The werecat uttered a mournful meow, and Angela looked up from her task, her corkscrew hair forming a billowing thundercloud around her glistening face. She frowned, and her expression became positively ghoulish, for it was lit from beneath by the flickering green flame. “So you’ve returned, eh!”
“We have,” said Eragon.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself? Have you seen Elva yet? Have you seen what you did to that poor girl?”
“Aye.”
“Aye!” cried Angela. “How inarticulate can a person be? All this time in Ellesméra being tutored by the elves, and aye is the best you can manage? Let me tell you something, blockhead: anyone who is stupid enough to do what you did deserves—”
Eragon clasped his hands behind his back and waited as Angela informed him, in many explicit, detailed, and highly inventive terms, exactly how great a blockhead he was; what kind of ancestors he must possess to be such a monumental blockhead—she even went so far as to insinuate that one of his grandparents had mated with an Urgal—and the quite hideous punishments he ought to receive for his idiocy. If anyone else had insulted him in that manner, Eragon would have challenged them to a duel, but he tolerated her spleen because he knew he could not judge her behavior by the same standards as he did others, and because he knew her outrage was justified; he had made a dreadful mistake.
When she finally paused for breath, he said, “You’re quite right, and I’m going to try to remove the spell once the battle is decided.”
Angela blinked three times, one right after the other, and her mouth remained open for a moment in a small “O” before she clamped it shut. With a glare of suspicion, she asked, “You’re not saying that just to placate me, are you?”
“I would never.”
“And you really intend to undo your curse? I thought such things were irrevocable.”
“The elves have discovered many uses of magic.”
“Ah … Well, then, that’s settled, isn’t it?” She flashed him a wide smile and then strode past him to pat Saphira on her jowls. “It’s good to see you again, Saphira. You’ve grown.”
Well met indeed, Angela.
As Angela returned to stirring her concoction, Eragon said, “That was an impressive tirade you gave.”
“Thank you. I worked on it for several weeks. It’s a pity you didn’t get to hear the ending; it’s memorable. I could finish it for you if you want.”
“No, that’s all right. I can imagine what it’s like.” Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, Eragon then said, “You don’t seem surprised by how I’ve changed.”
The herbalist shrugged. “I have my sources. It’s an improvement, in my opinion. You were a bit … oh, how shall I say it? … unfinished before.”
“That I was.” He gestured at the hanging plants. “What do you plan to do with these?”
“Oh, it’s just a little project of mine—an experiment, if you will.”
“Mmm.” Examining the pattern of colors on a dried mushroom that dangled before him, Eragon asked, “Did you ever figure out if toads exist or not?”
“As a matter of fact, I did! It seems that all toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads. So in that sense, toads don’t really exist, which means that I was right all along.” She stopped her patter abruptly, leaned to the side, grabbed a mug from a bench next to her, and offered it to Eragon. “Here, have a cup of tea.”
Eragon glanced at the deadly plants surrounding them and then back at Angela’s open face before he accepted the mug. Under his breath—so the herbalist would not hear—he muttered three spells to detect poison. Only once he ascertained that the tea was free of contamination did he dare drink. The tea was delicious, though he could not identify the ingredients.
At that moment, Solembum padded over to Saphira and began to arch his back and rub himself up against her leg, just as any normal cat would. Twisting her neck, Saphira bent down and with the tip of her nose brushed the werecat the length of his spine. She said, I met someone in Ellesméra who knows you.
Solembum stopped rubbing and cocked his head. Is that so?
Yes. Her name was Quickpaw and The Dream Dancer and also Maud.
Solembum’s golden eyes widened. A deep, throaty purr rumbled in his chest, and he rubbed against Saphira with renewed vigor.
“So,” said Angela, “I assume you already spoke with Nasuada, Arya, and King Orrin.” He nodded. “And what did you think of dear old Orrin?”
Eragon chose his words with care, for he was aware that they were talking about a king. “Well … he seems to have a great many interests.”
“Yes, he’s as balmy as a moonstruck fool on Midsummer Night Eve. But then everyone is, in one way or another.”
Amused by her forthrightness, Eragon said, “He must be crazy to have carted so much glass all the way from Aberon.”
Angela raised an eyebrow. “What’s this now?”
“Haven’t you seen the inside of his tent?”
“Unlike some people,” she sniffed, “I don’t ingratiate myself with every monarch I meet.” So he described for her the mass of instruments Orrin had brought to the Burning Plains. Angela abandoned her stirring as he spoke and listened with great interest. The instant he finished, she began bustling around the cauldron, gathering the plants off the lines—often using tongs to do so—and saying, “I think I had best pay Orrin a visit. The two of you will have to tell me about your trip to Ellesméra at a later time.… Well, go on, both of you. Be gone!”
Eragon shook his head as the short little woman drove him and Saphira away from her tent, and he still holding the cup of tea. Talking with her is always …
Different? suggested Saphira.
Exactly.
THE CLOUDS OF WAR
rom there it took them almost half an hour to locate Trianna’s tent, which apparently served as the unofficial headquarters of Du Vrangr Gata. They had difficulty finding the tent because few people knew of its existence, and even fewer could tell them where it lay because the tent was hidden behind a spur of rock that served to conceal it from the gaze of enemy magicians in Galbatorix’s army.
As Eragon and Saphira approached the black tent, the entrance was thrust open and Trianna strode out, her arms bare to the elbow in preparation to use magic. Behind her clustered a group of determined if frightened-looking spellcasters, many of whom Eragon had seen during the battle in Farthen Dûr, either fighting or healing the wounded.
Eragon watched as Trianna and the others reacted with the now-expected surprise at his altered appearance. Lowering her arms, Trianna said, “Shadeslayer, Saphira. You should have told us sooner that you were here. We’ve been preparing to confront and battle what we thought was a mighty foe.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Eragon, “but we had to report to Nasuada and King Orrin immediately after we landed.”
“And why have you graced us with your presence now? You never deigned to visit us before, we who are more your brethren than any in the Varden.”
“I have come to take command of Du Vrangr Gata.” The assembled spellcasters muttered with surprise at his announcement, and Trianna stiffened. Eragon felt several magicians probe his consciousness in an attempt to divine his true intentions. Instead of guarding himself—which would blind him to impending attacks—Eragon retaliated by jabbing the minds of the would-be invaders hard enough that they retreated behind their own barriers. As he did, Eragon had the satisfaction of seeing two men and a woman flinch and avert their gazes.
“By whose order?” demanded Trianna.
“By Nasuada’s.”
“Ah,” said the sorceress with a triumphant smile, “but Nasuada has no direct authority over us. We help the Varden of our own free will.”
Her resistance puzzled Eragon. “I’m sure Nasuada would be surprised to hear that, after everything she, and her father, have done for Du Vrangr Gata. It might give her the impression that you no longer wanted the support and protection of the Varden.
” He let the threat hang in the air for a moment. “Besides, I seem to remember you were willing to give me this post before. Why not now?”
Trianna lifted an eyebrow. “You refused my offer, Shadeslayer … or have you forgotten?” Composed as she was, a trace of defensiveness colored her response, and Eragon suspected she knew her position was untenable. She seemed more mature to him than when they last met, and he had to remind himself of the hardships she must have endured since: marching across Alagaësia to Surda, supervising the magicians of Du Vrangr Gata, and preparing for war.
“We could not accept then. It was the wrong time.”
Abruptly changing tack, she asked, “Why does Nasuada believe you should command us anyway? Surely you and Saphira would be more useful elsewhere.”
“Nasuada wants me to lead you, Du Vrangr Gata, in the coming battle, and so I shall.” Eragon thought it best not to mention that it was his idea.
A dark scowl gave Trianna a fierce appearance. She pointed at the cluster of spellcasters behind her. “We have devoted our lives to the study of our art. You have been casting spells for less than two years. What makes you more qualified for this task than any of us? … No matter. Tell me: What is your strategy? How do you plan to employ us?”
“My plan is simple,” he said. “The lot of you will join minds and search for enemy spellcasters. When you find one, I’ll add my strength to yours, and together we can crush the spellcaster’s resistance. Then we can slay the troops that previously were protected by his or her wards.”
“And what will you be doing the rest of the time?”
“Fighting alongside Saphira.”
After an awkward silence, one of the men behind Trianna said, “It’s a good plan.” He quailed as Trianna cast an angry glare at him.
She slowly faced Eragon again. “Ever since the Twins died, I have led Du Vrangr Gata. Under my guidance, they have provided the means to fund the Varden’s war effort, ferreted out the Black Hand—Galbatorix’s network of spies that tried to assassinate Nasuada—as well as performing innumerable other services. I do not boast when I say these are no mean accomplishments. And I’m certain I can continue to produce such results.… Why, then, does Nasuada want to depose me? How have I displeased her?”
Everything became clear to Eragon, then. She has grown accustomed to power and doesn’t want to surrender it. But more than that, she thinks that my replacing her is a criticism of her leadership.
You need to resolve this debate, and quickly too, said Saphira. Our time grows short.
Eragon racked his brain for a way to establish his authority in Du Vrangr Gata without further alienating Trianna. At last he said, “I didn’t come here to stir up trouble. I came to ask for your help.” He spoke to the entire congregation but looked only at the sorceress. “I am strong, yes. Saphira and I could probably defeat any number of Galbatorix’s pet magicians. But we cannot protect everyone in the Varden. We cannot be everywhere. And if the Empire’s battle-mages join forces against us, then even we will be hard-pressed to survive.… We cannot fight this battle alone. You are quite right, Trianna—you have done well with Du Vrangr Gata, and I’m not here to usurp your authority. It’s only that—as a magician—I need to work with Du Vrangr Gata, and—as a Rider—I may also need to give you orders, orders that I have to know will be obeyed without question. The chain of command must be established. That said, you will retain the greater part of your autonomy. Most times I’ll be too busy to devote my attention to Du Vrangr Gata. Nor do I intend to ignore your counsel, for I’m aware that you have far more experience than I.… So I ask again, will you help us, for the good of the Varden?”
Trianna paused, then bowed. “Of course, Shadeslayer—for the good of the Varden. It will be an honor to have you lead Du Vrangr Gata.”
“Then let us begin.”
Over the next few hours, Eragon talked with every one of the assembled magicians, although a fair number were absent, being occupied with one task or another to help the Varden. He did his best to acquaint himself with their knowledge of magic. He learned that the majority of men and women in Du Vrangr Gata had been introduced to their craft by a relative, and usually in profound secrecy to avoid attracting attention from those who feared magic—and, of course, Galbatorix himself. Only a handful had received proper apprenticeships. As a result, most of the spellcasters knew little about the ancient language—none could truly speak it fluently—their beliefs about magic were often distorted by religious superstitions, and they were ignorant of numerous applications of gramarye.
No wonder the Twins were so desperate to extract your vocabulary of the ancient language when they tested you in Farthen Dûr, observed Saphira. With it they could have easily conquered these lesser magicians.
They’re all we have to work with, though.
True. I hope you can see now I was right about Trianna. She places her own desires before the good of the many.
You were right, he agreed. But I don’t condemn her for it. Trianna deals with the world in the best way she can, as do we all. I understand that, even if I don’t approve, and understanding—as Oromis said—breeds empathy.
A bit more than a third of the spellcasters specialized as healers. Those Eragon sent on their way after giving them a quintet of new spells to memorize, enchantments that would allow them to treat a greater range of injuries. The remaining spellcasters Eragon worked with to establish a clear chain of command—he appointed Trianna his lieutenant and let her ensure that his orders were carried out—and to weld their disparate personalities into a cohesive fighting unit. Trying to convince magicians to cooperate, he discovered, was like trying to get a pack of dogs to share a meat bone. Nor did it help that they were in evident awe of him, for he could find no way of using his influence to smooth relations among the contentious magicians.
In order to gain a better idea of their exact proficiency, Eragon had them cast a series of spells. As he watched them struggle with enchantments that he now considered simple, Eragon became aware of just how far his own powers had advanced. To Saphira, he marveled, And to think I once had trouble lifting a pebble in the air.
And to think, she replied, Galbatorix has had over a century to hone his talent.
The sun was low in the west, intensifying the fermented orange light until the Varden’s camp, the livid Jiet River, and the entirety of the Burning Plains glowed in the mad, marbled effulgence, as if in a scene from a lunatic’s dreams. The sun was no more than a finger’s breadth above the horizon when a runner arrived at the tent. He told Eragon that Nasuada ordered him to attend her at once. “An’ I think you’d better hurry, Shadeslayer, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
After extracting a promise from Du Vrangr Gata that they would be ready and willing when he called upon them for assistance, Eragon ran alongside Saphira through the rows of gray tents toward Nasuada’s pavilion. A harsh tumult above them caused Eragon to lift his eyes from the treacherous ground long enough to glance overhead.
What he saw was a giant flock of birds wheeling between the two armies. He spotted eagles, hawks, and falcons, along with countless greedy crows and their larger, dagger-beaked, blue-backed, rapacious cousin, the raven. Each bird shrieked for blood to wet its throat and enough hot meat to fill its belly and sate its hunger. By experience and instinct, they knew that whenever armies appeared in Alagaësia, they could expect to feast on acres of carrion.
The clouds of war are gathering, observed Eragon.
NAR GARZHVOG
ragon entered the pavilion, Saphira pushing her head through after him. He was met by a steely rasp as Jörmundur and a half-dozen of Nasuada’s commanders drew their swords at the intruders. The men lowered their weapons as Nasuada said, “Come here, Eragon.”
“What is your bidding?” Eragon asked.
“Our scouts report that a company of some hundred Kull approach from the northeast.”
Eragon frowned. He had not expected to encounter Urgals in this battle, since Durza
no longer controlled them and so many had been killed in Farthen Dûr. But if they had come, they had come. He felt his bloodlust rise and allowed himself a savage grin as he contemplated destroying Urgals with his new strength. Clapping his hand to Zar’roc’s hilt, he said, “It will be a pleasure to eliminate them. Saphira and I can handle it by ourselves, if you want.”
Nasuada watched his face carefully as she said, “We can’t do that, Eragon. They’re flying a white flag, and they have asked to talk with me.”
Eragon gaped at her. “Surely you don’t intend to grant them an audience?”
“I will offer them the same courtesies I would to any foe who arrives under the banner of truce.”
“They’re brutes, though. Monsters! It’s folly to allow them into the camp.… Nasuada, I have seen the atrocities Urgals commit. They relish pain and suffering and deserve no more mercy than a rabid dog. There is no need for you to waste time over what is surely a trap. Just give the word and I and every last one of your warriors will be more than willing to kill these foul creatures for you.”
“In this,” said Jörmundur, “I agree with Eragon. If you won’t listen to us, Nasuada, at least listen to him.”
First Nasuada said to Eragon in a murmur low enough that no one else could hear, “Your training is indeed unfinished if you are so blinded.” Then she raised her voice, and in it Eragon heard the same adamantine notes of command that her father had possessed: “You all forget that I fought in Farthen Dûr, the same as you, and that I saw the savagery of the Urgals.… However, I also saw our own men commit acts just as heinous. I shall not denigrate what we have endured at the Urgals’ hands, but neither shall I ignore potential allies when we are so greatly outnumbered by the Empire.”
“My Lady, it’s too dangerous for you to meet with a Kull.”
“Too dangerous?” Nasuada raised an eyebrow. “While I am protected by Eragon, Saphira, Elva, and all the warriors around me? I think not.”
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