“… Moraeta’s Spire, or the Rock of Kuthian,” replied Eragon in the same manner. He hesitated for a half second, briefly thrown by her question. “It’s a long flight, but—”
—if Eragon and I leave forthwith— said Saphira.
“—we can travel there and back—”
—before the Varden arrive at Urû’baen. This—
“—is our only chance to go.”
We’ll not have the time—
“—to make the trip later on.”
Where would you be flying to, though? asked Glaedr.
“What … what do you mean?”
Exactly what I said, the dragon growled, the field of his mind darkening. For all your yammering, you’ve yet to tell us where this mysterious … thing is located.
“I have, though!” said Eragon, bewildered. “It’s on Vroengard Island!”
At last, a straightforward answer …
A frown creased Arya’s brow. “But what would you do on Vroengard?”
“I don’t know!” said Eragon, his temper rising. He debated whether it was worth confronting Glaedr about his remarks; the dragon seemed to be needling Eragon on purpose. “It depends on what we find. Once we’re there, we’ll try to open the Rock of Kuthian and discover whatever secrets it contains. If it’s a trap …” He shrugged. “Then we’ll fight.”
Arya’s expression grew increasingly troubled. “The Rock of Kuthian … The name seems weighted with significance, but I cannot say why; it echoes in my mind, like a song I once knew but have since forgotten.” She shook her head and put her hands to her temples. “Ah, now it is gone.…” She looked up. “Forgive me, what were we speaking of?”
“Going to Vroengard,” Eragon said slowly.
“Ah, yes … but for what purpose? You’re needed here, Eragon. In any case, nothing of value remains on Vroengard.”
Aye, said Glaedr. It is a dead and abandoned place. After the destruction of Doru Araeba, the few of us who had escaped returned to search for anything that might be of use, but the Forsworn had already picked the ruins clean.
Arya nodded. “Whatever put this idea in your head in the first place? I don’t understand how you could believe deserting the Varden now, when they’re at their most vulnerable, could possibly be wise. And for what? To fly to the far ends of Alagaësia without cause or reason? I had thought better of you.… You cannot leave just because you are uncomfortable with your new station, Eragon.”
Eragon decoupled his mind from Arya and Glaedr, and signaled to Saphira to do the same. They don’t remember! … They can’t remember!
It is magic. Deep magic, like the spell that hides the names of the dragons who betrayed the Riders.
But you haven’t forgotten about the Rock of Kuthian, have you?
Of course not, she said, her mind flashing green with pique. How could I when we are so closely joined?
A sense of vertigo gripped Eragon as he considered the implications. In order to be effective, the spell would have to erase the memories of everyone who knew about the rock in the first place and also the memories of anyone who heard or read about it thereafter. Which means … the whole of Alagaësia is in the thrall of this enchantment. No one can escape its reach.
Except for us.
Except for us, he agreed. And the werecats.
And, perhaps, Galbatorix.
Eragon shivered; it felt as if spiders made of ice crystals were crawling up and down his spine. The size of the deception astounded him and left him feeling small, vulnerable. To cloud the minds of elves, dwarves, humans, and dragons alike, and without arousing the slightest hint of suspicion, was a feat so difficult, he doubted it could have been accomplished by a deliberate application of craft; rather, he believed it could only have been done by instinct, for such a spell would be far too complicated to put into words.
He had to know who was responsible for manipulating the minds of everyone in Alagaësia, and why. If it was Galbatorix, then Eragon feared that Solembum was right and the Varden’s defeat was inevitable.
Do you think this was the work of dragons, as was the Banishing of the Names? he asked.