Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (94 page)

sure the hairless magicians were grinning and laughing as they slaughtered

the men with whom they once pledged solemn friendship. What the

Twins failed to notice—and what was clearly visible to Eragon and

Murtagh from their vantage point—was that Roran was crawling toward

601

them from the side.

Eragon’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized his cousin. You fool! Get

away from them! You’ll be killed.

Just as he opened his mouth to cast a spell that would transport Roran

out of danger—no matter the cost—Murtagh said, “Wait. I want to see

what he’ll do.”

“Why?”

A bleak smile crossed Murtagh’s face. “The Twins enjoyed tormenting

me when I was their captive.”

Eragon glanced at him, suspicious. “You won’t hurt him? You won’t

warn the Twins?”

“Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur’tugal.” Upon my word as a Rider.

Together they watched as Roran hid behind a mound of bodies. Eragon

stiffened as the Twins looked toward the pile. For a moment, it seemed

they had spotted him, then they turned away and Roran jumped up. He

swung his hammer and bashed one of the Twins in the head, cracking

open his skull. The remaining Twin fell to the ground, convulsing, and

emitted a wordless scream until he too met his end under Roran’s ham-

mer. Then Roran planted his foot upon the corpses of his foes, lifted his

hammer over his head, and bellowed his victory.

“What now?” demanded Eragon, turning away from the battlefield.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Of course not. Galbatorix wants you alive.”

“What for?”

Murtagh’s lips quirked. “You don’t know? Ha! There’s a fine jest. It’s

not because of you; it’s because of her. ” He jabbed a finger at Saphira.

“The dragon inside Galbatorix’s last egg, the last dragon egg in the world,

is male. Saphira is the only female dragon in existence. If she breeds, she

will be the mother of her entire race. Do you see now? Galbatorix

doesn’t want to eradicate the dragons. He wants to use Saphira to rebuild

the Riders. He can’t kill you, either of you, if his vision is to become real-

ity. . And what a vision it is, Eragon. You should hear him describe it,

then you might not think so badly of him. Is it evil that he wants to unite

602

Alagaësia under a single banner, eliminate the need for war, and restore

the Riders?”

“He’s the one who destroyed the Riders in the first place!”

“And for good reason,” asserted Murtagh. “They were old, fat, and cor-

rupt. The elves controlled them and used them to subjugate humans.

They had to be removed so that we could start anew.”

A furious scowl contorted Eragon’s features. He paced back and forth

across the plateau, his breathing heavy, then gestured at the battle and

said, “How can you justify causing so much suffering on the basis of a

madman’s ravings? Galbatorix has done nothing but burn and slaughter

and amass power for himself. He lies. He murders. He manipulates. You

know this! It’s why you refused to work for him in the first place.” Eragon

paused, then adopted a gentler tone: “I can understand that you were

compelled to act against your will and that you aren’t responsible for kill-

ing Hrothgar. You can try to escape, though. I’m sure that Arya and I

could devise a way to neutralize the bonds Galbatorix has laid upon

you. . Join me, Murtagh. You could do so much for the Varden. With us,

you would be praised and admired, instead of cursed, feared, and hated.”

For a moment, as Murtagh gazed down at his notched sword, Eragon

hoped he would accept. Then Murtagh said in a low voice, “You cannot

help me, Eragon. No one but Galbatorix can release us from our oaths,

and he will never do that. . He knows our true names, Eragon. . We are

his slaves forever.”

Though he wanted to, Eragon could not deny the sympathy he felt for

Murtagh’s plight. With the utmost gravity, he said, “Then let us kill the

two of you.”

“Kill us! Why should we allow that?”

Eragon chose his words with care: “It would free you from Galbatorix’s

control. And it would save the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of

people. Isn’t that a noble enough cause to sacrifice yourself for?”

Murtagh shook his head. “Maybe for you, but life is still too sweet for

me to part with it so easily. No stranger’s life is more important than

Thorn’s or my own.”

As much as he hated it—hated the entire situation, in fact—Eragon

knew then what had to be done. Renewing his attack on Murtagh’s mind,

603

he leaped forward, both feet leaving the ground as he lunged toward

Murtagh, intending to stab him through the heart.

“Letta!” barked Murtagh.

Eragon dropped back to the ground as invisible bands clamped around

his arms and legs, immobilizing him. To his right, Saphira discharged a jet

of rippling fire and sprang at Murtagh like a cat pouncing on a mouse.

“Rïsa!” commanded Murtagh, extending a clawlike hand as if to catch

her.

Saphira yelped with surprise as Murtagh’s incantation stopped her in

midair and held her in place, floating several feet above the plateau. No

matter how much she wriggled, she could not touch the ground, nor

could she fly any higher.

How can he still be human and have the strength to do that? wondered

Eragon. Even with my new abilities, such a task would leave me gasping for

air and unable to walk. Relying upon his experience counteracting

Oromis’s spells, Eragon said, “Brakka du vanyalí sem huildar Saphira un

eka!”

Murtagh made no attempt to stop him, only gave him a flat stare, as if

he found Eragon’s resistance a pointless inconvenience. Baring his teeth,

Eragon redoubled his efforts. His hands went cold, his bones ached, and

his pulse slowed as the magic sapped his energy. Without being asked,

Saphira joined forces with him, granting him access to the formidable re-

sources of her body.

Five seconds passed. .

Twenty seconds. . A thick vein pulsed on Murtagh’s neck.

A minute. .

A minute and a half. . Involuntary tremors racked Eragon. His quadri-

ceps and hamstrings fluttered, and his legs would have given way if he

were free to move.

Two minutes passed. .

At last Eragon was forced to release the magic, else he risked falling un-

conscious and passing into the void. He sagged, utterly spent.

604

He had been afraid before, but only because he thought he might fail.

Now he was afraid because he did not know what Murtagh was capable

of.

“You cannot hope to compete with me,” said Murtagh. “No one can,

except for Galbatorix.” Walking up to Eragon, he pointed his sword at

Eragon’s neck, pricking his skin. Eragon resisted the impulse to flinch. “It

would be so easy to take you back to Urû’baen.”

Eragon gazed deep into his eyes. “Don’t. Let me go.”

“You just tried to kill me.”

“And you would have done the same in my position.” When Murtagh

remained silent and expressionless, Eragon said, “We were friends once.

We fought together. Galbatorix can’t have twisted you so much that

you’ve forgotten. . If you do this, Murtagh, you’ll be lost forever.”

A long minute passed where the only sound was the hue and cry of the

clashing armies. Blood trickled down Eragon’s neck from where the

sword point cut him. Saphira lashed her tail with helpless rage.

Finally, Murtagh said, “I was ordered to try and capture you and

Saphira.” He paused. “I have tried. . Make sure we don’t cross paths again.

Galbatorix will have me swear additional oaths in the ancient language

that will prevent me from showing you such mercy when next we meet.”

He lowered his sword.

“You’re doing the right thing,” said Eragon. He tried to step back but

was still held in place.

“Perhaps. But before I let you go. .” Reaching out, Murtagh pried Zar’roc

from Eragon’s fist and unbuckled Zar’roc’s red sheath from the belt of Be-

loth the Wise. “If I have become my father, then I will have my father’s

blade. Thorn is my dragon, and a thorn he shall be to all our enemies. It is

only right, then, that I should also wield the sword Misery. Misery and

Thorn, a fit match. Besides, Zar’roc should have gone to Morzan’s eldest

son, not his youngest. It is mine by right of birth.”

A cold pit formed in Eragon’s stomach. It can’t be.

A cruel smile appeared on Murtagh’s face. “I never told you my

mother’s name, did I? And you never told me yours. I’ll say it now:

605

Selena. Selena was my mother and your mother. Morzan was our father.

The Twins figured out the connection while they were digging around in

your head. Galbatorix was quite interested to learn that particular piece

of information.”

“You’re lying!” cried Eragon. He could not bear the thought of being

Morzan’s son. Did Brom know? Does Oromis know?... Why didn’t they tell

me? He remembered, then, Angela predicting that someone in his family

would betray him. She was right.

Murtagh merely shook his head and repeated his words in the ancient

language, then put his lips to Eragon’s ear and whispered, “You and I, we

are the same, Eragon. Mirror images of one another. You can’t deny it.”

“You’re wrong,” growled Eragon, struggling against the spell. “We’re

nothing alike. I don’t have a scar on my back anymore.”

Murtagh recoiled as if he had been stung, his face going hard and cold.

He lifted Zar’roc and held it upright before his chest. “So be it. I take my

inheritance from you, brother. Farewell.”

Then he retrieved his helm from the ground and pulled himself onto

Thorn. Not once did he look at Eragon as the dragon crouched, raised its

wings, and flew off the plateau and into the north. Only after Thorn van-

ished below the horizon did the web of magic release Eragon and Saphira.

Saphira’s talons clicked on the stone as she landed. She crawled over to

Eragon and touched him on the arm with her snout. Are you all right, lit-

tle one?

I’m fine. But he was not, and she knew it.

Walking to the edge of the plateau, Eragon surveyed the Burning Plains

and the aftermath of the battle, for the battle was over. With the death

of the Twins, the Varden and dwarves regained lost ground and were

able to rout the formations of confused soldiers, herding them into the

river or chasing them back from whence they came.

Though the bulk of their forces remained intact, the Empire had

sounded the retreat, no doubt to regroup and prepare for a second at-

tempt to invade Surda. In their wake, they left piles of tangled corpses

from both sides of the conflict, enough men and dwarves to populate an

entire city. Thick black smoke roiled off the bodies that had fallen into

the peat fires.

606

Now that the fighting had subsided, the hawks and eagles, the crows

and ravens, descended like a shroud over the field.

Eragon closed his eyes, tears leaking from under the lids.

They had won, but he had lost.

607

REUNION

Eragon and Saphira picked their way between the corpses that littered

the Burning Plains, moving slowly on account of their wounds and their

exhaustion. They encountered other survivors staggering through the

scorched battlefield, hollow-eyed men who looked without truly seeing,

their gazes focused somewhere in the distance.

Now that his bloodlust had subsided, Eragon felt nothing but sorrow.

The fighting seemed so pointless to him. What a tragedy that so many

must die to thwart a single madman. He paused to sidestep a thicket of

arrows planted in the mud and noticed the gash on Saphira’s tail where

Thorn had bitten her, as well as her other injuries. Here, lend me your

strength; I’ll heal you.

Tend to those in mortal danger first.

Are you sure?

Quite sure, little one.

Acquiescing, he bent down and mended a soldier’s torn neck before

moving on to one of the Varden. He made no distinction between friend

and foe, treating both to the limit of his abilities.

Eragon was so preoccupied with his thoughts, he paid little attention to

his work. He wished he could repudiate Murtagh’s claim, but everything

Murtagh had said about his mother—their mother—coincided with the

few things Eragon knew about her: Selena left Carvahall twenty-some

years ago, returned once to give birth to Eragon, and was never seen

again. His mind darted back to when he and Murtagh first arrived in Far-

then Dûr. Murtagh had discussed how his mother had vanished from

Morzan’s castle while Morzan was hunting Brom, Jeod, and Saphira’s egg.

After Morzan threw Zar’roc at Murtagh and nearly killed him, Mother must

have hidden her pregnancy and then gone back to Carvahall in order to pro-

tect me from Morzan and Galbatorix.

It heartened Eragon to know that Selena had cared for him so deeply. It

also grieved him to know she was dead and they would never meet, for

he had nurtured the hope, faint as it was, that his parents might still be

alive. He no longer harbored any desire to be acquainted with his father,

but he bitterly resented that he had been deprived of the chance to have