“You ask me,” said Nasuada, “to give positions of power to your fellow kinsmen because you are my mother’s cousin and because my father was born among you. This I would be happy to do if your kinsmen could fulfill those positions better than anyone else in the Varden, but nothing you have said thus far has convinced me that is so. And before you squander more of your gilt-tongued eloquence, you should know that appeals based upon our shared blood are meaningless to me. I would give your request greater consideration if ever you had done more to support my father than send trinkets and empty promises to Farthen Dûr. Only now that victory and influence are mine have you made yourself known to me. Well, my parents are dead, and I say I have no family but myself. You are my people, yes, but nothing more.”

Fadawar narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin and said, “A woman’s pride is always without sense. You shall fail without our support.”

He had switched to his native language, which forced Nasuada to respond in kind. She hated him for it. Her halting speech and uncertain tones exposed her unfamiliarity with her birth tongue, emphasizing that she had not grown up in their tribe but was an outsider. The ploy undermined her authority. “I always welcome new allies,” she said. “However, I cannot indulge in favoritism, nor should you have need of it. Your tribes are strong and well gifted. They should be able to rise quickly through the ranks of the Varden without having to rely upon the charity of others. Are you starving dogs to sit whining at my table, or are you men who can feed themselves? If you can, then I look forward to working with you to better the Varden’s lot and to defeat Galbatorix.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Fadawar. “Your offer is as false as you are. We shall not do servants’ work; we are the chosen ones. You insult us, you do. You stand there and you smile, but your heart is full of scorpion’s poison.”

Stifling her anger, Nasuada attempted to calm the warlord. “It was not my intent to cause offense. I was only trying to explain my position. I have no enmity for the wandering tribes, nor have I any special love for them. Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is worse than bad, it is bald-faced treachery! Your father made certain requests of us based upon our relation, and now you ignore our service and turn us away like empty-handed beggars!”

A sense of resignation overwhelmed Nasuada. So Elva was right—it is inevitable, she thought. A thrill of fear and excitement coursed through her. If it must be, then I have no reason to maintain this charade. Allowing her voice to ring forth, she said, “Requests that you did not honor half the time.”

“We did!”

“You did not. And even if you were telling the truth, the Varden’s position is too precarious for me to give you something for nothing. You ask for favors, yet tell me, what do you offer in return? Will you help fund the Varden with your gold and jewels?”

“Not directly, but—”

“Will you give me the use of your craftsmen, free of charge?”

“We could not—”

“How, then, do you intend to earn these boons? You cannot pay with warriors; your men already fight for me, whether in the Varden or in King Orrin’s army. Be content with what you have, Warlord, and do not seek more than is rightfully yours.”

“You twist the truth to suit your own selfish goals. I seek what is rightfully ours! That is why I am here. You talk and you talk, yet your words are meaningless, for by your actions, you have betrayed us.” The bangles on his arms clattered together as he gestured, as if before an audience of thousands. “You admit we are your people. Then do you still follow our customs and worship our gods?”

Here is the turning point, thought Nasuada. She could lie and claim she had abandoned the old ways, but if she did, the Varden would lose Fadawar’s tribes, and other nomads besides, once they heard of her statement. We need them. We need everyone we can get if we’re to have the slightest chance of toppling Galbatorix.

“I do,” she said.

“Then I say you are unfit to lead the Varden, and as is my right, I challenge you to the Trial of the Long Knives. If you are triumphant, we shall bow to you and never again question your authority. But if you lose, then you shall step aside, and I shall take your place as head of the Varden.”

Nasuada noted the spark of glee that lit Fadawar’s eyes. This is what he wanted all along, she realized. He would have invoked the trial even if I had complied with his demands. She said, “Perhaps I am mistaken, but I thought it was tradition that whoever won assumed command of his rival’s tribes, as well as his own. Is that not so?” She almost laughed at the expression of dismay that flashed across Fadawar’s face. You didn’t expect me to know that, did you?

“It is.”

“I accept your challenge, then, with the understanding that should I win, your crown and scepter will be mine. Are we agreed?”

Fadawar scowled and nodded. “We are.” He stabbed his scepter deep enough into the ground that it stood upright by itself, then grasped the first bangle on his left arm and began to work it down over his hand.

“Wait,” said Nasuada. Going to the table that filled the other side of the pavilion, she picked up a small brass bell and rang it twice, paused, and then rang it four times.

Only a moment or two passed before Farica entered the tent. She cast a frank gaze at Nasuada’s guests, then curtsied to the lot of them and said, “Yes, Mistress?”

Nasuada gave Fadawar a nod. “We may proceed.” Then she addressed her handmaid: “Help me out of my dress; I don’t want to ruin it.”