Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (51 page)

amount of information was overwhelming. Out of pure habit, his mind

would snatch one subject or another from the torrent, excluding all the

rest before he noticed his lapse and wrenched himself back into a state of

passive receptivity. The cycle repeated itself every few seconds.

Despite that, he was able to improve his understanding of the ants’

world. He got his first clue as to their genders when he deduced that the

huge ant in the heart of their underground lair was laying eggs, one every

minute or so, which made it—her—a female. And when he accompanied

a group of the red ants up the stem of their rosebush, he got a vivid

demonstration of the kind of enemies they faced: something darted out

from underneath a leaf and killed one of the ants he was bound to. It was

hard for him to guess exactly what the creature was, since the ants only

saw fragments of it and, in any case, they placed more emphasis on smell

than vision. If they had been people, he would have said that they were

attacked by a terrifying monster the size of a dragon, which had jaws as

powerful as the spiked portcullis at Teirm and could move with whip-

lash speed.

The ants ringed in the monster like grooms working to capture a run-

away horse. They darted at it with a total lack of fear, nipping at its

knobbed legs and withdrawing an instant before they were caught in the

monster’s iron pincers. More and more ants joined the throng. They

worked together to overpower the intruder, never faltering, even when

two were caught and killed and when several of their brethren fell off the

stem to the ground below.

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It was a desperate battle, with neither side willing to give quarter. Only

escape or victory would save the combatants from a horrible death. Er-

agon followed the fray with breathless anticipation, awed by the ants’

bravery and how they continued to fight in spite of injuries that would

incapacitate a human. Their feats were heroic enough to be sung about

by bards throughout the land.

Eragon was so engrossed by the contest that when the ants finally pre-

vailed, he loosed an elated cry so loud, it roused the birds from their

roosts among the trees.

Out of curiosity, he returned his attention to his own body, then

walked to the rosebush to view the dead monster for himself. What he

saw was an ordinary brown spider with its legs curled into a fist being

transported by the ants down to their nest for food.

Amazing.

He started to leave, but then realized that once again he had neglected

to keep watch over the myriad other insects and animals in the glade. He

closed his eyes and whirled through the minds of several dozen beings,

doing his best to memorize as many interesting details as he could. It was

a poor substitute for prolonged observation, but he was hungry and he

had already exhausted his assigned hour.

When Eragon rejoined Oromis in his hut, the elf asked, “How went it?”

“Master, I could listen night and day for the next twenty years and still

not know everything that goes on in the forest.”

Oromis raised an eyebrow. “You have made progress.” After Eragon de-

scribed what he had witnessed, Oromis said, “But still not enough, I fear.

You must work harder, Eragon. I know you can. You are intelligent and

persistent, and you have the potential to be a great Rider. As difficult as

it is, you have to learn to put aside your troubles and concentrate entirely

on the task at hand. Find peace within yourself and let your actions flow

from there.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“No, this isn’t your best. We shall recognize your best when it appears.”

He paused thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would help if you had a fellow stu-

dent to compete with. Then we might see your best. . I will think on the

matter.”

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From his cupboards, Oromis produced a loaf of freshly baked bread, a

wood jar of hazelnut butter—which the elves used in place of actual but-

ter—and a pair of bowls that he ladled full of a vegetable stew that had

been simmering in a pot hung over a bed of coals in the corner fireplace.

Eragon looked at the stew with distaste; he was sick of the elves’ fare.

He longed for meat, fish, or fowl, something hearty that he could sink his

teeth into, not this endless parade of plants. “Master,” he asked to distract

himself, “why do you have me meditate? Is it so that I will understand

the doings of the animals and insects, or is there more to it than that?”

“Can you think of no other motive?” Oromis sighed when Eragon shook

his head. “Always it is thus with my new students, and especially with

the human ones; the mind is the last muscle they train or use, and the

one that they regard the least. Ask them about swordplay and they can

list every blow from a duel a month old, but ask them to solve a problem

or make a coherent statement and. . well, I would be lucky to get more

than a blank stare in return. You are still new to the world of gramarye—

as magic is properly called—but you must begin to consider its full im-

plications.”

“How so?”

“Imagine for a moment that you are Galbatorix, with all of his vast re-

sources at your command. The Varden have destroyed your Urgal army

with the help of a rival Dragon Rider, who you know was educated—at

least in part—by one of your most dangerous and implacable foes, Brom.

You are also aware that your enemies are massing in Surda for a possible

invasion. Given that, what would be the easiest way to deal with these

various threats, short of flying into battle yourself?”

Eragon stirred his stew to cool it while he examined the issue. “It seems

to me,” he said slowly, “that the easiest thing would be to train a corps of

magicians—they wouldn’t even have to be that powerful—force them to

swear loyalty to me in the ancient language, then have them infiltrate

Surda to sabotage the Varden’s efforts, poison wells, and assassinate

Nasuada, King Orrin, and other key members of the resistance.”

“And why hasn’t Galbatorix done this yet?”

“Because until now, Surda was of negligible interest to him, and be-

cause the Varden have dwelled in Farthen Dûr for decades, where they

were able to examine every newcomer’s mind for duplicity, which they

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can’t do in Surda since its border and population are so large.”

“Those are my very conclusions,” said Oromis. “Unless Galbatorix for-

sakes his lair in Urû’baen, the greatest danger you’re likely to encounter

during the Varden’s campaign will come from fellow magicians. You

know as well as I how difficult it is to guard against magic, especially if

your opponent has sworn in the ancient language to kill you, no matter

the cost. Instead of attempting to first conquer your mind, such a foe will

simply cast a spell to obliterate you, even though—in the instant before

you are destroyed—you will still be free to retaliate. However, you can-

not fell your murderer if you don’t know who or where he is.”

“So sometimes you don’t have to bother taking control of your oppo-

nent’s mind?”

“Sometimes, but it’s a risk to avoid.” Oromis paused to consume a few

spoonfuls of stew. “Now, to address the heart of this issue, how do you

defend yourself against anonymous enemies who can contravene any

physical precautions and slay with a muttered word?”

“I don’t see how, unless. .” Eragon hesitated, then smiled. “Unless I was

aware of the consciousnesses of all the people around me. Then I could

sense if they meant me harm.”

Oromis appeared pleased by his answer. “Even so, Eragon-finiarel. And

that’s the answer to your question. Your meditations condition your

mind to find and exploit flaws in your enemies’ mental armor, no matter

how small.”

“But won’t another magic user know if I touch their mind?”

“Aye, they will know, but most people won’t. And as for the magicians,

they will know, they will be afraid, and they will shield their minds from

you out of their fear, and you will know them because of it.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to leave your consciousness unguarded? If you’re at-

tacked mentally, you could easily be overwhelmed.”

“It’s less dangerous than being blind to the world.”

Eragon nodded. He tapped his spoon against his bowl in a measured

meter of time, engrossed in his thoughts, then said, “It feels wrong.”

“Oh? Explain yourself.”

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“What about people’s privacy? Brom taught me to never intrude in

someone’s mind unless it was absolutely necessary. . I guess I’m uncom-

fortable with the idea of prying into people’s secrets. . secrets that they

have every right to keep to themselves.” He cocked his head. “Why didn’t

Brom tell me about this if it’s so important? Why didn’t he train me in it

himself?”

“Brom told you,” said Oromis, “what was appropriate to tell you under

the circumstances. Dipping into the pool of minds can prove addictive to

those with a malicious personality or a taste for power. It was not taught

to prospective Riders—though we had them meditate as you do

throughout their training—until we were convinced that they were ma-

ture enough to resist temptation.

“It is an invasion of privacy, and you will learn many things from it that

you never wanted to. However, this is for your own good and the good of

the Varden. I can say from experience, and from watching other Riders

experience the same, that this, above all else, will help you to understand

what drives people. And understanding begets empathy and compassion,

even for the meanest beggar in the meanest city of Alagaësia.”

They were quiet for a while, eating, then Oromis asked, “Can you tell

me, What is the most important mental tool a person can possess?”

It was a serious question, and Eragon considered it for a reasonable span

before he ventured to say, “Determination.”

Oromis tore the loaf in half with his long white fingers. “I can under-

stand why you arrived at that conclusion—determination has served you

well in your adventures—but no. I meant the tool most necessary to

choose the best course of action in any given situation. Determination is

as common among men who are dull and foolish as it is among those

who are brilliant intellects. So, no, determination cannot be what we’re

looking for.”

This time Eragon treated the question as he would a riddle, counting

the number of words, whispering them out loud to establish whether

they rhymed, and otherwise examining them for hidden meaning. The

problem was, he was no more than a mediocre riddler and had never

placed very high in Carvahall’s annual riddle contest. He thought too lit-

erally to work out the answers to riddles that he had not heard before, a

legacy of Garrow’s practical upbringing.

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“Wisdom,” he finally said. “Wisdom is the most important tool for a

person to possess.”

“A fair guess, but, again, no. The answer is logic. Or, to put it another

way, the ability to reason analytically. Applied properly, it can overcome

any lack of wisdom, which one only gains through age and experience.”

Eragon frowned. “Yes, but isn’t having a good heart more important

than logic? Pure logic can lead you to conclusions that are ethically

wrong, whereas if you are moral and righteous, that will ensure that you

don’t act shamefully.”

A razor-thin smile curled Oromis’s lips. “You confuse the issue. All I

wanted to know was the most useful tool a person can have, regardless of

whether that person is good or evil. I agree that it’s important to be of a

virtuous nature, but I would also contend that if you had to choose be-

tween giving a man a noble disposition or teaching him to think clearly,

you’d do better to teach him to think clearly. Too many problems in this

world are caused by men with noble dispositions and clouded minds.

“History provides us with numerous examples of people who were

convinced that they were doing the right thing and committed terrible

crimes because of it. Keep in mind, Eragon, that no one thinks of himself

as a villain, and few make decisions they think are wrong. A person may

dislike his choice, but he will stand by it because, even in the worst cir-

cumstances, he believes that it was the best option available to him at

the time.

“On its own, being a decent person is no guarantee that you will act

well, which brings us back to the one protection we have against dema-

gogues, tricksters, and the madness of crowds, and our surest guide

through the uncertain shoals of life: clear and reasoned thinking. Logic

will never fail you, unless you’re unaware of—or deliberately ignore—the

consequences of your deeds.”

“If elves are so logical,” said Eragon, “then you must all agree on what to

do.”

“Hardly,” averred Oromis. “Like every race, we adhere to a wide range

of tenets, and, as a result, we often arrive at differing conclusions, even in

identical situations. Conclusions, I might add, that make logical sense

from each person’s point of view. And although I wish it were otherwise,