Eragon Chapter Thirty Six

Galbatorix is not going to have a hard time with Eragon. Not with the way he passes out so easily. I think Eragon might be the very first narcoleptic hero in a fantasy saga. It’s a good thing too, because he’d be a terrible modern day action hero. At least when he falls asleep piloting Saphira she can take over. That doesn’t go so well during a car chase on a busy highway.

This chapter is called ‘murtagh’. Which means we’re about to be introduced to a loose cannon who’ll pair up with Brom who’s just two days away from retirement and getting too old for all this. Together they’ll have to stop a man who has monarchial immunity from doing bad things.

Eragon decides that he’s aware of things. Whoa there, moron. Don’t mistake sensations and stimulus for being aware. I might go so far as to concede that you’re conscious. The rest is pure conjecture.

Saphira tells Eragon that only Brom is hurt. And he realizes that she couldn’t have broken those chains on her own. No you’re correct, Eragon, Journey was right man. It must be someday and love has found her, breaking those chains that bound her. One night will remind you how you touched and went your separate ways.

You know, Chris. Eragon doesn’t have to spell everything out for us. Just show us Spahira unbound. Even the meanest of readers will be able to figure out something happened. Hell, have the person that freed her waltz in and tell us if you’re that worried.

‘Glad to see you’re awake. I hope you don’t mind if I took the liberty of freeing your dragon. She nearly took my head off while I was doing it.’ That would suffice for the slow witted in the audience, I’m sure.

The stranger, dressed in battered clothes, exuded a calm, assured air. In his hands was a bow, at his side a long hand-and-a-half sword. A white horn bound with silver fittings lay in his lap, and the hilt of a dagger protruded from his boot. His serious face and fierce eyes were framed by locks of brown hair. He appeared to be a few years older than Eragon and perhaps an inch or so taller. Behind him a gray war-horse was picketed. The stranger watched Saphira warily.

Okay, I’m going to make a prediction. This guy is going to be a permanent addition to the party. How can I tell you might ask? Is it my powers newly acquired after a trip to the Amazon? Perhaps exposure to gamma radiation? Or it could be that the only time Chris bothers to describe anything is when it pertains to the good guys.

Sure antagonists are just as important to the story as they drive conflict. And sure they’re important in the sense that they define the protagonist but why waste words on them. Just dress them in all black, whether it be a suit or leather, and have them scowl a lot. What more do you need? Sure as hell not motivation or development. That’s for them high falutin’ writers who want a believable story.

Eragon wants to see how Brom is doing but Murtagh wants to see how bad Eragon is hurt. Turns out he has a couple of welts and a bruise. Oh dear, not a bruise. Wait, Brom’s dying and he’s whining about a bruise. Yeah, it’s getting harder and harder to like this kid.

Eragon examines Brom’s wound and tries to heal him. He links with Saphira to do it and she mentions they can do more linked than alone. It’s good that the dragon infant bothered to read her owner’s manual else we’d have no one to explain it to us. Amazingly Eragon doesn’t quite possess the laying of hands skill. He healed the surface and the rest is up to Brom.

They decide they should get going before the Ra’zac come back. Eragon asks if Saphira can’t carry a litter with Brom in it. ‘I could but landing will be hard.’ ‘Please Saphira.’ ‘God! Alright, fine! I’m your personal slave as it is. That’s probably why you hatched me.’

They make a litter, they put Brom in the litter, Saphira picks it up. She carries the litter with Brom in it. Murtagh follows Eragon and they go to a cave to hide out. Murtagh goes and gathers firewood. It’s important to note that he went and got the stuff for the litter.

The new guy is far and again more effective than the hero. Just like everyone around him. And we’re supposed to root for him because? Oh, right. He has the dragon and a special sword and he can use magic. Those traits alone totally make up for a complete lack of personality.

They ate quietly, then tried to give Brom water, but the old man would not drink. Stymied, they spread out their bedrolls and slept.

‘Well, I’ve tried giving him water but he won’t drink.’ ‘Maybe if you didn’t try pouring it in his ear.’ ‘Shut up Murtagh! Are you a doctor?’ ‘Well, no. Are you?’ ‘I’m a dragon rider! That’s practically a license for doctoring if there ever was one and I say flushing the ear canal with an aqueous solution is the only way we’re going to clear the blockage which is preventing his energy from balancing and healing himself.’ ‘As long as you don’t start cutting on him with that overly large novelty scalpel.’ ‘What? And waste a chance to use mister Carver? You’re mad!’