Eragon put a hand on Saphira’s left foreleg and said, “I’m sorry I could not tell you beforehand that I planned to stay, but I did not realize it was necessary until the very last moment.”

“And why was it exactly you remained in those foul caverns?”

“Because there was something I had to investigate.”

When he failed to expand upon his answer, Roran’s broad face hardened, and for a moment Eragon feared he would insist upon a more satisfactory explanation. But then Roran said, “Well, what hope has an ordinary man like myself of understanding the whys and wherefores of a Dragon Rider, even if he is my cousin? All that matters is that you helped free Katrina and you are here now, safe and sound.” He craned his neck, as if he were trying to see what lay on top of Saphira, then he looked at Arya, who was several yards behind them, and said, “You lost my staff! I crossed the entire breadth of Alagaësia with that staff. Couldn’t you manage to hold on to it for more than a few days?”

“It went to a man who needed it more than I,” said Eragon.

“Oh, stop nipping at him,” Katrina said to Roran, and after a moment’s hesitation, she hugged Eragon. “He is really very glad to see you, you know. He just has difficulty finding the words to say it.”

With a sheepish grin, Roran shrugged. “She’s right about me, as always.” The two of them exchanged a loving glance.

Eragon studied Katrina closely. Her copper hair had regained its original luster, and for the most part, the marks left by her ordeal had faded away, although she was still thinner and paler than normal.

Moving closer to him, so none of the Varden clustered around them could overhear, she said, “I never thought that I would owe you so much, Eragon. That we would owe you so much. Since Saphira brought us here, I have learned what you risked to rescue me, and I am most grateful. If I had spent another week in Helgrind, it would have killed me or stripped me of reason, which is a living death. For saving me from that fate, and for repairing Roran’s shoulder, you have my utmost thanks, but more than that, you have my thanks for bringing the two of us back together again. If not for you, we never would have been reunited.”

“Somehow I think Roran would have found a way to extricate you from Helgrind, even without me,” commented Eragon. “He has a silver tongue when roused. He would have convinced another spellcaster to help him—Angela the herbalist, perhaps—and he would have succeeded all the same.”

“Angela the herbalist?” scoffed Roran. “That prating girl would have been no match for the Ra’zac.”

“You would be surprised. She’s more than she appears . . . or sounds.” Then Eragon dared to do something that he never would have attempted when he was living in Palancar Valley but that he felt was appropriate in his role as a Rider: he kissed Katrina upon her brow, and then he kissed Roran upon his, and he said, “Roran, you are as a brother to me. And, Katrina, you are as a sister to me. If ever you are in trouble, send for me, and whether you need Eragon the farmer or Eragon the Rider, everything I am shall be at your disposal.”

“And likewise,” said Roran, “if ever you are in trouble, you have but to send for us, and we shall rush to your aid.”

Eragon nodded, acknowledging his offer, and refrained from mentioning that the troubles he was most likely to encounter would not be of a sort either of them could assist him with. He gripped them both by the shoulders and said, “May you live long, may you always be together and happy, and may you have many children.” Katrina’s smile faltered for a moment, and Eragon wondered at it. At Saphira’s urging, they resumed walking toward Nasuada’s red pavilion in the center of the encampment. In due time, they and the host of cheering Varden arrived at its threshold, where Nasuada stood waiting, King Orrin to her left and scores of nobles and other notables gathered behind a double row of guards on either side.

Nasuada was garbed in a green silk dress that shimmered in the sun, like the feathers on the breast of a hummingbird, in bright contrast to the sable shade of her skin. The sleeves of the dress ended in lace ruffs at her elbows. White linen bandages covered the rest of her arms to her narrow wrists. Of all the men and women assembled before her, she was the most distinguished, like an emerald resting on a bed of brown autumn leaves. Only Saphira could compete with the brilliance of her appearance.

Eragon and Arya presented themselves to Nasuada and then to King Orrin. Nasuada gave them formal welcome on behalf of the Varden and praised them for their bravery. She finished by saying, “Aye, Galbatorix may have a Rider and dragon who fight for him even as Eragon and Saphira fight for us. He may have an army so large that it darkens the land. And he may be adept at strange and terrible magics, abominations of the spellcaster’s art. But for all his wicked power, he could not stop Eragon and Saphira from invading his realm and killing four of his most favored servants, nor Eragon from crossing the Empire with impunity. The pretender’s arm has grown weak indeed when he cannot defend his borders, nor protect his foul agents within their hidden fortress.”

Amid the Varden’s enthusiastic cheering, Eragon allowed himself a secret smile at how well Nasuada played upon their emotions, inspiring confidence, loyalty, and high spirits in spite of a reality that was far less optimistic than she portrayed it. She did not lie to them—to his knowledge, she did not lie, not even when dealing with the Council of Elders or other of her political rivals. What she did was report the truths that best supported her position and her arguments. In that regard, he thought, she was like the elves.