friendship and encouragement of one another to become better than they already were. His thoughts were brought back to Oromis when he handed Eragon a bowl full of vegetable
stew.
He 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 implications."
"How so?"
"Imagine for a moment that you are Galbatorix, with all of his vast resources 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 interests to him, and because the Varden have dwelled in Farthen Dûr for decades, where they were able to examine every newcomer's mind for duplicity, which they can't do in Surda, since its border and population are so large."
"Those are my very conclusions," said Oromis. "Unless Galbatorix forsakes his lair in Uru'baen, the greatest danger you're likely to encounter during the Varden's campaign will
come from fellow magicians. You knew 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 cannot 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 opponent'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, and then smiled. "Unless I was aware of the counsciousnesses of all the people around me. Then I could sense if they meant me harm.
Oromis appeared pleased by his answer. "Even so, Eragonfiniarel. 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 attacked mentally, you could easily be overwhelmed."
"It's less dangerous than being blind to the world."
Eragon nodded. He tapped his spoon in a measure meter of time, engrossed by his thoughts, then said, "It feels wrong."
"Oh? Explain yourself."
"What about people's privacy? Brom taught me to never intrude into someone's mind unless it was absolutely necessary… I guess I'm uncomfortable 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 mature
enough to resist the 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 Alagaesia."
"Where are we off to?" Mark asked, "And why is Nyx wearing armor?"
Kendra stretched her arms over her head and glanced toward her wolf with thick leather fixed around his haunches and torso, to protect his stomach, remaining silent as their redheaded
archer filled him in. It was rare, but the whole group was on horseback, heading north east for a mission. Since someone had to stay behind and retain control of the
underground, Rowan had chosen to stay Aberon, though as Eirika had told Mark already, he was likely to sleep most of the time with nothing to do. They'd traveled most of the day
already and had insisted upon keeping the topic neutral until they were closer to their destination. The sky was growing steadily darker as the sun set behind the trees lining the
road. Stars were beginning to appear, like little white blemishes upon the night.
"Nyx needs to be protected too, so he has armor." Trevin shrugged and continued, "There have been a string of deaths near Lithgow, all seemingly unrelated. One looks like a bear
attack, another like poison, drowning, you get the picture. Well, Kendra is under the impression they're murders because most of these people are working with the Varden, or are
otherwise linked to Surda and the resistance. Del looked over some maps and decided that the most likely place for a group of assassins to be hanging out would be along the
abandoned mining road just south of the city." Trevin told Mark, looking over at him as they rode. "Oh, and kids have been vanishing too. The one thing Kendra hates more than murderers, are kidnappers."
Mark glanced up towards Kendra, as she was riding ahead of everyone else. "Alright, so how many people do you think it is?"
"Half a dozen at least," Delaney said, leaning over his horse's neck. "Considering the number of deaths and kidnappings, and the timing of them all… I'd say no less than six people
could handle everything all at once.
"When did you figure all this out?"
"We heard about it a week or so ago, just happened to overhear some things from visiting merchants. I guess it's been happening for a while now, but it's getting out of hand and
people are getting suspicious." Trevin shrugged, "People always notice things when it's too late to stop it."
"We'll put an end to it before it gets any more out of hand," Kendra insisted, "Now I want you all to be q
uiet, we're taking a detour." She grabbed Lynette's reins and pulled her left,
off the road and into a clearing that was thickly veiled by the bushes and trees. Dismounting, she waved her hand and Mark could feel the silencing ward she put up. Her eyes
narrowed as she peered through the leaves.
She bolted, dagger in hand straight out towards the road, Nyx on her heels. Mark cursed under his breath and spurred Aluora after her. Of the two men in the road, one way lying
dead in a pool of his own blood with Nyx standing over him, jaws dripping red, the other straining against Kendra's blade against his throat. As Mark dropped from Aluora's saddle
he stared at Kendra, raising one eyebrow.
She said nothing, simply throwing the second down next to the first, pinning him there. "Tell me what you're doing here." Kendra hissed in his ear vehemently.
He sneered at her, his face pressed into the dirt and blood on the road. "Huh… everyone thinks you're dead."
"If you don't start talking, I'll make sure you are."
"Go ahead."
Mark felt a slight mental pull and quickly intercepted his mind, blocking off his access to his magic. He knelt down next to Kendra and narrowed his eyes at the man. "It wouldn't do
to have you kill yourself…"
Kendra dug her knee into his back, "Tell me. Now. What are you doing here? How many of you are there?"
He chuckled against the ground and spit, "I'm not telling you anything princess, and as soon as he lets up, you won't have a chance to figure it out."
She growled under her breath, digging the knife into his shoulder, "Tell me!"
"You know the rules better than I do, don't you Kendra? Death or nothing."
Mark blinked, "You want me to dig through his mind? I don't know how far I'd get before he does anything, it's taking everything I have just to hold him."
She breathed heavily for a moment, then blinked in affirmation. Mark readied himself and switched from holding off the suicide spell to finding anything he could. There were about
four seconds, and it wasn't nearly enough to get all the details he'd wanted. Kendra sat back on her heels as the others joined them. She wiped off her knife on the dead man's
clothes and stood up straight. "Anything?"
"Just where they're hiding. But I think you can fill me in about the rest…"
She nodded gravely and whistled for Lynette, who came trotting out, stepping right into the blood and allowing Kendra to swing up onto her back. "Lead the way then Mark."
Aluora trotted alongside the chestnut mare, allowing for Mark to listen as Kendra spoke. She told him about the Black Hand, those they were directly opposing. The group of
Galbatorix's handpicked spies and assassins he'd often bothered to train himself, when he wasn't focused on training her or her sister in the black arts. "I'm amazed we haven't run
into them yet, considering how long we've been doing this."
"So the name you chose, Black Lightning, is in reference to them?"
"Exactly, so if they know about us, they'll know we know about them… simple as that. I hoped it would be a reason for them not to threaten us, but I think it might have made us a
target instead…"
Mark nodded, "So when we go to their hideout, I should be expecting the worst?"
"Yes. We should all expect the worst, which is why Erikia is staying behind."
"Hey!" She said, flicking her eyes to shoot a glare at the back of Kendra's head.
She sighed, turning in her saddle, to face the girl. "If we all die in there, someone has to make it back to Rowan and we all know he'd kill us if it wasn't you."
Eirika fell back into her saddle, folding her arms, retaining her grip on her Appaloosa's reins. The mare's coat was brown with a white spotted blanket on her back and haunches,
striped hooves were coated with mud. In a city where the guard's horses were militarystandard brown and black, the horses the group had stood out. It was difficult to miss and
Mark found himself wondering how they managed to hide them as well as they did.
He glanced over at Kendra for a minute, raising an eyebrow. When she huffed a sigh, tired of talking on what she had hoped to be a quiet ride, Trevin answered his unspoken
question. "Rowan has a minor obsession in making sure Eirika is safe before the rest of us. And just Eirika. Doesn't give a damn about the rest of us."
Mark chuckled quietly, though he was pretty sure the last part wasn't true. He seemed to care enough about Kendra being gone to go find her, but perhaps that was a different
situation. Though it irked Eirika to no end, he knew how Rowan felt. She was the youngest of their group, a girl, and therefore extremely vulnerable; the situation was not unlike
him and Mariah. Though the reasoning behind their obsessive protection issues stemmed from different forms of affection, the end result seemed to be the same.
"Alright, so the Black Hand is Galbatorix's assassin group… why haven't I heard about them before now?"
"He likes keeping it a secret."
"Seems like something he'd want everyone to know… worried that assassins could sneak into your house and kill you for saying something about him makes me think it'd be the
opposite."
Kendra shook her head, "It's to keep an eye on his enemies without letting them know. One of the many reasons he sends people out to look for me. Him hunting me down never
comes from his care for me; it comes from him wanting me there or dead – better yet, dragged back to the castle and killed by him personally."
"You truly believe your father would kill you himself?"
"In a heartbeat," she told him. "There would be no hesitation… if you don't count in the torture and pain he would inflict beforehand. He enjoys that part. He doesn't tolerate
disobedience very well… it usually ends in violence."
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 understand 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 established 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 – not surprisingly he lost to Mark every year. He thought too literally to work out the answers to riddles that he had not heard before, a legacy of Garrow's practical upbringing.
"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 razorthin 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 have to choose between giving a man a noble disposition and teaching him to think clearly
,
you'd do better to teach him to think clearly. Too many problems in this world are men with noble dispositions and clouded minds. History provides us with numerous example 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 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 circumstances, 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 demagogues,
tricksters, and the madness of crowds, and our own 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 voice. And although I wish it were otherwise, not all elves have trained their minds properly."
"How do you intend to teach me this logic?"
Oromis's smile broadened. "By the oldest and most effective method: debating. I will as you a question, then you will answer and defend your position." He waited while Eragon
refilled his bowl with stew. "For example, why do you fight the Empire?"
The sudden change of topic caught Eragon off guard. He had a feeling that Oromis had just reached the subject that he had been driving toward all along. "As I said before, to help
those who suffer from Galbatorix's rule and, to a lesser extent, for personal vengeance."
"Then you fight for humanitarian reasons?"
"What do you mean?"
"That you fight to help the people who Galbatorix has harmed and to stop him from hurting any more."
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