"I do not know all the details of your magic, Harry, nor do I understand how you fight with it, the conventions and common strategies involved. But I do know how magicians in Alagaesia duel, and it is a dangerous and terrifying thing." Brom was dead serious. Blue light and flickering shadow danced over his face.
"In Alagaesia, magic is the simplest thing. All spells take exactly as much energy from the caster to complete a task as would be required to do the task the ordinary way." Brom laced his fingers. "This is the cardinal rule of magic. I told Eragon this, but he evidently has not told you."
Harry shook his head quietly. Eragon felt a pang of guilt. Had he been supposed to tell Harry?
Brom went on. "Our sort of magic takes energy from our bodies. There is no free magic. And if you cast a spell which demands more energy than you have to give, you die. No exceptions. Range also affects the toll a spell will take. To affect something far away takes more strength than something close up. Thus there are a few tasks forbidden to any magician who does not want to die; do not attempt to create something from nothing, do not attempt to pierce the flow of time, and do not attempt to raise the dead. All three of these tasks invariably kill their caster."
"I see," Harry said quietly. He nodded at the great castle behind them. "That's a lot of something I made from nothing."
"Indeed," Brom agreed. "For our sort of magic, that represents an unthinkable amount of energy. Your broom for example, would demand huge amounts of power to operate. If you were fueling it, it would be like carrying a hundred and fifty pounds for hours, lifting it up and throwing it around without pause all day. You'd be exhausted within seconds, dead within minutes. Unless you have a secret source of unimaginable energy, your magic does not appear to follow these rules."
Harry shook his head. "You're suggesting magicians in Alagaesia are weaker than me."
"Absent one crucial detail," Brom tacked on. "How do you fight, Harry? How do two wizards fight in Britain?"
Harry thought about it for a moment. "Mostly we run around and use cover while shooting spells at each other. At least, that's been my experience. Sometimes you can shield to block certain spells. Others are unblockable so you have to dodge."
"And your spells, they do not always connect?" Brom pressed. "When you disarmed me while I was holding the wooden sword, that bolt of red light. It can miss?"
Harry shrugged. "I suppose. People miss less than you'd expect; the spell doesn't seem to always come out perfectly in line with the wand. I think there must be some magic bending the rules. But dodging usually works too, so spells mustn't be homing. Wands seem like they'd be harder to aim than guns just by how they fit in your hand, but I've heard that shooting a gun from the hip is much harder than it looks. Yet kids with little experience pick it up quickly. I guess I don't know exactly how it all works. But yes, spells can be dodged."
"And your shield spells?"
Harry flicked his wand. "Protego." A translucent shield sprang up in front of him over the table. It was a bit like a soap bubble, if someone had cut off only the front face, and it shimmered blue instead of white.
"Do you have to interpose it between the incoming spell and your body?" Brom asked.
Harry nodded. "It works against physical attacks to some degree, too."
Brom nodded to himself, satisfied with the answers he'd gathered. "Therein lies the difference. Our magic has no visible projectile, no all purpose shield, no requirements for aiming or travel time. If Eragon casted a spell to light your head on fire, you would not have time to put up your shield, nor would it work to block the attack, I suspect. You would simply die. The effects of magic in Alagaesia are felt the instant the caster expends the energy required to fuel the spell. We have our own way to guard against hostile magic, but it's extremely complicated and I'll return to it later."
"My point is this: if you fight a magician as you expect to, you will certainly die, and the enemy magician may or may not. Because offensive spells virtually always kill with very little defensive options, every magician in Alagaesia has agreed to an unspoken armistice."
"Nobody fights?" Harry snorted.
"Quite," Brom said dryly. "No, magicians' duels are fought with the mind. There are no spells like you use here. There is a language with words of power. Magicians describe what they want to happen in this language, their spell takes energy from them, and what they have outlined happens in the real world. There is even more nuance to this; the Ancient Language with which magic is cast has some flexibility, so Eragon may not need to say "Burn his head" to kill you. He may only need to say "fire" or "heat," and can privately set the details to his attack in his own head, so you have no idea how exactly to protect yourself from his attack. Thus, the only way to defend yourself-"
"Is to read his mind," Harry realized.
Brom nodded darkly. "Eragon has experienced a form of this with Saphira. The two of you can feel each other's thoughts, send and receive ideas, memories, images, and so on. In truth, anyone can be taught to reach beyond their own mind, and anyone with this training can touch the mind of any other living thing. Humans, birds, worms, even grass."
He nodded to Eragon. "Has Saphira ever stopped you from reading her feelings or thoughts? Has she ever shut you out?"
Eragon nodded, remembering the flight that took him away from the farm when he needed to pick up Garrow. "Once."
"All things can do that, at least in theory," Brom explained. "In practice, only the sentient races ever do it." He addressed Eragon again. "And did you try to get through to her anyway? Perhaps try to push through whatever obstacle she had put between you two?"
Guiltily, Eragon nodded.
"These are the foundations of mental combat," Brom told them. "And they are the mechanics by which magicians' duels are won or lost. No magician casts a spell before they have broken into the mind of their opponent. From there they can know if their enemy is preparing to kill them with a spell, read the nature of the attack from their mind, and insulate themselves from it with a counterspell. They may even be able to prevent their enemy from casting that spell in the first place."
"But if a magician casts any spell before the mental grapple is decided-" Brom led Harry.
"They assume it's going to kill them and retaliate before the effects of the enemy spell kills them," he finished. Harry was beginning to understand. "So if I cast a disarming spell at someone, according to the etiquette of magical combat here, they'll assume my spell will kill them and immediately cast an unblockable, unmissable, unstoppable kill spell at me."
Harry had gone white. "My magic is useless," he whispered.
Brom shook his head. He pointed at the castle with that look of being forced to suffer the idiocy of others. "That is not useless. You just cannot use it to fight."
Eragon had realized something while they were talking. He interrupted. "What if your enemy isn't a magician? What's to stop me from doing whatever I want in Carvahall, where I know nobody else can use magic?"
Brom wore a twisted smile. "A century ago, the Riders would stop you. Today, fear of the Empire stops most, and the Empire itself stops the rest. However, there is a simpler explanation. Why are you so sure you are the only one? Brisingr."
A tongue of orange flame danced over Brom's palm, casting an evil glow on the underside of his face.
Harry sat at his desk that evening, certain he needed another source of wisdom. He turned the Stone over thrice in his hands.
"Were you listening?" he asked Morgan.
"Of course," she said.
"And?"
Morgan's expression was displeased. "Humor him, but do not accept what he says as gospel. Whatever you do going forward, you cannot give up your greatest advantage. If you cannot fight directly, find other ways to bring your magic to bear. And if you find a way to protect yourself against their magic…" Morgan bared her teeth in a savage grin.
"Do as you please."
Eragon wheeled Garrow back inside. There was tension in his uncle's shoulders. He wondered if it was about Brom, if Garrow had decided the storyteller wasn't trustworthy after all, since he revealed his magic.
"How long have you known Brom?" he asked Garrow.
Garrow sighed and rubbed the bandages beneath his shirt. "Many years. He arrived in Carvahall not long after you, actually. Perhaps a year later."
"And what was he like?"
Garrow shrugged. "Not much different from how he is today. He used to be a bit more paranoid, but that laxed with time. Oddly, he used to meet with more people. He knew a few traders who've stopped coming by years ago, and maybe once or twice a year, a stranger would come to Carvahall and meet with him. I think he must have been writing to someone. He certainly has friends outside of Carvahall. But I would never have guessed him to be a magician."
"He didn't see anyone in recent times?" Eragon clarified.
"You've been in the village more than I have in the last couple years," Garrow pointed out. "What have you noticed?"
Eragon admitted he hadn't noticed anything. He simply hadn't paid attention to Brom until recently. Noticing strangers was not something he was interested in. It was uncommon, but strangers did come and go from Carvahall.
"I'm not sure. Do you think he's still trustworthy?" Eragon directed the question mentally to Saphira as well.
Garrow hummed. "Hard to say. He has history he has not told you of, but he has always been a private person."
Remember what Brom said, Saphira advised. Watch for his interests. If yours align with his, you have little to fear.
When they reached their dorm, Eragon tried to help Garrow into his bed. Crankily, his uncle pushed him away and struggled beneath the covers himself.
"I'm not an infirm," he snapped.
Eragon gave him space, surprised by the outburst.
"Sorry. Are you okay?" Eragon shuttered the rainbow candle and crawled into his bed. He laid on his back and listened for Garrow's deep sigh.
"Aye," his uncle grumbled. "I'm fine. When are you planning on leaving?"
Eragon traced the underside of the empty bunk above him with his eyes. In the dim light, the details of the wooden plank were lost amidst hazy artifacts in his vision.
"I'm not sure. Do you want me to leave?"
Garrow sighed. "Not because I want to be rid of you. I just-" he paused.
The silence lasted long enough that Eragon worried Garrow had dozed off.
"I worry I have nothing left for you," Garrow finally whispered. "You are not interested in farming. That is fine, but it means I cannot teach you what you need to know. Brom has all the answers now, and I feel as though I am holding you back from beginning your future."
Eragon felt sorrow for his uncle. "I'm sure that's not true," he refuted consolingly. "Brom never married and never had a family. You must have wisdom that he doesn't."
He heard the sound of hair rubbing against a pillowcase, as if Garrow was shaking his head to himself. "I must have done something right to raise such a considerate young man." Eragon heard the small smile in his voice. "Since you asked so politely,"
Eragon waited patiently.
"Guard your heart," Garrow said first. "Know the difference between love and lust. Pretty faces and pleasant curves do not mean a good wife." Then, after a pause, "The stories lie. Love is not something that comes like a bolt of lightning and makes your life perfect. Marriage requires work, commitment, compromise, sacrifice."
The pieces of wisdom came slower, interspersed by longer periods of silence, and in a sleepier voice.
"Be honorable," Garrow murmured. "Even when it's hard."
"Know your reputation, and keep it clean."
Then finally, "Do what makes you happy, not what makes others happy. Live a life you are satisfied with, and one you can be proud of."
Eragon kept listening until Garrow's breaths leveled off, in and out. He turned over in bed and gazed out the window. The moon was visible from where his head lay. Saphira had gone to sleep in the courtyard, and Eragon was left alone with his thoughts.
The next morning, Brom insisted on training early, before Eragon and Harry had a chance to "wear themselves out doing something unproductive." Saphira made her desire to watch known, so Harry set up a gazebo by the lake and laid down the same sort of mats as were in the dojo.
Harry was up first. Eragon felt a pang of jealousy at the ease at which he picked up Brom's lessons. He knew how to be light on his feet, he was practiced with the push and pull of fighting, and he seemed to better grasp more complicated ideas Brom raised, like using his sword to make and take space.
But there were things Harry struggled to grasp.
"Slow down," Brom demanded. "You're hacking and smacking because I can't punish you with a dulled blade. If this were a real fight, you'd be bleeding from a dozen draw cuts."
Harry backed off and lowered his stick. "Isn't that the point of armor?"
"Are you going to wear armor?" Brom challenged. "Everywhere, everyday? Berserkers can set the pace and change the tide of battles, but there are no old berserkers for a reason. You will die of a mistake eventually."
Harry digested that. "Even if I can heal myself, and replicate the properties of armor on my normal clothes?"
Brom pinched his brow. "You said you didn't want to go to war, Harry. In a skirmish against bandits or at worst, city guards, the objective is not usually to kill. It is to escape. In a skirmish where you must kill your opponent to keep a secret, if you are sure they are not a magician, and if there are no witnesses, then you may use magic."
Harry made the requested modifications. In the next bout, he sparred more reservedly, and Brom was able to touch him several times. It was clear that while Harry was fast and strong, Brom actually knew swordfighting forms.
Harry grunted in frustration. "I'm just giving you more time to win, since you actually know what you're doing."
"Yes, and if you keep up with this, eventually you will, too," Brom said exasperatedly. They switched to learning individual forms. Brom made Eragon follow along, fighting imaginary opponents while Brom battered Harry. That made him feel a bit better about sitting out.
Again Harry thrived on Brom's instruction, absorbing the forms he taught and requiring few corrections.
"It's a bit similar to wand motions," Harry admitted.
Next it was Eragon's turn, and he was frustrated by his pace. It was clear to him that Brom was teaching him easier fundamentals.
You are starting from different points, Saphira consoled. Harry has experience fighting, he is an athlete. You will learn, if you give yourself the time.
Her advice helped. Eragon devoted all of his attention to mastering every principle Brom showed him.
After he'd been at it for an hour, Brom put him and Harry head to head. Eragon quenched his thirst and squared off, determined to make a good showing of himself.
Harry opened with a vicious cross cut that jarred his grip. Eragon danced back from his backhanded followup. Harry pressed the attack with an onslaught of strikes.
"You need to counterattack!" Brom called to him. "You'll run out of room or trip on real terrain."
Eragon lashed out, but Harry managed to deflect the blow and slide his mock sword down his blade and lever it around the disc cross guard, tapping his forearm.
He repeated Saphira's wisdom to himself, and went into the next bout determined to learn rather than to win. After the third bout, Brom called it a day.
"Episkey," Harry muttered, tapping his wand to each of Eragon's bruises in turn. They faded away. He attended to himself after. When they were all cleaned up and Harry had created a box for the equipment at the gazebo, Harry broached the subject Eragon had been ruminating over all morning.
"I have many questions about magic," Harry said.
"I as well," Eragon piped up.
Brom gave a suffering sigh. "Thank you for at least waiting for the proper time to give them voice."
Harry sat against the inside of a pillar in the gazebo. Saphira was sunning herself beyond the shade, but Eragon could tell she was paying attention.
"You said there was a way to protect against this form of magic," Harry started. "Can you explain that?"
"They're called wards," Brom agreed. "They say any good magician is a grammarian and a lawyer, and this is why. Just as you can attack someone with magic, you may also defend yourself using spells. Wards are extremely complicated and because they act without your direct input, they are easy to accidentally kill yourself with. To continue with our hypothetical killing attack, when Eragon casts a spell to burn your head, the effect of his spell may run afoul of a ward you might have cast, Harry."
"Generally, these are expressed as ranges of tolerance. You might say something like "keep my body within a survivable temperature range" or something akin to it, or you may opt to simply exclude all other people from casting magic on yourself. Yet even that is not perfect, for a clever magician who has won a magician's duel against you and can examine your memories at their leisure will understand this protection and simply cast a spell whose lethal effects start an inch away from your body and extend inwards to kill you." Brom gesticulated.
"If you make a mistake, your wards are protecting you without conscious thought. When you cast a spell, you can make judgments on what it will do and if you have the strength to complete that task. Wards are instant, reflexive commands that may trigger in an unhelpful or suicidal way. If you cast a ward that protects you from fast moving objects approaching you, and you punch a mountain, the ward may try to move the mountain out of the way instead of stopping your fist, and that will instantly kill you." Brom went on. "Further, if you are falling from some height and your wards think the ground is approaching you very fast, it may try to move the entire world away from you, and I don't think I have to explain why that would be bad."
"They sound like they're more likely to kill you than an enemy," Eragon grumbled.
"Done carelessly, they are," Brom agreed. "Most magicians either have no wards, their wards were placed by someone else who knew what they were doing, or they were exhaustingly careful with the wording of their homemade wards, and opted for limited protection to reduce the chance of a miswording killing themselves. The latter are the most likely to die."
"Remember how careful you are when casting a spell, and then consider that wards are the exact opposite. You want very badly not to die. You hopefully put some thought into every spell you cast. Wards will fulfill their wording to the last syllable, and will unhesitatingly throw themselves at impossible tasks that will kill you, without a second thought."
Eragon swallowed. "Are you one of those magicians that know what they're doing?"
Brom shrugged. "I haven't died yet."
The first lesson in magic Eragon had received from Brom commenced soon after. By unspoken consensus, they headed indoors to start. Nobody had set a date for departure, yet everyone felt the day they would leave for the road approaching. Better to enjoy the indoors while they still could.
Brom collected a couple of pebbles off the ground on the way inside and handed them to Harry and Eragon. "Yet another concept we have not touched on. A magician's greatest asset is their vocabulary. The Ancient Language has the unique property of perfectly describing the truth of the world. When we hear the word 'fire,' we have been raised to understand that it means 'flickering hot red burning thing.' It is a meaningless arrangement of syllables given meaning by the collective agreement of everyone who speaks the common tongue."
Brom snapped his fingers. "Brisingr," he uttered. That same tongue of orange flame floated over his palm. "Is not a name for fire, it is the name. Somehow, long ago, a mysterious race known as the Grey Folk did something to bind their language to truth. Brisingr does not just mean fire, it is fire. If every single person in Alagaesia forgot every single word of the Ancient Language, and a thousand years later, somebody stumbled across the word Brisingr by trying random syllables, it would still be fire as much as it is today, or when the Grey Folk were still around and using the word, thousands of years ago."
"It is this property which makes it so useful for magic. When you cast magic without the Ancient Language, the only guiding force is your mind. The magic you draw up will do exactly as you intend in your mind. But minds wander, and you may find your magic going awry, subject to an errant thought. You may say 'burn' and intend to start a campfire, but happen to glance at Harry's head and set that on fire instead."
Brom nodded to Eragon. "This is what I assume you have been doing. The incantations Harry has taught you do not sound like the Ancient Language. Yet he gives you an explanation on what they are supposed to do, so you know what to expect, and that informs your magic. Has your mind ever wandered and caused a spell to go wrong?"
Eragon nodded instantly. Plenty of times. "Sometimes I'll get nervous that the spell will do something dreadful, and then that terrible thought will keep popping into my head, so I won't even risk casting any magic then. I wait until my mind is clearer to use magic."
Brom gave him a praising smile. "That is wise. However, the Ancient Langauge means you need not do that. If you use it to cast your magic, the nature of the Ancient Language will bind your magic to your wording. You may need to be more explicit in your wording, but the Ancient Language is so perfectly the truth that when you command the world to move in it, the world obeys."
Then, as an aside, "Also, you cannot lie in the Ancient Language," Brom added.
"That can't be right," Eragon refuted. "Everybody lies."
But Harry had taken that assertion in stride. It cast doubt on Eragon's argument.
"You don't know enough words yet to prove it yourself," Brom said, "but I assure you, it is true. This property also means that oaths made in the Ancient Language are unbreakable. If you say you are going to do something, you are compelled to do it, else your later actions would render your initial statement untrue, which the Ancient Language forbids. Whether you believe me or not, never make an oath in the Ancient Language unless you are prepared to chain yourself to your word for the rest of your life."
Eragon's head spun. By the end of the lesson, implications, questions, and musings whirled through his mind. Yet Eragon kept his questions to think on. If he asked them, Brom might answer, and Eragon did not think he could fit even one more piece of information inside his skull without it exploding. Magic seemed so incredibly complicated, yet at its core, it was so simple. Give commands in the Ancient Language, see those commands carried out, at the price of the energy it took to execute. All else was extrapolations and inferences on how magicians ought to behave, knowing that basic maxim.
When Brom finished impressing upon them both how absolutely critical it was to be cautious and consider every single word of every spell they ever thought to cast, he taught them two words. Stenr risa, or 'stone, rise.' With those two words, they were to practice lifting the pebbles Brom had provided into the air.
Eragon managed the exercise basically instantly. He had practice reaching for that wellspring of power in his mind, and practice maintaining the focus required to keep a spell going over a longer duration.
Harry struggled much more. Brom had forbidden him the use of his wand. For half an hour, Harry commanded the pebble in his palm to rise. Yet it continued to ignore him until he came jogging out of the classroom with the pebble floating ahead of him, and his wand nowhere to be seen.
AN: Some people have suggested that the concept of wards was retconned into Eldest because it wasn't mentioned in Eragon. However, I've seen Paolini answer that he already knew of wards, but that they were too complicated to introduce in the first book, which already had to deal with introducing the rest of his magic system. I am starting to understand that decision.
On a brighter note, if you made it through this chapter with your head on straight, this is likely to be the densest chapter on Inheritance magic until we get to Oromis.
Sometimes I think some reviewers want to see zero nuance, and would prefer that Eragon and Harry walk straight to the Citadel, trash talk Galbatorix, and then instantly kill him. I always get those reviews that make me want to facepalm. If I try to set up a mystery, someone immediately asks why something is x instead of y, then says my story is bad or I'm stupid for the thing being x, and that they're done reading this fic, when in reality, x secretly is y, and they have denied themselves the chance to experience the rewarding payoff to a mystery because they didn't receive the instant gratification of getting to read about "MoD Lord Peverell-Black-Potter-Slytherin-Merlin-yourfuckingmom-Gryffindor" slaughtering the big bad of the story and probably crying about how evil Dumbledore and Snape and the Weasleys are while doing it.
To this I say to you: my other story HEFMA is probably going to appeal more to you. Otherwise, be patient. We haven't even left Carvahall yet. Mysteries and points of departure are approaching.
I saw some people complain that Harry doesn't need to learn swordfighting, and that I'm retreading canon by having Brom teach him. To that I say; you clearly didn't read chapter 15 close enough. Using magic in the Empire is not an option unless Harry kills every witness to the act, which he's obviously not willing to do. And even then, leaving a trail of unmarked bodies is a sure recipe for attention from the Empire.
He needs a way to defend himself that isn't magic. That doesn't have to be swordplay, but Brom is already teaching it to Eragon in his role as a Rider, and probably knows swordplay best himself, so why would he teach Harry a different weapon?
Despite all of this, I read every single review and appreciate even the ones that frustrate me. Even the short ones that say "good chapter" make me smile and make writing this worth it. I also check my PM's on FFN fairly regularly, and I'm a lot more willing to discuss spoilers there than in these awkward, very public AN's I have to use because you can't reply directly to comments on FFN.