vince Eragon that Urgals were not his born enemies. We cannot afford to
have another Rider rise up who seeks to destroy us, said Garzhvog. Look
well, O Firesword, and see if we are truly the monsters you call us....
So many images and sensations flashed between them, Eragon almost
lost track: Garzhvog’s childhood with the other members of his brood in
a ramshackle village built deep in the heart of the Spine; his dam brush-
ing his hair with an antler comb and singing a soft song; learning to hunt
deer and other prey with his bare hands; growing larger and larger until it
was apparent that the old blood still flowed in his veins and he would
stand over eight feet tall, making him a Kull; the dozens of challenges he
made, accepted, and won; venturing out of the village to gain renown, so
he might mate, and gradually learning to hate, distrust, and fear—yes, fear
—a world that had condemned his race; fighting in Farthen Dûr; discov-
ering they had been manipulated by Durza; and realizing that their only
hope of a better life was to put aside old differences, befriend the
Varden, and see Galbatorix overthrown. Nowhere was there evidence
that Garzhvog lied.
577
Eragon could not understand what he had seen. Tearing himself from
Garzhvog’s mind, he dove into each of the three remaining Urgals. Their
memories confirmed the facts presented by Garzhvog. They made no at-
tempt to conceal that they had killed humans, but it had been done at
the command of Durza when the sorcerer controlled them, or when
fighting humans over food or land. We did what we had to in order to care
for our families, they said.
When he finished, Eragon stood before Garzhvog and knew the Urgal’s
bloodline was as regal as any prince’s. He knew that, though uneducated,
Garzhvog was a brilliant commander and as great a thinker and philoso-
pher as Oromis himself. He’s certainly brighter than me, admitted Eragon
to Saphira. Baring his throat as a sign of respect, he said out loud, “Nar
Garzhvog,” and for the first time, he was aware of the lofty origins of the
title nar. “I am proud to have you at my side. You may tell the Herndall
that so long as the Urgals remain true to their word and do not turn
against the Varden, I shall not oppose you.” Eragon doubted that he
would ever like an Urgal, but the iron certitude of his prejudice only a
few minutes before now seemed ignorant, and he could not retain it in
good conscience.
Saphira flicked him on the arm with her barbed tongue, making the
mail clink together. It takes courage to admit you were wrong.
Only if you are afraid of looking foolish, and I would have looked far
more foolish if I persisted with an erroneous belief.
Why, little one, you just said something wise. Despite her teasing, he
could sense her warm pride in what he had accomplished.
“Again, we are in your debt, Firesword,” said Garzhvog. He and the
other Urgals pressed their fists against their jutting brows.
Eragon could tell that Nasuada wanted to know the details of what had
just transpired but that she restrained herself. “Good. Now that this is
settled, I must be off. Eragon, you’ll receive my signal from Trianna when
the time has arrived.” With that she strode away into the darkness.
As Eragon settled against Saphira, Orik sidled up to him. “It’s lucky we
dwarves are going to be here, eh? We’ll watch the Kull like hawks, we
will. We won’t let them catch you while your back is turned. The mo-
ment they attack, we’ll cut their legs out from under them.”
“I thought you agreed with Nasuada’s accepting the Urgals’ offer.”
578
“That doesn’t mean I trust them or want to be right alongside them,
now does it?” Eragon smiled and did not bother to argue; it would be im-
possible to convince Orik that the Urgals were not rapacious killers when
he himself had refused to consider the possibility until sharing an Urgal’s
memories.
The night lay heavy around them as they waited for dawn. Orik re-
moved a whetstone from his pocket and proceeded to hone the edge of
his curved ax. Once they arrived, the six other dwarves did the same, and
the rasp of metal on stone filled the air with a grating chorus. The Kull
sat back to back, chanting death songs under their breaths. Eragon spent
the time casting wards about himself, Saphira, Nasuada, Orik, and even
Arya. He knew that it was dangerous to protect so many, but he could
not bear it if they were harmed. When he finished, he transferred what
power he dared into the diamonds embedded within the belt of Beloth
the Wise.
Eragon watched with interest as Angela clad herself in green and black
armor and then, taking out a carved-wood case, assembled her staff-
sword from two separate handles that attached in the middle and two
blades of watered steel that threaded into the ends of the resulting pole.
She twirled the completed weapon around her head a few times before
seeming satisfied that it would hold up to the shock of battle.
The dwarves eyed her with disapproval, and Eragon heard one grumble,
“. . blasphemy that any but Dûrgrimst Quan should wield the hûthvír.”
After that the only sound was the discordant music of the dwarves
honing their blades.
It was near dawn when the cries began. Eragon and Saphira noticed
them first because of their heightened senses, but the agonized screams
were soon loud enough for the others to hear. Rising to his feet, Orik
looked out toward the Empire, where the cacophony originated. “What
manner of creatures are they torturing to extract such fearsome howls?
The sound chills the marrow in my bones, it does.”
“I told you that you wouldn’t have to wait very long,” said Angela. Her
former cheer had deserted her; she looked pale, drawn, and gray in the
face, as if she were ill.
From his post by Saphira, Eragon asked, “You did this?”
579
“Aye. I poisoned their stew, their bread, their drink—anything I could
get my hands on. Some will die now, others will die later as the various
toxins take their toll. I slipped the officers nightshade and other such poi-
sons so they will hallucinate in battle.” She tried to smile, but without
much success. “Not a very honorable way to fight, I suppose, but I’d
rather do this than be killed. Confusion to our enemies and all that.”
“Only a coward or a thief uses poison!” exclaimed Orik. “What glory is
there in defeating a sick opponent?” The screams intensified even as he
spoke.
Angela gave an unpleasant laugh. “Glory? If you want glory, there are
thousands more troops I didn’t poison. I’m sure you will have your fill of
glory by the end of today.”
“Is this why you needed the equipment in Orrin’s tent?” asked Eragon.
He found her deed repugnant but did not pretend to know whether it
was good or evil. It was necessary. Angela had poisoned the soldiers for
the same reason Nasuada had accepted the Urgals’ offer of friendship—
because it might be their only hope of survival.
“That’s right.”
The soldiers’ wails increased in number until Eragon longed to plug his
ears and block out the sound. It made him wince and fidget, and it put
his teeth on edge. He forced himself to listen, though. This was the cost
of resisting the Empire. It would be wrong to ignore it. So he sat with his
hands clenched into fists and his jaw forming painful knots while the
Burning Plains echoed with the disembodied voices of dying men.
580
THE STORM BREAKS
The first horizontal rays of dawn already streaked across the land when
Trianna said to Eragon, It is time. A surge of energy erased Eragon’s
sleepiness. Jumping to his feet, he shouted the word to everyone around
him, even as he clambered into Saphira’s saddle, pulling his new bow
from its quiver. The Kull and dwarves surrounded Saphira, and together
they hurried down the breastwork until they reached the opening that
had been cleared during the night.
The Varden poured through the gap, quiet as they could be. Rank
upon rank of warriors marched past, their armor and weapons padded
with rags so no sound would alert the Empire of their approach. Saphira
joined the procession when Nasuada appeared on a roan charger in the
midst of the men, Arya and Trianna by her side. The five of them ac-
knowledged each other with quick glances, nothing more.
During the night, the mephitic vapors had accumulated low to the
ground, and now the dim morning light gilded the turgid clouds, turning
them opaque. Thus, the Varden managed to cross three-quarters of the
no-man’s-land before they were seen by the Empire’s sentries. As the
alarm horns rang out before them, Nasuada shouted, “Now, Eragon! Tell
Orrin to strike. To me, men of the Varden! Fight to win back your
homes. Fight to guard your wives and children! Fight to overthrow Gal-
batorix! Attack and bathe your blades in the blood of our enemies!
Charge!” She spurred her horse forward, and with a great bellow, the
men followed, shaking their weapons above their heads.
Eragon conveyed Nasuada’s order to Barden, the spellcaster who rode
with King Orrin. A moment later, he heard the drumming of hooves as
Orrin and his cavalry—accompanied by the rest of the Kull, who could
run as fast as horses—galloped out of the east. They charged into the
Empire’s flank, pinning the soldiers against the Jiet River and distracting
them long enough for the Varden to cross the remainder of the distance
between them without opposition.
The two armies collided with a deafening roar. Pikes clashed against
spears, hammers against shields, swords against helms, and above it all
whirled the hungry gore-crows uttering their harsh croaks, driven into a
frenzy by the smell of fresh meat below.
Eragon’s heart leaped within his chest. I must now kill or be killed. Al-
most immediately he felt his wards drawing upon his strength as they de-
581
flected attacks from Arya, Orik, Nasuada, and Saphira.
Saphira held back from the leading edge of the battle, for they would
be too exposed to Galbatorix’s magicians at the front. Taking a deep
breath, Eragon began to search for those magicians with his mind, firing
arrows all the while.
Du Vrangr Gata found the first enemy spellcaster. The instant he was
alerted, Eragon reached out to the woman who made the discovery, and
from there to the foe she grappled with. Bringing the full power of his
will to bear, Eragon demolished the magician’s resistance, took control of
his consciousness—doing his best to ignore the man’s terror—determined
which troops the man was guarding, and slew the man with one of the
twelve words of death. Without pause, Eragon located the minds of each
of the now-unprotected soldiers and killed them as well. The Varden
cheered as the knot of men went limp.
The ease with which he slew them amazed Eragon. The soldiers had
had no chance to escape or fight back. How different from Farthen Dûr, he
thought. Though he marveled at the perfection of his skills, the deaths
sickened him. But there was no time to dwell on it.
Recovering from the Varden’s initial assault, the Empire began to man
their engines of war: catapults that cast round missiles of hard-baked ce-
ramic, trebuchets armed with barrels of liquid fire, and ballistae that
bombarded the attackers with a hail of arrows six feet long. The ceramic
balls and the liquid fire caused terrific damage when they landed. One
ball exploded against the ground not ten yards from Saphira. As Eragon
ducked behind his shield, a jagged fragment spun toward his head, only to
be stopped dead in the air by one of his wards. He blinked at the sudden
loss of energy.
The engines soon stalled the Varden’s advance, sowing mayhem wher-
ever they aimed. They have to be destroyed if we’re going to last long
enough to wear down the Empire, realized Eragon. It would be easy for
Saphira to dismantle the machines, but she dared not fly among the sol-
diers for fear of an attack by magic.
Breaking through the Varden lines, eight soldiers stormed toward
Saphira, jabbing at her with pikes. Before Eragon could draw Zar’roc, the
dwarves and Kull eliminated the entire group.
“A good fight!” roared Garzhvog.
582
“A good fight!” agreed Orik with a bloody grin.
Eragon did not use spells against the engines; they would be protected
against any conceivable enchantment. Unless... Extending himself, he
found the mind of a soldier who tended one of the catapults. Though he
was sure the soldier was defended by some magician, Eragon was able to
gain dominance over him and direct his actions from afar. He guided the
man up to the weapon, which was being loaded, then had him use his
sword to hack at the skein of twisted rope that powered the machine.
The rope was too thick to sever before the soldier was dragged away by
his comrades, but the damage was already done. With a mighty crack, the
partially wound skein broke, sending the arm of the catapult flying
backward and injuring several men. His lips curled in a grim smile, Er-