Nasuada wet her lips. Again speaking to Orrin, she said, “Do you know how many we lost?”

A tremor racked Orrin. He doubled over, pressed a hand against his leg, gritted his teeth, and growled, “Three hundred soldiers against . . . What was the size of the force you sent?”

“Two hundred swordsmen. A hundred spearmen. Fifty archers.”

“Those, plus the Urgals, plus my cavalry . . . Say around a thousand strong. Against three hundred foot soldiers on an open field. We slew every last one of the soldiers. What it cost us, though . . .” The king shook his head. “We won’t know for sure until we count the dead, but it looked to me as if three-quarters of your swordsmen are gone. More of the spearmen. Some archers. Of my cavalry, few remain: fifty, seventy. Many of them were my friends. Perhaps a hundred, a hundred and fifty Urgals dead. Overall? Five or six hundred to bury, and the better part of the survivors wounded. I don’t know . . . I don’t know. I don’t—” His jaw going slack, Orrin slumped to the side and would have fallen off his horse if Arya had not sprung forward and caught him.

Nasuada snapped her fingers, summoning two of the Varden from among the tents, and ordered them to take Orrin to his pavilion and then to fetch the king his healers.

“We have suffered a grievous defeat, no matter that we exterminated the soldiers,” Nasuada murmured. She pressed her lips together, sorrow and despair mixed in equal portions in her expression. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Stiffening her back, she fixed Eragon and Saphira with an iron gaze. “How fared it with the two of you?” She listened without moving while Eragon described their encounter with Murtagh and Thorn. Afterward, she nodded. “That you would be able to escape their clutches was all we dared hope. However, you accomplished more than that. You proved that Galbatorix has not made Murtagh so powerful that we have no hope of defeating him. With a few more spellcasters to help you, Murtagh would have been yours to do with as you pleased. For that reason, he will not dare confront Queen Islanzadí’s army by himself, I think. If we can gather enough spellcasters around you, Eragon, I believe we can finally kill Murtagh and Thorn the next time they come to abduct the pair of you.”

“Don’t you want to capture them?” Eragon asked.

“I want a great number of things, but I doubt I shall receive very many of them. Murtagh and Thorn may not be trying to kill you, but if the opportunity presents itself, we must kill them without hesitation. Or do you see it otherwise?”

“. . . No.”

Shifting her attention to Arya, Nasuada asked, “Did any of your spellweavers die during the contest?”

“Some fainted, but they have all recovered, thank you.”

Nasuada took a deep breath and looked northward, her eyes focused on infinity. “Eragon, please inform Trianna that I want Du Vrangr Gata to figure out how to replicate Galbatorix’s spell. Despicable as it is, we must imitate Galbatorix in this. We cannot afford not to. It won’t be practical for all of us to be unable to feel pain—we would hurt ourselves far too easily—but we should have a few hundred swordsmen, volunteers, who are immune to physical suffering.”

“My Lady.”

“So many dead,” said Nasuada. She twisted her reins in her hands. “We have remained in one place for too long. It is time we force the Empire onto the defensive again.” She spurred Battlestorm away from the carnage that lay before the camp, the stallion tossing his head and gnawing on his bit. “Your cousin, Eragon, begged me to allow him to take part in today’s fighting. I refused, on account of his impending marriage, which pleased him not—although I suspect his betrothed feels otherwise. Would you do me the favor of notifying me if they still intend to proceed with the ceremony today? After so much bloodshed, it would hearten the Varden to attend a marriage.”

“I will let you know as soon as I find out.”

“Thank you. You may go now, Eragon.”

The first thing Eragon and Saphira did upon leaving Nasuada was to visit the elves who had fainted during their battle with Murtagh and Thorn and thank them and their companions for their assistance. Then Eragon, Arya, and Blödhgarm attended to the hurts Thorn had dealt Saphira, mending her cuts and scratches and a few of her bruises. When they finished, Eragon located Trianna with his mind and conveyed Nasuada’s instructions.

Only then did he and Saphira seek out Roran. Blödhgarm and his elves accompanied them; Arya left to attend to business of her own.

Roran and Katrina were arguing quietly and intensely when Eragon spotted them standing by the corner of Horst’s tent. They fell silent as Eragon and Saphira drew near. Katrina crossed her arms and stared away from Roran, while Roran gripped the top of his hammer thrust through his belt and scuffed the heel of his boot against a rock.

Stopping in front of them, Eragon waited a few moments, hoping they would explain the reason for their quarrel, but instead Katrina said, “Are either of you injured?” Her eyes flicked from him to Saphira and back.

“We were, but no longer.”

“That is so . . . strange. We heard tales of magic in Carvahall, but I never really believed them. They seemed so impossible. But here, there are magicians everywhere. . . . Did you wound Murtagh and Thorn badly? Is that why they fled?”

“We bested them, but we caused them no permanent harm.” Eragon paused, and when neither Roran nor Katrina spoke, he asked if they still wanted to get married that day. “Nasuada suggested you proceed, but it might be better to wait. The dead have yet to be buried, and there is much that needs doing. Tomorrow would be more convenient . . . and more seemly.”