Inheritance
Page 180
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A bolt of energy flashed between Glaedr and the consciousness. An instant later, Glaedr uttered a mental bellow that made Eragon’s temples throb with pain. A surge of jumbled emotions rushed forth from the golden dragon: sorrow, triumph, disbelief, regret, and, overriding them all, a sense of joyous relief so intense, Eragon found himself smiling without knowing why. And brushing against Glaedr’s mind, he felt not just one strange mind but a multitude, all whispering and murmuring.
“Who?” whispered Eragon. Before them, the man with the head of a dragon had not shifted so much as an inch.
Eragon, said Saphira. Look at the wall. Look …
He looked. And he saw that the circular wall was not decorated with crystal, as he had first taken it to be. Rather, dozens upon dozens of alcoves dotted the wall, and within each alcove rested a glittering orb. Some were large, some were small, but they all pulsed with a soft inner glow, like coals smoldering in a dying campfire.
Eragon’s heart skipped a beat as comprehension dawned upon him.
He lowered his gaze to the dark objects on the tiers below; they were smooth and ovoid and appeared to have been sculpted from stone of differing colors. As with the orbs, some were large and some were small, but regardless of their size, their shape was one he would have recognized anywhere.
A hot flush crept over him, and his knees grew weak. It cannot be. He wanted to believe what he saw, but he feared that it might be an illusion created to prey on his hopes. And yet the possibility that what he beheld was actually there took his breath away and left him staggered and overwhelmed to such a degree that he knew not what to do or say. Saphira’s reaction was much the same, if not stronger.
Then the mind spoke again: You are not mistaken, hatchlings, nor do your eyes deceive you. We are the secret hope of our race. Here lie our hearts of hearts—the last free Eldunarí in the land—and here lie the eggs that we have guarded for over a century.
LACUNA, PART THE SECOND
or a moment, Eragon was unable to move or breathe.
Then he whispered, “Eggs, Saphira.… Eggs.”
She shivered, as if with cold, and the scales along her spine prickled and lifted their tips slightly from her hide.
Who are you? he asked the mind. How do we know if we can trust you?
They speak the truth, Eragon, said Glaedr in the ancient language. I know, for Oromis was among those who devised the plan for this place.
Oromis …?
Before Glaedr could elaborate, the other mind said, My name is Umaroth. My Rider was the elf Vrael, leader of our order before our doom came upon us. I speak for the others but I do not command them, for while many of us were bonded with Riders, more were not, and our wild brethren acknowledge no authority but their own. This he said with a hint of exasperation. It would be too confusing for all of us to speak at once, so my voice will stand for the rest.
Are you …? And Eragon indicated the silvery, dragon-headed man in front of him and Saphira.
Nay, replied Umaroth. He is Cuaroc, Hunter of the Nïdhwal and Bane of the Urgals. Silvarí the Enchantress fashioned for him the body he now wears, so that we would have a champion to defend us should Galbatorix or any foes force their way into the Vault of Souls.
As Umaroth spoke, the dragon-headed man reached across his torso with his right hand, undid a hidden latch, and pulled open the front of his chest, as if he were pulling open the door to a cupboard. Within Cuaroc’s chest nestled a purple heart of hearts, which was surrounded by thousands of silver wires, each no thicker than a hair. Then Cuaroc swung shut his breastplate, and Umaroth said, No, I am over here, and he directed Eragon’s vision toward an alcove that contained a large white Eldunarí.
Eragon slowly sheathed Brisingr.
Eggs and Eldunarí. Eragon could not seem to grasp the enormity of the revelation all at once. His thoughts felt slow and sluggish, as if he had taken a blow to the head—which, in a way, he supposed he had.
He started toward the tiers to the right of the black, glyph-covered arch, then paused before Cuaroc and said, both out loud and with his mind, “May I?”
The dragon-headed man clacked his teeth together and retreated with crashing steps to stand by the glowing pit in the center of the room. He kept his sword out, however, something of which Eragon remained constantly aware.
A sense of wonder and reverence gripped Eragon as he approached the eggs. He leaned against the lower tier and released a shuddering breath while he stared at a gold and red egg that was almost five feet tall. Struck by a sudden urge, he peeled off a glove and placed the palm of his bare hand against the egg. It was warm to the touch, and when he extended his mind along with his hand, he could feel the slumbering consciousness of the unhatched dragon within.
Saphira’s hot breath passed across his neck as she joined him.
Your egg was smaller than this, he said.
That is because my mother was not so old and not so large as the dragon who laid this one.
Ahh. I hadn’t thought of that.
He looked out over the rest of the eggs and felt his throat tighten. “There are so many,” he whispered. He pressed his shoulder against Saphira’s massive jaw and felt the quivers coursing through her. She wanted, he could tell, nothing more than to rejoice and embrace the minds of her kin, but like him, she could hardly bring herself to believe that what she beheld was real.
She snorted and swung her head around until she was looking at the rest of the room, and then she uttered a roar that shook dust from the ceiling. How?! she growled with her mind. How could you have escaped Galbatorix? We dragons do not hide when we fight. We are not cowards to run from danger. Explain yourselves!
“Who?” whispered Eragon. Before them, the man with the head of a dragon had not shifted so much as an inch.
Eragon, said Saphira. Look at the wall. Look …
He looked. And he saw that the circular wall was not decorated with crystal, as he had first taken it to be. Rather, dozens upon dozens of alcoves dotted the wall, and within each alcove rested a glittering orb. Some were large, some were small, but they all pulsed with a soft inner glow, like coals smoldering in a dying campfire.
Eragon’s heart skipped a beat as comprehension dawned upon him.
He lowered his gaze to the dark objects on the tiers below; they were smooth and ovoid and appeared to have been sculpted from stone of differing colors. As with the orbs, some were large and some were small, but regardless of their size, their shape was one he would have recognized anywhere.
A hot flush crept over him, and his knees grew weak. It cannot be. He wanted to believe what he saw, but he feared that it might be an illusion created to prey on his hopes. And yet the possibility that what he beheld was actually there took his breath away and left him staggered and overwhelmed to such a degree that he knew not what to do or say. Saphira’s reaction was much the same, if not stronger.
Then the mind spoke again: You are not mistaken, hatchlings, nor do your eyes deceive you. We are the secret hope of our race. Here lie our hearts of hearts—the last free Eldunarí in the land—and here lie the eggs that we have guarded for over a century.
LACUNA, PART THE SECOND
or a moment, Eragon was unable to move or breathe.
Then he whispered, “Eggs, Saphira.… Eggs.”
She shivered, as if with cold, and the scales along her spine prickled and lifted their tips slightly from her hide.
Who are you? he asked the mind. How do we know if we can trust you?
They speak the truth, Eragon, said Glaedr in the ancient language. I know, for Oromis was among those who devised the plan for this place.
Oromis …?
Before Glaedr could elaborate, the other mind said, My name is Umaroth. My Rider was the elf Vrael, leader of our order before our doom came upon us. I speak for the others but I do not command them, for while many of us were bonded with Riders, more were not, and our wild brethren acknowledge no authority but their own. This he said with a hint of exasperation. It would be too confusing for all of us to speak at once, so my voice will stand for the rest.
Are you …? And Eragon indicated the silvery, dragon-headed man in front of him and Saphira.
Nay, replied Umaroth. He is Cuaroc, Hunter of the Nïdhwal and Bane of the Urgals. Silvarí the Enchantress fashioned for him the body he now wears, so that we would have a champion to defend us should Galbatorix or any foes force their way into the Vault of Souls.
As Umaroth spoke, the dragon-headed man reached across his torso with his right hand, undid a hidden latch, and pulled open the front of his chest, as if he were pulling open the door to a cupboard. Within Cuaroc’s chest nestled a purple heart of hearts, which was surrounded by thousands of silver wires, each no thicker than a hair. Then Cuaroc swung shut his breastplate, and Umaroth said, No, I am over here, and he directed Eragon’s vision toward an alcove that contained a large white Eldunarí.
Eragon slowly sheathed Brisingr.
Eggs and Eldunarí. Eragon could not seem to grasp the enormity of the revelation all at once. His thoughts felt slow and sluggish, as if he had taken a blow to the head—which, in a way, he supposed he had.
He started toward the tiers to the right of the black, glyph-covered arch, then paused before Cuaroc and said, both out loud and with his mind, “May I?”
The dragon-headed man clacked his teeth together and retreated with crashing steps to stand by the glowing pit in the center of the room. He kept his sword out, however, something of which Eragon remained constantly aware.
A sense of wonder and reverence gripped Eragon as he approached the eggs. He leaned against the lower tier and released a shuddering breath while he stared at a gold and red egg that was almost five feet tall. Struck by a sudden urge, he peeled off a glove and placed the palm of his bare hand against the egg. It was warm to the touch, and when he extended his mind along with his hand, he could feel the slumbering consciousness of the unhatched dragon within.
Saphira’s hot breath passed across his neck as she joined him.
Your egg was smaller than this, he said.
That is because my mother was not so old and not so large as the dragon who laid this one.
Ahh. I hadn’t thought of that.
He looked out over the rest of the eggs and felt his throat tighten. “There are so many,” he whispered. He pressed his shoulder against Saphira’s massive jaw and felt the quivers coursing through her. She wanted, he could tell, nothing more than to rejoice and embrace the minds of her kin, but like him, she could hardly bring herself to believe that what she beheld was real.
She snorted and swung her head around until she was looking at the rest of the room, and then she uttered a roar that shook dust from the ceiling. How?! she growled with her mind. How could you have escaped Galbatorix? We dragons do not hide when we fight. We are not cowards to run from danger. Explain yourselves!
