Eragon
Page 146
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Saphira growled loudly.I will come! And that settled the matter.
The unruly clatter of fighting reached them from the field: the loud clang of steel clashing on steel, the solid thump of arrows striking padded targets, the rattle and crack of wooden staves, and the shouts of men in mock battle. The noise was confusing, yet each group had a unique rhythm and pattern.
The bulk of the training ground was occupied by a crooked block of foot soldiers struggling with shields and poleaxes nearly as tall as themselves. They drilled as a group in formations. Practicing beside them were hundreds of individual warriors outfitted with swords, maces, spears, staves, flails, shields of all shapes and sizes, and even, Eragon saw, someone with a pitchfork. Nearly all the fighters wore armor, usually chain mail and a helmet; plate armor was not as common. There were as many dwarves as humans, though the two kept mainly to themselves. Behind the sparring warriors, a broad line of archers fired steadily at gray sackcloth dummies.
Before Eragon had time to wonder what he was supposed to do, a bearded man, his head and blocky shoulders covered by a mail coif, strode over to them. The rest of him was protected by a rough oxhide suit that still had hair on it. A huge sword—almost as long as Eragon—hung across his broad back. He ran a quick eye over Saphira and Eragon, as if evaluating how dangerous they were, then said gruffly, “Knurla Orik. You’ve been gone too long. There’s nobody left for me to spar with.”
Orik smiled. “Oeí, that’s because you bruise everyone from head to toe with your monster sword.”
“Everyone except you,” he corrected.
“That’s because I’m faster than a giant like you.”
The man looked at Eragon again. “I’m Fredric. I’ve been told to find out what you can do. How strong are you?”
“Strong enough,” answered Eragon. “I have to be in order to fight with magic.”
Fredric shook his head; the coif clinked like a bag of coins. “Magic has no place in what we do here. Unless you’ve served in an army, I doubt any fights you’ve been in lasted more than a few minutes. What we’re concerned about is how you’ll be able to hold up in a battle that may drag on for hours, or even weeks if it’s a siege. Do you know how to use any weapons besides that sword and bow?”
Eragon thought about it. “Only my fists.”
“Good answer!” laughed Fredric. “Well, we’ll start you off with the bow and see how you do. Then once some space has cleared up on the field, we’ll try—” He broke off suddenly and stared past Eragon, scowling angrily.
The Twins stalked toward them, their bald heads pale against their purple robes. Orik muttered something in his own language as he slipped his war ax out of his belt. “I told you two to stay away from the training area,” said Fredric, stepping forward threateningly. The Twins seemed frail before his bulk.
They looked at him arrogantly. “We were ordered by Ajihad to test Eragon’s proficiency with magic—beforeyou exhaust him banging on pieces of metal.”
Fredric glowered. “Why can’t someone else test him?”
“No one else is powerful enough,” sniffed the Twins. Saphira rumbled deeply and glared at them. A line of smoke trickled from her nostrils, but they ignored her. “Come with us,” they ordered, and strode to an empty corner of the field.
Shrugging, Eragon followed with Saphira. Behind him he heard Fredric say to Orik, “We have to stop them from going too far.”
“I know,” answered Orik in a low voice, “but I can’t interfere again. Hrothgar made it clear he won’t be able to protect me the next time it happens.”
Eragon forced back his growing apprehension. The Twins might know more techniques and words. . . . Still, he remembered what Brom had told him: Riders were stronger in magic than ordinary men. But would that be enough to resist the combined power of the Twins?
Don’t worry so much; I will help you,said Saphira.There are two of us as well.
He touched her gently on the leg, relieved by her words. The Twins looked at Eragon and asked, “And how do you answer us, Eragon?”
Overlooking the puzzled expressions of his companions, he said flatly, “No.”
Sharp lines appeared at the corners of the Twins’ mouths. They turned so they faced Eragon obliquely and, bending at the waists, drew a large pentagram on the ground. They stepped in the middle of it, then said harshly, “We begin now. You will attempt to complete the tasks we assign you . . . that is all.”
One of the Twins reached into his robe, produced a polished rock the size of Eragon’s fist, and set it on the ground. “Lift it to eye level.”
That’s easy enough,commented Eragon to Saphira. “Stenr reisa!” The rock wobbled, then smoothly rose from the ground. Before it went more than a foot, an unexpected resistance halted it in midair. A smile touched the Twins’ lips. Eragon stared at them, enraged—they were trying to make him fail! If he became exhausted now, it would be impossible to complete the harder tasks. Obviously they were confident that their combined strength could easily wear him down.
But I’m not alone either,snarled Eragon to himself.Saphira, now! Her mind melded with his, and the rock jerked through the air to stop, quivering, at eye level. The Twins’ eyes narrowed cruelly.
“Very . . . good,” they hissed. Fredric looked unnerved by the display of magic. “Now move the stone in a circle.” Again Eragon struggled against their efforts to stop him, and again—to their obvious anger—he prevailed. The exercises quickly increased in complexity and difficulty until Eragon was forced to think carefully about which words to use. And each time, the Twins fought him bitterly, though the strain never showed on their faces.
The unruly clatter of fighting reached them from the field: the loud clang of steel clashing on steel, the solid thump of arrows striking padded targets, the rattle and crack of wooden staves, and the shouts of men in mock battle. The noise was confusing, yet each group had a unique rhythm and pattern.
The bulk of the training ground was occupied by a crooked block of foot soldiers struggling with shields and poleaxes nearly as tall as themselves. They drilled as a group in formations. Practicing beside them were hundreds of individual warriors outfitted with swords, maces, spears, staves, flails, shields of all shapes and sizes, and even, Eragon saw, someone with a pitchfork. Nearly all the fighters wore armor, usually chain mail and a helmet; plate armor was not as common. There were as many dwarves as humans, though the two kept mainly to themselves. Behind the sparring warriors, a broad line of archers fired steadily at gray sackcloth dummies.
Before Eragon had time to wonder what he was supposed to do, a bearded man, his head and blocky shoulders covered by a mail coif, strode over to them. The rest of him was protected by a rough oxhide suit that still had hair on it. A huge sword—almost as long as Eragon—hung across his broad back. He ran a quick eye over Saphira and Eragon, as if evaluating how dangerous they were, then said gruffly, “Knurla Orik. You’ve been gone too long. There’s nobody left for me to spar with.”
Orik smiled. “Oeí, that’s because you bruise everyone from head to toe with your monster sword.”
“Everyone except you,” he corrected.
“That’s because I’m faster than a giant like you.”
The man looked at Eragon again. “I’m Fredric. I’ve been told to find out what you can do. How strong are you?”
“Strong enough,” answered Eragon. “I have to be in order to fight with magic.”
Fredric shook his head; the coif clinked like a bag of coins. “Magic has no place in what we do here. Unless you’ve served in an army, I doubt any fights you’ve been in lasted more than a few minutes. What we’re concerned about is how you’ll be able to hold up in a battle that may drag on for hours, or even weeks if it’s a siege. Do you know how to use any weapons besides that sword and bow?”
Eragon thought about it. “Only my fists.”
“Good answer!” laughed Fredric. “Well, we’ll start you off with the bow and see how you do. Then once some space has cleared up on the field, we’ll try—” He broke off suddenly and stared past Eragon, scowling angrily.
The Twins stalked toward them, their bald heads pale against their purple robes. Orik muttered something in his own language as he slipped his war ax out of his belt. “I told you two to stay away from the training area,” said Fredric, stepping forward threateningly. The Twins seemed frail before his bulk.
They looked at him arrogantly. “We were ordered by Ajihad to test Eragon’s proficiency with magic—beforeyou exhaust him banging on pieces of metal.”
Fredric glowered. “Why can’t someone else test him?”
“No one else is powerful enough,” sniffed the Twins. Saphira rumbled deeply and glared at them. A line of smoke trickled from her nostrils, but they ignored her. “Come with us,” they ordered, and strode to an empty corner of the field.
Shrugging, Eragon followed with Saphira. Behind him he heard Fredric say to Orik, “We have to stop them from going too far.”
“I know,” answered Orik in a low voice, “but I can’t interfere again. Hrothgar made it clear he won’t be able to protect me the next time it happens.”
Eragon forced back his growing apprehension. The Twins might know more techniques and words. . . . Still, he remembered what Brom had told him: Riders were stronger in magic than ordinary men. But would that be enough to resist the combined power of the Twins?
Don’t worry so much; I will help you,said Saphira.There are two of us as well.
He touched her gently on the leg, relieved by her words. The Twins looked at Eragon and asked, “And how do you answer us, Eragon?”
Overlooking the puzzled expressions of his companions, he said flatly, “No.”
Sharp lines appeared at the corners of the Twins’ mouths. They turned so they faced Eragon obliquely and, bending at the waists, drew a large pentagram on the ground. They stepped in the middle of it, then said harshly, “We begin now. You will attempt to complete the tasks we assign you . . . that is all.”
One of the Twins reached into his robe, produced a polished rock the size of Eragon’s fist, and set it on the ground. “Lift it to eye level.”
That’s easy enough,commented Eragon to Saphira. “Stenr reisa!” The rock wobbled, then smoothly rose from the ground. Before it went more than a foot, an unexpected resistance halted it in midair. A smile touched the Twins’ lips. Eragon stared at them, enraged—they were trying to make him fail! If he became exhausted now, it would be impossible to complete the harder tasks. Obviously they were confident that their combined strength could easily wear him down.
But I’m not alone either,snarled Eragon to himself.Saphira, now! Her mind melded with his, and the rock jerked through the air to stop, quivering, at eye level. The Twins’ eyes narrowed cruelly.
“Very . . . good,” they hissed. Fredric looked unnerved by the display of magic. “Now move the stone in a circle.” Again Eragon struggled against their efforts to stop him, and again—to their obvious anger—he prevailed. The exercises quickly increased in complexity and difficulty until Eragon was forced to think carefully about which words to use. And each time, the Twins fought him bitterly, though the strain never showed on their faces.
