Darkness falls...despair abounds...evil reigns... Eragon and his dragon, Saphira, have just saved the rebel state from destruction by the mighty forces of King Galbatorix, cruel ruler of the Empire. Now Eragon must travel to Ellesmera, land of the elves, for further training in the skills of the Dragon Rider: magic and swordsmanship. Soon he is on the journey of a lifetime, his eyes open to awe-inspring new places and people, his days filled with fresh adventure. But chaos and betrayal plague him at every turn, and nothing is what it seems. Before long, Eragon doesn't know whom he can trust. Meanwhile, his cousin Roran must fight a new battleone that might put Eragon in even graver danger. Will the king's dark hand strangle all resistance? Eragon may not escape with even his life. . . . Praise forEragon: "Unusual, powerful . . . fresh and fluid. An impressive start to a writing career that's sure to flourish." Booklist, Starred "Christopher Paolini make[s] literary magic with his precocious debut." People "The new 'It' book of children's lit." U.S. News & World Report "An auspicious beginning to both career and series." Publishers Weekly A #1 New York Times Bestseller A #1 Publishers Weekly Bestseller A USA Today Bestseller A Wall Street Journal Bestseller A Book Sense Book of the Year A #1 Book Sense Selection

Christopher Paolini was born on November 17, 1983 in Southern California.  Aside from a few years in Anchorage, Alaska, he spent his entire life in Paradise Valley, Montana, where he still lives with his parents and younger sister, Angela. They have two pets, Otis, a black and white cat, and Annie, a frisky cocker/Australian shepherd mix.

Tall, jagged Beartooth Mountains rise on one side of the Paradise Valley.  Snowcapped most of the year, they inspired the fantastic scenery in Eragon.  A few years ago, Christopher hiked to the top of one peak and could see the Grand Teton mountain range, 100 miles to the south.

Christopher was homeschooled by his parents.  He often wrote short stories and poems in attempt to put his thoughts into words.  He made frequent trips to the library and read widely.  Some of his favorite books were Bruce Coville's Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher, Frank Herbert's Dune, Raymond E. Feist's Magician, and Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials, as well as books by Anne McCaffrey, Jane Yolen, Brian Jacques, E. R. Eddison, David Eddings, and Ursula Le Guin.

Christopher grew up listening to a variety of music, but classical music fired his imagination and helped him write.  He often listened to Mahler, Beethoven, and Wagner while writing Eragon.  The final battle of Eragon was written while listening to “Carmina Burana,” by Carl Orff.

The story of Eragon began as the daydreams of a teen. Christopher's love for the magic of stories led him to craft a novel that he would enjoy reading. The project began as a hobby; he never intended to be published.  He took a month to plot out the entire trilogy, then sat on the sofa and began writing in a notebook.  When he reached sixty pages, he gained enough confidence to transfer his work to his Macintosh computer, where most of Eragon was written, although he sometimes found that the story flowed better when he wrote by hand.  All the characters in Eragon are from Christopher's imagination except Angela the herbalist, who is loosely based on his sister.

It took him a year to write the first draft of Eragon. He took a second year to revise the book and then gave it to his parents to read.  The family decided to self-publish the book and so a third year was spent with another round of edits, designing a cover, typesetting the manuscript, and creating marketing materials.  During this time Christopher drew the map for Eragon, as well as the dragon eye that appears inside the hardcover edition.  Finally, the manuscript was sent to press, and the first books arrived.

The Paolini family spent the next year promoting the book themselves.  Beginning with presentations at the local library and high school, they then traveled across the U.S.  In all, Christopher gave over 135 presentations at libraries, bookstores, and schools in 2002 and early 2003.  He did most of the presentations dressed in a medieval costume of red shirt, billowy black pants, lace-up boots, and a jaunty black cap.

In summer 2002, author Carl Hiaasen, whose stepson had bought and devoured a copy of the self-published book while on vacation in Montana, brought Eragon to the attention of his publisher, Alfred A. Knopf, who subsequently acquired the rights to publish Eragon and the rest of the Inheritance trilogy.

Once the trilogy is completed, Christopher plans to take a long vacation, when he will ponder which of his many story ideas he will write next.

The Council of Elders
Saphira's breathing quickened, and she opened her eyes, yawning expansively. Good morning, little one.
Is it? He looked down and leaned on his hands, compressing the mattress. It's terrible . . . Murtagh and Ajihad . . . Why didn't sentries in the tunnels warn us of the Urgals? They shouldn't have been able to trail Ajihad's group without being noticed. . . . Arya was right, it doesn't make sense.
We may never know the truth, said Saphira gently. She stood, wings brushing the ceiling. You need to eat, then we must discover what the Varden are planning. We can't waste time; a new leader could be chosen within hours.
Eragon agreed, thinking of how they had left everyone yesterday: Orik rushing off to give King Hrothgar the tidings, Jörmundur taking Ajihad's body to a place where it would rest until the funeral, and Arya, who stood alone and watched the goings-on.
Eragon rose and strapped on Zar'roc and his bow, then bent and lifted Snowfire's saddle. A line of pain sheared through his torso, driving him to the floor, where he writhed, scrabbling at his back. It felt like he was being sawed in half. Saphira growled as the ripping sensation reached her. She tried to soothe him with her own mind but was unable to alleviate his suffering. Her tail instinctually lifted, as if to fight.
It took minutes before the fit subsided and the last throb faded away, leaving Eragon gasping. Sweat drenched his face, making his hair stick and his eyes sting. He reached back and gingerly fingered the top of his scar. It was hot and inflamed and sensitive to touch. Saphira lowered her nose and touched him on the arm. Oh, little one. . . .
It was worse this time, he said, staggering upright. She let him lean against her as he wiped away the sweat with a rag, then he tentatively stepped for the door.
Are you strong enough to go?
We have to. We're obliged as dragon and Rider to make a public choice regarding the next head of the Varden, and perhaps even influence the selection. I won't ignore the strength of our position; we now wield great authority written the Varden. At least the Twins aren't here to grab the position for themselves. That's the only good in the situation.
Very well, but Durza should suffer a thousand years of torture for what he did to you.
He grunted. Just stay close to me.
Together they made their way through Tronjheim, toward the nearest kitchen. In the corridors and hallways, people stopped and bowed to them, murmuring, "Argetlam," or "Shadeslayer." Even dwarves made the motions, though not as often. Eragon was struck by the somber, haunted expressions of the humans and the dark clothing they wore to display their sadness. Many women dressed entirely in black, lace veils covering their faces.
In the kitchen, Eragon brought a stone platter of food to a low table. Saphira watched him carefully in case he should have another attack. Several people tried to approach him, but she lifted a lip and growled sending them scurrying away. Eragon pretended to ignore the disturbances and picked at the food. Finally, trying to divert his thoughts from Murtagh, he asked, Who do you think has the means to take control of the Varden, now that Ajihad and the Twins are gone?
She hesitated. It's possible you could, if Ajihad's last words were interpreted as a blessing to secure the leadership. Almost no one would oppose you. However, that does not seem a wise path to take. I see only trouble in that direction.
I agree. Besides, Arya wouldn't approve, and she could be a dangerous enemy. Elves can't lie in the ancient language, but they have no such inhibition in ours-she could deny that Ajihad ever uttered those words if it served her purposes. No, I don't want the position. . . . What about Jörmundur?
Ajihad called him his right-hand man. Unfortunately, we know little about him or the Varden's other leaders. Such a short time has passed since we came here. We will have to make our judgment on our feelings and impressions, without the benefit of history.
Eragon pushed his fish around a lump of mashed tubers. Don't forget Hrothgar and the dwarf clans; they won't be quiet in this. Except for Arya, the elves have no say in the succession-a decision will be made before word of this even reaches them. But the dwarves can't be-won't be-ignored. Hrothgar favors the Varden, but if enough clans oppose him, he might be maneuvered into backing someone unsuited for the command.
And who might that be?
A person easily manipulated. He closed his eyes and leaned back. It could be anyone in Farthen Dûr, anyone at all.

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Excerpted from Eldest by Christopher Paolini
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