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

preciating how difficult her position was and recognizing a depth of char-

acter he had not perceived before. “And what of me, Nasuada? What

shall I do in the Varden?”

She looked directly into his eyes. “You can do whatever you want. The

council members are fools if they think to control you. You are a hero to

the Varden and the dwarves, and even the elves will hail your victory

over Durza when they hear of it. If you go against the council or me, we

will be forced to yield, for the people will support you wholeheartedly.

Right now, you are the most powerful person in the Varden. However, if

you accept my leadership, I will continue the path laid down by Ajihad:

you will go with Arya to the elves, be instructed there, then return to the

Varden.”

Why is she so honest with us? wondered Eragon. If she’s right, could we

have refused the council’s demands?

Saphira took a moment to answer. Either way, it’s too late. You have al-

ready agreed to their requests. I think Nasuada is honest because your spell

lets her be, and also because she hopes to win our loyalty from the elders.

An idea suddenly came to Eragon, but before sharing it, he asked, Can

we trust her to hold to what she’s said? This is very important.

Yes, said Saphira. She spoke with her heart.

Then Eragon shared his proposal with Saphira. She consented, so he

drew Zar’roc and walked to Nasuada. He saw a flash of fear as he ap-

proached; her gaze darted toward the door, and she slipped a hand into a

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fold in her dress and grasped something. Eragon stopped before her, then

knelt, Zar’roc flat in his hands.

“Nasuada, Saphira and I have been here for only a short while. But in

that time we came to respect Ajihad, and now, in turn, you. You fought

under Farthen Dûr when others fled, including the two women of the

council, and have treated us openly instead of with deception. Therefore,

I offer you my blade. . and my fealty as a Rider.”

Eragon uttered the pronouncement with a sense of finality, knowing he

would never have mouthed it before the battle. Seeing so many men fall

and die around him had altered his perspective. Resisting the Empire was

no longer something he did for himself, but for the Varden and all the

people still trapped under Galbatorix’s rule. However long it would take,

he had dedicated himself to that task. For the time being, the best thing

he could do was serve.

Still, he and Saphira were taking a terrible risk in pledging themselves

to Nasuada. The council could not object because all Eragon had said was

that he would swear fealty, but not to whom. Even so, he and Saphira

had no guarantee that Nasuada would make a good leader. It’s better to be

sworn to an honest fool than to a lying scholar, decided Eragon.

Surprise flitted across Nasuada’s face. She grasped Zar’roc’s hilt and

lifted it—staring at its crimson blade—then placed the tip on Eragon’s

head. “I do accept your fealty with honor, Rider, as you accept all the re-

sponsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your

sword.”

Eragon did as he was bidden. He said, “Now I can tell you openly as my

master, the council made me agree to swear to the Varden once you

were appointed. This was the only way Saphira and I could circumvent

them.”

Nasuada laughed with genuine delight. “Ah, I see you have already

learned how to play our game. Very well, as my newest and only vassal,

will you agree to give your fealty to me again—in public, when the coun-

cil expects your vow?”

“Of course.”

“Good, that will take care of the council. Now, until then, leave me. I

have much planning to do, and I must prepare for the funeral. . Remem-

ber, Eragon, the bond we have just created is equally binding; I am as re-

27

sponsible for your actions as you are required to serve me. Do not dis-

honor me.”

“Nor you I.”

Nasuada paused, then gazed into his eyes and added in a gentler tone:

“You have my condolences, Eragon. I realize that others beside myself

have cause for sorrow; while I have lost my father, you have also lost a

friend. I liked Murtagh a great deal and it saddens me that he is gone. .

Goodbye, Eragon.”

Eragon nodded, a bitter taste in his mouth, and left the room with

Saphira. The hallway outside was empty along its gray length. Eragon put

his hands on his hips, tilted back his head, and exhaled. The day had

barely begun, yet he was already exhausted by all the emotions that had

flooded through him.

Saphira nosed him and said, This way. Without further explanation,

she headed down the right side of the tunnel. Her polished claws clicked

on the hard floor.

Eragon frowned, but followed her. Where are we going? No answer.

Saphira, please. She just flicked her tail. Resigned to wait, he said instead,

Things have certainly changed for us. I never know what to expect from one

day to the next—except sorrow and bloodshed.

All is not bad, she reproached. We have won a great victory. It should be

celebrated, not mourned.

It doesn’t help, having to deal with this other nonsense.

She snorted angrily. A thin line of fire shot from her nostrils, singeing

Eragon’s shoulder. He jumped back with a yelp, biting back a string of

curses. Oops, said Saphira, shaking her head to clear the smoke.

Oops! You nearly roasted my side!

I didn’t expect it to happen. I keep forgetting that fire will come out if I’m

not careful. Imagine that every time you raised your arm, lightning struck

the ground. It would be easy to make a careless motion and destroy some-

thing unintentionally.

You’re right.... Sorry I growled at you.

28

Her bony eyelid clicked as she winked at him. No matter. The point I

was trying to make is that even Nasuada can’t force you to do anything.

But I gave my word as a Rider!

Maybe so, but if I must break it to keep you safe, or to do the right thing, I

will not hesitate. It is a burden I could easily carry. Because I’m joined to

you, my honor is inherent in your pledge, but as an individual, I’m not

bound by it. If I must, I will kidnap you. Any disobedience then would be

no fault of your own.

It should never come to that. If we have to use such tricks to do what’s

right, then Nasuada and the Varden will have lost all integrity.

Saphira stopped. They stood before the carved archway of Tronjheim’s

library. The vast, silent room seemed empty, though the ranks of back-

to-back bookshelves interspersed with columns could conceal many peo-

ple. Lanterns poured soft light across the scroll-covered walls, illuminat-

ing the reading alcoves along their bases.

Weaving through the shelves, Saphira led him to one alcove, where

Arya sat. Eragon paused as he studied her. She seemed more agitated than

he had ever seen her, though it manifested itself only in the tension of her

movements. Unlike before, she wore her sword with the graceful cross-

guard. One hand rested on the hilt.

Eragon sat at the opposite side of the marble table. Saphira positioned

herself between them, where neither could escape her gaze.

“What have you done?” asked Arya with unexpected hostility.

“How so?”

She lifted her chin. “What have you promised the Varden? What have

you done? ”

The last part even reached Eragon mentally. He realized just how close

the elf was to losing control. A bit of fear touched him. “We only did

what we had to. I’m ignorant of elves’ customs, so if our actions upset

you, I apologize. There’s no cause to be angry.”

“Fool! You know nothing about me. I have spent seven decades repre-

senting my queen here—fifteen years of which I bore Saphira’s egg be-

tween the Varden and the elves. In all that time, I struggled to ensure the

29

Varden had wise, strong leaders who could resist Galbatorix and respect

our wishes. Brom helped me by forging the agreement concerning the

new Rider—you. Ajihad was committed to your remaining independent

so that the balance of power would not be upset. Now I see you siding

with the Council of Elders, willingly or not, to control Nasuada! You

have overturned a lifetime of work! What have you done? ”

Dismayed, Eragon dropped all pretenses. With short, clear words, he

explained why he had agreed to the council’s demands and how he and

Saphira had attempted to undermine them.

When he finished, Arya stated, “So.”

“So.” Seventy years. Though he knew elves’ lives were extraordinarily

long, he had never suspected that Arya was that old, and older, for she

appeared to be a woman in her early twenties. The only sign of age on

her unlined face was her emerald eyes—deep, knowing, and most often

solemn.

Arya leaned back, studying him. “Your position is not what I would

wish, but better than I had hoped. I was impolite; Saphira. . and you. .

understand more than I thought. Your compromise will be accepted by

the elves, though you must never forget your debt to us for Saphira.

There would be no Riders without our efforts.”

“The debt is burned into my blood and my palm,” said Eragon. In the si-

lence that followed, he cast about for a new topic, eager to prolong their

conversation and perhaps learn more about her. “You have been gone for

such a long time; do you miss Ellesméra? Or did you live elsewhere?”

“Ellesméra was, and always shall be, my home,” she said, looking be-

yond him. “I have not lived in my family’s house since I left for the

Varden, when the walls and windows were draped with spring’s first

flowers. The times I’ve returned were only fleeting stays, vanishing flecks

of memory by our measurement.”

He noticed, once again, that she smelled like crushed pine needles. It

was a faint, spicy odor that opened his senses and refreshed his mind. “It

must be hard to live among all these dwarves and humans without any of

your kind.”

She cocked her head. “You speak of humans as if you weren’t one.”

“Perhaps. .,” he hesitated, “perhaps I am something else—a mixture of

30

two races. Saphira lives inside me as much as I live in her. We share feel-

ings, senses, thoughts, even to the point where we are more one mind

than two.” Saphira dipped her head in agreement, nearly bumping the ta-

ble with her snout.

“That is how it should be,” said Arya. “A pact more ancient and power-

ful than you can imagine links you. You won’t truly understand what it

means to be a Rider until your training is completed. But that must wait

until after the funeral. In the meantime, may the stars watch over you.”

With that she departed, slipping into the library’s shadowed depths. Er-

agon blinked. Is it me, or is everyone on edge today? Like Arya—one mo-

ment she’s angry, the next she’s giving me a blessing!

No one will be comfortable until things return to normal.

Define normal.

31

RORAN

Roran trudged up the hill.

He stopped and squinted at the sun through his shaggy hair. Five hours

till sunset. I won’t be able to stay long. With a sigh, he continued along the

row of elm trees, each of which stood in a pool of uncut grass.

This was his first visit to the farm since he, Horst, and six other men

from Carvahall had removed everything worth salvaging from the de-

stroyed house and burned barn. It had been nearly five months before he

could consider returning.

Once on the hilltop, Roran halted and crossed his arms. Before him lay

the remains of his childhood home. A corner of the house still stood—

crumbling and charred—but the rest had been flattened and was already

covered with grass and weeds. Nothing could be seen of the barn. The

few acres they had managed to cultivate each year were now filled with

dandelions, wild mustard, and more grass. Here and there, stray beets or

turnips had survived, but that was all. Just beyond the farm, a thick belt

of trees obscured the Anora River.

Roran clenched a fist, jaw muscles knotting painfully as he fought back

a combination of rage and grief. He stayed rooted to the spot for many

long minutes, trembling whenever a pleasant memory rushed through

him. This place had been his entire life and more. It had been his past. .

and his future. His father, Garrow, once said, “The land is a special thing.

Care for it, and it’ll care for you. Not many things will do that.” Roran

had intended to do exactly that up until the moment his world was rup-

tured by a quiet message from Baldor.

With a groan, he spun away and stalked back toward the road. The

shock of that moment still resonated within him. Having everyone he

loved torn away in an instant was a soul-changing event from which he

would never recover. It had seeped into every aspect of his behavior and

outlook.

It also forced Roran to think more than ever before. It was as if bands

had been cinched around his mind, and those bands had snapped, allow-

ing him to ponder ideas that were previously unimaginable. Such as the

fact that he might not become a farmer, or that justice—the greatest