Brisingr
Page 126
Eragon hurried toward the fires beyond the plank tables, Saphira beside him. The many hundreds of men who were busy tending the fires, carving meat, cracking eggs, kneading dough, stirring cast-iron kettles full of mysterious liquids, scrubbing clean enormous piles of dirty pots and pans, and who were otherwise engaged in the enormous and never-ending task of preparing food for the Varden did not pause to gawk at Eragon and Saphira. For what importance was a dragon and Rider compared with the merciless demands of the ravenous many-mouthed creature whose hunger they were striving to sate?
A stout man with a close-cropped beard of white and black, who was almost short enough to pass for a dwarf trotted over to Eragon and Saphira and gave a curt bow. “I’m Quoth Merrinsson. How can I help you? If you want, Shadeslayer, we have some bread that just finished baking.” He gestured toward a double row of sourdough loaves resting on a platter on a nearby table.
“I might have half a loaf, if you can spare it,” said Eragon. “However, my hunger isn’t the reason for our visit. Saphira would like something to eat, and we haven’t time for her to hunt as she usually does.”
Quoth looked past him and eyed Saphira’s bulk, and his face grew pale. “How much does she normally . . . Ah, that is, how much do you normally eat, Saphira? I can have six sides of roast beef brought over immediately, and another six will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Will that be enough, or . . . ?” The knob in his throat jumped as he swallowed.
Saphira emitted a soft, rippling growl, which caused Quoth to squeak and hop backward. “She would prefer a live animal, if that’s convenient,” Eragon said.
In a high-pitched voice, Quoth said, “Convenient? Oh yes, it’s convenient.” He bobbed his head, twisting at his apron with his grease-stained hands. “Most convenient indeed, Shadeslayer, Dragon Saphira. King Orrin’s table will not be lacking this afternoon, then, oh no.”
And a barrel of mead, Saphira said to Eragon.
White circles appeared around Quoth’s irises as Eragon repeated her request. “I—I am afraid that the dwarves have purchased most of our stocks of m-m-mead. We have only a few barrels left, and those are reserved for King—” Quoth flinched as a four-foot-long flame leaped out of Saphira’s nostrils and singed the grass in front of him. Snarled lines of smoke drifted up from the blackened stalks. “I—I—I will have a barrel brought to you at once. If you will f-follow me, I will take y-you to the livestock, where you may have whatever beast you like.”
Skirting the fires and tables and groups of harried men, the cook led them to a collection of large wooden pens, which contained pigs, cattle, geese, goats, sheep, rabbits, and a number of wild deer the Varden’s foragers had captured during their forays into the surrounding wilderness. Close to the pens were coops full of chickens, ducks, doves, quail, grouse, and other birds. Their squawking, chirping, cooing, and crowing formed a cacophony so harsh, it made Eragon grit his teeth with annoyance. In order to avoid being overwhelmed by the thoughts and feelings of so many creatures, he was careful to keep his mind closed to all but Saphira.
The three of them stopped over a hundred feet from the pens so Saphira’s presence would not panic the imprisoned animals. “Is there any here catches your fancy?” Quoth asked, gazing up at her and rubbing his hands with nervous dexterity.
As she surveyed the pens, Saphira sniffed and said to Eragon, What pitiful prey. . . . I’m not really that hungry, you know. I went hunting only the day before yesterday, and I’m still digesting the bones of the deer I ate.
You’re still growing quickly. The food will do you good.
Not if I can’t stomach it.
Pick something small, then. A pig, maybe.
That would hardly be of any help to you. No . . . I’ll take that one.From Saphira, Eragon received the image of a cow of medium stature with a splattering of white splotches on her left flank.
After Eragon pointed out the cow, Quoth shouted at a line of men idling by the pens. Two of them separated the cow from the rest of the herd, slipped a rope over its head, and pulled the reluctant animal toward Saphira. Thirty feet from Saphira, the cow balked and lowed with terror and tried to shake free of the rope and flee. Before the animal could escape, Saphira pounced, leaping across the distance separating them. The two men who were pulling on the rope threw themselves flat as Saphira rushed toward them, her jaws gaping.
Saphira struck the cow broadside as it turned to run, knocking the animal over and holding it in place with her splayed feet. It uttered a single, terrified bleat before Saphira’s jaws closed over its neck. With a ferocious shake of her head, she snapped its spine. She paused then, crouched low over her kill, and looked expectantly at Eragon.
Closing his eyes, Eragon reached out with his mind toward the cow. The animal’s consciousness had already faded into darkness, but its body was still alive, its flesh thrumming with motive energy, which was all the more intense for the fear that had coursed through it moments before. Repugnance for what he was about to do filled Eragon, but he ignored it and, placing a hand over the belt of Beloth the Wise, transferred what energy he could from the body of the cow into the twelve diamonds hidden around his waist. The process took only a few seconds.
He nodded to Saphira. I’m done.
Eragon thanked the men for their assistance, and then the two of them left him and Saphira alone.
While Saphira gorged herself, Eragon sat against the barrel of mead and watched the cooks go about their business. Every time they or one of their assistants beheaded a chicken or cut the throat of a pig or a goat or any other animal, he transferred the energy from the dying animal into the belt of Beloth the Wise. It was grim work, for most of the animals were still aware when he touched their consciousness and the howling storm of their fear and confusion and pain battered at him until his heart pounded and sweat beaded his brow and he wished nothing more than to heal the suffering creatures. However, he knew it was their doom to die, lest the Varden should starve. He had depleted his reserve of energy during the past few battles, and Eragon wanted to replenish it before setting out on a long and potentially hazardous journey. If Nasuada had allowed him to remain with the Varden for another week, he could have stocked the diamonds with energy from his own body and still had time to recuperate before running to Farthen Dûr, but he could not in the few hours he had. And even if he had done nothing but lie in bed and pour the fire from his limbs into the gems, he would not have been able to garner as much force as he did then from the multitude of animals.
A stout man with a close-cropped beard of white and black, who was almost short enough to pass for a dwarf trotted over to Eragon and Saphira and gave a curt bow. “I’m Quoth Merrinsson. How can I help you? If you want, Shadeslayer, we have some bread that just finished baking.” He gestured toward a double row of sourdough loaves resting on a platter on a nearby table.
“I might have half a loaf, if you can spare it,” said Eragon. “However, my hunger isn’t the reason for our visit. Saphira would like something to eat, and we haven’t time for her to hunt as she usually does.”
Quoth looked past him and eyed Saphira’s bulk, and his face grew pale. “How much does she normally . . . Ah, that is, how much do you normally eat, Saphira? I can have six sides of roast beef brought over immediately, and another six will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Will that be enough, or . . . ?” The knob in his throat jumped as he swallowed.
Saphira emitted a soft, rippling growl, which caused Quoth to squeak and hop backward. “She would prefer a live animal, if that’s convenient,” Eragon said.
In a high-pitched voice, Quoth said, “Convenient? Oh yes, it’s convenient.” He bobbed his head, twisting at his apron with his grease-stained hands. “Most convenient indeed, Shadeslayer, Dragon Saphira. King Orrin’s table will not be lacking this afternoon, then, oh no.”
And a barrel of mead, Saphira said to Eragon.
White circles appeared around Quoth’s irises as Eragon repeated her request. “I—I am afraid that the dwarves have purchased most of our stocks of m-m-mead. We have only a few barrels left, and those are reserved for King—” Quoth flinched as a four-foot-long flame leaped out of Saphira’s nostrils and singed the grass in front of him. Snarled lines of smoke drifted up from the blackened stalks. “I—I—I will have a barrel brought to you at once. If you will f-follow me, I will take y-you to the livestock, where you may have whatever beast you like.”
Skirting the fires and tables and groups of harried men, the cook led them to a collection of large wooden pens, which contained pigs, cattle, geese, goats, sheep, rabbits, and a number of wild deer the Varden’s foragers had captured during their forays into the surrounding wilderness. Close to the pens were coops full of chickens, ducks, doves, quail, grouse, and other birds. Their squawking, chirping, cooing, and crowing formed a cacophony so harsh, it made Eragon grit his teeth with annoyance. In order to avoid being overwhelmed by the thoughts and feelings of so many creatures, he was careful to keep his mind closed to all but Saphira.
The three of them stopped over a hundred feet from the pens so Saphira’s presence would not panic the imprisoned animals. “Is there any here catches your fancy?” Quoth asked, gazing up at her and rubbing his hands with nervous dexterity.
As she surveyed the pens, Saphira sniffed and said to Eragon, What pitiful prey. . . . I’m not really that hungry, you know. I went hunting only the day before yesterday, and I’m still digesting the bones of the deer I ate.
You’re still growing quickly. The food will do you good.
Not if I can’t stomach it.
Pick something small, then. A pig, maybe.
That would hardly be of any help to you. No . . . I’ll take that one.From Saphira, Eragon received the image of a cow of medium stature with a splattering of white splotches on her left flank.
After Eragon pointed out the cow, Quoth shouted at a line of men idling by the pens. Two of them separated the cow from the rest of the herd, slipped a rope over its head, and pulled the reluctant animal toward Saphira. Thirty feet from Saphira, the cow balked and lowed with terror and tried to shake free of the rope and flee. Before the animal could escape, Saphira pounced, leaping across the distance separating them. The two men who were pulling on the rope threw themselves flat as Saphira rushed toward them, her jaws gaping.
Saphira struck the cow broadside as it turned to run, knocking the animal over and holding it in place with her splayed feet. It uttered a single, terrified bleat before Saphira’s jaws closed over its neck. With a ferocious shake of her head, she snapped its spine. She paused then, crouched low over her kill, and looked expectantly at Eragon.
Closing his eyes, Eragon reached out with his mind toward the cow. The animal’s consciousness had already faded into darkness, but its body was still alive, its flesh thrumming with motive energy, which was all the more intense for the fear that had coursed through it moments before. Repugnance for what he was about to do filled Eragon, but he ignored it and, placing a hand over the belt of Beloth the Wise, transferred what energy he could from the body of the cow into the twelve diamonds hidden around his waist. The process took only a few seconds.
He nodded to Saphira. I’m done.
Eragon thanked the men for their assistance, and then the two of them left him and Saphira alone.
While Saphira gorged herself, Eragon sat against the barrel of mead and watched the cooks go about their business. Every time they or one of their assistants beheaded a chicken or cut the throat of a pig or a goat or any other animal, he transferred the energy from the dying animal into the belt of Beloth the Wise. It was grim work, for most of the animals were still aware when he touched their consciousness and the howling storm of their fear and confusion and pain battered at him until his heart pounded and sweat beaded his brow and he wished nothing more than to heal the suffering creatures. However, he knew it was their doom to die, lest the Varden should starve. He had depleted his reserve of energy during the past few battles, and Eragon wanted to replenish it before setting out on a long and potentially hazardous journey. If Nasuada had allowed him to remain with the Varden for another week, he could have stocked the diamonds with energy from his own body and still had time to recuperate before running to Farthen Dûr, but he could not in the few hours he had. And even if he had done nothing but lie in bed and pour the fire from his limbs into the gems, he would not have been able to garner as much force as he did then from the multitude of animals.
