The surdan ambassador's dwelling was an imposing stone brick mansion with an upper balcony. Vines sprouted an inflorescence of white and hyacinth along its railing, and no dirt marred its pristine grey walls. The windows were so clean that Nasuada had no difficulties discerning the portrait of a sailor on the wall of one room.
So absorbed was Nasuada in the display of ostentation that she almost tripped when her foot collided with a raised boulder. Only that it was no boulder. The mansion had a raised stone pathway to keep away the mud.
She stopped in front of an ornate iron portcullis. Spearheads decorated its upper parts.
A group of dark skinned surdans worked the garden's withered thorn bushes. One of them, a bald man with a muscular build, glanced at her, shielded his eyes from the sun with a scraped hand and shouted, "Your name, lady."
The soiled dress was a better cover than Nasuada anticipated. "Nasuada. The Surdan awaits me."
"Let her in," he barked to a thin youngling who almost toppled over on his way to the portcullis. The others kept cutting and pulling thorn bushes, oblivious to her presence.
Nasuada nodded her thanks to the boy and entered the front garden. Nothing grew in the reddish soil apart from thorn bushes and several other weeds.
"Laborious work for a bad soil," Nasuada said.
"The surdan said," the man from earlier replied. "He plants surdan plants later."
"You are not surdans?"
"We tend to his patch of dirt, clean his house and guard him." he said. "That does not make us surdans."
Their constitution betrayed their purpose. She paid too much attention to their frayed leather vests, torn pants and gloomy expressions. Somehow, the truth bothered her.
"Guard him from what? The Council saw to his comfort, and patrols constantly walk by this dwelling."
The man smiled and glanced at the others. One of them laughed. "He's a pirate. Might as well house Galbatorix and call him the Empire ambassador." The man paused, as if searching for the right words. His sweaty brow furrowed after a tense moment. "He's a sea thief. Is equally skilled on land, yes? And not many like thieves, not when they live in a palace."
Nasuada weighed his concerns, but war required compromises. "His past is irrelevant. We use what we can."
"He's a wolf, he is." The hoarse voice belonged to a different man, a brute with short cropped hair and gaunt features. "Alone, he not a good hunter. With his pack, dangerous predator. And the surdans are coming."
After a long slog through muddy paths and a tiresome squabble with the Council, Nasuada no longer had the patience to reassure those who could not think for themselves.
"I'll meet the ambassador," she said. Sensing defeat, the men began to whisper to each other as they resumed their activity.
Nasuada made her way to the front entrance. Exquisite carvings decorated the mahogany door. Two trees on the sides intertwined their branches over a glade filled with animals. A boar's head stood in the center, and its tusks served as handles. She was just about to open the door when a voice stopped her hovering hand.
"The poisoner was also an innocent cook." It was the bald man. "She allowed him stay into the city. That's when your sister died."
The others joined him into a raucous mixture of accusations, foul words and threats. Before she knew it, Nasuada pushed the door open and slammed it shut once she entered the room. Blessed silence engulfed her.
A sudden voice startled Nasuada. "On the balcony. Don't step on the furs and follow the stone path." The ambassador's voice was rich and cultured. Pirate or not, he could win a crowd with that tone alone.
She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart before she did as he bid. Nasuada kept to the stone path. A glance to the side revealed the reason. Bear furs, untouched by grime, stretched across the floor, creating a seamless mass of brown shades. Numerous paintings of forest animals and ships covered the wall, and fox furs patched the bleak ceiling. The lack of furniture puzzled Nasuada. Decorated as it was, the room looked depressingly empty.
Nasuada climbed a winding staircase and crossed a narrow hallway that led to a central room. She passed two sets of rooms on her way. Guest rooms, most likely.
"Lady Nasuada." The ambassador wore a loose linen shirt that exposed his hairy chest. A thin rope held his baggy silk trousers from falling off his thin yet well-developed form.
"Fair winds today." He leaned his head forward and touched the edge of his hay hat with two forefingers. Nasuada curtsied in reply, although she knew nothing of surdan customs.
"We have matters to discuss," Nasuada said.
"On the balcony, yes." He turned around and Nasuada prepared to follow. A strident shout stopped her.
"No no no, on the side, with the back to the wall. "
"Why?"
"Because of your dress." The ambassador's gaze fell on the floor. Hides of different colors and patterns had been stitched together into a crude mosaic. Nasuada recognized some, but others were exotic in nature. A scaled hide closely resembled a dragon's.
"You like it?"
"Yes," Nasuada indulged him. "What does it represent?"
The ambassador chuckled. "Beauty does not need a reason."
Nasuada shuffled around the furs, one step at a time. "A messenger boy summoned me here. Lazlo's arrival will put strain on our supplies and resources." Nasuada paused as she turned around a corner. "We can't accommodate him. Not during the Frost months."
"This rug is made of many skins, just like the surdans. Not easy to unite them because of different colors. Come now."
Once she reached the balcony, Nasuada fell into a chair cushioned with a round pillow and let out a drawn-out sigh. Her feet needed this moment of respite. Lounging became a foreign luxury to her now that the Frost Months loomed closer and closer.
"You wanted to talk." The ambassador picked a small, gourd shaped metallic recipient from the basket on his right. "About houses, supplies, something else that doesn't involve my furs."
Nasuada nodded. "Feinster is a small city. Part of my people sleep in filthy alleys, curl next to the city wall and use whatever they can find to keep themselves warm. Families are crammed inside barns with cracked roofs. Some don't even have a roof."
"They have tents, don't they? Yet none is raised."
Nasuada swallowed what little moisture dwelled in her mouth. The Varden used their battle tents to shelter a moving army. Against hail and blizzards, the cloth and leathers provided a poor substitute for stone. Surely the Surdan knew this.
"We only use them when we march," she said.
"Cold forces animals to change their dens. Why can't you?" The ambassador took a gulp from the flask and waved with it dismissively. "Supplies and shelter are the council's concern. I'm only a fermentator with a fondness for furs, paintings and long talks." A smile crept under his forked moustache. "You came here to rant. That means you're not interested in my stories."
Nasuada shifted in her seat. Soldiers and thieves resorted to blunt remarks. Perhaps the ambassador was not the smooth talker portrayed in the rumors. " Stories are told in times of peace."
"You did not request my name either."
"All I request from my subjects are deeds, loyalty, and loyal deeds," Nasuada said. "Songs and stories remember names, not me."
"How droll."
The ambassador threw the metallic flask back in the basket and rested his hands on his lap. "In Surda, you do not know a man until you remember his name the next day. Did you know that our army has no ranks, no lords?" He shook his small head slowly. "Names are enough. The name you hear often is the one you want to follow. But you rebels rely on practical leadership. Like a pack of wolves. Knowing each other does not keep you from biting your necks, sometimes harder than necessary. "
"We're not animals, surdan." Blood welled in her cheeks. Despite her struggle to contain her rampant emotions, a few words still got the best of her. "If needs got the best of us, we would be farmers, crafters, soldiers and lords for the Empire. We would accept our nature as slaves to a tyrant instead of denying it. Instead, we chose scarce food, poor shelters, and the constant fear of impending death."
"Makes me wonder why." The surdan looked over the yonder, his gaze wistful, almost unfocused. "Why did you emerge from that dragon crap hole of a mountain?"
His question took Nasuada by surprise. She still fought to control herself, to restrain Ajihad's legacy, as Sabrae called it. Father would have thrown him from the balcony and blame his drinking habits at this point. But she couldn't. Hot headed leaders often faced the ire of their people.
The surdan took her silence for an answer. "Ambition, or maybe wishful thinking. You don't know the names of your people, so you gave them a purpose instead. It's still up to them to interpret it. Some may lack your conviction or disagree with your ways."
"They followed me so far."
"Before the Frost Months, yes, and in battles. What happens when there is no enemy in sight for three months? Battles have to take place, yes? That's what army is for."
A shiver ran through Nasuada as the surdan's gaze fell on her. His eyes held the stark, icy color of the ocean.
"Enough of my men," Nasuada's voice held a slight authoritative touch. "Tell me about Lazlo. What does he expect from us?"
"Ah." He smiled in his pretentious way. "Answering a question with another question. That's surdan practice." After another gulp from his flask, the surdan licked the moisture off his lips.
"Lazlo expects you to hold your end of the bargain. He should not concern you. It's the other surdans that you have to appease." He patted his stomach and grinned sheepishly.
Nasuada opened her mouth to protest, but words refused to come out.
The surdan's cackle sent a jolt through her. "Lady, you look more tense than a boy on his first battlefield. Stay away from surdans until you get accustomed to our humor. One may find your stern features less…friendly."
Nasuada did not flinch. "Empty tables do not get along with humor. Unless your surdans share their humor in the company of empty bottles and dirty platters."
"That's when humor works best. " The surdan's pleasant laugh was replaced by his unyielding voice. "We have our own food, prepared with herbs. Surdans don't eat grass seed porridge or the stuff that you make out of it. Bread was called, yes." He paused for a moment. "All we need is many a place where we can lay down our pillows. With roofs, preferably. And maybe some grass seed bread near the end of Frost."
"Wheat," Nasuada said.
The surdan nodded and smiled. "We'll make our own wheat bread if we like it. Improve it, too. That's what surdans do."
A cold gust of wind carried the scent of Frost with it. Nasuada wriggled in her chair. Her back ached, but discomfort paled in comparison to the choice she had to make. The surdan's piercing gaze demanded an answer, and she could delay no longer.
"You shall have your dwellings." Guilt prodded at her thoughts, but she dismissed it with a determined nod. "We'll raise the tents two days before Lazlo arrives."
"Good. Tidy. You make good impression in the eyes of surdans, yes."
A door slammed shut below. The Surdan waved dismissively at the sound, as if he swatted away an annoying insect. "It's that boy again, desert flies take him."
Sure enough, a high pitched voice confirmed the surdan's suspicions. "Lady Nasuada, Arya returned from her scouting duty and awaits you in your quarters."
"Your presence warms my dwelling, Lady." The surdan got up from his chair. He wobbled a little before he regained his balance. "It's unfortunate that we'll not share a drink here, on this balcony."
"Maybe we will," Nasuada said as she walked around the carpet stitched of a dozen furs. She lied.
The surdan did not come downstairs. Even better. He deserved no sliver of respect after his nonsense talk of names and their importance.
"Open the door." The boy regarded her with wide eyes before did as commanded. He was the same skittish creature from before.
"Walk slowly. I need time to think."
Nasuada followed the boy through the twisted streets of Feinster like a ghost. Numerous possibilities circled her mind, but she dismissed them all by the time they stopped. She could not put her people above the Surdans. She could not risk the anger of the commoners either. Not while the rumors still spoke of the feebleness that overtook her since the Black Hand's attack.
"May you hear what you need to hear," the boy said before he ran off to do the council's bidding. Nasuada watched his petite form until the crowd engulfed him. She was once like him, a being governed by Father's choices. She did not have to think, or question her motives or decide the fate of an entire army. That was until Father died.
Nasuada turned around to face four of her Nighthawks. One was a dwarf, while the other three were human. She had never paid proper attention to her guards, even though they faced the elements, cold nights in front of her mansion and a sudden death.
"You will all dine with me tonight, after the other four arrive," she said.
"There be food enough here, and the weather is pleasant," the dwarf said.
"You're kind, lady, but a hot meal is more suited for the urchins and homeless," one of the men, a short one, added.
"I'll have them in the morning. My mind is set for tonight."
No one protested this time. The dwarf opened the door for Nasuada and smiled heartily.
Nasuada found Arya staring at a shadow cat painting in the dining room. Grime coated her tunic, and the lower parts of her leggings frayed. She looked almost as tired as Nasuada, despite her best efforts to maintain an impassive expression.
"Nuts are in that bag." Nasuada pointed at a bulged linen sack. "I have nothing else. Sit where you please."
Arya occupied a chair at the end of the elongated trestle table while Nasuada got out of her dress. Her skin shriveled in the absence of a fire, and she shivered for a moment before she donned a clean dress from her armoire.
"Farica pampers you no longer?"
"Her husband needs her more," Nasuada said. She shuffled to the nearest cot and crashed. A sigh escaped her.
"I needed to be alone with my thoughts," she said after she made herself comfortable. "But that's irrelevant. Tell me about Belatona."
Arya straightened her back. "The city is split into two sides, or so its inhabitants call them. Narrow streets slither between tall houses for the Workers side. A bottlenecked army is easy prey for archers stationed on rooftops. The War side—"
"Not that," Nasuada said. "If the garrison camps inside city, our army will starve before we get past the walls." She emphasized the last word, but Arya did not pick it up. Despite her age, she seemed annoyingly dense at times.
"The War side is separated from the Workers side by a wall half as tall as—"
"Where is the garrison?" Nasuada interrupted.
"It's outside the city, spread throughout the surrounding villages. Only a handful of soldiers keep the city in line. Beggars cling onto people at every corner. Merchants fare no better. Packs of urchins sometimes kill their guards and trap the merchant. If he doesn't house them, he joins his fallen guards."
"Mayhem," Nasuada said. A smile crept on her lips. "That's something we can use." She rolled out of her cot to face Arya. "How many man the battlements, guard the gate and patrol the streets?"
"Nobody climbed the walls after sleet. The few patrols are scared to do their duty after dark. I saw no guards."
So terse, Nasuada thought. Arya was one of her worst spies. She could not blend within a crowd, indulge drunkards for information or collect the most significant of rumors. She was, however, the only dragon rider of the Varden.
"Is that everything?"
"The War side is situated uphill and is cut off from the Work Side by a thin wall without battlements. "
Nasuada raised her hand to silence Arya and shook her head. "That's not necessary for now. You may go."
Arya bowed her head and left. If her spying skills lacked, her manners were nonexistent. Things had always been different with Eragon. He respected her as much as she respected him. He never disobeyed her, until…
Nasuada scrunched up her nose. The past was past. She had no use for it now. She tidied her dress and looked at the room for one last time before leaving to inform the council.