Inheritance
Page 167
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Eragon! Saphira! Rouse yourselves!
Eragon’s eyes snapped open. He sat upright and grabbed Brisingr.
All was dark, save for the dull red glow of the bed of coals to his right and a ragged patch of starry sky off to the east. Though the light was faint, Eragon was able to make out the general shape of the forest and the meadow … and the monstrously large snail that was sliding across the grass toward him.
Eragon yelped and scrambled backward. The snail—whose shell was over five and a half feet tall—hesitated, then slimed toward him as fast as a man could run. A snakelike hiss came from the black slit of its mouth, and its waving eyeballs were each the size of his fist.
Eragon realized that he would not have time to get to his feet, and on his back he did not have the space he needed to draw Brisingr. He prepared to cast a spell, but before he could, Saphira’s head arrowed past him and she caught the snail about the middle with her jaws. The snail’s shell cracked between her fangs with a sound like breaking slate, and the creature uttered a faint, quavering shriek.
With a twist of her neck, Saphira tossed the snail into the air, opened her mouth as wide as it would go, and swallowed the creature whole, bobbing her head twice as she did, like a robin eating an earthworm.
Lowering his gaze, Eragon saw four more giant snails farther down upon the rise. One of the creatures had retreated within its shell; the others were hurrying away upon their undulating, skirtlike bellies.
“Over there!” shouted Eragon.
Saphira leaped forward. Her entire body left the ground for a moment, and then she landed upon all fours and snapped up first one, then two, then three of the snails. She did not eat the last snail, the one hiding in its shell, but drew back her head and bathed it in a stream of blue and yellow flame that lit up the land for hundreds of feet in every direction.
She maintained the flame for no more than a second or two; then she picked up the smoking, steaming snail between her jaws—as gently as a mother cat picking up a kitten—carried it over to Eragon, and dropped it at his feet. He eyed it with distrust, but it appeared well and truly dead.
Now you can have a proper breakfast, said Saphira.
He stared at her, then began to laugh—and he kept laughing until he was doubled over, resting his hands on his knees and heaving for breath.
What is so amusing? she asked, and sniffed the soot-blackened shell.
Yes, why do you laugh, Eragon? asked Glaedr.
He shook his head and continued to wheeze. At last he was able to say, “Because—” And then he shifted to speaking with his mind so that Glaedr would hear as well. Because … snail and eggs! And he began to giggle again, feeling very silly. Because, snail steaks! … Hungry? Have a stalk! Feeling tired? Eat an eyeball! Who needs mead when you have slime?! I could put the stalks in a cup, like a bunch of flowers, and they would … He was laughing so hard, he found it impossible to continue, and he dropped to one knee while he gasped for air, tears of mirth streaming from his eyes.
Saphira parted her jaws in a toothy approximation of a smile, and she made a soft choking sound in her throat. You are very odd sometimes, Eragon. He could feel his merriment infecting her. She sniffed the shell again. Some mead would be nice.
“At least you ate,” he said, both with his mind and his tongue.
Not enough, but enough to return to the Varden.
As his laughter subsided, Eragon poked at the snail with the tip of his boot. It’s been so long since there were dragons on Vroengard, it must not have realized what you were and thought to make an easy meal of me.… That would have been a sorry death indeed, to end up as dinner for a snail.
But memorable, said Saphira.
But memorable, he agreed, feeling his mirth return.
And what did I say is the first law of hunting, younglings? asked Glaedr.
Together Eragon and Saphira replied, Do not stalk your prey until you are sure that it is prey.
Very good, said Glaedr.
Then Eragon said, Hopping grubs, shadow birds, and now giant snails … How could the spells cast within the battle have created them?
The Riders, the dragons, and the Forsworn loosed an enormous amount of energy during the conflict. Much of it was bound in spells, but much of it was not. Those who lived to tell of it said that, for a time, the world went mad and nothing they saw or heard could be trusted. Some of that energy must have settled on the ancestors of the grubs and the birds you saw today and altered them. However, you are mistaken to include the snails among their ranks. The snalglí, as they are known, have always lived here on Vroengard. They were a favorite food of ours, of the dragons, for reasons I’m sure, Saphira, you understand.
She hummed and licked her chops.
And not only is their flesh soft and tasty, but the shells are good for the digestion.
If they’re just ordinary animals, then why didn’t my wards stop them? asked Eragon. At the very least, I should have been warned of approaching danger.
That, replied Glaedr, may be a result of the battle. Magic did not create the snalglí, but that does not mean they have remained unaffected by the forces that have wracked this place. We should not linger here any longer than necessary. Better we leave before whatever else is lurking on the island decides to test our mettle.
With Saphira’s help, Eragon cracked open the shell of the burnt snail and, by the glow of a red werelight, cleaned the spineless carcass within, which was a messy, slimy exercise that left him covered in gore up to his elbows. Then Eragon had Saphira bury the meat close to the bed of coals.
Eragon! Saphira! Rouse yourselves!
Eragon’s eyes snapped open. He sat upright and grabbed Brisingr.
All was dark, save for the dull red glow of the bed of coals to his right and a ragged patch of starry sky off to the east. Though the light was faint, Eragon was able to make out the general shape of the forest and the meadow … and the monstrously large snail that was sliding across the grass toward him.
Eragon yelped and scrambled backward. The snail—whose shell was over five and a half feet tall—hesitated, then slimed toward him as fast as a man could run. A snakelike hiss came from the black slit of its mouth, and its waving eyeballs were each the size of his fist.
Eragon realized that he would not have time to get to his feet, and on his back he did not have the space he needed to draw Brisingr. He prepared to cast a spell, but before he could, Saphira’s head arrowed past him and she caught the snail about the middle with her jaws. The snail’s shell cracked between her fangs with a sound like breaking slate, and the creature uttered a faint, quavering shriek.
With a twist of her neck, Saphira tossed the snail into the air, opened her mouth as wide as it would go, and swallowed the creature whole, bobbing her head twice as she did, like a robin eating an earthworm.
Lowering his gaze, Eragon saw four more giant snails farther down upon the rise. One of the creatures had retreated within its shell; the others were hurrying away upon their undulating, skirtlike bellies.
“Over there!” shouted Eragon.
Saphira leaped forward. Her entire body left the ground for a moment, and then she landed upon all fours and snapped up first one, then two, then three of the snails. She did not eat the last snail, the one hiding in its shell, but drew back her head and bathed it in a stream of blue and yellow flame that lit up the land for hundreds of feet in every direction.
She maintained the flame for no more than a second or two; then she picked up the smoking, steaming snail between her jaws—as gently as a mother cat picking up a kitten—carried it over to Eragon, and dropped it at his feet. He eyed it with distrust, but it appeared well and truly dead.
Now you can have a proper breakfast, said Saphira.
He stared at her, then began to laugh—and he kept laughing until he was doubled over, resting his hands on his knees and heaving for breath.
What is so amusing? she asked, and sniffed the soot-blackened shell.
Yes, why do you laugh, Eragon? asked Glaedr.
He shook his head and continued to wheeze. At last he was able to say, “Because—” And then he shifted to speaking with his mind so that Glaedr would hear as well. Because … snail and eggs! And he began to giggle again, feeling very silly. Because, snail steaks! … Hungry? Have a stalk! Feeling tired? Eat an eyeball! Who needs mead when you have slime?! I could put the stalks in a cup, like a bunch of flowers, and they would … He was laughing so hard, he found it impossible to continue, and he dropped to one knee while he gasped for air, tears of mirth streaming from his eyes.
Saphira parted her jaws in a toothy approximation of a smile, and she made a soft choking sound in her throat. You are very odd sometimes, Eragon. He could feel his merriment infecting her. She sniffed the shell again. Some mead would be nice.
“At least you ate,” he said, both with his mind and his tongue.
Not enough, but enough to return to the Varden.
As his laughter subsided, Eragon poked at the snail with the tip of his boot. It’s been so long since there were dragons on Vroengard, it must not have realized what you were and thought to make an easy meal of me.… That would have been a sorry death indeed, to end up as dinner for a snail.
But memorable, said Saphira.
But memorable, he agreed, feeling his mirth return.
And what did I say is the first law of hunting, younglings? asked Glaedr.
Together Eragon and Saphira replied, Do not stalk your prey until you are sure that it is prey.
Very good, said Glaedr.
Then Eragon said, Hopping grubs, shadow birds, and now giant snails … How could the spells cast within the battle have created them?
The Riders, the dragons, and the Forsworn loosed an enormous amount of energy during the conflict. Much of it was bound in spells, but much of it was not. Those who lived to tell of it said that, for a time, the world went mad and nothing they saw or heard could be trusted. Some of that energy must have settled on the ancestors of the grubs and the birds you saw today and altered them. However, you are mistaken to include the snails among their ranks. The snalglí, as they are known, have always lived here on Vroengard. They were a favorite food of ours, of the dragons, for reasons I’m sure, Saphira, you understand.
She hummed and licked her chops.
And not only is their flesh soft and tasty, but the shells are good for the digestion.
If they’re just ordinary animals, then why didn’t my wards stop them? asked Eragon. At the very least, I should have been warned of approaching danger.
That, replied Glaedr, may be a result of the battle. Magic did not create the snalglí, but that does not mean they have remained unaffected by the forces that have wracked this place. We should not linger here any longer than necessary. Better we leave before whatever else is lurking on the island decides to test our mettle.
With Saphira’s help, Eragon cracked open the shell of the burnt snail and, by the glow of a red werelight, cleaned the spineless carcass within, which was a messy, slimy exercise that left him covered in gore up to his elbows. Then Eragon had Saphira bury the meat close to the bed of coals.
