Throwing back the hood of her cloak, Angela flashed them a bright smile. “A welcoming committee! How thoughtful of you.” As she spoke, the werecat shivered along his length, fur rippling. Then his outline blurred as if seen through cloudy water, resolving once more into the nude figure of a shaggy-haired boy. Angela dipped her hand into a leather purse at her belt and passed a child’s tunic and breeches back to Solembum, along with the small black dagger he fought with.
“What were you doing out there?” asked Orik, peering at them with a suspicious gaze.
“Oh, this and that.”
“I think you better tell us,” said Eragon.
Her face hardened. “Is that so? Don’t you trust Solembum and me?” The werecat bared his pointed teeth.
“Not really,” admitted Eragon, but with a small smile.
“That’s good,” said Angela. She patted him on the cheek. “You’ll live longer. If you must know, then, I was doing my best to help defeat the Empire, only my methods don’t involve yelling and running around with a sword.”
“And what exactly are your methods?” growled Orik.
Angela paused to roll up her cloak into a tight bundle, which she stored in her purse. “I’d rather not say; I want it to be a surprise. You won’t have to wait long to find out. It’ll start in a few hours.”
Orik tugged on his beard. “What will start? If you can’t give us a straight answer, we’ll have to take you to Nasuada. Maybe she can wring some sense out of you.”
“It’s no use dragging me off to Nasuada,” said Angela. “She gave me permission to cross lines.”
“So you say,” challenged Orik, ever more belligerent.
“And so I say,” announced Nasuada, walking up to them from behind, as Eragon knew she would. He also sensed that she was accompanied by four Kull, one of whom was Garzhvog. Scowling, he turned to face them, making no attempt to hide his anger at the Urgals’ presence.
“My Lady,” muttered Eragon.
Orik was not as composed; he jumped back with a mighty oath, grasping his war ax. He quickly realized that they were not under attack and gave Nasuada a terse greeting. But his hand never left the haft of his weapon and his eyes never left the hulking Urgals. Angela seemed to have no such inhibitions. She paid Nasuada the respect due to her, then addressed the Urgals in their own harsh language, to which they answered with evident delight.
Nasuada drew Eragon off to the side so they could have a measure of privacy. There, she said, “I need you to put aside your feelings for a moment and judge what I am about to tell you with logic and reason. Can you do that?” He nodded, stiff-faced. “Good. I’m doing everything I can to ensure we don’t lose tomorrow. It doesn’t matter, though, how well we fight, or how well I lead the Varden, or even if we rout the Empire if you, ” she poked him in the chest, “are killed. Do you understand?” He nodded again. “There’s nothing I can do to protect you if Galbatorix reveals himself; if he does, you will face him alone. Du Vrangr Gata poses no more of a threat to him than they do to you, and I’ll not have them eradicated without reason.”
“I have always known,” said Eragon, “that I would face Galbatorix alone but for Saphira.”
A sad smile touched Nasuada’s lips. She looked very tired in the flickering torchlight. “Well, there’s no reason to invent trouble where none exists. It’s possible Galbatorix isn’t even here.” She did not seem to believe her own words, though. “In any case, I can at least keep you from dying from a sword in the gut. I heard what the dwarves intend to do, and I thought I could improve upon the concept. I asked Garzhvog and three of his rams to be your guards, so long as they agreed — which they have — to let you examine their minds for treachery.”
Eragon went rigid. “You can’t expect me to fight with those monsters. Besides, I already accepted the dwarves’ offer to defend Saphira and me. They would take it poorly if I rejected them in favor of Urgals.”
“Then they can both guard you,” retorted Nasuada. She searched his face for a long time, looking for what he could not tell. “Oh, Eragon. I’d hoped you could see past your hate. What else would you do in my position?” She sighed when he remained silent. “If anyone has cause to hold a grudge against the Urgals, it is I. They killed my father. Yet I cannot allow that to interfere with deciding what’s best for the Varden... At least ask Saphira’s opinion before you say yea or nay. I can order you to accept the Urgals’ protection, but I would rather not.”
You’re being foolish, observed Saphira without prompting.
Foolish to not want Kull watching my back?
No, foolish to refuse help, no matter where it comes from, in our present situation. Think. You know what Oromis would do, and you know what he would say. Don’t you trust his judgment?
He can’t be right about everything, said Eragon.
That’s no argument... Search yourself, Eragon, and tell me whether I speak the truth. You know the correct path. I would be disappointed if you could not bring yourself to embrace it.
Saphira and Nasuada’s cajoling only made Eragon more reluctant to agree. Still, he knew he had no choice. “All right, I’ll let them guard me, but only if I find nothing suspicious in their minds. Will you promise that, after this battle, you won’t make me work with an Urgal again?”
Nasuada shook her head. “I can’t do that, not when it might hurt the Varden.” She paused and said, “Oh, and Eragon?”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“In the event of my death, I have chosen you as my successor. If that should happen, I suggest you rely upon Jörmundur’s advice — he has more experience than the other members of the Council of Elders — and I would expect you to place the welfare of those underneath you before all else. Am I clear, Eragon?”
Her announcement caught him by surprise. Nothing meant more to her than the Varden. Offering it to him was the greatest act of trust she could make. Her confidence humbled and touched him; he bowed his head. “I would strive to be as good a leader as you and Ajihad have been. You honor me, Nasuada.”
“Yes, I do.” Turning away from him, she rejoined the others.
Still overwhelmed by Nasuada’s revelation, and finding his anger tempered by it, Eragon slowly walked back to Saphira. He studied Garzhvog and the other Urgals, trying to gauge their mood, but their features were so different from those he was accustomed to, he could discern nothing more than the broadest of emotions. Nor could he find any empathy within himself for the Urgals. To him, they were feral beasts that would kill him as soon as not and were incapable of love, kindness, or even true intelligence. In short, they were lesser beings.
Deep within his mind, Saphira whispered, I’m sure Galbatorix is of the same opinion.
And for good reason, he growled, intending to shock her. Suppressing his revulsion, he said out loud, “Nar Garzhvog, I am told that the four of you agreed to allow me within your minds.”
“That is so, Firesword. Lady Nightstalker told us what was required. We are honored to have the chance to battle alongside such a mighty warrior, and one who has done so much for us.”
“What do you mean? I have killed scores of your kin.” Unbidden, excerpts from one of Oromis’s scrolls rose in Eragon’s memory. He remembered reading that Urgals, both male and female, determined their rank in society through combat, and that it was this practice, above all else, that had led to so many conflicts between Urgals and other races. Which meant, he realized, that if they admired his feats in battle, then they may have accorded him the same status as one of their war chiefs.