Paolini, Christopher - [Inheritance 02] - Eldest Page 25

  Apology accepted, said Saphira calmly, and returned to her pie.

  “Where does he come from?” Eragon asked, eager to return to more cordial footing with Arya but also genuinely curious.

  “Blagden,” said Arya, “once saved my father’s life. Evandar was fighting an Urgal when he stumbled and lost his sword. Before the Urgal could strike, a raven flew at him and pecked out his eyes. No one knows why the bird did it, but the distraction allowed Evandar to regain his balance and so win the battle. My father was always generous, so he thanked the raven by blessing him with spells for intelligence and long life. However, the magic had two effects that he did not foresee: Blagden lost all color in his feathers and he gained the ability to predict certain events.”

  “He can see into the future?” asked Eragon, startled.

  “See? No. But perhaps he can sense what is to come. In any case, he always speaks in riddles, most of which are a fair bit of nonsense. Just remember that if Blagden ever comes to you and tells you something that is not a joke or a pun, you would do well to heed his words.”

  Once the meal had concluded, Islanzadí stood—causing a flurry of activity as everyone hastened to do likewise—and said, “It is late, I am tired, and I would return to my bower. Accompany me, Saphira and Eragon, and I will show you where you may sleep tonight.” The queen motioned with one hand to Arya, then left the table. Arya followed.

  As Eragon stepped around the table with Saphira, he paused by the woman-child, caught by her feral eyes. All the elements of her appearance, from her eyes to her shaggy hair to her white fangs, triggered Eragon’s memory. “You’re a werecat, aren’t you?” She blinked once and then bared her teeth in a dangerous smile. “I met one of your kin, Solembum, in Teirm and in Farthen Dûr.”

  Her grin widened. “Aye. A good one he is. Humans bore me, buthe finds it amusing to travel with the witch Angela.” Then her gaze switched to Saphira and she uttered a throaty half-growl, half-purr of appreciation.

  What is your name?asked Saphira.

  “Names be powerful things in the heart of Du Weldenvarden, dragon, yes they are. However… among the elves, I am known as The Watcher and as Quickpaw and as The Dream Dancer, but you may know me as Maud.” She tossed her mane of stiff white bangs. “You’d better catch up with the queen, younglings; she does not take lightly to fools or laggards.”

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Maud,” said Eragon. He bowed, and Saphira inclined her head. Eragon glanced at Orik, wondering where the dwarf would be taken, and then pursued Islanzadí.

  They overtook the queen just as she reached the base of a tree. The trunk was ridged by a delicate staircase that spiraled up to a series of globular rooms cupped and suspended in the tree’s crown by a spray of branches.

  Islanzadí lifted an elegant hand and pointed at the eyrie. “You needs must fly there, Saphira. Our stairs were not grown with dragons in mind.” Then she spoke to Eragon: “This is where the leader of the Dragon Riders would dwell while in Ellesméra. I give it to you now, for you are the rightful heir to that title… It is your inheritance.” Before Eragon could thank her, the queen swept past and departed with Arya, who held his gaze for a long moment before vanishing deeper into the city.

  Shall we see what accommodations they’ve provided us with? asked Saphira. She jumped into the air and sailed around the tree in a tight circle, balancing on one wing tip, perpendicular to the ground.

  As Eragon took the first step, he saw that Islanzadí had spoken true; the stairs were one with the tree. The bark beneath his feet was smooth and flat from the many elves who had traversed it, but it was still part of the trunk, as were the twisting cobweb banisters by his side and the curved railing that slid under his right hand.

  Because the stairs had been designed with the elves’ strength in mind, they were steeper than Eragon was used to, and his calves and thighs soon began to burn. He was breathing so hard when he reached the top—after climbing through a trapdoor in the floor of one of the rooms—he had to put his hands on his knees and bend over to pant. Once recovered, he straightened and examined his surroundings.

  He stood in a circular vestibule with a pedestal in the center, out of which spiraled a sculpture of two pale hands and forearms that twined around each other without touching. Three screen doors led from the vestibule—one to an austere dining room that might hold ten people at the most, one to a closet with an empty hollow in the floor that Eragon could think of no discernible use for, and the last to a bedroom overlooking, and open to, the wide expanse of Du Weldenvarden.

  Taking a lantern from its hook in the ceiling, Eragon entered the bedroom, creating a host of shadows that jumped and swirled like madcap dancers. A teardrop gap large enough for a dragon pierced the outer wall. Inside the room was a bed, situated so that he could watch the sky and the moon while lying on his back; a fireplace made of gray wood that felt as hard and cold as steel when he touched it, as if the timber had been compressed to unsurpassed density; and a huge low-rimmed bowl set in the floor and lined with soft blankets where Saphira could sleep.

  Even as he watched, she swooped down and landed on the edge of the opening, her scales twinkling like a constellation of blue stars. Behind her, the last rays of the sun streaked across the forest, painting the various ridges and hills with a hazy amber that made the needles glow like hot iron and chased the shadows back toward the violet horizon. From their height, the city appeared as a series of gaps in the voluminous canopy, islands of calm in a restless ocean. Ellesméra’s true scope was now revealed; it extended for several miles to the west and to the north.

  I respect the Riders even more if this is how Vrael normally lived,said Eragon. It’s much simpler than I expected. The entire structure rocked slightly in response to a breath of wind.

  Saphira sniffed her blankets. We have yet to see Vroengard, she cautioned, although he sensed that she agreed with him.

  As Eragon closed the screen to the bedroom, he saw something in the corner that he had missed during his first inspection: a spiral staircase that wound up a dark wood chimney. Thrusting the lantern before him, he cautiously ascended, one step at a time. After about twenty feet, he emerged in a study furnished with a writing desk—stocked with quills, ink, and paper, but no parchment—and another padded roost for a dragon to curl up on. The far wall also had an opening to fly through.

  Saphira, come see this.

  How?she asked.

  Through the outside. Eragon winced as layers of bark splintered and cracked under Saphira’s claws while she crawled out of the bedroom and up the side of the compound to the study. Satisfied? he asked when she arrived. Saphira raked him with her sapphire eyes, then proceeded to scrutinize the walls and furniture.

  I wonder,she said, how you are supposed to stay warm when the rooms are open to the elements?

  I don’t know. Eragon examined the walls on either side of the breach, running his hands over abstract patterns that had been coaxed from the tree by the elves’ songs. He stopped when he felt a vertical ridge embedded in the bark. He tugged on it, and a diaphanous membrane unspooled from within the wall. Pulling it across the portal, he found a second groove to hold the hem of the cloth. As soon as it was fastened, the air thickened and became noticeably hotter. There’s your answer, he said. He released the cloth and it lashed back and forth as it rewound itself.

  When they returned to the bedroom, Eragon unpacked while Saphira coiled upon her dais. He carefully arranged his shield, bracers, greaves, coif, and helm, then stripped off his tunic and removed his shirt of leather-backed mail. He sat bare-chested on the bed and studied the oiled links, struck by their similarity to Saphira’s scales.

  We made it, he said, bemused.

  A long journey… but yes, we made it. We’re lucky that misfortune did not strike upon the road.

  He nodded. Now we’ll find out if it was worth it. Sometimes I wonder if our time would have been better spent helping the Varden.

  Eragon! You know that
we need further instruction. Brom would have wanted it. Besides, Ellesméra and Islanzadí were certainly worth coming all this way to see.

  Maybe. Finally, he asked, What do you make of all this?

  Saphira parted her jaws slightly to show her teeth. I don’t know. The elves keep more secrets than even Brom, and they can do things with magic that I never thought possible. I have no idea what methods they use to grow their trees into such shapes, nor how Islanzadí summoned those flowers. It is beyond my ken.

  Eragon was relieved that he was not the only one who felt overwhelmed. And Arya?

  What about her?

  You know, who she really is.

  She hasn’t changed, only your perception of her. Saphira chuckled deep in her throat, where it sounded like stones grinding against each other, and rested her head on her two front feet.

  The stars were bright in the sky now, and the soft hoots of owls drifted through Ellesméra. All the world was calm and silent as it slumbered away the liquid night.

  Eragon clambered underneath his downy sheets and reached to shutter the lantern, then stopped, his hand an inch from the latch. Here he was in the elves’ capital, over a hundred feet in the air, lying in what used to be Vrael’s bed.

  The thought was too much for him.

  Rolling upright, he grabbed the lantern with one hand, Zar’roc with the other, and surprised Saphira by crawling onto her dais and snuggling against her warm side. She hummed and dropped a velvet wing over him as he extinguished the light and closed his eyes.

  Together they slept long and deep in Ellesméra.

  OUT OF THE PAST

  Eragon woke at dawn well rested. He tapped Saphira’s ribs, and she lifted her wing. Running his hands through his hair, he walked to the room’s precipice and leaned against one side, bark rough against his shoulder. Below, the forest sparkled like a field of diamonds as each tree reflected the morning light with a thousand thousand drops of dew.

  He jumped with surprise as Saphira dove past him, twisting like an auger toward the canopy before she pulled up and circled through the sky, roaring with joy. Morning, little one. He smiled, happy that she was happy.

  He opened the screen to their bedroom, where he found two trays of food—mostly fruit—that had been placed by the lintel during the night. By the trays was a bundle of clothes with a paper note pinned to it. Eragon had difficulty deciphering the flowing script, since he had not read for over a month and had forgotten some of the letters, but at last he understood that it said:

  Greetings, Saphira Bjartskular and Eragon Shadeslayer.

  I, Bellaen of House Miolandra, do humble myself and apologize to you, Saphira, for this unsatisfactory meal. Elves do not hunt, and no meat is to be had in Ellesméra, nor in any of our cities. If you wish, you can do as the dragons of old were wont, and catch what you may in Du Weldenvarden. We only ask that you leave your kills in the forest so that our air and water remain untainted by blood.

  Eragon, these clothes are for you. They were woven by Niduen of Islanzadí‘s house and are her gift to you.

  May good fortune rule over you,

  Peace live in your heart,

  And the stars watch over you.

  Bellaen du Hljödhr

  When Eragon told Saphira the message, she said, It does not matter; I won’t need to eat for a while after yesterday’s meal. However, she did snap up a few seed cakes. Just so that I don’t appear rude, she explained.

  After Eragon finished breakfast, he hauled the bundle of clothes onto his bed and carefully unfolded them, finding two full-length tunics of russet trimmed with thimbleberry green, a set of creamy leggings to wrap his calves in, and three pairs of socks so soft, they felt like liquid when he pulled them through his hands. The quality of the fabric shamed the weaving of the women of Carvahall as well as the dwarf clothes he wore now.

  Eragon was grateful for the new raiment. His own tunic and breeches were sadly travel-worn from their weeks exposed to the rain and sun since Farthen Dûr. Stripping, he donned one of the luxurious tunics, savoring its downy texture.

  He had just laced on his boots when someone knocked on the screen to the bedroom. “Come in,” he said, reaching for Zar’roc.

  Orik poked his head inside, then cautiously entered, testing the floor with his feet. He eyed the ceiling. “Give me a cave any day instead of a bird’s nest like this. How fared your night, Eragon? Saphira?”

  “Well enough. And yours?” said Eragon.

  “I slept like a rock.” The dwarf chuckled at his own jest, then his chin sank into his beard and he fingered the head of his ax. “I see you’ve eaten, so I’ll ask you to accompany me. Arya, the queen, and a host of other elves await you at the base of the tree.” He fixed Eragon with a testy gaze. “Something is going on that they haven’t told us about. I’m not sure what they want from you, but it’s important. Islanzadí‘s as tense as a cornered wolf… I thought I’d warn you beforehand.”

  Eragon thanked him, then the two of them descended by way of the stairs, while Saphira glided to earth. They were met on the ground by Islanzadí arrayed in a mantle of ruffled swan feathers, which were like winter snow heaped upon a cardinal’s breast. She greeted them and said, “Follow me.”

  Her wending course took the group to the edge of Ellesméra, where the buildings were few and the paths were faint from disuse. At the base of a wooded knoll, Islanzadí stopped and said in a terrible voice, “Before we go any farther, the three of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne.”

  “Why should I gag myself?” demanded Orik.

  Why indeed?asked Saphira. Do you not trust us?

  “It is not a matter of trust, but of safety. We must protect this knowledge at all costs—it’s our greatest advantage over Galbatorix—and if you are bound by the ancient language, you will never willingly reveal our secret. You came to supervise Eragon’s training, Orik-vodhr. Unless you give me your word, you may as well return to Farthen Dûr.”

  At last Orik said, “I believe that you mean no harm to dwarves or to the Varden, else I would never agree. And I hold you to the honor of your hall and clan that this isn’t a ploy to deceive us. Tell me what to say.”

  While the queen tutored Orik in the correct pronunciation of the desired phrase, Eragon asked Saphira, Should I do it?

  Do we have a choice? Eragon remembered that Arya had asked the same question yesterday, and he began to have an inkling of what she had meant: the queen left no room to maneuver.

  When Orik finished, Islanzadí looked expectantly at Eragon. He hesitated, then delivered the oath, as did Saphira. “Thank you,” said Islanzadí. “Now we may proceed.”

  At the top of the knoll, the trees were replaced by a bed of red clover that ran several yards to the edge of a stone cliff. The cliff extended a league in either direction and dropped a thousand feet to the forest below, which pooled outward until it merged with the sky. It felt as if they stood on the edge of the world, staring across an endless expanse of forest.

  I know this place,realized Eragon, remembering his vision of Togira Ikonoka.

  Thud. The air shivered from the strength of the concussion. Thud. Another dull blow made Eragon’s teeth chatter. Thud. He jammed his fingers in his ears, trying to protect them from the painful spikes in pressure. The elves stood motionless. Thud. The clover bent under a sudden gust of wind.

  Thud. From below the edge of the cliff rose a huge gold dragon with a Rider on its back.

  CONVICTION

  Roran glared at Horst.

  They were in Baldor’s room. Roran was propped upright in bed, listening as the smith said, “What did you expect me to do? We couldn’t attack once you fainted. Besides, the men were in no state to fight. Can’t blame them either. I nearly bit off my tongue when I saw those monsters.” Horst shook his wild mane of hair. “We’ve been dragged into one of the old tal
es, Roran, and I don’t like it one bit.” Roran retained his stony expression. “Look, you can kill the soldiers if you want, but you have to get your strength back first. You’ll have plenty of volunteers; people trust you in battle, especially after you defeated the soldiers here last night.” When Roran remained silent, Horst sighed, patted him on his good shoulder, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Roran did not even blink. So far in his life, he had only truly cared about three things: his family, his home in Palancar Valley, and Katrina. His family had been annihilated last year. His farm had been smashed and burned, though the land remained, which was all that really mattered.

  But now Katrina was gone.

  A choked sob escaped past the iron lump in his throat. He was faced with a quandary that tore at his very essence: the only way to rescue Katrina would be to somehow pursue the Ra’zac and leave Palancar Valley, yet he could not abandon Carvahall to the soldiers. Nor could he forget Katrina.

  My heart or my home,he thought bitterly. They were worthless without each other. If he killed the soldiers it would only prevent the Ra’zac—and perhaps Katrina—from returning. Anyway, the slaughter would be pointless if reinforcements were nearby, for their arrival would surely signal Carvahall’s demise.

  Roran clenched his teeth as a fresh burst of pain emanated from his bound shoulder. He closed his eyes. I hope Sloan gets eaten like Quimby. No fate could be too terrible for that traitor. Roran cursed him with the blackest oaths he knew.

  Even if I were free to leave Carvahall, how could I find the Ra’zac? Who would know where they live? Who would dare inform on Galbatorix’s servants? Despair rolled over him as he wrestled with the problem. He imagined himself in one of the great cities of the Empire, searching aimlessly among dirty buildings and hordes of strangers for a hint, a glimpse, a taste of his love.

  It was hopeless.

  A river of tears followed as he doubled over, groaning from the strength of his agony and fear. He rocked back and forth, blind to anything but the desolation of the world.