Hi! How are you guys? Good, yes? Here is the Nasuada chapter that a lot of you guys wanted! It's more politics than anything, but, well, she's a politician, so, yeah. Sorry?

Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance Cycle.

"I am sometimes a fox and sometimes a lion. The whole secret of government lies in knowing when to be one or the other." –Napoleon Bonaparte.

Chapter Thirty-seven: Some Wisdom

"Damn them all," Nasuada muttered, rubbing the lines off her forehead. "Damn them and their children's children!"

"Problem, my lady?" Angela the witch asked, leaning back in her chair.

Nasuada glared at the other woman.

"They really are a worrisome family," the witch continued cheerfully. "Every last one of them. It's Palancar's blood, you know. The man was absolutely mad, and all of his descendants tend to share that little trait."

"The rest of the Carvahall recruits are fine," the Lady of the Varden snapped, tapping her table. "They're all normal, hard-working people. But these three, oh, these three."

Angela smiled fondly. "They are something else," she said. "It's a pity we haven't had them all on the same side for longer than a few days. I'd imagine we would have won the war by now."

Nasuada snorted. Yes, with Eragon, Murtagh, and Roran all fighting for the Varden at the same time, the Empire would have fallen in a matter of weeks. If she didn't kill the lot of them first.

Which was currently her predicament, because Lady Nasuada was half-tempted to have Roran and Murtagh murdered on sight, whenever they returned.

She had not heard from Murtagh for over two weeks, since he had crossed the Edda River.

And Roran was still missing, a month and a half after his disappearance. She had received one hastily-written letter from him nearly a month ago, and that was it.

Lady Nasuada, the letter had read.

I am alive. I am safe. I am hidden with the Empire. Do not send anyone after me. I will return as soon as I find Katrina.

RS

Nasuada shook her head irritably, standing and pacing around the room. Angela watched with her usual air of vague amusement.

"You shouldn't worry about them so much," she said breezily. "Murtagh has a dragon and two others Riders to look after him and Roran is quick on his feet. They'll be fine."

"I know," Nasuada muttered. "But I can't help but worry about them anyway. What if something happens to them? They are cut off from us and the support we can give. Murtagh has dragons and magic, but what happens if the tales of the East are true? If he encounters a god or some ancient being that he can't handle? And Roran is with the Empire. One man against hordes of thousands. If he is discovered, they'll kill him. Or worse, take him to Uru'baen."

Angela chewed her lip thoughtfully.

"They are my people," Nasuada said fiercely. "My responsibility. If they die, I am responsible. I should be able to help them."

Angela smiled gently. "You have a good heart," she said. "But you are misguided, my dear. Murtagh is the Leader of the Dragon Riders—he is no one's responsibility but his dragon's and his own. Roran is the descendant of King Palancar, the original Mad King. His blood is royalty and his loyalty is to his wife."

"They are both sworn to me," Nasuada argued.

"Are they? Eragon made such a vow, but he is dead." The Lady of the Varden winced, but Angela ignored her. "Murtagh has made no such vow. And Roran has never taken a public oath of fealty. They work with the Varden, but they don't owe loyalty to it."

"But—"

Angela put her hand up. "They choose to be your allies," she said sternly. "They willingly—well, usually—follow you into battle. But they are allies, not serfs, not vassals. They aren't your responsibility."

Nasuada turned away, her jaw set in a grim line. "But I feel like they are."

"And that would be your heart," the witch said, not unkindly. "Stupid little things, our hearts. King Palancar tried to cut his out, you know. Thought it would make him less human, a more perfect ruler."

Nasuada laughed bleakly. "Sounds like he had the right idea."

"The old fool bled to death," Angela snorted. "In front of his subjects, no less. Embarrassing."

The Varden's Lady couldn't help but giggle a little. "That must have been a sight."

"Oh yes," Angela said. "It was."

Nasuada arched an eyebrow. "Were you there?"

"Now now, you know it's not polite to ask a woman her age," the witch sang, eyes flashing merrily. "I'll have to set Solembum on you."

"You will do no such thing," the werecat said, prowling into the room in his human form. He inclined his head slightly to Nasuada before glaring at the witch.

Angela grinned at him.

"Solembum," Nasuada greeted.

"Lady," he said dryly. "You sent for me?"

As a matter of fact, Nasuada had sent for the werecat—she had a mission that required his…less than human skills. She nodded, gesturing for him to sit.

The shaggy-haired boy glared at her and remained standing.

Well then. "I need you to find Roran Stronghammer," Nasuada said bluntly. There was no point in being subtle with a being like Solembum. "It has been long enough—I need him back."

The boy blinked, and she could swear that amusement gleamed in his bright eyes. "And what will you give me, if I find your missing General, Lady Nasuada? Think carefully."

Nasuada looked at Angela quickly, but the witch's face was schooled into polite amusement. She would be no help, then. What could a werecat possibly want? She wracked her brains, searching for everything she knew about werecats. They were immortal, sometimes human-shaped and sometimes cat-shaped, but they were neither human nor cat. Gold and jewels meant nothing to them. Lands and titles were useless. They did not need magical items and they did not crave company.

What could a werecat want? They were just shadows, really, always on the edge of things, the friends of farmers and heroes, ready with a sharp tooth and a riddle to show the way—

That's it! Nasuada thought, excited. Riddles! Werecats were fiercely intelligent creatures. Kings and elves occasionally kept them as companions for their intelligence; it was nearly impossible to trick a werecat.

If you can befriend a werecat, do so, her father had told her once, many years ago. A werecat, if he respects you, can save your life.

Nasuada smiled at Solembum. "A riddle," she said.

The shaggy-haired boy tilted his head thoughtfully. "A riddle?" he drawled. "You want me to risk my life in the Empire's land for a riddle?"

"Not just any riddle," the Lady of the Varden said. "A riddle you can't solve. An impossible riddle."

"If you can give me a riddle I can't solve, I will do whatever you ask," the werecat said with a sly grin. His eyes gleamed. He clearly didn't think that she would be able to stump him.

"Tell me, Solembum, have you ever spent time among the Wandering Tribes?"

"No."

Nasuada's smile widened, and even Angela looked intrigued. "Interesting. Are you ready?"

The werecat nodded.

The Varden's Lady took a deep breath, calling up her father's old stories and vague, shifting memories of a time long past. Every Tribe-born child knew this riddle, but Solembum had never traveled among the Tribes, so he probably wouldn't know it…

She hoped, anyway.

"He lurks beside the mountain pass, he hides within the avalanche, he makes his home amid the snowflake white. He waits within the forests deep, he watches from the precipice, he seizes whom he will wherever they are. He hurls down rocks from mountainsides, he fells the tree that crashes down, he whispers to the serpent when to strike. He guides the mountain lion's spring, he hides with the rushing stream, he seizes those who cross and drags them down rivers. He rides upon the wings of storms, he hurls the lightning's blinding flames, he hovers in the air above the homes. Who is he?"

Nasuada finished the riddle and watched Solembum, who narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Angela hid a smile behind her hand, her eyes dancing. She had probably spent some time with a Tribe—she had spent time with every group of people, it seemed.

Solembum paced, chewing his lip, around and around the room.

It's easy, if you think about it, Nasuada thought. But then, she hadn't been able to figure it out the first time, either. The riddle was one of the core ideas of the Wandering Tribes. To understand it, one first had to understand just what the tribes were.

They were nomads.

They had no homes, no lands, no herds. All they had was what they carried, both on their backs and in their hearts.

Finally, Solembum straightened, eyes flashing proudly. "The wind," he said. "He is the wind."

Nasuada grinned. "No." Very close, but no. That was her guess too, all those years ago when Ajihad first gave her the riddle. It made sense, but it was wrong.

"Then what?" Solembum snapped, clearly annoyed. He didn't like being wrong, apparently, and now he had to go off among the Empire to find Roran.

Angela giggled.

"The spirit," Nasuada said. "The answer to the riddle is the spirit."

The werecat stared.

And stared.

And, finally, began to laugh, throwing his head back. "That's good," he said, more amused than annoyed now. "Very good indeed. I'll have to spend some time among your Tribes, then, if this is what you can come up with. The spirit. How interesting."

Nasauda smiled at him, bowing slightly. "Our Elders aim to please."

The werecat grinned, all sharp teeth and bright eyes. "I will go find your missing General, Lady Nasuada. You'll have to share more riddles with me when I get back." He bowed, nodded at Angela, and then was gone.

"Oh, that was clever," Angela said happily. "I haven't seen him that surprised since the housewives of Teirm decided he was a god."

The Lady of the Varden raised an eyebrow. "Did you know the answer?"

"Oh, yes." The witch flapped her hand dismissively. "Spirit, that's important to your Tribes, isn't it? Will, motion, driving force. Something I've always admired about you, actually, and your father."

Nasuada eyed the witch, but Angela just smiled beatifically.

"Now then," she continued. "I believe you were worried about a certain family of idiots?"

Nasuada's heart sank and she glared. She knew it was childish, but she couldn't help it. Out-riddling Solembum had taken her mind of the near-constant worry she'd been feeling for weeks now, and the witch just had to ruin it—

"Why don't you take matters into your own hands?"

Nasuada blinked. "What?"

"You're the leader of the Varden," the blonde woman continued. "What are you doing sitting here, waiting for Roran and Murtagh to come back? Where's your spirit, woman? Move! Act! Don't just sit here and mope!"

"It's still winter," Nasuada argued. "I can't move the fighters. What will we eat? How will we survive the cold?"

Angela rolled her eyes. "Don't make me do all the thinking for you! You're intelligent! Your father raised you for this. You moved the host of the Varden out of Farthen Dur during the wintertime, how is this different? You wouldn't even be going as far this time, only to Dras Leona. That's five days' march up the Lake, if that."

"The food, the cold—"

"Bah," the witch said. "You have magicians. You'll figure it out."

Nasuada stared. War in the wintertime? It was unheard of! Moving troops, feeding them, keeping them warm, all were nearly impossible to accomplish during the dead of winter.

"Spring is only a month away," she argued. "Why can't we wait until then? It'll be safer."

"But expected."

Nasuada stopped. Angela did have a point. "If we went now, we could catch the city off its guard," she murmured. "The King would notice, of course, but having only five days to prepare what normally takes a week or more? Dras Leona would be vulnerable."

Angela only leaned back, looking pleased with herself.

"We could do it," Nasuada murmured. Yes, the Varden had less men than the Empire, but they had more courage, more spirit. And they had all of the cities on the sea—Dras Leona was the Empire's last trading post. With it in the Varden's hands, they'd starve, and Uru'baen would be weak.

"Could we get the elves out of Teirm?" she asked.

"Oh, I'd imagine so," Angela said. "Last I heard they had a host of fifteen hundred warriors there. They can spare a thousand or so, now that the city's fallen."

"Can they?" Nasuada asked, worried about the city rebelling, fighting back. Teirm was the third-largest city in the Empire, populated with thousands of people. Would five hundred elves really be enough to hold onto the city?

"They're elves," Angela said, waving her hand again. "Besides, the city has actually improved underneath them. After our crazy general burned the harbor, it was shut down. The people spent nearly a year starving. With the elves and their habit of singing food out of the ground, I hear the city's been doing quite well."

Nasuada nodded. She'd heard that too. "Seven hundred elves in the city," she said decisively, dragging out her map and moving some pieces around. "If we can bring the others down across Leona Lake, and we come up from the southeast…"

Angela smiled.

"The dragons," Nasuada said, straightening.

"You want to use them?"

She shook her head, pacing again. "No, no, the dragons have, for the last month or so, been spying in Uru'baen."

Angela stared, surprised for once. "Actually spying?"

Nasuada nodded. "They developed a trick, down in those caves. A way of breaking past even the densest of wards, even from a great distance. They've been inside Uru'baen's wards for the better part of three weeks now."

"How?"

"Doesn't matter," she said. "They're in. They have a path to Saphira."

"She's alive?" Angela's face softened into something Nasuada couldn't place. Relief, maybe, and pity, and pain.

Nasuada nodded. "Galbatorix has her caged in the dragonhold. She's alive, but from what I understand, she seems…hollow. Empty."

"I can work on that," the witch said, her face storm-dark. "I think it is time for me to pay the Riders a visit."

"Don't break them," Nasuada muttered. "Would you mind sending the captains in to me? I have them gathered downstairs."

Angela nodded, and then she too was gone.

Nasuada stared at the map, her thoughts whirling. Could she really do it? Could she surprise the Empire and take Dras Leona? A plan was forming in the depths of her mind, a dangerous plan, to be sure, but one with spirit, one that her father would've been proud of…

"You summoned us, milady?" Captain Horst of Carvahall stood in the doorway with the rest of the captains behind him, waiting expectantly.

"Come in, come in," Nasuada said.

They did, standing tall and proud in front of her.

She breathed, then began. "We are going to attack Dras Leona."

Instantly the captains—even the two elves in attendance—started to voice their protests.

"Impossible!" Nasuada heard.

"We'll freeze!"

"How will we eat?"

"It can't be done!"

Nasuada held her hand up and waited for them to quiet down. "It has not been done," she said, "but that doesn't mean it can't be done."

"It's the dead of winter," Bjard, a young captain, argued. "We'll freeze before we even get there, and that's not even considering the supplies we'd need to make such a march!"

"We wouldn't freeze, or starve," Nasuada said. "We have spellcasters—they can help us find food and keep us warm. Think about it! Galbatorix will know as soon as the host leaves the gates, but five days isn't enough time to prepare an entire city, not when they were expecting to have another month at least!"

"We can catch them off guard," Horst murmured thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "Aye, she has a point. If they're not ready, we shouldn't have too much trouble getting in. We got into Belatona, after all."

"And this time, we'll have the elves," Nasuada said encouragingly. "At least eight hundred of them."

The two elves put their heads together briefly and then nodded, faces set.

"And our Dragon Riders," the Lady continued, bolstering their confidence. "We took Belatona with two Riders, no elves, and less of a fighting force than we have now. Dras Leona will fall!"

The anxious murmuring began to change, picking up speed as more and more of the captains came around.

"We could do it," she sang out, above the noise. "We are the Varden!"

The answering roar sent a thrill through her bones, but one captain—Arred, if she remembered right—did not join in the shouting.

"What about the King," he asked, and in that moment Nasuada could've killed him.

Everyone went dead quiet.

"What if Galbatorix decides to join this fight, like he did last time? What about the Halflings? Are these Riders up to it?"

Nasuada did her best not to glare at the man. He had a valid point, just, not one she wanted to deal with, right now. She took a deep breath.

"Galbatorix can't leave Uru'baen," she said. "It's overcome with riots in the wintertime, and if he leaves, the city will burn down."

Arred looked at her, and she could see that he needed more. She hated having to do this, but…

"What I am about to say to you must not leave this room," she growled, drawing herself up taller, setting her face. "I am perfectly serious. The very safety of the Varden is at risk."

One by one the captains nodded, intrigued despite themselves.

"There are more Dragon Riders."

Shocked silence met her lie.

"The Rider clan in the caves was not the only clan to survive the First Rider War. Beyond Alagaesia, in the deep and secret places, the Riders have lived. Murtagh has gone to collect them."

"How many?" Arred said, breaking the silence.

You stubborn bastard.

"I don't know the exact numbers," she said carefully, "but Murtagh believed it to be around twenty."

"Twenty Dragon Riders? Hiding all this time?"

Nasuada nodded—it really wasn't that much of a stretch, to be honest. First the elves had been hiding a golden dragon in Du Weldenvarden and then five more had sprung up from the Spine.

"Galbatorix could not stomp out an entire organization of warriors," she said strongly. She hated this, lying to them, but, well, sometimes it had to be done. "Of course there are more in hiding. And the time has come for them to fight. And they will! Will Galbatorix dare test himself against twenty-six Dragon Riders at once? He cannot! Two Riders alone nearly beat him!"

The enthusiasm was returning to the gathered men—they believed her. Good. This lie served two purposes—one, her captains would be confident and lead the men into battle whole-heartedly, and two, Galbatorix, when he heard the rumor—and he would, Nasuada didn't doubt that—he would no doubt focus all his efforts on trying to see what Murtagh was doing. He would be distracted.

And Nasuada needed him distracted.

"We shall march in two weeks," she said decisively. "Start gathering supplies, getting your troops into order, and so on. Do not tell anyone else what is to be done. Understand? This must remain a surprise."

All of the captains, heartened by her plan and her lies, nodded happily.

"Swear to the elves," she ordered, and they did, binding themselves in the ancient language. They would not speak of the plan, but somehow, the rumor of the twenty Riders would get out, she knew it. She was counting on it.

And maybe it was wrong to lie to them, to the captains who trusted her to lead them, but it was necessary, right now. She needed Galbatorix distracted. Because if he was scrying, distracted from his city and his palace…

Saphira could be freed.

Nasuada nodded to herself, as her men filed out of the stuffy room. This plan would work. It had to work.

When this clan of Riders didn't show up, her men were sure to be angry—furious, even—but she hoped that Eragon's reappearance would soothe that, at least a little. She had to lie, in case there was a spy among her captains. The King had to believe this rumor.

She was reminded, suddenly, of one of her father's favorite sayings. The charging wolf kills the most enemies, but the sly fox gets the most food.

An obvious attack on Dras Leona would probably work, but, like a wolf that took on a much-larger enemy, if Galbatorix showed up, they would probably die, or at least suffer massive casualties. But if the Varden was the sly fox, sneaking around the distraction of, say, a fake clan of Riders, well…

Then they just might win this thing.

Keep telling yourself that, Nasuada thought dryly, and stared out at the city until night fell.

A note on the Wandering Tribes: they sound a lot like Native Americans (in my head cannon, anyway), paricularly the Navajo people, and so the riddle Nasuada gave Solembum is a Native American riddle. The Native Americans were, above all things, concerned with matters of the spirit.

A note on time: When Edoc'sil began, it was two months after the end of Eldunari. Roran has been missing for about a month and a half and Murtagh & co have been gone for just over three weeks. It's currently about the Alagaesian equivalent of February. Hope that helps!

Review, y/y?

~WSS