Brisingr. Eragon - Die Weisheit des Feuers, englische Ausgabe

Eragon stared at the dark tower of stone wherein hid the monsters who had murdered his uncle, Garrow.   
He was lying on his belly behind the edge of a sandy hill dotted with sparse blades of grass, thornbushes, and small, rosebud-like cactuses. The brittle stems of last year's foliage pricked his palms as he inched forward to gain a better view of Helgrind, which loomed over the surrounding land like a black dagger thrust out from the bowels of the earth.
The evening sun streaked the low hills with shadows long and narrow and--far in the west--illuminated the surface of Leona Lake so that the horizon became a rippling bar of gold.
To his left, Eragon heard the steady breathing of his cousin, Roran, who was stretched out beside him. The normally inaudible flow of air seemed preternaturally loud to Eragon with his heightened sense of hearing, one of many such changes wrought by his experience during the Agaet  Bladhren, the elves' Blood-oath Celebration.
He paid little attention to that now as he watched a column of people inch toward the base of Helgrind, apparently having walked from the city of Dras-Leona, some miles away. A contingent of twenty-four men and women, garbed in thick leather robes, occupied the head of the column. This group moved with many strange and varied gaits--they limped and shuffled and humped and wriggled; they swung on crutches or used arms to propel themselves forward on curiously short legs--contortions that were necessary because, as Eragon realized, every one of the twenty-_four lacked an arm or a leg or some combination thereof. Their leader sat upright upon a litter borne by six oiled slaves, a pose Eragon regarded as a rather amazing accomplishment, considering that the man or woman--he could not tell which--consisted of nothing more than a torso and head, upon whose brow balanced an ornate leather crest three feet high.
"The priests of Helgrind," he murmured to Roran.
"Can they use magic?"

Als Jugendlicher entdeckt Christopher Paolini, der nie eine öffentliche Schule besuchte, die Welt der Bücher. Hingerissen verschlingt er J. R. R. Tolkien, Raymond Feist, die nordischen Heldensagen - und erschafft mit 15 Jahren eine ganz eigene, komplexe Fantasy-Welt.

Praise for The Inheritance Cycle:

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"An authentic work of great talent." New York Times Book Review

The new It book of children s lit. U.S. News & World Report

"Paolini is a spellbinding fantasy writer." The Boston Globe

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Christopher Paolini make[s] literary magic. People

Unusual, powerful, fresh, and fluid. Booklist, Starred

Will appeal to legions of readers who have been captivated by the Lord of the Rings trilogy. School Library Journal