Eldest
Page 70
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“Blöthr, blöthr,” murmured Lifaen, and his steed halted, pawing the ground with its dark hooves.
“Are all your horses as noble as these?” asked Eragon. He cautiously approached one, amazed by its beauty. The animals were only a few inches taller than ponies, which made it easy for them to navigate among the closely placed trunks. They did not seem frightened by Saphira.
“Not all,” laughed Narí, tossing his silver hair, “but most. We have bred them for many centuries.”
“How am I supposed to ride?”
Arya said, “An elf horse responds instantly to commands in the ancient language; tell it where you wish to go and it will take you. However, do not mistreat them with blows or harsh words, for they are not our slaves, but our friends and partners. They bear you only so long as they consent to; it is a great privilege to ride one. I was only able to save Saphira’s egg from Durza because our horses sensed that something was amiss and stopped us from riding into his ambush. . . . They won’t let you fall unless you deliberately throw yourself off, and they are skilled in choosing the safest, quickest path through treacherous ground. The dwarves’ Feldûnost are like that.”
“Right you are,” grunted Orik. “A Feldûnost can run you up a cliff and down without a single bruise. But how can we carry food and whatnot without saddles? I won’t ride while wearing a full pack.”
Lifaen tossed a pile of leather bags at Orik’s feet and indicated the sixth horse. “Nor will you have to.”
It took half an hour to arrange their supplies in the bags and heap them into a lumpy mound on the horse’s back. Afterward, Narí told Eragon and Orik the words they could use to direct the horses: “Gánga framto go forward,blöthr to stop,hlaupa if needs you must run, andgánga aptr to go back. You can give more precise instructions if you know more of the ancient language.” He led Eragon to a horse and said, “This is Folkvír. Hold out your hand.”
Eragon did, and the stallion snorted, flaring his nostrils. Folkvír sniffed Eragon’s palm, then touched it with his muzzle and allowed Eragon to stroke his thick neck. “Good,” said Narí, appearing satisfied. The elf had Orik do the same with the next horse.
As Eragon mounted Folkvír, Saphira drew closer. He looked up at her, noting how troubled she still seemed from the night.One more day, he said.
Eragon . . .She paused.I thought of something while I was under the influence of the elves’ spell, something that I have always considered of little consequence, but now looms within me like a mountain of black dread: Every creature, no matter how pure or monstrous, has a mate of their own kind. Yet I have none. She shuddered and closed her eyes.In this regard, I am alone.
Her statements reminded Eragon that she was barely more than eight months old. On most occasions, her youth did not show—due to the influence of her hereditary instincts and memories—but, in this arena, she was even more inexperienced than he was with his feeble stabs at romance in Carvahall and Tronjheim. Pity welled inside Eragon, but he suppressed it before it could seep across their mental link. Saphira would have only contempt for the emotion: it could neither solve her problem nor make her feel better. Instead, he said,Galbatorix still has two dragon eggs. During our first audience with Hrothgar, you mentioned that you would like to rescue them. If we can—
Saphira snorted bitterly.It could take years, and even if we did retrieve the eggs, I have no guarantee that they would hatch, nor that they would be male, nor that we would be fit mates. Fate has abandoned my race to extinction. She lashed her tail with frustration, breaking a sapling in two. She seemed perilously close to tears.
What can I say?he asked, disturbed by her distress.You can’t give up hope. You still have a chance to find a mate, but you have to be patient. Even if Galbatorix’s eggs don’t work, dragons must exist elsewhere in the world, just like humans, elves, and Urgals do. The moment we are free of our obligations, I’ll help you search for them. All right?
All right,she sniffed. She craned back her head and released a puff of white smoke that dispersed among the branches overhead.I should know better than to let my emotions get the best of me.
Nonsense. You would have to be made of stone not to feel this way. It’s perfectly normal. . . . But promise you won’t dwell on it while you’re alone.
She fixed one giant sapphire eye on him.I won’t. He turned warm inside as he felt her gratitude for his reassurances and companionship. Leaning out from Folkvír, he put a hand on her rough cheek and held it there for a moment.Go on, little one, she murmured.I will see you later.
Eragon hated to leave her in such a state. He reluctantly entered the forest with Orik and the elves, heading west toward the heart of Du Weldenvarden. After an hour spent pondering Saphira’s plight, he mentioned it to Arya.
Faint lines creased Arya’s forehead as she frowned. “It is one of Galbatorix’s greatest crimes. I do not know if a solution exists, but we can hope. We must hope.”
THEPINEWOODCITY
Eragon had been in Du Weldenvarden for so long that he had begun to long for clearings, fields, or even a mountain, instead of the endless tree trunks and meager underbrush. His flights with Saphira provided no respite as they only revealed hills of prickly green that rolled unbroken into the distance like a verdant sea.
Oftentimes, the branches were so thick overhead, it was impossible to tell from what direction the sun rose and set. That, combined with the repetitive scenery, made Eragon hopelessly lost, no matter how many times Arya or Lifaen troubled to show him the points of the compass. If not for the elves, he knew that he could wander in Du Weldenvarden for the rest of his life without ever finding his way free.
“Are all your horses as noble as these?” asked Eragon. He cautiously approached one, amazed by its beauty. The animals were only a few inches taller than ponies, which made it easy for them to navigate among the closely placed trunks. They did not seem frightened by Saphira.
“Not all,” laughed Narí, tossing his silver hair, “but most. We have bred them for many centuries.”
“How am I supposed to ride?”
Arya said, “An elf horse responds instantly to commands in the ancient language; tell it where you wish to go and it will take you. However, do not mistreat them with blows or harsh words, for they are not our slaves, but our friends and partners. They bear you only so long as they consent to; it is a great privilege to ride one. I was only able to save Saphira’s egg from Durza because our horses sensed that something was amiss and stopped us from riding into his ambush. . . . They won’t let you fall unless you deliberately throw yourself off, and they are skilled in choosing the safest, quickest path through treacherous ground. The dwarves’ Feldûnost are like that.”
“Right you are,” grunted Orik. “A Feldûnost can run you up a cliff and down without a single bruise. But how can we carry food and whatnot without saddles? I won’t ride while wearing a full pack.”
Lifaen tossed a pile of leather bags at Orik’s feet and indicated the sixth horse. “Nor will you have to.”
It took half an hour to arrange their supplies in the bags and heap them into a lumpy mound on the horse’s back. Afterward, Narí told Eragon and Orik the words they could use to direct the horses: “Gánga framto go forward,blöthr to stop,hlaupa if needs you must run, andgánga aptr to go back. You can give more precise instructions if you know more of the ancient language.” He led Eragon to a horse and said, “This is Folkvír. Hold out your hand.”
Eragon did, and the stallion snorted, flaring his nostrils. Folkvír sniffed Eragon’s palm, then touched it with his muzzle and allowed Eragon to stroke his thick neck. “Good,” said Narí, appearing satisfied. The elf had Orik do the same with the next horse.
As Eragon mounted Folkvír, Saphira drew closer. He looked up at her, noting how troubled she still seemed from the night.One more day, he said.
Eragon . . .She paused.I thought of something while I was under the influence of the elves’ spell, something that I have always considered of little consequence, but now looms within me like a mountain of black dread: Every creature, no matter how pure or monstrous, has a mate of their own kind. Yet I have none. She shuddered and closed her eyes.In this regard, I am alone.
Her statements reminded Eragon that she was barely more than eight months old. On most occasions, her youth did not show—due to the influence of her hereditary instincts and memories—but, in this arena, she was even more inexperienced than he was with his feeble stabs at romance in Carvahall and Tronjheim. Pity welled inside Eragon, but he suppressed it before it could seep across their mental link. Saphira would have only contempt for the emotion: it could neither solve her problem nor make her feel better. Instead, he said,Galbatorix still has two dragon eggs. During our first audience with Hrothgar, you mentioned that you would like to rescue them. If we can—
Saphira snorted bitterly.It could take years, and even if we did retrieve the eggs, I have no guarantee that they would hatch, nor that they would be male, nor that we would be fit mates. Fate has abandoned my race to extinction. She lashed her tail with frustration, breaking a sapling in two. She seemed perilously close to tears.
What can I say?he asked, disturbed by her distress.You can’t give up hope. You still have a chance to find a mate, but you have to be patient. Even if Galbatorix’s eggs don’t work, dragons must exist elsewhere in the world, just like humans, elves, and Urgals do. The moment we are free of our obligations, I’ll help you search for them. All right?
All right,she sniffed. She craned back her head and released a puff of white smoke that dispersed among the branches overhead.I should know better than to let my emotions get the best of me.
Nonsense. You would have to be made of stone not to feel this way. It’s perfectly normal. . . . But promise you won’t dwell on it while you’re alone.
She fixed one giant sapphire eye on him.I won’t. He turned warm inside as he felt her gratitude for his reassurances and companionship. Leaning out from Folkvír, he put a hand on her rough cheek and held it there for a moment.Go on, little one, she murmured.I will see you later.
Eragon hated to leave her in such a state. He reluctantly entered the forest with Orik and the elves, heading west toward the heart of Du Weldenvarden. After an hour spent pondering Saphira’s plight, he mentioned it to Arya.
Faint lines creased Arya’s forehead as she frowned. “It is one of Galbatorix’s greatest crimes. I do not know if a solution exists, but we can hope. We must hope.”
THEPINEWOODCITY
Eragon had been in Du Weldenvarden for so long that he had begun to long for clearings, fields, or even a mountain, instead of the endless tree trunks and meager underbrush. His flights with Saphira provided no respite as they only revealed hills of prickly green that rolled unbroken into the distance like a verdant sea.
Oftentimes, the branches were so thick overhead, it was impossible to tell from what direction the sun rose and set. That, combined with the repetitive scenery, made Eragon hopelessly lost, no matter how many times Arya or Lifaen troubled to show him the points of the compass. If not for the elves, he knew that he could wander in Du Weldenvarden for the rest of his life without ever finding his way free.
