by Dajala
Fathers, mothers, brothers, cousins,thought Eragon. It all comes down to family. Summoning his courage, he completed his report with Murtagh’s theft of Zar’roc and then his final, terrible secret.
“It can’t be,” whispered Nasuada.
Eragon saw shock and revulsion cross Roran’s face before he managed to conceal his reactions. That, more than anything else, hurt Eragon.
“Could Murtagh have been lying?” asked Arya.
“I don’t see how. When I questioned him, he told me the same thing in the ancient language.”
A long, uncomfortable silence filled the pavilion.
Then Arya said, “No one else can know about this. The Varden are demoralized enough by the presence of a new Rider. And they’ll be even more upset when they learn it’s Murtagh, whom they fought alongside and came to trust in Farthen Dûr. If word spreads that Eragon Shadeslayer is Morzan’s son, the men will grow disillusioned and few people will want to join us. Not even King Orrin should be told.”
Nasuada rubbed her temples. “I fear you’re right. A new Rider…” She shook her head. “I knew it was possible for this to occur, but I didn’t really believe it would, since Galbatorix’s remaining eggs had gone so long without hatching.”
“It has a certain symmetry,” said Eragon.
“Our task is doubly hard now. We may have held our own today, but the Empire still far outnumbers us, and now we face not one but two Riders, both of whom are stronger than you, Eragon. Do you think you could defeat Murtagh with the help of the elves’ spellcasters?”
“Maybe. But I doubt he’d be foolish enough to fight them and me together.”
For several minutes, they discussed the effect Murtagh could have on their campaign and strategies to minimize or eliminate it. At last Nasuada said, “Enough. We cannot decide this when we are bloody and tired and our minds are clouded from fighting. Go, rest, and we shall take this up again tomorrow.”
As Eragon turned to leave, Arya approached and looked him straight in the eye. “Do not allow this to trouble you overmuch, Eragon-elda. You are not your father, nor your brother. Their shame is not yours.”
“Aye,” agreed Nasuada. “Nor imagine that it has lowered our opinion of you.” She reached out and cupped his face. “I know you, Eragon. You have a good heart. The name of your father cannot change that.”
Warmth blossomed inside Eragon. He looked from one woman to the next, then twisted his hand over his chest, overwhelmed by their friendship. “Thank you.”
Once they were back out in the open, Eragon put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath of the smoky air. It was late in the day, and the garish orange of noon had subsided into a dusky gold light that suffused the camp and battlefield, giving it a strange beauty. “So now you know,” he said.
Roran shrugged. “Blood always tells.”
“Don’t say that,” growled Eragon. “Don’t ever say that.”
Roran studied him for several seconds. “You’re right; it was an ugly thought. I didn’t mean it.” He scratched his beard and squinted at the bloated sun resting upon the horizon. “Nasuada wasn’t what I expected.”
That forced a tired chuckle out of Eragon. “The one you were expecting was her father, Ajihad. Still, she’s as good a leader as he was, if not better.”
“Her skin, is it dyed?”
“No, that’s the way she is.”
Just then, Eragon felt Jeod, Horst, and a score of other men from Carvahall hurrying toward them. The villagers slowed as they rounded a tent and glimpsed Saphira. “Horst!” exclaimed Eragon. Stepping forward, he grasped the smith in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you again!”
Horst gaped at Eragon, then a delighted grin spread across his face. “Blast if it isn’t good to see you as well, Eragon. You’ve filled out since you left.”
“You mean since I ran away.”
Meeting the villagers was a strange experience for Eragon. Hardship had altered some of the men so much, he barely recognized them. And they treated him differently than before, with a mixture of awe and reverence. It reminded him of a dream, where everything familiar is rendered alien. He was disconcerted by how out of place he felt among them.
When Eragon came to Jeod, he paused. “You know about Brom?”
“Ajihad sent me a message, but I’d like to hear what happened directly from you.”
Eragon nodded, grave. “As soon as I have the chance, we’ll sit down together and have a long talk.”
Then Jeod moved on to Saphira and bowed to her. “I waited my entire life to see a dragon, and now I have seen two in the same day. I am indeed lucky. However, you are the dragon I wanted to meet.”
Bending her neck, Saphira touched Jeod on the brow. He shivered at the contact. Give him my thanks for helping to rescue me from Galbatorix. Otherwise, I would still be languishing in the king’s treasury. He was Brom’s friend, and so he is our friend.
After Eragon repeated her words, Jeod said, “Atra esterní ono thelduin, Saphira Bjartskular,” surprising them with his knowledge of the ancient language.
“Where did you go?” Horst asked Roran. “We looked high and low for you after you took off in pursuit of those two magicians.”
“Never mind that now. Return to the ship and have everyone disembark; the Varden are sending us food and shelter. We can sleep on solid ground tonight!” The men cheered.
Eragon watched with interest as Roran issued his commands. When at last Jeod and the villagers departed, Eragon said, “They trust you. Even Horst obeys you without question. Do you speak for all of Carvahall now?”
“I do.”
Heavy darkness was advancing upon the Burning Plains by the time they found the small two-man tent the Varden had assigned Eragon. Since Saphira could not fit her head through the opening, she curled up on the ground beside and prepared to keep watch.
As soon as I get my strength back, I’ll see to your wounds,promised Eragon.
I know. Don’t stay up too late talking.
Inside the tent, Eragon found an oil lantern that he lit with steel and flint. He could see perfectly well without it, but Roran needed the light.
They sat opposite each other: Eragon on the bedding laid out along one side of the tent, Roran on a folding stool he found leaning in a corner. Eragon was uncertain how to begin, so he remained silent and stared at the lamp’s dancing flame.
Neither of them moved.
After uncounted minutes, Roran said, “Tell me how my father died.”
“Our father.” Eragon remained calm as Roran’s expression hardened. In a gentle voice, he said, “I have as much right to call him that as you. Look within yourself; you know it to be true.”
“Fine. Our father, how did he die?”
Eragon had recounted the story upon several occasions. But this time he hid nothing. Instead of just listing the events, he described what he had thought and felt ever since he had found Saphira’s egg, trying to make Roran understandwhy he did what he did. He had never been so anxious before.
“I was wrong to hide Saphira from the rest of the family,” Eragon concluded, “but I was afraid you might insist on killing her, and I didn’t realize how much danger she put us in. If I had… After Garrow died, I decided to leave in order to track down the Ra’zac, as well as to avoid putting Carvahall in any more danger.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “It didn’t work, but if I had remained, the soldiers would have come far sooner. And then who knows? Galbatorix might have even visited Palancar Valley himself. I may be the reason Garrow—Father—died, but that was never my intention, nor that you and everyone else in Carvahall should suffer because of my choices…” He gestured helplessly. “I did the best I could, Roran.”
“And the rest of it—Brom being a Rider, rescuing Arya at Gil’ead, and killing a Shade at the dwarves’ capital—all that happened?”
“Aye.” As quickly as he could, Eragon summarized what had taken place since he and Saphira set forth with Brom, including their sojourn to
Ellesméra and his own transformation during the Agaetí Blödhren.
Leaning forward, Roran rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and gazed at the dirt between them. It was impossible for Eragon to read his emotions without reaching into his consciousness, which he refused to do, knowing it would be a terrible mistake to invade Roran’s privacy.
Roran was silent for so long, Eragon began to wonder if he would ever respond. Then: “You have made mistakes, but they are no greater than my own. Garrow died because you kept Saphira secret. Many more have died because I refused to give myself up to the Empire… We are equally guilty.” He looked up, then slowly extended his right hand. “Brother?”
“Brother,” said Eragon.
He gripped Roran’s forearm, and they pulled each other into a rough embrace, wrestling to and fro as they used to do at home. When they separated, Eragon had to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Galbatorix should surrender now that we’re together again,” he joked. “Who can stand against the two of us?” He lowered himself back onto the bedding. “Now you tell me, how did the Ra’zac capture Katrina?”
All happiness vanished from Roran’s face. He began to speak in a low monotone, and Eragon listened with growing amazement as he wove an epic of attacks, sieges, and betrayal, of leaving Carvahall, crossing the Spine, and razing the docks of Teirm, of sailing through a monstrous whirlpool.
When at last he finished, Eragon said, “You are a greater man than I. I couldn’t have done half those things. Fight, yes, but not convince everyone to follow me.”
“I had no choice. When they took Katrina—” Roran’s voice broke. “I could either give up and die, or I could try to escape Galbatorix’s trap, no matter the cost.” He fixed his burning eyes on Eragon. “I have lied and burned and slaughtered to get here. I no longer have to worry about protecting everyone from Carvahall; the Varden will see to that. Now I have only one goal in life, to find and rescue Katrina, if she’s not already dead. Will you help me, Eragon?”
Reaching over, Eragon grabbed his saddlebags from the corner of the tent—where the Varden had deposited them—and removed a wooden bowl and the silver flask of enchanted faelnirv Oromis had given him. He took a small sip of the liqueur to revitalize himself and gasped as it raced down his throat, making his nerves tingle with cold fire. Then he poured faelnirv into the bowl until it formed a shallow pool the width of his hand.
“Watch.” Gathering up his burst of new energy, Eragon said, “Draumr kópa.”
The liqueur shimmered and turned black. After a few seconds, a thin key of light appeared in the center of the bowl, revealing Katrina. She lay slumped against an invisible wall, her hands suspended above her with invisible manacles and her copper hair splayed like a fan across her back.
“She’s alive!” Roran hunched over the bowl, grasping at it as if he thought he could dive through the faelnirv and join Katrina. His hope and determination melded with a look of such tender affection, Eragon knew that only death could stop Roran from trying to free her.
Unable to sustain the spell any longer, Eragon let the image fade away. He leaned against the wall of the tent for support. “Aye,” he said wearily, “she’s alive. And chances are, she’s imprisoned in Helgrind, in the Ra’zac’s lair.” Eragon grasped Roran by the shoulders. “The answer to your question, brother, is yes. I will travel to Dras-Leona with you. I will help you rescue Katrina. And then, together, you and I shall kill the Ra’zac and avenge our father.”
END OF BOOK TWO
THE STORY WILL CONTINUE IN BOOK THREE OF INHERITANCE
* * *
PRONUNCIATION GUIDE AND GLOSSARY
ON THE ORIGIN OF NAMES:
To the casual observer, the various names an intrepid traveler will encounter throughout Alagaësia might seem but a random collection of labels with no inherent integrity, culture, or history. However, as with any land that has been repeatedly colonized by different cultures—and in this case, different races—Alagaësia quickly accumulated layers of names from the elves, dwarves, humans, and even Urgals. Thus, we can have Palancar Valley (a human name), the Anora River and Ristvak’baen (elven names), and Utgard Mountain (a dwarf name) all within a few square miles of each other.
While this is of great historical interest, practically it often leads to confusion as to the correct pronunciation. Unfortunately, there are no set rules for the neophyte. Each name must be learned upon its own terms, unless you can immediately place its language of origin. The matter grows even more confusing when you realize that in many places the spelling and pronunciation of foreign words were altered by the resident population to conform to their own language. The Anora River is a prime example. Originallyanora was spelledäenora, which meansbroad in the ancient language. In their writings, the humans simplified the word toanora, and this, combined with a vowel shift whereinäe (ay-eh) was said as the easiera (uh), created the name as it appears in Eragon’s time.
To spare readers as much difficulty as possible, the following list is provided, with the understanding that these are only rough guidelines to the actual pronunciation. The enthusiast is encouraged to study the source languages in order to master their true intricacies.
PRONUNCIATION:
Aiedail—AY-uh-dale
Ajihad—AH-zhi-hod
Alagaësia—al-uh-GAY-zee-uh
Arya—AR-ee-uh
Carvahall—CAR-vuh-hall
Dras-Leona—DRAHS lee-OH-nuh
Du Weldenvarden—doo WELL-den-VAR-den
Ellesméra—el-uhs-MEER-uh
Eragon—EHR-uh-gahn
Farthen Dûr—FAR-then DURE (durerhymes withlure )
Galbatorix—gal-buh-TOR-icks
Gil’ead—GILL-ee-id
Glaedr—GLAY-dur
Hrothgar—HROTH-gar
Islanzadí—iss-lan-ZAH-dee
Jeod—JODE (rhymes withcode )
Murtagh—MUR-tag (murrhymes withpurr )
Nasuada—nah-SOO-ah-dah
Nolfavrell—NOLL-fah-vrel (nollrhymes withtoll )
Oromis—OR-uh-miss
Ra’zac—RAA-zack
Saphira—suh-FEAR-uh
Shruikan—SHREW-kin
Sílthrim—SEAL-thrim (sílis a hard sound to transcribe; it’s made by flicking the tip of the tongue off the roof of the mouth.)
Teirm—TEERM
Trianna—TREE-ah-nuh
Tronjheim—TRONJ-heem
Urû‘baen—OO-roo-bane
Vrael—VRAIL
Yazuac—YAA-zoo-ack
Zar’roc—ZAR-rock
THEANCIENTLANGUAGE:
adurna—water
Agaetí Blödhren—Blood-oath Celebration
Aiedail—The Morning Star
Argetlam—Silver Hand
Atra esterní ono thelduin/Mor’ranr lífa unin hjarta onr/Un du evarínya ono varda.—May good fortune rule over you/Peace live in your heart/And the stars watch over you.
Atra guliä un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waíse skölir fra rauthr.—May luck and happiness follow you and may you be a shield from misfortune.
Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya.—Let us be warded from listeners.
Bjartskular—Brightscales
blöthr—halt; stop
Brakka du vanyalí sem huildar Saphira un eka!—Reduce the magic that holds Saphira and me!
brisingr—fire
Dagshelgr—Hallowed Day
draumr kópa—dream stare
Du Fells Nángoröth—The Blasted Mountains
Du Fyrn Skulblaka—The Dragon War
Du Völlar Eldrvarya—The Burning Plains
Du Vrangr Gata—The Wandering Path
Du Weldenvarden—The Guarding Forest
dvergar—dwarves
ebrithil—master
edur—a tor or prominence
Eka fricai un Shur’tugal.—I am a Rider and friend.
elda—a gender-neutral honorific of great praise
Eyddr eyreya onr!—Empty your ears!
> fairth—a picture taken by magical means
finiarel—an honorific for a young man of great promise
Fricai Andlát—death friend (a poisonous mushroom)
Gala O Wyrda brunhvitr/Abr Berundal vandr-fódhr/Burthro laufsblädar ekar undir/Eom kona dauthleikr…—Sing O white-browed Fate/Of ill-marked Berundal/Born under oaken leaves/To mortal woman…
gánga aptr—to go backward
gánga fram—to go forward
Gath sem oro un lam iet.—Unite that arrow with my hand.
gedwëy ignasia—shining palm
Gëuloth du knífr.—Dull the knife.
haldthin—thornapple
Helgrind—The Gates of Death
hlaupa—run
hljödhr—silent
jierda—break; hit
kodthr—catch
Kvetha Fricai.—Greetings, Friend.
lethrblaka—a bat; the Ra’zac’s mounts (literally, leather-flapper)
letta—stop
Letta orya thorna!—Stop those arrows!
Liduen Kvaedhí—Poetic Script
Losna kalfya iet.—Release my calves.
malthinae—to bind or hold in place; confine
nalgask—a mixture of beeswax and hazelnut oil used to moisten the skin
Osthato Chetowä—the Mourning Sage
Reisa du adurna.—Raise/Lift the water.
rïsa—rise
Sé mor’ranr ono finna.—May you find peace.
Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!—May your swords stay sharp!
Sé orúm thornessa hávr sharjalví lífs.—May this serpent have life’s movement.
skölir—shield
Skölir nosu fra brisingr!—Shield us from fire!
sköliro—shielded
skulblaka—dragon (literally, scale-flapper)
Stydja unin mor’ranr, Hrothgar Könungr.—Rest in peace, King Hrothgar.
svit-kona—a formal honorific for an elf woman of great wisdom
thrysta—thrust; compress
Thrysta vindr.—Compress the air.
Togira Ikonoka—the Cripple Who Is Whole
the Varden—the Warders