Half brother, Eragon thought, but he held his tongue. He could find no way to rebut Orrin’s points; they were valid, each and every one, and they left him feeling shamed.

The king continued: “We entered this war with the understanding that you would find a way of countering Galbatorix’s unnatural strength. So Nasuada promised and assured us. And yet here we are, about to confront the most powerful magician in recorded history, and we’re no closer to defeating him than when we began!”

“We went to war,” Eragon said quietly, “because it was the first time since the Riders fell that we’ve had even the slightest chance of overthrowing Galbatorix. You know that.”

“What chance?” sneered the king. “We’re puppets, all of us, dancing according to Galbatorix’s whims. The only reason we’ve gotten this far is because he’s let us. Galbatorix wants us to go to Urû’baen. He wants us to bring you to him. If he cared about stopping us, he would have flown out to meet us at the Burning Plains and crushed us then and there. And once he has you in his reach, he’ll do just that: crush us.”

The air in the tent seemed to grow taut between them.

Careful, said Saphira to Eragon. He’ll leave the pack if you can’t convince him otherwise.

Arya appeared similarly worried.

Eragon spread his hands flat on the table and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He did not want to lie, but at the same time he had to find a way to inspire hope in Orrin, which was difficult when Eragon felt little himself. Is this what it was like for Nasuada all those times she rallied us to the cause, convinced us to keep going even when we couldn’t see a way clear?

“Our position isn’t quite as … precarious as you make it out to be,” said Eragon.

Orrin snorted and drank from his goblet.

“The Dauthdaert is a threat to Galbatorix,” continued Eragon, “and that’s to our advantage. He’ll be wary of it. Because of that, we can force him to do what we want, perhaps just a bit. Even if we can’t use it to kill him, we might be able to kill Shruikan. Theirs isn’t a true pairing of dragon and Rider, but Shruikan’s death would still wound him to the core.”

“It’ll never happen,” said Orrin. “He knows that we have the Dauthdaert now, and he’ll take the appropriate precautions.”

“Maybe not. I doubt Murtagh and Thorn recognized it.”

“No, but Galbatorix will when he examines their memories.”

And he’ll also know of Glaedr’s existence, if they haven’t told him already, Saphira said to Eragon.

Eragon’s spirits sank further. He had not thought of that, but she was right. So much for any hope of surprising him. We have no more secrets.

Life is full of secrets. Galbatorix cannot predict exactly how we will choose to fight him. In that, at least, we can confound him.

“Which of the death spears have you found, O Shadeslayer?” asked Grimrr in a seemingly bored tone.

“Du Niernen—the Orchid.”

The werecat blinked, and Eragon had the impression that he was surprised, although Grimrr’s expression remained blank as ever. “The Orchid. Is that so? How very strange to find such a weapon in this age, especially that … particular weapon.”

“Why so?” asked Jörmundur.

Grimrr’s small pink tongue passed over his fangs. “Niernen is notoriousss.” He drew out the end of the word into a short hiss.

Before Eragon could press the werecat for more information, Garzhvog spoke, his voice grinding like boulders: “What is this death spear you speak of, Firesword? Is it the lance that wounded Saphira in Belatona? We heard tales of it, but they were odd indeed.”

Eragon belatedly remembered that Nasuada had told neither the Urgals nor the werecats what Niernen truly was. Oh well, he thought. It can’t be helped.

He explained to Garzhvog about the Dauthdaert, then insisted everyone in the pavilion swear an oath in the ancient language that they would not discuss the spear with anyone else without permission. There was some grumbling, but in the end they all complied, even the werecat. Trying to hide the spear from Galbatorix might have been pointless, but Eragon could see no good in allowing the Dauthdaert to become general knowledge.

When the last of them had finished their oaths, Eragon resumed speaking, “So. First, we have the Dauthdaert, and that’s more than we had before. Second, I don’t plan on facing Murtagh and Galbatorix together; I’ve never planned to. When we arrive at Urû’baen, we’ll lure Murtagh out of the city, and then we’ll surround him, with the whole army if necessary—the elves included—and we’ll kill or capture him once and for all.” He looked round at the gathered faces, trying to impress them with the force of his conviction. “Third—and this is what you have to believe deep in your hearts—Galbatorix isn’t invulnerable, however powerful he is. He might have cast thousands upon thousands of wards to protect himself, but in spite of all his knowledge and cunning, there are still spells that can kill him, if only we are clever enough to think of them. Now, maybe I’ll be the one to find the spell that is his undoing, but it might just as well be an elf or a member of Du Vrangr Gata. Galbatorix seems untouchable, I know, but there’s always a weakness—there’s always a crevice you can slip a blade through and thus stab your foe.”

“If the Riders of old couldn’t find his weakness, what is the likelihood we can?” demanded King Orrin.