Eldest [en]

Eragon did as he was bidden. He said, “Now I can tell you openly as my master, the council made me agree to swear to the Varden once you were appointed. This was the only way Saphira and I could circumvent them.”

Nasuada laughed with genuine delight. “Ah, I see you have already learned how to play our game. Very well, as my newest and only vassal, will you agree to give your fealty to me again — in public, when the council expects your vow?”

“Of course.”

“Good, that will take care of the council. Now, until then, leave me. I have much planning to do, and I must prepare for the funeral... Remember, Eragon, the bond we have just created is equally binding; I am as responsible for your actions as you are required to serve me. Do not dishonor me.”

“Nor you I.”

Nasuada paused, then gazed into his eyes and added in a gentler tone: “You have my condolences, Eragon. I realize that others beside myself have cause for sorrow; while I have lost my father, you have also lost a friend. I liked Murtagh a great deal and it saddens me that he is gone... Goodbye, Eragon.”

Eragon nodded, a bitter taste in his mouth, and left the room with Saphira. The hallway outside was empty along its gray length. Eragon put his hands on his hips, tilted back his head, and exhaled. The day had barely begun, yet he was already exhausted by all the emotions that had flooded through him.

Saphira nosed him and said, This way. Without further explanation, she headed down the right side of the tunnel. Her polished claws clicked on the hard floor.

Eragon frowned, but followed her. Where are we going? No answer. Saphira, please. She just flicked her tail. Resigned to wait, he said instead, Things have certainly changed for us. I never know what to expect from one day to the next — except sorrow and bloodshed.

All is not bad, she reproached. We have won a great victory. It should be celebrated, not mourned.

It doesn’t help, having to deal with this other nonsense.

She snorted angrily. A thin line of fire shot from her nostrils, singeing Eragon’s shoulder. He jumped back with a yelp, biting back a string of curses. Oops, said Saphira, shaking her head to clear the smoke.

Oops! You nearly roasted my side!

I didn’t expect it to happen. I keep forgetting that fire will come out if I’m not careful. Imagine that every time you raised your arm, lightning struck the ground. It would be easy to make a careless motion and destroy something unintentionally.

You’re right... Sorry I growled at you.

Her bony eyelid clicked as she winked at him. No matter. The point I was trying to make is that even Nasuada can’t force you to do anything.

But I gave my word as a Rider!

Maybe so, but if I must break it to keep you safe, or to do the right thing, I will not hesitate. It is a burden I could easily carry. Because I’m joined to you, my honor is inherent in your pledge, but as an individual, I’m not bound by it. If I must, I will kidnap you. Any disobedience then would be no fault of your own.

It should never come to that. If we have to use such tricks to do what’s right, then Nasuada and the Varden will have lost all integrity.

Saphira stopped. They stood before the carved archway of Tronjheim’s library. The vast, silent room seemed empty, though the ranks of back-to-back bookshelves interspersed with columns could conceal many people. Lanterns poured soft light across the scroll-covered walls, illuminating the reading alcoves along their bases.

Weaving through the shelves, Saphira led him to one alcove, where Arya sat. Eragon paused as he studied her. She seemed more agitated than he had ever seen her, though it manifested itself only in the tension of her movements. Unlike before, she wore her sword with the graceful crossguard. One hand rested on the hilt.

Eragon sat at the opposite side of the marble table. Saphira positioned herself between them, where neither could escape her gaze.

“What have you done?” asked Arya with unexpected hostility.

“How so?”

She lifted her chin. “What have you promised the Varden? What have you done? ”

The last part even reached Eragon mentally. He realized just how close the elf was to losing control. A bit of fear touched him. “We only did what we had to. I’m ignorant of elves’ customs, so if our actions upset you, I apologize. There’s no cause to be angry.”

“Fool! You know nothing about me. I have spent seven decades representing my queen here — fifteen years of which I bore Saphira’s egg between the Varden and the elves. In all that time, I struggled to ensure the Varden had wise, strong leaders who could resist Galbatorix and respect our wishes. Brom helped me by forging the agreement concerning the new Rider — you. Ajihad was committed to your remaining independent so that the balance of power would not be upset. Now I see you siding with the Council of Elders, willingly or not, to control Nasuada! You have overturned a lifetime of work! What have you done? ”

Dismayed, Eragon dropped all pretenses. With short, clear words, he explained why he had agreed to the council’s demands and how he and Saphira had attempted to undermine them.

When he finished, Arya stated, “So.”

“So.” Seventy years. Though he knew elves’ lives were extraordinarily long, he had never suspected that Arya was that old, and older, for she appeared to be a woman in her early twenties. The only sign of age on her unlined face was her emerald eyes — deep, knowing, and most often solemn.

Arya leaned back, studying him. “Your position is not what I would wish, but better than I had hoped. I was impolite; Saphira... and you... understand more than I thought. Your compromise will be accepted by the elves, though you must never forget your debt to us for Saphira. There would be no Riders without our efforts.”

“The debt is burned into my blood and my palm,” said Eragon. In the silence that followed, he cast about for a new topic, eager to prolong their conversation and perhaps learn more about her. “You have been gone for such a long time; do you miss Ellesmera? Or did you live elsewhere?”

“Ellesmera was, and always shall be, my home,” she said, looking beyond him. “I have not lived in my family’s house since I left for the Varden, when the walls and windows were draped with spring’s first flowers. The times I’ve returned were only fleeting stays, vanishing flecks of memory by our measurement.”

He noticed, once again, that she smelled like crushed pine needles. It was a faint, spicy odor that opened his senses and refreshed his mind. “It must be hard to live among all these dwarves and humans without any of your kind.”

She cocked her head. “You speak of humans as if you weren’t one.”

“Perhaps...,” he hesitated, “perhaps I am something else — a mixture of two races. Saphira lives inside me as much as I live in her. We share feelings, senses, thoughts, even to the point where we are more one mind than two.” Saphira dipped her head in agreement, nearly bumping the table with her snout.

“That is how it should be,” said Arya. “A pact more ancient and powerful than you can imagine links you. You won’t truly understand what it means to be a Rider until your training is completed. But that must wait until after the funeral. In the meantime, may the stars watch over you.”

With that she departed, slipping into the library’s shadowed depths. Eragon blinked. Is it me, or is everyone on edge today? Like Arya — one moment she’s angry, the next she’s giving me a blessing!

No one will be comfortable until things return to normal.

Define normal.

RORAN