Eldest
Page 117
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I have an answer,said Saphira.
What is it?
That Galbatorix has . . .She hesitated, then said,No, I won’t tell you. You should figure this out for yourself.
Saphira! Be reasonable.
I am. If you don’t know why what we do is the right thing, you might as well surrender to Galbatorix for all the good you’ll do.No matter how eloquent his pleas, he could extract nothing more from her, for she blocked him from that part of her mind.
Back in their eyrie, Eragon ate a light supper and was just about to open one of Oromis’s scrolls when a knock on the screen door disturbed his quiet.
“Enter,” he said, hoping that Arya had returned to see him.
She had.
Arya greeted Eragon and Saphira, then said, “I thought that you might appreciate an opportunity to visit Tialdarí Hall and the adjacent gardens, since you expressed interest in them yesterday. That is, if you aren’t too tired.” She wore a flowing red kirtle trimmed and decorated with intricate designs wrought in black thread. The color scheme echoed the queen’s robes and emphasized the strong resemblance between mother and daughter.
Eragon pushed aside the scrolls. “I’d be delighted to see them.”
He meanswe’dbe delighted, added Saphira.
Arya looked surprised when both of them spoke in the ancient language, so Eragon explained Oromis’s command. “An excellent idea,” said Arya, joining them in the same language. “And it is more appropriate to speak thus while you stay here.”
When all three of them had descended from the tree, Arya directed them westward toward an unfamiliar quadrant of Ellesméra. They encountered many elves on the path, all of whom stopped to bow to Saphira.
Eragon noticed once again that no elf children were to be seen. He mentioned this to Arya, and she said, “Aye, we have few children. Only two are in Ellesméra at the present, Dusan and Alanna. We treasure children above all else because they are so rare. To have a child is the greatest honor and responsibility that can be bestowed upon any living being.”
At last they arrived at a ribbed lancet arch—grown between two trees—which served as the entrance for a wide compound. Still in the ancient language, Arya chanted, “Root of tree, fruit of vine, let me pass by this blood of mine.”
The two archway doors trembled, then swung outward, releasing five monarch butterflies that fluttered toward the dusky sky. Through the archway lay a vast flower garden arranged to look as pristine and natural as a wild meadow. The one element that betrayed artifice was the sheer variety of plants; many of the species were blooming out of season, or came from hotter or colder climates and would never have flourished without the elves’ magic. The scene was lit with the gemlike flameless lanterns, augmented by constellations of swirling fireflies.
To Saphira, Arya said, “Mind your tail, that it does not sweep across the beds.”
Advancing, they crossed the garden and pressed deep into a line of scattered trees. Before Eragon quite knew where he was, the trees became more numerous and then thickened into a wall. He found himself standing on the threshold of a burnished wood hall without ever being conscious of having gone inside.
The hall was warm and homey—a place of peace, reflection, and comfort. Its shape was determined by the tree trunks, which on the inside of the hall had been stripped of their bark, polished, and rubbed with oil until the wood gleamed like amber. Regular gaps between the trunks acted as windows. The scent of crushed pine needles perfumed the air. A number of elves occupied the hall, reading, writing, and, in one dark corner, playing a set of reed pipes. They all paused and inclined their heads to acknowledge Saphira’s presence.
“Here you would stay,” said Arya, “were you not Rider and dragon.”
“It’s magnificent,” replied Eragon.
Arya guided him and Saphira everywhere in the compound that was accessible to dragons. Each new room was a surprise; no two were alike, and each chamber found different ways to incorporate the forest in its construction. In one room, a silver brook trickled down the gnarled wall and flowed across the floor on a vein of pebbles and back out under the sky. In another, creepers blanketed the entire room, except for the floor, in a leafy green pelt adorned with trumpet-shaped flowers with the most delicate pink and white colors. Arya called it the Lianí Vine.
They saw many great works of art, from fairths and paintings to sculptures and radiant mosaics of stained glass—all based on the curved shapes of plants and animals.
Islanzadí met with them for a short time in an open pavilion joined to two other buildings by covered pathways. She inquired about the progress of Eragon’s training and the state of his back, both of which he described with brief, polite phrases. This seemed to satisfy the queen, who exchanged a few words with Saphira and then departed.
In the end, they returned to the garden. Eragon walked beside Arya—Saphira trailing behind—entranced by the sound of her voice as she told him about the different varieties of flowers, where they originated, how they were maintained, and, in many instances, how they had been altered with magic. She also pointed out the flowers that only opened their petals during the night, like a white datura.
“Which one is your favorite?” he asked.
Arya smiled and escorted him to a tree on the edge of the garden, by a pond lined with rushes. Around the tree’s lowest branch coiled a morning glory with three velvety black blossoms that were clenched shut.
Blowing on them, Arya whispered, “Open.”
What is it?
That Galbatorix has . . .She hesitated, then said,No, I won’t tell you. You should figure this out for yourself.
Saphira! Be reasonable.
I am. If you don’t know why what we do is the right thing, you might as well surrender to Galbatorix for all the good you’ll do.No matter how eloquent his pleas, he could extract nothing more from her, for she blocked him from that part of her mind.
Back in their eyrie, Eragon ate a light supper and was just about to open one of Oromis’s scrolls when a knock on the screen door disturbed his quiet.
“Enter,” he said, hoping that Arya had returned to see him.
She had.
Arya greeted Eragon and Saphira, then said, “I thought that you might appreciate an opportunity to visit Tialdarí Hall and the adjacent gardens, since you expressed interest in them yesterday. That is, if you aren’t too tired.” She wore a flowing red kirtle trimmed and decorated with intricate designs wrought in black thread. The color scheme echoed the queen’s robes and emphasized the strong resemblance between mother and daughter.
Eragon pushed aside the scrolls. “I’d be delighted to see them.”
He meanswe’dbe delighted, added Saphira.
Arya looked surprised when both of them spoke in the ancient language, so Eragon explained Oromis’s command. “An excellent idea,” said Arya, joining them in the same language. “And it is more appropriate to speak thus while you stay here.”
When all three of them had descended from the tree, Arya directed them westward toward an unfamiliar quadrant of Ellesméra. They encountered many elves on the path, all of whom stopped to bow to Saphira.
Eragon noticed once again that no elf children were to be seen. He mentioned this to Arya, and she said, “Aye, we have few children. Only two are in Ellesméra at the present, Dusan and Alanna. We treasure children above all else because they are so rare. To have a child is the greatest honor and responsibility that can be bestowed upon any living being.”
At last they arrived at a ribbed lancet arch—grown between two trees—which served as the entrance for a wide compound. Still in the ancient language, Arya chanted, “Root of tree, fruit of vine, let me pass by this blood of mine.”
The two archway doors trembled, then swung outward, releasing five monarch butterflies that fluttered toward the dusky sky. Through the archway lay a vast flower garden arranged to look as pristine and natural as a wild meadow. The one element that betrayed artifice was the sheer variety of plants; many of the species were blooming out of season, or came from hotter or colder climates and would never have flourished without the elves’ magic. The scene was lit with the gemlike flameless lanterns, augmented by constellations of swirling fireflies.
To Saphira, Arya said, “Mind your tail, that it does not sweep across the beds.”
Advancing, they crossed the garden and pressed deep into a line of scattered trees. Before Eragon quite knew where he was, the trees became more numerous and then thickened into a wall. He found himself standing on the threshold of a burnished wood hall without ever being conscious of having gone inside.
The hall was warm and homey—a place of peace, reflection, and comfort. Its shape was determined by the tree trunks, which on the inside of the hall had been stripped of their bark, polished, and rubbed with oil until the wood gleamed like amber. Regular gaps between the trunks acted as windows. The scent of crushed pine needles perfumed the air. A number of elves occupied the hall, reading, writing, and, in one dark corner, playing a set of reed pipes. They all paused and inclined their heads to acknowledge Saphira’s presence.
“Here you would stay,” said Arya, “were you not Rider and dragon.”
“It’s magnificent,” replied Eragon.
Arya guided him and Saphira everywhere in the compound that was accessible to dragons. Each new room was a surprise; no two were alike, and each chamber found different ways to incorporate the forest in its construction. In one room, a silver brook trickled down the gnarled wall and flowed across the floor on a vein of pebbles and back out under the sky. In another, creepers blanketed the entire room, except for the floor, in a leafy green pelt adorned with trumpet-shaped flowers with the most delicate pink and white colors. Arya called it the Lianí Vine.
They saw many great works of art, from fairths and paintings to sculptures and radiant mosaics of stained glass—all based on the curved shapes of plants and animals.
Islanzadí met with them for a short time in an open pavilion joined to two other buildings by covered pathways. She inquired about the progress of Eragon’s training and the state of his back, both of which he described with brief, polite phrases. This seemed to satisfy the queen, who exchanged a few words with Saphira and then departed.
In the end, they returned to the garden. Eragon walked beside Arya—Saphira trailing behind—entranced by the sound of her voice as she told him about the different varieties of flowers, where they originated, how they were maintained, and, in many instances, how they had been altered with magic. She also pointed out the flowers that only opened their petals during the night, like a white datura.
“Which one is your favorite?” he asked.
Arya smiled and escorted him to a tree on the edge of the garden, by a pond lined with rushes. Around the tree’s lowest branch coiled a morning glory with three velvety black blossoms that were clenched shut.
Blowing on them, Arya whispered, “Open.”
