Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (47 page)

made Nasuada’s eyes water. Lifting their hems off the floor, she and

Farica wended their way in single file toward the back of the room, past

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hourglasses and scales, arcane tomes bound with black iron, dwarven as-

trolabes, and piles of phosphorescent crystal prisms that produced fitful

blue flashes.

They met Orrin by a marble-topped bench, where he stirred a crucible

of quicksilver with a glass tube that was closed at one end, open at the

other, and must have measured at least three feet in length, although it

was only a quarter of an inch thick.

“Sire,” said Nasuada. As befitted one of equal rank to the king, she re-

mained upright while Farica curtsied. “You seem to have recovered from

the explosion last week.”

Orrin grimaced good-naturedly. “I learned that it’s not wise to combine

phosphorus and water in an enclosed space. The result can be quite vio-

lent.”

“Has all of your hearing returned?”

“Not entirely, but. .” Grinning like a boy with his first dagger, he lit a

taper with the coals from a brazier, which she could not fathom how he

endured in the stifling weather, carried the flaming brand back to the

bench, and used it to start a pipe packed with cardus weed.

“I didn’t know that you smoked.”

“I don’t really,” he confessed, “except that I found that since my ear-

drum hasn’t completely sealed up yet, I can do this. . ” Drawing on the

pipe, he puffed out his cheeks until a tendril of smoke issued from his

left ear, like a snake leaving its den, and coiled up the side of his head. It

was so unexpected, Nasuada burst out laughing, and after a moment,

Orrin joined her, releasing a plume of smoke from his mouth. “It’s the

most peculiar sensation,” he confided. “Tickles like crazy on the way out.”

Growing serious again, Nasuada asked, “Was there something else that

you wished to discuss with me, Sire?”

He snapped his fingers. “Of course.” Dipping his long glass tube in the

crucible, he filled it with quicksilver, then capped the open end with one

finger and showed the whole thing to her. “Would you agree that the

only thing in this tube is quicksilver?”

“I would.” Is this why he wanted to see me?

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“And what about now?” With a quick movement, he inverted the tube

and planted the open end inside the crucible, removing his finger. Instead

of all pouring out, as Nasuada expected, the quicksilver in the tube

dropped about halfway, then stopped and held its position. Orrin pointed

to the empty section above the suspended metal. He asked, “What occu-

pies that space?”

“It must be air,” asserted Nasuada.

Orrin grinned and shook his head. “If that were true, how would the air

bypass the quicksilver or diffuse through the glass? No routes are avail-

able by which the atmosphere can gain admission.” He gestured at Farica.

“What’s your opinion, maid?”

Farica stared at the tube, then shrugged and said, “It can’t be nothing,

Sire.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly what I think it is: nothing. I believe that I’ve

solved one of the oldest conundrums of natural philosophy by creating

and proving the existence of a vacuum! It completely invalidates Va-

cher’s theories and means that Ládin was actually a genius. Blasted elves

always seem to be right.”

Nasuada struggled to remain cordial as she asked, “What purpose does

it serve, though?”

“Purpose?” Orrin looked at her with genuine astonishment. “None, of

course. At least not that I can think of. However, this will help us to un-

derstand the mechanics of our world, how and why things happen. It’s a

wondrous discovery. Who knows what else it might lead to?” While he

spoke, he emptied the tube and carefully placed it in a velvet-padded

box that held similar delicate instruments. “The prospect that truly ex-

cites me, though, is of using magic to ferret out nature’s secrets. Why,

just yesterday, with a single spell, Trianna helped me to discover two en-

tirely new gases. Imagine what could be learned if magic were systemati-

cally applied to the disciplines of natural philosophy. I’m considering

learning magic myself, if I have the talent for it, and if I can convince

some magic users to divulge their knowledge. It’s a pity that your Dragon

Rider, Eragon, didn’t accompany you here; I’m sure that he could help

me.”

Looking at Farica, Nasuada said, “Wait for me outside.” The woman

curtsied and then departed. Once Nasuada heard the door to the labora-

tory close, she said, “Orrin. Have you taken leave of your senses?”

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“Whatever do you mean?”

“While you spend your time locked in here conducting experiments

that no one understands—endangering your well-being in the process—

your country totters on the brink of war. A myriad issues await your de-

cision, and you stand here blowing smoke and playing with quicksilver?”

His face hardened. “I am quite aware of my duties, Nasuada. You may

lead the Varden, but I’m still king of Surda, and you would do well to re-

call that before you speak so disrespectfully. Need I remind you that your

sanctuary here depends on my continued goodwill?”

She knew it was an idle threat; many of the Surdan people had relatives

in the Varden, and vice versa. They were too closely linked for either of

them to abandon the other. No, the real reason that Orrin had taken of-

fense was the question of authority. Since it was nigh impossible to keep

large groups of armed warriors at the ready over extended periods of

time—as Nasuada had learned, feeding that many inactive people was a

logistical nightmare—the Varden had begun taking jobs, starting farms,

and otherwise assimilating into their host country. Where will that leave

me eventually? As the leader of a nonexistent army? A general or councilor

under Orrin? Her position was precarious. If she moved too quickly or

with too much initiative, Orrin would perceive it as a threat and turn

against her, especially now that she was cloaked in the glamour of the

Varden’s victory in Farthen Dûr. But if she waited too long, they would

lose their chance to exploit Galbatorix’s momentary weakness. Her only

advantage over the maze of opposition was her command of the one

element that had instigated this act of the play: Eragon and Saphira.

She said, “I don’t seek to undermine your command, Orrin. That was

never my intention, and I apologize if it appeared that way.” He bowed

his neck with a stiff bob. Unsure of how to continue, she leaned on her

fingertips against the lip of the bench. “It’s only. . so many things must be

done. I work night and day—I keep a tablet beside my bed for notes—

and yet I never catch up; I feel as if we are always balanced on the brink

of disaster.”

Orrin picked up a pestle stained black from use and rolled it between

his palms with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. “Before you came here. . No,

that’s not right. Before your Rider materialized fully formed from the

ethers like Moratensis from his fountain, I expected to live my life as my

father and grandfather before me. That is, opposing Galbatorix in secret.

You must excuse me if it takes a while to accustom myself to this new

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reality.”

It was as much contrition as she could expect in return. “I understand.”

He stopped the pestle in its path for a brief moment. “You are newly

come to your power, whereas I have held mine for a number of years. If I

may be arrogant enough to offer advice, I’ve found that it’s essential for

my sanity to allocate a certain portion of the day for my own interests.”

“I couldn’t do that,” objected Nasuada. “Every moment I waste might

be the moment of effort that’s needed to defeat Galbatorix.”

The pestle paused again. “You do the Varden a disservice if you insist

on overworking yourself. No one can function properly without occa-

sional peace and quiet. They don’t have to be long breaks, just five or ten

minutes. You could even practice your archery, and then you would still

serve your goals, albeit in a different manner. . That’s why I had this labo-

ratory constructed in the first place. That’s why I blow smoke and play

with quicksilver, as you put it—so that I don’t scream with frustration

throughout the rest of the day.”

Despite her reluctance to surrender her view of Orrin as a feckless lay-

about, Nasuada could not help but acknowledge the validity of his argu-

ment. “I will keep your recommendation in mind.”

Some of his former levity returned as he smiled. “That’s all I ask.”

Walking to the window, she pushed the shutters farther open and

gazed down upon Aberon, with its cries of quick-fingered merchants

hawking their wares to unsuspecting customers, the clotted yellow dust

blowing from the western road as a caravan approached the city gates,

the air that shimmered over clay tile roofs and carried the scent of cardus

weed and incense from the marble temples, and the fields that sur-

rounded Aberon like the outstretched petals of a flower.

Without turning around, she asked, “Have you received copies of our

latest reports from the Empire?”

“I have.” He joined her at the window.

“What’s your opinion of them?

“That they’re too meager and incomplete to extract any meaningful

conclusions.”

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“They’re the best we have, though. Give me your suspicions and your

hunches. Extrapolate from the known facts like you would if this were

one of your experiments.” She smiled to herself. “I promise that I won’t

attach meaning to what you say.”

She had to wait for his reply, and when it came, it was with the dolor-

ous weight of a doomsday prophecy. “Increased taxes, emptied garrisons,

horses and oxen confiscated throughout the Empire. . It seems that Gal-

batorix gathers his forces in preparation to confront us, though I cannot

tell whether he means to do it in offense or defense.” Revolving shadows

cooled their faces as a cloud of starlings whirled across the sun. “The

question that weighs upon my mind now is, how long will it take him to

mobilize? For that will determine the course of our strategies.”

“Weeks. Months. Years. I cannot predict his actions.”

He nodded. “Have your agents continued to spread tidings of Eragon?”

“It has become increasingly dangerous, but yes. My hope is that if we

inundate cities like Dras-Leona with rumors of Eragon’s prowess, when

we actually reach the city and they see him, they will join us of their own

accord and we can avoid a siege.”

“War is rarely so easy.”

She let the comment pass uncontested. “And how fares the mobiliza-

tion of your own army? The Varden, as always, are ready to fight.”

Orrin spread his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s difficult to rouse a na-

tion, Nasuada. There are nobles who I must convince to back me, armor

and weapons to be constructed, supplies to be gathered. . ”

“And in the meantime, how do I feed my people? We need more land

than you allotted us—”

“Well, I know it,” he said.

“—and we’ll only get it by invading the Empire, unless you fancy mak-

ing the Varden a permanent addition to Surda. If so, you’ll have to find

homes for the thousands of people I brought from Farthen Dûr, which

won’t please your existing citizens. Whatever your choice, choose

quickly, because I fear that if you continue to procrastinate, the Varden

will disintegrate into an uncontrollable horde.” She tried not to make it

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sound like a threat.

Nevertheless, Orrin obviously did not appreciate the insinuation. His

upper lip curled and he said, “Your father never let his men get out of

hand. I trust you won’t either, if you expect to remain leader of the

Varden. As for our preparations, there’s a limit to what we can do in so

short a time; you’ll just have to wait until we are ready.”

She gripped the windowsill until veins stood out on her wrists and her

fingernails sank into the crevices between the stones, yet she allowed

none of her anger to color her voice: “In that case, will you lend the

Varden more gold for food?”

“No. I’ve given you all the money I can spare.”

“How will we eat, then?”

“I would suggest that you raise the funds yourself.”

Furious, she gave him her widest, brightest smile—holding it long

enough to make him shift with unease—and then curtsied as deeply as a

servant, never letting her demented grimace waver. “Farewell then, Sire. I

hope that the rest of your day is as enjoyable as our conversation was.”

Orrin muttered an unintelligible response as she swept back to the

laboratory’s entrance. In her anger, Nasuada caught her right sleeve on a

jade bottle and knocked it over, cracking the stone and releasing a flood

of yellow liquid that splattered her sleeve and soaked her skirt. She

flicked her wrist in annoyance without stopping.

Farica rejoined her in the stairwell, and together they traversed the

warren of passageways to Nasuada’s chambers.

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HANGING BY A THREAD

Throwing open the doors to her rooms, Nasuada strode to her desk,