Eragon stirred his stew to cool it while he examined the issue. “It seems to me,” he said slowly, “that the easiest thing would be to train a corps of magicians — they wouldn’t even have to be that powerful — force them to swear loyalty to me in the ancient language, then have them infiltrate Surda to sabotage the Varden’s efforts, poison wells, and assassinate Nasuada, King Orrin, and other key members of the resistance.”
“And why hasn’t Galbatorix done this yet?”
“Because until now, Surda was of negligible interest to him, and because the Varden have dwelled in Farthen Dûr for decades, where they were able to examine every newcomer’s mind for duplicity, which they can’t do in Surda since its border and population are so large.”
“Those are my very conclusions,” said Oromis. “Unless Galbatorix forsakes his lair in Urû’baen, the greatest danger you’re likely to encounter during the Varden’s campaign will come from fellow magicians. You know as well as I how difficult it is to guard against magic, especially if your opponent has sworn in the ancient language to kill you, no matter the cost. Instead of attempting to first conquer your mind, such a foe will simply cast a spell to obliterate you, even though — in the instant before you are destroyed — you will still be free to retaliate. However, you cannot fell your murderer if you don’t know who or where he is.”
“So sometimes you don’t have to bother taking control of your opponent’s mind?”
“Sometimes, but it’s a risk to avoid.” Oromis paused to consume a few spoonfuls of stew. “Now, to address the heart of this issue, how do you defend yourself against anonymous enemies who can contravene any physical precautions and slay with a muttered word?”
“I don’t see how, unless...” Eragon hesitated, then smiled. “Unless I was aware of the consciousnesses of all the people around me. Then I could sense if they meant me harm.”
Oromis appeared pleased by his answer. “Even so, Eragon-finiarel. And that’s the answer to your question. Your meditations condition your mind to find and exploit flaws in your enemies’ mental armor, no matter how small.”
“But won’t another magic user know if I touch their mind?”
“Aye, they will know, but most people won’t. And as for the magicians, they will know, they will be afraid, and they will shield their minds from you out of their fear, and you will know them because of it.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to leave your consciousness unguarded? If you’re attacked mentally, you could easily be overwhelmed.”
“It’s less dangerous than being blind to the world.”
Eragon nodded. He tapped his spoon against his bowl in a measured meter of time, engrossed in his thoughts, then said, “It feels wrong.”
“Oh? Explain yourself.”
“What about people’s privacy? Brom taught me to never intrude in someone’s mind unless it was absolutely necessary... I guess I’m uncomfortable with the idea of prying into people’s secrets... secrets that they have every right to keep to themselves.” He cocked his head. “Why didn’t Brom tell me about this if it’s so important? Why didn’t he train me in it himself?”
“Brom told you,” said Oromis, “what was appropriate to tell you under the circumstances. Dipping into the pool of minds can prove addictive to those with a malicious personality or a taste for power. It was not taught to prospective Riders — though we had them meditate as you do throughout their training — until we were convinced that they were mature enough to resist temptation.
“It is an invasion of privacy, and you will learn many things from it that you never wanted to. However, this is for your own good and the good of the Varden. I can say from experience, and from watching other Riders experience the same, that this, above all else, will help you to understand what drives people. And understanding begets empathy and compassion, even for the meanest beggar in the meanest city of Alagaësia.”
They were quiet for a while, eating, then Oromis asked, “Can you tell me, What is the most important mental tool a person can possess?”
It was a serious question, and Eragon considered it for a reasonable span before he ventured to say, “Determination.”
Oromis tore the loaf in half with his long white fingers. “I can understand why you arrived at that conclusion — determination has served you well in your adventures — but no. I meant the tool most necessary to choose the best course of action in any given situation. Determination is as common among men who are dull and foolish as it is among those who are brilliant intellects. So, no, determination cannot be what we’re looking for.”
This time Eragon treated the question as he would a riddle, counting the number of words, whispering them out loud to establish whether they rhymed, and otherwise examining them for hidden meaning. The problem was, he was no more than a mediocre riddler and had never placed very high in Carvahall’s annual riddle contest. He thought too literally to work out the answers to riddles that he had not heard before, a legacy of Garrow’s practical upbringing.
“Wisdom,” he finally said. “Wisdom is the most important tool for a person to possess.”
“A fair guess, but, again, no. The answer is logic. Or, to put it another way, the ability to reason analytically. Applied properly, it can overcome any lack of wisdom, which one only gains through age and experience.”
Eragon frowned. “Yes, but isn’t having a good heart more important than logic? Pure logic can lead you to conclusions that are ethically wrong, whereas if you are moral and righteous, that will ensure that you don’t act shamefully.”
A razor-thin smile curled Oromis’s lips. “You confuse the issue. All I wanted to know was the most useful tool a person can have, regardless of whether that person is good or evil. I agree that it’s important to be of a virtuous nature, but I would also contend that if you had to choose between giving a man a noble disposition or teaching him to think clearly, you’d do better to teach him to think clearly. Too many problems in this world are caused by men with noble dispositions and clouded minds.
“History provides us with numerous examples of people who were convinced that they were doing the right thing and committed terrible crimes because of it. Keep in mind, Eragon, that no one thinks of himself as a villain, and few make decisions they think are wrong. A person may dislike his choice, but he will stand by it because, even in the worst circumstances, he believes that it was the best option available to him at the time.
“On its own, being a decent person is no guarantee that you will act well, which brings us back to the one protection we have against demagogues, tricksters, and the madness of crowds, and our surest guide through the uncertain shoals of life: clear and reasoned thinking. Logic will never fail you, unless you’re unaware of — or deliberately ignore — the consequences of your deeds.”
“If elves are so logical,” said Eragon, “then you must all agree on what to do.”
“Hardly,” averred Oromis. “Like every race, we adhere to a wide range of tenets, and, as a result, we often arrive at differing conclusions, even in identical situations. Conclusions, I might add, that make logical sense from each person’s point of view. And although I wish it were otherwise, not all elves have trained their minds properly.”
“How do you intend to teach me this logic?”
Oromis’s smile broadened. “By the oldest and most effective method: debating. I will ask you a question, then you will answer and defend your position.” He waited while Eragon refilled his bowl with stew. “For example, why do you fight the Empire?”
The sudden change of topic caught Eragon off guard. He had a feeling that Oromis had just reached the subject that he had been driving toward all along. “As I said before, to help those who suffer from Galbatorix’s rule and, to a lesser extent, for personal vengeance.”