Islanzadí’s dark eyes widened. “Atra du evarínya ono varda.”
“Un atra mor’ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,” replied Eragon, completing the
ritual. He could tell that the elves were caught off guard by his knowl-
edge of their customs. In his mind, he listened as Saphira repeated his
greeting to the queen.
When she finished, Islanzadí asked, “Dragon, what is your name?”
Saphira.
A flash of recognition appeared in the queen’s expression, but she made
no comment on it. “Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours, Rider?”
“Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty.” This time an audible stir rippled
among the elves seated behind them; even Islanzadí appeared startled.
“You carry a powerful name,” she said softly, “one that we rarely be-
stow upon our children. . Welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon Shadeslayer.
We have waited long for you.” She moved on to Orik, greeted him, then
returned to her throne and draped her velvet cloak over her arm. “I as-
sume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira’s egg was cap-
tured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hip, that
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Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to
hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet
my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of your
mission here, dwarf, and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in
Du Weldenvarden.”
Eragon had narrated his experiences before, so he had no trouble reiter-
ating them now for the queen. The few occasions where his memory fal-
tered, Saphira was able to provide an accurate description of events. In
several places, he simply left the telling to her. When they finished, Er-
agon retrieved Nasuada’s scroll from his pack and presented it to Islan-
zadí.
She took the roll of parchment, broke the red wax seal, and, upon
completing the missive, sighed and briefly closed her eyes. “I see now the
true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I
had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad’s messengers after
learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should have never blamed the
Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish. . ”
A long silence followed, as no one dared to agree or disagree. Summon-
ing his courage, Eragon said, “Since Arya has returned alive, will you agree
to help the Varden, like before? Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise, and I
am pledged to her cause.”
“My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind,” said Islanzadí.
“Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you
and their victory over the Urgals.” She leaned forward on one arm. “Will
you give me Brom’s ring, Eragon?” Without hesitation, he pulled it off his
finger and offered it to the queen, who plucked it from his palm with her
slim fingers. “You should not have worn this, Eragon, as it was not meant
for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and
my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon
you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be
trusted and helped.”
Eragon thanked her and returned the ring to his finger, acutely aware of
the queen’s gaze, which remained upon him with disturbing perception,
studying and analyzing. He felt as if she knew everything that he might
say or do. She said, “Such tidings as yours, we have not heard the like of
in Du Weldenvarden for many a year. We are accustomed to a slower
way of life here than the rest of Alagaësia, and it troubles me that so
much could occur so swiftly without word of it reaching my ear.”
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“And what of my training?” Eragon snatched a furtive glance at the
seated elves, wondering if any of them could be Togira Ikonoka, the be-
ing who had reached into his mind and freed him of Durza’s foul influ-
ence after the battle in Farthen Dûr—and who had also encouraged Er-
agon to travel to Ellesméra.
“It will begin in the fullness of time. Yet I fear that instructing you is
futile so long as your infirmity persists. Unless you can overcome the
Shade’s magic, you will be reduced to no more than a figurehead. You
may still be useful, but only as a shadow of the hope that we have nur-
tured for over a century.” Islanzadí spoke without reproach, yet her
words struck Eragon like hammer blows. He knew that she was right.
“Your situation is not your fault, and it pains me to voice such things, but
you must understand the gravity of your disability. . I am sorry.”
Then Islanzadí addressed Orik: “It has been long since one of your race
entered our halls, dwarf. Eragon-finiarel has explained your presence, but
do you have aught to add?”
“Only royal greetings from my king, Hrothgar, and a plea, now un-
needed, for you to resume contact with the Varden. Beyond that, I am
here to see that the pact that Brom forged between you and the humans
is honored.”
“We keep our promises whether we utter them in this language or in
the ancient language. I accept Hrothgar’s greetings and return them in
kind.” Finally, as Eragon was sure she had longed to do since they first ar-
rived, Islanzadí looked at Arya and asked, “Now, daughter, what befell
you?”
Arya began to speak in a slow monotone, first of her capture and then
of her long imprisonment and torture in Gil’ead. Saphira and Eragon had
deliberately avoided the details of her abuse, but Arya herself seemed to
have no difficulty recounting what she had been subjected to. Her emo-
tionless descriptions roused the same rage within Eragon as when he first
saw her wounds. The elves remained completely silent throughout Arya’s
tale, although they gripped their swords and their faces hardened into ra-
zor lines of cold anger. A single tear rolled down Islanzadí’s cheek.
Afterward, a lithe elf lord paced along the mossy sward between the
chairs. “I know that I speak for us all, Arya Dröttningu, when I say that
my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology,
mitigation, or reparation, and Galbatorix must be punished for it. Also,
we are in your debt for keeping the locations of our cities hidden from
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the Shade. Few of us could have withstood him for so long.”
“Thank you, Däthedr-vor.”
Now Islanzadí spoke, and her voice rang like a bell among the trees.
“Enough. Our guests wait tired on their feet, and we have spoken of evil
things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering
on past injuries.” A glorious smile brightened her expression. “My daugh-
ter has returned, a dragon and her Rider have appeared, and I will see us
celebrate in the proper fashion!” She stood, tall and magnificent in her
crimson tunic, and clapped her hands. At the sound, the chairs and pavil-
ion were showered with hundreds of lilies and roses that appeared
twenty feet above their heads and drifted down like colorful snowflakes,
suffusing the air with their heady fragrance.
She didn’t use the ancient language, observed Eragon.
He noticed that, while everyone was occupied by the flowers, Islanzadí
touched Arya gently on the shoulder and murmured, almost too softly to
hear, “You never would have suffered so if you had taken my counsel. I
was right to oppose your decision to accept the yawë.”
“It was my decision to make.”
The queen paused, then nodded and extended her arm. “Blagden.” With
a flutter of wings, the raven flew from his perch and landed on her left
shoulder. The entire assembly bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of
the hall and threw open the door to the hundreds of elves outside,
whereupon she made a brief declaration in the ancient language that Er-
agon did not understand. The elves burst into cheers and began to rush
about.
“What did she say?” whispered Eragon to Narí.
Narí smiled. “To break open our finest casks and light the cook-fires,
for tonight shall be a night of feast and song. Come!” He grabbed Eragon’s
hand and pulled him after the queen as she threaded her way between
the shaggy pines and through banks of cool ferns. During their time in-
doors, the sun had dropped low in the sky, drenching the forest with an
amber light that clung to the trees and plants like a layer of glistering oil.
You do realize, don’t you, said Saphira, that the king Lifaen mentioned,
Evandar, must be Arya’s father?
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Eragon almost stumbled. You’re right.... And that means he was killed
by either Galbatorix or the Forsworn.
Circles within circles.
They stopped on the crest of a small hill, where a team of elves had set
out a long trestle table and chairs. All around them, the forest hummed
with activity. As evening approached, the cheery glow of fires appeared
scattered throughout Ellesméra, including a bonfire near the table.
Someone handed Eragon a goblet made of the same odd wood that he
had noticed in Ceris. He drank the cup’s clear liqueur and gasped as it
blazed down his throat. It tasted like mulled cider mixed with mead. The
potion made the tips of his fingers and ears tingle and gave him a marvel-
ous sense of clarity. “What is this?” he asked Narí.
Narí laughed. “Faelnirv? We distill it from crushed elderberries and
spun moonbeams. If he needs must, a strong man can travel for three
days on naught else.”
Saphira, you have to taste this. She sniffed the goblet, then opened her
mouth and allowed him to pour the rest of the faelnirv down her throat.
Her eyes widened and her tail twitched.
Now that’s a treat! Is there more?
Before Eragon could reply, Orik stomped over to them. “Daughter to
the queen,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I wish that I could tell
Hrothgar and Nasuada. They’d want to know.”
Islanzadí seated herself in a high-backed chair and clapped her hands
once again. From within the city came a quartet of elves bearing musical
instruments. Two had harps of cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes,
and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she immediately put to use
with a playful song that danced about their ears.
Eragon caught only every third word or so, but what he did understand
made him grin. It was the story of a stag who could not drink at a pond
because a magpie kept harassing him.
As Eragon listened, his gaze wandered and alighted upon a small girl
prowling behind the queen. When he looked again, he saw that her
shaggy hair was not silver, like many of the elves, but bleached white
with age, and that her face was creased and lined like a dry, withered ap-
218
ple. She was no elf, nor dwarf, nor—Eragon felt—even human. She
smiled at him, and he glimpsed rows of sharp teeth.
When the singer finished, and the pipes and lutes filled the silence, Er-
agon found himself approached by scores of elves who wished to meet
him and—more importantly, he sensed—Saphira.
The elves presented themselves by bowing softly and touching their
lips with their first and middle fingers, to which Eragon responded in
kind, along with endless repetitions of their greeting in the ancient lan-
guage. They plied Eragon with polite questions about his exploits, but
they reserved the bulk of their conversation for Saphira.
At first Eragon was content to let Saphira talk, since this was the first
place where anyone was interested in having a discussion just with her.
But he soon grew annoyed at being ignored; he had become used to hav-
ing people listen when he spoke. He grinned ruefully, dismayed that he
had come to rely on people’s attention so much since he had joined the
Varden, and forced himself to relax and enjoy the celebration.
Before long the scent of food permeated the glade and elves appeared
carrying platters piled with delicacies. Aside from loaves of warm bread
and stacks of small, round honeycakes, the dishes were made entirely of
fruit, vegetables, and berries. The berries predominated; they were in
everything from blueberry soup to raspberry sauce to thimbleberry jelly.
A bowl of sliced apples dripped with syrup and sprinkled with wild
strawberries sat beside a mushroom pie stuffed with spinach, thyme, and
currants.
No meat was to be found, not even fish or fowl, which still puzzled Er-
agon. In Carvahall and elsewhere in the Empire, meat was a symbol of
status and luxury. The more gold you had, the more often you could af-
ford steak and veal. Even the minor nobility ate meat with every meal.
To do otherwise would indicate a deficit in their coffers. And yet the
elves did not subscribe to this philosophy, despite their obvious wealth
and the ease with which they could hunt with magic.
The elves rushed to the table with an enthusiasm that surprised Eragon.
Soon all were seated: Islanzadí at the head of the table with Blagden, the
raven; Däthedr to her left; Arya and Eragon by her right hand; Orik across
from them; and then all the rest of the elves, including Narí and Lifaen.
No chair was at the far end of the table, only a huge carved plate for
Saphira.