“Aye.”
“It may offend you to hear this, but you acted rather stupidly yourself.”
“I know. My temper got the better of me.”
“And you’ve earned yourself a king as a foe.”
“You mean another king.”
Jörmundur uttered a low laugh. “Yes, well, I suppose when you have Galbatorix as a personal enemy, all others seem rather harmless. Nevertheless …” He stopped by a campfire and pulled a thin burning branch from the midst of the flames. Tipping the end of the branch into the bowl of his pipe, he puffed several times, setting the flame, then threw the branch back into the fire. “Nevertheless, I wouldn’t ignore Orrin’s anger. He was willing to kill you back there. If he holds a grudge, and I think he will, he may seek his revenge. I’ll post a guard by your tent for the next few days. After that, though …” Jörmundur shrugged.
“After that, we may all be dead or enslaved.”
They walked in silence for a few more minutes, Jörmundur puffing on his pipe the whole while. As they were about to part, Roran said, “When you see Orrin next …”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps you can let him know that if he or his men hurt Katrina, I’ll rip out his guts in front of the whole camp.”
Jörmundur tucked his chin against his breast and stood thinking for a moment, then he looked up and nodded. “I think I might find a way to do that, Stronghammer.”
“My thanks.”
“You’re most welcome. As always, this was a unique pleasure.”
“Sir.”
Roran sought out Katrina and convinced her to bring their dinner to the northern embankment, where he kept vigil for any messengers Orrin might send. They ate on a cloth that Katrina spread over the freshly turned soil, then sat together as the shadows grew long and the stars began to appear in the purple sky above the overhang.
“I’m glad to be here,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“Are you? Really?”
“It’s beautiful, and I have you all to myself.” She squeezed his arm.
He drew her closer, but the shadow in his heart remained. He could not forget the danger that threatened her and their child. The knowledge that their greatest foe was but a few miles distant burned within him; he wanted nothing more than to leap up, run to Urû’baen, and kill Galbatorix.
But that was impossible, so he smiled and laughed and hid his fear, even as he knew she hid hers.
Blast it, Eragon, he thought, you’d better hurry, or I swear I’ll haunt you from the grave.
WAR COUNCIL
n the flight from Vroengard to Urû’baen, Saphira did not have to battle her way through a storm and was fortunate enough to have a tailwind to speed her progress, for the Eldunarí told her where to find the fast-moving stream of air, which they said blew nearly every day of the year. Also, the Eldunarí fed her a constant supply of energy, so she never flagged or grew tired.
As a result, the city first came into sight on the horizon a mere two days after they departed the island.
Twice during the trip, when the sun was at its brightest, Eragon thought he glimpsed the entrance to the pocket of space where the Eldunarí floated hidden behind Saphira. It appeared as a single dark point, so small that he could not keep his eyes fixed upon it for more than a second. At first he assumed it was a mote of dust, but then he noticed that the point never varied in its distance from Saphira, and when he saw it, it was always in the same place.
As they flew, the dragons had, through Umaroth, poured memory after memory into Eragon and Saphira: a cascade of experiences—battles won and battles lost, loves, hates, spells, events witnessed throughout the land, regrets, realizations, and ponderings concerning the workings of the world. The dragons possessed thousands of years of knowledge, and they seemed driven to share every last bit.
It’s too much! Eragon had protested. We can’t remember it all, much less understand it.
No, said Umaroth. But you can remember some, and it may be that some will be what you need to defeat Galbatorix. Now, let us continue.
The torrent of information was overwhelming; at times Eragon felt as if he was forgetting who he was, for the dragons’ memories far outnumbered his own. When that happened, he would separate his mind from theirs and repeat his true name to himself until he again felt secure in his identity.
The things he and Saphira learned amazed and troubled him and oftentimes caused him to question his own beliefs. But he never had time to dwell on such thoughts, for there was always another memory to take their place. It would, he knew, take him years to begin to make sense of what the dragons were showing them.
The more he learned about the dragons, the more he regarded them with awe. Those who had lived for hundreds of years were strange in their ways of thinking, and the oldest were as different from Glaedr and Saphira as Glaedr and Saphira were from the Fanghur in the Beor Mountains. Interacting with these elders was confusing and unsettling; they made jumps, associations, and comparisons that seemed meaningless but that Eragon knew made sense at some deep level. He was rarely able to figure out what they were trying to say, and the ancient dragons did not deign to explain themselves in terms that he could understand.
After a while, he realized that they couldn’t express themselves in any other way. Over the centuries, their minds had changed; what was simple and straightforward for him often seemed complicated for them, and the same was true in reverse. Listening to their thoughts, he felt, must be like listening to the thoughts of a god.
When he made that particular observation, Saphira snorted and said to him, There is a difference.
What?
Unlike gods, we take part in the events of the world.
Perhaps the gods choose to act without being seen.
Then what good are they?
You believe that dragons are better than gods? he asked, amused.
When we are fully grown, yes. What creature is greater than us? Even Galbatorix depends upon us for his strength.
What of the Nïdhwal?
She sniffed. We can swim, but they cannot fly.
The very oldest of the Eldunarí, a dragon by the name of Valdr—which meant “ruler” in the ancient language—spoke to them directly only once. From him, they received a vision of beams of light turning into waves of sand, as well as a disconcerting sense that everything that seemed solid was mostly empty space. Then Valdr showed them a nest of sleeping starlings, and Eragon could feel their dreams flickering in their minds, fast as the blink of an eye. At first Valdr’s emotion was one of contempt—the starlings’ dreams seemed tiny, petty, and inconsequential—but then his mood changed and became warm and sympathetic, and even the smallest of the starlings’ concerns grew in importance until it seemed equal to the worries of kings.
Valdr lingered over the vision, as if to make sure that Eragon and Saphira would remember it amid all the other memories. Yet neither of them was certain what the dragon was trying to say, and Valdr refused to explain himself further.
When at last Urû’baen came into view, the Eldunarí ceased sharing their memories with Eragon and Saphira, and Umaroth said, Now you would be best served by studying the lair of our foe.
This they did as Saphira descended toward the ground over the course of many leagues. What they saw did not encourage either of them, nor did their moods improve when Glaedr said, Galbatorix has built much since he drove us from this place. The walls were not so thick nor so tall in our day.