Inheritance i-4

by Christopher Paolini

  Along with Saphira, the elves assigned to guard her and Eragon had gathered along the edge of the field. Their presence made Eragon uncomfortable-he disliked having anyone other than Saphira or Arya witness his failures-but he knew the elves would never agree to withdraw to the tents. In any event, they did serve one useful purpose aside from protecting him and Saphira: keeping the other warriors on the field from wandering over to gawk at a Rider and an elf going at it hammer and tongs. Not that Blodhgarm’s spellcasters did anything specific to discourage onlookers, but their very aspect was intimidating enough to ward off casual spectators.

  The longer he fought with Arya, the more frustrated Eragon became. He won two of their matches-barely, frantically, with desperate ploys that succeeded more by luck than skill, and that he never would have attempted in a real duel unless he no longer cared for his own safety-but except for those isolated victories, Arya continued to beat him with depressing ease.

  Eventually, Eragon’s anger and frustration boiled over, and all sense of proportion deserted him. Inspired by the methods that had granted him his few successes, Eragon lifted his right arm and prepared to throw Brisingr at Arya, even as he might a battle-ax.

  Just at that moment, another mind touched Eragon’s, a mind that Eragon instantly knew belonged to neither Arya nor Saphira, nor any of the other elves, for it was unmistakably male, and it was unmistakably dragon. Eragon recoiled from the contact, racing to order his thoughts so as to ward off what he feared was an attack by Thorn. But before he could, an immense voice echoed through the shadowed byways of his consciousness, like the sound of a mountain shifting under its own weight:

  Enough, said Glaedr.

  Eragon stiffened and stumbled forward a half step, rising onto the balls of his feet, as he stopped himself from throwing Brisingr. He saw or sensed Arya, Saphira, and Blodhgarm’s spellcasters react as well, stirring with surprise, and he knew that they too had heard Glaedr.

  The dragon’s mind felt much the same as before-old and unfathomable and torn with grief. But for the first time since Oromis’s death at Gil’ead, Glaedr seemed possessed of an urge to do something other than sink ever deeper into the all-enveloping morass of his private torments.

  Glaedr-elda! Eragon and Saphira said at the same time.

  How are you-

  Are you all right-

  Did you-

  Others spoke as well-Arya; Blodhgarm; two more of the elves, whom Eragon could not identify-and their mass of conflicting words clattered together in an incomprehensible discord.

  Enough, Glaedr repeated, sounding both weary and exasperated. Do you wish to attract unwanted attention?

  At once everyone fell silent as they waited to hear what the golden dragon would say next. Excited, Eragon exchanged glances with Arya.

  Glaedr did not speak immediately, but watched them for another few minutes, his presence weighing heavily against Eragon’s consciousness, even as Eragon was sure it did with the others.

  Then, in his sonorous, magisterial voice, Glaedr said, This has gone on long enough.… Eragon, you should not spend so much time sparring. It is distracting you from more important matters. The sword in Galbatorix’s hand is not what you need fear the most, nor the sword in his mouth, but rather the sword in his mind. His greatest talent lies in his ability to worm his way into the smallest parts of your being and force you to obey his will. Instead of these bouts with Arya, you should concentrate on improving your mastery over your thoughts; they are still woefully undisciplined.… Why, then, do you still persist with this futile endeavor?

  A host of answers leaped to the forefront of Eragon’s mind: that he enjoyed crossing blades with Arya, despite the aggravation it caused him; that he wanted to be the very best sword fighter he could-the very best in the world, if possible; that the exercise helped calm his nerves and shape his body; and many more reasons besides. He tried to suppress the welter of thoughts, both to preserve some measure of privacy and to avoid inundating Glaedr with unwanted information, thus confirming the dragon’s opinion about his lack of discipline. He did not entirely succeed, however, and a faint air of disappointment emanated from Glaedr.

  Eragon chose his strongest arguments. If I can hold Galbatorix off with my mind-even if I can’t beat him-if I can just hold him off, then this may still be decided by the sword. In any case, the king isn’t the only enemy we should be worried about: there’s Murtagh, for one, and who knows what other kinds of men or creatures Galbatorix has in his service? I wasn’t able to defeat Durza by myself, nor Varaug, nor even Murtagh. Always I’ve had help. But I can’t rely on Arya or Saphira or Blodhgarm to rescue me every time I get into trouble. I have to be better with a blade, and yet I can’t seem to make any progress, no matter how hard I try.

  Varaug? Glaedr queried. I have not heard that name before.

  It fell to Eragon, then, to tell Glaedr about the capture of Feinster and how he and Arya had killed the newly born Shade even as Oromis and Glaedr had met their deaths-differing kinds of deaths, but both still mortal ends-while battling in the skies over Gil’ead. Eragon also summarized the Varden’s activities thereafter, for he realized that Glaedr had kept himself so isolated, he had little knowledge of them. The account took Eragon several minutes to deliver, during which time he and the elves stood frozen on the field, staring past each other with unseeing eyes, their attention turned inward as they concentrated on the rapid exchange of thoughts, images, and feelings.

  Another long silence followed as Glaedr digested what he had learned. When he again deigned to speak, it was with a tinge of amusement: You are overly ambitious if your goal is to be able to kill Shades with impunity. Even the oldest and wisest of the Riders would have hesitated to attack a Shade alone. You have already survived encounters with two of them, which is two more than most. Be grateful you have been so lucky and leave it at that. Trying to outmatch a Shade is like trying to fly higher than the sun.

  Yes, replied Eragon, but our foes are as strong as Shades or even stronger, and Galbatorix may create more of them just to slow our progress. He uses them carelessly, without heed for the destruction they could cause throughout the land.

  Ebrithil, said Arya, he is right. Our enemies are deadly in the extreme … as you well know-this she added in a gentle tone-and Eragon is not at the level he needs to be. To prepare for what lies before us, he has to attain mastery. I have done my best to teach him, but mastery ultimately must come from within, not without.

  Her defense of him warmed Eragon’s heart.

  As before, Glaedr was slow to respond. Nor has Eragon mastered his thoughts, as he must also do. Neither of these abilities, mental or physical, is of much use alone, but of the two, the mental is more important. One can win a battle against both a spellcaster and a swordsman with the mind alone. Your mind and your body ought to be in balance, butif you must choose which of them to train, you should choose your mind. Arya … Blodhgarm … Yaela … you know this is true. Why have none of you taken it upon yourselves to continue Eragon’s instruction in this area?

  Arya cast her eyes at the ground, somewhat like a chastised child, while the fur on Blodhgarm’s shoulders rippled and stood on end, and he pulled back his lips to reveal the tips of his sharp white fangs.

  It was Blodhgarm who finally dared reply. Speaking wholly in the ancient language, the first to do so, he said, Arya is here as the ambassador of our people. I and my band are here to protect the lives of Saphira Brightscales and Eragon Shadeslayer, and it has been a difficult and time-consuming task. We have all tried to help Eragon, but it is not our place to train a Rider, nor would we presume to attempt it when one of his rightful masters was still alive and present … even if that master was neglecting his duty.

  Dark clouds of anger gathered within Glaedr, like massive thunderheads building on the horizon. Eragon distanced himself from Glaedr’s consciousness, wary of the dragon’s wrath. Glaedr was no longer capable of physically harming anyone, but he was still incredibly dangerous,
and should he lose control and lash out with his mind, none of them would be able to withstand his might.

  Blodhgarm’s rudeness and insensitivity initially shocked Eragon-he had never heard an elf speak to a dragon like that before-but after a moment’s reflection, Eragon realized that Blodhgarm must have done it to draw Glaedr out and prevent him from retreating into his shell of misery. Eragon admired the elf’s courage, but he wondered whether insulting Glaedr was really the best approach. It certainly wasn’t the safest plan.

  The billowing thunderheads swelled in size, illuminated by brief, lightning-like flashes, as Glaedr’s mind jumped from one thought to another. You have overstepped your bounds, elf, he growled, also in the ancient language. My actions are not for you to question. You cannot even begin to comprehend what I have lost. If it were not for Eragonand Saphira and my duty to them, I would have gone mad long ago. So do not accuse me of negligence, Blodhgarm, son of Ildrid, unless you wish to test yourself against the last of the high Old Ones.

  Baring his teeth even more, Blodhgarm hissed. In spite of that, Eragon detected a hint of satisfaction in the elf’s visage. To Eragon’s dismay, Blodhgarm pressed on, saying, Then do not blame us for failing to fulfill what are your responsibilities, not ours, Old One. Our whole race mourns your loss, but you cannot expect us to make allowances for your self-pity when we are at war with the most deadly enemy in our history-the same enemy who exterminated nearly every one of your kind, and who also killed your Rider.

  Glaedr’s fury was volcanic. Black and terrible, it battered against Eragon with such force, he felt as if the fabric of his being might split asunder, like a sail caught in the wind. On the other side of the field, he saw men drop their weapons and clutch at their heads, grimacing with pain.

  My self-pity? said Glaedr, forcing out each word, and each word sounding like a pronouncement of doom. In the recesses of the dragon’s mind, Eragon sensed something unpleasant taking shape that, if allowed to reach fruition, might be the cause of much sorrow and regret.

  Then Saphira spoke, and her mental voice cut through Glaedr’s churning emotions like a knife through water. Master, she said, I have been worried about you. It is good to know that you are well and strong again. None of us are your equal, and we have need of your help. Without you, we cannot hope to defeat the Empire.

  Glaedr rumbled ominously, but he did not ignore, interrupt, or insult her. Indeed, her praise seemed to please him, even if only a little. After all, as Eragon reflected, if there was one thing dragons were susceptible to, it was flattery, as Saphira was well aware.

  Without pausing to allow Glaedr to respond, Saphira said, Since you no longer have use of your wings, let me offer my own as a replacement. The air is calm, the sky is clear, and it would be a joy to fly highabove the ground, higher than even the eagles dare soar. After so long trapped within your heart of hearts, you must yearn to leave all this behind and feel the currents of air rising beneath you once more.

  The black storm within Glaedr abated somewhat, although it remained vast and threatening, teetering on the edge of renewed violence. That … would be pleasant.

  Then we shall fly together soon. But, Master?

  Yes, youngling?

  There is something I wish to ask of you first.

  Then ask it.

  Will you help Eragon with his swordsmanship? Can you help him? He isn’t as skilled as he needs to be, and I don’t want to lose my Rider. Saphira remained dignified throughout, but there was a note of pleading in her voice that caused Eragon’s throat to tighten.

  The thunderheads collapsed inward on themselves, leaving behind a bare gray landscape that seemed inexpressibly sad to Eragon. Glaedr paused. Strange, half-seen shapes moved slowly along the edge of the landscape-hulking monoliths that Eragon had no desire to meet up close.

  Very well, Glaedr said at long last. I will do what I can for your Rider, but after we are done on this field, he must let me teach him as I see fit.

  Agreed, said Saphira. Eragon saw Arya and the other elves relax, as if they had been holding their breath.

  Eragon withdrew from the others for a moment as Trianna and several other magicians who served in the Varden contacted him, each demanding to know what they had just felt tearing at their minds and what had so upset the men and animals in the camp. Trianna overrode the others, saying, Are we under attack, Shadeslayer? Is it Thorn? Is it Shruikan?! Her panic was so strong, it made Eragon want to throw down his sword and shield and run for safety.

  No, everything is fine, he said as evenly as he could. Glaedr’s existence was still a secret to most of the Varden, including Trianna and the magicians who answered to her. Eragon wanted to keep it that way, lest word of the golden dragon should reach the Empire’s spies. Lying while in communication with another person’s mind was difficult in the extreme-since it was nearly impossible to avoid thinking about whatever it was you wanted to keep hidden-so Eragon kept the conversation as short as he could. The elves and I were practicing magic. I’ll explain it later, but there’s no need to be worried.

  He could tell that his reassurances did not entirely convince them, but they dared not press him for a more detailed explanation and bade him farewell before walling off their minds from his inner eye.

  Arya must have noticed a change in his bearing, for she walked over to him and, in a low murmur, asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Eragon replied in a similar undertone. He nodded toward the men who were picking up their weapons. “I had to answer a few questions.”

  “Ah. You didn’t tell them who-”

  “Of course not.”

  Take up your positions as before, Glaedr rumbled, and Eragon and Arya separated and paced off twenty feet in either direction.

  Knowing that it might be a mistake but unable to restrain himself, Eragon said, Master, can you really teach me what I need to know before we reach Uru’baen? So little time is left to us, I-

  I can teach you right now, if you will listen to me, said Glaedr. But you will have to listen harder than ever before.

  I am listening, Master. Still, Eragon could not help wondering how much the dragon really knew about sword fighting. Glaedr would have learned a great deal from Oromis, even as Saphira had learned from Eragon, but despite those shared experiences, Glaedr had never held a sword himself-how could he have? Glaedr instructing Eragon on fencing would be like Eragon instructing a dragon on how to navigate the thermals rising off the side of a mountain; Eragon could do it, but he would not be able to explain it as well as Saphira, for his knowledge was secondhand, and no amount of abstract contemplation could overcome that disadvantage.

  Eragon kept his doubts to himself, but something of them must have seeped past his barriers to Glaedr, because the dragon made an amused sound-or rather, he imitated one within his mind, the habits of the body being hard to forget-and said, All great fighting is the same, Eragon, even as all great warriors are the same. Past a certain point, it does not matter whether you wield a sword, a claw, a tooth, or a tail. It is true, you must be capable with your weapon, but anyone with the time and the inclination can acquire technical proficiency. To achieve greatness, though, that requires artistry. That requires imagination and thoughtfulness, and it is those qualities that the best warriors share, even if, on the surface, they appear completely different.

  Glaedr fell silent for a moment, then said, Now, what was it I told you before?

  Eragon did not have to even stop to consider. That I had to learn to see what I was looking at. And I’ve tried, Master. I have.

  But still you do not see. Look at Arya. Why has she been able to beat you again and again? Because she understands you, Eragon. She knows who you are and how you think, and that is what allows her to defeat you so consistently. Why is it Murtagh was able to trounce you on the Burning Plains, even though he was nowhere near as fast or strong as you?

  Because I was tired and-

  And how is it he succeeded in wounding you in the hip
when last you met, and yet you were only able to give him a scratch on the cheek? I will tell you, Eragon. It was not because you were tired and he was not. No, it was because he understands you, Eragon, but you do not understand him. Murtagh knows more than you, and thus he has power over you, as does Arya.

  And still Glaedr spoke: Look at her, Eragon. Look at her well. She sees you for who you are, but do you see her in return? Do you see her clearly enough to defeat her in battle?

  Eragon locked eyes with Arya and found within them a combination of determination and defensiveness, as if she was challenging him to attempt to pry open her secrets, but she was also afraid of what would happen if he did. Doubt welled up inside Eragon. Did he really know her as well as he thought? Or had he deceived himself into mistaking the outer for the inner?

  You have allowed yourself to become angrier than you should, said Glaedr softly. Anger has its place, but it will not help you here. The way of the warrior is the way of knowing. If that knowledge requires you to use anger, then you use anger, but you cannot wrest forth knowledge by losing your temper. Pain and frustration will be your only reward if you try.

  Instead, you must strive to be calm, even if a hundred ravening enemies are snapping at your heels. Empty your mind and allow it to become like a tranquil pool that reflects everything around it and yet remains untouched by its surroundings. Understanding will come to you in that emptiness, when you are free of irrational fears about victory and defeat, life and death.

  You cannot predict every eventuality, and you cannot guarantee success every time you face an enemy, but by seeing all and discounting nothing, you may adapt without hesitation to any change. The warrior who can adapt the easiest to the unexpected is the warrior who will live the longest.

  So, look at Arya, see what you are looking at, and then take the action you deem most appropriate. And once you are in motion, do not allow your thoughts to distract you. Think without thinking, so that you act as if out of instinct and not reason. Go now, and try.