Returning to the huts, Eragon and the remainder of his party followed the elves to a thicket on the edge of the Edda River. There, docked on either side of a boulder, were two white canoes with vines carved along their sides.
Eragon boarded the nearest boat and stowed his pack beneath his feet. He was amazed by how light the craft was; he could have lifted it with a single hand. Even more astounding, the hulls appeared to be composed of birch-bark panels melded into a seamless whole. Curious, he touched the side. The bark was hard and taut, like stretched parchment, and cool from its contact with the water. He rapped it with a knuckle. The fibrous shell reverberated like a muted drum.
“Are all your boats made this way?” he asked.
“All except the very largest,” answered Narí, seating himself at the prow of Eragon’s vessel. “For those, we sing the finest cedar and oak into shape.”
Before Eragon could ask what he meant, Orik joined their canoe while Arya and Lifaen appropriated the second one. Arya turned to Edurna and Celdin—who stood on the bank—and said, “Guard this way so that none may follow us, and tell no one of our presence. The queen must be the first to know. I will send reinforcements as soon as we reach Sílthrim.”
“Arya Dröttningu.”
“May the stars watch over you!” she answered.
Bending forward, Narí and Lifaen drew spiked poles ten feet long from inside the boats and began propelling the vessels upstream. Saphira slid into the water behind them and clawed her way along the riverbed until they were level. When Eragon looked at her, she winked lazily, then submerged, forcing the river to swell into a mound over her jagged back. The elves laughed as she did so and made many compliments about her size and strength.
After an hour, they reached Eldor Lake, which was rough with small, jagged waves. Birds and flies swarmed by a wall of trees edging the western shore, while the eastern shore sloped up into the plains. On that side meandered hundreds of deer.
Once they escaped the river’s current, Narí and Lifaen stowed their poles, then distributed leaf-bladed paddles. Orik and Arya already knew how to steer a boat, but Narí had to explain the process to Eragon. “Whichever side you paddle on, we turn in the opposite direction,” said the elf. “So if I paddle on the right and Orik paddles on the left, then you must paddle first on one side, then the other, else we will drift off course.” In the daylight, Narí’s hair shimmered like the finest wire, each strand a fiery line.
Eragon soon mastered the ability, and as the motion became habitual, his mind was freed to daydream. Thus, he floated up the cool lake, lost in the fantastic worlds hidden behind his eyes. When he paused to rest his arms, he once again pulled Orik’s puzzle ring from his belt and struggled to arrange the obstinate gold bands into the correct pattern.
Narí noticed what he was doing. “May I see that ring?”
Eragon passed it to the elf, who turned his back. For a few moments, Eragon and Orik maneuvered the canoe alone as Narí picked at the entwined bands. Then, with a pleased exclamation, Narí raised his hand, and the completed ring flashed on his middle finger. “A delightful riddle,” said Narí. He slipped off the ring and shook it, so that it was in its original state when he returned it to Eragon.
“How did you solve it?” demanded Eragon, dismayed and envious that Narí had been able to master the puzzle so easily. “Wait … Don’t tell me. I want to figure it out on my own.”
“Of course,” said Narí, smiling.
WOUNDS OF THE PAST
or three and a half days, the citizens of Carvahall discussed the latest attack, the tragedy of young Elmund’s death, and what could possibly be done to escape their thrice-blasted situation. The debate raged with bitter fury through every room of every home. In the space of a word, friends turned against friends, husbands against wives, children against parents, only to reconcile moments later in their frantic attempt to discover a means of survival.
Some said that since Carvahall was doomed anyway, they might as well kill the Ra’zac and remaining soldiers so as to at least have their vengeance. Others said that if Carvahall really was doomed, then the only logical course was to surrender and trust themselves to the king’s mercy, even if it did mean torture and death for Roran and enslavement for everyone else. And still others sided with neither opinion, but rather descended into a sullen black anger directed at everyone who had brought about this calamity. Many did their best to hide their panic in the depths of a tankard.
The Ra’zac themselves had apparently realized that with eleven soldiers dead they no longer had a large enough force to attack Carvahall, and thus had retreated farther down the road, where they were content to post sentinels across Palancar Valley and wait. “Wait for flea-bitten troops from Ceunon or Gil’ead, if you ask me,” Loring said at one meeting. Roran listened to that and more, kept his own council, and silently judged the various schemes. They all seemed dangerously risky.
Roran still had not told Sloan that he and Katrina were engaged. He knew it was foolish to wait, but he feared how the butcher would react when he learned that Roran and Katrina had flouted tradition and, in doing so, undermined Sloan’s authority. Besides, there was plenty of work to divert Roran’s attention; he convinced himself that strengthening the fortifications around Carvahall was his most important task at the moment.
Getting people to help was easier than Roran anticipated. After the last fight, the villagers were more apt to listen and to obey him—that is, those who did not blame him for causing their predicament. He was mystified by his new authority, until he realized that it was the result of the awe, respect, and perhaps even fear his kills had elicited. They called him Stronghammer. Roran Stronghammer.
The name pleased him.
As night engulfed the valley, Roran leaned against a corner of Horst’s dining room, his eyes closed. Conversation flowed from the men and women seated around the candlelit table. Kiselt was in the middle of explaining the state of Carvahall’s supplies. “We won’t starve,” he concluded, “but if we can’t tend to our fields and our flocks soon, we might as well cut our own throats before next winter. It would be a kinder fate.”
Horst scowled. “Dog tripe!”
“Dog tripe or not,” said Gertrude, “I doubt we’ll have a chance to find out. We outnumbered the soldiers ten to one when they arrived. They lost eleven men; we lost twelve, and I’m caring for another nine wounded. What happens, Horst, when they outnumber us ten to one?”
“We will give the bards a reason to remember our names,” retorted the smith. Gertrude shook her head sadly.
Loring banged a fist on the table. “And I say it’s our turn to strike, before we are outnumbered. All we need are a few men, shields, and spears, and we can wipe out their infestation. It could be done tonight!”
Roran shifted restlessly. He had heard all this before, and like before, Loring’s proposal ignited an argument that consumed the group. After an hour, the debate still showed no sign of being resolved, nor had any new ideas been presented, except for Thane’s suggestion that Gedric should go tan his own hide, which nearly resulted in a fistfight.
Finally, when the conversation lulled, Roran limped to the table as quickly as his injured calf would allow. “I have something to say.” For him it was the equivalent of stepping on a long thorn and then yanking it out without stopping to consider the pain; it had to be done, and the faster the better.
All eyes—hard, soft, angry, kind, indifferent, and curious—turned to him, and Roran took a deep breath. “Indecision will kill us just as surely as a sword or an arrow.” Orval rolled his eyes, but the rest still listened. “I don’t know if we should attack or flee—”
“Where?” snorted Kiselt.
“—but I do know one thing: our children, our mothers, and our infirm must be protected from danger. The Ra’zac have barred us from Cawley and the other farms down the valley. So what? We know this land better than any in Alagaësia, and there is a place … there is a place where our loved ones
will be safe: the Spine.”
Roran winced as a barrage of outraged voices assaulted him. Sloan was the loudest, shouting, “I’ll be hanged before I set foot in those cursed mountains!”
“Roran,” said Horst, overriding the commotion. “You of all people should know that the Spine is too dangerous—it’s where Eragon found the stone that brought the Ra’zac! The mountains are cold, and filled with wolves, bears, and other monsters. Why even mention them?”
To keep Katrina safe! Roran wanted to scream. Instead, he said, “Because no matter how many soldiers the Ra’zac summon, they will never dare enter the Spine. Not after Galbatorix lost half his army in it.”
“That was a long time ago,” said Morn doubtfully.
Roran jumped on his statement. “And the stories have grown all the more frightening in the telling! A trail already exists to the top of Igualda Falls. All we have to do is send the children and others up there. They’ll only be on the fringe of the mountains, but they’ll still be safe. If Carvahall is taken, they can wait until the soldiers leave, then find refuge in Therinsford.”
“It is too dangerous,” growled Sloan. The butcher gripped the edge of the table so hard that the tips of his fingers turned white. “The cold, the beasts. No sane man would send his family among those.”
“But …” Roran faltered, put off-balance by Sloan’s response. Though he knew the butcher hated the Spine more than most—because his wife had plummeted to her death from the cliffs beside Igualda Falls—he had hoped that Sloan’s rabid desire to protect Katrina would be strong enough to overcome his aversion. Roran now understood he would have to win over Sloan just like everyone else. Adopting a placating tone, Roran said, “It’s not that bad. The snow is already melting off the peaks. It’s no colder in the Spine than it was down here a few months ago. And I doubt that wolves or bears would bother such a large group.”
Sloan grimaced, twisting his lips up over his teeth, and shook his head. “You will find nothing but death in the Spine.”
The others seemed to agree, which only strengthened Roran’s determination, for he was convinced that Katrina would die unless he could sway them. He scanned the long oval of faces, searching for a sympathetic expression. “Delwin, I know it’s cruel of me to say it, but if Elmund hadn’t been in Carvahall, he would still be alive. Surely you must agree that this is the right thing to do! You have an opportunity to save other parents from your suffering.”
No one responded. “And Birgit!” Roran dragged himself toward her, clutching the backs of chairs to keep himself from falling. “Do you want Nolfavrell to share his father’s fate? He has to leave. Can’t you see, that is the only way he’ll be safe.…” Though Roran did his best to fight it, he could feel tears flood his eyes. “It’s for the children!” he shouted angrily.
The room was silent as Roran stared at the wood beneath his hands, struggling to control himself. Delwin was the first to stir. “I will never leave Carvahall so long as my son’s killers remain here. However,” he paused, then continued with painful slowness, “I cannot deny the truth of your words; the children must be protected.”
“As I said from the beginning,” declared Tara.
Then Baldor spoke: “Roran is right. We can’t allow ourselves to be blinded by fear. Most of us have climbed to the top of the falls at one time or another. It’s safe enough.”
“I too,” Birgit finally added, “must agree.”
Horst nodded. “I would rather not do it, but considering the circumstances.… I don’t think we have any other choice.” After a minute, the various men and women began to reluctantly acquiesce to the proposal.
“Nonsense!” exploded Sloan. He stood and stabbed an accusing finger at Roran. “How will they get enough food to wait for weeks on end? They can’t carry it. How will they stay warm? If they light fires, they’ll be seen! How, how, how? If they don’t starve, they’ll freeze. If they don’t freeze, they’ll be eaten. If they’re not eaten … Who knows? They may fall!”
Roran spread his hands. “If we all help, they will have plenty of food. Fire won’t be a problem if they move farther back into the forest, which they must anyway, since there isn’t room to camp right by the falls.”
“Excuses! Justifications!”
“What would you have us do, Sloan?” asked Morn, eyeing him with curiosity.
Sloan laughed bitterly. “Not this.”
“Then what?”
“It doesn’t matter. Only this is the wrong choice.”
“You don’t have to participate,” pointed out Horst.
“Nor will I,” said the butcher. “Proceed if you want, but neither I nor my blood shall enter the Spine while I still have marrow in my bones.” He grabbed his cap and left with a venomous glare at Roran, who returned the scowl in kind.
As Roran saw it, Sloan was endangering Katrina through his own pigheaded stubbornness. If he can’t bring himself to accept the Spine as a place of refuge, decided Roran, then he’s become my enemy and I have to take matters into my own hands.
Horst leaned forward on his elbows and interlaced his thick fingers. “So … If we are going to use Roran’s plan, what preparations will be needed?” The group exchanged wary glances, then gradually began to discuss the topic.
Roran waited until he was convinced that he had achieved his goal before slipping out of the dining room. Loping through the dusky village, he searched for Sloan along the inner perimeter of the tree wall. Eventually, he spotted the butcher hunched underneath a torch, his shield clasped around his knees. Roran spun around on one foot and ran to Sloan’s shop, where he hurried to the kitchen in the back.
Katrina paused in the middle of setting their table and stared at him with amazement. “Roran! Why are you here? Did you tell Father?”
“No.” He came forward and took her arm, savoring the touch. Just being in the same room with her filled him with joy. “I have a great favor to ask of you. It’s been decided to send the children and a few others into the Spine above Igualda Falls.” Katrina gasped. “I want you to accompany them.”
With a shocked expression, Katrina pulled free of his grasp and turned to the open fireplace, where she hugged herself and stared at the bed of throbbing embers. For a long time, she said nothing. Then: “Father forbade me to go near the falls after Mother died. Albem’s farm is the closest I’ve been to the Spine in over ten years.” She shivered, and her voice grew accusing. “How can you suggest that I abandon both you and my father? This is my home as much as yours. And why should I leave when Elain, Tara, and Birgit will remain?”
“Katrina, please.” He tentatively put his hands on her shoulders. “The Ra’zac are here for me, and I would not have you harmed because of that. As long as you’re in danger, I can’t concentrate on what has to be done: defending Carvahall.”
“Who would respect me for fleeing like a coward?” She lifted her chin. “I would be ashamed to stand before the women of Carvahall and call myself your wife.”
“Coward? There is no cowardice in guarding and protecting the children in the Spine. If anything, it requires greater courage to enter the mountains than to stay.”
“What horror is this?” whispered Katrina. She twisted in his arms, eyes shining and mouth set firmly. “The man who would be my husband no longer wants me by his side.”
He shook his head. “That’s not true. I—”
“It is true! What if you are killed while I’m gone?”
“Don’t say—”
“No! Carvahall has little hope of survival, and if we must die, I would rather die together than huddle in the Spine without life or heart. Let those with children tend to their own. As will I.” A tear rolled down her cheek.
Gratitude and wonder surged through Roran at the strength of her devotion. He looked deep into her eyes. “It is for that love that I would have you go. I know how you feel. I know that this is the hardest sacrifice either of us could make, and I ask it of you now.”
Katrina shuddered, her
entire body rigid, her white hands clenched around her muslin sash. “If I do this,” she said with a shaking voice, “you must promise me, here and now, that you will never make such a request again. You must promise that even if we faced Galbatorix himself and only one of us could escape, you would not ask me to leave.”
Roran looked at her helplessly. “I can’t.”
“Then how can you expect me to do what you won’t!” she cried. “That is my price, and neither gold nor jewels nor pretty words can replace your oath. If you don’t care enough for me to make your own sacrifice, Roran Stronghammer, then be gone and I never wish to see your face again!”
I cannot lose her. Though it pained him almost beyond endurance, he bowed his head and said, “You have my word.”
Katrina nodded and sank into a chair—her back stiff and upright—and blotted her tears on the cuff of her sleeve. In a quiet voice, she said, “Father will hate me for going.”
“How will you tell him?”
“I won’t,” she said defiantly. “He would never let me enter the Spine, but he has to realize that this is my decision. Anyway, he won’t dare pursue me into the mountains; he fears them more than death itself.”
“He may fear losing you even more.”
“We shall see. If—when—the time comes to return, I expect you to have already spoken to him about our engagement. That should give him enough time to reconcile himself to the fact.”
Roran found himself nodding in agreement, all the while thinking that they would be lucky if events worked out so well.
WOUNDS OF THE PRESENT
hen dawn arrived, Roran woke and lay staring at the whitewashed ceiling while he listened to the slow rasp of his own breathing. After a minute, he rolled off the bed, dressed, and proceeded to the kitchen, where he procured a chunk of bread, smeared it with soft cheese, then stepped out onto the front porch to eat and admire the sunrise.
Inheritance Cycle Omnibus Page 67
