Chapter 4

I have recently begun my hostile takeover of Christopher Paoloni's Intellectual property. Soon it shall be mine.

Eragon had cleared a space in his room in the castle, and was now using it to practice the third level of Rimgar. The contortions of his body helped him focus his mind, as well as giving him something to keep occupied with. Boredom was beginning to take a toll on him, and he felt the need to move in some way. The constant monotony of the last week and a half was beginning to crush his spirit.

Since finding Saphira's egg, Eragon had known little peace. Periods of relative calm, such as his time in Du Weldevarden, were spent bettering himself and training, learning who he was and what he was capable of. The rest of his time had been spent either running from the Empire, traveling or fighting. Even then, his time had been filled by the minute.

Now, there was nothing expected of him, but that he remained here, demoted to symbol. The Varden needed his presence, but they didn't need him.

At first he had spent the time with Saphira, but gradually the Varden began to put demands on both of them that drew them apart. Eragon disliked the tasks he was set, mostly just appearing in minor negotiations and agreements with Lady Lorona and assorted nobles and authorities who run the city. They had discussed everything from providing lodgings and supplies for the Varden as they recuperated, to the changes in policy and administration now that it was a conquered city.

Initially Eragon was fascinated, in observing the victory of the Varden over the kings tyranny, and felt a sense of history and grave responsibility at each of these meetings. However, reality soon crushed these delusions, and he found that most of the meetings were negotiations and minor quibbling. He himself wasn't even called on to do much, simply to stand there and look impressive. It was beginning to remind him of the negotiations he'd endured in Tronjheim, when the dwarves had been electing their king.

Saphira herself was doing much worse. She did not like remaining static, and she had grown accustomed to a life of travel. The lack of a release for her pent up energy made her snappish and irritable. Eragon privately suspected, though made sure not to voice it through their bond, that this was also due to the reception she had received. Far from the deference and respect given to her by the elves, many of the people here treated her as little more then an exotic pet.

She had terrified a minor functionary half to death when he had led her towards the stables, and would most likely of finished the job if not restrained by Blödhgarm when he had suggested muzzling her. Since then she'd whiled away her time hunting and sleeping in the wild a few miles from the city, growing more irritable with each passing day. Eragon had tried to make time to visit her, but there simply weren't enough hours in the day, and while what he was doing didn't seem very important, it took up a lot of time. The separation was all the more noticeable in that for her to live so she had to remain just outside the range of their bond. Both of them were suffering.

A knock at his door shattered his concentration. Midway in the fourth stance, he almost lost his balance and collapsed. Righting himself he replaced his clothing and stretched, but made no further movements. If it was important, whoever it was would come the rest of the way to him.

The knocking did not relent. After a minute of the interminable pounding, Eragon gave an exasperated sigh and pushed the door open.

Looking around the hallway he didn't see anyone, until he looked down, to see a boy of perhaps ten staring up at him with wide eyes. The boy was dressed in simple clothes, and had the look of one of the servant's children who ran errands in the castle in exchange for coins. Fixing his face into what he hoped was a nonthreatening expression, he asked what the boy wanted.

"I've been told to go find you, your ridership." He squeaked, his voice a combination of open terror, hero worship and blatant awe. "They want you in the throne room." The boy seemed unable to take his eyes off Eragon's altered features, making Eragon cross his arms self-consciously. He would never get used to the stares.

"Who does?" He asked, still slightly miffed at getting interrupted.

"Everyone! The black queen lady, and the dwarfs, and the elves, and the…"

"All right, all right. Tell them I'm coming." Eragon said, closing the door. Sighing as he prepared for yet another day of grueling boredom, he stripped down again and began to dress in the clothes the elves had given him in Du Weldenvarden. He had been given plenty of fine clothes since returning, but he preferred the elf made fabric, and was uncomfortable in to much finery.

With a sigh, he opened the door to his room and walked down the corridor, towards the room Nasuada appropriated for her councils. Eragon didn't like the castle. He found it stifling, lacking in privacy and overall far to big. He would much rather be spending time with Saphira, or sleeping in the open. But once more, for appearances sake, he was forced to take a room and sleep in it.

Turning left at the corridor that led to the throne room, he followed a staircase that spiraled around until he was beneath it, then continued forward until he came to a door. Four Nighthawks stood to attention, three humans and a dwarf leveled their eyes at him, and he felt a probe in his mind. Then one of them gaped has he came close enough for his features to be recognized, and they stepped aside, their suspicious looks changing to ones of respect., and two of the humans bowing deferentially. Opening the door carefully, he stepped in, gazing around the room as he did so. A dozen figures looked up at him, then returned to their preparation.

The table in the centre of the room was circular, appropriately forestalling the awkward moment when people of equal rank meet and have to compromise in every sentence. Directly in front of him was Nasuada, who was examining several charts and tables, making notes with a tight, controlled hand on a page to her right. Beside her sat Jörmundur, her ever-faithful second in command, occasionally giving advice or making corrections in a low voice.

Orik was arrayed in the full regalia of a dwarven king preparing for war. He clutched Volund in a spiked gauntlet, and wore a horned helm on his brow. His beard was plaited into an intricate series of knots, giving him a barbaric appearance, and he wore heavy plate armor, leaving almost none of his skin visible. Another dwarf Eragon recognized as Gannel, high priest of the Quan sat beside Orik, clad in his usual robes. He gave Eragon no acknowledgement, though Orik flicked his free hand in a casual salute. "Good to see you, argetlam." Orik said gruffly. Gannel didn't say a word, his hooded eyes expressionless.

"You're looking well, Eragon." Nasuada said, not looking up from her charts. Eragon inclined his head, but she ignored it, paying him no further notice. For a second he clenched his fist, irritated at being ignored, but then he shook his head. She was responsible for thousands of people, she had duties to take care of. He couldn't expect to be included in everything.

Arya was in her usual leathers, but wore them with more grace and dignity then all the jewels in Alagaësia could have imparted. She held herself rigid, her back as straight as a board and her eyes straight ahead. Blödhgarm sat beside her, seeming quite at ease, cleaning his fingernails reflectively. He was the only one at the table who seemed relaxed and disinterested, and his only gesture towards the company he was in was his freshly scrubbed fur.

Nar Garzhvog was not seated, as no regular chair could ever hold his vast bulk. Instead he couched on the floor, so his head was almost level with the table. He was dressed in assorted pieces of armor that seemed mismatched, and wore a great axe as long as Eragon was tall on one shoulder. The huge urgal had not appeared in any of the meetings so far, which Eragon suspected was due to the fact that most humans loathed them, thinking of his people as nothing more then wild beasts. Even many of the Varden were against their inclusion. But Eragon knew Garzhvog was honorable to a fault, and as honest as anyone in the Varden. Trianna sat beside him demurely, her eyes in constant motion as she watched the inhabitants of the room.

"Firesword." Said Garzhvog, tilting his chin so that his throat was bared directly at Eragon. This was the greatest sign of trust an urgal could give, meaning he entrusted his life in yours. "Garzhvog." Eragon replied, as he shifted behind him, walking towards Nasuada.

King Orrin had his back to him, along with his prime minister and two other men that Eragon didn't recognize, but didn't look Surdan. One had a red beard streaked with grey, and a careworn face, with his right wrist ending in a cap in place of his hand. The other was a big man, wearing enough gold to buy a small town, with skin as dark as Nuasada's. To Nasuada's left was a single vacant seat, reserved for him. Walking slowly, taking care not to disturb anyone, Eragon made his way over and sat. Staring around, he noticed that what he had previously taken for mere decorative carvings was in fact a map of Alagaësia, the cities represented by gemstones, the mountains and valley's carved with the greatest care. Eragon blinked, then smiled. The negotiations were over, it seemed. This was unmistakably a council of war.

At last, Nasuada put down her charts and stood up, instantly gaining everyone's undivided attention. Taking a second to compose herself she took a deep breath, then fixed everyone in the room with a steely gaze. "The day after tomorrow we march." She began, and then paused, giving people time to raise protestations. When no one did she continued on. "I would prefer more time to consolidate our hold on the populace, but time is a luxury we do not have. Instead we have to push on, and hope for the best. If we wait any longer I suspect we will meet an army on the walls of Belatona. As it is they have had time to prepare, and the city will not fall without a fight."

Orik cleared his throat, but didn't offer any contributions. After a second's frosty silence, Nasuada resumed speaking. "It is two weeks march to the city. The urgals could do it in one, and no doubt Eragon could be there tomorrow, however we doubt the siege will be effective without massed forces, and we cannot afford to divide our troops. King Orik has offered to provide the troops to guard our supply lines, and we have bought and commandeered enough resources to feed the entirety of our army for a month."

At this Jörmundur took over. He was short and stocky, very gaunt, but despite this knots and cords of muscle stood out on his arms and legs, without any of the fleshy padding that presents a pleasing symmetry of contour. He was built with an incredible economy, with not a single wasted inch on his frame, not a single spec of fat to be seen. Whenever he moved, you could see cords adjust under his well-tanned skin like writhing snakes. His deep-set eyes were as calm and tranquil as the sea after a storm, and his blond hair was drawn into braids that hung around his features like heavy ropes. He was clean shaven, but his chin was dark and prickly with stubble.

Enunciating clearly in his slow, steady voice, he remained totally expressionless, as though giving a report about the weather. "Our men are all equipped better then a standard legionary from Galbatorix's forces, but our total forces come to thirty thousand soldiers. The king commands a core of fifteen thousand troops, but our spies inform us he has hired every mercenary, cut-throat, freelance knight and beggar with a sword in the Empire. With conscription, we estimate his forces outnumber us six to one. The elves have forced him to divide his forces, but facing him on the open battlefield would be most unwise. Our men have been hardened by the recent battles, but his men are extremely experienced, and are not as divided as our forces. Worse, several of the spies who have been observing Galbatorix, report that he has seemingly vanished, leaving Murtagh to run things."

At this Eragon started. He didn't know how he felt about Murtagh, but from what he knew the king had forced him into service. The thought that the king had given him that much trust was disheartening.

Jörmundur continued, not waiting for any interruptions. "We estimate we can take Belatona in four days. Three, if Murtagh is not there. After that we will be reinforced by Lord Kantor, a long time supporter who has decided to throw his lot in with us. As well as resupplying us, he will give us two thousand men at arms, and the contents of his treasury. After this, we will be in a quandary."

"What do you mean?" King Orrin asked, drawing everyone's attention to him. King's can look like anything. Those who inherit their position are often deceptively soft and pandered, weak on the surface, sharp as knives underneath. Those who take others kingdoms for their own are often big, brutal people, savage in their manner and speech. And those who build their own kingdoms from scratch are often wild and untamed, with steel in their souls and fire in their eyes, who speak with a deep intensity and conviction and are often quite insane.

King Orrin looked more like a clerk then a king. He was of average height, unassuming in build with the sort of handsome face that is instantly forgettable as soon as you look away. He wore his curly hair short, and favored a well-trimmed beard. He wore glasses, that perched on the end of his slightly too long nose. But this face was a mask, as complete as any. Behind it was a thunderous temper and bravery to shame a lion.

Jörmundur turned to look at him, and paused, considering how best to answer the question. "We initially planned to march on Dras-Leona, giving us a clear path to Urû'baen, and a fortress to fall back on if necessary. If we leave it Galbatorix will have the means to attack our flank or rear, and to attack our supply lines. We will be crushed between two rocks."

Every one nodded, including Eragon. That was sensible. Jörmundur waited a moment, then continued. "However, we do not have the men to do this. We lack siege engines, and Dras-Leona will take a long time to fall. We estimate about a month. A conservative estimate places us at loosing two-thirds of our soldiers taking it. In addition to this, it is a weeks march from Urû'baen, and a days flight. By the time we had taken the city, we would be unable to field any army whatsoever. Most likely we would not even be able to hold the city for a prolonged period."

Muttering began around the table. "That is unacceptable." Orrin said loudly, and was met by a chorus of hear hears and agreements. "If a lack of men is the problem I can come up with more, and I'm sure the dwarves can too. We can't afford to have Dras-Leona left to it's own devices."

"Aye, I'm sure that wouldn't be a problem." Said Orik loudly. "But that isn't really the issue. The problem is, even if we gathered every Knurla, every Surdan, every Urgal and put them under arms, he'd still be able to outnumber us. We can only win by not giving him time to mobilize. And we can't afford the time it'll take to overcome Dras-Leona."

Orrin stared at Orik, "Be that as it may, we can't win if we don't do something. What about the elves?"

Arya shook her head. "It would take my people a week after you arrived to get there, but we would be of little use in such conditions. On the open field each of us are better than any ten regular troops, but against the sheer walls of Dras-Leona we would be of no use. We cannot crack them, or scale them as long as they are defended, and they have the magicians to render our magic useless."

Orrin made a scoffing noise that both Arya and Blödhgarm ignored, and tapped his finger angrily on the table. "There must be something we can do. Do we have magic superiority?

At this Trianna spoke up, remaining rigid as she spoke. She was young, perhaps a year older the Nasuada at the most, but she looked much older. Magic was begining to wear at her body, and her young figure was maturing at a faster rate. She was still beautiful, but lines were appearing at the corners of her eyes and her forehead. "No. The priests of the Helgrind alone would be easily capable of overwhelming us. No doubt by the time we got there Galbatorix would have reinforced them with his own, and even the elves would be unable to over come that too." For a second Blödhgarm perked up, as though wanting to speak, but then he shrugged and resumed sliding his index finger nail beneath his other nails.

Orinn's tapping picked up its pace as he frowned like a man trying to solve a riddle told in a language he doesn't understand. At last he sighed, seemingly defeated for the moment, and stopped tapping. "How long will it take to conquer Urû'baen?"

For a moment it seemed nobody was going to answer. Then Nasuada brushed a strand of errant hair behind an ear, and pursed her lips. "We don't know. It is without precedence. We are attacking the strongest fortress this world has ever seen. Next to Urû'baen, Tronjheim was wide open. There are to many factors. We suspect we will be forced into another open battle before arriving, and even there we are unsure of our ability to win. We will have a week to succeed before he is able to reinforce his position, and if we have not taken at least the outer walls by then, he will crush us against the walls like a blade against a grindstone."

"Is it hopeless?" Asked Garzhvog, lowering his head slightly as he did, his great horns almost scratching the table.

Nasuada shook her head. "No, it is not hopeless. Risky perhaps, but we believe we can win. But it will not be easy. Or even likely. But we knew from the start that we were outnumbered, that the Empire would be able to crush us if things did not go well. We are forced to take one more gamble. But that which we seek, a free Alagaësia, is worth the risk."

A somber silence filled the room. Everyone's face was ashen, their confidence shaken by uncompromising logistics. At last Eragon spoke up. "Couldn't we send a small percentage to deal with Dras-Leona, and use the remainder of our forces to besiege Urû'baen?"

The silence continued. "I don't like dividing our forces, and we will need every soldier we can get to take Urû'baen. But this is the only option I can see that has any chance of working." Jörmundur said slowly.

"So be it." Said Nasuada.

The conversation then turned to the minor details, discussing resources and possible paths to bring the army by. Eragon began to loose interest, and just when he was beginning to fidget the discussion ceased.

"There's one more thing to do." Orik said. "Seems to me, we need to be united as one force. I command the dwarves, Nasuada commands the Varden, Orrin leads his countrymen, and Garzhvog commands his people. We cannot continue this way. What happens when we give conflicting orders, or expect aid that is not there? In light of this campaign, I secede authority to Nasuada to command my men." With that he leaned back, a stoic expression on his face.

Eragon started momentarily, then looked over at Nasuada. Her face could have been carved from stone, but a tiny glimmer in her eye made Eragon want to smile. They'd planned this, the two of them, to put pressure on Orrin to accept Nasuada as supreme leader.

Orrin stared at them, then nodded. "It pains me to put the destiny of my people in the hands of another, but the alternative is worse." He said. The Prime minister gaped at him, but Orrin ignored him. "If we are to succeed, we must be united. I agree."

Garzhvog stared up at her. "I have already pledged my rams to you, Nightstalker. So far you have led us to victory. I see no reason to dispute your claim to command us without just cause. To do so would be dishonorable." He growled, then rose to his impressive height. "I will go now. I must rouse my people if we are to begin our march tomorrow." He turned to leave, but Jörmundur stopped him.

"We are not finished, Garzhvog." He sad, with the easy familiarity of those who share a bond of fighting together in battle, and trusting the other with your life. "Nasuada is to be supreme leader, but we must still divide the forces."

Garzhvog bobbed his head. "No. I command my Rams. Who else can? They will not accept the command of one who has not first proven himself, and which of you could command the Urgrala? Who is familiar with our strategies, our way of fighting? I have pledged myself to you, Nightstalker, and you, Firesword. Not them." With that he sat down, and remained that way for the rest of the meeting, staying quiet the entire time.

Jörmundur nodded at this, accepting Garzhvog's input as probably correct. "I take it the same goes for you, Orik?"

"Aye. I'll take my orders from Nasuada as long as I see them as right, but I won't be standing down. I can lead a battalion of dwarves better then anyone else, and we'd only weaken our forces by swapping commanders around." Orik said from somewhere in his helmet. Gannel nodded but remained quiet, twisting something furiously between his fingers.

Nasuada nodded at Orik, but left Jörmundur to do the talking. "So be it. The dwarves and the urgals will form separate detachments under the command of their own chosen leaders. That leaves the rest of us to be sorted. According to our heralds, our mustered strength now stands at nine thousand infantry, and four thousand horsemen, as well as five hundred knights and a two thousand bowmen. We also have a troop of perhaps a thousand who specialize as scouts and harrying tactics. On top of that we have perhaps a hundred spellcasters." Trianna nodded sagely.

Nasuada stepped forward. "The command of the artillery and baggage train will be given to Jörmundur." She said imperiously. Jörmundur set his jaw and bowed his head respectfully, offering no complaint, despite the fact that as positions go it was far from a compliment. "Command of the infantry divisions will be divided between Martland and Fadawar." The two men that Eragon didn't recognize accepted their roles nodded gratefully, the dark one seemingly shocked. Nasuada kept her voice level, but there was a hint of warning in her eyes as she regarded Fadawar. Eragon considered her reaction, and came to the conclusion that she was giving the dark man the chance to redeem himself from some past error.

"Martland, your division will be sent to besiege Dras-Leona. Do not attempt to take the walls, you do not have the men. Simply keep them holed up in there while we take Urû'baen." Martland blanched slightly and looked down, like a man fearing he is about to be condemned. Swallowing he looked up and stared across the table into Nasuada's eyes. "I will do my best, milady." He said in a steady voice, despite his paling face.

"Orrin will command the knights, and the horsemen." She added, and Orrin inclined his head, appearing unsurprised. The prime minister went to mutter something, but he silenced the man with a wave, appearing thoughtful. "Trianna will command the magic users, and will report to me and Eragon." She concluded. "The dwarvish spellcasters and Urgal shamans are expected to conform to this as well." At this Trianna sat back, looking very pleased.

"You will all report directly to me, and are free to elect officers among your ranks as you see fit." She said, smoothing her dress and sitting back down. Everyone nodded at that, it was only to be expected. "Have your men ready to march by the day after tomorrow." A few of them looked ready to object, but Jörmundur swept the room holding each of their gaze with his steely blue eyes, and they closed their mouths.

"Martland," Nasuada continued "you will remain behind with your forces for a week, and fortify the city, then continue on behind us. By the time you arrive we will have most likely taken the city, at which point you will be expected to continue on to Dras-Leona and create a blockade around the city. Do not attempt to actually besiege it, that would be a death sentence, but be convincing. Galbatorix must not unite his forces against us, or we will be crushed."

For a second King Orrin looked like he was going to reply, but then shut his mouth. Everyone else took his lead, staying quiet and waiting for Nuasda. But if they'd hoped for a speech they were sadly disappointed.

"You have your orders." She said, dismissal plain in her voice. Everyone sat around, appearing unsure of what to do, and then they trooped out, in two's and three's until Eragon was the only one left.

"Nasauda…"

"A direct command position would be detrimental to your ability, Eragon." Nasuada said, interrupting him briskly. "You serve a role that no one else can fill. If I die, I can be replaced. The same goes for everyone here, except you. Serve us as you deem best." She finished, before gesturing to the door.

Eragon opened his mouth to speak, but Nasuada shook her head. "You are a good warrior Eragon, but your main role will be countering the effects of the Empire's Riders. Putting you on the front lines would be a waste of your ability, and while I have no doubt that you could lead an army as well as you fight, I have leaders enough already." She said, seeming a little snappish to Eragon.

Eragon closed his mouth, deciding silence would be the best response. Everything was already planned, he was not needed here any longer.

He had to go see Saphira.