Hrothgar took the podium and stated gruffly, “I too support Nasuada, as do the clans.” He moved aside.
Then it was Eragon’s turn. Standing before the crowd, with all eyes upon him and Saphira, he said, “We support Nasuada as well.” Saphira growled in affirmation.
Pledges spoken, the Council of Elders lined themselves on either side of the podium, Jörmundur at their head. Bearing herself proudly, Nasuada approached and knelt before him, her dress splayed in raven billows. Raising his voice, Jörmundur said, “By the right of inheritance and succession, we have chosen Nasuada. By merit of her father’s achievements and the blessings of her peers, we have chosen Nasuada. I now ask you: Have we chosen well?”
The roar was overwhelming. “Yes!”
Jörmundur nodded. “Then by the power granted to this council, we pass the privileges and responsibilities accorded to Ajihad to his only descendant, Nasuada.” He gently placed a circlet of silver on Nasuada’s brow. Taking her hand, he lifted her upright and pronounced, “I give you our new leader!”
For ten minutes, the Varden and dwarves cheered, thundering their approbation until the hall rang with the clamor. Once their cries subsided, Sabrae motioned to Eragon, whispering, “Now is the time to fulfill your promise.”
At that moment, all noise seemed to cease for Eragon. His nervousness disappeared too, swallowed in the tide of the moment. Steeling himself with a breath, he and Saphira started toward Jörmundur and Nasuada, each step an eternity. As they walked, he stared at Sabrae, Elessari, Umérth, and Falberd—noting their half-smiles, smugness, and on Sabrae’s part, outright disdain. Behind the council members stood Arya. She nodded in support.
We are about to change history, said Saphira.
We’re throwing ourselves off a cliff without knowing how deep the water below is.
Ah, but what a glorious flight!
With a brief look at Nasuada’s serene face, Eragon bowed and kneeled. Slipping Zar’roc from its sheath, he placed the sword flat on his palms, then lifted it, as if to proffer it to Jörmundur. For a moment, the sword hovered between Jörmundur and Nasuada, teetering on the wire edge of two different destinies. Eragon felt his breath catch—such a simple choice to balance a life on. And more than a life—a dragon, a king, an Empire!
Then his breath rushed in, filling his lungs with time once again, and he swung to face Nasuada. “Out of deep respect … and appreciation of the difficulties facing you … I, Eragon, first Rider of the Varden, Shadeslayer and Argetlam, give you my blade and my fealty, Nasuada.”
The Varden and dwarves stared, dumbstruck. In that same instant, the Council of Elders flashed from triumphant gloating to enraged impotence. Their glares burned with the strength and venom of those betrayed. Even Elessari let outrage burst through her pleasant demeanor. Only Jörmundur—after a brief jolt of surprise—seemed to accept the announcement with equanimity.
Nasuada smiled and grasped Zar’roc, placing the sword’s tip on Eragon’s forehead, just as before. “I am honored that you choose to serve me, Rider Eragon. I accept, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword.”
Eragon did so, then stepped back with Saphira. With shouts of approval, the crowd rose to their feet, the dwarves stamping in rhythm with their hobnail boots while human warriors banged swords across shields.
Turning to the podium, Nasuada gripped it on either side and looked up at all the people in the amphitheater. She beamed at them, pure joy shining from her face. “People of the Varden!”
Silence.
“As my father did before me, I give my life to you and our cause. I will never cease fighting until the Urgals are vanquished, Galbatorix is dead, and Alagaësia is free once more!”
More cheering and applause.
“Therefore, I say to you, now is the time to prepare. Here in Farthen Dûr—after endless skirmishes—we won our greatest battle. It is our turn to strike back. Galbatorix is weak after losing so many forces, and there will never again be such an opportunity.
“Therefore, I say again, now is the time to prepare so that we may once more stand victorious!”
After more speeches by various personages—including a still-glowering Falberd—the amphitheater began to empty. As Eragon stood to leave, Orik grasped his arm, stopping him. The dwarf was wide-eyed. “Eragon, did you plan all that beforehand?”
Eragon briefly considered the wisdom of telling him, then nodded. “Yes.”
Orik exhaled, shaking his head. “That was a bold stroke, it was. You’ve given Nasuada a strong position to begin with. It was dangerous, though, if the reactions of the Council of Elders are anything to judge by. Did Arya approve of this?”
“She agreed it was necessary.”
The dwarf studied him thoughtfully. “I’m sure it was. You just altered the balance of power, Eragon. No one will underestimate you again because of it.… Beware the rotten stone. You have earned some powerful enemies today.” He slapped Eragon on the side and continued past.
Saphira watched him go, then said, We should prepare to leave Farthen Dûr. The council will be thirsty for revenge. The sooner we’re out of their reach, the better.
A SORCERESS, A SNAKE, AND A SCROLL
hat evening, as Eragon returned to his quarters from bathing, he was surprised to find a tall woman waiting for him in the hall. She had dark hair, startling blue eyes, and a wry mouth. Wound around her wrist was a gold bracelet shaped like a hissing snake. Eragon hoped that she wasn’t there to ask him for advice, like so many of the Varden.
“Argetlam.” She curtsied gracefully.
He inclined his head in return. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Trianna, sorceress of Du Vrangr Gata.”
“Really? A sorceress?” he asked, intrigued.
“And battle mage and spy and anything else the Varden deem necessary. There aren’t enough magic users, so we each end up with a half-dozen tasks.” She smiled, displaying even, white teeth. “That’s why I came today. We would be honored to have you take charge of our group. You’re the only one who can replace the Twins.”
Almost without realizing it, he smiled back. She was so friendly and charming, he hated to say no. “I’m afraid I can’t; Saphira and I are leaving Tronjheim soon. Besides, I’d have to consult with Nasuada first anyway.” And I don’t want to be entangled in any more politics … especially not where the Twins used to lead.
Trianna bit her lip. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She moved a step closer. “Perhaps we can spend some time together before you have to go. I could show you how to summon and control spirits.… It would be educational for both of us.”
Eragon felt a hot flush warm his face. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m really too busy at the moment.”
A spark of anger flared within Trianna’s eyes, then vanished so quickly, he wondered whether he had seen it at all. She sighed delicately. “I understand.”
She sounded so disappointed—and looked so forlorn—Eragon felt guilty for rebuffing her. It can’t hurt to talk with her for a few minutes, he told himself. “I’m curious; how did you learn magic?”
Trianna brightened. “My mother was a healer in Surda. She had a bit of power and was able to instruct me in the old ways. Of course, I’m nowhere near as powerful as a Rider. None of Du Vrangr Gata could have defeated Durza alone, like you did. That was a heroic deed.”
Embarrassed, Eragon scuffed his boots against the ground. “I wouldn’t have survived if not for Arya.”
“You are too modest, Argetlam,” she admonished. “It was you who struck the final blow. You should be proud of your accomplishment. It’s a feat worthy of Vrael himself.” She leaned toward him. His heart quickened as he smelled her perfume, which was rich and musky, with a hint of an exotic spice. “Have you heard the songs composed about you? The Varden sing them every night around their fires. They say you’ve come to take the throne from Galbatorix!”
“No,” said Erag
on, quick and sharp. That was one rumor he would not tolerate. “They might, but I don’t. Whatever my fate may be, I don’t aspire to rule.”
“And it’s wise of you not to. What is a king, after all, but a man imprisoned by his duties? That would be a poor reward indeed for the last free Rider and his dragon. No, for you the ability to go and do what you will and, by extension, to shape the future of Alagaësia.” She paused. “Do you have any family left in the Empire?”
What? “Only a cousin.”
“Then you’re not betrothed?”
The question caught him off guard. He had never been asked that before. “No, I’m not betrothed.”
“Surely there must be someone you care about.” She came another step closer, and her ribboned sleeve brushed his arm.
“I wasn’t close to anyone in Carvahall,” he faltered, “and I’ve been traveling since then.”
Trianna drew back slightly, then lifted her wrist so the serpent bracelet was at eye level. “Do you like him?” she inquired. Eragon blinked and nodded, though it was actually rather disconcerting. “I call him Lorga. He’s my familiar and protector.” Bending forward, she blew upon the bracelet, then murmured, “Sé orúm thornessa hávr sharjalví lífs.”
With a dry rustle, the snake stirred to life. Eragon watched, fascinated, as the creature writhed around Trianna’s pale arm, then lifted itself and fixed its whirling ruby eyes upon him, wire tongue whipping in and out. Its eyes seemed to expand until they were each as large as Eragon’s fist. He felt as if he were tumbling into their fiery depths; he could not look away no matter how hard he tried.
Then at a short command, the serpent stiffened and resumed its former position. With a tired sigh, Trianna leaned against the wall. “Not many people understand what we magic users do. But I wanted you to know that there are others like you, and we will help if we can.”
Impulsively, Eragon put his hand on hers. He had never attempted to approach a woman this way before, but instinct urged him onward, daring him to take the chance. It was frightening, exhilarating. “If you want, we could go and eat. There’s a kitchen not far from here.”
She slipped her other hand over his, fingers smooth and cool, so different from the rough grips he was accustomed to. “I’d like that. Shall we—” Trianna stumbled forward as the door burst open behind her. The sorceress whirled around, only to yelp as she found herself face to face with Saphira.
Saphira remained motionless, except for one lip that slowly lifted to reveal a line of jagged teeth. Then she growled. It was a marvelous growl—richly layered with scorn and menace—that rose and fell through the hall for more than a minute. Listening to it was like enduring a blistering, hackle-raising tirade.
Eragon glared at her the whole time.
When it was over, Trianna was clenching her dress with both fists, twisting the fabric. Her face was white and scared. She quickly curtsied to Saphira, then, with a barely controlled motion, turned and fled. Acting as if nothing had happened, Saphira lifted a leg and licked a claw. It was nearly impossible to get the door open, she sniffed.
Eragon could not contain himself any longer. Why did you do that? he exploded. You had no reason to interfere!
You needed my help, she continued, unperturbed.
If I’d needed your help, I would have called!
Don’t yell at me, she snapped, letting her jaws click together. He could sense her emotions boiling with as much turmoil as his. I’ll not have you run around with a slattern who cares more for Eragon as Rider than you as a person.
She wasn’t a slattern, roared Eragon. He pounded the wall in frustration. I’m a man now, Saphira, not a hermit. You can’t expect me to ignore … ignore women just because of who I am. And it’s certainly not your decision to make. At the very least, I might have enjoyed a conversation with her, anything other than the tragedies we’ve dealt with lately. You’re in my head enough to know how I feel. Why couldn’t you leave me alone? Where was the harm?
You don’t understand. She refused to meet his eyes.
Don’t understand! Will you prevent me from ever having a wife and children? What of a family?
Eragon. She finally fixed one great eye on him. We are intimately linked.
Obviously!
And if you pursue a relationship, with or without my blessing, and become … attached … to someone, my feelings will become engaged as well. You should know that. Therefore—and I warn you only once—be careful who you choose, because it will involve both of us.
He briefly considered her words. Our bond works both ways, however. If you hate someone, I will be influenced likewise.… I understand your concern. So you weren’t just jealous?
She licked the claw once more. Perhaps a little.
Eragon was the one who growled this time. He brushed past her into the room, grabbed Zar’roc, then stalked away, belting on the sword.
He wandered through Tronjheim for hours, avoiding contact with everyone. What had occurred pained him, though he could not deny the truth of Saphira’s words. Of all the matters they shared, this was the most delicate and the one they agreed upon least. That night—for the first time since he was captured at Gil’ead—he slept away from Saphira, in one of the dwarves’ barracks.
Eragon returned to their quarters the following morning. By unspoken consent, he and Saphira avoided discussing what had transpired; further argument was pointless when neither party was willing to yield ground. Besides, they were both so relieved to be reunited, they did not want to risk endangering their friendship again.
They were eating lunch—Saphira tearing at a bloody haunch—when Jarsha trotted up. Like before, he stared wide-eyed at Saphira, following her movements as she nibbled off the end of a leg bone. “Yes?” asked Eragon, wiping his chin and wondering if the Council of Elders had sent for them. He had heard nothing from them since the funeral.
Jarsha turned away from Saphira long enough to say, “Nasuada would like to see you, sir. She’s waiting in her father’s study.”
Sir! Eragon almost laughed. Only a little while ago, he would have been calling people sir, not the other way around. He glanced at Saphira. “Are you done, or should we wait a few minutes?”
Rolling her eyes, she fit the rest of the meat into her mouth and split the bone with a loud crack. I’m done.
“All right,” said Eragon, standing, “you can go, Jarsha. We know the way.”
It took almost half an hour to reach the study because of the city-mountain’s size. As during Ajihad’s rule, the door was guarded, but instead of two men, an entire squad of battle-hardened warriors now stood before it, alert for the slightest hint of danger. They would clearly sacrifice themselves to protect their new leader from ambush or attack. Though the men could not have failed to recognize Eragon and Saphira, they barred the way while Nasuada was alerted of her visitors. Only then were the two allowed to enter.
Eragon immediately noticed a change: a vase of flowers in the study. The small purple blossoms were unobtrusive, but they suffused the air with a warm fragrance that—for Eragon—evoked summers of fresh-picked raspberries and scythed fields turning bronze under the sun. He inhaled, appreciating the skill with which Nasuada had asserted her individuality without obliterating Ajihad’s memory.
She sat behind the broad desk, still cloaked in the black of mourning. As Eragon seated himself, Saphira beside him, she said, “Eragon.” It was a simple statement, neither friendly nor hostile. She turned away briefly, then focused on him, her gaze steely and intent. “I have spent the last few days reviewing the Varden’s affairs, such as they are. It was a dismal exercise. We are poor, overextended, and low on supplies, and few recruits are joining us from the Empire. I mean to change that.
“The dwarves cannot support us much longer, as it’s been a lean year for farming and they’ve suffered losses of their own. Considering this, I have decided to move the Varden to Surda. It’s a difficult proposition, but one I believe necessary to keep us safe. Once in Surd
a, we will finally be close enough to engage the Empire directly.”
Even Saphira stirred with surprise. The work that would involve! said Eragon. It could take months to get everyone’s belongings to Surda, not to mention all the people. And they’d probably be attacked along the way. “I thought King Orrin didn’t dare openly oppose Galbatorix,” he protested.
Nasuada smiled grimly. “His stance has changed since we defeated the Urgals. He will shelter and feed us and fight by our side. Many Varden are already in Surda, mainly women and children who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight. They will also support us, else I will strip our name from them.”
“How,” asked Eragon, “did you communicate with King Orrin so quickly?”
“The dwarves use a system of mirrors and lanterns to relay messages through their tunnels. They can send a dispatch from here to the western edge of the Beor Mountains in less than a day. Couriers then transport it to Aberon, capital of Surda. Fast as it is, that method is still too slow when Galbatorix can surprise us with an Urgal army and give us less than a day’s notice. I intend to arrange something far more expedient between Du Vrangr Gata and Hrothgar’s magicians before we go.”
Opening the desk drawer, Nasuada removed a thick scroll. “The Varden will depart Farthen Dûr within the month. Hrothgar has agreed to provide us with safe passage through the tunnels. Moreover, he sent a force to Orthíad to remove the last vestiges of Urgals and seal the tunnels so no one can invade the dwarves by that route again. As this may not be enough to guarantee the Varden’s survival, I have a favor to ask of you.”
Eragon nodded. He had expected a request or order. That was the only reason for her to have summoned them. “I am yours to command.”
“Perhaps.” Her eyes flicked to Saphira for a second. “In any case, this is not a command, and I want you to think carefully before replying. To help rally support for the Varden, I wish to spread word throughout the Empire that a new Rider—named Eragon Shadeslayer—and his dragon, Saphira, have joined our cause. I would like your permission before doing so, however.”
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