Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practicedeye. The prints told him that the deer had been in the meadow only a half-hour before.Soon they would bed down. His target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her leftforefoot, was still with the herd. He was amazed she had made it so far without a wolf orbear catching her.
The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. A silvery cloud driftedover the mountains that surrounded him, its edges glowing with ruddy light cast from theharvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains fromstolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks. A brooding mist crept along the valley’s floor,almost thick enough to obscure his feet.
Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood. Dark eyebrows rested above hisintense brown eyes. His clothes were worn from work. A hunting knife with a bonehandle was sheathed at his belt, and a buckskin tube protected his yew bow from the mist.He carried a wood-frame pack.
The deer had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended upand down the land of Alagaësia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains, usually boding ill. Despite that, Eragon did not fear the Spine—he was the only hunternear Carvahall who dared track game deep into its craggy recesses.
It was the third night of the hunt, and his food was half gone. If he did not fell the doe, hewould be forced to return home empty-handed. His family needed the meat for therapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall.
Eragon stood with quiet assurance in the dusky moonlight, then strode into the foresttoward a glen where he was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky fromview and cast feathery shadows on the ground. He looked at the tracks only occasionally;he knew the way.
At the glen, he strung his bow with a sure touch, then drew three arrows and nocked one,holding the others in his left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumpswhere the deer lay in the grass. The doe he wanted was at the edge of the herd, her leftforeleg stretched out awkwardly.
Eragon slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready. All his work of the past three dayshad led to this moment. He took a last steadying breath and—an explosion shattered thenight.
The herd bolted. Eragon lunged forward, racing through the grass as a fiery wind surgedpast his cheek. He slid to a stop and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. It missed by afinger’s breadth and hissed into darkness. He cursed and spun around, instinctivelynocking another arrow.
Behind him, where the deer had been, smoldered a large circle of grass and trees. Manyof the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. Awisp of smoke curled in the air,carrying a burnt smell. In the center of the blast radiuslay a polished blue stone. Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantialtendrils over the stone.
Eragon watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved wasthe mist. Cautiously, he released the tension from his bow and moved forward. Moonlightcast him in pale shadow as he stopped before the stone. He nudged it with an arrow, then jumped back. Nothing happened, so he warily picked it up.
Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was dark blue, except for thin veins of white that spiderwebbed across it. The stone was cool andfrictionless under his fingers, like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighedseveral pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have.
Eragon found the stone both beautiful and frightening.
Where did it come from? Does it have a purpose?
Then a more disturbing thought came to him:
Was it sent here byaccident, or am I meant to have it?
If he had learned anything from the old stories, it wasto treat magic, and those who used it, with great caution.
But what should I do with the stone?
It would be tiresome to carry, and there was a chanceit was dangerous. It might be better to leave it behind. A flicker of indecision ran throughhim, and he almost dropped it, but something stayed his hand.
At the very least, it might pay for some food,
he decided with a shrug, tucking the stone into his pack.The glen was too exposed to make a safe camp, so he slipped back into the forest andspread his bedroll beneath the upturned roots of a fallen tree. After a cold dinner of breadand cheese, he wrapped himself in blankets and fell asleep, pondering what had occurred.
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