Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (10 page)

59

FEALTY

Eragon yawned and covered his mouth as people filed into the under-

ground amphitheater. The spacious arena echoed with a babble of voices

discussing the funeral that had just concluded.

Eragon sat on the lowest tier, level with the podium. With him were

Orik, Arya, Hrothgar, Nasuada, and the Council of Elders. Saphira stood

on the row of stairs that cut upward through the tiers. Leaning over, Orik

said, “Ever since Korgan, each of our kings has been chosen here. It’s fit-

ting that the Varden should do likewise.”

It’s yet to be seen, thought Eragon, if this transfer of power will remain

peaceful. He rubbed an eye, brushing away fresh tears; the funeral cere-

mony had left him shaken.

Lathered over the remnants of his grief, anxiety now twisted his gut.

He worried about his own role in the upcoming events. Even if all went

well, he and Saphira were about to make potent enemies. His hand

dropped to Zar’roc and tightened on the pommel.

It took several minutes for the amphitheater to fill. Then Jörmundur

stepped up to the podium. “People of the Varden, we last stood here fif-

teen years ago, at Deynor’s death. His successor, Ajihad, did more to op-

pose the Empire and Galbatorix than any before. He won countless bat-

tles against superior forces. He nearly killed Durza, putting a scratch on

the Shade’s blade. And greatest of all, he welcomed Rider Eragon and

Saphira into Tronjheim. However, a new leader must be chosen, one

who will win us even more glory.”

Someone high above shouted, “Shadeslayer!”

Eragon tried not to react—he was pleased to see that Jörmundur did

not even blink. He said, “Perhaps in years to come, but he has other du-

ties and responsibilities now. No, the Council of Elders has thought long

on this: we need one who understands our needs and wants, one who has

lived and suffered alongside us. One who refused to flee, even when bat-

tle was imminent.”

At that moment, Eragon sensed comprehension rush through the lis-

teners. The name came as a whisper from a thousand throats and was ut-

tered by Jörmundur himself: “Nasuada.” With a bow, Jörmundur stepped

aside.

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Next was Arya. She surveyed the waiting audience, then said, “The

elves honor Ajihad tonight. . And on behalf of Queen Islanzadí, I recog-

nize Nasuada’s ascension and offer her the same support and friendship

we extended to her father. May the stars watch over her.”

Hrothgar took the podium and stated gruffly, “I too support Nasuada,

as do the clans.” He moved aside.

Then it was Eragon’s turn. Standing before the crowd, with all eyes

upon him and Saphira, he said, “We support Nasuada as well.” Saphira

growled in affirmation.

Pledges spoken, the Council of Elders lined themselves on either side of

the podium, Jörmundur at their head. Bearing herself proudly, Nasuada

approached and knelt before him, her dress splayed in raven billows.

Raising his voice, Jörmundur said, “By the right of inheritance and succes-

sion, we have chosen Nasuada. By merit of her father’s achievements and

the blessings of her peers, we have chosen Nasuada. I now ask you: Have

we chosen well?”

The roar was overwhelming. “Yes!”

Jörmundur nodded. “Then by the power granted to this council, we

pass the privileges and responsibilities accorded to Ajihad to his only de-

scendant, Nasuada.” He gently placed a circlet of silver on Nasuada’s

brow. Taking her hand, he lifted her upright and pronounced, “I give you

our new leader!”

For ten minutes, the Varden and dwarves cheered, thundering their

approbation until the hall rang with the clamor. Once their cries sub-

sided, Sabrae motioned to Eragon, whispering, “Now is the time to fulfill

your promise.”

At that moment, all noise seemed to cease for Eragon. His nervousness

disappeared too, swallowed in the tide of the moment. Steeling himself

with a breath, he and Saphira started toward Jörmundur and Nasuada,

each step an eternity. As they walked, he stared at Sabrae, Elessari,

Umérth, and Falberd—noting their half-smiles, smugness, and on Sabrae’s

part, outright disdain. Behind the council members stood Arya. She nod-

ded in support.

We are about to change history, said Saphira.

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We’re throwing ourselves off a cliff without knowing how deep the water

below is.

Ah, but what a glorious flight!

With a brief look at Nasuada’s serene face, Eragon bowed and kneeled.

Slipping Zar’roc from its sheath, he placed the sword flat on his palms,

then lifted it, as if to proffer it to Jörmundur. For a moment, the sword

hovered between Jörmundur and Nasuada, teetering on the wire edge of

two different destinies. Eragon felt his breath catch—such a simple

choice to balance a life on. And more than a life—a dragon, a king, an

Empire!

Then his breath rushed in, filling his lungs with time once again, and he

swung to face Nasuada. “Out of deep respect. . and appreciation of the

difficulties facing you. . I, Eragon, first Rider of the Varden, Shadeslayer

and Argetlam, give you my blade and my fealty, Nasuada.”

The Varden and dwarves stared, dumbstruck. In that same instant, the

Council of Elders flashed from triumphant gloating to enraged impo-

tence. Their glares burned with the strength and venom of those be-

trayed. Even Elessari let outrage burst through her pleasant demeanor.

Only Jörmundur—after a brief jolt of surprise—seemed to accept the

announcement with equanimity.

Nasuada smiled and grasped Zar’roc, placing the sword’s tip on Eragon’s

forehead, just as before. “I am honored that you choose to serve me,

Rider Eragon. I accept, as you accept all the responsibilities accompany-

ing the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword.”

Eragon did so, then stepped back with Saphira. With shouts of ap-

proval, the crowd rose to their feet, the dwarves stamping in rhythm

with their hobnail boots while human warriors banged swords across

shields.

Turning to the podium, Nasuada gripped it on either side and looked

up at all the people in the amphitheater. She beamed at them, pure joy

shining from her face. “People of the Varden!”

Silence.

“As my father did before me, I give my life to you and our cause. I will

never cease fighting until the Urgals are vanquished, Galbatorix is dead,

and Alagaësia is free once more!”

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More cheering and applause.

“Therefore, I say to you, now is the time to prepare. Here in Farthen

Dûr—after endless skirmishes—we won our greatest battle. It is our turn

to strike back. Galbatorix is weak after losing so many forces, and there

will never again be such an opportunity.

“Therefore, I say again, now is the time to prepare so that we may once

more stand victorious!”

After more speeches by various personages—including a still-glowering

Falberd—the amphitheater began to empty. As Eragon stood to leave,

Orik grasped his arm, stopping him. The dwarf was wide-eyed. “Eragon,

did you plan all that beforehand?”

Eragon briefly considered the wisdom of telling him, then nodded.

“Yes.”

Orik exhaled, shaking his head. “That was a bold stroke, it was. You’ve

given Nasuada a strong position to begin with. It was dangerous, though,

if the reactions of the Council of Elders are anything to judge by. Did

Arya approve of this?”

“She agreed it was necessary.”

The dwarf studied him thoughtfully. “I’m sure it was. You just altered

the balance of power, Eragon. No one will underestimate you again be-

cause of it. . Beware the rotten stone. You have earned some powerful

enemies today.” He slapped Eragon on the side and continued past.

Saphira watched him go, then said, We should prepare to leave Farthen

Dûr. The council will be thirsty for revenge. The sooner we’re out of their

reach, the better.

63

A SORCERESS, A SNAKE, AND A SCROLL

That evening, as Eragon returned to his quarters from bathing, he was

surprised to find a tall woman waiting for him in the hall. She had dark

hair, startling blue eyes, and a wry mouth. Wound around her wrist was a

gold bracelet shaped like a hissing snake. Eragon hoped that she wasn’t

there to ask him for advice, like so many of the Varden.

“Argetlam.” She curtsied gracefully.

He inclined his head in return. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’m Trianna, sorceress of Du Vrangr Gata.”

“Really? A sorceress?” he asked, intrigued.

“And battle mage and spy and anything else the Varden deem neces-

sary. There aren’t enough magic users, so we each end up with a half-

dozen tasks.” She smiled, displaying even, white teeth. “That’s why I came

today. We would be honored to have you take charge of our group.

You’re the only one who can replace the Twins.”

Almost without realizing it, he smiled back. She was so friendly and

charming, he hated to say no. “I’m afraid I can’t; Saphira and I are leaving

Tronjheim soon. Besides, I’d have to consult with Nasuada first anyway.”

And I don’t want to be entangled in any more politics... especially not where

the Twins used to lead.

Trianna bit her lip. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She moved a step closer.

“Perhaps we can spend some time together before you have to go. I could

show you how to summon and control spirits. . It would be educational

for both of us.”

Eragon felt a hot flush warm his face. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m

really too busy at the moment.”

A spark of anger flared within Trianna’s eyes, then vanished so quickly,

he wondered whether he had seen it at all. She sighed delicately. “I un-

derstand.”

She sounded so disappointed—and looked so forlorn—Eragon felt

guilty for rebuffing her. It can’t hurt to talk with her for a few minutes, he

told himself. “I’m curious; how did you learn magic?”

64

Trianna brightened. “My mother was a healer in Surda. She had a bit of

power and was able to instruct me in the old ways. Of course, I’m no-

where near as powerful as a Rider. None of Du Vrangr Gata could have

defeated Durza alone, like you did. That was a heroic deed.”

Embarrassed, Eragon scuffed his boots against the ground. “I wouldn’t

have survived if not for Arya.”

“You are too modest, Argetlam,” she admonished. “It was you who

struck the final blow. You should be proud of your accomplishment. It’s

a feat worthy of Vrael himself.” She leaned toward him. His heart quick-

ened as he smelled her perfume, which was rich and musky, with a hint

of an exotic spice. “Have you heard the songs composed about you? The

Varden sing them every night around their fires. They say you’ve come to

take the throne from Galbatorix!”

“No,” said Eragon, quick and sharp. That was one rumor he would not

tolerate. “They might, but I don’t. Whatever my fate may be, I don’t as-

pire to rule.”

“And it’s wise of you not to. What is a king, after all, but a man impris-

oned by his duties? That would be a poor reward indeed for the last free

Rider and his dragon. No, for you the ability to go and do what you will

and, by extension, to shape the future of Alagaësia.” She paused. “Do you

have any family left in the Empire?”

What?“ Only a cousin.”

“Then you’re not betrothed?”

The question caught him off guard. He had never been asked that be-

fore. “No, I’m not betrothed.”

“Surely there must be someone you care about.” She came another step

closer, and her ribboned sleeve brushed his arm.

“I wasn’t close to anyone in Carvahall,” he faltered, “and I’ve been trav-

eling since then.”

Trianna drew back slightly, then lifted her wrist so the serpent bracelet

was at eye level. “Do you like him?” she inquired. Eragon blinked and

nodded, though it was actually rather disconcerting. “I call him Lorga.

He’s my familiar and protector.” Bending forward, she blew upon the

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bracelet, then murmured, “Sé orúm thornessa hávr sharjalví lífs.”

With a dry rustle, the snake stirred to life. Eragon watched, fascinated,

as the creature writhed around Trianna’s pale arm, then lifted itself and

fixed its whirling ruby eyes upon him, wire tongue whipping in and out.

Its eyes seemed to expand until they were each as large as Eragon’s fist.

He felt as if he were tumbling into their fiery depths; he could not look

away no matter how hard he tried.

Then at a short command, the serpent stiffened and resumed its former

position. With a tired sigh, Trianna leaned against the wall. “Not many

people understand what we magic users do. But I wanted you to know

that there are others like you, and we will help if we can.”

Impulsively, Eragon put his hand on hers. He had never attempted to

approach a woman this way before, but instinct urged him onward, dar-

ing him to take the chance. It was frightening, exhilarating. “If you want,

we could go and eat. There’s a kitchen not far from here.”

She slipped her other hand over his, fingers smooth and cool, so differ-

ent from the rough grips he was accustomed to. “I’d like that. Shall we—”