Christopher Paolini - Brisingr [en]

Jörmundur bowed to her. “You may rest assured, Lady, we shall treat you with the respect and dignity due your station. We may be your enemies, but we are still civilized men.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I am relieved to hear it. However, my main concern now is for the safety of my subjects. If I might, I would like to speak with your leader, Nasuada, about her plans for them.”

“I believe she wishes to speak with you as well.”

As they parted, Lady Lorana said, “I am most grateful to you, elf, and to you as well, Dragon Rider, for killing that monster before he could wreak sorrow and destruction upon Feinster. Fate has placed us on opposite sides of this conflict, but that does not mean I cannot admire your bravery and prowess. We may never meet again, so fare thee well, both of you.”

Eragon bowed and said, “Fare thee well, Lady Lorana.”

“May the stars watch over you,” said Arya.

Blödhgarm and the elves under his command accompanied Eragon, Saphira, and Arya as they searched Feinster for Nasuada. They found her riding her stallion through the gray streets, inspecting the damage to the city.

Nasuada greeted Eragon and Saphira with evident relief. “I’m glad you have finally returned. We’ve needed you here these past few days. I see you have a new sword, Eragon, a Dragon Rider’s sword. Did the elves give it to you?”

“In an indirect way, yes.” Eragon eyed the various people standing nearby and lowered his voice. “Nasuada, we must talk with you alone. It’s important.”

“Very well.” Nasuada studied the buildings that lined the street, then pointed at a house that appeared abandoned. “Let us talk in there.”

Two of Nasuada’s guards, the Nighthawks, ran forward and entered the house. They reappeared a few minutes later and bowed to Nasuada, saying, “It’s empty, my Lady.”

“Good. Thank you.” She dismounted her steed, handed the reins to one of the men in her retinue, and strode inside. Eragon and Arya followed.

The three of them wandered through the shabby building until they found a room, the kitchen, with a window large enough to accommodate Saphira’s head. Eragon pushed opened the shutters, and Saphira laid her head on the wooden counter. Her breath filled the kitchen with the smell of charred meat.

“We may speak without fear,” Arya announced after casting spells that would prevent anyone from eavesdropping on their conversation.

Nasuada rubbed her arms and shivered. “What is this all about, Eragon?” she asked.

Eragon swallowed, wishing that he did not have to dwell upon Oromis and Glaedr’s fate. Then he said, “Nasuada... Saphira and I were not alone... There was another dragon and another Rider fighting against Galbatorix.”

“I knew it,” breathed Nasuada, her eyes shining. “It was the only explanation that made sense. They were your teachers in Ellesméra, weren’t they?”

They were, said Saphira, but no more .

“No more?”

Eragon pressed his lips together and shook his head, tears blurring his vision. “Just this morning they died at Gil’ead. Galbatorix used Thorn and Murtagh to kill them; I heard him speak to them with Murtagh’s tongue.”

The excitement drained from Nasuada’s face, replaced by a dull, empty expression. She sank into the nearest chair and stared at the cinders in the cold fireplace. The kitchen was silent. At last she stirred and said, “Are you sure they are dead?”

“Yes.”

Nasuada wiped her eyes on the hem of her sleeve. “Tell me about them, Eragon. Would you, please?”

So for the next half hour, Eragon spoke of Oromis and Glaedr. He explained how they had survived the fall of the Riders and why they had chosen to keep themselves hidden thereafter. He explained about their respective disabilities, and he spent some time describing their personalities and what it had been like to study under them. Eragon’s sense of loss deepened as he remembered the long days he had spent with Oromis on the Crags of Tel’naeír and the many things the elf had done for him and Saphira. As he came to their encounter with Thorn and Murtagh at Gil’ead, Saphira lifted her head off the counter and began to keen again, her mournful wail soft and persistent.

Afterward, Nasuada sighed and said, “I wish I could have met Oromis and Glaedr, but alas, it was not to be... There is one thing I still do not understand, Eragon. You said you heard Galbatorix speaking to them. How could you?”

“Yes, I would like to know that as well,” said Arya.

Eragon looked for something to drink, but there was no water or wine in the kitchen. He coughed, then launched into an account of their recent trip to Ellesméra. Saphira occasionally made a comment, but for the most part, she left it to him to tell the story. Starting with the truth about his parentage, Eragon proceeded in quick succession through the events of their stay, from their discovery of the brightsteel under the Menoa tree to the forging of Brisingr to his visit with Sloan. Last of all, he told Arya and Nasuada about the dragons’ heart of hearts.

“Well,” said Nasuada. She stood and walked the length of the kitchen and then back again. “You the son of Brom, and Galbatorix leeching off the souls of dragons whose bodies have died. It’s almost too much to comprehend... ” She rubbed her arms again. “At least we now know the true source of Galbatorix’s power.”

Arya stood motionless, breathless, her expression stunned. “The dragons are still alive,” she whispered. She clasped her hands together in a prayer-like fashion and held them against her chest. “They are still alive after all these years. Oh, if only we could tell the rest of my race. How they would rejoice! And how terrible their wrath would be when they heard of the enslavement of the Eldunarí! We would run straight to Urû’baen, and we would not rest until we had freed the hearts of Galbatorix’s control, no matter how many of us died in the process.”

But we cannot tell them, said Saphira.

“No,” said Arya, and lowered her gaze. “We cannot. But I wish we could.”

Nasuada looked at her. “Please do not take offense, but I wish that your mother, Queen Islanzadí, had seen fit to share this information with us. We could have made use of it long ago.”

“I agree,” said Arya, frowning. “On the Burning Plains, Murtagh was able to defeat the two of you”—she indicated Eragon and Saphira—“because you did not know that Galbatorix might have given him some of the Eldunarí and thus you failed to act with appropriate caution. If not for Murtagh’s conscience, you would both be trapped in Galbatorix’s service even now. Oromis and Glaedr, and my mother too, had sound reasons for keeping the Eldunarí a secret, but their reticence was nearly our undoing. I will discuss this with my mother when next we speak.”

Nasuada paced between the counter and the fireplace. “You have given me much to think about, Eragon... ” She tapped the floor with the tip of her boot. “For the first time in the history of the Varden, we know of a way to kill Galbatorix that might actually succeed. If we can separate him from these heart of hearts, he will lose the better part of his strength, and then you and our other spellcasters will be able to overpower him.”

“Yes, but how can we separate him from his hearts?” Eragon asked.

Nasuada shrugged. “I could not say, but I am sure it must be possible. From now on, you will work on devising a method. Nothing else is as important.”

Eragon felt Arya studying him with unusual concentration. Unsettled, he made a questioning face at her.

“I always wondered,” said Arya, “why Saphira’s egg appeared to you, and not somewhere in an empty field. It seemed too great a coincidence to have occurred purely by chance, but I could not think of any plausible explanation. Now I understand. I should have guessed that you were Brom’s son. I did not know Brom well, but I did know him, and you share a certain resemblance.”