Orik was the second to depart, after Roran. Before he did, the dwarf king came over to Eragon and gave him a rough hug. “Ah, I wish I were going with the two of you,” he said, his eyes solemn above his beard.
“And I wish you were coming,” said Eragon.
“Well, we’ll see each other afterward and toast our victory with barrels of mead, eh?”
“I look forward to it.”
As do I, said Saphira.
“Good,” said Orik, and he nodded firmly. “That’s settled, then. You’d better not let Galbatorix get the better of you, or I’ll be honor-bound to march in after you.”
“We’ll be careful,” Eragon said with a smile.
“I should hope so, because I doubt I could do much more than tweak Galbatorix on the nose.”
That I would like to see, said Saphira.
Orik grunted. “May the gods watch over you, Eragon, and you as well, Saphira.”
“And you, Orik, Thrifk’s son.” Then Orik slapped Eragon on the shoulder and stomped off to where he had tied his pony to a bush.
When Islanzadi and Blodhgarm left, Arya stayed. She was deep in conversation with Jormundur, and so Eragon thought little of it. When Jormundur rode off, however, and Arya still lingered nearby, he realized that she wanted to talk to them alone.
Sure enough, once everyone else had gone, she looked at him and Saphira and said, “Did something else happen to you while you were gone, something that you didn’t want to speak of in front of Orrin or Jormundur … or my mother?”
“Why do you ask?”
She hesitated. “Because … you both seem to have changed. Is it the Eldunari, or does it have to do with your experience in the storm?”
Eragon smiled at her perception. He consulted with Saphira, and when she approved, he said, “We learned our true names.”
Arya’s eyes widened. “You did? And … were you pleased with them?”
In part, said Saphira.
“We learned our true names,” Eragon repeated. “We saw that the earth is round. And during the flight here, Umaroth and the other Eldunari shared many of their memories with us.” He allowed himself a wry smile. “I can’t say we understand all of them, but they make things seem … different.”
“I see,” murmured Arya. “Do you think the change is for the better?”
“I do. Change itself is neither good nor bad, but knowledge is always useful.”
“Was it difficult to find your true names?”
So he told her how they had accomplished it, and he also told her about the strange creatures they had encountered on Vroengard Island, which interested her greatly.
As Eragon spoke, an idea occurred to him, one that resonated within him too strongly to ignore. He explained it to Saphira, and once again she granted him her permission, although somewhat more reluctantly than before.
Must you? she asked.
Yes.
Then do as you will, but only if she agrees.
When they finished speaking of Vroengard, he looked Arya in the eyes and said, “Would you like to hear my true name? I would like to share it with you.”
The offer seemed to shock her. “No! You shouldn’t tell it to me or anyone else. Especially not when we’re so close to Galbatorix. He might steal it from my mind. Besides, you should only give your true name to … to one whom you trust above all others.”
“I trust you.”
“Eragon, even when we elves exchange our true names, we do not do so until we have known each other for many, many years. The knowledge they provide is too personal, too intimate, to bandy about, and there is no greater risk than sharing it. When you teach someone your true name, you place everything you are in their hands.”
“I know, but I may never have the chance again. This is the only thing I have to give, and I would give it to you.”
“Eragon, what you are proposing … It is the most precious thing one person can give another.”
“I know.”
A shiver ran through Arya, and then she seemed to withdraw within herself. After a time, she said, “No one has ever offered me such a gift before.… I’m honored by your trust, Eragon, and I understand how much this means to you, but no, I must decline. It would be wrong for you to do this and wrong for me to accept just because tomorrow we may be killed or enslaved. Danger is no reason to act foolishly, no matter how great our peril.”
Eragon inclined his head. Her reasons were good reasons, and he would respect her choice. “Very well, as you wish,” he said.
“Thank you, Eragon.”
A moment passed. Then he said, “Have you ever told anyone your true name?”
“No.”
“Not even your mother?”
Her mouth twisted. “No.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”
He half shrugged. “I didn’t. I just wasn’t sure.” Silence came between them. Then, “When … how did you learn your true name?”
Arya was quiet for so long, he began to think that she would refuse to answer. Then she took a breath and said, “It was a number of years after I left Du Weldenvarden, when I finally had become accustomed to my role among the Varden and the dwarves. Faolin and my other companions were away, and I had a great deal of time to myself. I spent most of it exploring Tronjheim, wandering in the empty reaches of the city-mountain, where others rarely tread. Tronjheim is bigger than most realize, and there are many strange things within it: rooms, people, creatures, forgotten artifacts.… As I wandered, I thought, and I came to know myself better than ever I had before. One day I discovered a room somewhere high in Tronjheim-I doubt I could locate it again, even if I tried. A beam of sunlight seemed to pour into the room, though the ceiling was solid, and in the center of the room was a pedestal, and upon the pedestal was growing a single flower. I do not know what kind of flower it was; I have never seen its like before or since. The petals were purple, but the center of the blossom was like a drop of blood. There were thorns upon the stem, and the flower exuded the most wonderful scent and seemed to hum with a music all its own. It was such an amazing and unlikely thing to find, I stayed in the room, staring at the flower for longer than I can remember, and it was then and there that I was finally able to put words to who I was and who I am.”
“I would like to see that flower someday.”
“Perhaps you will.” Arya glanced toward the Varden’s camp. “I should go. There is much yet to be done.”
He nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow.” Arya began to walk away. After a few steps, she paused and looked back. “I’m glad that Saphira chose you as her Rider, Eragon. And I’m proud to have fought alongside you. You have become more than any of us dared hope. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that.”
Then she resumed her stride, and soon she disappeared around the curve of the hill, leaving him alone with Saphira and the Eldunari.
FIRE IN THE NIGHT
When darkness fell, Eragon cast a spell to hide himself. Then he patted Saphira on the nose and set out on foot for the Varden’s camp.
Be careful, she said.
Invisible as he was, it was easy to slip past the warriors who kept watch around the periphery of the camp. As long as he was quiet, and as long as the men did not catch sight of his footprints or shadows, he could move about freely.
He wound his way between the woolen tents until he found Roran and Katrina’s. He rapped his knuckles against the central pole, and Roran popped his head out.
“Where are you?” whispered Roran. “Hurry in!”
Releasing the flow of magic, Eragon revealed himself. Roran flinched, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the dark interior of the tent.
“Welcome, Eragon,” said Katrina, rising from where she sat on their tiny cot.
“Katrina.”
“It’s good to see you again.” She gave him a quick embrace.
“Will this take
long?” Roran asked.
Eragon shook his head. “It shouldn’t.” Squatting on his heels, he thought for a moment, then began to chant softly in the ancient language. First, he placed spells around Katrina, to protect her against any who might harm her. He made the spells more extensive than he had originally planned, in an attempt to ensure that she and her unborn child would be able to escape Galbatorix’s forces should something happen to both him and Roran. “These wards will shield you from a certain number of attacks,” he told her. “I can’t tell you how many exactly, because it depends on the strength of the blows or spells. I’ve given you another defense as well. If you’re in danger, say the word frethya two times and you’ll vanish from sight.”
“Frethya,” she murmured.
“Exactly. It won’t hide you completely, however. The sounds you make can still be heard, and your footprints will still be visible. No matter what happens, don’t go into water or your position will be obvious at once. The spell will draw its energy from you, which means that you’ll tire faster than usual, and I wouldn’t recommend sleeping while it’s active. You might not wake up again. To end the spell, simply say frethya letta.”
“Frethya letta.”
“Good.”
Then Eragon turned his attention to Roran. He spent longer placing the wards around his cousin-for it was likely Roran would confront a greater number of threats-and he endowed the spells with more energy than he thought Roran would have approved of, but Eragon did not care. He could not bear the thought of defeating Galbatorix only to find that Roran had died during the battle.
Afterward, he said, “I did something different this time, something I should have thought of long ago. In addition to the usual wards, I gave you a few that will feed directly off your own strength. As long as you’re alive, they’ll shield you from danger. But”-he lifted a finger-“they’ll only activate once the other wards are exhausted, and if the demands placed upon them are too great, you’ll fall unconscious and then you’ll die.”
“So in trying to save me, they may kill me?” Roran asked.
Eragon nodded. “Don’t let anyone drop another wall on you, and you’ll be fine. It’s a risk, but worth it, I think, if it keeps a horse from trampling you or a javelin from going through you. Also, I gave you the same spell as Katrina. All you have to do is say frethya twice and frethya letta to turn yourself invisible and visible at will.” He shrugged. “You might find that useful during the battle.”
Roran gave an evil chuckle. “That I will.”
“Just make sure the elves don’t mistake you for one of Galbatorix’s spellcasters.”
As Eragon rose to his feet, Katrina stood as well. She surprised him by grasping one of his hands and pressing it against her chest. “Thank you, Eragon,” she said softly. “You’re a good man.”
He flushed, embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”
“Guard yourself well tomorrow. You mean a great deal to both of us, and I expect you to be around to act the doting uncle for our child. I’ll be most put out if you get yourself killed.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. Saphira won’t let me do anything foolish.”
“Good.” She kissed him on both cheeks, then released him. “Farewell, Eragon.”
“Farewell, Katrina.”
Roran accompanied him outside. Motioning toward the tent, Roran said, “Thank you.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
They gripped each other by the forearms and hugged; then Roran said, “Luck be with you.”
Eragon took a long, unsteady breath. “Luck be with you.” He tightened his grip on Roran’s forearm, reluctant to let go, for he knew that they might never meet again. “If Saphira and I don’t come back,” he said, “will you see to it that we’re buried at home? I wouldn’t want our bones to lie here.”
Roran raised his brows. “Saphira would be difficult to lug all the way back.”
“The elves would help, I’m sure.”
“Then yes, I promise. Is there anywhere in particular you would like?”
“The top of the bald hill,” said Eragon, referring to a foothill near their farm. The bare-topped hill had always seemed like an excellent location for a castle, something they had discussed at great length when younger.
Roran nodded. “And if I don’t come back-”
“We’ll do the same for you.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask. If I don’t … you’ll see to Katrina?”
“Of course. You know that.”
“Aye, but I had to be sure.” They gazed at each other for another minute. Finally, Roran said, “We’ll be expecting you for dinner tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.”
Then Roran slipped back into the tent, leaving Eragon standing alone in the night.
He looked up at the stars and felt a touch of grief, as if he had already lost someone close to him.
After a few moments, he padded away into the shadows, relying upon the darkness to conceal him.
He searched through the camp until he found the tent Horst and Elain shared with their baby girl, Hope. The three of them were still awake, as the infant was crying.
“Eragon!” Horst exclaimed softly when Eragon made his presence known. “Come in! Come in! We haven’t seen much of you since Dras-Leona! How are you?”
Eragon spent the better part of an hour talking with them-he did not tell them of the Eldunari, but he did tell them of his trip to Vroengard-and when Hope finally fell asleep, he bade them farewell and returned to the night.
He next sought out Jeod, whom he found reading scrolls by candlelight while his wife, Helen, slept. When Eragon knocked and stuck his face into the tent, the scarred, thin-faced man put aside his scrolls and left the tent to join Eragon.
Jeod had many questions, and while Eragon did not answer them all, he answered enough that he thought Jeod would be able to guess much of what was about to happen.
Afterward, Jeod laid a hand on Eragon’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you the task that lies ahead. Brom would be proud of your courage.”
“I hope so.”
“I’m sure of it.… If I don’t see you again, you should know: I’ve written a small account of your experiences and of the events that led to them-mainly my adventures with Brom in recovering Saphira’s egg.” Eragon gave him a look of surprise. “I may not get the opportunity to finish it, but I thought it would make a useful addition to Heslant’s work in Domia abr Wyrda.”
Eragon laughed. “I think that would be most fitting. However, if you and I are both alive and free after tomorrow, there are some things I should tell you which will make your account that much more complete and that much more interesting.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
Eragon wandered through the camp for another hour or so, pausing by the fires where men, dwarves, and Urgals still sat awake. He spoke briefly with each of the warriors he met, inquired whether they were being fairly treated, commiserated about their sore feet and short rations, and sometimes exchanged a quip or two. He hoped that by showing himself among them, he could lift the warriors’ spirits and strengthen their resolve, and thus spread a sense of optimism throughout the army. The Urgals, he found, were in the best mood; they seemed delighted about the upcoming battle and the opportunities for glory that it would provide.
He had another purpose as well: to spread false information. Whenever someone asked him about attacking Uru’baen, he hinted that he and Saphira would be among the battalion to besiege the northwestern section of the city wall. He hoped that Galbatorix’s spies would repeat the lie to the king as soon as the alarms woke Galbatorix the following morn.
As he looked into the faces of those listening to him, Eragon could not help but wonder which, if any, were Galbatorix’s servants. The thought made him uncomfortable, and he found himself listening for footsteps behind him when he moved from one fire to the next.
At last, when he was satisfied that he had spoken to enough warriors to ensu
re that the information would reach Galbatorix, he left the fires behind and made his way to a tent that was set slightly away from the others by the southern edge of the camp.
He knocked on the center pole: once, twice, three times. There was no response, so he knocked again, this time louder and longer.
A moment later, he heard a sleepy groan and the rustle of shifting blankets. He waited patiently until a small hand pulled aside the entrance flap and the witch-child, Elva, emerged. She wore a dark robe much too large for her, and by the faint light of a torch some yards away, he could see a frown upon her sharp little face.
“What do you want, Eragon?” she demanded.
“Can’t you tell?”
Her frown deepened. “No, I can’t, only that you want something badly enough to wake me in the middle of the night, which even an idiot could see. What is it? I get little enough rest as is, so this had best be important.”
“It is.”
He spoke without interruption for several minutes, describing his plan, then said, “Without you, it won’t work. You’re the point upon which it all turns.”
She gave an ugly laugh. “Such irony, the mighty warrior relying upon a child to kill the one he cannot.”
“Will you help?”
The girl looked down and scuffed her bare foot against the ground.
“If you do, all this”-he motioned toward the camp and the city beyond-“may end far sooner, and then you will not have to endure quite so much-”
“I’ll help.” She stamped her foot and glared at him. “You don’t have to bribe me. I was going to help anyway. I’m not about to let Galbatorix destroy the Varden just because I don’t like you. You’re not that important, Eragon. Besides, I made a promise to Nasuada, and I intend to keep it.” She cocked her head. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something you’re afraid Galbatorix will find out before we attack. Something about-”
The sound of clanking chains interrupted her.
For a moment, Eragon was confused. Then he realized the sound was coming from the city.
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