Inheritance

You acquitted yourself well, Eragon.†

His study of the ancient language had taught him to appreciate the importance of names—names were power, names were understanding—and until he knew the name of the religion, he would not be able to fully apprehend its true nature.†

Eragon admired the elf's courage, but he wondered whether insulting Glaedr was really the best approach.†

It was an odd spell; the phrasing was obscure and convoluted, and Eragon was unable to determine what it was supposed to accomplish.†

Arya and Blodhgarm stayed as close beside him as the convoluted passageway would allow.

A new order is about to descend upon Alagaesia, and I would have you be a part of it.†

It was an immense task, and he despaired of accomplishing what was needed, fearing that the city might erupt into open battle again.†

The belief that I know better and that because I have this power at my disposal, I have a responsibility to act.†

It was only logical that Murtagh and Thorn would have taken her there, and it would explain the elvish look of the room; the elves had built much of Uru'baen, the city they called Ilirea, either before their war with the dragons—long, long ago—or after the city had become the capital of the Broddring Kingdom and the Riders had established a formal presence therein.†

Fortunately, even though he could not always figure out what a spell was supposed to do, he was often able to establish whether it would affect him, Saphira, or Glaedr.†

And again, and now it was on her shoulder, the hooks pinching and digging into her skin like a strip of minute cockleburs.†