Inheritance i-4

by Christopher Paolini

  Orik was the next to join them. He rode from the south on a shaggy pony that was lathered and panting. “Ho, Eragon! Ho, Saphira!” the dwarf king cried, raising a fist. He slid down from his exhausted mount, stomped over, and pulled Eragon into a rough embrace, pounding him on the back.

  When they had finished greeting each other-and Orik had given Saphira a rub on her nose, which made her hum-Eragon asked, “Where are your guards?”

  Orik gestured over his shoulder. “Braiding their beards by a farmhouse a mile west of here, and none too happy about it, I dare say. I’d trust every last one of them-they’re clanmates of mine-but Blodhgarm said I should best come alone, so alone I’ve come. Now tell me, why this secrecy? What did you discover on Vroengard?”

  “You’ll have to wait for the rest of our council to find out,” said Eragon. “But I am glad to see you again.” And he clapped Orik on the shoulder.

  Roran arrived on foot soon afterward, looking grim and dusty. He gripped Eragon’s arm and welcomed him, then pulled him aside and said, “Can you stop them from hearing us?” He motioned with his chin toward Orik and the elves.

  It took Eragon only a few seconds to cast a spell that shielded them from listeners. “Done.” At the same time, he separated his mind from Glaedr and the other Eldunari, although not from Saphira.

  Roran nodded and looked off over the fields. “I had some words with King Orrin while you were gone.”

  “Words? How so?”

  “He was being a fool, and I told him so.”

  “I take it he didn’t react very kindly.”

  “You could say that. He tried to stab me.”

  “He what?!”

  “I managed to knock his sword out of his hand before he could land a blow, but if he had had his way, he would have killed me.”

  “Orrin?” Eragon had trouble imagining the king doing any such thing. “Did you hurt him badly?”

  For the first time, Roran smiled: a brief expression that quickly vanished under his beard. “I scared him, which might be worse.”

  Eragon grunted and clenched the pommel of Brisingr. He realized that he and Roran were mirroring each other’s posture; they both had their hands on their weapons, and they both stood with their weight on the opposite leg. “Who else knows of this?”

  “Jormundur-he was there-and whomever Orrin has told.”

  Frowning, Eragon began to pace back and forth as he tried to decide what to do. “The timing of this couldn’t be worse.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t have been so blunt with Orrin, but he was about to send ‘royal greetings’ to Galbatorix and other such nonsense. He would have put us all in danger. I couldn’t allow that to happen. You would have done the same.”

  “Maybe so, but this just makes things all the more difficult. I’m the leader of the Varden now. An attack on you or any of the other warriors under my command is the same as an attack on me. Orrin knows that, and he knows we’re of the same blood. He might as well have thrown a gauntlet in my face.”

  “He was drunk,” said Roran. “I’m not sure he was thinking of that when he drew his sword.”

  Eragon saw Arya and Blodhgarm giving him curious glances. He stopped pacing and turned his back to them.

  “I’m worried about Katrina,” Roran added. “If Orrin is angry enough, he might send his men after me or her. Either way, she could get hurt. Jormundur already posted a guard at our tent, but that’s not enough protection.”

  Eragon shook his head. “Orrin wouldn’t dare hurt her.”

  “No? He can’t harm you, and he doesn’t have the stomach to confront me directly, so what does that leave? An ambush. Knives in the dark. Killing Katrina would be an easy way for Orrin to have his revenge.”

  “I doubt that Orrin would resort to knives in the dark-or harming Katrina.”

  “You can’t say for sure, though.”

  Eragon thought for a moment. “I’ll place some spells on Katrina to keep her safe, and I’ll let Orrin know that I’ve placed them. That should put a stop to any plans he might have.”

  The tension in Roran seemed to drain away. “I’d appreciate that.”

  “I’ll give you some new wards as well.”

  “No, save your strength. I can take care of myself.”

  Eragon insisted, but Roran kept refusing. Finally, Eragon said, “Blast it! Listen to me. We’re about to go into battle against Galbatorix’s men. You have to have some protection, if only against magic. I’m going to give you wards whether you like it or not, so you might as well smile and thank me for them!”

  Roran glowered at him, then he grunted and raised his hands. “Fine, as you wish. You never did know when it was sensible to give up.”

  “Oh, and you do?”

  A chuckle came from within the depths of Roran’s beard. “I suppose not. I guess it runs in the family.”

  “Mmh. Between Brom and Garrow, I don’t know who was the more stubborn.”

  “Father was,” said Roran.

  “Eh … Brom was as-No, you’re right. It was Garrow.”

  They exchanged grins, remembering their life on the farm. Then Roran shifted his stance and gave Eragon an odd, sideways look. “You seem different than before.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do. You seem more sure of yourself.”

  “Perhaps it’s because I understand myself better than I once did.”

  To that, Roran had no answer.

  Half an hour later, Jormundur and King Orrin rode up together. Eragon greeted Orrin as politely as ever, but Orrin responded with a curt reply and avoided his gaze. Even from a distance of several feet, Eragon could smell wine on his breath.

  Once they were all assembled before Saphira, Eragon began. First, he had everyone swear oaths of secrecy in the ancient language. Then he explained the concept of an Eldunari to Orik, Roran, Jormundur, and Orrin, and he recounted a brief history of the dragons’ gemlike hearts with the Riders and Galbatorix.

  The elves appeared uneasy with Eragon’s willingness to discuss the Eldunari before the others, but none protested, which pleased him. He had earned that much trust, at least. Orik, Roran, and Jormundur reacted with surprise, disbelief, and dozens of questions. Roran in particular acquired a sharp gleam in his eye, as if the information had given him a host of new ideas on how to kill Galbatorix.

  Throughout, Orrin was surly and remained stridently unconvinced of the existence of the Eldunari. In the end, the only thing that quelled his doubts was when Eragon removed Glaedr’s heart of hearts from the saddlebags and introduced the dragon to the four of them.

  The awe they displayed at meeting Glaedr gratified Eragon. Even Orrin seemed impressed, although after exchanging a few words with Glaedr, he turned on Eragon and said, “Did Nasuada know of this?”

  “Yes. I told her at Feinster.”

  As Eragon expected, the admission displeased Orrin. “So once again the two of you chose to ignore me. Without the support of my men and the food of my nation, the Varden would have had no hope of confronting the Empire. I’m the sovereign ruler of one of only four countries in Alagaesia, my army makes up a goodly portion of our forces, and yet neither of you deemed it appropriate to inform me of this!”

  Before Eragon could respond, Orik stepped forward. “They did not tell me about it either, Orrin,” the dwarf king rumbled. “And mine people have helped the Varden for longer than yours. You should not take offense. Eragon and Nasuada did what they thought was best for our cause; they meant no disrespect.”

  Orrin scowled and looked as if he was going to continue arguing, but Glaedr preempted him by saying, They did as I asked, King of the Surdans. The Eldunari are the greatest secret of our race, and we do not share it lightly with others, even kings.

  “Then why have you chosen to do so now?” demanded Orrin. “You could have gone into battle without ever revealing yourself.”

  In answer, Eragon recounted the story of their trip to Vroengard, including their encounter with the storm at sea
and the sight they had witnessed at the very top of the clouds. Arya and Blodhgarm seemed the most interested in that part of his story, whereas Orik was the most uncomfortable.

  “Barzul, but that sounds a nasty experience,” he said. “It makes me shiver just to think of it. The ground is the proper place for a dwarf, not the sky.”

  I agree, said Saphira, which caused Orik to scowl suspiciously and twist the braided ends of his beard.

  Resuming his tale, Eragon told of how he, Saphira, and Glaedr had entered the Vault of Souls, though he refrained from divulging that this had required their true names. And when he at last revealed what the vault had contained, there was a moment of shocked silence.

  Then Eragon said, “Open your minds.”

  A moment later, the sound of whispering voices seemed to fill the air, and Eragon felt the presence of Umaroth and the other hidden dragons surround them.

  The elves staggered, and Arya dropped to one knee, pressing a hand to the side of her head as if she had been struck. Orik uttered a cry and looked about, wild-eyed, while Roran, Jormundur, and Orrin stood dumbfounded.

  Queen Islanzadi knelt, adopting a pose much like her daughter’s. In his mind, Eragon heard her speaking to the dragons, greeting many by name and welcoming them as old friends. Blodhgarm did likewise, and for several minutes a flurry of thoughts passed between the dragons and those gathered at the base of the hill.

  The mental cacophony was so great, Eragon shielded himself from it and retreated to sit on one of Saphira’s forelegs while he waited for the noise to subside. The elves seemed most affected by the revelation: Blodhgarm stared into the air with an expression of joy and wonder, while Arya continued to kneel. Eragon thought he saw a line of tears on each of her cheeks. Islanzadi beamed with a triumphant radiance, and for the first time since he had met her, Eragon thought she seemed truly happy.

  Orik shook himself then and broke from his reverie. Looking over at Eragon, he said, “By Morgothal’s hammer, this puts a new twist on things! With their help, we might actually be able to kill Galbatorix!”

  “You didn’t think we could before?” Eragon asked mildly.

  “Of course I did. Only not so much as I do now.”

  Roran shook himself, as if waking from a dream. “I didn’t.… I knew that you and the elves would fight as hard as you could, but I didn’t believe you could win.” He met Eragon’s gaze. “Galbatorix has defeated so many Riders, and you’re but one, and not that old. It didn’t seem possible.”

  “I know.”

  “Now, though …” A wolfish look came into Roran’s eyes. “Now we have a chance.”

  “Aye,” said Jormundur. “And just think: we no longer have to worry so much about Murtagh. He’s no match for you and the dragons combined.”

  Eragon drummed his heels against Saphira’s leg and did not answer. He had other ideas on that front. Besides, he did not like to consider having to kill Murtagh.

  Then Orrin spoke up. “Umaroth says that you have devised a battle plan. Do you intend to share it with us, Shadeslayer?”

  “I would like to hear it as well,” said Islanzadi in a kinder tone.

  “And I,” said Orik.

  Eragon stared at them for a moment, then nodded. To Islanzadi, he said, “Is your army ready to fight?”

  “It is. Long we have waited for our vengeance; we need wait no longer.”

  “And ours?” Eragon asked, directing his words toward Orrin, Jormundur, and Orik.

  “Mine knurlan are eager for battle,” proclaimed Orik.

  Jormundur glanced at King Orrin. “Our men are tired and hungry, but their will is unbroken.”

  “The Urgals too?”

  “Them too.”

  “Then we attack.”

  “When?” demanded Orrin.

  “At first light.”

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Roran broke the silence. “Easy to say, hard to do. How?”

  Eragon explained.

  When he finished, there was another silence.

  Roran squatted and began to draw in the dirt with the tip of a finger. “It’s risky.”

  “But bold,” said Orik. “Very bold.”

  “There are no safe paths anymore,” said Eragon. “If we can catch Galbatorix unprepared, even a bit, it might be enough to tip the scales.”

  Jormundur rubbed his chin. “Why not kill Murtagh first? That’s the part I don’t understand. Why not finish him and Thorn while we have the chance?”

  “Because,” Eragon replied, “then Galbatorix would know of them.” And he motioned toward where the hidden Eldunari floated. “We would lose the advantage of surprise.”

  “What of the child?” Orrin asked harshly. “What makes you think that she will accommodate you? She hasn’t before.”

  “This time she will,” Eragon promised, more confidently than he felt.

  The king grunted, unconvinced.

  Then Islanzadi said, “Eragon, it is a great and terrible thing you propose. Are you willing to do this? I ask not because I doubt your dedication or your bravery, but because this is something to be undertaken only after much consideration. So I ask you: are you willing to do this, even knowing what the cost may be?”

  Eragon did not rise, but he allowed a bit of steel to enter his voice. “I am. It must be done, and we are the ones to whom the task has fallen. Whatever the cost, we cannot turn away now.”

  As a sign of her agreement, Saphira opened her jaws a few inches and then snapped them shut, punctuating the end of his sentence.

  Islanzadi turned her face toward the sky. “And do you and those you speak for approve of this, Umaroth-elda?”

  We do, replied the white dragon.

  “Then here we go,” Roran murmured.

  A MATTER OF DUTY

  The ten of them-including Umaroth-continued to talk for another hour. Orrin required more convincing, and there were numerous details to decide: questions of timing and placement and signaling.

  Eragon was relieved when Arya said, “Unless either you or Saphira object, I will accompany you tomorrow.”

  “We would be glad to have you,” he said.

  Islanzadi stiffened. “What good would that accomplish? Your talents are needed elsewhere, Arya. Blodhgarm and the other spellcasters I assigned to Saphira and Eragon are more skilled at magic than you and more experienced in battle as well. Remember, they fought against the Forsworn, and unlike many, they lived to tell of it. Many of the elder members of our race would volunteer to take your place. It would be selfish to insist upon going when there are others better suited for the task who are willing and close at hand.”

  “I think no one is as suited for the task as Arya,” Eragon said in a calm voice. “And there is no one, other than Saphira, I would rather have by my side.”

  Islanzadi kept her gaze upon Arya and to Eragon said, “You are still young, Shadeslayer, and you are allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment.”

  “No, Mother,” said Arya. “It is you who are allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment.” She moved toward Islanzadi with long, graceful steps. “You are right, there are others who are stronger, wiser, and more experienced than I. But it was I who ferried Saphira’s egg about Alagaesia. I who helped save Eragon from the Shade Durza. And I who, with Eragon’s help, killed the Shade Varaug in Feinster. Like Eragon, I am now a Shadeslayer, and you well know that I swore myself in service to our people long ago. Who else among our kind can claim as much? Even if I wanted to, I would not turn away from this. I would sooner die. I am as prepared for this challenge as any of our elders, for it is to this I have devoted the whole of my life, as has Eragon.”

  “And the whole of your life has been so short,” said Islanzadi. She put a hand up to Arya’s face. “You have devoted yourself to fighting Galbatorix all these years since your father’s death, but you know little of the joys life can provide. And in those years, we have spent such a small amount of time together: a handful of days scattered throughout
a century. It is only since you brought Saphira and Eragon to Ellesmera that we have begun to speak once more, as a mother and daughter ought. I would not lose you again so soon, Arya.”

  “It was not I who chose to remain apart,” said Arya.

  “No,” said Islanzadi, and she took her hand away. “But it was you who chose to leave Du Weldenvarden.” Her expression softened. “I do not wish to argue, Arya. I understand that you see this as your duty, but please, for my sake, will you not allow another to take your place?”

  Arya lowered her gaze and was silent for a time. Then she said, “I cannot allow Eragon and Saphira to go without me any more than you can allow your army to march into battle without you at its head. I cannot.… Would you have it said of me that I am a coward? Those of our family do not turn away from what must be done; do not ask me to shame myself.”

  The shine in Islanzadi’s eyes looked suspiciously like tears to Eragon. “Yes,” said the queen, “but to fight Galbatorix …”

  “If you are so afraid,” said Arya, but not unkindly, “then come with me.”

  “I cannot. I must stay to command my troops.”

  “And I must go with Eragon and Saphira. But I promise you, I shall not die.” Arya placed her hand on Islanzadi’s face even as her mother had done to her. “I shall not die.” Once more Arya repeated the phrase, but this time in the ancient language.

  Arya’s determination impressed Eragon; to say what she had in the ancient language meant that she believed it without qualification. Islanzadi also appeared impressed, and proud too. She smiled and kissed Arya once on each cheek. “Then go, and go with my blessings. And take no more risks than you must.”

  “Nor you.” And the two of them embraced.

  As they separated, Islanzadi looked at Eragon and Saphira and said, “Watch over her, I implore you, for she has not a dragon or the Eldunari to protect her.”

  We will, both Eragon and Saphira replied, in the ancient language.

  Once they had settled what needed to be settled, the war council broke and its various members began to disperse. From where he sat by Saphira, Eragon watched the others mill about. Neither he nor she made an effort to move. Saphira was going to remain hidden behind the hill until the attack, while he intended to wait for dark before he ventured into the camp.