INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

A HARSH LESSON

The morning turned into noon as they walked ahead, the river following them across a screen of old trees. The trees were all naked, having dropped their leaves, making them look menacing and dangerous as branches spread out to the sky, grasping and thin. Their pace was moderate, and Eragon could tell they had traveled far from Carvahall.

They were in the last reaches of the North, Brom had said earlier, and once they started further south they would gain a quick respite from the cold, before those lands were met with a deeper chill. Eragon noticed that things seemed smaller the further they traveled. Trees mostly.
In the North they were massive guardians, great and powerful, green all year, with roots as big as a man's leg and some even bigger than that. Brom had said that was because the North was mostly untouched by time, whereas the other areas of Alagaesia had been put under test by war and industry.

Eragon looked at the man's back now, watching as the hilt of Brom's sword shined darkly in the light of the sun. Eragon was always taken away by the blade- It was beautiful, but yet there was a sense of dread around it, an aura that he could not understand. The hilt; a dragon with an open maw, with jewel eyes and a pointed pommel, was imposing. Eragon had never seen the actual blade, that part of the sword hidden in Brom's makeshift sheath, a bastardly combination of wool, wood, and rope.

The man never drew the blade, not even to sharpen it, but he did answer some of Eragon's questions about other weapons.

"All Rider's blades are unique." He had said. "They are made with magic, and share components with their wielder. Any man can pick up a Rider's blade, but he will often find it unwieldy, hard to handle and strangely weighted. That is because the sword knows who it belongs to. They are no ordinary weapons."

Eragon had asked Brom if a Rider could use a blade that belonged to another of their Order, and he said it was possible, though it was still best to use your own sword.

"The Rider Jaloin took his brother's blade after he was ambushed and killed by Dwarves. He fought in the Dwarven wars. They say he was adept with his borrowed blade, but he was killed, in the end. The Dwarves were dangerous fighters, and back then there were much more of them."

Brom had often spoken of Dwarves with distaste, and Eragon could see the man did not like them. He tried to shy away from the subject but his curiosity tugged at him, wanting to know more. Saphira talked much, speaking to both Brom and Eragon, her voice deepening. She had matured fast, and Eragon was startled at how articulate the dragon had become, how insightful she was. She could fly now, large and strong wings carrying her into the air. Brom had said it would be a long time before Eragon himself could ride her.

"It takes years for Dragons to mature, and they never stop growing. In two years, you will be able to soar with her in the air, but she would be no larger than a horse. Dragons who have lived for centuries often dwarfed castles." Brom informed.

   Eragon was disappointed somewhat. He had expected Saphira to quickly blossom into a fearsome beast, but he knew such wishes were juvenile. Dragons, like all large creatures, grew slowly.

"You know a lot about dragons." Eragon said conversationally as they walked. Dead leaves crunched under their boots, which were covered in dried mud. Eragon saw grey clouds moving in covering the sun, and he wasn't sure he liked the prospect of enduring another cold rain.

"Where are we going?" He asked, after Brom refused to answer his first question. The man stopped then, and Eragon nearly bumped into him, the jewel eye of Brom's sword staring at the boy with animosity. Brom turned his face, shadowed with annoyance with eyes as sharp as steel. He grimaced, and spat onto the cold ground.

"I figured I would have to tell you at some point. We're going to the Varden. It is the only safe haven in Alagaesia for you and Saphira." At the sound of her name, Saphira huddled closer to the two humans. Her long neck rubbed against Eragon's upper leg, and her wings flexed in excitement.