“He committed suicide with magic when we overwhelmed his defenses and entered his mind, but before we could take control of his actions.”

“Were you able to learn anything of use before he died?”

“We were. Drail was part of a network of agents based here in Surda who are loyal to Galbatorix. They are called the Black Hand. They spy on us, sabotage our war efforts, and—best we could determine in our brief glimpse into Drail’s memories—are responsible for dozens of murders throughout the Varden. Apparently, they’ve been waiting for a good chance to kill you ever since we arrived from Farthen Dûr.”

“Why hasn’t this Black Hand assassinated King Orrin yet?”

Trianna shrugged. “I can’t say. It may be that Galbatorix considers you to be more of a threat than Orrin. If that’s the case, then once the Black Hand realizes you are protected from their attacks”— here her gaze darted toward Elva—“Orrin won’t live another month unless he is guarded by magicians day and night. Or perhaps Galbatorix has abstained from such direct action because he wanted the Black Hand to remain unnoticed. Surda has always existed at his tolerance. Now that it’s become a threat . . .”

“Can you protect Orrin as well?” asked Nasuada, turning to Elva.

Her violet eyes seemed to glow. “Maybe if he asks nicely.”

Nasuada’s thoughts raced as she considered how to thwart this new menace. “Can all of Galbatorix’s agents use magic?”

“Drail’s mind was confused, so it’s hard to tell,” said Trianna, “but I’d guess a fair number of them can.”

Magic,cursed Nasuada to herself. The greatest danger the Varden faced from magicians—or any person trained in the use of their mind—was not assassination, but rather espionage. Magicians could spy on people’s thoughts and glean information that could be used to destroy the Varden. That was precisely why Nasuada and the entire command structure of the Varden had been taught to know when someone was touching their minds and how to shield themselves from such attentions. Nasuada suspected that Orrin and Hrothgar relied upon similar precautions within their own governments.

However, since it was impractical for everyone privy to potentially damaging information to master that skill, one of Du Vrangr Gata’s many responsibilities was to hunt for anyone who was siphoning off facts as they appeared in people’s minds. The cost of such vigilance was that Du Vrangr Gata ended up spying on the Varden as much as on their enemies, a fact that Nasuada made sure to conceal from the bulk of her followers, for it would only sow hatred, distrust, and dissent. She disliked the practice but saw no alternative.

What she had learned about the Black Hand hardened Nasuada’s conviction that, somehow, magicians had to be governed.

“Why,” she asked, “didn’t you discover this sooner? I can understand that you might miss a lone assassin, but an entire network of spellcasters dedicated to our destruction? Explain yourself, Trianna.”

The sorceress’s eyes flashed with anger at the accusation. “Because here, unlike in Farthen Dûr, we cannot examine everyone’s minds for duplicity. There are just too many people for us magicians to keep track of.That is why we didn’t know about the Black Hand until now, Lady Nasuada.”

Nasuada paused, then inclined her head. “Understood. Did you discover the identities of any other members of the Black Hand?”

“A few.”

“Good. Use them to ferret out the rest of the agents. I want you to destroy this organization for me, Trianna. Eradicate them as you would an infestation of vermin. I’ll give you however many men you need.”

The sorceress bowed. “As you wish, Lady Nasuada.”

At a knock on the door, the guards drew their swords and positioned themselves on either side of the entranceway, then their captain yanked open the door without warning. A young page stood outside, a fist raised to knock again. He stared with astonishment at the body on the floor, then snapped to attention as the captain asked, “What is it, boy?”

“I have a message for Lady Nasuada from King Orrin.”

“Then speak and be quick about it,” said Nasuada.

The page took a moment to compose himself. “King Orrin requests that you attend him directly in his council chambers, for he has received reports from the Empire that demand your immediate attention.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I must attend to this. Trianna, you have your orders. Captain, will you leave one of your men to dispose of Drail?”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

“Also, please have him locate Farica, my handmaid. She will see to it that my study is cleaned.”

“And what of me?” asked Elva, tilting her head.

“You,” said Nasuada, “shall accompany me. That is, if you feel strong enough to do so.”

The girl threw back her head, and from her small, round mouth emanated a cold laugh. “I’m strong enough, Nasuada. Are you?”

Ignoring the question, Nasuada swept forth into the hallway with her guards clustered around her. The stones of the castle exuded an earthy smell in the heat. Behind her, she heard the patter of Elva’s footsteps and was perversely pleased that the ghastly child had to hurry to keep pace with the adults’ longer stride.

The guards remained behind in the vestibule to the council chambers while Nasuada and Elva proceeded inside. The chambers were bare to the point of severity, reflecting the militant nature of Surda’s existence. The country’s kings had devoted their resources to protecting their people and overthrowing Galbatorix, not to decorating Borromeo Castle with idle riches as the dwarves had done with Tronjheim.