It’s true I can’t block them perfectly, not yet at least, but oh, what a relief! Silence. Blessed silence! No more cuts, scrapes, bruises, or broken bones. No more petty worries of airheaded youths. No more anguish of abandoned wives or cuckolded husbands. No more the thousands of unbearable injuries of an entire war. No more the gut- wrenching panic that precedes the final darkness.” With tears starting down her cheeks, she laughed, a husky warble that set Eragon’s scalp atingle.
Elva’s eyes glowed with unsavory glee. “I will never be like ordinary people. If I must be different, then let me keep that which sets me apart. As long as I can control this power, as it seems I now can, I have no objection to carrying this burden, for it shall be by my choice and not forced upon me by your magic, Eragon. Ha! From now on, I shall answer to no one and no thing. If I help anyone, it will be because I want to. If I serve the Varden, it will be because my conscience tells me I should and not because you ask me to, Nasuada, or because I’ll throw up if I don’t. I will do as I please, and woe unto those who oppose me, for I know all their fears and shall not hesitate to play upon them in order to fulfill my wishes.”
“Elva!” exclaimed Greta. “Do not say such terrible things! You cannot mean them!”
The girl turned toward her so sharply, her hair fanned out behind her. “Ah yes, I had forgotten about you, my nursemaid. Ever faithful. Always fussing. I am grateful to you for adopting me after my mother died, and for the care you’ve given me since Farthen Dur, but I do not require your assistance anymore. I will live alone, tend to myself, and be beholden to no one.” Cowed, the old woman covered her mouth with the hem of a sleeve and shrank back.
What Elva said appalled Eragon. He decided that he could not allow her to retain her ability if she was going to abuse it. With Saphira’s assistance, for she agreed with him, he picked the most promising of the new counterspells he had been contemplating earlier and opened his mouth to deliver the lines.
Quick as a snake, Elva clamped a hand over his lips, preventing him from speaking. The pavilion shook as Saphira snarled, nearly deafening Eragon, with his enhanced hearing. As everyone reeled, save for Elva, who kept her hand pressed against Eragon’s face, Saphira said,
Drawn by Saphira’s snarl, Nasuada’s six guards charged inside, brandishing their weapons, while Blodhgarm and the other elves ran up to Saphira and stationed themselves on either side of her shoulders, pulling back the wall of the tent so they could all see what was happening. Nasuada gestured, and the Nighthawks lowered their weapons, but the elves remained poised for action. Their blades gleamed like ice.
Neither the commotion she had engendered nor the swords leveled at her seemed to perturb Elva. She cocked her head and gazed at Eragon as if he were an unusual beetle she had found crawling along the edge of her chair, and then she smiled with such a sweet, innocent expression, he wondered why he did not have greater faith in her character. In a voice like warm honey, she said, “Eragon, cease. If you cast that spell, you will hurt me as you hurt me once before. You do not want that. Every night when you lay yourself down to sleep, you will think of me, and the memory of the wrong you have committed will torment you. What you were about to do was evil, Eragon. Are you the judge of the world? Will you condemn me in the absence of wrongdoing merely because you do not approve of me? That way lies the depraved pleasure of controlling others for your own satisfaction. Galbatorix would approve.”
She released him then, but Eragon was too troubled to move. She had struck at his very core, and he had no counterarguments with which to defend himself, for her questions and observations were the very ones he directed at himself. Her understanding of him sent a chill crawling down his spine. “I am grateful to you also, Eragon, for coming here today to correct your mistake. Not everyone is as willing to acknowledge and confront their shortcomings. However, you have earned no favor with me today. You have righted the scales as best you could, but that is only what any decent person ought to have done. You have not compensated me for what I have endured, nor can you. So when next we cross paths, Eragon Shadeslayer, count me not as a friend or foe. I am ambivalent toward you, Rider; I am just as prepared to hate you as I am to love you. The outcome is yours alone to decide... Saphira, you gave me the star upon my brow, and you have always been kind to me. I am and shall always remain your faithful servant.”
Lifting her chin to maximize her three-and-a-half-foot height, Elva surveyed the interior of the pavilion. “Eragon, Saphira, Nasuada... Angela. Good day.” And with that, she swept off toward the entrance. The Nighthawks parted ranks as she passed between them and went outside.
Eragon stood, feeling unsteady. “What sort of monster have I created?” The two Urgal Nighthawks touched the tip of each of their horns, which he knew was how they warded off evil. To Nasuada, he said, “I’m sorry. I seem to have only made things worse for you — for all of us.”
Calm as a mountain lake, Nasuada arranged her robes before answering: “No matter. The game has gotten a little more complicated, that is all. It is to be expected the closer we get to Uru’baen and Galbatorix.”
A moment later, Eragon heard the sound of an object rushing through the air toward him. He flinched, but fast as he was, he was too slow to avoid a stinging slap that knocked his head to one side and sent him staggering against a chair. He rolled across the seat of the chair and sprang upright, his left arm lifted to ward off an oncoming blow, his right arm pulled back, ready to stab with the hunting knife he had snatched from his belt during the maneuver. To his astonishment, he saw that it was Angela who had struck him. The elves were gathered inches behind the fortuneteller, ready to subdue her if she should attack him again or to escort her away should Eragon order it. Solembum was at her feet, teeth and claws bared, and his hair standing on end.
Right then, Eragon could care less about the elves. “What did you do that for?” he demanded. He winced as his split lower lip stretched, tearing the flesh farther apart. Warm, metallic-tasting blood trickled down his throat.
Angela tossed her head. “Now I’m going to have to spend the next ten years teaching Elva how to behave! That’s
“Teach her?” exclaimed Eragon. “She won’t let you. She’ll stop you as easily as she stopped me.”
“Humph. Not likely. She doesn’t know what bothers me, nor what might be about to hurt me. I saw to that the day she and I first met.”
“Would you share this spell with us?” Nasuada asked. “After how this has turned out, it seems prudent for us to have a means of protecting ourselves from Elva.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” said Angela. Then she too marched out of the pavilion, and Solembum stalked after her, waving his tail ever so gracefully.
The elves sheathed their blades and retreated to a discreet distance from the tent.
Nasuada rubbed her temples with a circular motion. “Magic,” she cursed.
“Magic,” agreed Eragon.
The pair of them started as Greta cast herself upon the ground and began to weep and wail while pulling at her thin hair, beating herself on the face, and ripping at her bodice. “Oh, my poor dear! I’ve lost my lamb! Lost! What will become of her, all alone? Oh, woe is me, my own little blossom rejecting me. It’s a shameful reward it is for the work I’ve done, bending my back like a slave I have. What a cruel, hard world, always stealing your happiness from you.” She groaned. “My plum. My rose. My pretty sweet pea. Gone!
And no one to look after her... Shadeslayer! Will you watch over her?”
Eragon grasped her by the arm and helped her to her feet, consoling her with assurances that he and Saphira would keep a close eye on Elva.
GIFTS OF GOLD
Eragon stood next to Saphira, fifty yards from Nasuada’s crimson pavilion. Glad to be free of all the commotion that had surrounded Elva, he gazed up at the clear azure sky and rolled his shoulders, already tired from the events of the day. Saphira intended to fly out to the Jiet River and bathe herself in its deep, slow- moving water, but his own intentions were less definite. He still needed to finish oiling his armor, prepare for Roran and Katrina’s wedding, visit with Jeod, locate a proper sword for himself, and also... He scratched his chin.
