Eldest [en]

sawed in half. Saphira growled as the ripping sensation reached her. She tried to soothe him with her own mind but was unable to alleviate his suffering. Her tail instinctually lifted, as if to fight.

It took minutes before the fit subsided and the last throb faded away, leaving Eragon gasping. Sweat drenched his face, making his hair stick and his eyes sting. He reached back and gingerly fingered the top of his scar. It was hot and inflamed and sensitive to touch. Saphira lowered her nose and touched him on the arm. Oh, little one.

It was worse this time, he said, staggering upright. She let him lean against her as he wiped off the sweat with a rag, then he tentatively stepped toward the door.

Are you strong enough to go?

We have to. We’re obliged as dragon and Rider to make a public choice regarding the next head of the Varden, and perhaps even influence the selection. I won’t ignore the strength of our position; we now wield great authority within the Varden. At least the Twins aren’t here to grab the position for themselves. That’s the only good in the situation.

Very well, but Durza should suffer a thousand years of torture for what he did to you.

He grunted. Just stay close to me.

Together they made their way through Tronjheim, toward the nearest kitchen. In the corridors and hallways, people stopped and bowed to them, murmuring “Argetlam” or “Shadeslayer.” Even dwarves made the motions, though not as often. Eragon was struck by the somber, haunted expressions of the humans and the dark clothing they wore to display their sadness. Many women were dressed entirely in black, lace veils covering their faces.

In the kitchen, Eragon brought a stone platter of food to a low table. Saphira watched him carefully in case he should have another attack. Several people tried to approach him, but she lifted a lip and growled, sending them scurrying away. Eragon picked at his food and pretended to ignore the disturbances. Finally, trying to divert his thoughts from Murtagh, he asked, Who do you think has the means to take control of the Varden now that Ajihad and the Twins are gone?

She hesitated. It’s possible you could, if Ajihad’s last words were interpreted as a blessing to secure the leadership. Almost no one would oppose you. However, that does not seem a wise path to take. I see only trouble in that direction.

I agree. Besides, Arya wouldn’t approve, and she could be a dangerous enemy. Elves can’t lie in the ancient language, but they have no such inhibition in ours — she could deny that Ajihad ever uttered those words if it served her purposes. No, I don’t want the position... What about Jormundur?

Ajihad called him his right-hand man. Unfortunately, we know little about him or the Varden’s other leaders. Such a short time has passed since we came here. We will have to make our judgment on our feelings and impressions, without the benefit of history.

Eragon pushed his fish around a lump of mashed tubers. Don’t forget Hrothgar and the dwarf clans; they won’t be quiet in this. Except for Arya, the elves have no say in the succession — a decision will be made before word of this even reaches them. But the dwarves can’t be — won’t be — ignored. Hrothgar favors the Varden, but if enough clans oppose him, he might be maneuvered into backing someone unsuited for the command.

And who might that be?

A person easily manipulated. He closed his eyes and leaned back. It could be anyone in Farthen Dur, anyone at all.

For a long while, they both considered the issues facing them. Then Saphira said, Eragon, there is someone here to see you. I can’t scare him away.

Eh? He cracked his eyes open, squinting as they adjusted to the light. A pale- looking youth stood by the table. The boy eyed Saphira like he was afraid she would try to eat him. “What is it?” asked Eragon, not unkindly.

The boy started, flustered, then bowed. “You have been summoned, Argetlam, to speak before the Council of Elders.”

“Who are they?”

The question confused the boy even more. “The — the council is... are... people we — that is, the Varden — choose to speak on our behalf to Ajihad. They were his trusted advisers, and now they wish to see you. It is a great honor!” He finished with a quick smile.

“Are you to lead me to them?”

“Yes, I am.”

Saphira looked at Eragon questioningly. He shrugged and left the uneaten food, motioning for the boy to show the way. As they walked, the boy admired Zar’roc with bright eyes, then looked down shyly.

“What are you called?” asked Eragon.

“Jarsha, sir.”

“That’s a good name. You carried your message well; you should be proud.” Jarsha beamed and bounced forward.

They reached a convex stone door, which Jarsha pushed open. The room inside was circular, with a sky blue dome decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Durgrimst Ingeitum — an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars — stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jormundur and two other men, one tall and one broad; a woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks; and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice.

“You may go,” said Jormundur to Jarsha, who quickly bowed and left.

Conscious that he was being watched, Eragon surveyed the room, then seated himself in the middle of a swath of empty chairs, so that the council members were forced to turn in their seats in order to look at him. Saphira hunkered directly behind him; he could feel her hot breath on the top of his head.

Jormundur got halfway up to make a slight bow, then reseated himself. “Thank you for coming, Eragon, even though you have suffered your own loss. This is Umerth,” the tall man; “Falberd,” the broad one; “and Sabrae and Elessari,” the two women.

Eragon inclined his head, then asked, “And what of the Twins, were they part of this council?”

Sabrae shook her head sharply and tapped a long fingernail on the table. “They had naught to do with us. They were slime — worse than slime — leeches that worked only for their own benefit. They had no desire to serve the Varden. Thus, they had no place in this council.” Eragon could smell her perfume all the way on the other side of the table; it was thick and oily, like a rotting flower. He hid a smile at the thought.

“Enough. We’re not here to discuss the Twins,” said Jormundur. “We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don’t choose Ajihad’s successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it’s difficult to predict their actions even in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad’s place.”

Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. “The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But,” he raised a thick finger, “before we reveal who it is, you must give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room.”

Why would they want that? Eragon asked Saphira.

I don’t know, she said, snorting. It might be a trap... It’s a gamble you’ll have to take. Remember, though, they haven’t asked me to pledge anything. I can always tell Arya what they say, if needed. Silly of them, forgetting that I’m as intelligent as any human.

Pleased with the thought, Eragon said, “Very well, you have my word. Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?”

“Nasuada.”

Surprised, Eragon dropped his gaze, thinking quickly. He had not considered Nasuada for the succession