Brisingr [en]

through the camp, despite our best efforts to the contrary. If Murtagh and Thorn attack us directly as a result, or if Galbatorix sends them to reinforce Feinster... well, even with the elves by our sides, I doubt we could withstand them. I’m sorry, Eragon, but I cannot allow you to return to Ellesmera right now. It’s too dangerous.”

Pressing his hands against the edge of the cold stone table upon which the basin rested, Eragon said, “Nasuada, please. If not now, then when?”

“Soon. You must be patient.”

“Soon.” Eragon drew a deep breath, tightening his grip on the table. “How soon exactly?”

Nasuada frowned at him. “You cannot expect me to know that. First we must take Feinster, and then we must secure the countryside, and then—”

“And then you intend to march on Belatona or Dras-Leona, and then to Uru’baen,” said Eragon. Nasuada attempted to reply, but he did not allow her the opportunity. “And the closer you get to Galbatorix, the likelier it will be that Murtagh and Thorn will attack you, or even the king himself, and you will be ever more reluctant to let us go... Nasuada, Saphira and I do not have the skill, the knowledge, nor the strength to kill Galbatorix. You know that! Galbatorix could end this war at any time if he was willing to leave his castle and confront the Varden directly. We have to talk with our teachers again. They can tell us where Galbatorix’s power is coming from, and they might be able to show us a trick or two that will allow us to defeat him.”

Nasuada gazed downward, studying her hands. “Thorn and Murtagh could destroy us while you were gone.”

“And if we do not go, Galbatorix will destroy us when we reach Uru’baen... Could you wait a few days before you attack Feinster?”

“We could, but every day we camp outside the city will cost us lives.” Nasuada rubbed her temples with the heels of her palms. “You are asking a lot in exchange for an uncertain reward, Eragon.”

“The reward may be uncertain,” he said, “but our doom is inevitable unless we try.”

“Is it? I am not so sure. Still...” For an uncomfortably long time, Nasuada was silent, gazing past the edge of the image. Then she nodded once, as if confirming something to herself, and said, “I can delay our arrival at Feinster for two or three days. There are several towns in the area we can seize first. Once we do reach the city, I can pass another two or three days having the Varden build siege engines and prepare fortifications. No one will think strangely of it. After that, though, I will have to set upon Feinster, if for no other reason but that we need their supplies. An army that sits still in enemy territory is an army that starves. At the most, I can give you six days, and perhaps only four.”

As she spoke, Eragon made several quick calculations. “Four days won’t be long enough,” he said, “and six might not be either. It took Saphira three days to fly to Farthen Dur, and that was without stopping to sleep and without having to carry my weight. If the maps I have seen are accurate, it’s at least as far from here to Ellesmera, maybe farther, and about the same from Ellesmera to Feinster. And with me on her back, Saphira won’t be able to cover the distance as quickly.”

No, I won’t, Saphira said to him.

Eragon continued: “Even under the best of circumstances, it would still take us a week to reach you at Feinster, and that would be without staying for more than a minute in Ellesmera.”

An expression of profound exhaustion crossed Nasuada’s face. “Must you fly all the way to Ellesmera? Wouldn’t it be sufficient to scry with your mentors once you are past the wards along the edge of Du Weldenvarden? The time you would save could be crucial.”

“I don’t know. We can try.”

Nasuada closed her eyes for a moment. In a hoarse voice, she said, “I may be able to delay our arrival at Feinster for four days... Go to Ellesmera or don’t; I leave the decision up to you. If you do, then stay however long is needed. You’re right; unless you find a way to defeat Galbatorix, we have no hope of victory. Even so, keep you in mind the tremendous risk we are taking, the lives of the Varden I will be sacrificing in order to buy you this time, and how many more of the Varden will die if we lay siege to Feinster without you.”

Somber, Eragon nodded. “I won’t forget.”

“I should hope not. Now go! Do not tarry any longer! Fly. Fly! Fly faster than a diving hawk, Saphira, and do not let anything slow you.” Nasuada touched the tips of her fingers to her lips and then pressed them against the invisible surface of the mirror, where he knew she beheld the moving likeness of him and Saphira. “Luck on your journey, Eragon, Saphira. If we meet again, I fear it will be on the field of battle.”

And then she hurried from their sight, and Eragon released his spell, and the water in the basin cleared.

THE WHIPPING POST

Roran sat bolt upright and stared past Nasuada, his eyes fixed upon a wrinkle in the side of the crimson pavilion.

He could feel Nasuada studying him, but he refused to meet her gaze. During the long, dull silence that enveloped them, he contemplated a host of dire possibilities, and his temples throbbed with a feverish intensity. He wished he could leave the stifling pavilion and breathe the cool air outside.

At last Nasuada said, “What am I going to do with you, Roran?”

He straightened his spine even more. “Whatever you wish, my Lady.”

“An admirable answer, Stronghammer, but in no way does it resolve my quandary.” Nasuada sipped wine from a goblet. “Twice you defied a direct order from Captain Edric, and yet if you hadn’t, neither he nor you nor the rest of your band might have survived to tell the tale. However, your success does not negate the reality of your disobedience. By your own account, you knowingly committed insubordination, and I must punish you if I am to maintain discipline among the Varden.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Her brow darkened. “Blast it, Stronghammer. If you were anyone else but Eragon’s cousin, and if your gambit had been even one whit less effective, I would have you strung up and hanged for your misconduct.”

Roran swallowed as he imagined a noose tightening around his neck.

With the middle finger of her right hand, Nasuada tapped the arm of her high-backed chair with increasing speed until, stopping, she said, “Do you wish to continue fighting with the Varden, Roran?”

“Yes, my Lady,” he replied without hesitation.

“What are you willing to endure in order to remain within my army?”

Roran did not allow himself to dwell upon the implications of her question. “Whatever I must, my Lady.”

The tension in her face eased, and Nasuada nodded, appearing satisfied. “I hoped you would say that. Tradition and established precedent leave me only three choices. One, I can hang you, but I won’t... for a multitude of reasons. Two, I can give you thirty lashes and then discharge you from the ranks of the Varden. Or three, I can give you fifty lashes and keep you under my command.”

Fifty lashes isn’t that many more than thirty, Roran thought, trying to bolster his courage. He wet his lips. “Would I be flogged where all could see?”

Nasuada’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Your pride has no part in this, Stronghammer. The punishment must be severe so that others are not tempted to follow in your footsteps, and it must be held in public so that the whole of the Varden can profit by it. If you are even half as intelligent as you seem, you knew when you defied Edric that your decision would have consequences and that those consequences would most likely be unpleasant. The choice you must now make is simple: will you stay with the Varden, or will you abandon your friends and family and go your own way?”

Roran lifted his chin, angry that she would question his word. “I shall not leave, Lady Nasuada. No matter how many lashes you assign me, they cannot be as painful as losing my home and my father was.”

“No,” said Nasuada softly. “They could not... One of the magicians of Du Vrangr Gata will oversee the flogging and attend to you afterward, to ensure that the whip causes you no permanent damage. However, they shall not entirely heal your wounds, nor may you seek out a magician on your own to mend your back.”

“I understand.”

“Your flogging will be held as soon as Jormundur can marshal the troops. Until then, you will remain under guard in a tent by the whipping post.”