3-Brisingr-3 (51 page)

“No, but perhaps we have the time for a brief visit.”

Nasuada leaned her head against the back of her carved chair and gazed down at Eragon from underneath heavy lids. “And who exactly are your teachers? I have noticed you always evade direct questions about them. Who was it that taught the two of you in Ellesméra, Eragon?”

Fingering his ring, Aren, Eragon said, “We swore an oath to Islanzadí that we would not reveal their identity without permission from her, Arya, or whoever may succeed Islanzadí to her throne.”

“By all the demons above and below, how many oaths have you and Saphira sworn?” demanded Nasuada. “You seem to bind yourself to everyone you meet.”

Feeling somewhat sheepish, Eragon shrugged and had opened his mouth to speak when Saphira said to Nasuada,
We do not seek them out, but how can we avoid pledging ourselves when we cannot
topple Galbatorix and the Empire without the support of every race in Alagaësia? Oaths are the
price we pay for winning the aid of those in power.

“Mmh,” said Nasuada. “So I must ask Arya for the truth of the matter?”

“Aye, but I doubt she will tell you; the elves consider the identity of our teachers to be one of their most precious secrets. They will not risk sharing it unless absolutely necessary, to keep word of it from reaching Galbatorix.” Eragon stared at the royal-blue gemstone set in his ring, wondering how much more information his oath and his honor would allow him to divulge, then said, “Know this, though: we are not so alone as we once assumed.”

Nasuada’s expression sharpened. “I see. That is good to know, Eragon. . . . I only wish the elves were more forthcoming with me.” After pursing her lips for a brief moment, Nasuada continued. “Why must you travel all the way to Ellesméra? Have you no means to communicate with your tutors directly?”

Eragon spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “If only we could. Alas, the spell has yet to be invented that can broach the wards that encircle Du Weldenvarden.”

“The elves did not even leave an opening they themselves can exploit?”

“If they had, Arya would have contacted Queen Islanzadí as soon as she was revived in Farthen Dûr, rather than physically going to Du Weldenvarden.”

“I suppose you are right. But then how was it you were able to consult Islanzadí about Sloan’s fate?

You implied that when you spoke with her, the elves’ army was still situated within Du Weldenvarden.”

“They were,” he said, “but only in the fringe, beyond the protective measures of the wards.”

The silence between them was palpable as Nasuada considered his request. Outside the tent, Eragon heard the Nighthawks arguing among themselves about whether a bill or a halberd was better suited for fighting large numbers of men on foot and, beyond them, the creak of a passing oxcart, the jangle of armor on men trotting in the opposite direction, and hundreds of other indistinct sounds that drifted through the camp.

When Nasuada spoke, she said, “What exactly do you hope to gain from such a visit?”

“I don’t know!” growled Eragon. He struck the pommel of the falchion with his fist. “And that’s the heart of the problem: we don’t know enough. It might accomplish nothing, but on the other hand, we might learn something that could help us vanquish Murtagh and Galbatorix once and for all. We barely won yesterday, Nasuada. Barely! And I fear that when we again face Thorn and Murtagh, Murtagh will be even stronger than before, and frost coats my bones when I consider the fact that Galbatorix’s abilities far exceed Murtagh’s, despite the vast amount of power he has already bestowed upon my
brother
. The elf who taught me, he . . .” Eragon hesitated, considering the wisdom of what he was about to say, then forged onward: “He hinted that he knows how it is Galbatorix’s strength has been increasing every year, but he refused to reveal more at the time because we were not advanced enough in our training. Now, after our encounters with Thorn and Murtagh, I think he will share his knowledge with us. Moreover, there are entire branches of magic we have yet to explore, and any one of them might provide the means to defeat Galbatorix. If we are going to gamble upon this trip, Nasuada, then let us not gamble to maintain our current position; let us gamble to increase our standing and so win this game of chance.”

Nasuada sat motionless for over a minute. “I cannot make this decision until after the dwarves hold their coronation. Whether you go to Du Weldenvarden will depend on the movements of the Empire then and on what our spies report about Murtagh and Thorn’s activities.”

Over the course of the next two hours, Nasuada instructed Eragon about the thirteen dwarf clans. She schooled him in their history and their politics; in the products upon which each clan based the majority of its trade; in the names, families, and personalities of the clan chiefs; in the list of important tunnels excavated and controlled by each clan; and in what she felt would be the best way to coax the dwarves to elect a king or queen friendly to the goals of the Varden.

“Ideally, Orik would be the one to take the throne,” she said. “King Hrothgar was highly regarded by most of his subjects, and Dûrgrimst Ingeitum remains one of the richest and most influential of clans, all of which is to Orik’s benefit. Orik is devoted to our cause. He has served as one of the Varden, you and I both count him as a friend, and he is your foster brother. I believe he has the skills to become an excellent king for the dwarves.” Amusement kindled in her expression. “Small matter, that. However, he is young by the standards of the dwarves, and his association with us may prove to be an insurmountable barrier for the other clan chiefs. Another obstacle is that the other great clans—Dûrgrimst Feldûnost and Dûrgrimst Knurlcarathn, to name but two—are eager, after over a hundred years of rule by the Ingeitum, to see the crown go to a different clan. By all means, support Orik if it can help him onto the throne, but if it becomes obvious that his attempt is doomed and your backing could guarantee the success of another clan chief who favors the Varden, then transfer your support, even if doing so will offend Orik. You cannot allow friendship to interfere with politics, not now.”

When Nasuada finished her lecture on the dwarf clans, she, Eragon, and Saphira spent several minutes figuring out how Eragon could slip out of the camp without being noticed. After they had finally hammered out the details of the plan, Eragon and Saphira returned to their tent and told Blödhgarm what they had decided.

To Eragon’s surprise, the fur-covered elf did not object. Curious, Eragon asked, “Do you approve?”

“It is not my place to say whether I approve or not,” Blödhgarm replied, his voice a low purr. “But since Nasuada’s stratagem does not seem to put either of you in unreasonable danger, and by means of this you may have the opportunity to further your learning in Ellesméra, neither I nor my brethren shall object.” He inclined his head. “If you will excuse me, Bjartskular, Argetlam.” Skirting Saphira, the elf exited the tent, allowing a bright flash of light to pierce the darkness inside as he pushed aside the entrance flap.

For a handful of minutes, Eragon and Saphira sat in silence, then Eragon put his hand on the top of her head.
Say what you will, I will miss you
.

And I you, little one.

Be careful. If anything happened to you, I would . . .

And you as well.

He sighed.
We’ve been together only a few days, and already we must part again. I find it hard to
forgive Nasuada for that.

Do not condemn her for doing what she must.

No, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Move swiftly then, so I may soon join you in Farthen Dûr.

I wouldn’t mind being so far away from you if only I could still touch your mind. That’s the worst
part of it: the horrible sense of emptiness. We dare not even speak to each other through the
mirror in Nasuada’s tent, for people would wonder why you kept visiting her without me.

Saphira blinked and flicked out her tongue, and he sensed a strange shift in her emotions.

What?
he asked.

I
. . . She blinked again.
I agree. I wish we could remain in mental contact when we were at great
distances from each other. It would reduce our worry and trouble and would allow us to confound
the Empire more easily
. She hummed with satisfaction as he sat next to her and began to scratch the small scales behind the corner of her jaw.

FOOTPRINTS OFSHADOW

With a series of giddy leaps, Saphira carried Eragon through the camp to Roran and Katrina’s tent.

Outside the tent, Katrina was washing a shift in a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing the white fabric against a board of ridged wood. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes as a cloud of dust from Saphira’s landing drifted over her.

Roran stepped out of the tent, buckling on his belt. He coughed and squinted in the dust. “What brings you here?” he asked as Eragon dismounted.

Speaking quickly, Eragon told them of his impending departure and impressed upon them the importance of keeping his absence a secret from the rest of the villagers. “No matter how slighted they feel because I supposedly refuse to see them, you cannot reveal the truth to them, not even to Horst or Elain. Let them think I have become a rude and ungrateful lout before you so much as utter a word about Nasuada’s scheme. This I ask of you, for the sake of everyone who has pitted themselves against the Empire. Will you do it?”

“We would never betray you, Eragon,” said Katrina. “Of that, you need have no doubts.”

Then Roran said that he too was leaving.

“Where?” exclaimed Eragon.

“I just received my assignment a few minutes ago. We are going to raid the Empire’s supply trains, somewhere well north of us, behind enemy lines.”

Eragon gazed at the three of them in turn. First Roran, serious and determined, already tense with anticipation of battle; then Katrina, worried and trying to conceal it; and then Saphira, whose nostrils flickered with small tongues of flame, which sputtered as she breathed. “So we are all going our separate ways.” What he did not say, but which hung over them like a shroud, was that they might never again see each other alive.

Grasping Eragon by the forearm, Roran pulled him close and hugged him for a moment. He released Eragon and stared deep into his eyes. “Guard your back, brother. Galbatorix isn’t the only one who would like to slip a knife between your ribs when you aren’t looking.”

“Do the same yourself. And if you find yourself facing a spellcaster, run in the opposite direction. The wards I placed around you won’t last forever.”

Katrina hugged Eragon and whispered, “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

Together, Roran and Katrina went to Saphira and touched their foreheads to her long, bony snout. Her chest vibrated as she produced a pure bass note deep within her throat.
Remember, Roran,
she said,
do
not make the mistake of leaving your enemies alive. And, Katrina? Do not dwell on that which
you cannot change. It will only worsen your distress
. With a rustle of skin and scales, Saphira unfolded her wings and enveloped Roran, Katrina, and Eragon in a warm embrace, isolating them from the world.

As Saphira lifted her wings, Roran and Katrina stepped away while Eragon climbed onto her back. He waved at the newlywed couple, a lump in his throat, and continued waving even as Saphira took to the air. Blinking to clear his eyes, Eragon leaned against the spike behind him and gazed up at the tilting sky.

To the cook tents now?
asked Saphira.

Aye.

Saphira climbed a few hundred feet before she aimed herself at the southwestern quadrant of the camp, where pillars of smoke drifted up from rows of ovens and large, wide pit fires. A thin stream of wind slipped past her and Eragon as she glided downward toward a clear patch of ground between two open-walled tents, each fifty feet long. Breakfast was over, so the tents were empty of men when Saphira landed with a loud thump.

Eragon hurried toward the fires beyond the plank tables, Saphira beside him. The many hundreds of men who were busy tending the fires, carving meat, cracking eggs, kneading dough, stirring cast-iron kettles full of mysterious liquids, scrubbing clean enormous piles of dirty pots and pans, and who were otherwise engaged in the enormous and never-ending task of preparing food for the Varden did not pause to gawk at Eragon and Saphira. For what importance was a dragon and Rider compared with the merciless demands of the ravenous many-mouthed creature whose hunger they were striving to sate?

A stout man with a close-cropped beard of white and black, who was almost short enough to pass for a dwarf trotted over to Eragon and Saphira and gave a curt bow. “I’m Quoth Merrinsson. How can I help you? If you want, Shadeslayer, we have some bread that just finished baking.” He gestured toward a double row of sourdough loaves resting on a platter on a nearby table.

“I might have half a loaf, if you can spare it,” said Eragon. “However, my hunger isn’t the reason for our visit. Saphira would like something to eat, and we haven’t time for her to hunt as she usually does.”

Quoth looked past him and eyed Saphira’s bulk, and his face grew pale. “How much does she normally

. . . Ah, that is, how much do
you
normally eat, Saphira? I can have six sides of roast beef brought over immediately, and another six will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Will that be enough, or . . . ?” The knob in his throat jumped as he swallowed.

Saphira emitted a soft, rippling growl, which caused Quoth to squeak and hop backward. “She would prefer a live animal, if that’s convenient,” Eragon said.

In a high-pitched voice, Quoth said, “Convenient? Oh yes, it’s convenient.” He bobbed his head, twisting at his apron with his grease-stained hands. “Most convenient indeed, Shadeslayer, Dragon Saphira. King Orrin’s table will not be lacking this afternoon, then, oh no.”