Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (11 page)

Trianna stumbled forward as the door burst open behind her. The sor-

ceress whirled around, only to yelp as she found herself face to face with

Saphira.

Saphira remained motionless, except for one lip that slowly lifted to

reveal a line of jagged teeth. Then she growled. It was a marvelous

growl—richly layered with scorn and menace—that rose and fell through

the hall for more than a minute. Listening to it was like enduring a blis-

tering, hackle-raising tirade.

Eragon glared at her the whole time.

When it was over, Trianna was clenching her dress with both fists,

twisting the fabric. Her face was white and scared. She quickly curtsied

to Saphira, then, with a barely controlled motion, turned and fled. Acting

as if nothing had happened, Saphira lifted a leg and licked a claw. It was

nearly impossible to get the door open, she sniffed.

Eragon could not contain himself any longer. Why did you do that? he

exploded. You had no reason to interfere!

You needed my help, she continued, unperturbed.

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If I’d needed your help, I would have called!

Don’t yell at me, she snapped, letting her jaws click together. He could

sense her emotions boiling with as much turmoil as his. I’ll not have you

run around with a slattern who cares more for Eragon as Rider than you as

a person.

She wasn’t a slattern, roared Eragon. He pounded the wall in frustra-

tion. I’m a man now, Saphira, not a hermit. You can’t expect me to ignore...

ignore women just because of who I am. And it’s certainly not your decision

to make. At the very least, I might have enjoyed a conversation with her,

anything other than the tragedies we’ve dealt with lately. You’re in my head

enough to know how I feel. Why couldn’t you leave me alone? Where was

the harm?

You don’t understand. She refused to meet his eyes.

Don’t understand! Will you prevent me from ever having a wife and chil-

dren? What of a family?

Eragon. She finally fixed one great eye on him. We are intimately

linked.

Obviously!

And if you pursue a relationship, with or without my blessing, and be-

come... attached... to someone, my feelings will become engaged as well.

You should know that. Therefore—and I warn you only once—be careful

who you choose, because it will involve both of us.

He briefly considered her words. Our bond works both ways, however. If

you hate someone, I will be influenced likewise.... I understand your con-

cern. So you weren’t just jealous?

She licked the claw once more. Perhaps a little.

Eragon was the one who growled this time. He brushed past her into

the room, grabbed Zar’roc, then stalked away, belting on the sword.

He wandered through Tronjheim for hours, avoiding contact with eve-

ryone. What had occurred pained him, though he could not deny the

truth of Saphira’s words. Of all the matters they shared, this was the most

delicate and the one they agreed upon least. That night—for the first

time since he was captured at Gil’ead—he slept away from Saphira, in

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one of the dwarves’ barracks.

Eragon returned to their quarters the following morning. By unspoken

consent, he and Saphira avoided discussing what had transpired; further

argument was pointless when neither party was willing to yield ground.

Besides, they were both so relieved to be reunited, they did not want to

risk endangering their friendship again.

They were eating lunch—Saphira tearing at a bloody haunch—when

Jarsha trotted up. Like before, he stared wide-eyed at Saphira, following

her movements as she nibbled off the end of a leg bone. “Yes?” asked Er-

agon, wiping his chin and wondering if the Council of Elders had sent for

them. He had heard nothing from them since the funeral.

Jarsha turned away from Saphira long enough to say, “Nasuada would

like to see you, sir. She’s waiting in her father’s study.”

Sir! Eragon almost laughed. Only a little while ago, he would have been

calling people sir, not the other way around. He glanced at Saphira. “Are

you done, or should we wait a few minutes?”

Rolling her eyes, she fit the rest of the meat into her mouth and split

the bone with a loud crack. I’m done.

“All right,” said Eragon, standing, “you can go, Jarsha. We know the

way.”

It took almost half an hour to reach the study because of the city-

mountain’s size. As during Ajihad’s rule, the door was guarded, but in-

stead of two men, an entire squad of battle-hardened warriors now stood

before it, alert for the slightest hint of danger. They would clearly sacri-

fice themselves to protect their new leader from ambush or attack.

Though the men could not have failed to recognize Eragon and Saphira,

they barred the way while Nasuada was alerted of her visitors. Only then

were the two allowed to enter.

Eragon immediately noticed a change: a vase of flowers in the study.

The small purple blossoms were unobtrusive, but they suffused the air

with a warm fragrance that—for Eragon—evoked summers of fresh-

picked raspberries and scythed fields turning bronze under the sun. He

inhaled, appreciating the skill with which Nasuada had asserted her indi-

viduality without obliterating Ajihad’s memory.

She sat behind the broad desk, still cloaked in the black of mourning.

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As Eragon seated himself, Saphira beside him, she said, “Eragon.” It was a

simple statement, neither friendly nor hostile. She turned away briefly,

then focused on him, her gaze steely and intent. “I have spent the last few

days reviewing the Varden’s affairs, such as they are. It was a dismal exer-

cise. We are poor, overextended, and low on supplies, and few recruits

are joining us from the Empire. I mean to change that.

“The dwarves cannot support us much longer, as it’s been a lean year

for farming and they’ve suffered losses of their own. Considering this, I

have decided to move the Varden to Surda. It’s a difficult proposition,

but one I believe necessary to keep us safe. Once in Surda, we will finally

be close enough to engage the Empire directly.”

Even Saphira stirred with surprise. The work that would involve! said Er-

agon. It could take months to get everyone’s belongings to Surda, not to men-

tion all the people. And they’d probably be attacked along the way. “I

thought King Orrin didn’t dare openly oppose Galbatorix,” he protested.

Nasuada smiled grimly. “His stance has changed since we defeated the

Urgals. He will shelter and feed us and fight by our side. Many Varden

are already in Surda, mainly women and children who couldn’t or

wouldn’t fight. They will also support us, else I will strip our name from

them.”

“How,” asked Eragon, “did you communicate with King Orrin so

quickly?”

“The dwarves use a system of mirrors and lanterns to relay messages

through their tunnels. They can send a dispatch from here to the western

edge of the Beor Mountains in less than a day. Couriers then transport it

to Aberon, capital of Surda. Fast as it is, that method is still too slow

when Galbatorix can surprise us with an Urgal army and give us less than

a day’s notice. I intend to arrange something far more expedient between

Du Vrangr Gata and Hrothgar’s magicians before we go.”

Opening the desk drawer, Nasuada removed a thick scroll. “The

Varden will depart Farthen Dûr within the month. Hrothgar has agreed

to provide us with safe passage through the tunnels. Moreover, he sent a

force to Orthíad to remove the last vestiges of Urgals and seal the tunnels

so no one can invade the dwarves by that route again. As this may not be

enough to guarantee the Varden’s survival, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Eragon nodded. He had expected a request or order. That was the only

reason for her to have summoned them. “I am yours to command.”

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“Perhaps.” Her eyes flicked to Saphira for a second. “In any case, this is

not a command, and I want you to think carefully before replying. To

help rally support for the Varden, I wish to spread word throughout the

Empire that a new Rider—named Eragon Shadeslayer—and his dragon,

Saphira, have joined our cause. I would like your permission before doing

so, however.”

It’s too dangerous, objected Saphira.

Word of our presence here will reach the Empire anyway, pointed out Er-

agon. The Varden will want to brag about their victory and Durza’s death.

Since it’ll happen with or without our approval, we should agree to help.

She snorted softly. I’m worried about Galbatorix. Until now we haven’t

made it public where our sympathies lie.

Our actions have been clear enough.

Yes, but even when Durza fought you in Tronjheim, he wasn’t trying to

kill you. If we become outspoken in our opposition to the Empire, Galbatorix

won’t be so lenient again. Who knows what forces or plots he may have kept

in abeyance while he tried to gain hold of us? As long as we remain am-

biguous, he won’t know what to do.

The time for ambiguity has passed, asserted Eragon. We fought the Ur-

gals, killed Durza, and I have sworn fealty to the leader of the Varden. No

ambiguity exists. No, with your permission, I will agree to her proposal.

She was silent for a long while, then dipped her head. As you wish.

He put a hand on her side before returning his attention to Nasuada

and saying, “Do what you see fit. If this is how we can best assist the

Varden, so be it.”

“Thank you. I know it is a lot to ask. Now, as we discussed before the

funeral, I expect you to travel to Ellesméra and complete your training.”

“With Arya?”

“Of course. The elves have refused contact with both humans and

dwarves ever since she was captured. Arya is the only being who can

convince them to emerge from seclusion.”

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“Couldn’t she use magic to tell them of her rescue?”

“Unfortunately not. When the elves retreated into Du Weldenvarden

after the fall of the Riders, they placed wards around the forest that pre-

vent any thought, item, or being from entering it through arcane means,

though not from exiting it, if I understood Arya’s explanation. Thus, Arya

must physically visit Du Weldenvarden before Queen Islanzadí will

know that she is alive, that you and Saphira exist, and of the numerous

events that have befallen the Varden these past months.” Nasuada

handed him the scroll. It was stamped with a wax sigil. “This is a missive

for Queen Islanzadí, telling her about the Varden’s situation and my own

plans. Guard it with your life; it would cause a great deal of harm in the

wrong hands. I hope that after all that’s happened, Islanzadí will feel

kindly enough toward us to reinitiate diplomatic ties. Her assistance

could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Arya knows this

and has agreed to press our case, but I wanted you aware of the situation

too, so you could take advantage of any opportunities that might arise.”

Eragon tucked the scroll into his jerkin. “When will we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. . unless you have something already planned?”

“No.”

“Good.” She clasped her hands. “You should know, one other person

will be traveling with you.” He looked at her quizzically. “King Hrothgar

insisted that in the interest of fairness there should be a dwarf representa-

tive present at your training, since it affects their race as well. So he’s

sending Orik along.”

Eragon’s first reaction was irritation. Saphira could have flown Arya and

him to Du Weldenvarden, thereby eliminating weeks of unnecessary

travel. Three passengers, however, were too many to fit on Saphira’s

shoulders. Orik’s presence would confine them to the ground.

Upon further reflection, Eragon acknowledged the wisdom of Hroth-

gar’s request. It was important for Eragon and Saphira to maintain a sem-

blance of equality in their dealings with the different races. He smiled.

“Ah, well, it’ll slow us down, but I suppose we have to placate Hrothgar.

To tell the truth, I’m glad Orik is coming. Crossing Alagaësia with only

Arya was a rather daunting prospect. She’s. .”

Nasuada smiled too. “She’s different.”

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“Aye.” He grew serious again. “Do you really mean to attack the Em-

pire? You said yourself that the Varden are weak. It doesn’t seem like the

wisest course. If we wait—”

“If we wait,” she said sternly, “Galbatorix will only get stronger. This is

the first time since Morzan was slain that we have even the slightest op-

portunity of catching him unprepared. He had no reason to suspect we

could defeat the Urgals—which we did thanks to you—so he won’t have

readied the Empire for invasion.”

Invasion! exclaimed Saphira. And how does she plan to kill Galbatorix

when he flies out to obliterate their army with magic?

Nasuada shook her head in response when Eragon restated the objec-

tion. “From what we know of him, he won’t fight until Urû’baen itself is

threatened. It doesn’t matter to Galbatorix if we destroy half the Empire,

so long as we come to him, not the other way around. Why should he

bother anyway? If we do manage to reach him, our troops will be bat-