Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (12 page)

tered and depleted, making it all the easier for him to destroy us.”

“You still haven’t answered Saphira,” protested Eragon.

“That’s because I can’t yet. This will be a long campaign. By its end you

might be powerful enough to defeat Galbatorix, or the elves may have

joined us. . and their spellcasters are the strongest in Alagaësia. No matter

what happens, we cannot afford to delay. Now is the time to gamble and

dare what no one thinks we can accomplish. The Varden have lived in

the shadows for too long—we must either challenge Galbatorix or sub-

mit and pass away.”

The scope of what Nasuada was suggesting disturbed Eragon. So many

risks and unknown dangers were involved, it was almost absurd to con-

sider such a venture. However, it was not his place to make the decision,

and he accepted that. Nor would he dispute it further. We have to trust in

her judgment now.

“But what of you, Nasuada? Will you be safe while we’re gone? I must

think of my vow. It’s become my responsibility to ensure that you won’t

have your own funeral soon.”

Her jaw tightened as she gestured at the door and the warriors beyond.

“You needn’t fear, I am well defended.” She looked down. “I will admit. .

one reason for going to Surda is that Orrin knows me of old and will offer

his protection. I cannot tarry here with you and Arya gone and the Coun-

72

cil of Elders still with power. They won’t accept me as their leader until I

prove beyond doubt that the Varden are under my control, not theirs.”

Then she seemed to draw on some inner strength, squaring her shoul-

ders and lifting her chin so she was distant and aloof. “Go now, Eragon.

Ready your horse, gather supplies, and be at the north gate by dawn.”

He bowed low, respecting her return to formality, then left with

Saphira.

After dinner, Eragon and Saphira flew together. They sailed high above

Tronjheim, where crenulated icicles hung from the sides of Farthen Dûr,

forming a great white band around them. Though it was still hours until

night, it was already nearly dark within the mountain.

Eragon threw back his head, savoring the air on his face. He missed the

wind—wind that would rush through the grass and stir the clouds until

everything was tousled and fresh. Wind that would bring rain and storms

and lash the trees so they bent. For that matter, I miss trees as well, he

thought. Farthen Dûr is an incredible place, but it’s as empty of plants and

animals as Ajihad’s tomb.

Saphira agreed. The dwarves seem to think that gems take the place of

flowers. She was silent as the light continued to fade. When it was too

dark for Eragon to see comfortably, she said, It’s late. We should return.

All right.

She drifted toward the ground in great, lazy spirals, drawing nearer to

Tronjheim—which glowed like a beacon in the center of Farthen Dûr.

They were still far from the city-mountain when she swung her head,

saying, Look.

He followed her gaze, but all he could see was the gray, featureless

plain below them. What?

Instead of answering, she tilted her wings and glided to their left, slip-

ping down to one of the four roads that radiated from Tronjheim along

the cardinal compass points. As they landed, he noticed a patch of white

on a small hill nearby. The patch wavered strangely in the dusk, like a

floating candle, then resolved into Angela, who was wearing a pale wool

tunic.

73

The witch carried a wicker basket nearly four feet across and filled

with a wild assortment of mushrooms, most of which Eragon did not

recognize. As she approached, he gestured at them and said, “You’ve been

gathering toadstools?”

“Hello,” laughed Angela, putting her load down. “Oh no, toadstool is far

too general a term. And anyway, they really ought to be called frogstools,

not toadstools.” She spread them with her hand. “This one is sulphur tuft,

and this is an inkcap, and here’s navelcap, and dwarf shield, russet tough-

shank, blood ring, and that is a spotted deceiver. Delightful, isn’t it!” She

pointed to each in turn, ending on a mushroom with pink, lavender, and

yellow splashed in rivulets across its cap.

“And that one?” he asked, indicating a mushroom with a lightning-blue

stem, molten-orange gills, and a glossy black two-tiered cap.

She looked at it fondly. “Fricai Andlát, as the elves might say. The stalk

is instant death, while the cap can cure most poisons. It’s what Tunivor’s

Nectar is extracted from. Fricai Andlát only grows in caves in Du Wel-

denvarden and Farthen Dûr, and it would die out here if the dwarves

started carting their dung elsewhere.”

Eragon looked back at the hill and realized that was exactly what it

was, a dung heap.

“Hello, Saphira,” said Angela, reaching past him to pat Saphira on the

nose. Saphira blinked and looked pleased, tail twitching. At the same

time, Solembum padded into sight, his mouth clamped firmly around a

limp rat. Without so much as a flick of his whiskers, the werecat settled

on the ground and began to nibble on the rodent, studiously ignoring the

three of them.

“So,” said Angela, tucking back a curl of her enormous hair, “off to

Ellesméra?” Eragon nodded. He did not bother asking how she had found

out; she always seemed to know what was going on. When he remained

silent, she scowled. “Well, don’t act so morose. It’s not as if it’s your exe-

cution!”

“I know.”

“Then smile, because if it’s not your execution, you should be happy!

You’re as flaccid as Solembum’s rat. Flaccid. What a wonderful word,

don’t you think?”

74

That wrung a grin out of him, and Saphira chortled with amusement

deep in her throat. “I’m not sure it’s quite as wonderful as you think, but

yes, I understand your point.”

“I’m glad you understand. Understanding is good.” With arched eye-

brows, she hooked a fingernail underneath a mushroom and flipped it

over, inspecting its gills as she said, “It’s fortuitous we met tonight, as you

are about to leave and I. . I will accompany the Varden to Surda. As I

told you before, I like to be where things are happening, and that’s the

place.”

Eragon grinned even more. “Well then, that must mean we’ll have a

safe journey, else you’d be with us.”

Angela shrugged, then said seriously, “Be careful in Du Weldenvarden.

Just because elves do not display their emotions doesn’t mean they aren’t

subject to rage and passion like the rest of us mortals. What can make

them so deadly, though, is how they conceal it, sometimes for years.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Once upon a time.”

After a pause, he asked, “What do you think of Nasuada’s plans?”

“Mmm. . she’s doomed! You’re doomed! They’re all doomed!” She

cackled, doubling over, then straightened abruptly. “Notice I didn’t spec-

ify what kind of doom, so no matter what happens, I predicted it. How

very wise of me.” She lifted the basket again, setting it on one hip. “I sup-

pose I won’t see you for a while, so farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted

cabbage, don’t eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life!” And with a

cheery wink, she strolled off, leaving Eragon blinking and nonplussed.

After an appropriate pause, Solembum picked up his dinner and fol-

lowed, ever so dignified.

75

HROTHGAR’S GIFT

Dawn was a half hour away when Eragon and Saphira arrived at Tron-

jheim’s north gate. The gate was raised just enough to let Saphira pass, so

they hurried underneath it, then waited in the recessed area beyond,

where red jasper pillars loomed above and carved beasts snarled between

the bloody piers. Past those, at the very edge of Tronjheim, sat two

thirty-foot-high gold griffins. Identical pairs guarded each of the city-

mountain’s gates. No one was in sight.

Eragon held Snowfire’s reins. The stallion was brushed, reshoed, and

saddled, his saddlebags bulging with goods. He pawed the floor impa-

tiently; Eragon had not ridden him for over a week.

Before long Orik ambled up, bearing a large pack on his back and a

bundle in his arms. “No horse?” asked Eragon, somewhat surprised. Are

we supposed to walk all the way to Du Weldenvarden?

Orik grunted. “We’ll be stopping at Tarnag, just north of here. From

there we take rafts along the Az Ragni to Hedarth, an outpost for trading

with the elves. We won’t need steeds before Hedarth, so I’ll use my own

feet till then.”

He set the bundle down with a clang, then unwrapped it, revealing Er-

agon’s armor. The shield had been repainted—so the oak tree stood

clearly in the center—and all the dings and scrapes removed. Beneath it

was the long mail shirt, burnished and oiled until the steel gleamed bril-

liantly. No sign existed of where it had been rent when Durza cut Er-

agon’s back. The coif, gloves, bracers, greaves, and helmet were likewise

repaired.

“Our greatest smiths worked on these,” said Orik, “as well as your ar-

mor, Saphira. However, since we can’t take dragon armor with us, it was

given to the Varden, who will guard it against our return.”

Please thank him for me, said Saphira.

Eragon obliged, then laced on the greaves and bracers, storing the other

items in his bags. Last of all, he reached for his helm, only to find Orik

holding it. The dwarf rolled the piece between his hands, then said, “Do

not be so quick to don this, Eragon. There is a choice you must make

first.”

76

“What choice is that?”

Raising the helmet, Orik uncovered its polished brow, which, Eragon

now saw, had been altered: etched in the steel were the hammer and

stars of Hrothgar and Orik’s clan, the Ingeitum. Orik scowled, looking

both pleased and troubled, and said in a formal voice, “Mine king, Hroth-

gar, desires that I present this helm as a symbol of the friendship he bears

for you. And with it Hrothgar extends an offer to adopt you as one of

Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, as a member of his own family.”

Eragon stared at the helm, amazed that Hrothgar would make such a

gesture. Does this mean I’d be subjected to his rule?... If I continue to accrue

loyalties and allegiances at this pace, I’ll be incapacitated before long—

unable to do anything without breaking some oath!

You don’t have to put it on, pointed out Saphira.

And risk insulting Hrothgar? Once again, we’re trapped.

It may be intended as a gift, though, another sign of otho, not a trap. I

would guess he’s thanking us for my offer to repair Isidar Mithrim.

That had not occurred to Eragon, for he had been too busy trying to

figure out how the dwarf king might gain advantage over them. True. But

I think it’s also an attempt to correct the imbalance of power created when I

swore fealty to Nasuada. The dwarves couldn’t have been pleased with that

turn of events. He looked back at Orik, who was waiting anxiously. “How

often has this been done?”

“For a human? Never. Hrothgar argued with the Ingeitum families for a

day and a night before they agreed to accept you. If you consent to bear

our crest, you will have full rights as clan member. You may attend our

councils and give voice on every issue. And,” he grew very somber, “if

you so wish, you will have the right to be buried with our dead.”

For the first time, the enormity of Hrothgar’s action struck Eragon. The

dwarves could offer no higher honor. With a swift motion, he took the

helm from Orik and pressed it down upon his head. “I am privileged to

join Dûrgrimst Ingeitum.”

Orik nodded with approval and said, “Then take this Knurlnien, this

Heart of Stone, and cup it between your hands—yes, like so. You must

steel yourself now and prick open a vein to wet the stone. A few drops

will suffice. . To finish, repeat after me: Os il dom qirânû carn dûr thar-

77

gen, zeitmen, oen grimst vor formv edaris rak skilfz. Narho is belgond. .”

It was a lengthy recitation and all the longer because Orik stopped to

translate every few sentences. Afterward, Eragon healed his wrist with a

quick spell.

“Whatever else the clans may say about this business,” observed Orik,

“you have behaved with integrity and respect. They cannot ignore that.”

He grinned. “We are of the same clan now, eh? You are my foster

brother! Under more normal circumstances, Hrothgar would have pre-

sented your helm himself and we would have held a lengthy ceremony to

commemorate your induction into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, but events move

too swiftly for us to tarry. Fear not that you are being slighted, though!

Your adoption shall be celebrated with the proper rituals when you and

Saphira next return to Farthen Dûr. You shall feast and dance and have

many pieces of paper to sign in order to formalize your new position.”

“I look forward to the day,” said Eragon. He was still preoccupied with

sifting through the numerous possible ramifications of belonging to Dûr-

grimst Ingeitum.

Sitting against a pillar, Orik shrugged off his pack and drew his ax,

which he proceeded to twirl between his palms. After several minutes,