Eragon said nothing, but walked along the line of men while he studied their minds, his boots sinking through the crust of the baked earth with an ominous crunch. At last he said, “You should be proud that you reacted so quickly to our appearance. If Galbatorix attacks, that’s exactly what you should do, though I doubt arrows would prove any more effective against him than they were against Saphira and me.” The sentinels glanced at him with disbelief, their upturned faces tinted the color of tarnished brass by the variegated light. “I only ask that, in the future, you take a moment to identify your target before shooting. Next time I might be too distracted to stop your missiles. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Shadeslayer!” they shouted.

Stopping before the second-to-last man in the line, Eragon held out the arrow he had snared from Saphira’s back. “I believe this is yours, Harwin.”

With an expression of wonder, Harwin accepted the arrow from Eragon. “So it is! It has the white band I always paint on my shafts so I can find them later. Thank you, Shadeslayer.”

Eragon nodded and then said to Fredric so all could hear, “These are good and true men, and I want no misfortune to befall them because of this event.”

“I will see to it personally,” said Fredric, and smiled.

“Now, can you take us to Lady Nasuada?”

“Yes, sir.”

As he left the sentinels, Eragon knew that his kindness had earned him their undying loyalty, and that tidings of his deed would spread throughout the Varden.

The path Fredric took through the tents brought Eragon into close contact with more minds than he had ever touched before. Hundreds of thoughts, images, and sensations pressed against his consciousness. Despite his effort to keep them at a distance, he could not help absorbing random details of people’s lives. Some revelations he found shocking, some meaningless, others touching or, conversely, disgusting, and many embarrassing. A few people perceived the world so differently, their minds leaped out at him on account of that very difference.

How easy it is to view these men as nothing more than objects that I and a few others can manipulate at will. Yet they each possess hopes and dreams, potential for what they might achieve and memories of what they have already accomplished. And they all feel pain.

A handful of the minds he touched were aware of the contact and recoiled from it, hiding their inner life behind defenses of varying strength. At first Eragon was concerned—imagining that he had discovered a great many enemies who had infiltrated the Varden—but then he realized from his quick glimpse that they were the individual members of Du Vrangr Gata.

Saphira said,They must be scared out of their wits, thinking that they’re about to be assaulted by some strange magician.

I can’t convince them otherwise while they block me like this.

You should meet them in person, and soon too, before they decide to band together and attack.

Aye, although I don’t think they pose a threat to us. . . . Du Vrangr Gata—their very name betrays their ignorance. Properly, in the ancient language, it should be Du Gata Vrangr.

Their trip ended near the back of the Varden, at a large red pavilion flying a pennant embroidered with a black shield and two parallel swords slanting underneath. Fredric pulled back the flap and Eragon and Orik entered the pavilion. Behind them, Saphira pushed her head through the opening and peered over their shoulders.

A broad table occupied the center of the furnished tent. Nasuada stood at one end, leaning on her hands, studying a slew of maps and scrolls. Eragon’s stomach clenched as he saw Arya opposite her. Both women were armored as men for battle.

Nasuada turned her almond-shaped face toward him. “Eragon?” she whispered.

He was unprepared for how glad he was to see her. With a broad grin, he twisted his hand over his sternum in the elves’ gesture of fealty and bowed. “At your service.”

“Eragon!” This time Nasuada sounded delighted and relieved. Arya, too, appeared pleased. “How did you get our message so quickly?”

“I didn’t; I learned about Galbatorix’s army from my scrying and left Ellesméra the same day.” He smiled at her again. “It’s good to be back with the Varden.”

While he spoke, Nasuada studied him with a wondering expression. “What has happened to you, Eragon?”

Arya must not have told her,said Saphira.

And so Eragon gave a full account of what had befallen Saphira and him since they left Nasuada in Farthen Dûr so long ago. Much of what he said, he sensed that she had already heard, either from the dwarves or from Arya, but she let him speak without interrupting. Eragon had to be circumspect about his training. He had given his word not to reveal Oromis’s existence without permission, and most of his lessons were not to be shared with outsiders, but he did his best to give Nasuada a good idea of his skills and their attendant risks. Of the Agaetí Blödhren, he merely said, “. . . and during the celebration, the dragons worked upon me the change you see, giving me the physical abilities of an elf and healing my back.”

“Your scar is gone, then?” asked Nasuada. He nodded. A few more sentences served to end his narrative, briefly mentioning the reason they had left Du Weldenvarden and then summarizing their journey thence. She shook her head. “What a tale. You and Saphira have experienced so much since you left Farthen Dûr.”

“As have you.” He gestured at the tent. “It’s amazing what you’ve accomplished. It must have taken an enormous amount of work to get the Varden to Surda. . . . Has the Council of Elders caused you much trouble?”