Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (85 page)

tive against him than they were against Saphira and me.” The sentinels

glanced at him with disbelief, their upturned faces tinted the color of

tarnished brass by the variegated light. “I only ask that, in the future, you

take a moment to identify your target before shooting. Next time I might

be too distracted to stop your missiles. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Shadeslayer!” they shouted.

Stopping before the second-to-last man in the line, Eragon held out the

arrow he had snared from Saphira’s back. “I believe this is yours, Harwin.”

With an expression of wonder, Harwin accepted the arrow from Er-

agon. “So it is! It has the white band I always paint on my shafts so I can

find them later. Thank you, Shadeslayer.”

Eragon nodded and then said to Fredric so all could hear, “These are

good and true men, and I want no misfortune to befall them because of

this event.”

“I will see to it personally,” said Fredric, and smiled.

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“Now, can you take us to Lady Nasuada?”

“Yes, sir.”

As he left the sentinels, Eragon knew that his kindness had earned him

their undying loyalty, and that tidings of his deed would spread through-

out the Varden.

The path Fredric took through the tents brought Eragon into close con-

tact with more minds than he had ever touched before. Hundreds of

thoughts, images, and sensations pressed against his consciousness. De-

spite his effort to keep them at a distance, he could not help absorbing

random details of people’s lives. Some revelations he found shocking,

some meaningless, others touching or, conversely, disgusting, and many

embarrassing. A few people perceived the world so differently, their

minds leaped out at him on account of that very difference.

How easy it is to view these men as nothing more than objects that I and a

few others can manipulate at will. Yet they each possess hopes and dreams,

potential for what they might achieve and memories of what they have al-

ready accomplished. And they all feel pain.

A handful of the minds he touched were aware of the contact and re-

coiled from it, hiding their inner life behind defenses of varying strength.

At first Eragon was concerned—imagining that he had discovered a great

many enemies who had infiltrated the Varden—but then he realized

from his quick glimpse that they were the individual members of Du

Vrangr Gata.

Saphira said, They must be scared out of their wits, thinking that they’re

about to be assaulted by some strange magician.

I can’t convince them otherwise while they block me like this.

You should meet them in person, and soon too, before they decide to band

together and attack.

Aye, although I don’t think they pose a threat to us.... Du Vrangr Gata—

their very name betrays their ignorance. Properly, in the ancient language, it

should be Du Gata Vrangr.

Their trip ended near the back of the Varden, at a large red pavilion

flying a pennant embroidered with a black shield and two parallel swords

slanting underneath. Fredric pulled back the flap and Eragon and Orik en-

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tered the pavilion. Behind them, Saphira pushed her head through the

opening and peered over their shoulders.

A broad table occupied the center of the furnished tent. Nasuada stood

at one end, leaning on her hands, studying a slew of maps and scrolls. Er-

agon’s stomach clenched as he saw Arya opposite her. Both women were

armored as men for battle.

Nasuada turned her almond-shaped face toward him. “Eragon?” she

whispered.

He was unprepared for how glad he was to see her. With a broad grin,

he twisted his hand over his sternum in the elves’ gesture of fealty and

bowed. “At your service.”

“Eragon!” This time Nasuada sounded delighted and relieved. Arya, too,

appeared pleased. “How did you get our message so quickly?”

“I didn’t; I learned about Galbatorix’s army from my scrying and left

Ellesméra the same day.” He smiled at her again. “It’s good to be back

with the Varden.”

While he spoke, Nasuada studied him with a wondering expression.

“What has happened to you, Eragon?”

Arya must not have told her, said Saphira.

And so Eragon gave a full account of what had befallen Saphira and

him since they left Nasuada in Farthen Dûr so long ago. Much of what he

said, he sensed that she had already heard, either from the dwarves or

from Arya, but she let him speak without interrupting. Eragon had to be

circumspect about his training. He had given his word not to reveal

Oromis’s existence without permission, and most of his lessons were not

to be shared with outsiders, but he did his best to give Nasuada a good

idea of his skills and their attendant risks. Of the Agaetí Blödhren, he

merely said, “. . and during the celebration, the dragons worked upon me

the change you see, giving me the physical abilities of an elf and healing

my back.”

“Your scar is gone, then?” asked Nasuada. He nodded. A few more sen-

tences served to end his narrative, briefly mentioning the reason they had

left Du Weldenvarden and then summarizing their journey thence. She

shook her head. “What a tale. You and Saphira have experienced so

much since you left Farthen Dûr.”

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“As have you.” He gestured at the tent. “It’s amazing what you’ve ac-

complished. It must have taken an enormous amount of work to get the

Varden to Surda. . Has the Council of Elders caused you much trouble?”

“A bit, but nothing extraordinary. They seem to have resigned them-

selves to my leadership.” Her mail clinking together, Nasuada seated her-

self in a large, high-backed chair and turned to Orik, who had yet to

speak. She welcomed him and asked if he had aught to add to Eragon’s

tale. Orik shrugged and provided a few anecdotes from their stay in

Ellesméra, though Eragon suspected that the dwarf kept his true observa-

tions a secret for his king.

When he finished, Nasuada said, “I am heartened to know that if we

can weather this onslaught, we shall have the elves by our side. Did any

of you happen to see Hrothgar’s warriors during your flight from Aberon?

We are counting on their reinforcements.”

No, answered Saphira through Eragon. But then, it was dark and I was

often above or between clouds. I could have easily missed a camp under

those conditions. In any case, I doubt we would have crossed paths, for I

flew straight from Aberon, and it seems likely the dwarves would choose a

different route—perhaps following established roads—rather than march

through the wilderness.

“What,” asked Eragon, “is the situation here?”

Nasuada sighed and then told of how she and Orrin had learned about

Galbatorix’s army and the desperate measures they had resorted to since

in order to reach the Burning Plains before the king’s soldiers. She fin-

ished by saying, “The Empire arrived three days ago. Since then, we’ve

exchanged two messages. First they asked for our surrender, which we

refused, and now we wait for their reply.”

“How many of them are there?” growled Orik. “It looked a mighty

number from Saphira’s back.”

“Aye. We estimate Galbatorix mustered as many as a hundred thou-

sand soldiers.”

Eragon could not contain himself: “A hundred thousand! Where did

they come from? It seems impossible that he could find more than a

handful of people willing to serve him.”

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“They were conscripted. We can only hope that the men who were

torn from their homes won’t be eager to fight. If we can frighten them

badly enough, they may break ranks and flee. Our numbers are greater

than in Farthen Dûr, for King Orrin has joined forces with us and we

have received a veritable flood of volunteers since we began to spread the

word about you, Eragon, although we are still far weaker than the Em-

pire.”

Then Saphira asked, and Eragon was forced to repeat the dreadful ques-

tion: What do you think our chances of victory are?

“That,” said Nasuada, putting emphasis on the word, “depends a great

deal upon you and Eragon, and the number of magicians seeded through-

out their troops. If you can find and destroy those magicians, then our

enemies shall be left unprotected and you can slay them at will. Outright

victory, I think, is unlikely at this point, but we might be able to hold

them at bay until their supplies run low or until Islanzadí can come to

our assistance. That is. . if Galbatorix doesn’t fly into battle himself. In

that case, I fear retreat will be our only option.”

Just then, Eragon felt a strange mind approaching, one that knew he

was watching and yet did not shrink from the contact. One that felt cold

and hard, calculating. Alert for danger, Eragon turned his gaze toward the

rear of the pavilion, where he saw the same black-haired girl who had

appeared when he scryed Nasuada from Ellesméra. The girl stared at him

with violet eyes, then said, “Welcome, Shadeslayer. Welcome, Saphira.”

Eragon shivered at the sound of her voice, the voice of an adult. He wet

his dry mouth and asked, “Who are you?”

Without answering, the girl brushed back her glossy bangs and exposed

a silvery white mark on her forehead, exactly like Eragon’s gedwëy igna-

sia. He knew then whom he faced.

No one moved as Eragon went to the girl, accompanied by Saphira,

who extended her neck farther into the pavilion. Dropping to one knee,

Eragon took the girl’s right hand in his own; her skin burned as if with

fever. She did not resist him, but merely left her hand limp in his grip. In

the ancient language—and also with his mind, so that she would under-

stand—Eragon said, “I am sorry. Can you forgive me for what I did to

you?”

The girl’s eyes softened, and she leaned forward and kissed Eragon upon

the brow. “I forgive you,” she whispered, for the first time sounding her

549

age. “How could I not? You and Saphira created who I am, and I know

you meant no harm. I forgive you, but I shall let this knowledge torture

your conscience: You have condemned me to be aware of all the suffer-

ing around me. Even now your spell drives me to rush to the aid of a man

not three tents away who just cut his hand, to help the young flag carrier

who broke his left index finger in the spokes of a wagon wheel, and to

help countless others who have been or are about to be hurt. It costs me

dearly to resist those urges, and even more if I consciously cause someone

discomfort, as I do by saying this. . I cannot even sleep at night for the

strength of my compulsion. That is your legacy, O Rider.” By the end, her

voice had regained its bitter, mocking edge.

Saphira interposed herself between them and, with her snout, touched

the girl in the center of her mark. Peace, Changeling. You have much an-

ger in your heart.

“You don’t have to live like this forever,” said Eragon. “The elves taught

me how to undo a spell, and I believe I can free you of this curse. It

won’t be easy, but it can be done.”

For a moment, the girl seemed to lose her formidable self-control. A

small gasp escaped her lips, her hand trembled against Eragon’s, and her

eyes glistened with a film of tears. Then just as quickly, she hid her true

emotions behind a mask of cynical amusement. “Well, we shall see. Ei-

ther way, you shouldn’t try until after this battle.”

“I could save you a great deal of pain.”

“It wouldn’t do to exhaust you when our survival may depend on your

talents. I do not deceive myself; you are more important than me.” A sly

grin crossed her face. “Besides, if you remove your spell now, I won’t be

able to help any of the Varden if they are threatened. You wouldn’t want

Nasuada to die because of that, would you?”

“No,” admitted Eragon. He paused for a long time, considering the is-

sue, then said, “Very well, I will wait. But I swear to you: If we win this

fight, I shall right this wrong.”

The girl tilted her head to one side. “I will hold you to your word,

Rider.”

Rising from her chair, Nasuada said, “Elva was the one who saved me

from an assassin in Aberon.”

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“Did she? In that case, I am in your debt. . Elva. . for protecting my

liegelord.”

“Come now,” said Nasuada. “I must introduce the three of you to Orrin

and his nobles. Have you met the king before, Orik?”

The dwarf shook his head. “I’ve never been this far west.”

As they left the pavilion—Nasuada in the lead, with Elva by her side—

Eragon tried to position himself so he could talk with Arya, but when he

neared her, she quickened her pace until she was level with Nasuada.

Arya never even looked at him while she walked, a slight that caused

him more anguish than any physical wound he had endured. Elva glanced

back at him, and he knew that she was aware of his distress.

They soon arrived at another large pavilion, this one white and yel-

low—although it was difficult to determine the exact hue of the colors,

given the garish orange that glazed everything on the Burning Plains.

Once they were granted entrance, Eragon was astonished to find the tent