Inheritance
Page 245
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“Then we will be in conflict.”
“And the three of you will side with her?” asked Orrin, looking in turn at Arya, Orik, and Grimrr.
“If the Varden are attacked, we will fight alongside them,” said Orik.
“As will we,” said Arya.
King Orrin smiled a smile that was more a baring of his teeth than anything. “But you would not think to tell us who we ought to choose as our ruler, now would you?”
“Of course not,” said Orik, and his own teeth flashed white and dangerous within his beard.
“Of course not.” Then Orrin returned his attention to Nasuada. “I want Belatona, along with the other cities you mentioned.”
Nasuada thought for a moment. “You’re already gaining two port cities with Feinster and Aroughs, three if you count Eoam on Beirland Isle. I’ll give you Furnost instead, and then you’ll have the whole of Lake Tüdosten, even as I will have the whole of Leona Lake.”
“Leona is more valuable than Tüdosten, as it grants access to the mountains and the northern coast,” Orrin pointed out.
“Aye. But you already have access to Leona Lake from Dauth and the Jiet River.”
King Orrin stared at the floor in the center of the room and was silent. Outside, the top of the sun slipped below the edge of the horizon, leaving a few attenuated clouds illuminated by its light. The sky began to darken, and the first few stars appeared in the gloaming: faint pinpricks of light in the purple vastness. A slight breeze started, and in the sound of it brushing against the sides of the tower, Eragon heard the rustling of the sawtooth nettles.
The longer they waited, the more likely it seemed to Eragon that Orrin would reject Nasuada’s offer, or that he would remain sitting there, silent, for the entire night.
Then the king shifted his weight and looked up. “Very well,” he said in a low voice. “As long as you honor the terms of our agreement, I shall not challenge you for Galbatorix’s throne … Your Majesty.”
A shiver passed through Eragon as he heard Orrin utter those words.
Her expression somber, Nasuada walked forward until she stood in the center of the open room. Then Orik struck the butt of Volund’s haft against the floor and proclaimed, “The king is dead, long live the queen!”
“The king is dead, long live the queen!” cried Eragon, Arya, Däthedr, and Grimrr. The werecat’s lips stretched, baring his sharp fangs, and Saphira uttered a loud, triumphant bugle, which echoed off the angled ceiling and out over the dusk-ridden city below. A sense of approval emanated from the Eldunarí.
Nasuada stood tall and proud, her eyes gleaming with tears in the graying light. “Thank you,” she said, and looked at each of them, holding their gaze. Still, her thoughts seemed to be directed elsewhere, and about her was an air of sadness that Eragon doubted the others noticed.
And all across the land, darkness sank, leaving the top of their tower a lone beacon of light high above the city.
A FITTING EPITAPH
fter their victory at Urû’baen, the months passed both quickly and slowly for Eragon. Quickly because there was much for him and Saphira to do, and rare was the day that they were not exhausted by sundown. Slowly because he continued to feel a lack of purpose—despite the many tasks Queen Nasuada gave them—and it seemed to him as if they were idling in a patch of becalmed water, waiting for something, anything, to push them back into the main current.
He and Saphira stayed in Urû’baen for another four days after Nasuada was chosen queen, helping establish the Varden’s presence there and throughout the surrounding area. Much of that time they spent dealing with the inhabitants of the city—usually placating crowds who were furious with some action of the Varden’s—and hunting groups of soldiers who had fled Urû’baen and were preying upon travelers, peasants, and nearby estates to support themselves. He and Saphira also participated in the effort to rebuild the city’s massive front gate, and at Nasuada’s behest, he cast several spells designed to prevent those still loyal to Galbatorix from working against her. The spells applied only to the people within the city and the adjacent lands, but having them in place made everyone in the Varden feel safer.
Eragon noticed that the Varden, the dwarves, and even the elves treated him and Saphira differently than they had before Galbatorix’s death. They were more respectful and deferential, especially the humans, and they regarded him and Saphira with what he slowly came to understand was a sense of awe. He enjoyed it at first—Saphira did not seem to care one way or another—but it began to bother him when he realized that many of the dwarves and humans were so eager to please him, they would tell him whatever they thought he wanted to hear and not the actual truth. The discovery unsettled him; he felt unable to trust anyone other than Roran, Arya, Nasuada, Orik, Horst, and of course, Saphira.
He saw little of Arya during those days. The few times they met, she seemed withdrawn, which he recognized was her way of dealing with her grief. They never had a chance to talk in private, and the only condolences he was able to offer were brief and awkward. He thought she appreciated them, but it was hard to tell.
As for Nasuada, she seemed to regain much of her former drive, spirit, and energy after a single night’s sleep, which amazed Eragon. His opinion of her increased tremendously upon hearing her account of her ordeal in the Hall of the Soothsayer, as did his regard for Murtagh, of whom Nasuada spoke not a word thereafter. She complimented Eragon on his leadership of the Varden in her absence—although he protested that he had been gone most of that time—and thanked him for rescuing her as quickly as he had, for as she admitted late in their conversation, Galbatorix had nearly succeeded in breaking her.
“And the three of you will side with her?” asked Orrin, looking in turn at Arya, Orik, and Grimrr.
“If the Varden are attacked, we will fight alongside them,” said Orik.
“As will we,” said Arya.
King Orrin smiled a smile that was more a baring of his teeth than anything. “But you would not think to tell us who we ought to choose as our ruler, now would you?”
“Of course not,” said Orik, and his own teeth flashed white and dangerous within his beard.
“Of course not.” Then Orrin returned his attention to Nasuada. “I want Belatona, along with the other cities you mentioned.”
Nasuada thought for a moment. “You’re already gaining two port cities with Feinster and Aroughs, three if you count Eoam on Beirland Isle. I’ll give you Furnost instead, and then you’ll have the whole of Lake Tüdosten, even as I will have the whole of Leona Lake.”
“Leona is more valuable than Tüdosten, as it grants access to the mountains and the northern coast,” Orrin pointed out.
“Aye. But you already have access to Leona Lake from Dauth and the Jiet River.”
King Orrin stared at the floor in the center of the room and was silent. Outside, the top of the sun slipped below the edge of the horizon, leaving a few attenuated clouds illuminated by its light. The sky began to darken, and the first few stars appeared in the gloaming: faint pinpricks of light in the purple vastness. A slight breeze started, and in the sound of it brushing against the sides of the tower, Eragon heard the rustling of the sawtooth nettles.
The longer they waited, the more likely it seemed to Eragon that Orrin would reject Nasuada’s offer, or that he would remain sitting there, silent, for the entire night.
Then the king shifted his weight and looked up. “Very well,” he said in a low voice. “As long as you honor the terms of our agreement, I shall not challenge you for Galbatorix’s throne … Your Majesty.”
A shiver passed through Eragon as he heard Orrin utter those words.
Her expression somber, Nasuada walked forward until she stood in the center of the open room. Then Orik struck the butt of Volund’s haft against the floor and proclaimed, “The king is dead, long live the queen!”
“The king is dead, long live the queen!” cried Eragon, Arya, Däthedr, and Grimrr. The werecat’s lips stretched, baring his sharp fangs, and Saphira uttered a loud, triumphant bugle, which echoed off the angled ceiling and out over the dusk-ridden city below. A sense of approval emanated from the Eldunarí.
Nasuada stood tall and proud, her eyes gleaming with tears in the graying light. “Thank you,” she said, and looked at each of them, holding their gaze. Still, her thoughts seemed to be directed elsewhere, and about her was an air of sadness that Eragon doubted the others noticed.
And all across the land, darkness sank, leaving the top of their tower a lone beacon of light high above the city.
A FITTING EPITAPH
fter their victory at Urû’baen, the months passed both quickly and slowly for Eragon. Quickly because there was much for him and Saphira to do, and rare was the day that they were not exhausted by sundown. Slowly because he continued to feel a lack of purpose—despite the many tasks Queen Nasuada gave them—and it seemed to him as if they were idling in a patch of becalmed water, waiting for something, anything, to push them back into the main current.
He and Saphira stayed in Urû’baen for another four days after Nasuada was chosen queen, helping establish the Varden’s presence there and throughout the surrounding area. Much of that time they spent dealing with the inhabitants of the city—usually placating crowds who were furious with some action of the Varden’s—and hunting groups of soldiers who had fled Urû’baen and were preying upon travelers, peasants, and nearby estates to support themselves. He and Saphira also participated in the effort to rebuild the city’s massive front gate, and at Nasuada’s behest, he cast several spells designed to prevent those still loyal to Galbatorix from working against her. The spells applied only to the people within the city and the adjacent lands, but having them in place made everyone in the Varden feel safer.
Eragon noticed that the Varden, the dwarves, and even the elves treated him and Saphira differently than they had before Galbatorix’s death. They were more respectful and deferential, especially the humans, and they regarded him and Saphira with what he slowly came to understand was a sense of awe. He enjoyed it at first—Saphira did not seem to care one way or another—but it began to bother him when he realized that many of the dwarves and humans were so eager to please him, they would tell him whatever they thought he wanted to hear and not the actual truth. The discovery unsettled him; he felt unable to trust anyone other than Roran, Arya, Nasuada, Orik, Horst, and of course, Saphira.
He saw little of Arya during those days. The few times they met, she seemed withdrawn, which he recognized was her way of dealing with her grief. They never had a chance to talk in private, and the only condolences he was able to offer were brief and awkward. He thought she appreciated them, but it was hard to tell.
As for Nasuada, she seemed to regain much of her former drive, spirit, and energy after a single night’s sleep, which amazed Eragon. His opinion of her increased tremendously upon hearing her account of her ordeal in the Hall of the Soothsayer, as did his regard for Murtagh, of whom Nasuada spoke not a word thereafter. She complimented Eragon on his leadership of the Varden in her absence—although he protested that he had been gone most of that time—and thanked him for rescuing her as quickly as he had, for as she admitted late in their conversation, Galbatorix had nearly succeeded in breaking her.
