Eldest
Page 119

“What has put me in mine shtate?” repeated Orik. He dropped into the chair that Eragon provided—his feet dangling several inches above the ground—and began to shake his head. “Red cap, green cap, elves here and elves there. I drown in elvesh and their thrice-damned courtesy. Bloodless they be. Taciturn they are. Yesh sir, no shir, three bagsh full, sir, yet nary a pip more can I extract.” He looked at Eragon with a mournful expression. “What am I to do while you meander through your instruction? Am I to sit and twiddle mine thumbs while I turn to shtone and join the shpirits of mine anshestors? Tell me, O sagacious Rider.”
Have you no skills or hobbies that you might occupy yourself with?asked Saphira.
“Aye,” said Orik. “I’m a fair enough smith by any who’d care to judge. But why should I craft bright armsh and armor for those who treasure them not? I’m usheless here. As usheless as a three-legged Feldûnost.”
Eragon extended a hand toward the bottle. “May I?” Orik glanced between him and the bottle, then grimaced and gave it up. The faelnirv was cold as ice as it ran down Eragon’s throat, stinging and smarting. He blinked as his eyes watered. After he indulged in a second quaff, he passed the bottle back to Orik, who seemed disappointed by how little of the concoction remained.
“And what mischief,” asked Orik, “have you two managed to ferret out of Oromis and yon bucolic woods?”
The dwarf alternately chuckled and groaned as Eragon described his training, his misplaced blessing in Farthen Dûr, the Menoa tree, his back, and all else that had filled the past few days. Eragon ended with the topic that was dearest to him at the moment: Arya. Emboldened by the liqueur, he confessed his affection for her and described how she had dismissed his advance.
Wagging a finger, Orik said, “The rock beneath you is flawed, Eragon. Don’t tempt fate. Arya . . .” He stopped, then growled and took another gulp of faelnirv. “Ah, it’s too late for thish. Who am I to say what is wisdom and what isn’t?”
Saphira had closed her eyes a while ago. Without opening them, she asked,Are you married, Orik? The question surprised Eragon; he had never stopped to wonder about Orik’s personal life.
“Eta,” said Orik. “Although I’m promished to fair Hvedra, daughter of Thorgerd One-eye and Himinglada. We were to be wed thish spring, until the Urgals attacked and Hrothgar sent me on this accursed trip.”
“Is she of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum?” asked Eragon.
“Of coursh!” roared Orik, pounding his fist on the side of the chair. “Thinkest thou I would marry outside my clan? She’s the granddaughter of mine aunt Vardrûn, Hrothgar’s coushin twice removed, with white, round calves as smooth as satin, cheeks as red as apples, and the prettiesht dwarf maid who ever did exist.”
Undoubtedly,said Saphira.
“I’m sure it won’t be long before you see her again,” said Eragon.
“Hmph.” Orik squinted at Eragon. “Do you believe in giants? Tall giants, shtrong giants, thick and bearded giants with fingers like spadeses?”
“I’ve never seen nor heard of them,” said Eragon, “except in stories. If they do exist, it’s not in Alagaësia.”
“Ah, but they do! They do!” exclaimed Orik, waving the bottle about his head. “Tell me, O Rider, if a fearshome giant were to meet you on the garden path, what might he call you, if not dinner?”
“Eragon, I would presume.”
“No, no. He’d call you a dwarf, for dwarf you’d be to him.” Orik guffawed and nudged Eragon in the ribs with his hard elbow. “See you now? Humans and elvesh are the giants. The land’s full of them, here, there, and everywhere, stomping about with their big feet and casting us in endless shadowses.” He continued laughing, rocking back in his chair until it tipped over and he fell to the floor with a solid thump.
Helping him upright, Eragon said, “I think you’d better stay here for the night. You’re in no condition to go down those stairs in the dark.”
Orik agreed with cheery indifference. He allowed Eragon to remove his mail and bundle him onto one side of the bed. Afterward, Eragon sighed, covered the lights, and lay on his side of the mattress.
He fell asleep hearing the dwarf mutter, “. . . Hvedra . . . Hvedra . . . Hvedra . . .”
THENATURE OFEVIL
Bright morning arrived all too soon.
Jolted to awareness by the buzz of the vibrating timepiece, Eragon grabbed his hunting knife and sprang out of bed, expecting an attack. He gasped as his body shrieked with protest from the abuse of the past two days.
Blinking away tears, Eragon rewound the timepiece. Orik was gone; the dwarf must have slipped away in the wee hours of the morning. With a groan, Eragon hobbled to the wash closet for his daily ablutions, like an old man afflicted by rheumatism.
He and Saphira waited by the tree for ten minutes before they were met by a solemn, black-haired elf. The elf bowed, touched two fingers to his lips—which Eragon mirrored—and then preempted Eragon by saying, “May good fortune rule over you.”
“And may the stars watch over you,” replied Eragon. “Did Oromis send you?”
The elf ignored him and said to Saphira, “Well met, dragon. I am Vanir of House Haldthin.” Eragon scowled with annoyance.
Well met, Vanir.
Only then did the elf address Eragon: “I will show you where you may practice with your blade.” He strode away, not waiting for Eragon to catch up.