Brisingr
Page 155
“Thank you, my Lady.”
“Our best healers will attend to him, but Martland will still need time to recover from his injury. Even once he does, he cannot lead raids such as these with only one hand. From now on, he will have to serve the Varden from the back of the army, not the front. I think, perhaps, that I shall promote him and make him one of my battle advisers. Jörmundur, what think you of that idea?”
“I think it an excellent idea, my Lady.”
Nasuada nodded, appearing satisfied. “This means, however, that I must find another captain for you to serve under, Roran.”
Then Roran said, “My Lady, what of my own command? Have I not proven myself to your satisfaction with these two raids, as well as with my past accomplishments?”
“If you continue to distinguish yourself as you have, Strong hammer, you will win your command soon enough. However, you must be patient and abide awhile longer. Two missions alone, however impressive, may not reveal the full scope of a man’s character. I am a cautious person when it comes to entrusting my people to others, Stronghammer. In this, you must humor me.”
Roran gripped the head of the hammer stuck through his belt, veins and tendons standing out on his hand, but his tone remained polite. “Of course, Lady Nasuada.”
“Very good. A page will bring you your new assignment later today. Oh, and see to it that you have a large meal once you and Katrina finish celebrating your reunion. That’s an order, Strong hammer. You look as if you’re about to fall over.”
“My Lady.”
As Roran started to leave, Nasuada raised a hand and said, “Roran.” He paused. “Now that you have fought these men who feel no pain, do you believe that having similar protection from the agonies of the flesh would make it easier to defeat them?”
Roran hesitated, then shook his head. “Their strength is their weakness. They do not shield themselves as they would if they feared the bite of a sword or the stab of an arrow, and thus they are careless with their lives. It is true they can continue fighting long past when an ordinary man would have dropped dead, and that is no small advantage in battle, but they also die in greater numbers, because they do not protect their bodies as they ought. In their numb confidence, they will walk into traps and peril we would go to great lengths to avoid. As long as the Varden’s spirits remain high, I believe that with the right tactics we can prevail against these laughing monsters. If we were like them, though, we would hack each other into oblivion, and neither of us would care, since we would have no thought for self-preservation. Those are my thoughts.”
“Thank you, Roran.”
When Roran had gone, Saphira said, Nothing yet from Eragon?
Nasuada shook her head. “No, nothing yet from him, and his silence is beginning to concern me. If he has not contacted us by the day after tomorrow, I will have Arya send a message to one of Orik’s spellcasters demanding a report from him. If Eragon is unable to hasten the end of the dwarves’ clanmeet, then I fear we will no longer be able to count on the dwarves as allies during the battles to come. The only good of such a disastrous outcome would be that Eragon could return to us without further delay.”
When Saphira was ready to leave the red-chrysalis-tent, Blödhgarm again summoned up the apparition of Eragon and placed it on Saphira’s back. Then Saphira withdrew her head from the confines of the tent and, as she had before, bounded through the camp, the lithe elves keeping step with her the entire way.
Once she reached Eragon’s tent and the colored-shadow-Eragon disappeared inside it, Saphira lowered herself to the ground and resigned herself to waiting out the remainder of the day in unrelieved monotony. Before she resumed her reluctant nap, however, she extended her mind toward Roran and Katrina’s tent and pressed against Roran’s mind until he lowered the barriers around his consciousness.
Saphira? he asked.
Do you know another such as me?
Of course not. You just surprised me. I am . . . ah, somewhat occupied at the moment.
She studied the color of his emotions, as well as those of Katrina, and was amused by her findings. I only wished to welcome you back. I am glad you were not injured.
Roran’s thoughts flashed quick-hot-muddled-cold, and he seemed to have difficulty forming a coherent answer. Eventually, he said, That’s very kind of you, Saphira.
If you can, come visit me tomorrow, when we may speak at greater length. I grow restless sitting here day after day. Perhaps you could tell me more about how Eragon was before I hatched for him.
It . . . it would be my honor.
Satisfied she had fulfilled the demands of round-ears-two-legs courtesy by welcoming Roran, and heartened by the knowledge that the following day would not be as boring—for it was unthinkable anyone would dare ignore her request for an audience—Saphira made herself as comfortable as she could on the bare earth, wishing as she often did for the soft nest that was hers in Eragon’s wind-rocked-tree-house in Ellesméra. A puff of smoke escaped her as she sighed and fell asleep and dreamed that she flew higher than she ever had before.
She flapped and she flapped until she rose above the unreachable peaks of the Beor Mountains. There she circled for a time, gazing down at the whole of Alagaësia laid out before her. Then an uncontrollable desire entered her to climb even higher and see what she might, and so she began flapping again, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye, she soared past the glaring moon, until only she and the silver stars hung in the black sky. She drifted among the heavens for an indeterminate period, queen of the bright, jewel-like world below, but then disquiet entered her soul, and she cried out with her thoughts:
“Our best healers will attend to him, but Martland will still need time to recover from his injury. Even once he does, he cannot lead raids such as these with only one hand. From now on, he will have to serve the Varden from the back of the army, not the front. I think, perhaps, that I shall promote him and make him one of my battle advisers. Jörmundur, what think you of that idea?”
“I think it an excellent idea, my Lady.”
Nasuada nodded, appearing satisfied. “This means, however, that I must find another captain for you to serve under, Roran.”
Then Roran said, “My Lady, what of my own command? Have I not proven myself to your satisfaction with these two raids, as well as with my past accomplishments?”
“If you continue to distinguish yourself as you have, Strong hammer, you will win your command soon enough. However, you must be patient and abide awhile longer. Two missions alone, however impressive, may not reveal the full scope of a man’s character. I am a cautious person when it comes to entrusting my people to others, Stronghammer. In this, you must humor me.”
Roran gripped the head of the hammer stuck through his belt, veins and tendons standing out on his hand, but his tone remained polite. “Of course, Lady Nasuada.”
“Very good. A page will bring you your new assignment later today. Oh, and see to it that you have a large meal once you and Katrina finish celebrating your reunion. That’s an order, Strong hammer. You look as if you’re about to fall over.”
“My Lady.”
As Roran started to leave, Nasuada raised a hand and said, “Roran.” He paused. “Now that you have fought these men who feel no pain, do you believe that having similar protection from the agonies of the flesh would make it easier to defeat them?”
Roran hesitated, then shook his head. “Their strength is their weakness. They do not shield themselves as they would if they feared the bite of a sword or the stab of an arrow, and thus they are careless with their lives. It is true they can continue fighting long past when an ordinary man would have dropped dead, and that is no small advantage in battle, but they also die in greater numbers, because they do not protect their bodies as they ought. In their numb confidence, they will walk into traps and peril we would go to great lengths to avoid. As long as the Varden’s spirits remain high, I believe that with the right tactics we can prevail against these laughing monsters. If we were like them, though, we would hack each other into oblivion, and neither of us would care, since we would have no thought for self-preservation. Those are my thoughts.”
“Thank you, Roran.”
When Roran had gone, Saphira said, Nothing yet from Eragon?
Nasuada shook her head. “No, nothing yet from him, and his silence is beginning to concern me. If he has not contacted us by the day after tomorrow, I will have Arya send a message to one of Orik’s spellcasters demanding a report from him. If Eragon is unable to hasten the end of the dwarves’ clanmeet, then I fear we will no longer be able to count on the dwarves as allies during the battles to come. The only good of such a disastrous outcome would be that Eragon could return to us without further delay.”
When Saphira was ready to leave the red-chrysalis-tent, Blödhgarm again summoned up the apparition of Eragon and placed it on Saphira’s back. Then Saphira withdrew her head from the confines of the tent and, as she had before, bounded through the camp, the lithe elves keeping step with her the entire way.
Once she reached Eragon’s tent and the colored-shadow-Eragon disappeared inside it, Saphira lowered herself to the ground and resigned herself to waiting out the remainder of the day in unrelieved monotony. Before she resumed her reluctant nap, however, she extended her mind toward Roran and Katrina’s tent and pressed against Roran’s mind until he lowered the barriers around his consciousness.
Saphira? he asked.
Do you know another such as me?
Of course not. You just surprised me. I am . . . ah, somewhat occupied at the moment.
She studied the color of his emotions, as well as those of Katrina, and was amused by her findings. I only wished to welcome you back. I am glad you were not injured.
Roran’s thoughts flashed quick-hot-muddled-cold, and he seemed to have difficulty forming a coherent answer. Eventually, he said, That’s very kind of you, Saphira.
If you can, come visit me tomorrow, when we may speak at greater length. I grow restless sitting here day after day. Perhaps you could tell me more about how Eragon was before I hatched for him.
It . . . it would be my honor.
Satisfied she had fulfilled the demands of round-ears-two-legs courtesy by welcoming Roran, and heartened by the knowledge that the following day would not be as boring—for it was unthinkable anyone would dare ignore her request for an audience—Saphira made herself as comfortable as she could on the bare earth, wishing as she often did for the soft nest that was hers in Eragon’s wind-rocked-tree-house in Ellesméra. A puff of smoke escaped her as she sighed and fell asleep and dreamed that she flew higher than she ever had before.
She flapped and she flapped until she rose above the unreachable peaks of the Beor Mountains. There she circled for a time, gazing down at the whole of Alagaësia laid out before her. Then an uncontrollable desire entered her to climb even higher and see what she might, and so she began flapping again, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye, she soared past the glaring moon, until only she and the silver stars hung in the black sky. She drifted among the heavens for an indeterminate period, queen of the bright, jewel-like world below, but then disquiet entered her soul, and she cried out with her thoughts:
