Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (26 page)

Snowfire to Ellesméra. It was convenient to have a horse whenever

Saphira was away, or in places too confined for her bulk. He fingered the

sparse bristles along his jaw. “That is a kind offer. Will you make sure

Snowfire is well cared for? I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen

to him.”

“On mine honor,” pledged Thorv, “you will return to find him fat and

sleek.”

Eragon fetched Snowfire and transferred the stallion, his saddle, and his

grooming supplies into Thorv’s care. He bade each of the warriors fare-

well, then he, Saphira, and Orik watched the dwarves ride back along the

trail they had arrived on.

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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 fi-

brous 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 west-

ern 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

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how to steer a boat, but Narí had to explain the process to Eragon. “We

turn toward whichever side you paddle on,” 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 en-

twined 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 origi-

nal 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.

165

WOUNDS OF THE PAST

For 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 bit-

ter 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 dis-

cover 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 venge-

ance. Others said that if Carvahall really was doomed, then the only logi-

cal 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 eve-

ryone else. And still others sided with neither opinion, but rather de-

scended 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 meet-

ing. 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 do-

ing so, undermined Sloan’s authority. Besides, there was plenty of work to

divert Roran’s attention; he convinced himself that strengthening the for-

tifications 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.

166

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 ex-

plaining the state of Carvahall’s supplies. “We won’t starve,” he con-

cluded, “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, be-

fore 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

167

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, “Be-

cause 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 Carva-

hall 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, Ro-

ran 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 determi-

168

nation, for he was convinced that Katrina would die unless he could sway

them. He scanned the long oval of faces, searching for a sympathetic ex-

pression. “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 circum-

stances. . 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!