“Because he did not expect you to face an army for months or years to come; it is not a tool given to untested Riders.”
“If it’s so easy to kill people, though, what’s the point of us or Galbatorix raising an army?”
“To be succinct, tactics. Magicians are vulnerable to physical attack when they are embroiled in their mental struggles. Therefore, they need warriors to protect them. And the warriors must be shielded, at least in part, from magical attacks, else they would be slain within minutes. These limitations mean that when armies confront one another, their magicians are scattered throughout the bulk of their forces, close to the edge but not so close as to be in danger. The magicians on both sides open their minds and attempt to sense if anyone is using or is about to use magic. Since their enemies might be beyond their mental reach, magicians also erect wards around themselves and their warriors to stop or lessen long-range attacks, such as a pebble sent flying toward their head from a mile away.”
“Surely one man can’t defend an entire army,” said Eragon.
“Not alone, but with enough magicians, you can provide a reasonable amount of protection. The greatest danger in this sort of conflict is that a clever magician may think of a unique attack that can bypass your wards without tripping them. That itself could be enough to decide a battle.
“Also,” said Oromis, “you must keep in mind that the ability to use magic is exceedingly rare among the races. We elves are no exception, although we have a greater allotment of spellweavers than most, as a result of oaths we bound ourselves with centuries ago. The majority of those blessed with magic have little or no appreciable talent; they struggle to heal even so much as a bruise.”
Eragon nodded. He had encountered magicians like that in the Varden. “But it still takes the same amount of energy to accomplish a task.”
“Energy, yes, but lesser magicians find it harder than you or I do to feel the flow of magic and immerse themselves in it. Few magicians are strong enough to pose a threat to an entire army. And those who are usually spend the bulk of their time during battles evading, tracking, or fighting their opposites, which is fortunate from the standpoint of ordinary warriors, else they would all soon be killed.”
Troubled, Eragon said, “The Varden don’t have many magicians.”
“That is one reason why you are so important.”
A moment passed as Eragon reflected on what Oromis had told him. “These wards, do they only drain energy from you when they are activated?”
“Aye.”
“Then, given enough time, you could acquire countless layers of wards. You could make yourself...” He struggled with the ancient language as he attempted to express himself. “... untouchable?... impregnable?... impregnable to any assault, magical or physical.”
“Wards,” said Oromis, “rely upon the strength of your body. If that strength is exceeded, you die. No matter how many wards you have, you will only be able to block attacks so long as your body can sustain the output of energy.”
“And Galbatorix’s strength has been increasing each year... How is that possible?”
It was a rhetorical question, yet when Oromis remained silent, his almond eyes fixed on a trio of swallows pirouetting overhead, Eragon realized that the elf was considering how best to answer him. The birds chased each other for several minutes. When they flitted from view, Oromis said, “It is not appropriate to have this discussion at the present.”
“Then you know?” exclaimed Eragon, astonished.
“I do. But that information must wait until later in your training. You are not ready for it.” Oromis looked at Eragon, as if expecting him to object.
Eragon bowed. “As you wish, Master.” He could never prize the information out of Oromis until the elf was willing to share it, so why try? Still, he wondered what could be so dangerous that Oromis dared not tell him, and why the elves had kept it secret from the Varden. Another thought presented itself to him, and he said, “If battles with magicians are conducted like you said, then why did Ajihad let me fight without wards in Farthen Dûr? I didn’t even know that I needed to keep my mind open for enemies. And why didn’t Arya kill most or all of the Urgals? No magicians were there to oppose her except for Durza, and he couldn’t have defended his troops when he was underground.”
“Did not Ajihad have Arya or one of Du Vrangr Gata set defenses around you?” demanded Oromis.
“No, Master.”
“And you fought thus?”
“Yes, Master.”
Oromis’s eyes unfocused, withdrawing into himself as he stood motionless on the greensward. He spoke without warning: “I have consulted Arya, and she says that the Twins of the Varden were ordered to assess your abilities. They told Ajihad you were competent in all magic, including wards. Neither Ajihad nor Arya doubted their judgment on that matter.”
“Those smooth-tongued, bald-pated, tick-infested, treacherous dogs,” swore Eragon. “They tried to get me killed!” Reverting to his own language, he indulged in several more pungent oaths.
“Do not befoul the air,” said Oromis mildly. “It ill becomes you... In any case, I suspect the Twins allowed you into battle unprotected not so you would be killed, but so that Durza could capture you.”
“What?”
“By your own account, Ajihad suspected that the Varden had been betrayed when Galbatorix began persecuting their allies in the Empire with near-perfect accuracy. The Twins were privy to the identities of the Varden’s collaborators. Also, the Twins lured you to the heart of Tronjheim, thereby separating you from Saphira and placing you within Durza’s reach. That they were traitors is the logical explanation.”
“If they were traitors,” said Eragon, “it doesn’t matter now; they’re long dead.”
Oromis inclined his head. “Even so. Arya said that the Urgals did have magicians in Farthen Dûr and that she fought many of them. None of them attacked you?”
“No, Master.”
“More evidence that you and Saphira were left for Durza to capture and take to Galbatorix. The trap was well laid.”
Over the next hour, Oromis taught Eragon twelve methods to kill, none of which took more energy than lifting an ink-laden pen. As he finished memorizing the last one, a thought struck Eragon that caused him to grin. “The Ra’zac won’t stand a chance the next time they cross my path.”
“You must still be wary of them,” cautioned Oromis.
“Why? Three words and they’ll be dead.”
“What do ospreys eat?”
Eragon blinked. “Fish, of course.”
“And if a fish were slightly faster and more intelligent than its brethren, would it be able to escape a hunting osprey?”
“I doubt it,” said Eragon. “At least not for very long.”
“Just as ospreys are designed to be the best possible hunters of fish, wolves are designed to be the best hunters of deer and other large game, and every animal is gifted to best suit its purpose. So too are the Ra’zac designed to prey upon humans. They are the monsters in the dark, the dripping nightmares that haunt your race.”
The back of Eragon’s neck prickled with horror. “What manner of creatures are they?”
“Neither elf; man; dwarf; dragon; furred, finned, or feathered beast; reptile; insect; nor any other category of animal.”
Eragon forced a laugh. “Are they plants, then?”
“Nor that either. They reproduce by laying eggs, like dragons. When they hatch, the young — or pupae — grow black exoskeletons that mimic the human form. It’s a grotesque imitation, but convincing enough to let the Ra’zac approach their victims without undo alarm. All areas where humans are weak, the Ra’zac are strong. They can see on a cloudy night, track a scent like a bloodhound, jump higher, and move faster. However, bright light pains them and they have a morbid fear of deep water, for they cannot swim. Their greatest weapon is their evil breath, which fogs the minds of humans — incapacitating many — though it is less potent on dwarves, and elves are immune altogether.”