Inheritance
Page 81

Blödhgarm and his fellow spellcasters arranged themselves in a large circle around the tent, which Eragon could tell made Nasuada’s guards uneasy.
Eragon and Arya followed Nasuada into the tent; then Saphira surprised them by pushing the front of her head past the entrance flaps and promptly filling the cramped space with the smell of smoke and burnt meat.
The sudden appearance of Saphira’s scaly snout took Nasuada aback, but she quickly recovered. Addressing herself to Eragon, she said, “That was Glaedr I felt, wasn’t it?”
He glanced toward the front of the tent, hoping that her guards were too far away to hear, then nodded. “It was.”
“Ah, I knew it!” she exclaimed, sounding satisfied. Then her expression became uncertain. “May I speak with him? Is it … allowed, or will he only communicate with an elf or a Rider?”
Eragon hesitated and looked to Arya for guidance. “I don’t know,” he said. “He still hasn’t entirely recovered. He may not want to—”
I will speak with you, Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad, Glaedr said, his voice echoing in their heads. Ask of me what you will, then leave us to our work; there is much that still needs to be done in order to prepare Eragon for the challenges ahead.
Eragon had never seen Nasuada look awestruck before, but now she did. “Where?” she mouthed, and spread her hands.
He pointed at a patch of dirt by his bed.
Nasuada raised her eyebrows; then she nodded, and drawing herself up, she formally greeted Glaedr. An exchange of pleasantries followed, during the course of which Nasuada inquired after Glaedr’s health and asked if there was anything the Varden could provide him with. In response to the first question—which had made Eragon nervous—Glaedr politely explained that his health was just fine, thank you; and as far as the second matter went, he needed nothing from the Varden, though he appreciated her concern. I no longer eat, he said; I no longer drink; and I no longer sleep as you would understand it. My only pleasure now, my only indulgence, lies in contemplating how I might bring about Galbatorix’s downfall.
“That,” said Nasuada, “I can understand, for I feel much the same.”
Then she asked Glaedr if he had any advice as to how the Varden could capture Dras-Leona without it costing them an unacceptable amount of men and materiel, as well as, in her words, “handing over Eragon and Saphira to the Empire, like so many trussed-up chickens.”
She spent some time explaining the situation to Glaedr in greater specificity, whereupon, after due consideration, he said, I have no easy solution for you, Nasuada. I will continue to think on it, but at the moment, I cannot see a way clear for the Varden. If Murtagh and Thorn were by themselves, I might easily overcome their minds. However, Galbatorix has given them too many Eldunarí for me to do that. Even with Eragon, Saphira, and the elves to help, victory would be no sure thing.
Visibly disappointed, Nasuada was silent for a brief while; then she pressed her hands flat against the front of her dress and thanked Glaedr for his time. She bade them farewell and took her leave, stepping carefully around Saphira’s head so as not to touch her.
Eragon relaxed somewhat as he sat on his cot, while Arya seated herself on a short, three-legged stool. He wiped his palms on the knees of his trousers—for his hands felt sticky, as did the rest of him—then offered Arya a drink from his waterskin, which she gratefully accepted. When she was finished, he gulped down several mouthfuls himself. Their sparring had left him ravenous. The water stifled the growls and rumbles coming from his stomach, but he hoped that Glaedr would not detain them for much longer. The sun had nearly set, and he wanted to get a hot meal from the Varden’s cooks before they damped their fires and turned in for the night. Otherwise, he knew he would end up gnawing on stale bread, dried strips of meat, moldy sheep cheese, and if he was lucky, a raw onion or two—hardly an appealing prospect.
Once they were both settled, Glaedr began to speak, lecturing Eragon on the principles of mental combat. These Eragon was already familiar with, but he listened closely, and when the golden dragon told him to do something, he followed Glaedr’s instructions without question or complaint.
They soon progressed beyond maxims to applied practice. Glaedr started by testing Eragon’s defenses with attacks of ever-increasing strength, which then led to them engaging in all-out battles where they each struggled to obtain dominance, even if for only a moment, over the other’s thoughts.
While they fought, Eragon lay on his back with his eyes closed, all of his energies concentrated inward on the tempest that raged between him and Glaedr. His earlier exertions had left him weak and thick-headed—whereas the golden dragon was fresh and well rested, in addition to being immensely powerful—and that made it difficult for Eragon to do much more than foil Glaedr’s attacks. Nevertheless, he managed to hold his own reasonably well, knowing that, in a real fight, the winner would have undoubtedly been Glaedr.
Fortunately, Glaedr made some allowances for Eragon’s condition, although, as he said, You must be ready to defend your innermost self at any given moment, even when you are sleeping. It may very well be that you will end up facing Galbatorix or Murtagh when you are as exhausted as you are now.
After two more bouts, Glaedr withdrew to the role of a—very vocal—spectator, while he had Arya take his place as Eragon’s antagonist. She was just as tired as Eragon, but he quickly found that, when it came to a wizard’s duel, she was more than his equal. It did not surprise him. The one time before they had clashed in their minds, she had almost killed him, and that was when she was still drugged from her captivity in Gil’ead. Glaedr’s thoughts were disciplined and focused, but even he could not match the ironbound control Arya exerted over her consciousness.