Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (24 page)

Eragon eyed him suspiciously, sure that the dwarf was trying to fool

him. “Horn isn’t flexible or springy enough to make a bow.”

“Ah,” chortled Orik, “that’s because you have to know how to treat it

right. We first learned to do it with Feldûnost horns, but it works just as

well with an Urgal’s. It’s done by cutting the horn in half lengthwise, then

trimming the outside coil until it’s the right thickness. The strip is boiled

flat and sanded into the final shape before being fixed to the belly of an

ash stave with glue made from fish scales and the skin from the roof of

trout’s mouths. Then the back of the stave is covered with multiple lay-

ers of sinew; they give the bow its snap. The last step is decoration. The

entire process can take almost a decade.”

“I’ve never heard of a bow built like that before,” said Eragon. It made

his own weapon seem no more than a crudely hacked branch. “How far

does it shoot?”

“See for yourself,” said Orik. He let Eragon take the bow, which he held

gingerly, for fear of scuffing its finish. Orik removed an arrow from his

quiver and handed it to him. “You’ll owe me an arrow, though.”

Eragon fit shaft to string, aimed over the Az Ragni, and pulled back.

The bow’s draw length was less than two feet, but he was surprised to

find that its weight far exceeded that of his own bow; he was barely

strong enough to hold the string. He released the arrow and it vanished

with a twang, only to reappear far above the river. Eragon watched with

amazement as the arrow landed in a spray of water halfway across the Az

Ragni.

He immediately reached through the barrier in his mind so that the

magic’s power suffused him and said, “Gath sem oro un lam iet.” After a

few seconds, the arrow darted back through the air to land on his out-

stretched palm. “And there,” he said, “is the arrow I owe you.”

Orik clapped his fist to his chest and then embraced the arrow and

bow with obvious delight. “Wonderful! Now I still have an even two

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dozen. Otherwise, I would have had to wait until Hedarth to replenish

my stock.” He deftly unstrung the bow and stored it away, wrapping the

case in soft rags to protect it.

Eragon saw Arya watching. He asked her, “Do elves use horn bows as

well? You’re so strong, a wood bow would shatter if it was made heavy

enough for you.”

“We sing our bows from trees that do not grow.” And then she walked

away.

For days, they drifted through fields of spring grass while the Beor

Mountains faded into a hazy white wall behind them. The banks were

often covered with vast herds of gazelles and small red deer that watched

them with liquid eyes.

Now that the Fanghur were no longer a threat, Eragon flew almost con-

stantly with Saphira. It was their first opportunity since before Gil’ead to

spend so much time together in the air, and they took full advantage of it.

Also, Eragon welcomed the chance to escape the cramped deck of the

raft, where he felt awkward and unsettled with Arya so near.

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ARYA SVIT-KONA

Eragon and his company followed the Az Ragni until it joined the Edda

River, which then drifted into the unknown east. At the juncture be-

tween the rivers, they visited the dwarves’ trading outpost, Hedarth, and

exchanged their rafts for donkeys. Dwarves never used horses on account

of their size.

Arya refused the steed offered to her, saying, “I will not return to the

land of my ancestors on the back of a donkey.”

Thorv frowned. “How will you keep pace with us?”

“I will run.” And run she did, outstripping Snowfire and the donkeys,

only to sit waiting for them at the next hill or copse. Despite her exer-

tions, she displayed no sign of weariness when they stopped for the night,

nor any inclination to utter more than a few words between breakfast

and supper. With every step, she seemed to grow tenser.

From Hedarth, they trekked north, going up the Edda River toward its

point of origin at Eldor Lake.

Du Weldenvarden came into view within three days. The forest first

appeared as a hazy ridge on the horizon, then quickly expanded into an

emerald sea of ancient oaks, beeches, and maples. From Saphira’s back,

Eragon saw that the woods reached unbroken to the horizon both north

and west, and he knew they extended far beyond that, stretching the en-

tire length of Alagaësia.

To him, the shadows underneath the trees’ arching boughs seemed

mysterious and enticing, as well as dangerous, for there lived the elves.

Hidden somewhere in the dappled heart of Du Weldenvarden lay Elles-

méra—where he would complete his training—as well as Osilon, and

other elven cities few outsiders had visited since the fall of the Riders.

The forest was a perilous place for mortals, Eragon felt, certain to be rid-

dled with strange magic and stranger creatures.

It’s like another world, he observed. A pair of butterflies spiraled around

each other as they rose from the dark interior of the forest.

I hope, said Saphira, there will be room for me within the trees on whatever

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path the elves use. I cannot fly the whole time.

I’m sure they found ways to accommodate dragons during the time of the

Riders.

Mmm.

That night, just as Eragon was about to seek his blankets, Arya ap-

peared by his shoulder, like a spirit materializing out of the air. Her

stealth made him jump; he could never understand how she moved so

quietly. Before he could ask what she wanted, her mind touched his and

she said, Follow me as silently as you can.

The contact surprised him as much as the request. They had shared

thoughts during the flight to Farthen Dûr—it had been the only way Er-

agon could speak to her through her self-induced coma—but since Arya’s

recovery, he had made no attempt to touch her mind again. It was a pro-

foundly personal experience. Whenever he reached out to another per-

son’s consciousness, it felt as if a facet of his bare soul rubbed against

theirs. It seemed boorish and rude to initiate something so private with-

out an invitation, as well as a betrayal of Arya’s trust, slender as it was.

Also, Eragon was afraid that such a link would reveal his new and con-

fused feelings for Arya, and he had no desire to be ridiculed for them.

He accompanied her as she slipped out from the ring of tents, carefully

evaded Tríhga, who had taken the first watch, and passed beyond the

dwarves’ hearing. Within him, Saphira kept a close watch on his progress,

ready to leap to his side if need be.

Arya squatted on a moss-eaten log and wrapped her arms around her

knees without looking at him. “There are things you must know before

we reach Ceris and Ellesméra so that you do not shame yourself or me

through your ignorance.”

“Such as?” He crouched opposite her, curious.

Arya hesitated. “During my years as Islanzadí’s ambassador, it was my

observation that humans and dwarves are quite similar. You share many

of the same beliefs and passions. More than one human has lived com-

fortably among the dwarves because he or she can understand their cul-

ture, as they understand yours. You both love, lust, hate, fight, and create

in much the same manner. Your friendship with Orik and your accep-

tance into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are examples of this.” Eragon nodded, al-

though their differences seemed greater to him than that. “Elves, though,

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are not like other races.”

“You speak as though you weren’t one,” he said, echoing her words

from Farthen Dûr.

“I have lived with the Varden for enough years to become accustomed

to their traditions,” replied Arya in a brittle tone.

“Ah. . So then do you mean to say that elves don’t have the same emo-

tions as dwarves and humans? I find that hard to believe. All living things

have the same basic needs and desires.”

“That is not what I mean to say!” Eragon recoiled, then frowned and

studied her. It was unusual for her to be so brusque. Arya closed her eyes

and placed her fingers on her temples, taking a long breath. “Because

elves live for so many years, we consider courtesy to be the highest social

virtue. You cannot afford to give offense when a grudge can be held for

decades or centuries. Courtesy is the only way to prevent such hostility

from accumulating. It doesn’t always succeed, but we adhere to our ritu-

als rigorously, for they protect us from extremes. Nor are elves fecund, so

it is vital that we avoid conflict among ourselves. If we shared the same

rate of crime as you or the dwarves, we would soon be extinct.

“There is a proper way to greet the sentinels in Ceris, certain patterns

and forms that you must observe when presented to Queen Islanzadí,

and a hundred different manners in which to greet those around you, if

it’s not better to just remain quiet.”

“With all your customs,” Eragon risked saying, “it seems as though

you’ve only made it easier to offend people.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “Perhaps. You know as well as I that

you will be judged by the highest standards. If you make a mistake, the

elves will think you did it on purpose. And only harm will come if they

discover that it was born of ignorance. Far better to be thought rude and

capable than rude and incapable, else you risk being manipulated like

The Serpent in a match of Runes. Our politics move in cycles that are

both subtle and lengthy. What you see or hear of an elf one day may only

be a slight move in a strategy that reaches back millennia, and may have

no bearing on how that elf will behave tomorrow. It is a game that we all

play but few control, a game that you are about to enter.

“Now perhaps you realize why I say elves are not like other races. The

dwarves are also long-lived, yet they are more prolific than us and do not

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share our restraint or our taste for intrigue. And humans. .” She let her

voice fade into a tactful silence.

“Humans,” said Eragon, “do the best they can with what they are given.”

“Even so.”

“Why don’t you tell Orik all this as well? He’ll be staying in Ellesméra,

same as me.”

An edge crept into Arya’s voice. “He is already somewhat familiar with

our etiquette. However, as a Rider, you would do well to appear better

educated than him.”

Eragon accepted her rebuke without protest. “What must I learn?”

So Arya began to tutor him and, through him, Saphira in the niceties of

elven society. First she explained that when one elf meets another, they

stop and touch their first two fingers to their lips to indicate that “we

shall not distort the truth during our conversation.” This is followed by

the phrase “Atra esterní ono thelduin” to which one replies “Atra du

evarínya ono varda.”

“And,” said Arya, “if you are being especially formal, a third response is

made: ‘Un atra mor’ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,’ which means, ‘And may

peace live in your heart.’ These lines were adopted from a blessing that

was made by a dragon when our pact with them was finalized. It goes:

Atra esterní ono thelduin,

Mor’ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,

Un du evarínya ono varda.

“Or: ‘May good fortune rule over you, peace live in your heart, and the

stars watch over you.’”

“How do you know who is supposed to speak first?”

“If you greet someone with greater status than yourself or if you wish

to honor a subordinate, then speak first. If you greet someone with less

status than yourself, speak last. But if you are uncertain of your position,

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give your counterpart a chance to speak, and if they are silent, speak first.

Such is the rule.”

Does it apply to me as well? asked Saphira.

Arya plucked a dry leaf from the ground and crumpled it between her

fingers. Behind her, the camp faded into shadow as the dwarves banked

the fire, dampening the flames with a layer of dirt so that the coals and

embers would survive until morning. “As a dragon, none are higher than

you in our culture. Not even the queen would claim authority over you.

You may do and say as you wish. We do not expect dragons to be bound

by our laws.”

Next she showed Eragon how to twist his right hand and place it over

his sternum in a curious gesture. “This,” she said, “you will use when you

meet Islanzadí. By it you indicate that you offer her your loyalty and obe-

dience.”

“Is it binding, like my oath of fealty to Nasuada?”

“No, only a courtesy, and a small one at that.”

Eragon struggled to remember the sundry modes of address that Arya

instructed them in. The salutations varied from man to woman, adults to

children, boys to girls, as well as by rank and prestige. It was a daunting

list, but one that Eragon knew he had to memorize perfectly.

When he had absorbed all he could, Arya stood and dusted her hands.

“So long as you do not forget, you’ll do well enough.” She turned to leave.

“Wait,” said Eragon. He reached out to stop her, then snatched back his

hand before she noticed his presumption. She looked over her shoulder