Roran looked at the ballistae, but they could not turn far enough to aim at the Ra’zac or its mount. “Does anyone have a bow?”
“I do,” said Baldor. He dropped to one knee and began to string his weapon. “Don’t let them see me.” Everyone on the quarterdeck gathered in a tight circle around Baldor, shielding him with their bodies from the Ra’zac’s malevolent gaze.
“Why don’t they attack?” growled Horst.
Puzzled, Roran searched for an explanation but found none. It was Jeod who suggested, “Perhaps it’s too bright for them. The Ra’zac hunt at night, and so far as I know they do not willingly venture forth from their lairs while the sun is yet in the sky.”
“It’s not just that,” said Gertrude slowly. “I think they’re afraid of the ocean.”
“Afraid of the ocean?” scoffed Horst.
“Watch them; they don’t fly more than a yard over the water at any given time.”
“She’s right,” said Roran. At last, a weakness I can use against them!
A few seconds later, Baldor said, “Ready!”
At his word, the ranks of people who stood before him jumped aside, clearing the path for his arrow. Baldor sprang to his feet and, in a single motion, pulled the feather to his cheek and loosed the reed shaft.
It was a heroic shot. The Ra’zac was at the extreme edge of a longbow’s range — far beyond any mark Roran had seen an archer hit — and yet Baldor’s aim was true. His arrow struck the flying creature on the right flank, and the beast gave a scream of pain so great that the glass on the deck was shattered and the stones on the shore were riven in shards. Roran clapped his hands over his ears to protect them from the hideous blast. Still screaming, the monster veered inland and dropped behind a line of misty hills.
“Did you kill it?” asked Jeod, his face pale.
“I fear not,” replied Baldor. “It was naught but a flesh wound.”
Loring, who had just arrived, observed with satisfaction, “Aye. But at least you hurt him, and I’d wager they’ll think twice about bothering us again.”
Gloom settled over Roran. “Save your triumph for later, Loring. This was no victory.”
“Why not?” demanded Horst.
“Because now the Empire knows exactly where we are.” The quarterdeck fell silent as they grasped the implications of what he had said.
CHILD’S PLAY
“And this,” said Trianna, “is the latest pattern we’ve invented.”
Nasuada took the black veil from the sorceress and ran it through her hands, marveling at its quality. No human could throw lace that fine. She gazed with satisfaction at the rows of boxes on her desk, which contained samples of the many designs Du Vrangr Gata now produced. “You’ve done well,” she said. “Far better than I had hoped. Tell your spellcasters how pleased I am with their work. It means much to the Varden.”
Trianna inclined her head at the praise. “I will convey your message to them, Lady Nasuada.”
“Have they yet—”
A disturbance at the doors to her quarters interrupted Nasuada. She heard her guards swear and raise their voices, then a yelp of pain. The sound of metal clashing on metal rang in the hallway. Nasuada backed away from the door in alarm, drawing her dagger from its sheath.
“Run, Lady!” said Trianna. The sorceress placed herself in front of Nasuada and pushed back her sleeves, baring her white arms in preparation to work magic. “Take the servants’ entrance.”
Before Nasuada could move, the doors burst open and a small figure tackled her legs, knocking her to the floor. Even as Nasuada fell, a silvery object flashed through the space she had just occupied, burying itself in the far wall with a dull thud.
Then the four guards entered, and all was confusion as Nasuada felt them drag her assailant off her. When Nasuada managed to stand, she saw Elva hanging in their grip.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Nasuada.
The black-haired girl smiled, then doubled over and retched on the braided rug. Afterward, she fixed her violet eyes on Nasuada and — in her terrible, knowing voice — she said, “Have your magician examine the wall, O Daughter of Ajihad, and see if I have not fulfilled my promise to you.”
Nasuada nodded to Trianna, who glided to the splintered hole in the wall and muttered a spell. She returned holding a metal dart. “This was buried in the wood.”
“But where did it come from?” asked Nasuada, bewildered.
Trianna gestured toward the open window overlooking the city of Aberon. “Somewhere out there, I guess.”
Nasuada returned her attention to the waiting child. “What do you know about this, Elva?”
The girl’s horrible smile widened. “It was an assassin.”
“Who sent him?”
“An assassin trained by Galbatorix himself in the dark uses of magic.” Her burning eyes grew half-lidded, as if she were in a trance. “The man hates you. He’s coming for you. He would have killed you if I hadn’t stopped him.” She lurched forward and retched again, spewing half-digested food across the floor. Nasuada gagged with revulsion. “And he’s about to suffer great pain.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I will tell you he stays in the hostel on Fane Street, in the last room, on the top floor. You had better hurry, or he’ll get away... away.” She groaned like a wounded beast and clutched her belly. “Hurry, before Eragon’s spell forces me to stop you from hurting him. You’ll be sorry, then!”
Trianna was already moving as Nasuada said, “Tell Jörmundur what’s happened, then take your strongest magicians and hunt down this man. Capture him if you can. Kill him if you can’t.” After the sorceress left, Nasuada looked at her men and saw that their legs were bleeding from numerous small cuts. She realized what it must have cost Elva to hurt them. “Go,” she told them. “Find a healer who can mend your injuries.”
The warriors shook their heads, and their captain said, “No, Ma’am. We will stay by your side until we know it’s safe again.”
“As you see fit, Captain.”
The men barricaded the windows — which worsened the already sweltering heat that plagued Borromeo Castle — then everyone retreated to her inner chambers for further protection.
Nasuada paced, her heart pounding with delayed shock as she contemplated how close she had come to being killed. What would become of the Varden if I died? she wondered. Who would succeed me? Dismay gripped her; she had made no arrangements for the Varden in the event of her own demise, an oversight that now seemed a monumental failing. I won’t allow the Varden to be thrown into chaos because I failed to take precautions!
She halted. “I am in your debt, Elva.”
“Now and forever.”
Nasuada faltered, disconcerted as she often was by the girl’s responses, then continued: “I apologize for not ordering my guards to let you pass, night or day. I should have anticipated an event like this.”
“You should have,” agreed Elva in a mocking tone.
Smoothing the front of her dress, Nasuada resumed pacing, as much to escape the sight of Elva’s stone-white, dragon-marked face as to disperse her own nervous energy. “How did you escape your rooms unaccompanied?”
“I told my caretaker, Greta, what she wanted to hear.”
“That’s all?”
Elva blinked. “It made her very happy.”
“And what of Angela?”
“She left on an errand this morning.”
“Well, be as that may, you have my gratitude for saving my life. Ask me any boon you want and I shall grant it if it’s within my power.”
Elva glanced around the ornate bedroom, then said, “Do you have any food? I’m hungry.”