Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (49 page)

well as the Varden’s hopes for what the girl might achieve once she grew

up. Nasuada was more pragmatic about the subject. Whatever the infant

became, it would not be for many years, by which time the battle with

Galbatorix would already be won or lost.

“I’ve been asked to take you to her.”

“Asked? By whom? And why?”

“A boy on the practice field told me that you should visit the child.

Said that you would find it interesting. He refused to give me his name,

but he looked like what that witch’s werecat is supposed to turn into, so

308

I thought. . Well, I thought you should know.” Jörmundur looked embar-

rassed. “I asked my men questions about the girl, and I heard things. . that

she’s different. ”

“In what way?”

He shrugged. “Enough to believe that you should do what the werecat

says.”

Nasuada frowned. She knew from the old stories that ignoring a were-

cat was the height of folly and often led to one’s doom. However, his

companion—Angela the herbalist—was another magic user that Nasuada

did not entirely trust; she was too independent and unpredictable.

“Magic,” she said, making it a curse.

“Magic,” agreed Jörmundur, though he used it as a word of awe and

fear.

“Very well, let us go visit this child. Is she within the castle?”

“Orrin gave her and her caretaker rooms on the west side of the keep.”

“Take me to her.”

Gathering up her skirts, Nasuada ordered Farica to postpone the rest of

the day’s appointments, then left the chambers. Behind her, she heard

Jörmundur snap his fingers as he directed four guards to take up positions

around her. A moment later, he joined her side, pointing out their course.

The heat within Borromeo Castle had increased to the point where

they felt as if they were trapped within a giant bread oven. The air

shimmered like liquid glass along the windowsills.

Though she was uncomfortable, Nasuada knew that she dealt with the

heat better than most people because of her swarthy skin. The ones who

had the hardest time enduring the high temperatures were men like Jör-

mundur and her guards, who had to wear their armor all day long, even if

they were stationed out under the lidless gaze of the sun.

Nasuada kept close watch on the five men as sweat gathered on their

exposed skin and their breathing became ever more ragged. Since they

had arrived in Aberon, a number of the Varden had fainted from heat-

stroke—two of whom died an hour or two later—and she had no inten-

tion of losing more of her subjects by driving them beyond their physical

309

limits.

When she deemed they needed to rest, she bade them to stop—

overriding their objections—and get drinks of water from a servant. “I

can’t have you toppling like ninepins.”

They had to break twice more before they reached their destination, a

nondescript door recessed in the inner wall of the corridor. The floor

around it was littered with gifts.

Jörmundur knocked, and a quavering voice from inside asked, “Who is

it?”

“Lady Nasuada, come to see the child,” he said.

“Be you of true heart and steadfast resolve?”

This time Nasuada answered, “My heart is pure and my resolve is as

iron.”

“Cross the threshold, then, and be welcome.”

The door swung open to an entryway lit by a single red dwarf lantern.

No one was at the door. Proceeding inward, Nasuada saw that the walls

and ceiling were swathed with layers of dark fabric, giving the place the

appearance of a cave or lair. To her surprise, the air was quite cold, al-

most chilly, like a brisk autumn night. Apprehension sank its poisonous

claws into her belly. Magic.

A black mesh curtain blocked her way. Brushing it aside, she found

herself in what was once a sitting room. The furniture had been removed,

except for a line of chairs pushed against the shrouded walls. A cluster of

faint dwarf lanterns were hung in a dimple of the sagging fabric overhead,

casting weird multicolored shadows in every direction.

A bent crone watched her from the depths of one corner, bracketed by

Angela the herbalist and the werecat, who stood with his hackles raised.

In the center of the room knelt a pale girl that Nasuada took to be three

or four years old. The girl picked at a platter of food on her lap. No one

spoke.

Confused, Nasuada asked, “Where is the baby?”

The girl looked up.

310

Nasuada gasped as she saw the dragon mark bright upon the child’s

brow and as she peered deep into her violet eyes. The girl quirked her

lips with a terrible, knowing smile. “I am Elva.”

Nasuada recoiled without thinking, clutching at the dagger she kept

strapped to her left forearm. It was an adult’s voice and filled with an

adult’s experience and cynicism. It sounded profane coming from the

mouth of a child.

“Don’t run,” said Elva. “I’m your friend.” She put the platter aside; it was

empty now. To the crone, she said, “More food.” The old woman hurried

from the room. Then Elva patted the floor beside her. “Please, sit. I have

been waiting for you ever since I learned to talk.”

Keeping her grip on her dagger, Nasuada lowered herself to the stones.

“When was that?”

“Last week.” Elva folded her hands in her lap. She fixed her ghastly eyes

on Nasuada, pinning her in place through the unnatural strength of her

gaze. Nasuada felt as if a violet lance had pierced her skull and was twist-

ing inside her mind, tearing apart her thoughts and memories. She fought

the desire to scream.

Leaning forward, Elva reached out and cupped Nasuada’s cheek with

one soft hand. “You know, Ajihad could not have led the Varden better

than you have. You chose the correct path. Your name will be praised for

centuries for having the courage and foresight to move the Varden to

Surda and attack the Empire when everyone else thought it was insane to

do so.”

Nasuada gaped at the girl, stunned. Like a key matched to a lock, Elva’s

words perfectly addressed Nasuada’s primal fears, the doubts that kept

her awake at night, sweating in the darkness. An involuntary surge of

emotion rushed through her, bolstering her with a sense of confidence

and peace that she had not possessed since before Ajihad’s death. Tears of

relief burst from her eyes and rolled down her face. It was as if Elva had

known exactly what to say in order to comfort her.

Nasuada loathed her for it.

Her euphoria warred against her distaste for how this moment of

weakness had been induced and by whom. Nor did she trust the girl’s

motivation.

311

“What are you?” she demanded.

“I am what Eragon made me.”

“He blessed you.”

The dreadful, ancient eyes were obscured for a moment as Elva

blinked. “He did not understand his actions. Since Eragon ensorcelled me,

whenever I see a person, I sense all the hurts that beset him and are

about to beset him. When I was smaller, I could do nothing about it. So I

grew bigger.”

“Why would—”

“The magic in my blood drives me to protect people from pain. . no

matter the injury to myself or whether I want to help or not.” Her smile

acquired a bitter twist. “It costs me dearly if I resist the urge.”

As Nasuada digested the implications, she realized that Elva’s unsettling

aspect was a by-product of the suffering that she had been exposed to.

Nasuada shivered at the thought of what the girl had endured. It must

have torn her apart to have this compulsion and yet be unable to act on it.

Against her better judgment, she began to feel a measure of sympathy for

Elva.

“Why have you told me this?”

“I thought that you should know who and what I am.” Elva paused, and

the fire in her gaze strengthened. “And that I will fight for you however I

can. Use me as you would an assassin—in hiding, in the dark, and with-

out mercy.” She laughed with a high, chilling voice. “You wonder why; I

see you do. Because unless this war ends, and sooner rather than later, it

will drive me insane. I find it hard enough to deal with the agonies of

everyday life without also having to confront the atrocities of battle. Use

me to end it and I’ll ensure that your life is as happy as any human has

had the privilege to experience.”

At that moment, the crone scurried back into the room, bowed to

Elva, and handed her a new platter of food. It was a physical relief to

Nasuada as Elva looked down and attacked a leg of mutton, cramming

the meat into her mouth with both hands. She ate with the ravenous in-

tensity of a gorging wolf, displaying a complete lack of decorum. With

her violet eyes hidden and her dragon mark covered by black bangs, she

312

once again appeared to be nothing more than an innocent child.

Nasuada waited until it became apparent that Elva had said all she was

going to. Then—at a gesture from Angela—she accompanied the herbal-

ist through a side door, leaving the pale girl sitting alone in the center of

the dark, cloth-bound room, like a dire fetus nestled in its womb, waiting

for the right moment to emerge.

Angela made sure that the door was closed and whispered, “All she

does is eat and eat. We can’t sate her appetite with the current rations.

Can you—”

“She’ll be fed. You needn’t worry about it.” Nasuada rubbed her arms,

trying to eradicate the memory of those awful, horrible eyes. .

“Thank you.”

“Has this ever happened to anyone else?”

Angela shook her head until her curly hair bounced on her shoulders.

“Not in the entire history of magic. I tried to cast her future, but it’s a

hopeless quagmire—lovely word, quagmire —because her life interacts

with so many others.”

“Is she dangerous?”

“We’re all dangerous.”

“You know what I mean.”

Angela shrugged. “She’s more dangerous than some and less than others.

The one she’s most likely to kill, though, is herself. If she meets someone

who’s about to be hurt and Eragon’s spell catches her unawares, then

she’ll take the doomed person’s place. That’s why she stays inside most of

the time.”

“How far in advance can she foretell events?”

“Two or three hours at the most.”

Leaning against the wall, Nasuada considered the newest complication

in her life. Elva could be a potent weapon if she were applied correctly.

Through her, I can discern my opponents’ troubles and weaknesses, as well

as what will please them and make them amenable to my wishes. In an

313

emergency, the girl could also act as an infallible guard if one of the

Varden, like Eragon or Saphira, had to be protected.

She can’t be left unsupervised. I need someone to watch her. Someone who

understands magic and is comfortable enough with their own identity to re-

sist Elva’s influence... and who I can trust to be reliable and honest. She

immediately discounted Trianna.

Nasuada looked at Angela. Though she was wary of the herbalist, she

knew that Angela had helped the Varden with matters of the utmost

delicacy and importance—like healing Eragon—and had asked for noth-

ing in return. Nasuada could think of no one else who had the time, in-

clination, and expertise to look after Elva.

“I realize,” said Nasuada, “that this is presumptuous of me, as you aren’t

under my command and I know little of your life or duties, but I have a

favor to ask of you.”

“Proceed.” Angela waved a hand.

Nasuada faltered, disconcerted, then forged ahead. “Would you be will-

ing to keep an eye on Elva for me? I need—”

“Of course! And I’ll keep two eyes on her, if I can spare them. I relish

the opportunity to study her.”

“You’ll have to report to me,” warned Nasuada.

“The poison dart hidden in the raisin tart. Ah, well, I suppose I can

manage.”

“I have your word, then?”

“You have my word.”

Relieved, Nasuada groaned and sank into a nearby chair. “Oh, what a

mess. What a quagmire. As Eragon’s liegelord, I’m responsible for his

deeds, but I never imagined that he would do anything as dreadful as this.

It’s a blight on my honor as much as his.”

A ripple of sharp pops filled the room as Angela cracked her knuckles.

“Yes. I intend to speak to him about it once he returns from Ellesméra.”

Her expression was so fierce, it alarmed Nasuada. “Well, don’t hurt

314

him. We need him.”

“I won’t. . permanently.”

315

RESURGENCE

A blast of ravening wind tore Eragon from his sleep.

Blankets flapped over him as a tempest clawed at his room, hurling his

possessions into the air and knocking the lanterns against the walls. Out-

side, the sky was black with thunderheads.

Saphira watched as Eragon staggered upright and fought to keep his

balance as the tree swayed like a ship at sea. He lowered his head against

the gale and made his way around the room, clutching at the wall until

he reached the teardrop portal through which the storm howled.

Eragon looked past the heaving floor to the ground below. It appeared

to rock back and forth. He swallowed and tried to ignore the churning in