Magic is Force: Chapter 30
"The price of your treachery…"
So thought Eragon as he stepped over a twisted and hacked Urgal, listening to the keening of women who removed loved ones from the blood-muddied ground of Farthen Dûr. Behind him Saphira delicately skirted the corpse, her glittering blue scales the only color in the gloom that filled the hollow mountain.
It was three days since the Varden and dwarves had fought the Urgals for possession of Tronjheim, the battlefield was still strewn with carnage. The sheer number of bodies had stymied their attempts to bury the dead. In the distance, a mountainous fire glowed sullenly by Farthen Dûr's wall where the Urgals were being burned. No burial or honored resting place for them.
Since waking to find his wound healed by a joint effort by Angela, Karn and Arya Eragon had tried three times to assist in the recovery effort. On each occasion he had been racked by terrible pains that seemed to explode from his spine. Angela gave him various potions to drink. The times that he was accompanying Arya during his fits, she would suddenly relieve herself and disappear for couple hours before returning to his side. She never explained her reasons for disappearing. Nevertheless, he hurt. Nor could Saphira help, only share his pain as it rebounded across their mental link.
Eragon ran a hand over his face and looked up at the stars showing through Farthen Dûr's distant top, which were smudged with sooty smoke from the pyre. Three days. Three days since he had killed Durza; three days since people began calling him Shadeslayer; three days since the remnants of the sorcerer's consciousness had ravaged his mind and he had been saved by the mysterious entity.
Fighting Durza and the dark spirits that controlled him had transformed Eragon; although for better or for worse he was still unsure. He felt fragile, as if a sudden shock would shatter his reconstructed body and consciousness.
And now he had come to the site of the combat, driven by a morbid desire to see its aftermath. Upon arriving, he found nothing but the uncomfortable presence of death and decay, not the glory that heroic songs had led him to expect.
Before his uncle, Garrow, was slain by the Ra'zac months earlier, the brutality that Eragon had witnessed between the humans, dwarves, and Urgals would have destroyed him. Now it numbed him. He had realized, with Saphira's and Karn's help, that the only way to stay rational amid such pain was to do things. Beyond that, he no longer believed that life possessed inherent meaning—not after seeing men torn apart by the Kull, a race of giant Urgals, and the ground a bed of thrashing limbs and the dirt so wet with blood it soaked through the soles of his boots. If any honor existed in war, he concluded, it was in fighting to protect others from harm.
"You would be correct in that mentality."
Eragon's attention was drawn to a section of the field where several bodies of both dead men and dwarves were piled into one bloodied assembly. Gazing solemnly into their masses stood a blackened-cloaked figure. The armor that covered his robes were removed while his hood shaded his features. His lightsaber dangled from his belt, and he thumbed at it as if in thought.
Eragon came to stand by the Grey Knight with Saphira's large mass surrounding them both. Her massive head lowered itself until it only floated a few inches above their heads, her large sapphire eyes gazing over the pile of corpses.
"I could sense your thoughts all the way from Tronjheim," Karn remarked. "You've been quite open with your mind recently."
"This battle has left my mind dazed and bothered," Eragon replied as he ruffled his own hair, trying to make sense of everything that has happened.
"It is natural," Karn admitted. "Whether it be skirmishes, battles or wars, they all leave our minds numbed and leave us with more questions."
What questions, exactly? Saphira's mind echoed across their consciousnesses.
An arm extended out, a finger pointing to the bodies, "You begin to question yourself," he added. "What could I have done differently to have ensured that their lives continued? Am I strong enough to continue on? Will I fail? Will I fail them?"
Each word that came from Karn seem to come out with great effort; a hint of emotion embedded in his voice. "Those questions," Eragon interjected, "sound quite personal."
"Any person who has fought experiences those thoughts," Karn retorted. He knelt down and placed his hand to the dirt and it seemed to sink into it. When he raised his hand, it was covered in blood. "I'm no different."
Karn's words seem to settle in Eragon's mind. What could I have done differently? Will I end up dying myself? Will I fail everyone? His mood darkened as these deep and demurring epiphanies left him much to ponder. With his connection to Saphira, he could feel her brooding the very same questions. Will this battle against the Empire lead them to their demise? If this is the result of his defiance against Galbatorix, what would the future bring?
"These questions..," Karn continued, taking a second to glance up at him. His gaze instantly told Eragon that he could sense his thoughts, "can make even the strongest being fall. Succumbed to their own worry; their guilt; and fear of the unknown."
He wiped his bloodied hand on a patch grass that somehow managed to avoid being defiled amidst the battle and rose to his full height. "These question are important to wonder but you and Saphira should not let them rule over you. Instead, focus on the here and now. Focus on the next step and the next step after that. And slowly, your worry, fear and doubt will no longer appear so great."
Very wise words, Karn. It will take some time for us to adjust to this…change. She spoke as her bulbous head swiveled, her eyes gazing across the aftermath.
"I don't expect either of you to get used to it," he rubbed the scales that stretched along her neck, taking care to tickle the softer regions under it. She purred at his touch and wriggled slightly at the sensation. He turned and clapped Eragon on the shoulder, catching him by surprise. "If you somehow did, I'd consider you both mad."
Eragon bent and plucked a tooth, a molar, from the dirt. Bouncing it on his palm, he, Saphira and Karn slowly made a circuit through the trampled plain. They stopped at its edge when they noticed Jörmundur—Ajihad's second in command in the Varden—hurrying toward them from Tronjheim. When he came near, Jörmundur bowed, a gesture Eragon knew he would never have made just days before.
"I'm glad I found you both in time." He clutched a parchment note in one hand. "Ajihad is returning, and he wants you both to be there when he arrives. The others are already waiting for him by Tronjheim's west gate. We'll have to hurry to get there in time."
Eragon nodded and headed toward the gate, keeping a hand on Saphira, and Karn bringing up the rear – walking alongside Jörmundur. Ajihad had been gone most of the three days, hunting down Urgals who had managed to escape into the dwarf tunnels that honeycombed the stone beneath the Beor Mountains.
The one time Eragon had seen him between expeditions, Ajihad was in a rage over discovering that his daughter, Nasuada, had disobeyed his orders to leave with the other women and children before the battle. Instead, she had secretly fought among the Varden's archers.
Murtagh and the Twins had accompanied Ajihad: the Twins because it was dangerous work and the Varden's leader needed the protection of their magical skills, and Murtagh because he was eager to continue proving that he bore the Varden no ill will. It surprised Eragon how much people's attitudes toward Murtagh had changed, considering that Murtagh's father was the Dragon Rider Morzan, who had betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix. Even though Murtagh despised his father and was loyal to Eragon, the Varden had not trusted him. But now, no one was willing to waste energy on a petty hate when so much work remained. Eragon missed talking with Murtagh and looked forward to discussing all that had happened, once he returned.
As Eragon and Saphira rounded Tronjheim, a small group became visible in the pool of lantern light before the timber gate. Among them were Orik—the dwarf shifting impatiently on his stout legs—and Arya. The white bandage around her upper arm gleamed in the darkness, reflecting a faint highlight onto the bottom of her hair. Eragon felt a strange thrill, as he always did when he saw the elf. She looked at him and Saphira, green eyes flashing.
After the battle, once Eragon had recovered, he felt different. Not solely because his back was seriously injured. He felt hollow. As if a part of him was missing. He wasn't entirely sure what the cause for making him feel like that was. At first when he woke up and felt that 'hollowness' he had feared the worse for Saphira. Yet she stayed by his side while he recovered – which relieved him greatly.
However, every instance where Arya would be amidst his presence that hollow feeling would disappear. The world seemed clearer –whole. It baffled him. Perhaps it was just because of her demeanor and her presence that allowed him to feel like that. Eragon consulted Saphira about this feeling and unusually, Saphira remained quiet about that subject. His attempts at procuring information from her proved fruitless.
This unsettled Eragon slightly. If Saphira was purposefully keeping something from him, what kind of a truth did she want to keep quiet? More importantly, why couldn't she trust him about it?
He, Saphira and Karn stopped by Orik and looked out at the empty land that surrounded Tronjheim, extending to Farthen Dûr's base five miles away in each direction. "Where will Ajihad come from?" asked Eragon. Orik pointed at a cluster of lanterns staked around a large tunnel opening a couple of miles away. "He should be here soon."
Eragon waited patiently with the others, answering comments directed at him but preferring to speak with Saphira and Karn in the peace of his mind. The quiet that filled Farthen Dûr suited him.
Half an hour passed before motion flickered in the distant tunnel. A group of ten men climbed out onto the ground, then turned and helped up as many dwarves. One of the men—Eragon assumed it was Ajihad— raised a hand, and the warriors assembled behind him in two straight lines. At a signal, the formation marched proudly toward Tronjheim.
Before they went more than five yards, the tunnel behind them swarmed with a flurry of activity as more figures jumped out. Eragon squinted, unable to see clearly from so far away.
"Those are Urgals!" exclaimed Saphira, her body tensing like a drawn bowstring. Eragon did not question her. "Urgals!" he cried, and leaped onto Saphira, berating himself for leaving his sword, Zar'roc, in his room. No one had expected an attack now that the Urgal army had been driven away.
His wound twinged as Saphira lifted her azure wings, then drove them down and jumped forward, gaining speed and altitude each second. Below them, Karn and Arya ran toward the tunnel, nearly keeping pace with Saphira. Orik trailed her with several men, while Jörmundur sprinted back toward the barracks.
Eragon was forced to watch helplessly as the Urgals fell on the rear of Ajihad's warriors; he could not work magic over such a distance. The monsters had the advantage of surprise and quickly cut down four men, forcing the rest of the warriors, men and dwarves alike, to cluster around Ajihad in an attempt to protect him.
Swords and axes clashed as the groups pressed together. Light flashed from one of the Twins, and an Urgal fell, clutching the stump of his severed arm. For a minute, it seemed the defenders would be able to resist the Urgals, but then a swirl of motion disturbed the air, like a faint band of mist wrapping itself around the combatants.
The air seemed to grow thin and cold. And a darkness seemed to descend upon the combatants. Out from the opening of the cave, a lone figure approached Ajihad's column. Blinding red lightning spurred to life arched from the figure's hand. The arcs of electricity striking several members of Ajihad's guards – turning them into smoking corpses.
When the lightning cleared, only four warriors were standing: Ajihad, the Twins, and Murtagh. The figure and Urgals converged on them, blocking Eragon's view as he stared with rising horror and fear.
No! No! No!
Before Saphira could reach the fight, the knot of Urgals streamed back to the tunnel and scrambled underground, leaving only the lonesome figure at the entrance of the tunnel.
"Fóvos!" Karn's voice cried from beneath Saphira.
The Sith Lord outstretched arms towards the ceiling of the tunnel. The ground suddenly begin to quake. Dust and rock began to fall to the ground. With a wave of his hand, the tunnel began to collapse. Giant boulders and tons of dirt covered the entrance. A cloud of dust billowing out towards Eragon and Saphira.
The moment Saphira touched down, Eragon vaulted off, then faltered, overcome by grief and anger.
I can't do this. It reminded him too much of when he had returned to the farm to find his uncle Garrow dying. Fighting back his dread with every step, he began to search for survivors. The site was eerily similar to the battlefield he had inspected earlier, except that here the blood was fresh.
"Eragon!" Karn's cry echoed out. "Over here!" He was knelt down by one of the bodies, his hands outstretched with an amber glow producing from his hands.
In the center of the massacre lay Ajihad, a smoldering gold coin size hole pierced his breastplate, the flesh underneath eviscerated. Numerous gashes left him bleed profusely. He was surrounded by five Urgals that he had slain. His breath still came in ragged gasps. Eragon knelt by him and lowered his face so his tears would not land on the leader's ruined chest. No one could heal such wounds. A sorrowful expression gripped his friends face while he tried to administer healing with the Force.
Running up to them, Arya paused and stopped, her face transformed with sorrow when she saw that Ajihad could not be saved. Unknown emotions swarmed Eragon's mind like sea waves wracking the shore. His heart began to increase in beat as he felt something tug at his consciousness. He looked towards Saphira but what he felt wasn't her feelings. He focused on Arya and as he did so, the feelings bolstered in intensity; the tugging at his consciousness unbearable.
"Eragon." The name slipped from Ajihad's lips—no more than a whisper. "Yes, I am here."
"Listen to me, Eragon... I have one last command for you." Eragon leaned closer to catch the dying man's words. "You must promise me something: promise that you... won't let the Varden fall into chaos. They are the only hope for resisting the Empire... They must be kept strong. You must promise me."
"I promise."
"Then peace be with you, Eragon Shadeslayer..." With his last breath, Ajihad closed his eyes, setting his noble face in repose, and died.
The glow receded from Karn as he cut off the flow of power of the Force. He knelt there silently, tears beginning to build in his eyes.
Eragon bowed his head. He had trouble breathing past the lump in his throat, which was so hard it hurt. Arya blessed Ajihad in a ripple of the ancient language, then said in her musical voice, "Alas, his death will cause much strife. He is right, you must do all you can to avert a struggle for power. I will assist where possible."
Unwilling to speak, Eragon gazed at the rest of the bodies. He would have given anything to be elsewhere. Saphira nosed one of the Urgals and said, This should not have happened. It is an evil doing, and all the worse for coming when we should be safe and victorious. She examined another body, then swung her head around. Where are the Twins and Murtagh? They're not among the dead.
Eragon scanned the corpses. You're right! Elation surged within him as he hurried to the tunnel's collapsed mouth. The Urgals must have taken them! But why? They don't keep prisoners or hostages. Despair instantly returned. It doesn't matter. We can't pursue them without reinforcements; we need to clear the entrance before we can do anything!
They may still be alive. Would you abandon them?
What do you expect me to do? The dwarf tunnels are an endless maze! I would only get lost. And I couldn't catch Urgals on foot, though Arya and Karn might be able to.
Then ask them to.
Eragon hesitated, torn between his desire for action and his loathing to put them in danger. Still, if anyone in the Varden could handle the Urgals, it was those two. With a groan, he explained what they had found to the elf and Force-user.
Arya's slanted eyebrows met in a frown. "It makes no sense. Why would Urgals take prisoners?"
"Fóvos, lead that group," Karn interjected. "Urgals won't have a need for prisoners, but he would."
"Will you pursue them?" pleaded Eragon.
"We'll need to remove the rubble before we can do anything." Karn stated pointing to the tunnel.
"Is there a faster way?"
Arya shook her head, "By the time we managed to get to another tunnel and backtrack to get to this one, we'll have lost precious time."
"So there's nothing we can do?" Eragon shouted with frustration.
Without even a word, Karn broke away from him, Saphira, Arya and approached the tunnels mouth.
"I'll do everything that I can," he answered back. He stood before the rock and rubble, his hands extended at his sides.
Burning with frustration, Eragon gazed down at Ajihad, keeping watch over the body. He could barely assimilate the fact that Ajihad was dead and Murtagh missing. Murtagh. Son of one of the Forsworn—the thirteen Riders who had helped Galbatorix destroy their order and anoint himself king of Alagaësia—and Eragon's friend. At times Eragon had wished Murtagh gone, but now that he had been forcibly removed, the loss left an unexpected void. He sat motionless as Orik approached with the men.
When Orik saw Ajihad, he stamped his feet and swore in Dwarvish, swinging his ax into the body of an Urgal. The men only stood in shock. Rubbing a pinch of dirt between his callused hands, the dwarf growled, "Ah, now a hornet's nest has broken; we'll have no peace among the Varden after this. Barzûln, but this makes things complicated. Were you in time to hear his last words?"
Eragon glanced at Saphira. "They must wait for the right person before I'll repeat them."
The air around them seemed to vibrate around them. The hairs on the back of Eragon's neck stood on end as tendrils of power pricked his mind. Air whipped around the contingent, the source originating from an orb cupped in Karn's hands.
The orb swirled with energy, rotating in suspension. As Karn's hands drew away from one another, the orb grew in size and density. When the orb was nearly two feet in diameter, Karn flung his arms out, releasing the orb.
It struck the rubble and torrents of energy broke from the ball, unleashed upon the blocked passage. A thundering crack and pressure blew back debris from the cave forcing Eragon and everyone there to cover their eyes and ears.
The dust cloud that formed was pushed away with stroke of Karn's hand, revealing a makeshift opening in the rubble – large enough to allow some traffic to traverse through it.
"If we're leaving, the time is now," Karn exclaimed.
Eragon gave one last look at Arya, "I beg you, please."
She stared at him for a heavy moment. "Wiol ono." For you. Then she bounded forward, sword flashing in her hand as she dove into the earth's belly. Karn followed suit, lightsaber ignited in hand, the blade rising in pitch as he entered into the abyss.
Jörmundur soon arrived with twelve ranks of six warriors each. He motioned for them to wait outside the radius of bodies while he proceeded onward alone. He bent and touched Ajihad on the shoulder. "How can fate be this cruel, my old friend? I would have been here sooner if not for the size of this cursed mountain, and then you might have been saved. Instead, we are wounded at the height of our triumph."
Eragon softly told him about Arya, Karn and the disappearance of the Twins and Murtagh. "They should not have gone," said Jörmundur, straightening, "but we can do naught about it now. Guards will be posted here, but it will be at least an hour before dwarf guides can be found for another expedition into the tunnels."
"I'd be willing to lead it," offered Orik. Jörmundur looked back at Tronjheim, his gaze distant.
"No, Hrothgar will need you now; someone else will have to go. I'm sorry, Eragon, but everyone important must stay here until Ajihad's successor is chosen. Arya and Karn will have to fend for themselves... We could not overtake them anyway."
Eragon nodded, accepting the inevitable.
Jörmundur swept his gaze around before saying so all could hear, "Ajihad has died a warrior's death! Look, he slew five Urgals where a lesser man might have been overwhelmed by one. We will give him every honor and hope his spirit pleases the gods. Bear him and our companions back to Tronjheim on your shields... and do not be ashamed to let your tears be seen, for this is a day of sorrow that all will remember. May we soon have the privilege of sheathing our blades in the monsters who have slain our leader!"
As one, the warriors knelt, baring their heads in homage to Ajihad. Then they stood and reverently lifted him on their shields so he lay between their shoulders. Already many of the Varden wept, tears flowing into beards, yet they did not disgrace their duty and allow Ajihad to fall. With solemn steps, they marched back to Tronjheim, Saphira and Eragon in the middle of the procession.
Eragon roused himself and rolled to the edge of the bed, looking about the room, which was suffused with the dim glow of a shuttered lantern. He sat and watched Saphira sleep. Her muscled sides expanded and contracted as the great bellows of her lungs forced air through her scaled nostrils. Eragon thought of the raging inferno that she could now summon at will and send roaring out of her maw. It was an awesome sight when flames hot enough to melt metal rushed past her tongue and ivory teeth without harming them. Since she first breathed fire during his fight with Durza—while plunging toward them from the top of Tronjheim— Saphira had been insufferably proud of her new talent. She was constantly releasing little jets of flame, and she took every opportunity to light objects ablaze.
Because Isidar Mithrim was shattered, Eragon and Saphira had been unable to remain in the dragonhold above it. The dwarves had given them quarters in an old guardroom on Tronjheim's bottom level. It was a large room, but with a low ceiling and dark walls.
Anguish gripped Eragon as he remembered the events of the previous day. Tears filled his eyes, spilling over, and he caught one on his hand. They had heard nothing from Arya or Karn until late that evening, when they emerged from the tunnel, weary and footsore. Despite their best efforts— and all her magic and the Force—the Urgals had escaped them. "I found these," she said. Then she revealed one of the Twins' purple robes, torn and bloodied, and Murtagh's tunic and both his leather gauntlets. "They were strewn along the edge of a black chasm, the bottom of which no tunnel reaches. The Urgals must have stolen their armor and weapons and thrown the bodies into the pit. I scryed both Murtagh and the Twins, and saw naught but the shadows of the abyss." Her eyes met Eragon's. "I'm sorry; they are gone."
Now, in the confines of his mind, Eragon mourned Murtagh. It was a dreadful, creeping feeling of loss and horror made worse by the fact that he had grown ever more familiar with it in past months.
Eragon took a deep breath, leaned back, and let calm settle over him. Since recovering from Durza's wound, he had realized—humbling as it was—that he had prevailed only through sheer luck. If I ever face another Shade, or the Ra'zac, or Galbatorix, I must be stronger if I expect to win. Brom could have taught me more, I know he could have. But without him, I have but one choice: the elves.
Saphira's breathing quickened, and she opened her eyes, yawning expansively. Good morning, little one.
Is it? He looked down and leaned on his hands, compressing the mattress. It's terrible... Murtagh and Ajihad... Why didn't sentries in the tunnels warn us of the Urgals? They shouldn't have been able to trail Ajihad's group without being noticed... Arya was right, it doesn't make sense.
We may never know the truth, said Saphira gently. She stood, wings brushing the ceiling. You need to eat, then we must discover what the Varden are planning. We can't waste time; a new leader could be chosen within hours. Eragon agreed, thinking of how they had left everyone yesterday: Orik rushing off to give King Hrothgar the tidings, Jörmundur taking Ajihad's body to a place where it would rest until the funeral.
Eragon rose and strapped on Zar'roc and his bow, then bent and lifted Snowfire's saddle. A line of pain sheared through his torso, driving him to the floor, where he writhed, scrabbling at his back. It felt like he was being sawed in half. Saphira growled as the ripping sensation reached her. She tried to soothe him with her own mind but was unable to alleviate his suffering. Her tail instinctually lifted, as if to fight.
It took minutes before the fit subsided and the last throb faded away, leaving Eragon gasping. Sweat drenched his face, making his hair stick and his eyes sting. He reached back and gingerly fingered the top of his scar. It was hot and inflamed and sensitive to touch. Saphira lowered her nose and touched him on the arm. Oh, little one...
It was worse this time, he said, staggering upright. She let him lean against her as he wiped off the sweat with a rag, then he tentatively stepped toward the door.
Are you strong enough to go?
We have to. We're obliged as dragon and Rider to make a public choice regarding the next head of the Varden, and perhaps even influence the selection. I won't ignore the strength of our position; we now wield great authority within the Varden. At least the Twins aren't here to grab the position for themselves. That's the only good in the situation.
Very well, but Durza should suffer a thousand years of torture for what he did to you.
He grunted. Just stay close to me.
The two just managed to get to get the door to the guard room before that tugging sensation gripped Eragon's person. Feelings of apprehension, concern and anxiety passed through his consciousness. Again they weren't from Saphira. His conscious felt like was being drawn out towards someone. That someone was just behind the door.
A series of raps at the door confirmed the feelings Eragon was having. Opening the door, he was surprised to see Arya waiting for him.
"Arya," his eyebrows rose, "how can I help you?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Eragon. But the Council of Elders is requesting your presence."
"Who are they?"
The question confused Arya. "The Council of Elders is the governing council of the Varden. They wish to speak on behalf of Ajihad. They were his trusted advisers, and now they wish to see you." She finished with a quick smile.
"Are you to lead me to them?"
"Yes, I am."
Saphira looked at Eragon questioningly. "Very well. But do you mind if we stop by somewhere and get something quick to eat?"
"Of course," she said. "I've yet to eat myself."
Together they made their way through Tronjheim, toward the nearest kitchen. In the corridors and hallways, people stopped and bowed to them, murmuring "Argetlam" or "Shadeslayer." Even dwarves made the motions, though not as often. Eragon was struck by the somber, haunted expressions of the humans and the dark clothing they wore to display their sadness. Many women were dressed entirely in black, lace veils covering their faces.
In the kitchen, Eragon brought a stone platter of food to a low table, Arya sat opposite of him. Saphira watched him carefully in case he should have another attack. Several people tried to approach him, but she lifted a lip and growled, sending them scurrying away. Eragon picked at his food and pretended to ignore the disturbances. Finally, trying to divert his thoughts from Murtagh, he asked, "Why does everyone call me 'Argetlam'."
Arya was slightly taken aback by his question. She just finished biting through the skin of a bright red apple before answering his question. "'Argetlam' means 'silver hand' in the ancient language. I'm surprised you didn't know what that means."
"My knowledge of the ancient language is limited," he admitted. "Brom only taught me enough words to assist me when casting a spell."
"If you're to become a Dragon Rider, you must become more proficient at speaking it," she replied. "And should you decide to travel to the Du Weldenvarden to continue your training, you will find little elves who engage in the common tongue."
The idea of further training never struck accord with Eragon. He never thought what would happen to him should something happen to Brom. Ever since he, Saphira and Brom left Carvahall – what seemed like a lifetime ago – he had always pictured the man to always be with him; to guide and teach him what it meant to be a Dragon Rider. But now, the sudden realization was sinking in: he's gone. No longer did he have a teacher to instruct him on the ways of the ancient language nor to teach him how to become a Dragon Rider.
It's hopeless, Eragon thought with such melancholy.
Saphira, who had sat off to the side watching over him and the elf, swooped her large head and nudge Eragon lightly on the shoulder. All is not lost, little one. From what Brom discussed from Dragon Riders, they were experts at magic due to their extensive knowledge over the ancient language.
He patted her snout and scratched her jawline, brooding to himself. I don't understand where you're going with this.
A slight hum could be heard from Saphira's chest as her rider continued to scuff her scales. The elves, Eragon, she affirmed. The Elves were the first Dragon Riders in existence. If anyone could help you with this problem, it would be them. Their knowledge and wisdom would be of great benefit to your future.
That makes sense, Eragon agreed after thinking on it for a few minutes. But what would happen to the Varden if we decided to go see the elves? Du Weldenvarden is a several week journey. What if Galbatorix decides to strike again against the Varden?
Saphira gave a slight resounding growl, her teeth brandishing slightly. That traitor is like a wild animal who's lost a fight against an underestimated foe. He'll need time to lick his wounds before he rethinks about making any daring strike again.
After taking Saphira's insightful wisdom into account, the prospect of traveling to Du Weldenvarden seemed even more possible. I've never been able to see the elves. We're going to need a guide. He spoke with a newfound glimmer of optimism.
I don't think finding a guide will be too difficult, she spoke and her large arrow heard pointed towards the elf sitting across from them.
Eragon nodded understanding Saphira's suggestion. It was a good idea. Arya was obviously an elf and naturally came from the woods of Du Weldenvarden. If anyone could lead him and Saphira to the elves, it was her.
Eragon took a bite of stale bread and took a quick swig of, what he thought was water, but possessed an earthly-taste which made him cringe slightly. "Arya?" He asked after finally gulping the drink down.
She took another bite of her apple, now nearly having its contents exposed and the core opened revealing the seeds. Her emerald green eyes stared at him at his calling, those eyes seeming to bore right into Eragon's person. "What is it?"
He shoved a thumb sideways towards Saphira, "We have a problem."
A dark eyebrow rose on Arya's brow at this. "And what is that?"
He leaned forward his hands rested upon the table and cupped together, "Without Brom, Saphira and I have no guidance. We do not know how to become a better dragon or rider. My lack of knowledge of the ancient language is poor. Amateur at best."
He rubbed his thumbs together trying to formulate his and Saphira's request. "I understand that the Dragon Riders were versatile and powerful with magic; something that comes after years of studying the ancient language."
Arya sat motionless, absolutely still. She seemed to listen to Eragon's request intensely while her piercing emerald eyes continue to stare into his being. Her gaze made him feel uncomfortable – squeamish almost – as if she could see into his mind and know exactly what he was thinking. And yet to have her focus on him seemed almost exhilarating.
"If I'm to become a true Dragon Rider, I – we - need a teacher. Someone who's versed in the ancient language and can help me in my training. Saphira and I wish to go north, to Du Weldenvarden. And we were wanting to know if you would be our guide to reaching it?"
Arya's eyes seemed to grow wide and her appearance seemed to grow stiff at his request. "It has been some time since I once stepped foot inside the sacred forest of Du Weldenvarden…" She brought her arms forward, her two index fingers resting just in front of her lips; her brow furrowed in slightly as she pondered the thought. "Are you sure about this?"
"It's what Brom would have wanted," Eragon spoke after remember the old storyteller's hope and aspiration for him. To be the future of the Dragon Riders was his destiny. Eragon wouldn't want to dishonor Brom by neglecting his heritage.
With a quick sigh, Arya picked up her nearly finished apple and took the last few remaining bites before tossing the core to the ground. "Very well. I find your loyalty to Brom admirable. As well as your duty to fulling your role as a Dragon Rider. I accept the position to be your guide."
With the sudden elation of relief swept through him, Eragon could finally feel himself have some sense of direction in his life again. "We greatly appreciate your assistance, Arya."
We truly do. It means a great deal to us. Saphira piped in suddenly. Her giant gaze peering over the two of them.
"Your journey to Ellesméra would have occurred eventually anyway." Arya commented. "The Varden signed a pact with the elves permitting the new Dragon Rider to travel to Ellesméra for additional training. I will begin planning out the journey once we have been given some free time to ourselves. For the moment though, we will have to see what the Council of Elders has need of you first. Are you ready to go?" she asked glancing at Eragon's hardly eaten tray of food.
With renewed hunger, Eragon hastily devoured his food and drink. A large belch escaped his lips after which sent Saphira chuckling to herself, her laugh vibrating the floor and table. "Ready," he replied after wiping his face and clothing from any crumbs that may have gotten on him.
He and Arya deposited their trays and made their way out the hall and traversed back into the winding halls of Tronjheim. They reached a convex stone door, which Arya pushed open. The room inside was circular, with a sky blue dome decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum—an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars—stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall and one broad; a woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks; and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice.
Several additional chairs were brought in and two familiar faces occupied them: Karn and Angela. Seeing their faces look back at them instinctively made Eragon's expression lighten slightly. Karn and Angela returned the gesture with small grimaces as well.
Conscious that he was being watched, Eragon surveyed the room, then seated himself in the middle of a swath of empty chairs seating himself to the left of Karn, so that the council members were forced to turn in their seats in order to look at him. Saphira hunkered directly behind him; he could feel her hot breath on the top of his head. Arya took to seating herself just right of Angela, giving the herbalist a respectful greeting.
Jörmundur got halfway up to make a slight bow, then reseated himself. "Thank you for coming, Eragon, even though you have suffered your own loss. This is Umérth," the tall man; "Falberd," the broad one; "and Sabrae and Elessari," the two women.
Eragon inclined his head, then asked, "And what of the Twins, were they part of this council?"
Sabrae shook her head sharply and tapped a long fingernail on the table. "They had naught to do with us. They were slime—worse than slime— leeches that worked only for their own benefit. They had no desire to serve the Varden. Thus, they had no place in this council." Eragon could smell her perfume all the way on the other side of the table; it was thick and oily, like a rotting flower. He hid a smile at the thought.
"Enough. We're not here to discuss the Twins," said Jörmundur. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it's difficult to predict their actions even in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon, and the rest of you as well, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."
"Why do you need us?" Karn questioned, leaning forward in his chair, resting an arm on his knee.
"Surely, the only one whom you lot should consider is Eragon," Angela made a witty remark. "Why would two strangers and an elf be here amidst such a secret meeting?"
"Angela, you and Karn have proven yourselves to be truly formidable beings. Nearly as powerful as a Dragon Rider," Jörmundur began, running a hand over his bald head. "The soldiers speak of your deeds during the battle and hold you in high regard. And Arya is the elven ambassador to the Varden. We want to be sure the elves would accept the newly proposed candidate."
Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, all of you must give us your words of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room."
Why would they want that? Eragon asked his compatriots after establishing a mental link to them all.
I don't know, Karn said, wearily. It might be a trap...
It's a gamble we'll have to take, replied Angela.
Remember, though, they haven't asked me to pledge anything. Saphira retorted. Silly of them, forgetting that I'm as intelligent as any human.
Pleased with the thought, Eragon said, "Very well, you have my word."
"Ours as well," Angela spoke with a finger pointing between herself and Karn.
"Upon my honor as the elven ambassador," Arya declared.
"Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?" Eragon asked.
"Nasuada."
"I'm sorry," Karn spoke out of turn with a brush of his hand, "Who is Nasuada?"
Falberd glared at the young man impatiently before he spoke, "She is Ajihad's next of kin. His daughter."
"She's a sweet young girl," Angela remarked. "She's just like her father. Strong, determined, and clever to boot."
Surprised, Eragon dropped his gaze, thinking quickly. He had met her once when she had visited him in the Dragonhold. She seemed like an honest enough person and he could for certainly see some of the same qualities in her that her father possessed. He did not considered Nasuada for the succession because of her youth—she was just a few years older than Eragon. No real reason existed, of course, for her not to lead, but why would the Council of Elders want her to? How would they benefit? He remembered Brom's advice and tried to examine the issue from every angle, knowing that he had to decide swiftly.
Why would they specifically pick her? Eragon asked open-mindedly.
It's a power play, Arya chimed in. Nasuada may be the daughter of Ajihad, but that does not necessarily mean she is fit to rule.
The person with true authority over the Varden wouldn't be a single person. Angela added.
It'll belong to a select group of people, finished Karn.
It took Eragon a few seconds to comprehend what they were all trying to say but the meaning was clear. They want someone that they can easily control without directly challenging them.
Makes perfect sense, Saphira hissed.
To gain time, Eragon asked, "Why not you, Jörmundur? Ajihad called you his right-hand man. Doesn't that mean you should take his place now that he's gone?"
A current of unease ran through the council: Sabrae sat even straighter, hands clasped before her; Umérth and Falberd glanced at each other darkly, while Elessari just smiled, the dagger hilt jiggling on her chest.
"Because," said Jörmundur, selecting his words with care, "Ajihad was speaking of military matters then, nothing more. Also, I am a member of this council, which only has power because we support one another. It would be foolish and dangerous for one of us to raise himself above the rest." The council relaxed as he finished, and Elessari patted Jörmundur on the forearm.
Ha! exclaimed Saphira. He probably would have taken power if it were possible to force the others to back him. Just look how they eye him.
He's like a sheep amidst a pack of wolves, perhaps. Remarked Angela.
"Does Nasuada have enough experience?" inquired Eragon.
Elessari pressed herself against the table's edge as she leaned forward. "I had already been here for seven years when Ajihad joined the Varden. I've watched Nasuada grow up from a darling girl to the woman she is. A trifle light-headed occasionally, but a good figure to lead the Varden. The people will love her. Now I," she patted herself affectionately on the bosom, "and my friends will be here to guide her through these troubled times. She will never be without someone to show her the way. Inexperience should be no barrier to her taking her rightful position."
As if they couldn't be ever clearer in their goals," Karn sarcastically joked to them all.
"Ajihad's funeral will be held in two days," broke in Umérth. "Directly afterward, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she will surely agree. We want you to be present at the appointing—no one, not even Hrothgar, can complain about it then— and to swear fealty to the Varden. That will give back the confidence Ajihad's death has stolen from the people, and prevent anyone from trying to splinter this organization."
Fealty!
All his friends' consciousness' quickly touched Eragon's mind. Notice, they don't want you to swear to Nasuada—just to the Varden, warned Saphira.
Yes, and they want to be the ones to appoint Nasuada, which would indicate that the council is more powerful than she, Arya acknowledged.
They could have asked Arya or us to appoint her, but that would mean acknowledging whoever did it as above everyone in the Varden, Angela stated.
This way, they assert their superiority over Nasuada, gain control over us through fealty, and also get the benefit of having a Rider endorse Nasuada in public, Karn finished their train of thought.
"What happens," he asked, "if I decide not to accept your offer?"
"Offer?" Falberd asked, seeming puzzled. "Why, nothing, of course. Only it would be a terrible slight if you're not present when Nasuada is chosen. If the hero of the battle of Farthen Dûr ignores her, what can she think but that a Rider has spited her and found the Varden unworthy to serve? Who could bear such a shame?"
The message could have been no clearer. Eragon clenched Zar'roc's pommel under the table, yearning to scream that it was unnecessary to force him to support the Varden, that he would have done it anyway. Now, however, he instinctively wanted to rebel, to elude the shackles they were trying to place on him. "Since Riders are so highly thought of, I could decide that my efforts would be best spent guiding the Varden myself."
The mood in the room hardened. "That would be unwise," stated Sabrae.
Eragon combed his mind for a way to escape the situation. With Ajihad gone, said Saphira, it may be impossible to remain independent of every group, as he wanted us to. We cannot anger the Varden, and if this council is to control it once Nasuada is in place, then we must appease them. Remember, they act as much out of self-preservation as we do.
But what will they want us to do once we are in their grasp? Will they respect the Varden's pact with the elves and send us to Ellesméra for training, or command otherwise? Jörmundur strikes me as an honorable man, but the rest of the council? I can't tell.
Saphira brushed the top of his head with her jaw. Agree to be at this ceremony with Nasuada; that much I think we must do. As for swearing fealty, see if you can avoid acquiescing. Perhaps something will occur between now and then that will change our position... We can discuss it later.
Without warning, Eragon nodded and said, "As you wish; I shall attend Nasuada's appointment."
Jörmundur looked relieved. "Good, good. Then we have only one more matter to deal with before you go: Nasuada's acceptance. There's no reason to delay, with all of us here. I'll send for her immediately."
"Wait," commanded Elessari, a steely glint in her eyes. "Your word, though, Rider. Will you give it in fealty at the ceremony?"
"Yes, you must do that," agreed Falberd. "The Varden would be disgraced if we couldn't provide you every protection."
A nice way to put it! Snarked Eragon.
It was worth a try, said Saphira. I fear you have no choice now.
They wouldn't dare harm us if I refused.
No, but they could cause you two no end of grief, spoke Angela. It is not for your own sake that you should accept, but for your dragon as well.
Many dangers exist that I cannot protect you from, Eragon, admitted Karn. With Galbatorix set against us, you need allies, not enemies, around you. We cannot afford you to contend with both the Empire and the Varden.
This is the best current course of action, indicated Arya.
Finally, "I'll give it." All around the table were signs of relaxation—even a poorly concealed sigh from Umérth. They're afraid of us!
Not us, stated Karn. You and Saphira.
As well they should be, sniped Saphira.
Jörmundur called for a young gangly boy, and with a few words sent the boy scampering off for Nasuada. While he was gone, the conversation fell into an uncomfortable silence. Eragon ignored the council, focusing instead on working a way out of his dilemma. None sprang to mind.
When the door opened again, everyone turned expectantly. Nasuada entered, chin held high and eyes steady. Her embroidered gown was the deepest shade of black, deeper even than her skin, broken only by a slash of royal purple that stretched from shoulder to hip.
Jörmundur helped Nasuada into a seat. "Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the Council of Elders wishes to formally extend its deepest condolences for the loss you, more than anyone else, have suffered..." In a lower voice, he added, "You have our personal sympathies as well. We all know what it is like to have a family member killed by the Empire."
"Thank you," murmured Nasuada, lowering her almond eyes. She sat, shy and demure, and with an air of vulnerability that made Eragon want to comfort her. Her demeanor was tragically different from that of the energetic young woman who had visited him and Saphira in the dragonhold before the battle.
"Although this is your time of mourning, a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father after the funeral. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours—the Varden expect it of you."
Nasuada bowed her head with shining eyes. Grief was plain in her voice when she said, "I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young. Yet... if you insist it is my duty... I will embrace the office."
Falberd turned to Arya. "Will the elves find this agreeable?"
She stared at Falberd until the man fidgeted under her piercing gaze, then lifted an eyebrow. "I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing."
Arya's remark obviously pleased the council. Nasuada thanked her and asked Jörmundur, "Is there anything else that must be discussed? For I am weary."
Jörmundur shook his head. "We will make all the arrangements. I promise you won't be troubled until the funeral."
"Again, thank you. Would you leave me now? I need time to consider how best to honor my father and serve the Varden. You have given me much to ponder." Nasuada splayed her delicate fingers on the dark cloth on her lap.
Umérth looked like he was going to protest at the council being dismissed, but Falberd waved a hand, silencing him. "Of course, whatever will give you peace. If you need help, we are ready and willing to serve." Gesturing for the rest of them to follow, he swept past Arya to the door.
"Will you four," she indicated to Eragon, Karn, Angela and Arya, "will you please stay?"
Startled, all four lowered themselves back into their chairs, ignoring alert looks from the councilors. Falberd lingered by the door, suddenly reluctant to depart, then slowly went out. The door closed behind them.
Nasuada sat partially turned away from the group. Her eyes glazed over to Eragon. "So we meet again, Rider. You haven't greeted me. Have I offended you?"
"No, Nasuada," replied Eragon. "I was reluctant to speak for fear of being rude or foolish. Current circumstances are unkind to hasty statements."
"Before we begin," Arya interjected. "Let us have some privacy."
Eragon felt suddenly felt power being drawn from Arya as she spoke in the ancient language. "Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya... There, now we may speak without being overheard by any wandering ears."
Nasuada's posture softened. "Thank you, Arya. You don't know what a gift that is." Her words were stronger and more self-assured than before.
Behind Eragon's chair, Saphira stirred, then carefully made her way around the table to stand before Nasuada. She lowered her great head until one sapphire eye met Nasuada's black ones. The dragon stared at her for a full minute before snorting softly and straightening. Tell her, said Saphira, that I grieve for her and her loss. Also that her strength must become the Varden's when she assumes Ajihad's mantle. They will need a sure guide.
Eragon repeated the words, adding, "Ajihad was a great man—his name will always be remembered... There is something I must tell you. Before Ajihad died, he charged me, commanded me, to keep the Varden from falling into chaos. Those were his last words. Arya and Karn heard them as well.
"I was going to keep what he said a secret because of the implications, but you have a right to know. I'm not sure what Ajihad meant, nor exactly what he wanted, but I am certain of this: I will always defend the Varden with my powers. I wanted you to understand that, and that I've no desire to usurp the Varden's leadership."
Nasuada laughed brittlely. "But that leadership isn't to be me, is it?" Her reserve had vanished, leaving behind only composure and determination. "I know why you were here before me and what the council is trying to do. Did you not think that in the years I served my father, we never planned for this eventuality? I expected the council to do exactly what it did. And now everything is in place for me to take command of the Varden."
"You have no intention of letting them rule you," said Eragon with astonishment.
"Clever girl," Angela said with a small smirk on her face.
"No. Continue to keep Ajihad's instruction secret. It would be unwise to bandy it about, as people might take it to mean that he wanted you to succeed him, and that would undermine my authority and destabilize the Varden. He said what he thought he had to in order to protect the Varden. I would have done the same. My father..." She faltered briefly. "My father's work will not go unfinished, even if it takes me to the grave. That is what I want you, as a Rider, to understand. All of Ajihad's plans, all his strategies and goals, they are mine now. I will not fail him by being weak. The Empire will be brought down, Galbatorix will be dethroned, and the rightful government will be raised."
By the time she finished, a tear ran down her cheek. Eragon stared, appreciating how difficult her position was and recognizing a depth of character he had not perceived before. "And what of me, Nasuada? What shall I do for the Varden?"
She looked directly into his eyes. "You can do whatever you want. The council members are fools if they think to control you. You are a hero to the Varden and the dwarves, and even the elves will hail your victory over Durza when they hear of it. If you go against the council or me, we will be forced to yield, for the people will support you wholeheartedly. Right now, you are the most powerful person in the Varden. However, if you accept my leadership, I will continue the path laid down by Ajihad: you will go with Arya to the elves, be instructed there, then return to the Varden."
Why is she so honest with us? wondered Eragon. If she's right, could we have refused the council's demands?
Saphira took a moment to answer. Either way, it's too late. You have already agreed to their requests. I think Nasuada is honest because your spell lets her be, and also because she hopes to win our loyalty from the elders.
An idea suddenly came to Eragon, but before sharing it, he asked, Can we trust her to hold to what she's said? This is very important.
Yes, said Saphira. She spoke with her heart.
Then Eragon shared his proposal with Saphira. She consented, so he drew Zar'roc and walked to Nasuada. He saw a flash of fear as he approached; her gaze darted toward the door, and she slipped a hand into a fold in her dress and grasped something. Eragon stopped before her, then knelt, Zar'roc flat in his hands. Looks of surprise crossed across all the others.
"Nasuada, Saphira and I have been here for only a short while. But in that time we came to respect Ajihad, and now, in turn, you. You fought under Farthen Dûr when others fled, including the two women of the council, and have treated us openly instead of with deception. Therefore, I offer you my blade... and my fealty as a Rider."
Surprise flitted across Nasuada's face. She grasped Zar'roc's hilt and lifted it—staring at its crimson blade—then placed the tip on Eragon's head. "I do accept your fealty with honor, Rider, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword." Eragon did as he was bidden.
"You've certainly have taken a bold step," Karn stated.
"Saphira and I both feel that Nasuada is the right person to swear our fealty to," replied Eragon. "It would have been foolish of us to swear ourselves to a group of individuals who are out for their own personal gain."
"A wise decision, indeed," Karn acknowledged.
"And what of us?" Meetra interposed. She crossed his leg and motioned to herself and Karn. "We were not asked to give fealty to you. So what would you have of us?"
Nasuada turned her dark eyes over to the young Force-user. Her stare bore down upon him with a sense of uncertainty. Her emotions were clouded; unsure of how to approach them.
"Indeed," Nasuada began, "The council did fail to ensure that you two would give your allegiance. And if any of them had seen the display of courage, bravery, but more importantly the power that you two had exhibited on the battlefield; then they should know how important it is to keep you under someone's leash." She brought her hand to her chin, arm crossing over her chest as she began to walk back and forth in place, contemplating her options.
Meetra picked a lock of her curly hair as she sat listening to Nasuada's argument. Karn waited patiently, intending to determine Nasuada's intention.
"By all common sense," Nasuada continued, "Karn, Meetra you both could rival the power of an elf or a Dragon Rider for that matter. Which means you both could easily overtake the Varden's leadership." She stopped in her pacing and glanced at them both with observant eyes. "Unfortunately, it is not fair for one person to submit themselves when there are others who possess the same capacity to do harm." At this point she brought herself to stand before the two Force-users. She squared up her shoulders, and attempted to muster what courage and authority she had – even though she stood before beings with god-like powers that could end her existence with but a wave of their hands.
"I would ask that each of you swear loyalty to serve the Varden. To protect it from all enemies – those from outside and from within." Her voice spoke with a gentle tone, but it had a hint of authority similar to her father's.
"Not to you?" Karn asked with a hint of surprise in his voice. "Wouldn't it be more advantageous to swear to you? With our support, your enemies would be less inclined to oppose you?"
"Yes. You would be correct," Nasuada replied. "However, granting one single person unimaginable power risks the possible chance of that power being used for selfish reasons." She swirled her hand around as some form of gesture. "And if that were the case, I'd be no different from the man who we are trying to overthrow."
"Oh my dear," Meetra rose from her seat and walked over to the girl and embraced her in a strong, endearing hug. "You have wisdom beyond your years. The teachings your father has imparted onto you have not been wasted."
"Indeed," Karn spoke as well, rising and coming to stand before the two. "What you have just demonstrated exemplifies your capability for leading the Varden. A true leader does what is best for their people. Not for their own office."
Nasuada bowed her head and a small smile crept upon her. "Thank you, both of you. Your words help ease some of my worries that I have had as of late."
Meetra and Karn exchanged silent glances between the two, Eragon could tell that they were having their own private conversation and only after a few short minutes, they revealed their thoughts.
"We have decided," declared Karn, "that we will offer our lives in service to the Varden – to assist in the overthrow of Galbatorix and bring balance back into the land of Alagaesia."
The smile and gratitude on Nasuada's face beamed. She curtsied this time, showing her respect and admiration to the two. "I am glad to hear. My hope for the future of the Varden is more secure now knowing that you two will be there to defend it."
"And so long as we have breath in our lungs and command over the Force, we will always be there to help," affirmed Meetra.
"Good, that will take care of the important matters. Now, until then, would you all please leave me? I have much planning to do, and I must prepare for the funeral...and please remember, all of you, please keep our information secret."
They all gave their last respects to Nasuada before they left the room. The hallway outside was empty along its gray length. Eragon put his hands on his hips, tilted back his head, and exhaled. The day had barely begun, yet he was already exhausted by all the emotions that had flooded through him.
The sound of Karn's moaning yawn echoed across the carven stone halls. He stretched back his body as he tried to overcome exhaustion. "Thinking about going back to sleep?" Eragon asked.
"As tempting as it sounds, I'm going to have to pass. There's a couple of things I need to do," replied Karn.
"Like what?"
"Well, I need to figure out what role I'm supposed to fulfill if I'm going to serve the Varden." He ruffled his hair as he thought.
"You won't need to worry about that, I think." Meetra blurted. She started to walk ahead of everyone. "Nasuada will come to you in time and determine where your skills will be of best use."
She beckoned Karn to her with a wave of her arm. "However, there are some things I'd like to discuss with you first though, if you don't mind – in private."
A bewildered look stricken his face. "What's so important for us to discuss in private?"
"Things best left to be spoken in private," she retaliated with a hint of severity in her voice.
"Does it have to happen now?"
"Preferably, yes."
"Fine," agreed Karn with an apprehensive look. Meetra began to walk down the hall with a quickened pace. Karn wasn't not far behind her, his longer strides allowing him to catch up in a short time.
Will I have some time to come see you? Eragon spoke out to Karn across the distance.
I don't see why not. If you cannot find me, I'll find you. His arm shot up and his hand waved as he continued to follow Meetra and soon their figures disappeared into the darkened expanse of the hallway.
Before Eragon had any semblance on what was going on, Arya had grabbed his hand and pulled him in the opposite direction of the expansive hallway. Baffled and unsure what had caused Arya to act in such a manner, he could somehow feel that she was shocked. Her feelings wafted over him like a swirling wind. Saphira drew close in tow, following the elf as she led them deep into Farthen Dûr.
"Arya, where are going-"
"Do not speak," she said quietly but calmingly to him. Her tone was smooth.
Did I do something wrong? He asked Saphira. What's gotten into her?
Your question is as good as mine, little one. I'm not sure why suddenly started to act like this.
They soon stood before the carved archway of Tronjheim's library. The vast, silent room seemed empty, though the ranks of backto-back bookshelves interspersed with columns could conceal many people. Lanterns poured soft light across the scroll-covered walls, illuminating the reading alcoves along their bases.
Weaving through the shelves, Arya led them to one alcove, where she continued to hold his wrist and stared directly at him. Her gaze piercing into him like daggers. Eragon paused as he studied her. She seemed much like her normal dignified self. Though she seemed more relaxed, though it manifested itself only in the fluidity of her movements. Eragon stood before her; unsure how to proceed. Saphira positioned herself between them, where neither could escape her gaze.
"You…You have surprised me, Eragon," declared Arya with unexpected thanks.
"How so?"
She lifted her chin. "Your pledge."
The last part even reached Eragon mentally. He realized just how appreciative she was currently being. A bit of uncertainty touched him. "We only did what we thought was best."
"And you choose wisely! I have spent seven decades representing my queen here—fifteen years of which I bore Saphira's egg between the Varden and the elves. In all that time, I struggled to ensure the Varden had wise, strong leaders who could resist Galbatorix and respect our wishes. Brom helped me by forging the agreement concerning the new Rider—you. Ajihad was committed to your remaining independent so that the balance of power would not be upset. In all honesty, I was slightly worried during that meeting. I had feared that the Council would ensure that you had pledged yourself to them instead of Nasuada. For the Council consists of selfish and corrupt individuals who are only out to seek control over the Varden."
A whimsical tone crept into Arya's voice. "But I was pleased to see that you made the decision to side with Nasuada. She is Ajihad's daughter and gives her the right to succeed. But through her actions, she has demonstrated that she has what it takes to lead the Varden."
"As I said before," Eragon pointed out, "I would prefer to pledge myself to a person who can give up power; rather than to someone who could not."
Arya leaned back against one of the many bookshelves, studying him. "Saphira... and you... understand more than I thought." A playful tone mixed in with her voice. "You continue to surprise me. Your pledge will be accepted by the elves, though you must never forget your debt to us for Saphira. There would be no Riders without the efforts of the elves."
"The debt is burned into my blood and my palm," said Eragon. In the silence that followed, he cast about for a new topic, eager to prolong their conversation and perhaps learn more about her. "You have been gone for such a long time; do you miss Ellesméra? Or did you live elsewhere?"
"Ellesméra was, and always shall be, my home," she said, looking beyond him. "I have not lived in my family's house since I left for the Varden, when the walls and windows were draped with spring's first flowers. The times I've returned were only fleeting stays, vanishing flecks of memory by our measurement."
He noticed, once again, that she smelled like crushed pine needles. It was a faint, spicy odor that opened his senses and refreshed his mind. "It must be hard to live among all these dwarves and humans without any of your kind."
She cocked her head. "You speak of humans as if you weren't one."
"Perhaps...," he hesitated, "perhaps I am something else—a mixture of two races. Saphira lives inside me as much as I live in her. We share feelings, senses, thoughts, even to the point where we are more one mind than two." Saphira dipped her head in agreement, nearly bumping the table with her snout.
"That is how it should be," said Arya. "A pact more ancient and powerful than you can imagine links you. You won't truly understand what it means to be a Rider until your training is completed. But that must wait until after the funeral. In the meantime, may the stars watch over you."
With that she departed, slipping into the library's shadowed depths. Eragon blinked. Is it me, or is everyone on edge today? Like Arya—one moment she's angry, the next she's giving me a blessing!
No one will be comfortable until things return to normal.
Define normal.