Eldest [en]

“And what you can do is only limited by your ingenuity and by your knowledge of the ancient language?”

“Other strictures apply, but in general, yes. Lady, why do you ask? These are basic principles of magic that, while not commonly bandied about, I am sure you are familiar with.”

“I am. I wished to ensure that I understood them properly.” Without moving from her chair, Nasuada reached down and lifted the overgown so that Trianna could see the mutilated lace. “So then, within those limits, you should be able to devise a spell that will allow you to manufacture lace with magic.”

A condescending sneer distorted the sorceress’s dark lips. “Du Vrangr Gata has more important duties than repairing your clothes, Lady. Our art is not so common as to be employed for mere whims. I’m sure that you will find your seamstresses and tailors more than capable of fulfilling your request. Now, if you will excuse me, I—”

“Be quiet, woman,” said Nasuada in a flat voice. Astonishment muted Trianna in midsentence. “I see that I must teach Du Vrangr Gata the same lesson that I taught the Council of Elders: I may be young, but I am no child to be patronized. I ask about lace because if you can manufacture it quickly and easily with magic, then we can support the Varden by selling inexpensive bobbin and needle lace throughout the Empire. Galbatorix’s own people will provide the funds we need to survive.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” protested Trianna. Even Farica looked skeptical. “You can’t pay for a war with lace. ”

Nasuada raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Women who otherwise could never afford to own lace will leap at the chance to buy ours. Every farmer’s wife who longs to appear richer than she is will want it. Even wealthy merchants and nobles will give us their gold because our lace will be finer than any thrown or stitched by human hands. We’ll garner a fortune to rival the dwarves’. That is, if you are skilled enough in magic to do what I want.”

Trianna tossed her hair. “You doubt my abilities?”

“Can it be done!”

Trianna hesitated, then took the overgown from Nasuada and studied the lace strip for a long while. At last she said, “It should be possible, but I’ll have to conduct some tests before I know for certain.”

“Do so immediately. From now on, this is your most important assignment. And find an experienced lace maker to advise you on the patterns.”

“Yes, Lady Nasuada.”

Nasuada allowed her voice to soften. “Good. I also want you to select the brightest members of Du Vrangr Gata and work with them to invent other magical techniques that will help the Varden. That’s your responsibility, not mine.”

“Yes, Lady Nasuada.”

“Now you are excused. Report back to me tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Lady Nasuada.”

Satisfied, Nasuada watched the sorceress depart, then closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy a moment of pride for what she had accomplished. She knew that no man, not even her father, would have thought of her solution. “This is my contribution to the Varden,” she told herself, wishing that Ajihad could witness it. Louder, she asked, “Did I surprise you, Farica?”

“You always do, Ma’am.”

ELVA

“Ma’am?... You’re needed, Ma’am.”

“What?” Reluctant to move, Nasuada opened her eyes and saw Jormundur enter the room. The wiry veteran pulled off his helm, tucked it in the crook of his right arm, and made his way to her with his left hand planted on the pommel of his sword.

The links of his hauberk clinked as he bowed. “My Lady.”

“Welcome, Jormundur. How is your son today?” She was pleased that he had come. Of all the members of the Council of Elders, he had accepted her leadership the most easily, serving her with the same dogged loyalty and determination as he had Ajihad. If all my warriors were like him, no one could stop us.

“His cough has subsided.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, what brings you?”

Lines appeared on Jormundur’s forehead. He ran his free hand over his hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, then caught himself and pushed his hand back down to his side. “Magic, of the strangest kind.”

“Oh?”

“Do you remember the babe that Eragon blessed?”

“Aye.” Nasuada had seen her only once, but she was well aware of the exaggerated tales about the child that circulated among the Varden, as well as the Varden’s hopes for what the girl might achieve once she grew up. Nasuada was more pragmatic about the subject. Whatever the infant became, it would not be for many years, by which time the battle with Galbatorix would already be won or lost.

“I’ve been asked to take you to her.”

“Asked? By whom? And why?”

“A boy on the practice field told me that you should visit the child. Said that you would find it interesting. He refused to give me his name, but he looked like what that witch’s werecat is supposed to turn into, so I thought... Well, I thought you should know.” Jormundur looked embarrassed. “I asked my men questions about the girl, and I heard things... that she’s different. ”

“In what way?”

He shrugged. “Enough to believe that you should do what the werecat says.”

Nasuada frowned. She knew from the old stories that ignoring a werecat was the height of folly and often led to one’s doom. However, his companion — Angela the herbalist — was another magic user that Nasuada did not entirely trust; she was too independent and unpredictable. “Magic,” she said, making it a curse.

“Magic,” agreed Jormundur, though he used it as a word of awe and fear.

“Very well, let us go visit this child. Is she within the castle?”

“Orrin gave her and her caretaker rooms on the west side of the keep.”

“Take me to her.”

Gathering up her skirts, Nasuada ordered Farica to postpone the rest of the day’s appointments, then left the chambers. Behind her, she heard Jormundur snap his fingers as he directed four guards to take up positions around her. A moment later, he joined her side, pointing out their course.

The heat within Borromeo Castle had increased to the point where they felt as if they were trapped within a giant bread oven. The air shimmered like liquid glass along the windowsills.

Though she was uncomfortable, Nasuada knew that she dealt with the heat better than most people because of her swarthy skin. The ones who had the hardest time enduring the high temperatures were men like Jormundur and her guards, who had to wear their armor all day long, even if they were stationed out under the lidless gaze of the sun.

Nasuada kept close watch on the five men as sweat gathered on their exposed skin and their breathing became ever more ragged. Since they had arrived in Aberon, a number of the Varden had fainted from heatstroke — two of whom died an hour or two later — and she had no intention of losing more of her subjects by driving them beyond their physical limits.

When she deemed they needed to rest, she bade them to stop — overriding their objections — and get drinks of water from a servant. “I can’t have you toppling like ninepins.”

They had to break twice more before they reached their destination, a nondescript door recessed in the inner wall of the corridor. The floor around it was littered with gifts.

Jormundur knocked, and a quavering voice from inside asked, “Who is it?”

“Lady Nasuada, come to see the child,” he said.

“Be you of true heart and steadfast resolve?”