Christopher Paolini - Inheritance 2 - Eldest (v3.2) by nukie

Author:nukie
Language: eng
Format: epub

Christopher Paolini - Inheritance 2 - Eldest (v3.2)

RESURGENCE

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A blast of ravening wind tore Eragon from his sleep.

Blankets flapped over him as a tempest clawed at his room, hurling his possessions into the air and knocking the lanterns against the walls. Outside, the sky was black with thunderheads.

Saphira watched as Eragon staggered upright and fought to keep his balance as the tree swayed like a ship at sea. He lowered his head against the gale and made his way around the room, clutching at the wall until he reached the teardrop portal through which the storm howled.

Eragon looked past the heaving floor to the ground below. It appeared to rock back and forth. He swallowed and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach.

By touch he found the edge of the cloth membrane that could be pulled out of the wood to cover the opening. He prepared to launch himself from one side of the gap to the next. If he slipped, nothing would stop him from falling onto the roots of the tree.

Wait, said Saphira.

She backed off the low pedestal where she slept and laid her tail alongside him so that he could use it as a handrail.

Holding the cloth with just his right hand, which took all his strength, Eragon used the line of spikes on Saphira’s tail to pull himself across the portal. As soon as he reached the far side, he grabbed the cloth with both hands and pressed its edge into the groove that locked it in place.

The room went silent.

The membrane bulged inward under the force of the angry elements but showed no sign of giving. Eragon poked it with his finger. The fabric was as taut as a drum.

It’s amazing what the elves can do, he said.

Saphira cocked her head, then lifted it so that her head was flat against the ceiling while she listened. You’d better close up the study; it’s being wrecked.

As he headed toward the stairs, the tree jolted and his leg buckled, sending him down hard on one knee.

“Blast it,” he growled.

The study was a whirlwind of paper and quills, darting about as if they had a mind of their own. He dove into the flurry with his arms wrapped around his head. It felt like he was being pelted with stones when the tips of the quills struck him.

Eragon struggled to close the upper portal without Saphira’s help. The moment he did, pain—endless, mind-numbing pain— ripped open his back.

He screamed once and went hoarse from the strength of his cry. His vision flashed with red and yellow, then faded to black as he toppled to his side. Below, he heard Saphira howl with frustration; the staircase was too small and, outside, the wind was too ferocious for her to reach him. His connection with her receded. He surrendered to the waiting darkness as a release from his agony.

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