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Memories clung to Nasuada like plain thorns.

She still remembered the culling of the Black Hand, the familiar faces of workers, soldiers

and captains, stoic despite the curled noose around their neck. Her words brought death to

them. And with it, stability.

Naivety told her to trust them. Perhaps she had lacked proper experience, or maybe softness

spoiled her. Three months had passed, and Nasuada still wasnt sure what the cause was.

Nasuada knew she had changed. The people around her regarded her differently. Where

soldiers saluted, the displeased citizens of Feinster frowned at her. The remaining Carvahall

villagers still stained her name out-loud.

She punished none. They looked deplorable in the soiled brown hides that concealed thin

bodies. If hunger hadnt crippled them yet, the winter blizzard would.

The main road shed its snow blanket daily. Many of the small paths that meandered betweenthe ramshackle stone buildings provided space to deposit the snow at the cost of several

havens that housed beggars and thieves.

With only the main road swept daily, most of Feinster converged on the stone paved ground,

helping both Nasuada and her guard entourage to spot any conspicuous man, woman or

dwarf.

On the way towards the barracks, Nasuada deterred any messenger, soldier and captain that

approached her. During winter, everyone was worried, the soldiers more than the rest. Most of

the artisans and peasants were obviously displeased with the way she handled the few

supplies, and it was the soldiers that prevented desertion or uprising. Troops needed to eat

first, and Nasuada complied.

The barracks loomed in the distance. It was no more than a ruin with a roof, but the wide

space protected a part of Oriks men from the rage of the elements. The rest were scattered

and crowded in similar decrepit buildings.

Nasuada stopped in front of the building, motioning at a human guard to summon Orik.

Her nose wrinkled in protest as the wind carried the vile smell of urine mixed with feces

towards her. Nasuada refrained from glancing at the entrance, afraid of her weakness of herfilled stomach. Pristine hygiene was a dwarfs flaw, but enduring the stench was worth the

15.000 remaining troops.

Like the peasants, Orik needed supplies. It was his arrival that provoked disbalance in the

Vardens supplies, yet Nasuada wasnt keen on relinquishing a battle prepared army for a

handful of moaning brats and sluts.

Ye come with food or promises?

Nasuada turned around to regard the source of the deep voice.

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Covered in cloth and furs, Orik looked far from regal. His unkempt mustache acquired blunt

edges, and the scruffy beard tangled in the animal furs he wore.

Your arrival was expected to bring both, Nasuada said.

Orik frowned. Nasuada saw displeasure in his brown eyes, but also desperation. The dwarfhad no throne, no food, and a flimsy control over his own men.

We are your allies, Orik said, wrapping his thick arms around his torso expectantly. Isnt

your duty to provide for us?

Nasuada smiled wryly. Duty died when Murdi jerked the throne from under your bottom.

It the way war works, Orik said. I lost my throne, the Black Hand infiltrated your camp

and bribed your own me. At least dwarves run, not stab in the back.

Nasuada took a step forward. There was a fire of defiance in Oriks eyes, a reproachful tone inhis voice. Nasuada loathed being reminded of her weak episodes, yet Orik did it subtly,

almost gently. His intention was to obtain food, not create animosity between their races.

And he was desperate.

Nasuada allowed her stiff posture to relax as she sighed.

Can Murdi understand our predicament?

Nay, Orik shook his head. The basterd wants no war, nor the dwarves who fight in it.

Nasuada rubbed her chin, weighing his words. They both knew little about Murdi, Lord of

Mountain Clans. Rumors whispered about his pride and stubborn nature. His ambition

apparently united the dwarven clans, and so far, he had rejected every one of Nasuadas

messengers.

Help would not come from him.

If Aryas dragon hunts for us, me men be happy, Orik said as he bowed his head. Empty

guts always take cuts.

Nasuada smiled. She liked the truth in his rhyme.

The hatchling cannot hunt, Nasuada warned, but tell me what you need.

Well, Orik began, rubbing his belly contentedly, meat and ale are dwarven basics, much

like water for ye, and

Simply standing in front of Orik as he listed the requirements came hard to Nasuada. She felt

unusually warm in the furs covered with a simple silk dress, a mere discomfort compared to

her predicament. The dwarf asked for more than the Varden could offer.

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She could get rid of peasants to allow an extra soldier to eat, but Orik was a commander of

fifteen thousand troops, a force that eclipsed her own. Past delays regarding her promise to

Orik had lowered the armys numbers, and winter offered no time for squabbles.

If the Varden couldnt produce food, then they had to steal it from the Empire.

You will get everything after we assault Belatona, Nasuada rushed her words, eager to

proceed to her next task. Prepare your troops.

Orik tried to follow her as she shuffled away from him, probably bewildered by her radical

decision.

When we attack, in middle winter? he spat. Without siege equipment and snow to slow yer

long legs?

I have a solution, Nasuada said, dismissing him with a flick of her hand. She did not look

back to confirm his obedience; desperation abolished doubt.

The walk towards Loranas palace was a strenuous one. Every beggar and peasant lurched

towards her, their crooked fingers desperate for coin or food. Instead of rewarding their

faithfulness, Nasuadas terse hand gestures brought guards upon them. They lashed savagely

at the disheveled people, punching, whipping, tossing them aside to make clear the road.

She took no pleasure in tormenting them. The screeches were loud, their yells much too

unsettling due to the power they carried. A leader had to grow accustomed to the sounds of

pain and displeasure, for when they ceased, the cries of battle followed.

Nasuada had no intention to lose a battle that could cripple her army. Not before her grip on

Oriks troops strengthened.

Her stroll turned to a fast walk as more useless people poured in from the filthy alleyways.

Their persistence demanded more guards from an already thinned group, and if it wasnt for

the bashing of clubs and the threat of the metal blade, Nasuada could almost ignore them.

Loranas palace loomed in the distance, a crumpled structure that proved surprisingly resilient

against its attackers. When she stopped at a respectable distance from the magicians stacked

in imperfect rows, Nasuada ordered the guards away. Most of the hunger crazed denizens of

Feinster already retreated to tend to their wounds and regroup for her return.

The huddled lumps in the distance brought furrows to Nasuadas greasy brow. Her calm

demeanor allowed her to understand that such walks were perilous, a danger to her unstable

rule. Yet she couldnt silence her thumping heart or relax her tightened muscles. Would her

rule slither from her grip, like the sweat trickling down her temples?

A shake of her head dispelled the morbid thoughts. Without her, The Varden were doomed.

And right now, the people desperately needed her acumen.

You there, Nasuada called as she walked up an incline. Take me to Arya.

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The messenger boy in front of her nodded and broke into a sprint, as if Galbatorix himself

chased him. Nasuada cursed silently, adjusting her long dress before she ran after the filthy

child.

In front, the boy shouted. Nasuada clenched her teeth in an attempt to suppress the urge to

discipline the brat herself. But at least he fulfilled his task.

Nasuada stopped, waiting for her panting to subside. Her gaze followed the meandering trail

of the child, until the mahogany forms of Du Vrangr Gata shielded him from vision.

A skinny elf sauntered in Nasuadas direction, splitting from the rest.

Nasuada, the elf said. The nonchalance in her voice, together with the imposing air she

carried herself along the crumbled cobblestone path stretched Nasuadas patience.

Were progressing.

Nasuada folded her arms and glared at the elf. Words werent enough when the rest of her

squad wobbled on their feet like grass during a storm.

Not fast enough, Nasuada hissed. Wide cracks brazed the outer wall of the palace, while the

side areas were mostly intact. Du Vrangr Gata was to be her siege equipment, yet their spells

barely scratched the soot covered stone. Arya failed, and the Varden had to march towards

Belatona.

Your dragon is not hunting.

Nasuada turned around, but a relentless grip forced a muffled yelp out through her clenched

teeth. The pain flaring in her arm, the pressure that threatened to crush it returned a bitter

memory to Nasuada. One that she was not particularly fond of.

He cannot, Arya threatened.

Nasuada gasped and rubbed the sore area once Arya freed her. An elfs respectit was a

precious, difficult trait that Nasuada had to manipulate, yet she did not know how.

Well, there was something, but mostly rumors.

A brief shake of her head ended Nasuadas musing. She realized that Aryas explanation

evaded her uninterested ears.

What? Nasuada asked.

Eragon has yet to fully mature. He is going to hunt when he deems himself fit.

So hes a weakling, Three months, and he cannot hunt, Nasuada nodded, then glared at

Arya. At his age, Saphira carried Eragon to the Varden. She ended the lives of soldiers and

deer.

Concern yourself with the camps needs, Arya said. Your presence hinders our progress.

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Cracks and holes in stone, Nasuada scoffed, pointing at the standing wall. Miners do them

too.

Arya pursed her lips, but Nasuada raised her right hand and walked forward, among the

surprised Varden spell casters. Their pale faces lulled with exhaustion. If this incapable bunchof inept wizards knew of her preoccupation to keep them fed and protected from the crazed

peasants, maybe gratefulness would fulfill what her words couldnt.

We march towards Belatona, Nasuada yelled. The longer you need to take the wall down,

the longer you stay in the flurry of arrows.

Many of them opposed the idea. Nasuada, however, swerved left and out of the crowd. Few

words worked better for people like them.

Your strategy bothers me.

Nasuada shuddered, a soft gasp escaping her. She loathed stalking and subtlety. A curt sigh

escaped her after the fleeting shock passed.

You know why I said it to them.

I know what lies are, Arya said. They wont kill themselves to bring down a wall.

That is a possibility. One that we may have to consider, Nasuada concluded.

Aryas impassive expression told Nasuada nothing. She probably considered herself above the

rest, but the tattered crimson robes spoke more than her cold appearance.

No other disturbances stalled Nasuada on her way to the commanders assembly. Her last task

included the choosing of strategic pathways, the relocation of the remaining supplies and the

call to arms.

Usually, Nasuada appointed a scribe to deliver her acknowledgmentcoming in person to

witness the maturity of tasks she entrusted to the others seemed a waste. If it wasnt for the

new general she appointed a month ago, her visit had no reason to grace those hulking men.

For some reason, she felt an ominous need to check on him.

Zvonurile erau despre absenta Aryei si despre elfi nemultumiti cred. Nasuada mai primea

telefoane de la elfi.