Eragon brushed the matter from his mind and focused on what he had learned from Brom; there was something missing. “I don’t understand. Where were we when the Riders were created?”
“We?” asked Brom, raising an eyebrow.
“You know, all of us.” Eragon waved his hands vaguely. “Humans in general.”
Brom laughed. “We are no more native to this land than the elves. It took our ancestors another three centuries to arrive here and join the Riders.”
“That can’t be,” protested Eragon. “We’ve always lived in Palancar Valley.”
“That might be true for a few generations, but beyond that, no. It isn’t even true for you, Eragon,” said Brom gently. “Though you consider yourself part of Garrow’s family, and rightly so, your sire was not from here. Ask around and you’ll find many people who haven’t been here that long. This valley is old and hasn’t always belonged to us.”
Eragon scowled and gulped at the tea. It was still hot enough to burn his throat. This was his home, regardless of who his father was! “What happened to the dwarves after the Riders were destroyed?”
“No one really knows. They fought with the Riders through the first few battles, but when it became clear Galbatorix was going to win, they sealed all the known entrances to their tunnels and disappeared underground. As far as I know, not one has been seen since.”
“And the dragons?” he asked. “What of them? Surely they weren’t all killed.”
Brom answered sorrowfully, “That is the greatest mystery in Alagaësia nowadays: How many dragons survived Galbatorix’s murderous slaughter? He spared those who agreed to serve him, but only the twisted dragons of the Forsworn would assist his madness. If any dragons aside from Shruikan are still alive, they have hidden themselves so they will never be found by the Empire.”
So wheredidmy dragon come from?wondered Eragon. “Were the Urgals here when the elves came to Alagaësia?” he asked.
“No, they followed the elves across the sea, like ticks seeking blood. They were one of the reasons the Riders became valued for their battle prowess and ability to keep the peace. . . . Much can be learned from this history. It’s a pity the king makes it a delicate subject,” reflected Brom.
“Yes, I heard your story the last time I was in town.”
“Story!” roared Brom. Lightning flashed in his eyes. “If it is a story, then the rumors of my death are true and you are speaking with a ghost! Respect the past; you never know how it may affect you.”
Eragon waited until Brom’s face mellowed before he dared ask, “How big were the dragons?”
A dark plume of smoke swirled above Brom like a miniature thunderstorm. “Larger than a house. Even the small ones had wingspans over a hundred feet; they never stopped growing. Some of the ancient ones, before the Empire killed them, could have passed for large hills.”
Dismay swept through Eragon.How can I hide my dragon in the years to come? He raged silently, but kept his voice calm. “When did they mature?”
“Well,” said Brom, scratching his chin, “they couldn’t breathe fire until they were around five to six months old, which was about when they could mate. The older a dragon was, the longer it could breathe fire. Some of them could keep at it for minutes.” Brom blew a smoke ring and watched it float up to the ceiling.
“I heard that their scales shone like gems.”
Brom leaned forward and growled, “You heard right. They came in every color and shade. It was said that a group of them looked like a living rainbow, constantly shifting and shimmering. But who told you that?”
Eragon froze for a second, then lied, “A trader.”
“What was his name?” asked Brom. His tangled eyebrows met in a thick white line; the wrinkles deepened on his forehead. Unnoticed, the pipe smoldered out.
Eragon pretended to think. “I don’t know. He was talking in Morn’s, but I never found out who he was.”
“I wish you had,” muttered Brom.
“He also said a Rider could hear his dragon’s thoughts,” said Eragon quickly, hoping that the fictitious trader would protect him from suspicion.
Brom’s eyes narrowed. Slowly he took out a tinderbox and struck the flint. Smoke rose, and he took a long pull from the pipe, exhaling slowly. In a flat voice he said, “He was wrong. It isn’t in any of the stories, and I know them all. Did he say anything else?”
Eragon shrugged. “No.” Brom was too interested in the trader for him to continue the falsehood. Casually he inquired, “Did dragons live very long?”
Brom did not respond at once. His chin sank to his chest while his fingers tapped the pipe thoughtfully, light reflecting off his ring. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Yes, a dragon will live for quite a while, forever, in fact, as long as it isn’t killed and its Rider doesn’t die.”
“How does anyone know that?” objected Eragon. “If dragons die when their Riders do, they could only live to be sixty or seventy. You said during your . . . narration that Riders lived for hundreds of years, but that’s impossible.” It troubled him to think of outliving his family and friends.
A quiet smile curled Brom’s lips as he said slyly, “What is possible is subjective. Some would say that you cannot travel through the Spine and live, yet you do. It’s a matter of perspective. You must be very wise to know so much at such a young age.” Eragon flushed, and the old man chuckled. “Don’t be angry; you can’t be expected to know such things. You forget that the dragons were magical—they affected everything around them in strange ways. The Riders were closest to them and experienced this the most. The most common side effect was an extended life. Our king has lived long enough to make that apparent, but most people attribute it to his own magical abilities. There were also other, less noticeable changes. All the Riders were stronger of body, keener of mind, and truer of sight than normal men. Along with this, a human Rider would slowly acquire pointed ears, though they were never as prominent as an elf’s.”