Chapter 68: The Gift of Knowledge
A few notes: first of all, I'm sorry this took so long. That's because it's a lot (more on that in a sec,) and I've had mono, which means a lot of make-up work for school and not much energy or motivation to do it with. I'd like to thank thelesserhound for reminding me and kicking me out of bed so that I could finish off. (My bed awaits.)
Second, it's long. Well... deal with it. I'm way too long-winded for many people, but most of you got through the bricks (albeit not without complaint) so maybe this will fly. If it's really too much, tell me and I'll edit it down; right now, I'm tired, and I don't have the energy, and I'm scared that if I wait to post it will molder in my computer for another week.
Third, formatting: I'm fond of footnotes and LJ isn't. They are, therefore, marked by (^1). When I use (1) instead, I'm numbering swordfighting goofs.
The chapter begins thus: “Eyes locked, Eragon and Murtagh slowly circled each other, trying to anticipate how the other would move.” It then goes on to describe Murtagh: fit, tired, armored.
Paolini tends to describe too much and at the wrong times, but that’s not the case here. This is a good place to slow everything down. As every fencer knows, there’s a moment at the beginning of every bout when-no matter how well you know your opponent-you study him carefully, searching for strengths, weaknesses and idiosyncrasies and testing his reactions and defenses. In sabre, the fastest weapon, this moment lasts about a second; in epee, which is most like traditional dueling, it might last as much as twenty. Epee is the most realistic weapon(^1). It’s also the slowest. It’s dangerous, so you have to be careful.
So for once, Paolini is in the right place at the right time, but he’s still doing it wrong. The story is told in Eragon’s point of view. We live through his experiences alone; we see what he sees(^2). So if Eragon’s eyes are locked on Murtagh’s, how would he notice what Murtagh looks like? He should be trying to see what Murtagh looks like, so he shouldn’t be having a staring contest. It’s a really bad idea. Both before and in the fight, eyes are useless. That’s why fencers don’t worry about wearing dark masks; it makes you safe without sacrificing your opponent’s visibility.
And as for what he describes, it’s very distant and impersonal. The problem with description in a tense moment is that it slows down the scene. To avoid releasing tension as well, Paolini should have involved Eragon’s thoughts and emotions. Why do we care if Murtagh’s tired? Because it means he might a) make a critical mistake or b) have bad endurance. Why do we care what armor he’s wearing? Because then we know where his weak spots are. By the way, he’s wearing a mail hauberk (jacket), gauntlets (long gloves), bracers (wrist/forearm protection)(^3), and greaves (lower legs). He also has a long shield. So I’ll say what Paolini should have: that leaves as unarmored targets his feet, upper legs, and head. Head? What the hell? He should at least be wearing a helm.
But, apparently, he isn’t. Moving on.
They keep circling and approaching each other, and when his back is to Galbatorix, Murtagh says quietly, “What are you doing?”
“Buying time,” Eragon muttered, keeping his lips as still as possible.
Given that both Galbatorix and Shurikan are watching, and both of them have freakishly awesome senses, I find it extremely hard to believe that they didn’t notice-especially since the conversation continues.
Murtagh scowled. “You’re a fool. He’ll watch us cut each other to shreds, and what will it change? Nothing.”
Instead of answering, Eragon shifted his weight forward and twitched his sword arm, causing Murtagh to flinch in response.
Personally, I want to know how he flinched, and Eragon should be interested too. After all, this is the guy he’ll be fighting. But perhaps more importantly, I should asking why Eragon wouldn’t answer. Didn’t he just say he’s buying time? He should keep buying it. Typically in a bout, once you start feinting, things get serious pretty fast.
“Blast you,” growled Murtagh. “If you had waited just one more day, I could have freed Nasuada.”
That surprised Eragon. “Why should I believe you?”
What the hell, Eragon? To be fair, I’m not sure exactly whose side he thought Murtagh was on--it seems pretty obvious Murtagh didn’t like Galbatorix but I don’t think Eragon realized this--but his reaction should be completely different. Did Eragon flinch? Freeze? Do a double-take? Instantly retort, or take a minute to mull it over? No--he was surprised. That’s it.
Let’s not forget Galbatorix is supposedly unaware of this interaction.
Anyway, Murtagh uses some Galbatorix-approved banter to distract Eragon, then lunges at his gut. Eragon “barely” parries the blow and then “[replies] with a looping, overhead blow.”
Upon much reflection, this is acceptable, both in the sense of sword-fighting and story. Eragon is caught off guard because he is distracted, which as we know is one of his greatest weaknesses. He barely parries the blow. Parries usually give you the advantage, but only if they’re solid. If he barely parried it, he probably wouldn’t have the composure to riposte. Now, Murtagh should have pressed the attack, but he’s internally torn; he doesn’t know if he wants to hurt Eragon. So it’s forgivable that he didn’t.
Now I start to have problems:
1) A looping, overhead blow is a stupid, stupid move. It’s only ever done as a feint, which, again, means that it’s stupid, because feints are supposed to be unexpected(^4). Because it’s so slow, it allows Murtagh to block. If he prefers, he could also counter quickly, because Eragon's swing will be slower than a lunge. (In fencing, this is called a stop-hit, and it's risky. But here Eragon is asking for it.)
2) But Murtagh didn’t block. Like I said, a parry gives you the advantage: you have control, your opponent is thrown off, and his target area is open for stabbing. Instead, Murtagh jumps back. This time, I’m not going to give him the “internally torn” excuse. His safety was at stake.
From their exchange, it was obvious that Murtagh was still as fast and as strong as Eragon-or an elf. Galbatorix’s prohibition on the use of magic apparently did not extend to the spells that fortified Murtagh’s limbs.
Good. Eragon’s finally putting his observations into context.
For selfish reasons, Eragon disliked the king’s edict, but he could understand the rationale behind it; the fight would hardly have been fair otherwise.
But Eragon did not want a fair fight. He wanted to control the course of the duel so that he could decide when it should end, and how. Unfortunately, Eragon doubted that he would have the opportunity, given Murtagh’s skill with a blade, and even if he did, he was not sure how he could use the fight to strike against Galbatorix. Nor did he have time to think about it, though he trusted that Saphira, Arya, and the dragons would try to devise a solution for him.
For selfish reasons? That’s way too harsh a qualifier. Of course Eragon wants an advantage! Maybe that’s selfish, but only in the sense that wanting to survive at the expense of your enemy is selfish.
Let’s go further: Eragon doesn’t want a fair fight. Well, of course he doesn’t, but there could be a purpose to pointing it out. Eragon insulted Galbatorix’s honor in challenging him, but here we see that Eragon’s own honor isn’t steadfast. In the hands of a better author, I would believe this. But Paolini doesn’t seem to be going in that direction, because then he goes on to emotionlessly reiterate that Eragon is buying time, hoping that the others can devise a solution.
Did I say emotionless? I’ll say it again. So. Fucking. Emotionless. Apathetic, flat boring. This would be unacceptable anywhere in the series, but in the climax? Please.
Murtagh feinted with his left shoulder, and Eragon ducked behind his shield. An instant later, he realized that it had been a ruse and that Murtagh was moving around toward his right in an attempt to get past his guard.
Don’t tell us he’s feinting until he completes the move! It destroys any suspense in the act! Feinting is cool because it’s unexpected. So let it be unexpected! And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Murtagh right-handed? How, then, can he feint with his left shoulder? Theoretically he could have feinted a shift to the left, rather than a thrust, but then there’s no reason for Eragon to duck.
3) By the way, there’s no reason for Eragon to duck anyway. Once again: parrying gives him an advantage. It turns defense into offense. If he has time (and he had time to duck, at least) he should parry rather than use his shield. His shield should be used for balance, armor, last-minute defense, and occasionally as a weapon. Furthermore, the shield used in a duel should not be big enough to duck behind. (^5)
Eragon twisted and saw Zar’roc arcing toward his neck, the edge a glittering, wire-thin line. He knocked it aside with a clumsy push of Brisingr’s crossguard.
It seems that every time there’s something I like, it’s directly followed by something I don’t. I love the attention to detail here, because this is exactly when Eragon would notice that kind of thing. But if he does get one of those glorious adrenaline-fueled perfect synchrony moments (the kind where he notices things like the glittering edge of a blade) he should be able to pull it together enough to parry well.
Anyway, it continues: the fighting, which is hit and miss (sorry) and worse, the emotional arcs, which are just plain miss. I suppose Paolini might have been going for a kind of cool, focused, analytical mood here, but for me, he failed. He just seems entirely uninterested. He’s describing things, but they’re the wrong things, and he’s not quite sure what they’re doing there, and he’s describing them inaccurately anyway. He’s narrating the fight like a soccer announcer at a football game.
I’m trying to make this shorter, I promise, so I’ll just point out the egregious stuff:
Three more times Eragon stabbed, but Murtagh stopped each blow, and when Eragon drew back his arm to strike again, Murtagh countered with a backhanded cut at his knee, which would have crippled him had it landed.
That sentence is just Writing 101 bad. It’s unclear. Did this exact exchange happen each other the three more times Eragon stabbed? Well, of course not. (That would be an elementary mistake-each time a move doesn’t work, you’re supposed to modify it until it does, or your opponent will do that himself and kill you.) What Paolini probably, hopefully means is that once Eragon was done with his “three more” stabs, he drew back his arm and Murtagh went for his knee.
4) Here’s what happened: Murtagh used a backhanded cut, presumably with his right hand, so his sword arced clockwise and slashed at Eragon’s left knee. To do this, he would have to lunge or bend over, leaving his back, neck and/or flank exposed, so he would have his buckler ready to counter any blow coming from that direction. However, he’s not holding a buckler-he’s holding a ridiculously inappropriate melee shield. So his balance is off.
Now here’s what should have happened next: Eragon pivots on his right foot so that his left leg is clear of Murtagh’s blow, while bringing his buckler down just to be safe. Meanwhile, he brings his sword to Murtagh’s left flank. He might want to feint to throw Murtagh further off-balance, or he might conserve his momentum and plow through. If he’s lucky, he’ll avoid the shield; if not, he’ll send Murtagh reeling and have a chance to strike.
So what actually happened? Eragon parried, which is good, but he lost that advantage immediately. It’s decent. But it’s not something I would expect of a “master.” And nothing is accomplished, no lessons are learned, no one is injured, so the exchange might as well not have happened at all (which would never be in a fight with masters) or, at least, we could have been spared.
The fighting continues in much the same awful, emotionless way as before. At some point, Murtagh lowers his sword and turns toward Galbatorix, like he’s about to speak.
And then something amazing happens: it gets good. For two glorious paragraphs, the characters are smart, the tension is apparent, the pacing is good, and the moves make sense. It’s funny, because this could almost be a writing device-Paolini is surprising me with this unexpected talent in much the same way as Murtagh is surprising Eragon with his vigor and creativity.
Eragon loses this exchange, by the way, and just as Murtagh whips his sword at Eragon’s neck, Galbatorix stopped him. This means that a) Eragon is a dumbass, but we knew that; b) Murtagh seems perfectly comfortable with killing Eragon at this point; c) Galbatorix apparently has the superpower of talking really, really fast and d) Galbatorix just saved Eragon’s life. Yep. The antagonist. By the way, Galbatorix dies here, whereas Murtagh is pardoned. And who tried to kill Eragon? Murtagh.
Eragon notices at least b), though, and he is shocked (good)-Murtagh is “playing the game differently than he ought to be.” Well, how ought he play this game, Eragon? What the fuck do you actually think about Murtagh’s alliegiances? Why don’t you chew him out for this later, or find out his reasoning? There never is a purpose to Murtagh’s sudden decision to kill, making this pointless drama. Paolini, if you think your fight scene is getting long, then make it shorter. Don’t try to make it more dramatic than it naturally is. The buildup to a fight, the stakes, should generally be established before.
Yes, you want to make it seem like Eragon might die. You know how you could have done that? By not making Galbatorix do his best to keep both alive.
Then Paolini starts summarizing, which makes me cringe. I personally feel that if you have to summarize a duel-especially a pivotal, climactic duel-it has gone on too long.
People get injured, people are in pain. There’s some blood, making footing difficult, which isn’t quite realistic, as small amounts of blood dry quickly and large amounts of blood mean that people are dead. Eragon breaks Murtagh’s shield but (5) doesn’t take advantage of his… advantage. Then,
Murtagh grasped Zar’roc with both hands and struck at Eragon’s own shield twice in quick succession, and it split as well, leaving them equally matched once again
6) Why on Earth would he do that? Yes, he’s wearing gloves, but Eragon has a goddamn sword. Furthermore, he certainly doesn’t have enough momentum to crack Eragon’s shield (although he does.)
And did he just drop his own sword to execute this dramatic move?
Eragon thinks back to what Glaedr told him: “you must learn to see what you are looking at” and “the way of the warrior is the way of knowing.”
Yes! That’s what I’ve been telling you! In, you know, somewhat cruder but more sensible terms.
What does Eragon see? Not that, say, Murtagh has a slight limp in his left leg, leaving him vulnerable to flanking, or that his sword arm is already injured and a good whack might make him drop the sword (again, apparently.) He sees into Murtagh’s soul and realizes that Murtagh is in love with Nasuada and would do anything in the world to keep her alive, even kill Eragon, which would help somehow.
Actually, he doesn’t realize this. Even though Murtagh pretty much said exactly that earlier. But he does realize that Murtagh is desperate and that the only way for Eragon to win is to… lose. “But not entirely.”
If this plan is supposed to be mysterious, then don’t spend three paragraphs on it. If it’s supposed to make sense, then actually tell us what the fuck it means.
Eragon sidled to Murtagh’s right, while at the same time allowing his sword arm to drift [slightly] away from the side of his body, as if through exhaustion or carelessness. It was a slight motion, but he knew that Murtagh would notice and that he would attempt to exploit the opening he [Eragon] had provided.
See how easy it is to clean up your writing?
He didn’t see, apparently, because he keeps rambling on and Oh my God your characters are in the middle of a duel, hurry up and write or they will die.
So, er, that was it. The dramatic, obscure “lose, but not entirely” build-up essentially meant that Eragon would feint, intentionally receive a minor wound, and in exchange hit Murtagh really, really hard. Eragon won, by the way. Do you care? At this point, I sure as hell don’t.
Murtagh takes his defeat very personally, because if he had won, he might have won Galbatorix’s favor and freed Nasuada. (I don’t think that would have happened.) Then they have some deep conversation about Eragon’s willingness to sacrifice himself for victory, and the fact that Murtagh used to not be that way, but is now, because he has Thorn now and knows the meaning of love.
It’s actually good character development. I do wish they hadn’t shoved it in our faces.
By the way, “you tricked me”?
7) That, sweetie, is how sword-fighting works. When done intelligently, it is a mind game. You don’t announce what you’re about to do, you do it subtly and hope to trick your opponent. In fact, Murtagh, you yourself used a trick in this very same duel.
Galbatorix grows uneasy with their conversation, possibly because it’s almost friendly. It would make sense, except that Galbatorix should be happy about this because he fully intends to induct Eragon’s entire party into slavery. In fact, the very next thing he says is “Now the time has arrived for our guests to bend their knees and give to me their oaths of fealty.… Come closer, the both of you, and I shall heal your wounds.”
“The both of you” always seemed like a very American thing to say. It just sounds silly. But maybe I’m wrong.
Then Murtagh secretly signals to Eragon, who understandably is not sure what’s going on. But again, how are they doing this secret signal stuff? Galbatorix is right there.
Murtagh suddenly disobeys Galbatorix, uses the Word, and apparently extracts spirits from Galbatorix’s will; it seems Galbatorix was a sorcerer on top of everything else. At the same time, Thorn spins around “as fast as a cat whose tail has been stepped on” and attacks Shurikan, which is silly, because Shurikan could basically swallow him.
But more importantly, why? Why is Paolini so determined to interject his supposedly tense action scenes with silly, fluffy metaphors?
The two children scream, which fits the scene, even though they shouldn’t be there.
Everyone else also jumps into action, but too late; Galbatorix regains control. This is decently done. There’s a fair bit of tension, but the cat metaphor killed it a little bit. They all attack again, this time aiming at Galbatorix’s mind.
“Then the dragons under Galbatorix’s command, the mad, howling, grief-stricken dragons, attacked Eragon’s mind…”
I really do like the description of the dragons. It makes them seem quite wild and torrential and powerful. It’s nice. Good job! This is, I believe, the second time I’ve unequivocally liked something in this chapter. The first was those brief few passages of good sword-fighting. Both of these good points, by the way, happen when Eragon is losing.
But wait, there’s more! Galbatorix gets angry. He’s unsettled, but he’s still powerful, and he’s furious. His pride gets in the way, but not in a silly “let me tell you my master plan” kind of way; in a legitimately scary way. Galbatorix is attacking; he even lets the dragons attack everyone else and tries to break Eragon’s mind himself. And he’s doing a very, very good job. Technically speaking, he is wasting time (he could just kill them at this point) but it’s tense nevertheless, and we can see that he still hopes to make them his slaves.
Eragon realizes that Galbatorix is very good at this because it gives him “a perverse pleasure” and not because, oh, he’s been doing it for a hundred years.
Then Eragon realizes that he has lost, and it stops being good. Why? Because, for once, Paolini hasn’t rubbed this in our face enough. Eragon is losing this mind fight, yes, but he hasn’t been utterly destroyed, he hasn’t been rendered helpless (as we shall see) and he’s been in similarly desperate situations before-the prose, at least, treats them with the exact same amount of drama-so his sudden despair doesn’t seem real or important. Screw you, Eragon. It seems you’re interesting when you’re losing, but you sure as hell aren’t when you’ve lost.
In his desperation, Eragon tries one last thing: he knows he can’t win, but he’s going to make Galbatorix understand the pain he’s caused. As an emotional arc, I grant that this works. He’s given up, but he still has some fight, and he wants to leave a mark before he is forced to submit.
However, it still has gaping problems:
1) This doesn’t seem quite possible because the rules of mind-fights haven’t been established concretely and consistently enough.
2) Galbatorix’s actions don’t seem that bad, at least in comparison to the Varden, and the most Eragon has is mild PTSD, flaky veganism and very occasional guilt trips, which he immediately felt better about when Saphira told him it was okay.
3) In a hundred years of dealing directly in the minds of dragons whose Riders have just died and who are experiencing unimaginable pain, Galbatorix has apparently never felt sad or guilty, never understood the scope of his actions, and never steeled himself or found ways to cope with the guilt and pain. What, is coping only for good guys?
To me, the third is biggest issue. It just doesn’t seem realistic for Eragon to make Galbatorix feel this bad. For all that losing your Rider has been worked up to be, you would think that Galbatorix would have dealt with worse anger and grief than Eragon’s. Hell, his own story is tragic: shouldn’t he be steeled to this by now?
But it works, and then Galbatorix has a far too dramatic and tedious Zelda-boss-like thrashy death, although he isn’t dead yet, and Eragon recovers far too quickly, and Eragon and Galbatorix duel for a bit, which should be unnecessary but I suppose Paolini felt obligated to include it at some point (how about earlier, instead of the Murtagh fiasco?) and Eragon wins and stabs Galbatorix in the stomach (^6) and Galbatorix is shocked, but in the end it doesn’t matter because he’s more preoccupied with the voice in his head, which make him feel bad, and then he magically kills himself and goes nuclear.
It was, in short (^7), a very messy sequence of events.
^1 Modern fencing comprises of three weapons: foil, saber, and epee. In foil, the target is your torso, and you hit with the point of the sword. It’s derived from the practice bouts knights and gentlemen would take part in, which encouraged strikes to the chest rather than to the arms. Epee is modeled after “real” bouts, that is, genuine, arbitrated fights done to resolve conflict. The entire body (except for the underside of your foot) is your target. Now, that’s all logistics: in practice, this means that foil bouts have a much faster pace than epee bouts, because in epee, the risk of being hit is greater, and you have to be much more cautious. This is how Eragon and Murtagh should be fighting. (I’m not going to talk about saber because, as much fun as it is, it’s quite the cuckoo of fencing.)
^2 Paolini himself said that the narration is limited to the POV character throughout the series with only one exception: when Eragon is first described in Eragon. This means that we can assume that all other omniscient narration is a mistake. Yay!
^3 In real fighting, greavers are actually only used by archers to protect the forearm from the bowstring. Swordsmen used a variety of armor on their arms, most of which were components of plate armor. Eragon and Murtagh were both ready to duel, not fight melee, so wearing plate armor would be stupid, but if they were, they would be using vambraces, not greavers.
Now, this isn’t exactly common knowledge, but nor is it a secret, either-I found the information on Wikipedia. So how did Paolini confuse the two? Probably because most RPGs don’t differentiate. Torylltales pointed out that Paolini seems to have learned most of combat from RPGs, and I must say, I think I agree.
^4 I’m generalizing. Here’s me not generalizing: high blows are often used with multiple feints or with intent to disengage (avoid the parry.) They’re also used in the middle of combat, rather than as initiation, to hit high, but I don’t know as much about that stuff because it’s saber stuff. All of these imply that you’re in a duel and fast with your blade (either it’s thin or you have super schmagical strength.) In melee combat, this is exactly the kind of blow you would want, because it has all the power to cleave the kind of heavy armor people wear to melee, but not to duels. See footnote five.
^5 There is a massive difference between duel fighting and melee combat. Fighting a battle isn’t just fighting lots of little duels; Paolini does realize this, but not nearly as well as he should. For example, this means that completely different kinds of armor are used. In melee fighting, especially from horseback (or dragonback,) it’s completely excusable to wear plate armor. In a duel, you want to sacrifice this type of armor to increase your mobility. Swords are designed likewise. Thick swords are made to chop through armor, but they’re heavy. Thin swords (think three musketeers) are designed for dueling, because there’s less armor to fight through. The Greeks and Romans tended to use hybrid swords: very short, but hefty. And, finally, shields. In melee combat, it’s important to have a large shield which will protect you as much as possible from stray blows, from arrow and crossbow fire, and from debris. They’re also useful in shield-walls. When dueling, you don’t need nearly as much surface area. Duelers used bucklers, which are round and small. You don’t duck behind a buckler; you raise it to shield yourself.
I also want to emphasize that Eragon has never been trained in any of this. Not just in fighting with a buckler (he dueled with sword only in training,) but more importantly in melee combat, plain and simple. He walked onto the battlefield and started slashing. I mean, it was basically a riot. Same with Roran. Never, not once, is anyone so much as given a rule of thumb as to melee fighting.
^6 When typing that, I accidentally said Murtagh instead of Galbatorix. Freudian slip, I suppose-Eragon stabbed Murtagh in the exact same way. Which would have been neat parallelism except that this happened about five pages ago.
^7 In a bit longer: Paolini took way too much space in this chapter. He does that a lot, I know, but that doesn’t make it any better. He certainly knows how to kill the tension in tense scenes.
The best parts (all three of them) were when Eragon was in the process of losing. They seemed bitingly realistic, whereas his victories were either stale, unbelievable, or cliché.
The worst parts: the complete failure of two “masters” swordfighting. It should have been shorter and they should both have been a lot more aware. Also, the unfortunate metaphors and those times when he didn’t let the emotions speak for themselves.
I didn’t like it much.
Second, it's long. Well... deal with it. I'm way too long-winded for many people, but most of you got through the bricks (albeit not without complaint) so maybe this will fly. If it's really too much, tell me and I'll edit it down; right now, I'm tired, and I don't have the energy, and I'm scared that if I wait to post it will molder in my computer for another week.
Third, formatting: I'm fond of footnotes and LJ isn't. They are, therefore, marked by (^1). When I use (1) instead, I'm numbering swordfighting goofs.
The chapter begins thus: “Eyes locked, Eragon and Murtagh slowly circled each other, trying to anticipate how the other would move.” It then goes on to describe Murtagh: fit, tired, armored.
Paolini tends to describe too much and at the wrong times, but that’s not the case here. This is a good place to slow everything down. As every fencer knows, there’s a moment at the beginning of every bout when-no matter how well you know your opponent-you study him carefully, searching for strengths, weaknesses and idiosyncrasies and testing his reactions and defenses. In sabre, the fastest weapon, this moment lasts about a second; in epee, which is most like traditional dueling, it might last as much as twenty. Epee is the most realistic weapon(^1). It’s also the slowest. It’s dangerous, so you have to be careful.
So for once, Paolini is in the right place at the right time, but he’s still doing it wrong. The story is told in Eragon’s point of view. We live through his experiences alone; we see what he sees(^2). So if Eragon’s eyes are locked on Murtagh’s, how would he notice what Murtagh looks like? He should be trying to see what Murtagh looks like, so he shouldn’t be having a staring contest. It’s a really bad idea. Both before and in the fight, eyes are useless. That’s why fencers don’t worry about wearing dark masks; it makes you safe without sacrificing your opponent’s visibility.
And as for what he describes, it’s very distant and impersonal. The problem with description in a tense moment is that it slows down the scene. To avoid releasing tension as well, Paolini should have involved Eragon’s thoughts and emotions. Why do we care if Murtagh’s tired? Because it means he might a) make a critical mistake or b) have bad endurance. Why do we care what armor he’s wearing? Because then we know where his weak spots are. By the way, he’s wearing a mail hauberk (jacket), gauntlets (long gloves), bracers (wrist/forearm protection)(^3), and greaves (lower legs). He also has a long shield. So I’ll say what Paolini should have: that leaves as unarmored targets his feet, upper legs, and head. Head? What the hell? He should at least be wearing a helm.
But, apparently, he isn’t. Moving on.
They keep circling and approaching each other, and when his back is to Galbatorix, Murtagh says quietly, “What are you doing?”
“Buying time,” Eragon muttered, keeping his lips as still as possible.
Given that both Galbatorix and Shurikan are watching, and both of them have freakishly awesome senses, I find it extremely hard to believe that they didn’t notice-especially since the conversation continues.
Murtagh scowled. “You’re a fool. He’ll watch us cut each other to shreds, and what will it change? Nothing.”
Instead of answering, Eragon shifted his weight forward and twitched his sword arm, causing Murtagh to flinch in response.
Personally, I want to know how he flinched, and Eragon should be interested too. After all, this is the guy he’ll be fighting. But perhaps more importantly, I should asking why Eragon wouldn’t answer. Didn’t he just say he’s buying time? He should keep buying it. Typically in a bout, once you start feinting, things get serious pretty fast.
“Blast you,” growled Murtagh. “If you had waited just one more day, I could have freed Nasuada.”
That surprised Eragon. “Why should I believe you?”
What the hell, Eragon? To be fair, I’m not sure exactly whose side he thought Murtagh was on--it seems pretty obvious Murtagh didn’t like Galbatorix but I don’t think Eragon realized this--but his reaction should be completely different. Did Eragon flinch? Freeze? Do a double-take? Instantly retort, or take a minute to mull it over? No--he was surprised. That’s it.
Let’s not forget Galbatorix is supposedly unaware of this interaction.
Anyway, Murtagh uses some Galbatorix-approved banter to distract Eragon, then lunges at his gut. Eragon “barely” parries the blow and then “[replies] with a looping, overhead blow.”
Upon much reflection, this is acceptable, both in the sense of sword-fighting and story. Eragon is caught off guard because he is distracted, which as we know is one of his greatest weaknesses. He barely parries the blow. Parries usually give you the advantage, but only if they’re solid. If he barely parried it, he probably wouldn’t have the composure to riposte. Now, Murtagh should have pressed the attack, but he’s internally torn; he doesn’t know if he wants to hurt Eragon. So it’s forgivable that he didn’t.
Now I start to have problems:
1) A looping, overhead blow is a stupid, stupid move. It’s only ever done as a feint, which, again, means that it’s stupid, because feints are supposed to be unexpected(^4). Because it’s so slow, it allows Murtagh to block. If he prefers, he could also counter quickly, because Eragon's swing will be slower than a lunge. (In fencing, this is called a stop-hit, and it's risky. But here Eragon is asking for it.)
2) But Murtagh didn’t block. Like I said, a parry gives you the advantage: you have control, your opponent is thrown off, and his target area is open for stabbing. Instead, Murtagh jumps back. This time, I’m not going to give him the “internally torn” excuse. His safety was at stake.
From their exchange, it was obvious that Murtagh was still as fast and as strong as Eragon-or an elf. Galbatorix’s prohibition on the use of magic apparently did not extend to the spells that fortified Murtagh’s limbs.
Good. Eragon’s finally putting his observations into context.
For selfish reasons, Eragon disliked the king’s edict, but he could understand the rationale behind it; the fight would hardly have been fair otherwise.
But Eragon did not want a fair fight. He wanted to control the course of the duel so that he could decide when it should end, and how. Unfortunately, Eragon doubted that he would have the opportunity, given Murtagh’s skill with a blade, and even if he did, he was not sure how he could use the fight to strike against Galbatorix. Nor did he have time to think about it, though he trusted that Saphira, Arya, and the dragons would try to devise a solution for him.
For selfish reasons? That’s way too harsh a qualifier. Of course Eragon wants an advantage! Maybe that’s selfish, but only in the sense that wanting to survive at the expense of your enemy is selfish.
Let’s go further: Eragon doesn’t want a fair fight. Well, of course he doesn’t, but there could be a purpose to pointing it out. Eragon insulted Galbatorix’s honor in challenging him, but here we see that Eragon’s own honor isn’t steadfast. In the hands of a better author, I would believe this. But Paolini doesn’t seem to be going in that direction, because then he goes on to emotionlessly reiterate that Eragon is buying time, hoping that the others can devise a solution.
Did I say emotionless? I’ll say it again. So. Fucking. Emotionless. Apathetic, flat boring. This would be unacceptable anywhere in the series, but in the climax? Please.
Murtagh feinted with his left shoulder, and Eragon ducked behind his shield. An instant later, he realized that it had been a ruse and that Murtagh was moving around toward his right in an attempt to get past his guard.
Don’t tell us he’s feinting until he completes the move! It destroys any suspense in the act! Feinting is cool because it’s unexpected. So let it be unexpected! And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Murtagh right-handed? How, then, can he feint with his left shoulder? Theoretically he could have feinted a shift to the left, rather than a thrust, but then there’s no reason for Eragon to duck.
3) By the way, there’s no reason for Eragon to duck anyway. Once again: parrying gives him an advantage. It turns defense into offense. If he has time (and he had time to duck, at least) he should parry rather than use his shield. His shield should be used for balance, armor, last-minute defense, and occasionally as a weapon. Furthermore, the shield used in a duel should not be big enough to duck behind. (^5)
Eragon twisted and saw Zar’roc arcing toward his neck, the edge a glittering, wire-thin line. He knocked it aside with a clumsy push of Brisingr’s crossguard.
It seems that every time there’s something I like, it’s directly followed by something I don’t. I love the attention to detail here, because this is exactly when Eragon would notice that kind of thing. But if he does get one of those glorious adrenaline-fueled perfect synchrony moments (the kind where he notices things like the glittering edge of a blade) he should be able to pull it together enough to parry well.
Anyway, it continues: the fighting, which is hit and miss (sorry) and worse, the emotional arcs, which are just plain miss. I suppose Paolini might have been going for a kind of cool, focused, analytical mood here, but for me, he failed. He just seems entirely uninterested. He’s describing things, but they’re the wrong things, and he’s not quite sure what they’re doing there, and he’s describing them inaccurately anyway. He’s narrating the fight like a soccer announcer at a football game.
I’m trying to make this shorter, I promise, so I’ll just point out the egregious stuff:
Three more times Eragon stabbed, but Murtagh stopped each blow, and when Eragon drew back his arm to strike again, Murtagh countered with a backhanded cut at his knee, which would have crippled him had it landed.
That sentence is just Writing 101 bad. It’s unclear. Did this exact exchange happen each other the three more times Eragon stabbed? Well, of course not. (That would be an elementary mistake-each time a move doesn’t work, you’re supposed to modify it until it does, or your opponent will do that himself and kill you.) What Paolini probably, hopefully means is that once Eragon was done with his “three more” stabs, he drew back his arm and Murtagh went for his knee.
4) Here’s what happened: Murtagh used a backhanded cut, presumably with his right hand, so his sword arced clockwise and slashed at Eragon’s left knee. To do this, he would have to lunge or bend over, leaving his back, neck and/or flank exposed, so he would have his buckler ready to counter any blow coming from that direction. However, he’s not holding a buckler-he’s holding a ridiculously inappropriate melee shield. So his balance is off.
Now here’s what should have happened next: Eragon pivots on his right foot so that his left leg is clear of Murtagh’s blow, while bringing his buckler down just to be safe. Meanwhile, he brings his sword to Murtagh’s left flank. He might want to feint to throw Murtagh further off-balance, or he might conserve his momentum and plow through. If he’s lucky, he’ll avoid the shield; if not, he’ll send Murtagh reeling and have a chance to strike.
So what actually happened? Eragon parried, which is good, but he lost that advantage immediately. It’s decent. But it’s not something I would expect of a “master.” And nothing is accomplished, no lessons are learned, no one is injured, so the exchange might as well not have happened at all (which would never be in a fight with masters) or, at least, we could have been spared.
The fighting continues in much the same awful, emotionless way as before. At some point, Murtagh lowers his sword and turns toward Galbatorix, like he’s about to speak.
And then something amazing happens: it gets good. For two glorious paragraphs, the characters are smart, the tension is apparent, the pacing is good, and the moves make sense. It’s funny, because this could almost be a writing device-Paolini is surprising me with this unexpected talent in much the same way as Murtagh is surprising Eragon with his vigor and creativity.
Eragon loses this exchange, by the way, and just as Murtagh whips his sword at Eragon’s neck, Galbatorix stopped him. This means that a) Eragon is a dumbass, but we knew that; b) Murtagh seems perfectly comfortable with killing Eragon at this point; c) Galbatorix apparently has the superpower of talking really, really fast and d) Galbatorix just saved Eragon’s life. Yep. The antagonist. By the way, Galbatorix dies here, whereas Murtagh is pardoned. And who tried to kill Eragon? Murtagh.
Eragon notices at least b), though, and he is shocked (good)-Murtagh is “playing the game differently than he ought to be.” Well, how ought he play this game, Eragon? What the fuck do you actually think about Murtagh’s alliegiances? Why don’t you chew him out for this later, or find out his reasoning? There never is a purpose to Murtagh’s sudden decision to kill, making this pointless drama. Paolini, if you think your fight scene is getting long, then make it shorter. Don’t try to make it more dramatic than it naturally is. The buildup to a fight, the stakes, should generally be established before.
Yes, you want to make it seem like Eragon might die. You know how you could have done that? By not making Galbatorix do his best to keep both alive.
Then Paolini starts summarizing, which makes me cringe. I personally feel that if you have to summarize a duel-especially a pivotal, climactic duel-it has gone on too long.
People get injured, people are in pain. There’s some blood, making footing difficult, which isn’t quite realistic, as small amounts of blood dry quickly and large amounts of blood mean that people are dead. Eragon breaks Murtagh’s shield but (5) doesn’t take advantage of his… advantage. Then,
Murtagh grasped Zar’roc with both hands and struck at Eragon’s own shield twice in quick succession, and it split as well, leaving them equally matched once again
6) Why on Earth would he do that? Yes, he’s wearing gloves, but Eragon has a goddamn sword. Furthermore, he certainly doesn’t have enough momentum to crack Eragon’s shield (although he does.)
And did he just drop his own sword to execute this dramatic move?
Eragon thinks back to what Glaedr told him: “you must learn to see what you are looking at” and “the way of the warrior is the way of knowing.”
Yes! That’s what I’ve been telling you! In, you know, somewhat cruder but more sensible terms.
What does Eragon see? Not that, say, Murtagh has a slight limp in his left leg, leaving him vulnerable to flanking, or that his sword arm is already injured and a good whack might make him drop the sword (again, apparently.) He sees into Murtagh’s soul and realizes that Murtagh is in love with Nasuada and would do anything in the world to keep her alive, even kill Eragon, which would help somehow.
Actually, he doesn’t realize this. Even though Murtagh pretty much said exactly that earlier. But he does realize that Murtagh is desperate and that the only way for Eragon to win is to… lose. “But not entirely.”
If this plan is supposed to be mysterious, then don’t spend three paragraphs on it. If it’s supposed to make sense, then actually tell us what the fuck it means.
Eragon sidled to Murtagh’s right, while at the same time allowing his sword arm to drift [slightly] away from the side of his body, as if through exhaustion or carelessness. It was a slight motion, but he knew that Murtagh would notice and that he would attempt to exploit the opening he [Eragon] had provided.
See how easy it is to clean up your writing?
He didn’t see, apparently, because he keeps rambling on and Oh my God your characters are in the middle of a duel, hurry up and write or they will die.
So, er, that was it. The dramatic, obscure “lose, but not entirely” build-up essentially meant that Eragon would feint, intentionally receive a minor wound, and in exchange hit Murtagh really, really hard. Eragon won, by the way. Do you care? At this point, I sure as hell don’t.
Murtagh takes his defeat very personally, because if he had won, he might have won Galbatorix’s favor and freed Nasuada. (I don’t think that would have happened.) Then they have some deep conversation about Eragon’s willingness to sacrifice himself for victory, and the fact that Murtagh used to not be that way, but is now, because he has Thorn now and knows the meaning of love.
It’s actually good character development. I do wish they hadn’t shoved it in our faces.
By the way, “you tricked me”?
7) That, sweetie, is how sword-fighting works. When done intelligently, it is a mind game. You don’t announce what you’re about to do, you do it subtly and hope to trick your opponent. In fact, Murtagh, you yourself used a trick in this very same duel.
Galbatorix grows uneasy with their conversation, possibly because it’s almost friendly. It would make sense, except that Galbatorix should be happy about this because he fully intends to induct Eragon’s entire party into slavery. In fact, the very next thing he says is “Now the time has arrived for our guests to bend their knees and give to me their oaths of fealty.… Come closer, the both of you, and I shall heal your wounds.”
“The both of you” always seemed like a very American thing to say. It just sounds silly. But maybe I’m wrong.
Then Murtagh secretly signals to Eragon, who understandably is not sure what’s going on. But again, how are they doing this secret signal stuff? Galbatorix is right there.
Murtagh suddenly disobeys Galbatorix, uses the Word, and apparently extracts spirits from Galbatorix’s will; it seems Galbatorix was a sorcerer on top of everything else. At the same time, Thorn spins around “as fast as a cat whose tail has been stepped on” and attacks Shurikan, which is silly, because Shurikan could basically swallow him.
But more importantly, why? Why is Paolini so determined to interject his supposedly tense action scenes with silly, fluffy metaphors?
The two children scream, which fits the scene, even though they shouldn’t be there.
Everyone else also jumps into action, but too late; Galbatorix regains control. This is decently done. There’s a fair bit of tension, but the cat metaphor killed it a little bit. They all attack again, this time aiming at Galbatorix’s mind.
“Then the dragons under Galbatorix’s command, the mad, howling, grief-stricken dragons, attacked Eragon’s mind…”
I really do like the description of the dragons. It makes them seem quite wild and torrential and powerful. It’s nice. Good job! This is, I believe, the second time I’ve unequivocally liked something in this chapter. The first was those brief few passages of good sword-fighting. Both of these good points, by the way, happen when Eragon is losing.
But wait, there’s more! Galbatorix gets angry. He’s unsettled, but he’s still powerful, and he’s furious. His pride gets in the way, but not in a silly “let me tell you my master plan” kind of way; in a legitimately scary way. Galbatorix is attacking; he even lets the dragons attack everyone else and tries to break Eragon’s mind himself. And he’s doing a very, very good job. Technically speaking, he is wasting time (he could just kill them at this point) but it’s tense nevertheless, and we can see that he still hopes to make them his slaves.
Eragon realizes that Galbatorix is very good at this because it gives him “a perverse pleasure” and not because, oh, he’s been doing it for a hundred years.
Then Eragon realizes that he has lost, and it stops being good. Why? Because, for once, Paolini hasn’t rubbed this in our face enough. Eragon is losing this mind fight, yes, but he hasn’t been utterly destroyed, he hasn’t been rendered helpless (as we shall see) and he’s been in similarly desperate situations before-the prose, at least, treats them with the exact same amount of drama-so his sudden despair doesn’t seem real or important. Screw you, Eragon. It seems you’re interesting when you’re losing, but you sure as hell aren’t when you’ve lost.
In his desperation, Eragon tries one last thing: he knows he can’t win, but he’s going to make Galbatorix understand the pain he’s caused. As an emotional arc, I grant that this works. He’s given up, but he still has some fight, and he wants to leave a mark before he is forced to submit.
However, it still has gaping problems:
1) This doesn’t seem quite possible because the rules of mind-fights haven’t been established concretely and consistently enough.
2) Galbatorix’s actions don’t seem that bad, at least in comparison to the Varden, and the most Eragon has is mild PTSD, flaky veganism and very occasional guilt trips, which he immediately felt better about when Saphira told him it was okay.
3) In a hundred years of dealing directly in the minds of dragons whose Riders have just died and who are experiencing unimaginable pain, Galbatorix has apparently never felt sad or guilty, never understood the scope of his actions, and never steeled himself or found ways to cope with the guilt and pain. What, is coping only for good guys?
To me, the third is biggest issue. It just doesn’t seem realistic for Eragon to make Galbatorix feel this bad. For all that losing your Rider has been worked up to be, you would think that Galbatorix would have dealt with worse anger and grief than Eragon’s. Hell, his own story is tragic: shouldn’t he be steeled to this by now?
But it works, and then Galbatorix has a far too dramatic and tedious Zelda-boss-like thrashy death, although he isn’t dead yet, and Eragon recovers far too quickly, and Eragon and Galbatorix duel for a bit, which should be unnecessary but I suppose Paolini felt obligated to include it at some point (how about earlier, instead of the Murtagh fiasco?) and Eragon wins and stabs Galbatorix in the stomach (^6) and Galbatorix is shocked, but in the end it doesn’t matter because he’s more preoccupied with the voice in his head, which make him feel bad, and then he magically kills himself and goes nuclear.
It was, in short (^7), a very messy sequence of events.
^1 Modern fencing comprises of three weapons: foil, saber, and epee. In foil, the target is your torso, and you hit with the point of the sword. It’s derived from the practice bouts knights and gentlemen would take part in, which encouraged strikes to the chest rather than to the arms. Epee is modeled after “real” bouts, that is, genuine, arbitrated fights done to resolve conflict. The entire body (except for the underside of your foot) is your target. Now, that’s all logistics: in practice, this means that foil bouts have a much faster pace than epee bouts, because in epee, the risk of being hit is greater, and you have to be much more cautious. This is how Eragon and Murtagh should be fighting. (I’m not going to talk about saber because, as much fun as it is, it’s quite the cuckoo of fencing.)
^2 Paolini himself said that the narration is limited to the POV character throughout the series with only one exception: when Eragon is first described in Eragon. This means that we can assume that all other omniscient narration is a mistake. Yay!
^3 In real fighting, greavers are actually only used by archers to protect the forearm from the bowstring. Swordsmen used a variety of armor on their arms, most of which were components of plate armor. Eragon and Murtagh were both ready to duel, not fight melee, so wearing plate armor would be stupid, but if they were, they would be using vambraces, not greavers.
Now, this isn’t exactly common knowledge, but nor is it a secret, either-I found the information on Wikipedia. So how did Paolini confuse the two? Probably because most RPGs don’t differentiate. Torylltales pointed out that Paolini seems to have learned most of combat from RPGs, and I must say, I think I agree.
^4 I’m generalizing. Here’s me not generalizing: high blows are often used with multiple feints or with intent to disengage (avoid the parry.) They’re also used in the middle of combat, rather than as initiation, to hit high, but I don’t know as much about that stuff because it’s saber stuff. All of these imply that you’re in a duel and fast with your blade (either it’s thin or you have super schmagical strength.) In melee combat, this is exactly the kind of blow you would want, because it has all the power to cleave the kind of heavy armor people wear to melee, but not to duels. See footnote five.
^5 There is a massive difference between duel fighting and melee combat. Fighting a battle isn’t just fighting lots of little duels; Paolini does realize this, but not nearly as well as he should. For example, this means that completely different kinds of armor are used. In melee fighting, especially from horseback (or dragonback,) it’s completely excusable to wear plate armor. In a duel, you want to sacrifice this type of armor to increase your mobility. Swords are designed likewise. Thick swords are made to chop through armor, but they’re heavy. Thin swords (think three musketeers) are designed for dueling, because there’s less armor to fight through. The Greeks and Romans tended to use hybrid swords: very short, but hefty. And, finally, shields. In melee combat, it’s important to have a large shield which will protect you as much as possible from stray blows, from arrow and crossbow fire, and from debris. They’re also useful in shield-walls. When dueling, you don’t need nearly as much surface area. Duelers used bucklers, which are round and small. You don’t duck behind a buckler; you raise it to shield yourself.
I also want to emphasize that Eragon has never been trained in any of this. Not just in fighting with a buckler (he dueled with sword only in training,) but more importantly in melee combat, plain and simple. He walked onto the battlefield and started slashing. I mean, it was basically a riot. Same with Roran. Never, not once, is anyone so much as given a rule of thumb as to melee fighting.
^6 When typing that, I accidentally said Murtagh instead of Galbatorix. Freudian slip, I suppose-Eragon stabbed Murtagh in the exact same way. Which would have been neat parallelism except that this happened about five pages ago.
^7 In a bit longer: Paolini took way too much space in this chapter. He does that a lot, I know, but that doesn’t make it any better. He certainly knows how to kill the tension in tense scenes.
The best parts (all three of them) were when Eragon was in the process of losing. They seemed bitingly realistic, whereas his victories were either stale, unbelievable, or cliché.
The worst parts: the complete failure of two “masters” swordfighting. It should have been shorter and they should both have been a lot more aware. Also, the unfortunate metaphors and those times when he didn’t let the emotions speak for themselves.
I didn’t like it much.