Eldest [en]

— a world that had condemned his race; fighting in Farthen Dur; discovering they had been manipulated by Durza; and realizing that their only hope of a better life was to put aside old differences, befriend the Varden, and see Galbatorix overthrown. Nowhere was there evidence that Garzhvog lied.

Eragon could not understand what he had seen. Tearing himself from Garzhvog’s mind, he dove into each of the three remaining Urgals. Their memories confirmed the facts presented by Garzhvog. They made no attempt to conceal that they had killed humans, but it had been done at the command of Durza when the sorcerer controlled them, or when fighting humans over food or land. We did what we had to in order to care for our families, they said.

When he finished, Eragon stood before Garzhvog and knew the Urgal’s bloodline was as regal as any prince’s. He knew that, though uneducated, Garzhvog was a brilliant commander and as great a thinker and philosopher as Oromis himself. He’s certainly brighter than me, admitted Eragon to Saphira. Baring his throat as a sign of respect, he said out loud, “Nar Garzhvog,” and for the first time, he was aware of the lofty origins of the title nar. “I am proud to have you at my side. You may tell the Herndall that so long as the Urgals remain true to their word and do not turn against the Varden, I shall not oppose you.” Eragon doubted that he would ever like an Urgal, but the iron certitude of his prejudice only a few minutes before now seemed ignorant, and he could not retain it in good conscience.

Saphira flicked him on the arm with her barbed tongue, making the mail clink together. It takes courage to admit you were wrong.

Only if you are afraid of looking foolish, and I would have looked far more foolish if I persisted with an erroneous belief.

Why, little one, you just said something wise. Despite her teasing, he could sense her warm pride in what he had accomplished.

“Again, we are in your debt, Firesword,” said Garzhvog. He and the other Urgals pressed their fists against their jutting brows.

Eragon could tell that Nasuada wanted to know the details of what had just transpired but that she restrained herself. “Good. Now that this is settled, I must be off. Eragon, you’ll receive my signal from Trianna when the time has arrived.” With that she strode away into the darkness.

As Eragon settled against Saphira, Orik sidled up to him. “It’s lucky we dwarves are going to be here, eh? We’ll watch the Kull like hawks, we will. We won’t let them catch you while your back is turned. The moment they attack, we’ll cut their legs out from under them.”

“I thought you agreed with Nasuada’s accepting the Urgals’ offer.”

“That doesn’t mean I trust them or want to be right alongside them, now does it?” Eragon smiled and did not bother to argue; it would be impossible to convince Orik that the Urgals were not rapacious killers when he himself had refused to consider the possibility until sharing an Urgal’s memories.

The night lay heavy around them as they waited for dawn. Orik removed a whetstone from his pocket and proceeded to hone the edge of his curved ax. Once they arrived, the six other dwarves did the same, and the rasp of metal on stone filled the air with a grating chorus. The Kull sat back to back, chanting death songs under their breaths. Eragon spent the time casting wards about himself, Saphira, Nasuada, Orik, and even Arya. He knew that it was dangerous to protect so many, but he could not bear it if they were harmed. When he finished, he transferred what power he dared into the diamonds embedded within the belt of Beloth the Wise.

Eragon watched with interest as Angela clad herself in green and black armor and then, taking out a carved-wood case, assembled her staff-sword from two separate handles that attached in the middle and two blades of watered steel that threaded into the ends of the resulting pole. She twirled the completed weapon around her head a few times before seeming satisfied that it would hold up to the shock of battle.

The dwarves eyed her with disapproval, and Eragon heard one grumble, “... blasphemy that any but Durgrimst Quan should wield the huthvir.”

After that the only sound was the discordant music of the dwarves honing their blades.

It was near dawn when the cries began. Eragon and Saphira noticed them first because of their heightened senses, but the agonized screams were soon loud enough for the others to hear. Rising to his feet, Orik looked out toward the Empire, where the cacophony originated. “What manner of creatures are they torturing to extract such fearsome howls? The sound chills the marrow in my bones, it does.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t have to wait very long,” said Angela. Her former cheer had deserted her; she looked pale, drawn, and gray in the face, as if she were ill.

From his post by Saphira, Eragon asked, “You did this?”

“Aye. I poisoned their stew, their bread, their drink — anything I could get my hands on. Some will die now, others will die later as the various toxins take their toll. I slipped the officers nightshade and other such poisons so they will hallucinate in battle.” She tried to smile, but without much success. “Not a very honorable way to fight, I suppose, but I’d rather do this than be killed. Confusion to our enemies and all that.”

“Only a coward or a thief uses poison!” exclaimed Orik. “What glory is there in defeating a sick opponent?” The screams intensified even as he spoke.

Angela gave an unpleasant laugh. “Glory? If you want glory, there are thousands more troops I didn’t poison. I’m sure you will have your fill of glory by the end of today.”

“Is this why you needed the equipment in Orrin’s tent?” asked Eragon. He found her deed repugnant but did not pretend to know whether it was good or evil. It was necessary. Angela had poisoned the soldiers for the same reason Nasuada had accepted the Urgals’ offer of friendship — because it might be their only hope of survival.

“That’s right.”

The soldiers’ wails increased in number until Eragon longed to plug his ears and block out the sound. It made him wince and fidget, and it put his teeth on edge. He forced himself to listen, though. This was the cost of resisting the Empire. It would be wrong to ignore it. So he sat with his hands clenched into fists and his jaw forming painful knots while the Burning Plains echoed with the disembodied voices of dying men.

THE STORM BREAKS

The first horizontal rays of dawn already streaked across the land when Trianna said to Eragon, It is time. A surge of energy erased Eragon’s sleepiness. Jumping to his feet, he shouted the word to everyone around him, even as he clambered into Saphira’s saddle, pulling his new bow from its quiver. The Kull and dwarves surrounded Saphira, and together they hurried down the breastwork until they reached the opening that had been cleared during the night.

The Varden poured through the gap, quiet as they could be. Rank upon rank of warriors marched past, their armor and weapons padded with rags so no sound would alert the Empire of their approach. Saphira joined the procession when Nasuada appeared on a roan charger in the midst of the men, Arya and Trianna by her side. The five of them acknowledged each other with quick glances, nothing more.

During the night, the mephitic vapors had accumulated low to the ground, and now the dim morning light gilded the turgid clouds, turning them opaque. Thus, the Varden managed to cross three-quarters of the no-man’s- land before they were seen by the Empire’s sentries. As the alarm horns rang out before them, Nasuada shouted, “Now, Eragon! Tell Orrin to strike. To me, men of the Varden! Fight to win back your homes. Fight to guard your wives and children! Fight to overthrow Galbatorix! Attack and bathe your blades in the blood of our enemies! Charge!” She spurred her horse forward, and with a great bellow, the men followed, shaking their weapons above their heads.

Eragon conveyed Nasuada’s order to Barden, the spellcaster who rode with King Orrin. A moment later, he heard the drumming of hooves as Orrin and his cavalry — accompanied by the rest of the Kull, who could run as fast as horses — galloped out of the east. They charged into the Empire’s flank, pinning the soldiers against the Jiet River and distracting them long enough for the Varden to cross the remainder of the distance between them without opposition.

The two armies collided with a deafening roar. Pikes clashed against spears, hammers against shields, swords against helms, and above it all whirled the hungry gore-crows uttering their harsh croaks, driven into a frenzy by the smell of fresh meat below.