He knocked on the center pole: once, twice, three times. There was no response, so he knocked again, this time louder and longer.
A moment later, he heard a sleepy groan and the rustle of shifting blankets. He waited patiently until a small hand pulled aside the entrance flap and the witch-child, Elva, emerged. She wore a dark robe much too large for her, and by the faint light of a torch some yards away, he could see a frown upon her sharp little face.
“What do you want, Eragon?” she demanded.
“Can’t you tell?”
Her frown deepened. “No, I can’t, only that you want something badly enough to wake me in the middle of the night, which even an idiot could see. What is it? I get little enough rest as is, so this had best be important.”
“It is.”
He spoke without interruption for several minutes, describing his plan, then said, “Without you, it won’t work. You’re the point upon which it all turns.”
She gave an ugly laugh. “Such irony, the mighty warrior relying upon a child to kill the one he cannot.”
“Will you help?”
The girl looked down and scuffed her bare foot against the ground.
“If you do, all this”—he motioned toward the camp and the city beyond—“may end far sooner, and then you will not have to endure quite so much—”
“I’ll help.” She stamped her foot and glared at him. “You don’t have to bribe me. I was going to help anyway. I’m not about to let Galbatorix destroy the Varden just because I don’t like you. You’re not that important, Eragon. Besides, I made a promise to Nasuada, and I intend to keep it.” She cocked her head. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something you’re afraid Galbatorix will find out before we attack. Something about—”
The sound of clanking chains interrupted her.
For a moment, Eragon was confused. Then he realized the sound was coming from the city.
He put his hand on his sword. “Ready yourself,” he said to Elva. “We may have to leave at once.”
Without argument, the girl turned around and disappeared inside the tent.
Reaching out with his mind, Eragon contacted Saphira. Do you hear it?
Yes.
If we have to, we’ll meet you by the road.
The clanking continued for a short while, then there was a hollow boom, followed by silence.
Eragon listened as intently as he could but heard nothing more. He was just about to cast a spell to increase the sensitivity of his ears when there was a dull thud, accompanied by a series of sharp clacks.
Then another …
And another …
A shiver of horror ran down Eragon’s spine. The sound was unmistakably that of a dragon walking on stone. But what a dragon, to hear its steps from over a mile away!
Shruikan, he thought, and his gut clenched with dread.
Throughout the camp, alarm horns blared, and men, dwarves, and Urgals lit torches as the army scrambled to wakefulness.
Eragon spared Elva a sideways glance as she hurried out of the tent, followed by Greta, the old woman who was her caretaker. The girl had donned a short red tunic, over which she wore a mail hauberk just her size.
The footsteps in Urû’baen ceased. The dragon’s shadowy bulk blotted out most of the lanterns and watchlights in the city. How big is he? Eragon wondered, dismayed. Bigger than Glaedr, that was certain. As big as Belgabad? Eragon could not tell. Not yet.
Then the dragon leaped up and out from the city, and he unfurled his massive wings, and their opening was like a hundred black sails filling with wind. When he flapped, the air shook as if from a clap of thunder, and throughout the countryside, dogs bayed and roosters crowed.
Without thinking, Eragon crouched, feeling like a mouse hiding from an eagle.