Shadeslayer?
We are not returning directly to the camp. Eragon glanced at the ground. There is a small hill perhaps two miles to the southeast. Do you know it?
Yes, I can see it.
Saphira will land behind it. Have Arya, Orik, Jörmundur, Roran, Queen Islanzadí, and King Orrin join us there, but make sure they do not leave the camp all at once. If you could help hide them, that would be best. You should come as well.
As you wish. … Shadeslayer, what did you find on—
No! Do not ask me. It would be dangerous to think of it here. Come and I will tell you, but I do not want to blare the answer where others might be listening.
I understand. We will meet with you as quickly as we can, but it may take some time to stagger our departures correctly.
Of course. I trust you’ll do what’s best.
Eragon severed their connection and leaned back in the saddle. He smiled slightly as he imagined Blödhgarm’s expression when he learned of the Eldunarí.
With a whirl of wind, Saphira landed in the hollow by the base of the hill, startling a flock of nearby sheep, who scurried away while uttering plaintive bleats.
As she folded her wings, Saphira looked after the sheep and said, It would be easy to catch them, since they cannot see me. She licked her chops.
“Yes, but where would the sport be in that?” Eragon asked, loosening the straps around his legs.
Sport does not fill your belly.
“No, but then you aren’t hungry, are you?” The energy from the Eldunarí, though insubstantial, had suppressed her desire to eat.
She released a great amount of air in what seemed to be a sigh. No, not really. …
While they waited, Eragon stretched his sore limbs, then ate a light lunch from what remained of his provisions. He knew that Saphira was sprawled her full, sinuous length on the ground next to him, though he could not see her. Her presence was betrayed only by the shadowed impression her body left upon the flattened stalks of grass, like a strangely shaped hollow. He was not sure why, but the sight amused him.
As he ate, he gazed out at the pleasant fields around the hill, watching the stir of air in the stalks of wheat and barley. Long, low walls of piled stone separated the fields; it must have taken the local farmers hundreds of years to dig so many stones out of the ground.
At least that wasn’t a problem we had in Palancar Valley, he thought.
A moment later, one of the dragons’ memories returned to him, and he knew exactly how old the stone walls were; they dated to the time when humans had come to live in the ruins of Ilirea, after the elves had defeated King Palancar’s warriors. He could see, as if he had been there, lines of men, women, and children combing over freshly tilled fields and carrying the rocks they found over to where the walls would be.
After a time, Eragon allowed the memory to fade away, and then he opened his mind to the ebb and flow of energy around them. He listened to the thoughts of the mice in the grass and the worms in the earth and the birds that fluttered past overhead. It was a slightly risky thing to do, for he could end up alerting any nearby enemy spellcasters to their presence, but he preferred to know who and what was close, so that no one could attack them by surprise.
Thus he sensed the approach of Arya, Blödhgarm, and Queen Islanzadí, and he was not alarmed when the shadows of their footsteps moved toward him from around the western side of the hill.
The air rippled like water, and then the three elves appeared before him. Queen Islanzadí stood in the lead, as regal as ever. She was garbed in a golden corselet of scale armor, with a jeweled helm upon her head and her red, white-trimmed cape clasped about her shoulders. A long, slim sword hung from her narrow waist. She carried a tall, white-bladed spear in one hand and a shield shaped like a birch leaf—its edges were even serrated like a leaf—in the other.
Arya, too, was clad in fine armor. She had exchanged her usual dark clothes for a corselet like her mother’s—although Arya’s was the gray of bare steel, not gold—and she wore a helm decorated with embossed knotwork upon the brow and nosepiece and a pair of stylized eagle wings that swept back from her temples. Compared with the splendor of Islanzadí’s raiment, Arya’s was somber, but all the more deadly because of it. Together, mother and daughter were like a pair of matched blades, where one was adorned for display and one fitted for combat.
Like the two women, Blödhgarm wore a shirt of scale armor, but his head was bare, and he carried no weapon besides a small knife on his belt.
“Show yourself, Eragon Shadeslayer,” said Islanzadí, looking toward the spot where he stood.
Eragon released the spell that concealed him and Saphira, then bowed to the elf queen.
She ran her dark eyes over him, studying him as if he were a prize draft horse. Unlike before, he had no difficulty holding her gaze. After a few seconds, the queen said, “You have improved, Shadeslayer.”
He gave a second, shorter bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” As always, the sound of her voice sent a thrill through him. It seemed to hum with magic and music, as if every word were part of an epic poem. “Such a compliment means much from one so wise and fair as you.”
Islanzadí laughed, showing her long teeth, and the hill and the fields rang with her mirth. “And you have grown eloquent as well! You did not tell me he had become so well spoken, Arya!”
A faint smile touched Arya’s face. “He is still learning.” Then to Eragon, she said, “It is good to see you safely returned.”
The elves plied him, Saphira, and Glaedr with numerous questions, but the three of them refused to provide answers until the others had arrived. Still, Eragon thought that the elves sensed something of the Eldunarí, for he noticed that they sometimes glanced in the direction of the hearts of hearts, although they seemed not to realize it.
Orik was the next to join them. He rode from the south on a shaggy pony that was lathered and panting. “Ho, Eragon! Ho, Saphira!” the dwarf king cried, raising a fist. He slid down from his exhausted mount, stomped over, and pulled Eragon into a rough embrace, pounding him on the back.
When they had finished greeting each other—and Orik had given Saphira a rub on her nose, which made her hum—Eragon asked, “Where are your guards?”
Orik gestured over his shoulder. “Braiding their beards by a farmhouse a mile west of here, and none too happy about it, I dare say. I’d trust every last one of them—they’re clanmates of mine—but Blödhgarm said I should best come alone, so alone I’ve come. Now tell me, why this secrecy? What did you discover on Vroengard?”
“You’ll have to wait for the rest of our council to find out,” said Eragon. “But I am glad to see you again.” And he clapped Orik on the shoulder.
Roran arrived on foot soon afterward, looking grim and dusty. He gripped Eragon’s arm and welcomed him, then pulled him aside and said, “Can you stop them from hearing us?” He motioned with his chin toward Orik and the elves.
It took Eragon only a few seconds to cast a spell that shielded them from listeners. “Done.” At the same time, he separated his mind from Glaedr and the other Eldunarí, although not from Saphira.
Roran nodded and looked off over the fields. “I had some words with King Orrin while you were gone.”
“Words? How so?”
“He was being a fool, and I told him so.”
“I take it he didn’t react very kindly.”
“You could say that. He tried to stab me.”
“He what?!”
“I managed to knock his sword out of his hand before he could land a blow, but if he had had his way, he would have killed me.”
“Orrin?” Eragon had trouble imagining the king doing any such thing. “Did you hurt him badly?”
For the first time, Roran smiled: a brief expression that quickly vanished under his beard. “I scared him, which might be worse.”
Eragon grunted and clenched the pommel of Brisingr. He realized that he and Roran were mirroring each other’s posture; they both had th
eir hands on their weapons, and they both stood with their weight on the opposite leg. “Who else knows of this?”
“Jörmundur—he was there—and whomever Orrin has told.”
Frowning, Eragon began to pace back and forth as he tried to decide what to do. “The timing of this couldn’t be worse.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have been so blunt with Orrin, but he was about to send ‘royal greetings’ to Galbatorix and other such nonsense. He would have put us all in danger. I couldn’t allow that to happen. You would have done the same.”
“Maybe so, but this just makes things all the more difficult. I’m the leader of the Varden now. An attack on you or any of the other warriors under my command is the same as an attack on me. Orrin knows that, and he knows we’re of the same blood. He might as well have thrown a gauntlet in my face.”
“He was drunk,” said Roran. “I’m not sure he was thinking of that when he drew his sword.”
Eragon saw Arya and Blödhgarm giving him curious glances. He stopped pacing and turned his back to them.
“I’m worried about Katrina,” Roran added. “If Orrin is angry enough, he might send his men after me or her. Either way, she could get hurt. Jörmundur already posted a guard at our tent, but that’s not enough protection.”
Eragon shook his head. “Orrin wouldn’t dare hurt her.”
“No? He can’t harm you, and he doesn’t have the stomach to confront me directly, so what does that leave? An ambush. Knives in the dark. Killing Katrina would be an easy way for Orrin to have his revenge.”
“I doubt that Orrin would resort to knives in the dark—or harming Katrina.”
“You can’t say for sure, though.”
Eragon thought for a moment. “I’ll place some spells on Katrina to keep her safe, and I’ll let Orrin know that I’ve placed them. That should put a stop to any plans he might have.”
The tension in Roran seemed to drain away. “I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll give you some new wards as well.”
“No, save your strength. I can take care of myself.”
Eragon insisted, but Roran kept refusing. Finally, Eragon said, “Blast it! Listen to me. We’re about to go into battle against Galbatorix’s men. You have to have some protection, if only against magic. I’m going to give you wards whether you like it or not, so you might as well smile and thank me for them!”
Roran glowered at him, then he grunted and raised his hands. “Fine, as you wish. You never did know when it was sensible to give up.”
“Oh, and you do?”
A chuckle came from within the depths of Roran’s beard. “I suppose not. I guess it runs in the family.”
“Mmh. Between Brom and Garrow, I don’t know who was the more stubborn.”
“Father was,” said Roran.
“Eh … Brom was as—No, you’re right. It was Garrow.”
They exchanged grins, remembering their life on the farm. Then Roran shifted his stance and gave Eragon an odd, sideways look. “You seem different than before.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do. You seem more sure of yourself.”
“Perhaps it’s because I understand myself better than I once did.”
To that, Roran had no answer.
Half an hour later, Jörmundur and King Orrin rode up together. Eragon greeted Orrin as politely as ever, but Orrin responded with a curt reply and avoided his gaze. Even from a distance of several feet, Eragon could smell wine on his breath.
Once they were all assembled before Saphira, Eragon began. First, he had everyone swear oaths of secrecy in the ancient language. Then he explained the concept of an Eldunarí to Orik, Roran, Jörmundur, and Orrin, and he recounted a brief history of the dragons’ gemlike hearts with the Riders and Galbatorix.
The elves appeared uneasy with Eragon’s willingness to discuss the Eldunarí before the others, but none protested, which pleased him. He had earned that much trust, at least. Orik, Roran, and Jörmundur reacted with surprise, disbelief, and dozens of questions. Roran in particular acquired a sharp gleam in his eye, as if the information had given him a host of new ideas on how to kill Galbatorix.
Throughout, Orrin was surly and remained stridently unconvinced of the existence of the Eldunarí. In the end, the only thing that quelled his doubts was when Eragon removed Glaedr’s heart of hearts from the saddlebags and introduced the dragon to the four of them.
The awe they displayed at meeting Glaedr gratified Eragon. Even Orrin seemed impressed, although after exchanging a few words with Glaedr, he turned on Eragon and said, “Did Nasuada know of this?”
“Yes. I told her at Feinster.”
As Eragon expected, the admission displeased Orrin. “So once again the two of you chose to ignore me. Without the support of my men and the food of my nation, the Varden would have had no hope of confronting the Empire. I’m the sovereign ruler of one of only four countries in Alagaësia, my army makes up a goodly portion of our forces, and yet neither of you deemed it appropriate to inform me of this!”
Before Eragon could respond, Orik stepped forward. “They did not tell me about it either, Orrin,” the dwarf king rumbled. “And mine people have helped the Varden for longer than yours. You should not take offense. Eragon and Nasuada did what they thought was best for our cause; they meant no disrespect.”
Orrin scowled and looked as if he was going to continue arguing, but Glaedr preempted him by saying, They did as I asked, King of the Surdans. The Eldunarí are the greatest secret of our race, and we do not share it lightly with others, even kings.
“Then why have you chosen to do so now?” demanded Orrin. “You could have gone into battle without ever revealing yourself.”
In answer, Eragon recounted the story of their trip to Vroengard, including their encounter with the storm at sea and the sight they had witnessed at the very top of the clouds. Arya and Blödhgarm seemed the most interested in that part of his story, whereas Orik was the most uncomfortable.
“Barzûl, but that sounds a nasty experience,” he said. “It makes me shiver just to think of it. The ground is the proper place for a dwarf, not the sky.”
I agree, said Saphira, which caused Orik to scowl suspiciously and twist the braided ends of his beard.
Resuming his tale, Eragon told of how he, Saphira, and Glaedr had entered the Vault of Souls, though he refrained from divulging that this had required their true names. And when he at last revealed what the vault had contained, there was a moment of shocked silence.
Then Eragon said, “Open your minds.”
A moment later, the sound of whispering voices seemed to fill the air, and Eragon felt the presence of Umaroth and the other hidden dragons surround them.
The elves staggered, and Arya dropped to one knee, pressing a hand to the side of her head as if she had been struck. Orik uttered a cry and looked about, wild-eyed, while Roran, Jörmundur, and Orrin stood dumbfounded.
Queen Islanzadí knelt, adopting a pose much like her daughter’s. In his mind, Eragon heard her speaking to the dragons, greeting many by name and welcoming them as old friends. Blödhgarm did likewise, and for several minutes a flurry of thoughts passed between the dragons and those gathered at the base of the hill.
The mental cacophony was so great, Eragon shielded himself from it and retreated to sit on one of Saphira’s forelegs while he waited for the noise to subside. The elves seemed most affected by the revelation: Blödhgarm stared into the air with an expression of joy and wonder, while Arya continued to kneel. Eragon thought he saw a line of tears on each of her cheeks. Islanzadí beamed with a triumphant radiance, and for the first time since he had met her, Eragon thought she seemed truly happy.
Orik shook himself then and broke from his reverie. Looking over at Eragon, he said, “By Morgothal’s hammer, this puts a new twist on things! With their help, we might actually be able to kill Galbatorix!”
“You didn’t think we could before?” Eragon asked mildly.
“
Of course I did. Only not so much as I do now.”
Roran shook himself, as if waking from a dream. “I didn’t. … I knew that you and the elves would fight as hard as you could, but I didn’t believe you could win.” He met Eragon’s gaze. “Galbatorix has defeated so many Riders, and you’re but one, and not that old. It didn’t seem possible.”
“I know.”
“Now, though …” A wolfish look came into Roran’s eyes. “Now we have a chance.”
“Aye,” said Jörmundur. “And just think: we no longer have to worry so much about Murtagh. He’s no match for you and the dragons combined.”
Eragon drummed his heels against Saphira’s leg and did not answer. He had other ideas on that front. Besides, he did not like to consider having to kill Murtagh.
Then Orrin spoke up. “Umaroth says that you have devised a battle plan. Do you intend to share it with us, Shadeslayer?”
“I would like to hear it as well,” said Islanzadí in a kinder tone.
“And I,” said Orik.
Eragon stared at them for a moment, then nodded. To Islanzadí, he said, “Is your army ready to fight?”
“It is. Long we have waited for our vengeance; we need wait no longer.”
“And ours?” Eragon asked, directing his words toward Orrin, Jörmundur, and Orik.
“Mine knurlan are eager for battle,” proclaimed Orik.
Jörmundur glanced at King Orrin. “Our men are tired and hungry, but their will is unbroken.”
“The Urgals too?”
“Them too.”
“Then we attack.”
“When?” demanded Orrin.
“At first light.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Roran broke the silence. “Easy to say, hard to do. How?”
Eragon explained.
When he finished, there was another silence.
Roran squatted and began to draw in the dirt with the tip of a finger. “It’s risky.”
“But bold,” said Orik. “Very bold.”
“There are no safe paths anymore,” said Eragon. “If we can catch Galbatorix unprepared, even a bit, it might be enough to tip the scales.”