“And in return?” asked King Orrin, lifting an eyebrow.
“In return, you will swear allegiance to the throne here in Urû’baen and whoever sits upon it.”
Orrin’s mouth twisted. “You would set yourself up as High Queen over the land.”
“These two realms—the Empire and Surda—must be reunited if we are to avoid future hostilities. Surda would remain yours to command as you see fit, save for one exception: the magicians of both our countries would be subject to certain restrictions, the exact nature of which we would decide upon at a later date. Along with those laws, Surda would of necessity have to contribute to the defense of our combined territories. Should either of us be attacked, the other would be required to provide aid in the form of men and materiel.”
King Orrin placed his goblet upright in his lap and stared down at it. “Again I ask: why should you be the one to take the throne instead of me? My family has ruled Surda since Lady Marelda won the Battle of Cithrí and thereby established both Surda and the House of Langfeld, and we can trace our ancestry all the way back to Thanebrand the Ring Giver himself. We faced and fought the Empire for an entire century. Our gold and our weapons and our armor allowed the Varden to exist in the first place and have sustained you through the years. Without us, it would have been impossible for you to resist Galbatorix. The dwarves could not have provided everything you needed, nor the elves, as far away as they were. So again I ask, why should this prize fall to you, Nasuada, and not me?”
“Because,” said Nasuada, “I believe I can make a good queen. And because—as with everything I have done while leading the Varden—I believe it is what is best for our people and for the whole of Alagaësia.”
“You have a very high opinion of yourself.”
“False modesty is never admirable, and least of all among those who command others. Have I not amply demonstrated my ability to lead? If not for me, the Varden would still be cowering inside Farthen Dûr, waiting for a sign from above that it was the right time to advance on Galbatorix. I shepherded the Varden from Farthen Dûr to Surda, and I built them into a mighty army. With your help, yes, but I am the one who led them, and it was I who secured the help of the dwarves, the elves, and the Urgals. Could you have done as much? Whosoever rules in Urû’baen will have to treat with every race in the land, not just our own. Again, this I have done and this I can do.” Then Nasuada’s voice softened, although her expression remained as strong as ever. “Orrin, why do you want this? Would it make you any happier?”
“It isn’t a question of happiness,” he growled.
“But it is, in part. Do you really want to govern the whole of the Empire in addition to Surda? Whoever takes the throne will have a huge task ahead. There is a country to rebuild: treaties to negotiate, cities still to capture, nobles and magicians to subdue. It will take a lifetime to even begin to undo the damage Galbatorix has wrought. Is that something you are really willing to undertake? It seems to me that you would prefer your life as it once was.” Her gaze shifted to the goblet in his lap and then back to his face. “If you accept my offer, you can return to Aberon and your experiments in natural philosophy. Wouldn’t you like that? Surda will be larger and richer, and you will have the freedom to pursue your interests.”
“We don’t always get to do what we like. Sometimes we have to do what is right, not what we want,” said King Orrin.
“True, but—”
“Besides, if I were king in Urû’baen, I would be able to pursue my interests here just as easily as I could in Aberon.” Nasuada frowned, but before she could speak, Orrin overrode her: “You don’t understand. …” He scowled and took another sip of wine.
Then explain it to us, said Saphira, her impatience conspicuous in the color of her thoughts.
Orrin snorted, drained his goblet, and then threw it against the door to the staircase, denting the gold of the cup and knocking several of the jewels from their settings so that they spun jittering across the floor. “I can’t,” he growled, “and I don’t care to try.” He glared around the room. “None of you would understand. You are too bound up in your own importance to see. How could you, when you’ve never experienced what I have?” He sank back into his chair, his eyes like dark coals beneath the eaves of his brow. To Nasuada, he said, “You are determined? You will not withdraw your claim?”
She shook her head.
“And if I choose to pursue my own claim?”
“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
AFTER 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 throug
hout 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.
Upon the third day, Nasuada was coronated in a great square near the center of the city, in full view of a vast crowd of humans, dwarves, elves, werecats, and Urgals. The explosion that had ended Galbatorix’s life had destroyed the ancient crown of the Broddrings, so the dwarves had forged a new crown from gold found in the city and from jewels the elves had taken from their helms or from the pommels of their swords.
The ceremony was simple, but all the more effective for it. Nasuada approached on foot from the direction of the ruined citadel. She wore a dress of royal purple—cut short at the elbows so that all might see the scars that lined her forearms—with a train fringed with mink, which Elva carried, for Eragon had heeded Murtagh’s warning and insisted that the girl stay as close to Nasuada as possible.
A slow drumbeat sounded as Nasuada walked up to the dais that had been erected in the center of the square. At the top of the dais, next to the carved chair that would serve as her throne, stood Eragon, with Saphira close behind. In front of the raised platform were the kings Orrin, Orik, and Grimrr, along with Arya, Däthedr, and Nar Garzhvog.
Nasuada ascended the dais, then knelt before Eragon and Saphira. A dwarf of Orik’s clan presented Eragon with the newly made crown, which he placed upon Nasuada’s head. Then Saphira arched her neck and, with her snout, touched Nasuada upon the brow, and both she and Eragon said:
“Rise now as queen, Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad and Nadara.”
A fanfare of trumpets rang forth, and the gathered crowd—which had been deathly silent—began to cheer. It was a strange cacophony, what with the bellows of Urgals intermingled with the melodious voices of the elves.
Then Nasuada sat upon the throne. King Orrin came before her and swore his allegiance, followed by Arya, King Orik, Grimrr Halfpaw, and Nar Garzhvog, who each pledged the friendship of their respective races.
The event affected Eragon strongly. He found himself holding back tears as he gazed at Nasuada sitting regnant on her throne. Only with her coronation did it feel as if the specter of Galbatorix’s oppression had begun to recede.
Afterward, they feasted, and the Varden and their allies celebrated throughout the night and into the next day. Eragon remembered little of the festivities, save the dancing of the elves, the pounding of the dwarves’ drums, and the four Kull who climbed a tower along the city wall and there stood blowing horns made from the skulls of their fathers. The people of the city joined in the celebrations as well, and among them, Eragon saw relief and jubilation that Galbatorix was no longer king. And underlying their emotions, and those of everyone present, was an awareness of the importance of the moment, for they knew they were witnessing the end of one age and the beginning of another.
Upon the fifth day, when the gate was nearly rebuilt and the city seemed reasonably secure, Nasuada ordered Eragon and Saphira to fly to Dras-Leona, and thence to Belatona, Feinster, and Aroughs, and in each place to use the name of the ancient language to release from their oaths everyone who had sworn fealty to Galbatorix. She also asked Eragon to bind the soldiers and nobles with spells—even as he had bound the people of Urû’baen—to keep them from trying to undermine the newly established peace. That, Eragon had refused, for he felt it was too similar to how Galbatorix had controlled those who served him. In Urû’baen, the risk of hidden killers or other loyalists was great enough that Eragon had been willing to do as she wished. But not elsewhere. To his relief, Nasuada agreed with him after some consideration.
He and Saphira took with them over half the Eldunarí from Vroengard; the rest remained behind with the hearts of hearts that had been rescued from Galbatorix’s treasure room. Blödhgarm and his spellcasters—who were no longer bound to defend Eragon and Saphira—moved those Eldunarí to a castle several miles northeast of Urû’baen, where it would be easy to protect the hearts against any who might seek to steal them, and where the thoughts of the mad dragons would not affect the minds of any but their caretakers.
Only once Eragon and Saphira were satisfied that the Eldunarí were safe did they depart.
When they arrived at Dras-Leona, Eragon was astounded by the number of spells he found woven throughout the city, as well as in the dark tower of stone, Helgrind. Many of them, he guessed, were hundreds of years old, if not older: forgotten enchantments from ages past. He left those that seemed harmless and removed those that did not, but ofttimes it was difficult to tell, and he was reluctant to tamper with spells whose purpose he did not understand. Here the Eldunarí proved helpful; in several cases, they remembered who had cast a spell and why, or else they were able to divine its purpose from information that meant nothing to him.
When it came to Helgrind and the various holdings of the priests—who had gone into hiding as soon as news of Galbatorix’s demise had reached them—Eragon did not bother trying to determine which spells were dangerous and which were not; he removed them all. He also used the name of names to search for the belt of Beloth the Wise in the ruins of the great cathedral, but without success.
They stayed in Dras-Leona for three days, then they proceeded to Belatona. There too Eragon removed Galbatorix’s enchantments, as well as at Feinster and Aroughs. In Feinster, someone tried to kill him with a poisoned drink. His wards protected him, but the incident angered Saphira.
If I ever corner the rat-coward who did this, I’ll eat him alive from the toes up, she growled.
On the return trip to Urû’baen, Eragon suggested a slight change of direction. Saphira agreed and altered her course, tilting so the horizon stood on end and the world was divided equally between the dark blue sky and the green and brown earth.
It took a half day of searching, but at last Saphira found the cluster of sandstone hills and, among them, one hill in particular: a tall, sloping mound of reddish stone with a cave halfway up its side. And upon its crest, a glittering tomb of diamond.
The hill looked
exactly as Eragon remembered. When he gazed upon it, he felt his chest grow tight.
Saphira landed next to the tomb. Her claws scraped against the pitted stone, chipping off flakes.
With slow fingers, Eragon unbuckled his legs. Then he slid to the ground. A wave of dizziness passed through him at the smell of the warm stone, and for a moment, he felt as if he were in the past.
Then he shook himself, and his mind cleared. He walked to the tomb and looked into its crystal depths, and there he saw Brom.
There he saw his father.
Brom’s appearance had not changed. The diamond that encased his body protected him from the ravages of time, and his flesh showed no hint of decay. The skin of his lined face was firm, and it had a rosy tint, as if hot blood still coursed beneath the surface. At any moment, it seemed as if Brom might open his eyes and rise to his feet, ready to continue on their unfinished journey. In a way, he had become deathless, for he no longer aged as others did, but would remain forever the same, caught in a dreamless sleep.
Brom’s sword lay atop his chest and the long white pennant of his beard, with his hands folded over the hilt, just as Eragon had placed them. By his side was his gnarled staff, carved, Eragon now realized, with dozens of glyphs from the ancient language.
Tears welled in Eragon’s eyes. He fell to his knees and wept quietly for a timeless while. He heard Saphira join him, felt her with his mind, and he knew that she too mourned Brom’s passing.
At last Eragon got to his feet and leaned against the edge of the tomb as he studied the shape of Brom’s face. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the similarities between their features, blurred and obscured by age and by Brom’s beard, but still unmistakable. The angle of Brom’s cheekbones, the crease between his eyebrows, the way his upper lip curved; all those Eragon recognized. He had not inherited Brom’s hooked nose, however. His nose he had gotten from his mother.