Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (31 page)

Of course not, said Eragon.

Saphira eyed him from underwater. Was that sarcasm?

He chuckled and let it pass. Glancing at the other boat, Eragon watched

Arya paddle, her back perfectly straight, her face inscrutable as she

floated through webs of mottled light beneath the mossy trees. She

seemed so dark and somber, it made him want to comfort her. “Lifaen,”

he asked softly so that Orik would not hear, “why is Arya so. . unhappy?

You and—”

Lifaen’s shoulders stiffened underneath his russet tunic and he whis-

pered, so low that Eragon could barely hear, “We are honored to serve

Arya Dröttningu. She has suffered more than you can imagine for our

people. We celebrate out of joy for what she has achieved with Saphira,

and we weep in our dreams for her sacrifice. . and her loss. Her sorrows

are her own, though, and I cannot reveal them without her permission.”

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As Eragon sat by their nightly campfire, petting a swatch of moss that

felt like rabbit fur, he heard a commotion deeper in the forest. Exchang-

ing glances with Saphira and Orik, he crept toward the sound, drawing

Zar’roc.

Eragon stopped at the lip of a small ravine and looked across to the

other side, where a gyrfalcon with a broken wing thrashed in a bed of

snowberries. The raptor froze when it saw him, then opened its beak and

uttered a piercing screech.

What a terrible fate, to be unable to fly, said Saphira.

When Arya arrived, she eyed the gyrfalcon, then strung her bow and,

with unerring aim, shot it through the breast. At first Eragon thought that

she had done it for food, but she made no move to retrieve either the

bird or her arrow.

“Why?” he asked.

With a hard expression, Arya unstrung her bow. “It was too injured for

me to heal and would have died tonight or tomorrow. Such is the nature

of things. I saved it hours of suffering.”

Saphira lowered her head and touched Arya on the shoulder with her

snout, then returned to their camp, her tail scraping bark off the trees. As

Eragon started to follow, he felt Orik tug his sleeve and bent down to

hear the dwarf say in an undertone, “Never ask an elf for help; they might

decide that you’re better off dead, eh?”

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THE DAGSHELGR INVOCATION

Though he was tired from the previous day, Eragon forced himself to

rise before dawn in an attempt to catch one of the elves asleep. It had

become a game with him to discover when the elves got up—or if they

slept at all—as he had yet to see any of them with their eyes closed. To-

day was no exception.

“Good morning,” said Narí and Lifaen from above him. Eragon craned

back his head and saw that they each stood on the bough of a pine tree,

over fifty feet in the air. Jumping from branch to branch with feline

grace, the elves dropped to the ground alongside him.

“We have been keeping watch,” explained Lifaen.

“For what?”

Arya stepped around a tree and said, “For my fears. Du Weldenvarden

has many mysteries and dangers, especially for a Rider. We have lived

here for thousands of years, and old spells still linger in unexpected

places; magic permeates the air, the water, and the earth. In places it has

affected the animals. Sometimes strange creatures are found roaming the

forest, and not all of them friendly.”

“Are they—” Eragon stopped as his gedwëy ignasia tingled. The silver

hammer on the necklace Gannel had given him grew hot on his chest,

and he felt the amulet’s spell draw upon his strength.

Someone was trying to scry him.

Is it Galbatorix? he wondered, frightened. He clutched the necklace

and pulled it out of his tunic, ready to yank it off should he become too

weak. From the other side of the camp, Saphira rushed to his side, bol-

stering him with her own reserves of energy.

A moment later, the heat leached out of the hammer, leaving it cold

against Eragon’s skin. He bounced it on his palm, then tucked it back un-

der his clothes, whereupon Saphira said, Our enemies are searching for us.

Enemies? Could not it be someone in Du Vrangr Gata?

I think Hrothgar would have told Nasuada that he ordered Gannel to en-

chant you this necklace.... She might have even come up with the idea in the

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first place.

Arya frowned when Eragon explained what had occurred. “This makes

it all the more important we reach Ellesméra quickly so your training can

resume. Events in Alagaësia move apace, and I fear you won’t have ade-

quate time for your studies.”

Eragon wanted to discuss it further, but lost the opportunity in the

rush to leave camp. Once the canoes were loaded and the fire tamped

out, they continued to forge up the Gaena River.

They had only been on the water for an hour when Eragon noticed that

the river was growing wider and deeper. A few minutes later, they came

upon a waterfall that filled Du Weldenvarden with its throbbing rumble.

The cataract was about a hundred feet tall, and streamed down a stone

face with an overhang that made it impossible to climb. “How do we get

past that?” He could already feel cool spray on his face.

Lifaen pointed at the left shore, some distance from the falls, where a

trail had been worn up the steep ridge. “We have to portage our canoes

and supplies for half a league before the river clears.”

The five of them untied the bundles wedged between the seats of the

canoes and divided the supplies into piles that they stuffed into their

packs. “Ugh,” said Eragon, hefting his load. It was twice as heavy as what

he usually carried when traveling on foot.

I could fly it upstream for you... all of it, offered Saphira, crawling onto

the muddy bank and shaking herself dry.

When Eragon repeated her suggestion, Lifaen looked horrified. “We

would never dream of using a dragon as a beast of burden. It would dis-

honor you, Saphira—and Eragon as Shur’tugal—and it would shame our

hospitality.”

Saphira snorted, and a plume of flame erupted from her nostrils, vapor-

izing the surface of the river and creating a cloud of steam. This is non-

sense. Reaching past Eragon with one scaly leg, she hooked her talons

through the packs’ shoulder straps, then took off over their heads. Catch

me if you can!

A peal of clear laughter broke the silence, like the trill of a mocking-

bird. Amazed, Eragon turned and looked at Arya. It was the first time he

had ever heard her laugh; he loved the sound. She smiled at Lifaen. “You

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have much to learn if you presume to tell a dragon what she may or may

not do.”

“But the dishonor—”

“It is no dishonor if Saphira does it of her free will,” asserted Arya.

“Now, let us go before we waste any more time.”

Hoping that the strain would not trigger the pain in his back, Eragon

picked up his canoe with Lifaen and fit it over his shoulders. He was

forced to rely on the elf to guide him along the trail, as he could only see

the ground beneath his feet.

An hour later, they had topped the ridge and hiked beyond the danger-

ous white water to where the Gaena River was once again calm and

glassy. Waiting for them was Saphira, who was busy catching fish in the

shallows, jabbing her triangular head into the water like a heron.

Arya called her over and said to both her and Eragon, “Beyond the next

curve lies Ardwen Lake and, upon its western shore, Sílthrim, one of our

greatest cities. Past that, a vast expanse of forest still separates us from

Ellesméra. We will encounter many elves close to Sílthrim. However, I

don’t want either of you to be seen until we speak with Queen Islanzadí.”

Why? asked Saphira, echoing Eragon’s thoughts.

In her musical accent, Arya answered: “Your presence represents a

great and terrible change for our kingdom, and such shifts are dangerous

unless handled with care. The queen must be the first to meet with you.

Only she has the authority and wisdom to oversee this transition.”

“You speak highly of her,” commented Eragon.

At his words, Narí and Lifaen stopped and watched Arya with guarded

eyes. Her face went blank, then she drew herself up proudly. “She has led

us well. . Eragon, I know you carry a hooded cape from Tronjheim. Until

we are free of possible observers, will you wear it and keep your head

covered so that none can see your rounded ears and know that you are

human?” He nodded. “And, Saphira, you must hide during the day and

catch up with us at night. Ajihad told me that is what you did in the

Empire.”

And I hated every moment of it, she growled.

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“It’s only for today and tomorrow. After that we will be far enough

away from Sílthrim that we won’t have to worry about encountering

anyone of consequence,” promised Arya.

Saphira turned her azure eyes on Eragon. When we escaped the Empire, I

swore that I would always stay close enough to protect you. Every time I

leave, bad things happen: Yazuac, Daret, Dras-Leona, the slavers.

Not in Teirm.

You know what I mean! I’m especially loath to leave since you can’t de-

fend yourself with your crippled back.

I trust that Arya and the others will keep me safe. Don’t you?

Saphira hesitated. I trust Arya. She twisted away and padded up the

riverbank, sat for a minute, then returned. Very well. She broadcast her

acceptance to Arya, adding, But I won’t wait any longer than tomorrow

night, even if you’re in the middle of Sílthrim at the time.

“I understand,” said Arya. “You will still have to be careful when flying

after dark, as elves can see clearly on all but the blackest nights. If you are

sighted by chance, you could be attacked by magic.”

Wonderful, commented Saphira.

While Orik and the elves repacked the boats, Eragon and Saphira ex-

plored the dim forest, searching for a suitable hiding place. They settled

on a dry hollow rimmed by crumbling rocks and blanketed with a bed of

pine needles that were pleasantly soft underfoot. Saphira curled up on

the ground and nodded her head. Go now. I will be fine.

Eragon hugged her neck—careful to avoid her sharp spines—and then

reluctantly departed, glancing backward. At the river, he donned his cape

before they resumed their journey.

The air was motionless when Ardwen Lake came into view, and as a

result, the vast mantle of water was smooth and flat, a perfect mirror for

the trees and clouds. The illusion was so flawless, Eragon felt as if he

were looking through a window at another world and that if they contin-

ued forward, the canoes would fall endlessly into the reflected sky. He

shivered at the thought.

In the hazy distance, numerous white birch-bark boats darted like wa-

200

ter striders along both shores, propelled to incredible speeds by the elves’

strength. Eragon ducked his head and tugged on the edge of his hood to

ensure that it covered his face.

His link with Saphira grew ever more tenuous the farther apart they

became, until only a wisp of thought connected them. By evening he

could no longer feel her presence, even if he strained his mind to its lim-

its. All of a sudden, Du Weldenvarden seemed much more lonely and

desolate.

As the gloom deepened, a cluster of white lights—placed at every con-

ceivable height among the trees—sprang into existence a mile ahead. The

sparks glowed with the silver radiance of the full moon, eerie and myste-

rious in the night.

“There lies Sílthrim,” said Lifaen.

With a faint splash, a dark boat passed them from the opposite direc-

tion, accompanied by a murmur of “Kvetha Fricai” from the elf steering.

Arya brought her canoe alongside Eragon’s. “We will stop here tonight.”

They made camp a ways from Ardwen Lake, where the ground was

dry enough to sleep on. The ferocious droves of mosquitoes forced Arya

to cast a protective spell so that they could eat dinner in relative comfort.

Afterward, the five of them sat around the fire, staring at the gold

flames. Eragon leaned his head against a tree and watched a meteor streak

across the sky. His eyelids were about to sink shut when a woman’s voice

drifted through the woods from Sílthrim, a faint susurration that brushed

the inside of his ear like a down feather. He frowned and straightened,

trying to better hear the tenuous whisper.

Like a thread of smoke that thickens as a newborn fire blazes to life, so

the voice rose in strength until the forest sighed with a teasing, twisting

melody that leaped and fell with wild abandon. More voices joined the

unearthly song, embroidering the original theme with a hundred varia-

tions. The air itself seemed to shimmer with the fabric of the tempestu-

ous music.

The fey strains sent jolts of elation and fear down Eragon’s spine; they

clouded his senses, drawing him into the velvet night. Seduced by the

haunting notes, he jumped to his feet, ready to dash through the forest

until he found the source of the voices, ready to dance among the trees

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and moss, anything so that he could join the elves’ revels. But before he

could move, Arya caught his arm and yanked him around to face her.