Eldest
Page 87
“Thatwas your reason?” spat Orik. “Those are the words of a coward! The eggs might have never hatched.”
Everyone went deathly quiet, except for a faint growl that emanated from between Glaedr’s teeth. “If you were not my guest here,” said Islanzadí, “I would strike you down myself for that insult.”
Oromis spread his hands. “Nay, I am not offended. It is an apt reaction. Understand, Orik, that Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability, and I,” he touched the side of his head, “I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest of spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against you. So I removed myself from Galbatorix’s influence for the good of the many, even though I yearned to openly oppose him.”
“The Cripple Who Is Whole,” murmured Eragon.
“Forgive me,” said Orik. He appeared stricken.
“It is of no consequence.” Oromis placed a hand on Eragon’s shoulder. “Islanzadí Dröttning, by your leave?”
“Go,” she said wearily. “Go and be done with you.”
Glaedr crouched low to the ground, and Oromis nimbly climbed up his leg and into the saddle on his back. “Come, Eragon and Saphira. We have much to talk about.” The gold dragon leaped off the cliff and circled overhead, rising on an updraft.
Eragon and Orik solemnly clasped arms. “Bring honor to your clan,” said the dwarf.
As Eragon mounted Saphira, he felt as if he were about to embark on a long journey and that he should say farewell to those who remained behind. Instead, he just looked at Arya and smiled, letting his wonder and joy show. She half frowned, appearing troubled, but then he was gone, swept into the sky by the eagerness of Saphira’s flight.
Together the two dragons followed the white cliff northward for several miles, accompanied only by the sound of their wings. Saphira flew abreast of Glaedr. Her enthusiasm boiled over into Eragon’s mind, heightening his own emotions.
They landed in another clearing situated on the edge of the cliff, just before the wall of exposed stone crumbled back into the earth. A bare path led from the precipice to the doorstep of a low hut grown between the trunks of four trees, one of which straddled a stream that emerged from the moody depths of the forest. Glaedr would not fit inside; the hut could have easily sat between his ribs.
“Welcome to my home,” said Oromis as he alighted on the ground with uncommon ease. “I live here, on the brink of the Crags of Tel’naeír, because it provides me the opportunity to think and study in peace. My mind works better away from Ellesméra and the distractions of other people.”
He disappeared inside the hut, then returned with two stools and flagons of clear, cold water for both himself and Eragon. Eragon sipped his drink and admired the spacious view of Du Weldenvarden in an attempt to conceal his awe and nervousness while he waited for the elf to speak.I’m in the presence of another Rider! Beside him, Saphira crouched with her eyes fixed on Glaedr, slowly kneading the dirt between her claws.
The gap in their conversation stretched longer and longer. Ten minutes passed . . . half an hour . . . then an hour. It reached the point where Eragon began to measure the elapsed time by the sun’s progress. At first his mind buzzed with questions and thoughts, but those eventually subsided into calm acceptance. He enjoyed just observing the day.
Only then did Oromis say, “You have learned the value of patience well. That is good.”
It took Eragon a moment to find his voice. “You can’t stalk a deer if you are in a hurry.”
Oromis lowered his flagon. “True enough. Let me see your hands. I find that they tell me much about a person.” Eragon removed his gloves and allowed the elf to grip his wrists with thin, dry fingers. He examined Eragon’s calluses, then said, “Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a scythe and plow more often than a sword, though you are accustomed to a bow.”
“Aye.”
“And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all.”
“Brom taught me my letters in Teirm.”
“Mmm. Beyond your choice of tools, it seems obvious that you tend to be reckless and disregard your own safety.”
“What makes you say that, Oromis-elda?” asked Eragon, using the most respectful and formal honorific that he could think of.
“Notelda, ” corrected Oromis. “You may call me master in this tongue and ebrithil in the ancient language, nothing else. You will extend the same courtesy to Glaedr. We are your teachers; you are our students; and you will act with proper respect and deference.” Oromis spoke gently, but with the authority of one who expects absolute obedience.
“Yes, Master Oromis.”
“As will you, Saphira.”
Eragon could sense how hard it was for Saphira to unbend her pride enough to say,Yes, Master.
Oromis nodded. “Now. Anyone with such a collection of scars has either been hopelessly unfortunate, fights like a berserker, or deliberately pursues danger. Do you fight like a berserker?”
“No.”
“Nor do you seem unfortunate; quite the opposite. That leaves only one explanation. Unless you think differently?”
Eragon cast his mind over his experiences at home and on the road, in an attempt to categorize his behavior. “I would say, rather, that once I dedicate myself to a certain project or path, I see it through, no matter the cost . . . especially if someone I love is in danger.” His gaze flicked toward Saphira.
Everyone went deathly quiet, except for a faint growl that emanated from between Glaedr’s teeth. “If you were not my guest here,” said Islanzadí, “I would strike you down myself for that insult.”
Oromis spread his hands. “Nay, I am not offended. It is an apt reaction. Understand, Orik, that Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability, and I,” he touched the side of his head, “I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest of spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against you. So I removed myself from Galbatorix’s influence for the good of the many, even though I yearned to openly oppose him.”
“The Cripple Who Is Whole,” murmured Eragon.
“Forgive me,” said Orik. He appeared stricken.
“It is of no consequence.” Oromis placed a hand on Eragon’s shoulder. “Islanzadí Dröttning, by your leave?”
“Go,” she said wearily. “Go and be done with you.”
Glaedr crouched low to the ground, and Oromis nimbly climbed up his leg and into the saddle on his back. “Come, Eragon and Saphira. We have much to talk about.” The gold dragon leaped off the cliff and circled overhead, rising on an updraft.
Eragon and Orik solemnly clasped arms. “Bring honor to your clan,” said the dwarf.
As Eragon mounted Saphira, he felt as if he were about to embark on a long journey and that he should say farewell to those who remained behind. Instead, he just looked at Arya and smiled, letting his wonder and joy show. She half frowned, appearing troubled, but then he was gone, swept into the sky by the eagerness of Saphira’s flight.
Together the two dragons followed the white cliff northward for several miles, accompanied only by the sound of their wings. Saphira flew abreast of Glaedr. Her enthusiasm boiled over into Eragon’s mind, heightening his own emotions.
They landed in another clearing situated on the edge of the cliff, just before the wall of exposed stone crumbled back into the earth. A bare path led from the precipice to the doorstep of a low hut grown between the trunks of four trees, one of which straddled a stream that emerged from the moody depths of the forest. Glaedr would not fit inside; the hut could have easily sat between his ribs.
“Welcome to my home,” said Oromis as he alighted on the ground with uncommon ease. “I live here, on the brink of the Crags of Tel’naeír, because it provides me the opportunity to think and study in peace. My mind works better away from Ellesméra and the distractions of other people.”
He disappeared inside the hut, then returned with two stools and flagons of clear, cold water for both himself and Eragon. Eragon sipped his drink and admired the spacious view of Du Weldenvarden in an attempt to conceal his awe and nervousness while he waited for the elf to speak.I’m in the presence of another Rider! Beside him, Saphira crouched with her eyes fixed on Glaedr, slowly kneading the dirt between her claws.
The gap in their conversation stretched longer and longer. Ten minutes passed . . . half an hour . . . then an hour. It reached the point where Eragon began to measure the elapsed time by the sun’s progress. At first his mind buzzed with questions and thoughts, but those eventually subsided into calm acceptance. He enjoyed just observing the day.
Only then did Oromis say, “You have learned the value of patience well. That is good.”
It took Eragon a moment to find his voice. “You can’t stalk a deer if you are in a hurry.”
Oromis lowered his flagon. “True enough. Let me see your hands. I find that they tell me much about a person.” Eragon removed his gloves and allowed the elf to grip his wrists with thin, dry fingers. He examined Eragon’s calluses, then said, “Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a scythe and plow more often than a sword, though you are accustomed to a bow.”
“Aye.”
“And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all.”
“Brom taught me my letters in Teirm.”
“Mmm. Beyond your choice of tools, it seems obvious that you tend to be reckless and disregard your own safety.”
“What makes you say that, Oromis-elda?” asked Eragon, using the most respectful and formal honorific that he could think of.
“Notelda, ” corrected Oromis. “You may call me master in this tongue and ebrithil in the ancient language, nothing else. You will extend the same courtesy to Glaedr. We are your teachers; you are our students; and you will act with proper respect and deference.” Oromis spoke gently, but with the authority of one who expects absolute obedience.
“Yes, Master Oromis.”
“As will you, Saphira.”
Eragon could sense how hard it was for Saphira to unbend her pride enough to say,Yes, Master.
Oromis nodded. “Now. Anyone with such a collection of scars has either been hopelessly unfortunate, fights like a berserker, or deliberately pursues danger. Do you fight like a berserker?”
“No.”
“Nor do you seem unfortunate; quite the opposite. That leaves only one explanation. Unless you think differently?”
Eragon cast his mind over his experiences at home and on the road, in an attempt to categorize his behavior. “I would say, rather, that once I dedicate myself to a certain project or path, I see it through, no matter the cost . . . especially if someone I love is in danger.” His gaze flicked toward Saphira.
