The discussion that followed was an exceedingly grim one. Various tactics existed for defeating a larger—although not necessarily superior—force, but no one at the table could imagine how they might defeat Galbatorix, especially when Eragon was still so powerless compared to the ancient king. The only ploy that might succeed would be to surround Eragon with as many magicians, dwarf and human, as possible, and then attempt to force Galbatorix to confront them alone.The problem with that plan, thought Nasuada,is that Galbatorix overcame far more formidable enemies during his destruction of the Riders, and his strength has only grown since. She was certain that this had occurred to everyone else as well.If we but had the elves’ spellweavers to swell our ranks, then victory might be within our reach. Without them . . . If we cannot overthrow Galbatorix, the only avenue left may be to flee Alagaësia across the sundering sea and find a new land in which to build a life for ourselves. There we could wait until Galbatorix is no more. Even he cannot endure forever. The only certainty is that, eventually, all things shall pass.

They moved on then from tactics to logistics, and here the debate became far more acrimonious as the Council of Elders argued with Orrin’s advisers over the distribution of responsibilities between the Varden and Surda: who should pay for this or that, provide rations for laborers who worked for both groups, manage the provisions for their respective warriors, and how numerous other related subjects should be dealt with.

In the midst of the verbal fray, Orrin pulled a scroll from his belt and said to Nasuada, “On the matter of finances, would you be so kind as to explain a rather curious item that was brought to my attention?”

“I’ll do my best, Sire.”

“I hold in my hand a complaint from the weavers’ guild, which asserts that weavers throughout Surda have lost a good share of their profits because the textile market has been inundated with extraordinarily cheap lace—lace they swear originates with the Varden.” A pained look crossed his face. “It seems foolish to even ask, but does their claim have basis in fact, and if so, why would the Varden do such a thing?”

Nasuada made no attempt to hide her smile. “If you remember, Sire, when you refused to lend the Varden more gold, you advised me to find another way for us to support ourselves.”

“So I did. What of it?” asked Orrin, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, it struck me that while lace takes a long time to make by hand, which is why it’s so expensive, lace is quite easy to produce using magic due to the small amount of energy involved. You of all people, as a natural philosopher, should appreciate that. By selling our lace here and in the Empire, we have been able to fully fund our efforts. The Varden no longer want for food or shelter.”

Few things in her life pleased Nasuada so much as Orrin’s incredulous expression at that instant. The scroll frozen halfway between his chin and the table, his slightly parted mouth, and the quizzical frown upon his brow conspired to give him the stunned appearance of a man who had just seen something he did not understand. She savored the sight.

“Lace?”he sputtered.

“Yes, Sire.”

“You can’t fight Galbatorix withlace !”

“Why not, Sire?”

He struggled for a moment, then growled, “Because . . . because it’s not respectable, that’s why. What bard would compose an epic about our deeds and write aboutlace ?”

“We do not fight in order to have epics written in our praise.”

“Then blast epics! How am I supposed to answer the weavers’ guild? By selling your lace so cheaply, you hurt people’s livelihoods and undermine our economy. It won’t do. It won’t do at all.”

Letting her smile become sweet and warm, Nasuada said in her friendliest tone, “Oh dear. If it’s too much of a burden for your treasury, the Varden would be more than willing to offer you a loan in return for the kindness you’ve shown us . . . at a suitable rate of interest, of course.”

The Council of Elders managed to maintain their decorum, but behind Nasuada, Elva uttered a quick laugh of amusement.

REDBLADE,WHITEBLADE

The moment the sun appeared over the tree-lined horizon, Eragon deepened his breathing, willed his heart to quicken, and opened his eyes as he returned to full awareness. He had not been asleep, for he had not slept since his transformation. When he felt weary and lay himself down to rest, he entered a state that was unto a waking dream. There he beheld many wondrous visions and walked among the gray shades of his memories, yet all the while remained aware of his surroundings.

He watched the sunrise and thoughts of Arya filled his mind, as they had every hour since the Agaetí Blödhren two days before. The morning after the celebration, he had gone looking for her in Tialdarí Hall—intending to try and make amends for his behavior—only to discover that she had already left for Surda.When will I see her again? he wondered. In the clear light of day, he had realized just how much the elves’ and dragons’ magic had dulled his wits during the Agaetí Blödhren.I may have acted a fool, but it wasn’t entirely my fault. I was no more responsible for my conduct than if I were drunk .

Still, he had meant every word he said to Arya—even if normally he would not have revealed so much of himself. Her rejection cut Eragon to the quick. Freed of the enchantments that had clouded his mind, he was forced to admit that she was probably right, that the difference between their ages was too great to overcome. It was a difficult thing for him to accept, and once he had, the knowledge only increased his anguish.