brisingr | Page 4

Saphira. When Eragon manages to
wrench the Rider’s helm off, he is shocked to see Murtagh. Murtagh did not die in the Urgal ambush
under Farthen Dûr. The Twins arranged it all; they
are traitors who planned the ambush so Ajihad would
be killed and they could capture Murtagh and take
him to Galbatorix. The king forced Murtagh to swear
loyalty to him in the ancient language. Now Murtagh
and his newly hatched dragon, Thorn, are
Galbatorix’s slaves, and Murtagh asserts that his
oaths will never allow him to disobey the king, though
Eragon pleads with him to abandon Galbatorix and
join the Varden. Murtagh is able to overwhelm Eragon and Saphira with an inexplicable display of strength.
However, he decides to free them because of their
previous friendship. Before Murtagh leaves, he takes
Zar’roc from Eragon, claiming it is his inheritance as
Morzan’s elder son. Then he reveals that he is not
Morzan’s only son—Eragon and Murtagh are
brothers, both sons of Selena, Morzan’s consort. The
Twins discovered the truth when they examined Eragon’s memories the day he arrived at Farthen Dûr.
Still reeling from Murtagh’s revelation about their
parentage, Eragon retreats with Saphira, and he is
finally reunited with Roran and the villagers of
Carvahall, who have arrived at the Burning Plains
just in time to aid the Varden in the battle. Roran
fought heroically and succeeded in killing the Twins.

11 | P a g e Brisingr – Christopher Paolini
Eragon and Roran make peace over Eragon’s role in
Garrow’s death, and Eragon vows to help Roran
rescue Katrina from the Ra’zac.

12 | P a g e Brisingr – Christopher Paolini
THE GATES OF DEATH
Eragon stared at the dark tower of stone wherein hid
the monsters who had murdered his uncle, Garrow.
He was lying on his belly behind the edge of a sandy
hill dotted with sparse blades of grass, thornbushes,
and small, rosebudlike cactuses. The brittle stems of
last year’s foliage pricked his palms as he inched
forward to gain a better view of Helgrind, which
loomed over the surrounding land like a black dagger
thrust out from the bowels of the earth.
The evening sun streaked the low hills with shadows long and narrow and—far in the west—illuminated
the surface of Leona Lake so that the horizon became
a rippling bar of gold.
To his left, Eragon heard the steady breathing of his cousin, Roran, who was stretched out beside him.
The normally inaudible flow of air seemed
preternaturally loud to Eragon with his heightened
sense of hearing, one of many such changes wrought
by his experience during the Agaetí Blödhren, the
elves’ Blood-oath Celebration. He paid little attention
to that now as he watched a column of people inch
toward the base of Helgrind, apparently having
walked from the city of Dras-Leona, some miles away.
A contingent of twenty-four men and women, garbed
in thick leather robes, occupied the head of the
column. This group moved with many strange and
varied gaits—they limped and shuffled and humped
and wriggled; they swung on crutches or used arms
to propel themselves forward on curiously short
legs—contortions that were necessary because, as

13 | P a g e Brisingr – Christopher Paolini
Eragon realized, every one of the twenty-four lacked
an arm or a leg or some combination thereof. Their
leader sat upright upon a litter borne by six oiled
slaves, a pose Eragon regarded as a rather amazing
accomplishment, considering that the man or
woman—he could not tell which—consisted of nothing
more than a torso and head, upon whose brow
balanced an ornate leather crest three feet high.
“The priests of Helgrind,” he murmured to Roran.
“Can they use magic?”
“Possibly. I dare not explore Helgrind with my mind
until they leave, for if any are magicians, they will
sense my touch, however light, and our presence will
be revealed.”
Behind the priests trudged a double line of young
men swathed in gold cloth. Each carried a
rectangular metal frame subdivided by twelve
horizontal crossbars from which hung iron bells the
size of winter rutabagas. Half of the young men gave
their frames a vigorous shake when they stepped
forward with their right foot, producing a dolorous
cacophony of notes, while the other half shook their
frames when they advanced upon the left foot,
causing iron tongues to crash against iron throats
and emit a mournful