Inheritance
Page 84
Eragon was pleased to find that he was finally able to hold his own when dueling with the elves. But it was mentally taxing, for if his concentration lapsed for even a moment, he would end up with a sword jabbed in his ribs or pressed against his throat.
With his lessons from Glaedr, he made what would have been considered exemplary progress under normal circumstances, but given the situation, both he and Glaedr were frustrated with the pace of his learning.
On the second day, during his morning lesson with Glaedr, Eragon thought to say, Master, when I first arrived at the Varden in Farthen Dûr, the Twins tested me—they tested my knowledge of the ancient language, and of magic in general.
You told this to Oromis. Why repeat it to me now?
Because, it occurred to me … the Twins asked me to summon the true form of a silver ring. At the time, I didn’t know how. Arya explained it to me later: how, with the ancient language, you can conjure up the essence of any thing or creature. Yet Oromis never spoke of it, and I was wondering … why not?
Glaedr seemed to sigh. Summoning the true form of an object is a difficult kind of magic. In order for it to work, you must understand everything of importance about the object in question—even as you must in order to guess the true name of a person or animal. Furthermore, it’s of little practical value. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous. The spell cannot be structured as a continuing process that you can end at any time. Either you succeed in summoning the true form of an object … or you fail and die. There was no reason for Oromis to have you try anything so risky, nor were you advanced enough in your studies to even discuss the topic.
Eragon shuddered inwardly as he realized just how angry Arya must have been with the Twins to summon the true form of the ring they held. Then he said, I would like to try it now.
Eragon felt the full force of Glaedr’s attention focused on him. Why?
I need to know if I have that level of understanding, even if only for one small thing.
Again: why?
Unable to explain with words, Eragon poured his jumble of thoughts and feelings into Glaedr’s consciousness. When he finished, Glaedr was silent for a while, digesting the flow of information. Am I right to say, began the dragon, that you equate this with defeating Galbatorix? You believe that if you can do this and live, then you might be able to defeat the king?
Yes, said Eragon, relieved. He had been unable to articulate his motivation as clearly as the dragon, but that was exactly it.
And are you determined to try this?
Yes, Master.
It may kill you, Glaedr reminded him.
I know.
Eragon! exclaimed Saphira, her thoughts faint in his mind. She was flying high above the camp, watching for possible danger while he studied with Glaedr. It’s far too dangerous. I won’t allow it.
I have to do this, he replied quietly.
To Saphira, but also to Eragon, Glaedr said, If he insists, then it is best he tries where I can watch. If his knowledge fails him, I may be able to supply the needed information and save him.
Saphira growled—an angry, ripping sound that filled Eragon’s mind—and then, from outside the tent, Eragon heard a fearsome rush of air and startled cries from men and elves as she dove to the ground. She landed with such force, the tent and everything in it shook.
A few seconds later, she stuck her head into the tent and glared at Eragon. She was panting, and the wind from her nostrils ruffled his hair and made his eyes water from the odor of burnt meat. You’re as thick-headed as a Kull, she said.
No more than you.
Her lip curled in a hint of a snarl. Why are we waiting? If you must do this, let us be done with it!
What will you choose to summon? asked Glaedr. It must be something you are intimately familiar with.
Eragon let his gaze drift over the interior of the tent, then down to the sapphire ring he wore on his right hand. Aren … He had rarely taken the ring off since Ajihad had given it to him from Brom. It had become a part of his body as surely as his arms or legs. During the hours he had spent looking at it, he had memorized every curve and facet, and if he closed his eyes, he could call up an image that was a perfect reproduction of the actual object. But for all that, there was much he did not know about the ring—its history, how the elves had made it, and, ultimately, what spells might or might not be woven into its fabric.
No … not Aren.
Then his gaze slid from the ring to the pommel of Brisingr, where the sword stood leaning against the corner of his cot. “Brisingr,” he murmured.
A muffled whump emanated from the blade, and the sword rose a half inch out of its scabbard, as if pushed from beneath, and small tongues of flame leaped up from the mouth of the sheath, licking the underside of the hilt. The flames vanished and the sword slid back into the scabbard as Eragon quickly ended the unintentional spell.
Brisingr, he thought, utterly certain of his choice. It had been Rhunön’s skill that had crafted the sword, but it was he who had wielded the tools, and he had been joined with the elf smith’s mind throughout the process. If there was any one object in the world he understood through and through, it was his sword.
Are you sure? asked Glaedr.
Eragon nodded, then caught himself as he remembered the golden dragon could not see him. Yes, Master.… A question, though: is Brisingr the true name of the sword, and if not, do I need its true name for the spell to work?
Brisingr is the name of fire, as you well know. The true name of your sword is undoubtedly something far more complicated, although it might very well include brisingr within its description. If you wish, you could refer to the sword by its true name, but you could just as easily call it Sword and achieve the same result, so long as you maintain the proper knowledge at the forefront of your mind. The name is merely a label for the knowledge, and you do not need the label in order to make use of the knowledge. It is a subtle distinction, but an important one. Do you understand?
With his lessons from Glaedr, he made what would have been considered exemplary progress under normal circumstances, but given the situation, both he and Glaedr were frustrated with the pace of his learning.
On the second day, during his morning lesson with Glaedr, Eragon thought to say, Master, when I first arrived at the Varden in Farthen Dûr, the Twins tested me—they tested my knowledge of the ancient language, and of magic in general.
You told this to Oromis. Why repeat it to me now?
Because, it occurred to me … the Twins asked me to summon the true form of a silver ring. At the time, I didn’t know how. Arya explained it to me later: how, with the ancient language, you can conjure up the essence of any thing or creature. Yet Oromis never spoke of it, and I was wondering … why not?
Glaedr seemed to sigh. Summoning the true form of an object is a difficult kind of magic. In order for it to work, you must understand everything of importance about the object in question—even as you must in order to guess the true name of a person or animal. Furthermore, it’s of little practical value. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous. The spell cannot be structured as a continuing process that you can end at any time. Either you succeed in summoning the true form of an object … or you fail and die. There was no reason for Oromis to have you try anything so risky, nor were you advanced enough in your studies to even discuss the topic.
Eragon shuddered inwardly as he realized just how angry Arya must have been with the Twins to summon the true form of the ring they held. Then he said, I would like to try it now.
Eragon felt the full force of Glaedr’s attention focused on him. Why?
I need to know if I have that level of understanding, even if only for one small thing.
Again: why?
Unable to explain with words, Eragon poured his jumble of thoughts and feelings into Glaedr’s consciousness. When he finished, Glaedr was silent for a while, digesting the flow of information. Am I right to say, began the dragon, that you equate this with defeating Galbatorix? You believe that if you can do this and live, then you might be able to defeat the king?
Yes, said Eragon, relieved. He had been unable to articulate his motivation as clearly as the dragon, but that was exactly it.
And are you determined to try this?
Yes, Master.
It may kill you, Glaedr reminded him.
I know.
Eragon! exclaimed Saphira, her thoughts faint in his mind. She was flying high above the camp, watching for possible danger while he studied with Glaedr. It’s far too dangerous. I won’t allow it.
I have to do this, he replied quietly.
To Saphira, but also to Eragon, Glaedr said, If he insists, then it is best he tries where I can watch. If his knowledge fails him, I may be able to supply the needed information and save him.
Saphira growled—an angry, ripping sound that filled Eragon’s mind—and then, from outside the tent, Eragon heard a fearsome rush of air and startled cries from men and elves as she dove to the ground. She landed with such force, the tent and everything in it shook.
A few seconds later, she stuck her head into the tent and glared at Eragon. She was panting, and the wind from her nostrils ruffled his hair and made his eyes water from the odor of burnt meat. You’re as thick-headed as a Kull, she said.
No more than you.
Her lip curled in a hint of a snarl. Why are we waiting? If you must do this, let us be done with it!
What will you choose to summon? asked Glaedr. It must be something you are intimately familiar with.
Eragon let his gaze drift over the interior of the tent, then down to the sapphire ring he wore on his right hand. Aren … He had rarely taken the ring off since Ajihad had given it to him from Brom. It had become a part of his body as surely as his arms or legs. During the hours he had spent looking at it, he had memorized every curve and facet, and if he closed his eyes, he could call up an image that was a perfect reproduction of the actual object. But for all that, there was much he did not know about the ring—its history, how the elves had made it, and, ultimately, what spells might or might not be woven into its fabric.
No … not Aren.
Then his gaze slid from the ring to the pommel of Brisingr, where the sword stood leaning against the corner of his cot. “Brisingr,” he murmured.
A muffled whump emanated from the blade, and the sword rose a half inch out of its scabbard, as if pushed from beneath, and small tongues of flame leaped up from the mouth of the sheath, licking the underside of the hilt. The flames vanished and the sword slid back into the scabbard as Eragon quickly ended the unintentional spell.
Brisingr, he thought, utterly certain of his choice. It had been Rhunön’s skill that had crafted the sword, but it was he who had wielded the tools, and he had been joined with the elf smith’s mind throughout the process. If there was any one object in the world he understood through and through, it was his sword.
Are you sure? asked Glaedr.
Eragon nodded, then caught himself as he remembered the golden dragon could not see him. Yes, Master.… A question, though: is Brisingr the true name of the sword, and if not, do I need its true name for the spell to work?
Brisingr is the name of fire, as you well know. The true name of your sword is undoubtedly something far more complicated, although it might very well include brisingr within its description. If you wish, you could refer to the sword by its true name, but you could just as easily call it Sword and achieve the same result, so long as you maintain the proper knowledge at the forefront of your mind. The name is merely a label for the knowledge, and you do not need the label in order to make use of the knowledge. It is a subtle distinction, but an important one. Do you understand?
