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Uncle, I'm sorry.
- You?
- Let go of me.
- Where's your dragon?
- Gone.
- What do you mean, "gone"?
- I sent her away.
You can't stay here and mourn him--
I'm not going anywhere.
Not until I bury him.
- There.
- What are you doing?
A funeral fit for a king. Come.
- Let go.
- Listen...
...they killed him, but they were after you.
If we stay here, we're both dead.
Now get on that horse. Go on.
Get up there.
- Who are you?
- Ride. Now. Go on.
Come on, boy. Ride.
- Why here?
- Because I said here.
- Call your dragon.
- My uncle was killed because of her.
She was protecting you
against the Ra'zac.
- I could have killed them.
- That's the spirit.
One part brave, three parts fool.
What, you don't think I could do it?
The Ra'zac kill mercilessly.
That's what they do.
- But a boy of 15, 16--
- Seventeen.
Seventeen. Forgive me.
Well, I think even a 17-year-old boy...
...might probably last a minute
against Durza's assassins.
Then I'll find Durza and kill him.
Durza's a Shade.
A sorcerer possessed with demonic spirits.
Find Durza,
you'll be no better off than your uncle.
You just pray to heaven he doesn't find you
because the king won't rest until he does.
You are the Varden's only hope.
- Who are the Varden?
- Rebels. Outcasts.
Men who are brave or mad enough
to oppose Galbatorix.
They built a stronghold
in the Beor Mountains.
How do you know all this?
Because I've been about a bit.
I've seen things...
...you could never imagine.
Now call your dragon.
She's far away by now. She can't hear me.
Shall we have an agreement
not to lie to each other?
I know she hears your thoughts.
Now call your dragon.
Saphira? Can you find us?
I never left you.
- I'm sorry for what I said.
- I understand.
You loved him very much.
- And who might this be?
- This is Brom.
He knows about dragons.
He knows about dragons?
I'll be the judge of that.
Easy. I think he's a friend.
Graceful proportions.
...nicely curved.
Legs a bit thin.
Only my voice is gentle, old man.
Spikes sharp.
All in all...
...a fine young dragon.
Well, he does know a bit about dragons.
And soon, strong enough to ride.
Not me. I won't do it again.
My story was about you, Eragon.
It is your fate to be a Dragon Rider.
The Varden need a rider
if they are to defeat Durza and the king.
- I didn't ask for any of this.
- But you were chosen nevertheless.
A dragon will only hatch
if it feels the presence of its rider.
It'll wait forever, if it has to.
What he says is true.
But now it's found you.
It will serve you and only you,
and that's put your life in danger.
- Because it chose me?
- No.
Because the easiest way for the king
to destroy your dragon is to kill you.
A rider will live on if his dragon is killed.
But if a rider dies...
So does his dragon.
Handsome blade.
...and to the point.
The farm boy evaded the Ra'zac.
Bring me his head.
Durza will send his Urgals after us.
Ahead, five hard days ride,
is the river town of Daret...
...the last outpost before the foothills.
Now, if we can get there without
being discovered, we have a chance.
Tell Saphira to fly above us
and scout the countryside for Urgals...
...or worse, Ra'zacs.
If they find us, we'll have no chance.
And tell her only to come to us at night.
Do as he says.
But be careful.
You be careful.
This way.
Urgals. They used to be the king's enemies.
Now they're his guard.
Oh, they're closer to us than I thought.
We better stay off the roads.
- Why can't we take them?
- Quiet.
You're not ready to take anything yet.
I have skills. I can fight.
My cousin, Roran and I.
We've trained.
- With swords.
- Well, then...
...perhaps I've underestimated you.
Right, then.
Let's see these skills of yours.
You know, this won't be fair to you,
old man.
Humor me.

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