Dawnbreaker [Inheritance Cycle]

12. Questions

She continued, "Often, you've recounted tales of the Dragon Riders and their deeds, yet it was never clear to me how they came to be in the first place. Moreover, what was it that made the Riders truly unique, aside from their dragons?"

"A vast subject to talk about," grumbled Brom.

Serafyna shrugged nonchalantly, "I've got nothing else to do."

"You may not, but I do, girl." He peered at Serafyna, his expression impossible to discern. "If I told you their whole story, we would still be sitting here when winter comes again. Instead, I will give you a shorter summary. But before we start properly, I need my pipe."

Serafyna waited, silently impatient but respectful, as Brom tamped down the tobacco. She liked the old man, one of the few people in the village she genuinely respected. While the old man was irascible at times, he never seemed to mind taking time for Serafyna and Eragon.

She had once asked him where he came from, and Brom had laughed, saying, "A village much like Carvahall, only not quite as interesting." Curiosity aroused, Serafyna asked her uncle. But Garrow could only tell her that Brom had bought a house in Carvahall nearly fifteen years ago and had lived there quietly ever since.

Brom used a tinderbox to light the pipe. He puffed a few times, then satisfied, said, "There... now we won't have to stop, except for the tea. Now, about the Riders, or the Shur'tugal, as they are called by the elves."

He hummed lightly to himself, thinking. "Where to start? They spanned countless years and, at the height of their power, held sway over twice the Empire's lands. Numerous stories have been told about them–most nonsense though, mind you. If you believed everything said, you would expect them to have the powers of a lesser god. Scholars have devoted entire lives to separating these fictions from fact, but it's doubtful any of them will succeed."

"However, it isn't nearly as impossible of a task if we confine ourselves to the thing you asked: how the Riders began. To truly understand, though, we first have to know where the dragons came from."

Serafyna settled back into the dusty chair and listened to the man's mesmerizing voice.

"The Dragons themselves have no beginning, unless you talk about the creation of Alagaësia itself. They are inherently bound to the land and its fate. They, the dwarves, and a few others are the true inhabitants of this land. They lived here before all others, strong and proud in their elemental glory. Their world was unchanging until the first elves sailed over the sea on their silvery ships."

"Now," he took a deep pull from his pipe and sighed, exhaling smoke, "the elves were a proud race then, and strong in magic. At first, they regarded dragons as mere animals, and from that belief rose a deadly mistake–"

"Mere animals?" Serafyna interrupted, her curiosity piqued, "If that were a mistake, does it mean that dragons are intelligent? And how much?"

Brom scowled. "Do you want your original questions answered or not? They won't be if you want to explore every obscure piece of knowledge."

"Sorry," she muttered, pursing her lips.

"No, you're not," said Brom with some amusement, a wry smile on his face. He knew her well enough. He shifted his gaze to the fire and watched it lick the underside of the kettle.

"If you must know, yes, the dragons were wild but as intelligent as you or I, with more natural cunning and wisdom than even the most learned scholar could hope for."

Brom shook his head, before continuing, "As I said, the elves made a mistake, assuming the dragons were simple-minded brutes. A brash elven youth hunted down a dragon, as he would a stag, and killed it. Outraged, the dragons ambushed and slaughtered the elf."