Eragon
Page 109
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What is your name?she asked, speaking in the ancient language. Her voice was weary and filled with quiet despair.
Eragon. And yours?Her consciousness lured him closer, inviting him to submerge himself in the lyric strains of her blood. He resisted the summons with difficulty, though his heart ached to accept it. For the first time he understood the fey attraction of elves. They were creatures of magic, unbound by the mortal laws of the land—as different from humans as dragons were from animals.
. . . Arya. Why have you contacted me in this manner? Am I still a captive of theEmpire?
No, you are free!said Eragon. Though he knew only scattered words in the ancient language, he managed to convey:I was imprisoned in Gil’ead, like you, but I escaped and rescued you. In the five days since then, we’ve crossed the edge of the Hadarac Desert and are now camped by the Beor Mountains. You’ve not stirred nor said a word in all that time.
Ah . . . so it was Gil’ead.She paused.I know that my wounds were healed. At the time I did not understand why—preparation for some new torture, I was certain. Now I realize it was you. Softly she added,Even so, I have not risen, and you are puzzled.
Yes.
During my captivity, a rare poison, the Skilna Bragh, was given to me, along with the drug to suppress my power. Every morning the antidote for the previous day’s poison was administered to me, by force if I refused to take it. Without it I will die within a few hours. That is why I lie in this trance—it slows the Skilna Bragh’s progress, though does not stop it. . . . I contemplated waking for the purpose of ending my life and denyingGalbatorix, but I refrained from doing so out of hope that you might be an ally. . . .Her voice dwindled off weakly.
How long can you remain like this?asked Eragon.
For weeks, but I’m afraid I haven’t that much time. This dormancy cannot restrain death forever . . . I can feel it in my veins even now. Unless I receive the antidote, I will succumb to the poison in three or four days.
Where can the antidote be found?
It exists in only two places outside of the Empire: with my own people and with the Varden. However, my home is beyond the reach of dragonback.
What about the Varden? We would have taken you straight to them, but we don’t know where they are.
I will tell you—if you give me your word that you will never reveal their location to Galbatorix or to anyone who serves him. In addition you must swear that you have not deceived me in some manner and that you intend no harm to the elves, dwarves, Varden, or the race of dragons.
What Arya asked for would have been simple enough—if they had not been conversing in the ancient language. Eragon knew she wanted oaths more binding than life itself. Once made, they could never be broken. That weighed heavily on him as he gravely pledged his word in agreement.
It is understood. . . .A series of vertigo-inducing images suddenly flashed through his mind. He found himself riding along the Beor Mountain range, traveling eastward many leagues. Eragon did his best to remember the route as craggy mountains and hills flashed past. He was heading south now, still following the mountains. Then everything wheeled abruptly, and he entered a narrow, winding valley. It snaked through the mountains to the base of a frothy waterfall that pounded into a deep lake.
The images stopped.It is far, said Arya,but do not let the distance dissuade you. When you arrive at the lake Kóstha-mérna at the end of the Beartooth River, take a rock, bang on the cliff next to the waterfall, and cry, Aí varden abr du Shur’tugals gata vanta.You will be admitted. You will be challenged, but do not falter no matter how perilous it seems.
What should they give you for the poison?he asked.
Her voice quavered, but then she regained her strength.Tell them—to give me Túnivor’s Nectar. You must leave me now . . . I have expended too much energy already. Do not talk with me again unless there is no hope of reaching the Varden. If that is the case, there is information I must impart to you so the Varden will survive. Farewell, Eragon, rider of dragons . . . my life is in your hands.
Arya withdrew from their contact. The unearthly strains that had echoed across their link were gone. Eragon took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open. Murtagh and Saphira stood on either side of him, watching with concern. “Are you all right?” asked Murtagh. “You’ve been kneeling here for almost fifteen minutes.”
“I have?” asked Eragon, blinking.
Yes, and grimacing like a pained gargoyle,commented Saphira dryly.
Eragon stood, wincing as his cramped knees stretched. “I talked with Arya!” Murtagh frowned quizzically, as if to inquire if he had gone mad. Eragon explained, “The elf—that’s her name.”
And what is it that ails her?asked Saphira impatiently.
Eragon swiftly told them of his entire discussion. “How far away are the Varden?” asked Murtagh.
“I’m not exactly sure,” confessed Eragon. “From what she showed me, I think it’s even farther than from here to Gil’ead.”
“And we’re supposed to cover that in three or four days?” demanded Murtagh angrily. “It took us fivelong days to get here! What do you want to do, kill the horses? They’re exhausted as it is.”
“But if we do nothing, she’ll die! If it’s too much for the horses, Saphira can fly ahead with Arya and me; at least we would get to the Varden in time. You could catch up with us in a few days.”
Murtagh grunted and crossed his arms. “Of course. Murtagh the pack animal. Murtagh the horse leader. I should have remembered that’s all I’m good for nowadays. Oh, and let’s not forget, every soldier in the Empire is searching for me now because you couldn’t defend yourself, and I had to go andsave you. Yes, I suppose I’ll just follow your instructions and bring up the horses in the rear like a good servant.”
Eragon. And yours?Her consciousness lured him closer, inviting him to submerge himself in the lyric strains of her blood. He resisted the summons with difficulty, though his heart ached to accept it. For the first time he understood the fey attraction of elves. They were creatures of magic, unbound by the mortal laws of the land—as different from humans as dragons were from animals.
. . . Arya. Why have you contacted me in this manner? Am I still a captive of theEmpire?
No, you are free!said Eragon. Though he knew only scattered words in the ancient language, he managed to convey:I was imprisoned in Gil’ead, like you, but I escaped and rescued you. In the five days since then, we’ve crossed the edge of the Hadarac Desert and are now camped by the Beor Mountains. You’ve not stirred nor said a word in all that time.
Ah . . . so it was Gil’ead.She paused.I know that my wounds were healed. At the time I did not understand why—preparation for some new torture, I was certain. Now I realize it was you. Softly she added,Even so, I have not risen, and you are puzzled.
Yes.
During my captivity, a rare poison, the Skilna Bragh, was given to me, along with the drug to suppress my power. Every morning the antidote for the previous day’s poison was administered to me, by force if I refused to take it. Without it I will die within a few hours. That is why I lie in this trance—it slows the Skilna Bragh’s progress, though does not stop it. . . . I contemplated waking for the purpose of ending my life and denyingGalbatorix, but I refrained from doing so out of hope that you might be an ally. . . .Her voice dwindled off weakly.
How long can you remain like this?asked Eragon.
For weeks, but I’m afraid I haven’t that much time. This dormancy cannot restrain death forever . . . I can feel it in my veins even now. Unless I receive the antidote, I will succumb to the poison in three or four days.
Where can the antidote be found?
It exists in only two places outside of the Empire: with my own people and with the Varden. However, my home is beyond the reach of dragonback.
What about the Varden? We would have taken you straight to them, but we don’t know where they are.
I will tell you—if you give me your word that you will never reveal their location to Galbatorix or to anyone who serves him. In addition you must swear that you have not deceived me in some manner and that you intend no harm to the elves, dwarves, Varden, or the race of dragons.
What Arya asked for would have been simple enough—if they had not been conversing in the ancient language. Eragon knew she wanted oaths more binding than life itself. Once made, they could never be broken. That weighed heavily on him as he gravely pledged his word in agreement.
It is understood. . . .A series of vertigo-inducing images suddenly flashed through his mind. He found himself riding along the Beor Mountain range, traveling eastward many leagues. Eragon did his best to remember the route as craggy mountains and hills flashed past. He was heading south now, still following the mountains. Then everything wheeled abruptly, and he entered a narrow, winding valley. It snaked through the mountains to the base of a frothy waterfall that pounded into a deep lake.
The images stopped.It is far, said Arya,but do not let the distance dissuade you. When you arrive at the lake Kóstha-mérna at the end of the Beartooth River, take a rock, bang on the cliff next to the waterfall, and cry, Aí varden abr du Shur’tugals gata vanta.You will be admitted. You will be challenged, but do not falter no matter how perilous it seems.
What should they give you for the poison?he asked.
Her voice quavered, but then she regained her strength.Tell them—to give me Túnivor’s Nectar. You must leave me now . . . I have expended too much energy already. Do not talk with me again unless there is no hope of reaching the Varden. If that is the case, there is information I must impart to you so the Varden will survive. Farewell, Eragon, rider of dragons . . . my life is in your hands.
Arya withdrew from their contact. The unearthly strains that had echoed across their link were gone. Eragon took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open. Murtagh and Saphira stood on either side of him, watching with concern. “Are you all right?” asked Murtagh. “You’ve been kneeling here for almost fifteen minutes.”
“I have?” asked Eragon, blinking.
Yes, and grimacing like a pained gargoyle,commented Saphira dryly.
Eragon stood, wincing as his cramped knees stretched. “I talked with Arya!” Murtagh frowned quizzically, as if to inquire if he had gone mad. Eragon explained, “The elf—that’s her name.”
And what is it that ails her?asked Saphira impatiently.
Eragon swiftly told them of his entire discussion. “How far away are the Varden?” asked Murtagh.
“I’m not exactly sure,” confessed Eragon. “From what she showed me, I think it’s even farther than from here to Gil’ead.”
“And we’re supposed to cover that in three or four days?” demanded Murtagh angrily. “It took us fivelong days to get here! What do you want to do, kill the horses? They’re exhausted as it is.”
“But if we do nothing, she’ll die! If it’s too much for the horses, Saphira can fly ahead with Arya and me; at least we would get to the Varden in time. You could catch up with us in a few days.”
Murtagh grunted and crossed his arms. “Of course. Murtagh the pack animal. Murtagh the horse leader. I should have remembered that’s all I’m good for nowadays. Oh, and let’s not forget, every soldier in the Empire is searching for me now because you couldn’t defend yourself, and I had to go andsave you. Yes, I suppose I’ll just follow your instructions and bring up the horses in the rear like a good servant.”
