Paolini, Christopher - [Inheritance 02] - Eldest Page 19

  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 outnumberus 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 weare outnumbered. All we need are a few men, shields, and spears, and we can wipe out theirinfestation. 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 t
he 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—”

  “Itis 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, RoranStronghammer, 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

  When 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.

  His tranquility was soon disrupted when a herd of unruly children dashed through the garden of a nearby house, shrieking with delight at their game of Catch-the-Cat, followed by a number of adults intent on snaring their respective charges. Roran watched the cacophonous parade vanish around a corner, then placed the last of the bread in his mouth and returned to the kitchen, which had filled with the rest of the household.

  Elain greeted him. “Good morning, Roran.” She pushed open the window shutters and gazed up at the sky. “It looks like it may rain again.”

  “The more the better,” asserted Horst. “It’ll help keep us hidden while we climb Narnmor Mountain.”

  “Us?” inquired Roran. He sat at the table beside Albriech, who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  Horst nodded. “Sloan was right about the food and supplies; we have to help carry them up the falls, or else there won’t be enough.”

  “Will there still be men to defend Carvahall?”

  “Of course, of course.”

  Once they all had breakfast, Roran helped Baldor and Albriech wrap spare food, blankets, and supplies into three large bundles that they slung across their shoulders and hauled to the north end of the village. Roran’s calf pained him, but not unbearably. Along the way, they met the three brothers Darmmen, Larne, and Hamund, who were similarly burdened.

  Just inside the trench that circumnavigated the houses, Roran and his companions found a large gathering of children, parents, and grandparents all busy organizing for the expedition. Several families had volunteered their donkeys to carry goods and the younger children; the animals were picketed in an impatient, braying line that added to the overall confusion.

  Roran set his bundle on the ground and scanned the group. He saw Svart—Ivor’s uncle and, at nearly sixty, the oldest man in Carvahall—seated on a bale of clothes, teasing a baby with the tip of his long white beard; Nolfavrell, who was guarded over by Birgit; Felda, Nolla, Calitha, and a number of other mothers with worried expressions; and a great many reluctant people, both men and women. Roran also saw Katrina among the crowd. She glanced up from a knot she was tying on a pack and smiled at him, then returned to her task.

  Since no one seemed to be in charge, Roran did his best to sort out the chaos by overseeing the arranging and packaging of the various supplies. He discovered a shortage of waterskins, but when he asked for more, he ended up with thirteen too many. Delays such as those consumed the early-morning hours.

  In the middle of discussing with Loring the possible need for extra shoes, Roran stopped as he noticed Sloan standing at the entrance to an alleyway.

  The butcher surveyed the mass of activity before him. Contempt cut into the lines along his downturned mouth. His sneer hardened into enraged incredulity as he spotted Katrina, who had shouldered her pack, removing any possibility that she was there only to help. A vein throbbed down the middle of Sloan’s forehead.

  Roran hurried toward Katrina, but Sloan reached her first. He grabbed the top of the pack and shook it violently, shouting, “Who made you do this?” Katrina said something about the children and tried to pull free, but Sloan yanked at the pack—twisting her arms as the straps slid off her shoulders—and threw it on the ground so that the contents scattered. Still shouting, Sloan grabbed Katrina’s arm and began to drag her away. She dug in her heels and fought, her copper hair swirling over her face like a dust storm.

  Furious, Roran threw himself at Sloan and tore him from Katrina, shoving the butcher in the chest so that he stumbled backward several yards. “Stop! I’m the one who wanted her to go.”

  Sloan glared at Roran and snarled, “You have no right!”

  “I have every right.” Roran looked at the ring of spectators who had gathered around and then declared so that all could hear: “Katrina and I are engaged to be married, and I would not have my future wife treated so!” For the first time that day, the villagers fell completely silent; even the donkeys were quiet.

  Surprise and a deep, inconsolable pain sprang onto Sloan’s vulnerable face, along with the glimmer of tears. For a moment, Roran felt sympathy for him, then a series of contortions distorted Sloan’s visage, each more extreme than the last, until his skin turned beet red. He cursed and said, �
��You two-faced coward! How could you look me in the eye and speak to me like an honest man while, at the same time, courting my daughter without permission? I dealt with you in good faith, and here I find you plundering my house while my back is turned.”

  “I had hoped to do this properly,” said Roran, “but events have conspired against me. It was never my intention to cause you grief. Even though this hasn’t gone the way either of us wanted, I still want your blessing, if you are willing.”

  “I would rather have a maggot-riddled pig for a son than you! You have no farm. You have no family. And you will have naught to do with my daughter!” The butcher cursed again. “And she’ll have naught to do with the Spine!”

  Sloan reached for Katrina, but Roran blocked the way, his face as hard as his clenched fists. Only a handsbreadth apart, they stared directly at each other, trembling from the strength of their emotions. Sloan’s red-rimmed eyes shone with manic intensity.

  “Katrina, come here,” Sloan commanded.

  Roran withdrew from Sloan—so that the three of them formed a triangle—and looked at Katrina. Tears streamed down her face as she glanced between him and her father. She stepped forward, hesitated, then with a long, anguished cry, tore at her hair in a frenzy of indecision.

  “Katrina!” exclaimed Sloan with a burr of fear.

  “Katrina,” murmured Roran.

  At the sound of his voice, Katrina’s tears ceased and she stood straight and tall with a calm expression. She said, “I’m sorry, Father, but I have decided to marry Roran,” and stepped to his side.

  Sloan turned bone white. He bit his lip so hard that a bead of ruby blood appeared. “You can’t leave me! You’re my daughter!” He lunged at her with crooked hands. In that instant, Roran bellowed and struck the butcher with all his strength, knocking him sprawling in the dirt before the entire village.

  Sloan rose slowly, his face and neck flushed with humiliation. When he saw Katrina again, the butcher seemed to crumple inward, losing height and stature until Roran felt as if he were looking at a specter of the original man. In a low whisper, he said, “It is always so; those closest to the heart cause the most pain. Thou will have no dowry from me, snake, nor your mother’s inheritance.” Weeping bitterly, Sloan turned and fled toward his shop.