“Yes, sir.”
As he left the sentinels, Eragon knew that his kindness had earned him their undying loyalty, and that tidings of his deed would spread throughout the Varden.
The path Fredric took through the tents brought Eragon into close contact with more minds than he had ever touched before. Hundreds of thoughts, images, and sensations pressed against his consciousness. Despite his effort to keep them at a distance, he could not help absorbing random details of people’s lives. Some revelations he found shocking, some meaningless, others touching or, conversely, disgusting, and many embarrassing. A few people perceived the world so differently, their minds leaped out at him on account of that very difference.
How easy it is to view these men as nothing more than objects that I and a few others can manipulate at will. Yet they each possess hopes and dreams, potential for what they might achieve and memories of what they have already accomplished. And they all feel pain.
A handful of the minds he touched were aware of the contact and recoiled from it, hiding their inner life behind defenses of varying strength. At first Eragon was concerned — imagining that he had discovered a great many enemies who had infiltrated the Varden — but then he realized from his quick glimpse that they were the individual members of Du Vrangr Gata.
Saphira said, They must be scared out of their wits, thinking that they’re about to be assaulted by some strange magician.
I can’t convince them otherwise while they block me like this.
You should meet them in person, and soon too, before they decide to band together and attack.
Aye, although I don’t think they pose a threat to us... Du Vrangr Gata — their very name betrays their ignorance. Properly, in the ancient language, it should be Du Gata Vrangr.
Their trip ended near the back of the Varden, at a large red pavilion flying a pennant embroidered with a black shield and two parallel swords slanting underneath. Fredric pulled back the flap and Eragon and Orik entered the pavilion. Behind them, Saphira pushed her head through the opening and peered over their shoulders.
A broad table occupied the center of the furnished tent. Nasuada stood at one end, leaning on her hands, studying a slew of maps and scrolls. Eragon’s stomach clenched as he saw Arya opposite her. Both women were armored as men for battle.
Nasuada turned her almond-shaped face toward him. “Eragon?” she whispered.
He was unprepared for how glad he was to see her. With a broad grin, he twisted his hand over his sternum in the elves’ gesture of fealty and bowed. “At your service.”
“Eragon!” This time Nasuada sounded delighted and relieved. Arya, too, appeared pleased. “How did you get our message so quickly?”
“I didn’t; I learned about Galbatorix’s army from my scrying and left Ellesméra the same day.” He smiled at her again. “It’s good to be back with the Varden.”
While he spoke, Nasuada studied him with a wondering expression. “What has happened to you, Eragon?”
Arya must not have told her, said Saphira.
And so Eragon gave a full account of what had befallen Saphira and him since they left Nasuada in Farthen Dûr so long ago. Much of what he said, he sensed that she had already heard, either from the dwarves or from Arya, but she let him speak without interrupting. Eragon had to be circumspect about his training. He had given his word not to reveal Oromis’s existence without permission, and most of his lessons were not to be shared with outsiders, but he did his best to give Nasuada a good idea of his skills and their attendant risks. Of the Agaetí Blödhren, he merely said, “... and during the celebration, the dragons worked upon me the change you see, giving me the physical abilities of an elf and healing my back.”
“Your scar is gone, then?” asked Nasuada. He nodded. A few more sentences served to end his narrative, briefly mentioning the reason they had left Du Weldenvarden and then summarizing their journey thence. She shook her head. “What a tale. You and Saphira have experienced so much since you left Farthen Dûr.”
“As have you.” He gestured at the tent. “It’s amazing what you’ve accomplished. It must have taken an enormous amount of work to get the Varden to Surda... Has the Council of Elders caused you much trouble?”
“A bit, but nothing extraordinary. They seem to have resigned themselves to my leadership.” Her mail clinking together, Nasuada seated herself in a large, high-backed chair and turned to Orik, who had yet to speak. She welcomed him and asked if he had aught to add to Eragon’s tale. Orik shrugged and provided a few anecdotes from their stay in Ellesméra, though Eragon suspected that the dwarf kept his true observations a secret for his king.
When he finished, Nasuada said, “I am heartened to know that if we can weather this onslaught, we shall have the elves by our side. Did any of you happen to see Hrothgar’s warriors during your flight from Aberon? We are counting on their reinforcements.”
No, answered Saphira through Eragon. But then, it was dark and I was often above or between clouds. I could have easily missed a camp under those conditions. In any case, I doubt we would have crossed paths, for I flew straight from Aberon, and it seems likely the dwarves would choose a different route — perhaps following established roads — rather than march through the wilderness.
“What,” asked Eragon, “is the situation here?”
Nasuada sighed and then told of how she and Orrin had learned about Galbatorix’s army and the desperate measures they had resorted to since in order to reach the Burning Plains before the king’s soldiers. She finished by saying, “The Empire arrived three days ago. Since then, we’ve exchanged two messages. First they asked for our surrender, which we refused, and now we wait for their reply.”
“How many of them are there?” growled Orik. “It looked a mighty number from Saphira’s back.”
“Aye. We estimate Galbatorix mustered as many as a hundred thousand soldiers.”
Eragon could not contain himself: “A hundred thousand! Where did they come from? It seems impossible that he could find more than a handful of people willing to serve him.”
“They were conscripted. We can only hope that the men who were torn from their homes won’t be eager to fight. If we can frighten them badly enough, they may break ranks and flee. Our numbers are greater than in Farthen Dûr, for King Orrin has joined forces with us and we have received a veritable flood of volunteers since we began to spread the word about you, Eragon, although we are still far weaker than the Empire.”
Then Saphira asked, and Eragon was forced to repeat the dreadful question: What do you think our chances of victory are?
“That,” said Nasuada, putting emphasis on the word, “depends a great deal upon you and Eragon, and the number of magicians seeded throughout their troops. If you can find and destroy those magicians, then our enemies shall be left unprotected and you can slay them at will. Outright victory, I think, is unlikely at this point, but we might be able to hold them at bay until their supplies run low or until Islanzadí can come to our assistance. That is... if Galbatorix doesn’t fly into battle himself. In that case, I fear retreat will be our only option.”
Just then, Eragon felt a strange mind approaching, one that knew he was watching and yet did not shrink from the contact. One that felt cold and hard, calculating. Alert for danger, Eragon turned his gaze toward the rear of the pavilion, where he saw the same black-haired girl who had appeared when he scryed Nasuada from Ellesméra. The girl stared at him with violet eyes, then said, “Welcome, Shadeslayer. Welcome, Saphira.”