Eragon
Page 147
It was only with Saphira’s support that Eragon was able to hold his ground. In a break between two of the tasks, he asked her,Why do they continue this testing? Our abilities were clear enough from what they saw in my mind. She cocked her head thoughtfully.You know what? he said grimly as comprehension came to him.They’re using this as an opportunity to figure out what ancient words I know and perhaps learn new ones themselves.
Speak softly then, so that they cannot hear you, and use the simplest words possible.
From then on, Eragon used only a handful of basic words to complete the tasks. But finding ways to make them perform in the same manner as a long sentence or phrase stretched his ingenuity to the limit. He was rewarded by the frustration that contorted the Twins’ faces as he foiled them again and again. No matter what they tried, they could not get him to use any more words in the ancient language.
More than an hour passed, but the Twins showed no sign of stopping. Eragon was hot and thirsty, but refrained from asking for a reprieve—he would continue as long as they did. There were many tests: manipulating water, casting fire, scrying, juggling rocks, hardening leather, freezing items, controlling the flight of an arrow, and healing scratches. He wondered how long it would take for the Twins to run out of ideas.
Finally the Twins raised their hands and said, “There is only one thing left to do. It is simple enough—anycompetent user of magic should find this easy.” One of them removed a silver ring from his finger and smugly handed it to Eragon. “Summon the essence of silver.”
Eragon stared at the ring in confusion. What was he supposed to do? The essence of silver, what was that? And how was it to be summoned? Saphira had no idea, and the Twins were not going to help. He had never learned silver’s name in the ancient language, though he knew it had to be part ofargetlam. In desperation he combined the only word that might work,ethgrí, or “invoke,” witharget.
Drawing himself upright, he gathered together what power he had left and parted his lips to deliver the invocation. Suddenly a clear, vibrant voice split the air.
“Stop!”
The word rushed over Eragon like cool water—the voice was strangely familiar, like a half-remembered melody. The back of his neck tingled. He slowly turned toward its source.
A lone figure stood behind them: Arya. A leather strip encircled her brow, restraining her voluminous black hair, which tumbled behind her shoulders in a lustrous cascade. Her slender sword was at her hip, her bow on her back. Plain black leather clothed her shapely frame, poor raiment for one so fair. She was taller than most men, and her stance was perfectly balanced and relaxed. An unmarked face reflected none of the horrific abuse she had endured.
Arya’s blazing emerald eyes were fixed on the Twins, who had turned pale with fright. She approached on silent footsteps and said in soft, menacing tones, “Shame! Shame to ask of him what only a master can do. Shame that you should use such methods. Shame that you told Ajihad you didn’t know Eragon’s abilities. He is competent. Now leave!” Arya frowned dangerously, her slanted eyebrows meeting like lightning bolts in a sharp V, and pointed at the ring in Eragon’s hand. “Arget!” she exclaimed thunderously.
The silver shimmered, and a ghostly image of the ring materialized next to it. The two were identical except that the apparition seemed purer and glowed white-hot. At the sight of it, the Twins spun on their heels and fled, robes flapping wildly. The insubstantial ring vanished from Eragon’s hand, leaving the circlet of silver behind. Orik and Fredric were on their feet, eyeing Arya warily. Saphira crouched, ready for action.
The elf surveyed them all. Her angled eyes paused on Eragon. Then she turned and strode toward the heart of the training field. The warriors ceased their sparring and looked at her with wonder. Within a few moments the entire field fell silent in awe of her presence.
Eragon was inexorably dragged forward by his own fascination. Saphira spoke, but he was oblivious to her comments. A large circle formed around Arya. Looking only at Eragon, she proclaimed, “I claim the right of trial by arms. Draw your sword.”
She means to duel me!
But not, I think, to harm you,replied Saphira slowly. She nudged him with her nose.Go and acquit yourself well. I will watch.
Eragon reluctantly stepped forward. He did not want to do this when he was exhausted from magic use and when there were so many people watching. Besides, Arya could be in no shape for sparring. It had only been two days since she had received Túnivor’s Nectar.I will soften my blows so I don’t hurt her, he decided.
They faced each other across the circle of warriors. Arya drew her sword with her left hand. The weapon was thinner than Eragon’s, but just as long and sharp. He slid Zar’roc out of its polished sheath and held the red blade point-down by his side. For a long moment they stood motionless, elf and human watching each other. It flashed through Eragon’s mind that this was how many of his fights with Brom had started.
He moved forward cautiously. With a blur of motion Arya jumped at him, slashing at his ribs. Eragon reflexively parried the attack, and their swords met in a shower of sparks. Zar’roc was batted aside as if it were no more than a fly. The elf did not take advantage of the opening, however, but spun to her right, hair whipping through the air, and struck at his other side. He barely stopped the blow and backpedaled frantically, stunned by her ferocity and speed.
Belatedly, Eragon remembered Brom’s warning that even the weakest elf could easily overpower a human. He had about as much chance of defeating Arya as he did Durza. She attacked again, swinging at his head. He ducked under the razor-sharp edge. But then why was she . . .toying with him? For a few long seconds he was too busy warding her off to think about it, then he realized,She wants to know how proficient I am.
Speak softly then, so that they cannot hear you, and use the simplest words possible.
From then on, Eragon used only a handful of basic words to complete the tasks. But finding ways to make them perform in the same manner as a long sentence or phrase stretched his ingenuity to the limit. He was rewarded by the frustration that contorted the Twins’ faces as he foiled them again and again. No matter what they tried, they could not get him to use any more words in the ancient language.
More than an hour passed, but the Twins showed no sign of stopping. Eragon was hot and thirsty, but refrained from asking for a reprieve—he would continue as long as they did. There were many tests: manipulating water, casting fire, scrying, juggling rocks, hardening leather, freezing items, controlling the flight of an arrow, and healing scratches. He wondered how long it would take for the Twins to run out of ideas.
Finally the Twins raised their hands and said, “There is only one thing left to do. It is simple enough—anycompetent user of magic should find this easy.” One of them removed a silver ring from his finger and smugly handed it to Eragon. “Summon the essence of silver.”
Eragon stared at the ring in confusion. What was he supposed to do? The essence of silver, what was that? And how was it to be summoned? Saphira had no idea, and the Twins were not going to help. He had never learned silver’s name in the ancient language, though he knew it had to be part ofargetlam. In desperation he combined the only word that might work,ethgrí, or “invoke,” witharget.
Drawing himself upright, he gathered together what power he had left and parted his lips to deliver the invocation. Suddenly a clear, vibrant voice split the air.
“Stop!”
The word rushed over Eragon like cool water—the voice was strangely familiar, like a half-remembered melody. The back of his neck tingled. He slowly turned toward its source.
A lone figure stood behind them: Arya. A leather strip encircled her brow, restraining her voluminous black hair, which tumbled behind her shoulders in a lustrous cascade. Her slender sword was at her hip, her bow on her back. Plain black leather clothed her shapely frame, poor raiment for one so fair. She was taller than most men, and her stance was perfectly balanced and relaxed. An unmarked face reflected none of the horrific abuse she had endured.
Arya’s blazing emerald eyes were fixed on the Twins, who had turned pale with fright. She approached on silent footsteps and said in soft, menacing tones, “Shame! Shame to ask of him what only a master can do. Shame that you should use such methods. Shame that you told Ajihad you didn’t know Eragon’s abilities. He is competent. Now leave!” Arya frowned dangerously, her slanted eyebrows meeting like lightning bolts in a sharp V, and pointed at the ring in Eragon’s hand. “Arget!” she exclaimed thunderously.
The silver shimmered, and a ghostly image of the ring materialized next to it. The two were identical except that the apparition seemed purer and glowed white-hot. At the sight of it, the Twins spun on their heels and fled, robes flapping wildly. The insubstantial ring vanished from Eragon’s hand, leaving the circlet of silver behind. Orik and Fredric were on their feet, eyeing Arya warily. Saphira crouched, ready for action.
The elf surveyed them all. Her angled eyes paused on Eragon. Then she turned and strode toward the heart of the training field. The warriors ceased their sparring and looked at her with wonder. Within a few moments the entire field fell silent in awe of her presence.
Eragon was inexorably dragged forward by his own fascination. Saphira spoke, but he was oblivious to her comments. A large circle formed around Arya. Looking only at Eragon, she proclaimed, “I claim the right of trial by arms. Draw your sword.”
She means to duel me!
But not, I think, to harm you,replied Saphira slowly. She nudged him with her nose.Go and acquit yourself well. I will watch.
Eragon reluctantly stepped forward. He did not want to do this when he was exhausted from magic use and when there were so many people watching. Besides, Arya could be in no shape for sparring. It had only been two days since she had received Túnivor’s Nectar.I will soften my blows so I don’t hurt her, he decided.
They faced each other across the circle of warriors. Arya drew her sword with her left hand. The weapon was thinner than Eragon’s, but just as long and sharp. He slid Zar’roc out of its polished sheath and held the red blade point-down by his side. For a long moment they stood motionless, elf and human watching each other. It flashed through Eragon’s mind that this was how many of his fights with Brom had started.
He moved forward cautiously. With a blur of motion Arya jumped at him, slashing at his ribs. Eragon reflexively parried the attack, and their swords met in a shower of sparks. Zar’roc was batted aside as if it were no more than a fly. The elf did not take advantage of the opening, however, but spun to her right, hair whipping through the air, and struck at his other side. He barely stopped the blow and backpedaled frantically, stunned by her ferocity and speed.
Belatedly, Eragon remembered Brom’s warning that even the weakest elf could easily overpower a human. He had about as much chance of defeating Arya as he did Durza. She attacked again, swinging at his head. He ducked under the razor-sharp edge. But then why was she . . .toying with him? For a few long seconds he was too busy warding her off to think about it, then he realized,She wants to know how proficient I am.
