly.

They spoke, but he did not understand them; their voices far away and muffled. His eyes open and closed, opened again, and he saw a man with the face of a skeleton peering down at him. Brom opened his mouth, his voice playing on broken strings.

"Eragon . . . Saphira . . ." He stammered, and then there was blackness.

He remembered. He remembered when he had not been Brom, before the war, before Selena. Who was he? Durza had said it. Yes- That name, that cursed name.

Caomhim.

The morning breeze brushed through Caomhim's hair as he took a bite out of a ripe apple.

The juice dripped from his grinning face as he watched Morzan flail with his training sword, attempting to hit Galbatorix. Galbatorix laughed, turning aside each blow, and then tripping Morzan over his sword with a deft strike.

Morzan fell on his bottom. Caomhim burst out laughing, bits of apple flying from his mouth. Morzan looked up sullenly, his face red with exertion.

"You're getting better." Galbatorix offered a hand to the young boy.

Morzan took it, unsmiling. He rose, a hardy youth of fourteen, with short black hair and dark eyes. He was lanky but strong, intelligent as well. Personally, Caomhim found him to be one of the better prospects.

High Above them dragons flew, massive ancient beasts that bore magnificent Riders.

The air was filled with sweet smells: blossoming flowers and honeyed meat and fresh bread entering Caomhim's nostrils. Morzan looked up to the sky as a shadow of a large dragon passed over them.

"I hope I'm chosen." He said sadly, as if that possibility had already eluded him.

"You're one of the best students. You will be picked. If not, you'll still be trained. You could be a firemage, or a dragonguard . . ." Galbatorix offered. Morzan frowned.

"But not a Rider." He snapped back, and Galbatorix recoiled. He bore a smile, but said nothing. He looked to Caomhim for support.

Caomhim sighed, throwing his apple into a bush and approaching his two friends. They had quickly bonded with Morzan when he had arrived three years ago, a smart but quiet youth. The boy was well versed in history, bladework, and simple spells. He had the makings of a great Rider.

However . . .

Even the greatest prospects weren't picked sometimes. The eggs did not hatch for just anyone. Out of thousands of young and old sentient beings across the lands, only a handful of them hatched eggs. The dullest prospect could hatch an egg and the most brilliant youth could find himself rider-less, despite his skill. Caomhim understood Morzan's anguish.

"You just have to relax. Don't think- Just touch the eggs as they are presented to you."

Morzan looked up at him.

"How did you know when your egg hatched?"

Caomhim lifted his arm, pulling down his sleeve, revealing his scar.

"You burn." He said grimly. Morzan looked at the wound with wide eyes. After a few moments Galbatorix erupted in laughter. Caomhim failed in keeping a straight face, smiling and laughing as well. Morzan glared, until the laughter eased him, and he allowed a smile.

"Ah! The rare smile of Morzan! We should write this day down." Galbatorix teased, and Morzan pushed him playfully.

Caomhim watched them, finding himself filled with joy. They were his brothers, and he loved them as if they were his own kin. Is there anything better than this? Is there? He asked himself.