Inheritance i-4

by Christopher Paolini

  “Blast it-it’s not right. You shouldn’t have to go live by yourself in the wilderness.”

  “I won’t be entirely alone. Blodhgarm and a few other elves will be going with us.”

  Roran made an impatient gesture. “You know what I mean.” He gnawed on the corner of his mustache and leaned on his hands against the stone lip underneath the window. Eragon could see the sinews in his thick forearms knotting and flexing. Then Roran looked at him and said, “What will you do once you get to wherever you’re going?”

  “Find a hill or a cliff and build a hall atop it: a hall large enough to house all the dragons and keep them safe. And you? Once you rebuild the village, what then?”

  A faint smile appeared on Roran’s face. “Something similar. With the tribute from the valley, I plan to build a castle atop that hill we always talked about. Not a big castle, mind you; just a bit of stonework with a wall, enough to hold off any Urgals who might decide to attack. It’ll probably take a few years, but then we’ll have a proper way to defend ourselves, unlike when the Ra’zac came with the soldiers.” He cast a sideways glance at Eragon. “We’d have room for a dragon as well.”

  “Would you have room for two dragons?” Eragon gestured toward Saphira and Firnen.

  “Maybe not.… How does Saphira feel about having to leave him?”

  “She doesn’t like it, but she knows it’s necessary.”

  “Mmh.”

  The amber light from the dying sun accentuated the planes of Roran’s face; somewhat to Eragon’s surprise, he saw the beginnings of lines and wrinkles on his cousin’s brow and around his eyes. He found the signs of encroaching age sobering. How quickly life passes.

  Katrina laid Ismira in a cradle. Then she joined them at the window and placed a hand on Eragon’s shoulder. “We’ll miss you, Eragon.”

  “And I you,” he said, and touched her hand. “We don’t have to say goodbye quite yet, though. I’d like the three of you to come with us to Ellesmera. You would enjoy seeing it, I think, and that way we could spend another few days together.”

  Roran swiveled his head toward Eragon. “We can’t travel all the way to Du Weldenvarden with Ismira. She’s too young. Returning to Palancar Valley is going to be difficult enough; a side trip to Ellesmera is out of the question.”

  “Not even if it was on dragonback?” Eragon laughed at their surprised expressions. “Arya and Firnen have agreed to carry you to Ellesmera while Saphira and I fetch the dragon eggs from where they’re hidden.”

  “How long would the flight to Ellesmera take?” asked Roran, frowning.

  “A week or so. Arya intends to visit King Orik in Tronjheim on the way. You would be warm and safe the whole while. Ismira wouldn’t be in any danger.”

  Katrina looked at Roran, and he at her, and she said, “It would be nice to see Eragon off, and I’ve always heard tell of how beautiful the elves’ cities are.…”

  “Are you sure you would be up to it?” asked Roran.

  She nodded. “As long as you’re there with us.”

  Roran was silent for a moment; then he said, “Well, I suppose Horst and the others can go on ahead without us.” A smile appeared under his beard, and he chuckled. “I never thought to see the Beor Mountains or to stand in one of the elves’ cities, but why not, eh? We might as well while we have the chance.”

  “Good, that’s settled, then,” said Katrina, beaming. “We’re going to Du Weldenvarden.”

  “How will we get back?” asked Roran.

  “On Firnen,” said Eragon. “Or I’m sure Arya would give you guards to escort you to Palancar Valley, if you would prefer to travel by horse.”

  Roran grimaced. “No, not by horse. If I never have to ride another horse in my life, it would be too soon by half.”

  “Oh? Then I take it you don’t want Snowfire anymore?” said Eragon, raising an eyebrow as he named the stallion he had given Roran.

  “You know what I mean. I’m glad to have Snowfire, even if I haven’t had need of him for a while.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  They stood by the window for another hour or so-as the sun set and the sky turned purple and then black and the stars came out-planning their upcoming trip and discussing the things Eragon and Saphira would need to take with them when they left Du Weldenvarden for the lands beyond. Behind them, Ismira slept peacefully in her cradle, her hands balled up in tiny fists beneath her chin.

  Early the next morning, Eragon used the polished silver mirror in his room to contact Orik in Tronjheim. He had to wait for a few minutes, but eventually Orik’s face appeared before him, the dwarf running an ivory comb through his unbraided beard.

  “Eragon!” Orik exclaimed with obvious delight. “How are you? It’s been too long since last we spoke.”

  Feeling a bit guilty, Eragon agreed. Then he told Orik of his decision to leave and the reasons why. Orik stopped combing and listened without interrupting, his expression serious throughout. When Eragon finished, Orik said, “I will be sad to see you go, but I agree, this is what you must do. I have thought about this myself-worried about where the dragons might live-but I kept my concerns to myself, for the dragons have as much right to share the land as we do, even if we do not like it when they eat our Feldunost and burn our villages. However, raising them elsewhere will be for the best.”

  “I am glad you approve,” said Eragon. He talked to Orik about his idea for the Urgals, then, which involved the dwarves as well. This time Orik asked many questions, and Eragon could see that he was doubtful about the proposal.

  After a long silence wherein Orik stared down into his beard, the dwarf said, “If you had asked this of any of the grimstnzborithn before me, they would have said no. Had you asked me at any time before we invaded the Empire, I would also have said no. But now, after having fought alongside the Urgals, and after having seen in person how helpless we were before Murtagh and Thorn and Galbatorix and that monster Shruikan … now I no longer feel the same.” He gazed up through his bushy eyebrows at Eragon. “It may cost me mine crown, but on behalf of knurlan everywhere I will accept-for their own good, whether or not they realize it.”

  Again Eragon felt proud to have Orik as his foster brother. “Thank you,” he said.

  Orik grunted. “My people never desired this, but I am grateful for it. When will we know?”

  “Within a few days. A week at most.”

  “Will we feel anything?”

  “Maybe. I’ll ask Arya. Either way, I’ll contact you again once it’s done.”

  “Good. Then we will speak later. Safe travels and sound stone, Eragon.”

  “May Helzvog watch over you.”

  * * *

  The following day, they departed Ilirea.

  It was a private event, devoid of fanfare, for which Eragon was grateful. Nasuada, Jormundur, Jeod, and Elva met them outside the city’s southern gate, where Saphira and Firnen sat side by side, pushing their heads against one another while Eragon and Arya inspected their saddles. Roran and Katrina arrived a few minutes later: Katrina carrying Ismira swaddled in a blanket, and Roran carrying two packs full of blankets, food, and other supplies, one slung over each shoulder.

  Roran gave his packs to Arya, and she tied them atop Firnen’s saddlebags.

  Then Eragon and Saphira said their last farewells, which was harder for Eragon than for Saphira. His were not the only eyes with tears, however; both Nasuada and Jeod wept as they embraced him and offered him and Saphira their good wishes. Nasuada also said farewell to Roran, and she again thanked him for his help against the Empire.

  At last, as Eragon, Arya, Roran, and Katrina were about to climb onto the dragons, a woman called out, “Hold there!”

  Eragon paused with his foot atop Saphira’s right foreleg and looked to see Birgit striding toward them from the city gates, gray skirts billowing, and her young son, Nolfavrell, trailing after her with a helpless expression on his face. In one hand, Birgit carried a drawn sword. In the other, a round wooden shield
.

  Eragon’s stomach sank.

  Nasuada’s guards moved to intercept the two of them, but Roran shouted, “Let them pass!”

  Nasuada signaled to the guards and they stepped aside.

  Without slowing, Birgit walked over to Roran.

  “Birgit, please don’t,” said Katrina in a low voice, but the other woman ignored her. Arya watched them unblinkingly, her hand on her sword.

  “Stronghammer. I always said that I would have my compensation from you for my husband’s death, and now I have come to claim it, as is my right. Will you fight me, or will you pay the debt that is yours?”

  Eragon went to stand by Roran. “Birgit, why are you doing this? Why now? Can’t you forgive him and let old sorrows rest?”

  Do you want me to eat her? asked Saphira.

  Not yet.

  Birgit ignored him and kept her gaze fixed on Roran.

  “Mother,” said Nolfavrell, tugging on her skirts, but she showed no reaction to his plea.

  Nasuada joined them. “I know you,” she said to Birgit. “You fought with the men during the war.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “What quarrel have you with Roran? He has proved himself a fine and valuable warrior on more than one occasion, and I would be most displeased to lose him.”

  “He and his family were responsible for the soldiers killing my husband.” She looked at Nasuada for a moment. “The Ra’zac ate him, Your Majesty. They ate him and they sucked the marrow from his bones. I cannot forgive that, and I will have my compensation for it.”

  “It was not Roran’s fault,” said Nasuada. “This is unreasonable, and I forbid it.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Eragon, though he hated to. “By our custom, she has the right to demand a blood price from everyone who was responsible for Quimby’s death.”

  “But it wasn’t Roran’s fault!” exclaimed Katrina.

  “But it was,” said Roran in a low voice. “I could have turned myself over to the soldiers. I could have led them away. Or I could have attacked. But I didn’t. I chose to hide, and Quimby died as a result.” He glanced at Nasuada. “This is a matter we must settle among ourselves, Your Majesty. It is a matter of honor, even as the Trial of the Long Knives was for you.”

  Nasuada frowned and looked to Eragon. He nodded, so with reluctance, she stepped back.

  “What will it be, Stronghammer?” asked Birgit.

  “Eragon and I killed the Ra’zac in Helgrind,” said Roran. “Is that not enough?”

  Birgit shook her head, her determination never wavering. “No.”

  Roran paused then, the muscles in his neck rigid. “Is this what you really want, Birgit?”

  “It is.”

  “Then I will pay my debt.”

  As Roran spoke, Katrina uttered a wail and thrust herself between him and Birgit, still holding their daughter in her arms. “I won’t let you! You can’t have him! Not now! Not after everything we’ve gone through!”

  Birgit’s face remained as stone, and she made no move to retreat. Likewise, Roran showed no emotion as he grasped Katrina by the waist and, without apparent effort, lifted her off to the side. “Hold her, would you?” he said to Eragon in a cold voice.

  “Roran …”

  His cousin gave him a flat stare, then turned back to Birgit.

  Eragon grabbed hold of Katrina’s shoulders to keep her from flinging herself after Roran, and he exchanged a helpless look with Arya. She glanced toward her sword, and he shook his head.

  “Let go of me! Let go!” shouted Katrina. In her arms, the baby began to scream.

  Never taking his eyes off the woman before him, Roran undid his belt and dropped it to the ground, along with his dagger and his hammer, which one of the Varden had found in the streets of Ilirea soon after Galbatorix’s death. Then Roran pulled open the front of his tunic and bared his hair-covered chest.

  “Eragon, remove my wards,” he said.

  “I-”

  “Remove them!”

  “Roran, no!” shouted Katrina. “Defend yourself.”

  He’s mad, thought Eragon, but he dared not interfere. If he stopped Birgit, he would shame Roran, and the people of Palancar Valley would lose all respect for his cousin. And Roran, Eragon knew, would rather die than allow that to happen.

  Nevertheless, Eragon had no intention of letting Birgit kill Roran. He would let her have her price, but no more. Speaking softly in the ancient language-so that none might hear the words he used-he did as Roran had asked, but he also placed three new wards upon his cousin: one to protect the spine within his neck from being severed; one to keep his skull from being broken; and one to safeguard his organs. All else Eragon felt confident he could heal if necessary, as long as Birgit did not start cutting off limbs.

  “It is done,” he said.

  Roran nodded and to Birgit said, “Take your price of me, then, and let this be an end to the quarrel between us.”

  “You will not fight me?”

  “No.”

  Birgit eyed him for a moment; then she threw her shield onto the ground, crossed the few remaining feet that separated her from Roran, and placed the edge of her sword against Roran’s breast. In a voice loud enough for only Roran to hear-though Eragon and Arya did as well with their catlike acuity-she said, “I loved Quimby. He was my life, and he died because of you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Roran whispered.

  “Birgit,” pleaded Katrina. “Please …”

  No one moved, not even the dragons. Eragon found himself holding his breath. The hiccupping crying of the baby was the loudest sound.

  Then Birgit lifted the sword from Roran’s breast. She reached down to take his right hand and drew the edge of the sword across his palm. Roran winced as the blade cut into his hand, but he did not pull away.

  A crimson line appeared upon his skin. Blood filled his palm and spilled dripping to the ground, where it soaked into the trampled earth, leaving a dark blotch upon the dirt.

  Birgit ceased pulling on the sword and held it motionless against Roran’s palm for a moment more. Then she stepped back and lowered the scarlet-edged sword to her side. Roran closed his fingers around his palm, blood flowing between them, and pressed his hand against his hip.

  “I have had my price,” said Birgit. “Our quarrel is at an end.”

  Then she turned, picked up her shield, and strode back to the city, with Nolfavrell dogging her heels.

  Eragon released Katrina, and she rushed to Roran’s side. “You fool,” she said, a bitter note in her voice. “You stubborn, pigheaded fool. Here, let me see.”

  “It was the only way,” said Roran, as if from far away.

  Katrina frowned, her face hard and strained as she examined the cut on his hand. “Eragon, you should heal this.”

  “No,” said Roran with sudden sharpness. He closed his hand again. “No, this is one scar I’ll keep.” He looked around. “Is there a strip of fabric I can use as a bandage?”

  After a moment of confusion, Nasuada pointed to one of her guards and said, “Cut off the bottom part of your tunic and give it to him.”

  “Wait,” said Eragon as Roran started to wrap the strip around his hand. “I won’t heal it, but at least let me cast a spell to keep the cut from getting infected, all right?”

  Roran hesitated. Then he nodded and held out his hand toward Eragon.

  It took Eragon only a few seconds to mouth the spell. “There,” he said. “Now it won’t turn green and purple and swell up as large as a pig’s bladder.”

  Roran grunted, and Katrina said, “Thank you, Eragon.”

  “Now, shall we leave?” asked Arya.

  The five of them climbed onto the dragons, Arya helping Roran and Katrina safely into the saddle on Firnen’s back, which had been modified with loops and straps to hold additional passengers. Once they were properly seated atop the green dragon, Arya raised a hand. “Farewell, Nasuada! Farewell, Eragon and Saphira! We will expect you in Ellesmera!”
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br />   Farewell! said Firnen in his deep voice. He spread his wings and jumped skyward, flapping quickly to lift the weight of the four people on his back, helped by the strength of the two Eldunari Arya was taking with her.

  Saphira roared after him, and Firnen replied with a trumpeted bugle before arrowing his way toward the southeast and the distant Beor Mountains.

  Eragon twisted around in his saddle and waved to Nasuada, Elva, Jormundur, and Jeod. They waved in return, and Jormundur shouted, “Best of luck to the both of you!”

  “Goodbye,” cried Elva.

  “Goodbye!” shouted Nasuada. “Be safe!”

  Eragon replied in kind, and then he turned his back to them, unable to bear the sight any longer. Saphira crouched underneath him and sprang into the air as they began the first leg of their long, long journey.

  Saphira circled as she gained altitude. Below, Eragon saw Nasuada and the others standing in a clump by the city walls, Elva holding up a small white kerchief, which fluttered in the gusts of wind from Saphira’s passage.

  PROMISES, NEW AND OLD

  From Ilirea, Saphira flew to the nearby estate where Blodhgarm and the elves under his command were packing the Eldunari for transport. The elves would ride north with the Eldunari to Du Weldenvarden, and thence through the vast forest to the elven city of Silthrim, which sat upon the shore of Ardwen Lake. There the elves and the Eldunari would wait for Eragon and Saphira to return from Vroengard. Then together they would begin their journey out of Alagaesia, following the Gaena River as it flowed eastward through the forest and onto the plains beyond. All of them, that was, save Laufin and Uthinare, who had elected to stay behind in Du Weldenvarden.

  The elves’ decision to accompany them had surprised Eragon, but he was grateful for it nevertheless. As Blodhgarm had said, “We cannot abandon the Eldunari. They need our help, as will the younglings once they hatch.”

  Eragon and Saphira spent a half hour discussing the safe transport of the eggs with Blodhgarm, and then Eragon gathered up the Eldunari of Glaedr, Umaroth, and several of the older dragons; he and Saphira would need their strength on Vroengard.

  Upon taking their leave of the elves, Saphira and Eragon set off to the northwest, Saphira flapping at a steady, unhurried pace compared with that of their first trip to Vroengard.