Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (90 page)

vince Eragon that Urgals were not his born enemies. We cannot afford to

have another Rider rise up who seeks to destroy us, said Garzhvog. Look

well, O Firesword, and see if we are truly the monsters you call us....

So many images and sensations flashed between them, Eragon almost

lost track: Garzhvog’s childhood with the other members of his brood in

a ramshackle village built deep in the heart of the Spine; his dam brush-

ing his hair with an antler comb and singing a soft song; learning to hunt

deer and other prey with his bare hands; growing larger and larger until it

was apparent that the old blood still flowed in his veins and he would

stand over eight feet tall, making him a Kull; the dozens of challenges he

made, accepted, and won; venturing out of the village to gain renown, so

he might mate, and gradually learning to hate, distrust, and fear—yes, fear

—a world that had condemned his race; fighting in Farthen Dûr; discov-

ering they had been manipulated by Durza; and realizing that their only

hope of a better life was to put aside old differences, befriend the

Varden, and see Galbatorix overthrown. Nowhere was there evidence

that Garzhvog lied.

577

Eragon could not understand what he had seen. Tearing himself from

Garzhvog’s mind, he dove into each of the three remaining Urgals. Their

memories confirmed the facts presented by Garzhvog. They made no at-

tempt to conceal that they had killed humans, but it had been done at

the command of Durza when the sorcerer controlled them, or when

fighting humans over food or land. We did what we had to in order to care

for our families, they said.

When he finished, Eragon stood before Garzhvog and knew the Urgal’s

bloodline was as regal as any prince’s. He knew that, though uneducated,

Garzhvog was a brilliant commander and as great a thinker and philoso-

pher as Oromis himself. He’s certainly brighter than me, admitted Eragon

to Saphira. Baring his throat as a sign of respect, he said out loud, “Nar

Garzhvog,” and for the first time, he was aware of the lofty origins of the

title nar. “I am proud to have you at my side. You may tell the Herndall

that so long as the Urgals remain true to their word and do not turn

against the Varden, I shall not oppose you.” Eragon doubted that he

would ever like an Urgal, but the iron certitude of his prejudice only a

few minutes before now seemed ignorant, and he could not retain it in

good conscience.

Saphira flicked him on the arm with her barbed tongue, making the

mail clink together. It takes courage to admit you were wrong.

Only if you are afraid of looking foolish, and I would have looked far

more foolish if I persisted with an erroneous belief.

Why, little one, you just said something wise. Despite her teasing, he

could sense her warm pride in what he had accomplished.

“Again, we are in your debt, Firesword,” said Garzhvog. He and the

other Urgals pressed their fists against their jutting brows.

Eragon could tell that Nasuada wanted to know the details of what had

just transpired but that she restrained herself. “Good. Now that this is

settled, I must be off. Eragon, you’ll receive my signal from Trianna when

the time has arrived.” With that she strode away into the darkness.

As Eragon settled against Saphira, Orik sidled up to him. “It’s lucky we

dwarves are going to be here, eh? We’ll watch the Kull like hawks, we

will. We won’t let them catch you while your back is turned. The mo-

ment they attack, we’ll cut their legs out from under them.”

“I thought you agreed with Nasuada’s accepting the Urgals’ offer.”

578

“That doesn’t mean I trust them or want to be right alongside them,

now does it?” Eragon smiled and did not bother to argue; it would be im-

possible to convince Orik that the Urgals were not rapacious killers when

he himself had refused to consider the possibility until sharing an Urgal’s

memories.

The night lay heavy around them as they waited for dawn. Orik re-

moved a whetstone from his pocket and proceeded to hone the edge of

his curved ax. Once they arrived, the six other dwarves did the same, and

the rasp of metal on stone filled the air with a grating chorus. The Kull

sat back to back, chanting death songs under their breaths. Eragon spent

the time casting wards about himself, Saphira, Nasuada, Orik, and even

Arya. He knew that it was dangerous to protect so many, but he could

not bear it if they were harmed. When he finished, he transferred what

power he dared into the diamonds embedded within the belt of Beloth

the Wise.

Eragon watched with interest as Angela clad herself in green and black

armor and then, taking out a carved-wood case, assembled her staff-

sword from two separate handles that attached in the middle and two

blades of watered steel that threaded into the ends of the resulting pole.

She twirled the completed weapon around her head a few times before

seeming satisfied that it would hold up to the shock of battle.

The dwarves eyed her with disapproval, and Eragon heard one grumble,

“. . blasphemy that any but Dûrgrimst Quan should wield the hûthvír.”

After that the only sound was the discordant music of the dwarves

honing their blades.

It was near dawn when the cries began. Eragon and Saphira noticed

them first because of their heightened senses, but the agonized screams

were soon loud enough for the others to hear. Rising to his feet, Orik

looked out toward the Empire, where the cacophony originated. “What

manner of creatures are they torturing to extract such fearsome howls?

The sound chills the marrow in my bones, it does.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t have to wait very long,” said Angela. Her

former cheer had deserted her; she looked pale, drawn, and gray in the

face, as if she were ill.

From his post by Saphira, Eragon asked, “You did this?”

579

“Aye. I poisoned their stew, their bread, their drink—anything I could

get my hands on. Some will die now, others will die later as the various

toxins take their toll. I slipped the officers nightshade and other such poi-

sons so they will hallucinate in battle.” She tried to smile, but without

much success. “Not a very honorable way to fight, I suppose, but I’d

rather do this than be killed. Confusion to our enemies and all that.”

“Only a coward or a thief uses poison!” exclaimed Orik. “What glory is

there in defeating a sick opponent?” The screams intensified even as he

spoke.

Angela gave an unpleasant laugh. “Glory? If you want glory, there are

thousands more troops I didn’t poison. I’m sure you will have your fill of

glory by the end of today.”

“Is this why you needed the equipment in Orrin’s tent?” asked Eragon.

He found her deed repugnant but did not pretend to know whether it

was good or evil. It was necessary. Angela had poisoned the soldiers for

the same reason Nasuada had accepted the Urgals’ offer of friendship—

because it might be their only hope of survival.

“That’s right.”

The soldiers’ wails increased in number until Eragon longed to plug his

ears and block out the sound. It made him wince and fidget, and it put

his teeth on edge. He forced himself to listen, though. This was the cost

of resisting the Empire. It would be wrong to ignore it. So he sat with his

hands clenched into fists and his jaw forming painful knots while the

Burning Plains echoed with the disembodied voices of dying men.

580

THE STORM BREAKS

The first horizontal rays of dawn already streaked across the land when

Trianna said to Eragon, It is time. A surge of energy erased Eragon’s

sleepiness. Jumping to his feet, he shouted the word to everyone around

him, even as he clambered into Saphira’s saddle, pulling his new bow

from its quiver. The Kull and dwarves surrounded Saphira, and together

they hurried down the breastwork until they reached the opening that

had been cleared during the night.

The Varden poured through the gap, quiet as they could be. Rank

upon rank of warriors marched past, their armor and weapons padded

with rags so no sound would alert the Empire of their approach. Saphira

joined the procession when Nasuada appeared on a roan charger in the

midst of the men, Arya and Trianna by her side. The five of them ac-

knowledged each other with quick glances, nothing more.

During the night, the mephitic vapors had accumulated low to the

ground, and now the dim morning light gilded the turgid clouds, turning

them opaque. Thus, the Varden managed to cross three-quarters of the

no-man’s-land before they were seen by the Empire’s sentries. As the

alarm horns rang out before them, Nasuada shouted, “Now, Eragon! Tell

Orrin to strike. To me, men of the Varden! Fight to win back your

homes. Fight to guard your wives and children! Fight to overthrow Gal-

batorix! Attack and bathe your blades in the blood of our enemies!

Charge!” She spurred her horse forward, and with a great bellow, the

men followed, shaking their weapons above their heads.

Eragon conveyed Nasuada’s order to Barden, the spellcaster who rode

with King Orrin. A moment later, he heard the drumming of hooves as

Orrin and his cavalry—accompanied by the rest of the Kull, who could

run as fast as horses—galloped out of the east. They charged into the

Empire’s flank, pinning the soldiers against the Jiet River and distracting

them long enough for the Varden to cross the remainder of the distance

between them without opposition.

The two armies collided with a deafening roar. Pikes clashed against

spears, hammers against shields, swords against helms, and above it all

whirled the hungry gore-crows uttering their harsh croaks, driven into a

frenzy by the smell of fresh meat below.

Eragon’s heart leaped within his chest. I must now kill or be killed. Al-

most immediately he felt his wards drawing upon his strength as they de-

581

flected attacks from Arya, Orik, Nasuada, and Saphira.

Saphira held back from the leading edge of the battle, for they would

be too exposed to Galbatorix’s magicians at the front. Taking a deep

breath, Eragon began to search for those magicians with his mind, firing

arrows all the while.

Du Vrangr Gata found the first enemy spellcaster. The instant he was

alerted, Eragon reached out to the woman who made the discovery, and

from there to the foe she grappled with. Bringing the full power of his

will to bear, Eragon demolished the magician’s resistance, took control of

his consciousness—doing his best to ignore the man’s terror—determined

which troops the man was guarding, and slew the man with one of the

twelve words of death. Without pause, Eragon located the minds of each

of the now-unprotected soldiers and killed them as well. The Varden

cheered as the knot of men went limp.

The ease with which he slew them amazed Eragon. The soldiers had

had no chance to escape or fight back. How different from Farthen Dûr, he

thought. Though he marveled at the perfection of his skills, the deaths

sickened him. But there was no time to dwell on it.

Recovering from the Varden’s initial assault, the Empire began to man

their engines of war: catapults that cast round missiles of hard-baked ce-

ramic, trebuchets armed with barrels of liquid fire, and ballistae that

bombarded the attackers with a hail of arrows six feet long. The ceramic

balls and the liquid fire caused terrific damage when they landed. One

ball exploded against the ground not ten yards from Saphira. As Eragon

ducked behind his shield, a jagged fragment spun toward his head, only to

be stopped dead in the air by one of his wards. He blinked at the sudden

loss of energy.

The engines soon stalled the Varden’s advance, sowing mayhem wher-

ever they aimed. They have to be destroyed if we’re going to last long

enough to wear down the Empire, realized Eragon. It would be easy for

Saphira to dismantle the machines, but she dared not fly among the sol-

diers for fear of an attack by magic.

Breaking through the Varden lines, eight soldiers stormed toward

Saphira, jabbing at her with pikes. Before Eragon could draw Zar’roc, the

dwarves and Kull eliminated the entire group.

“A good fight!” roared Garzhvog.

582

“A good fight!” agreed Orik with a bloody grin.

Eragon did not use spells against the engines; they would be protected

against any conceivable enchantment. Unless... Extending himself, he

found the mind of a soldier who tended one of the catapults. Though he

was sure the soldier was defended by some magician, Eragon was able to

gain dominance over him and direct his actions from afar. He guided the

man up to the weapon, which was being loaded, then had him use his

sword to hack at the skein of twisted rope that powered the machine.

The rope was too thick to sever before the soldier was dragged away by

his comrades, but the damage was already done. With a mighty crack, the

partially wound skein broke, sending the arm of the catapult flying

backward and injuring several men. His lips curled in a grim smile, Er-