Paolini, Christopher - [Inheritance 02] - Eldest Page 20

  Katrina leaned against Roran, and he put an arm around her. Together they clung to each other as people crowded against them offering condolences, advice, congratulations, and disapproval. Despite the commotion, Roran was aware of nothing but the woman whom he held, and who held him.

  Just then, Elain bustled up as fast as her pregnancy would allow. “Oh, you poor dear!” she cried, and embraced Katrina, drawing her from Roran’s arms. “Is it true you are engaged?” Katrina nodded and smiled, then erupted into hysterical tears against Elain’s shoulder. “There now, there now.” Elain cradled Katrina gently, petting her and trying to soothe her, but without avail—every time Roran thought she was about to recover, Katrina began to cry with renewed intensity. Finally, Elain peered over Katrina’s quaking shoulder and said, “I’m taking her back to the house.”

  “I’ll come.”

  “No, you won’t,” retorted Elain. “She needs time to calm down, and you have work to do. Do you want my advice?” Roran nodded dumbly. “Stay away until evening. I guarantee that she will be as right as rain by then. She can join the others tomorrow.” Without waiting for his response, Elain escorted the sobbing Katrina away from the wall of sharpened trees.

  Roran stood with his hands hanging limply by his sides, feeling dazed and helpless. What have we done? He regretted that he had not revealed their engagement to Sloan sooner. He regretted that he and Sloan could not work together to shield Katrina from the Empire. And he regretted that Katrina had been forced to relinquish her only family for him. He was now doubly responsible for her welfare. They had no choicebut to get married. I’ve made a terrible mess of this. He sighed and clenched his fist, wincing as his bruised knuckles stretched.

  “How are you?” asked Baldor, coming alongside him.

  Roran forced a smile. “It didn’t turn out quite how I hoped. Sloan’s beyond reason when it comes to the Spine.”

  “And Katrina.”

  “That too. I—” Roran fell silent as Loring stopped before them.

  “That was a blastedfool thing to do!” growled the shoemaker, wrinkling his nose. Then he stuck out his chin, grinned, and bared his stumps of teeth. “But I ‘ope you and the girl have the best of luck.” He shook his head. “Heh, you’re going to need it, Stronghammer!”

  “We’re all going to need it,” snapped Thane as he walked past.

  Loring waved a hand. “Bah, sourpuss. Listen, Roran; I’ve lived in Carvahall for many, many years, and in my experience, it’s better that this happenednow, instead of when we’re all warm and cozy.”

  Baldor nodded, but Roran asked, “Why so?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Normally, you and Katrina would be the meat of gossip for the next nine months.” Loring put a finger on the side of his nose. “Ah, but this way, you’ll soon be forgotten amid everything else that’s going on, and then the two of you might even have some peace.”

  Roran frowned. “I’d rather be talked about than have those desecrators camped on the road.”

  “So would we all. Still, it’s something to be grateful for, and we all need something to be grateful for—‘specially once you’re married!” Loring cackled and pointed at Roran. “Your face just turned purple, boy!”

  Roran grunted and set about gathering Katrina’s possessions off the ground. As he did, he was interrupted by comments from whoever happened to be nearby, none of which helped to settle his nerves. “Rotgut,” he muttered to himself after a particularly invidious remark.

  Although the expedition into the Spine was delayed by the unusual scene the villagers had just witnessed, it was only slightly after midmorning when the caravan of people and donkeys began to ascend the bare trail scratched into the side of Narnmor Mountain to the crest of the Igualda Falls. It was a steep climb and had to be taken slowly, on account of the children and the size of the burdens everyone carried.

  Roran spent most of his time caught behind Calitha—Thane’s wife—and her five children. He did not mind, as it gave him an opportunity to indulge his injured calf and to consider recent events at length. He was disturbed by his confrontation with Sloan. At least, he consoled himself, Katrina won’t remain in Carvahall much longer. For Roran was convinced, in his heart of hearts, that the village would soon be defeated. It was a sobering, yet unavoidable, realization.

  He paused to rest three-quarters of the way up the mountain and leaned against a tree as he admired the elevated view of Palancar Valley. He tried to spot the Ra’zac’s camp—which he knew was just to the left of the Anora River and the road south—but was unable to discern even a wisp of smoke.

  Roran heard the roar of the Igualda Falls long before they came into sight. The falls appeared for all the world like a great snowy mane that billowed and drifted off Narnmor’s craggy head to the valley floor a half mile below. The massive stream curved in several directions as it fell, the result of different layers of wind.

  Past the slate ledge where the Anora River became airborne, down a glen filled with thimbleberries, and then finally into a large clearing guarded on one side by a pile of boulders, Roran found that those at the head of the procession had already begun setting up camp. The forest rang with the children’s shouts and cries.

  Removing his pack, Roran untied an ax from the top, then set about clearing the underbrush from the site along with several other men. When they finished, they began chopping down enough trees to encircle the camp. The aroma of pine sap filled the air. Roran worked quickly, the wood chips flying in unison with his rhythmic swings.

  By the time the fortifications were complete, the camp had already been erected with seventeen wool tents, four small cookfires, and glum expressions from people and donkeys alike. No one wanted to leave, and no one wanted to stay.

  Roran surveyed the assortment of boys and old men clutching spears, and thought, Too much experience and too little. The grandfathers know how to deal with bears and the like, but will the grandsons have the strength to actually do it? Then he noticed the hard glint in the women’s eyes and realized that while they might hold a babe or be busy tending a scraped arm, their own shields and spears were never far from reach. Roran smiled. Perhaps… perhaps we still have hope.

  He saw Nolfavrell sitting alone on a log—staring back toward Palancar Valley—and joined the boy, who looked at him seriously. “Are you leaving soon?” asked Nolfavrell. Roran nodded, impressed by his poise and determination. “You will do your best, won’t you, to kill the Ra’zac and avenge my father? I would do it, except that Mama says I must guard my brothers and sisters.”

  “I’ll bring you their heads myself, if I can,” promised Roran.

  The boy’s chin trembled. “That is good!”

  “Nolfavrell…” Roran paused as he searched for the right words. “You are the only one here, besides me, who has killed a man. It doesn’t mean that we are better or worse than anyone else, but it means that I can trust you to fight well if you are attacked. When Katrina comes here tomorrow, will you make sure that she’s well protected?”

  Nolfavrell’s chest swelled with pride. “I’ll guard her wherever she goes!” Then he looked regretful. “That is… when I don’t have to look after—”

  Roran understood. “Oh, your family comes first. But maybe Katrina can stay in the tent with your brothers and sisters.”

  “Yes,” said Nolfavrell slowly. “Yes, I think that would work. You can rely on me.”

  “Thank you.” Roran clapped him on the shoulder. He could have asked an older and more capable person, but the adults were too busy with their own responsibilities to defend Katrina as he hoped. Nolfavrell, however, would have the opportunity and inclination to assure that she remained safe. He can hold my place while we are apart. Roran stood as Birgit approached.

  Eyeing him flatly, she said, “Come, it is time.” Then she hugged her son and continued toward the falls with Roran and the other villagers who were returning to Carvahall. Behind them, everyone in the small camp clustered against the felled trees and stared
forlornly out through their wooden bars.

  HIS ENEMY’S FACE

  As Roran proceeded about his work throughout the rest of the day, he felt Carvahall’s emptiness deep inside. It was as if part of himself had been extracted and hidden in the Spine. And with the children gone, the village now felt like an armed camp. The change seemed to have made everyone grim and grave.

  When the sun finally sank into the waiting teeth of the Spine, Roran climbed the hill to Horst’s house. He stopped before the front door and placed a hand on the knob, but remained there, unable to enter. Why does this frighten me as much as fighting?

  In the end, he forsook the front door entirely and went to the side of the house, where he slipped into the kitchen and, to his dismay, saw Elain knitting on one side of the table, speaking to Katrina, who was opposite her. They both turned toward him, and Roran blurted, “Are… are you all right?”

  Katrina came to his side. “I’m fine.” She smiled softly. “It just was a terrible shock when Father… when…” She ducked her head for a moment. “Elain has been wonderfully kind to me. She agreed to lend me Baldor’s room for the night.”

  “I’m glad you are better,” said Roran. He hugged her, trying to convey all of his love and adoration through that simple touch.

  Elain wrapped up her knitting. “Come now. The sun has set, and it’s time you were off to bed, Katrina.”

  Roran reluctantly let go of Katrina, who kissed him on the cheek and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He started to follow her out, but stopped when Elain said with a barbed tone, “Roran.” Her delicate face was hard and stern.

  “Yes?”

  Elain waited until they heard the creak of stairs that indicated Katrina was out of earshot. “I hope that you meant every promise you gave that girl, because if you didn’t, I’ll call an assembly and have you exiled within a week.”

  Roran was dumbfounded. “Of course I meant them. I love her.”

  “Katrina just surrendered everything she owned or cared about for you.” Elain stared up at him with unwavering eyes. “I’ve seen men who throw their affection at young maids, like grain tossed at chickens. The maids sigh and weep and believe that they are special, yet for the man, it’s only a trifling amusement. You have always been honorable, Roran, but one’s loins can turn even the most sensible person into a prancing booby or a sly, wicked fox. Are you one? For Katrina requires neither a fool, a trickster, nor even love; what she requires above all else is a man who will provide for her. If you abandon her, she will be the meanest person in Carvahall, forced to live off her friends, our first and only beggar. By the blood in my veins, I won’t let that happen.”

  “Nor would I,” protested Roran. “I would have to be heartless, or worse, to do so.”

  Elain jerked her chin. “Exactly. Don’t forget that you intend to marry a woman who has lost both her dowry and her mother’s inheritance. Do you understand what it means for Katrina to lose her inheritance? She has no silver, no linens, no lace, nor any of the things needed for a well-run home. Such items are all we own, passed from mother to daughter since the day we first settled Alagaësia. They determine our worth. A woman without her inheritance is like… is like—”

  “Is like a man without a farm or a trade,” said Roran.

  “Just so. It was cruel of Sloan to deny Katrina her inheritance, but that can’t be helped now. Both you and she have no money or resources. Life is difficult enough without that added hardship. You’ll be starting from nothing and with nothing. Does the prospect frighten you or seem unbearable? So I ask you once again—and don’t lie or the two of you will regret it for the rest of your lives—will you care for her without grudge or resentment?”

  “Yes.”

  Elain sighed and filled two earthen cups with cider from a jug hanging among the rafters. She handed one to Roran as she seated herself back at the table. “Then I suggest that you devote yourself to replacing Katrina’s home and inheritance so that she and any daughters you may have can stand without shame among the wives of Carvahall.”

  Roran sipped the cool cider. “If we live that long.”

  “Aye.” She brushed back a strand of her blond hair and shook her head. “You’ve chosen a hard path, Roran.”

  “I had to make sure that Katrina would leave Carvahall.”

  Elain lifted an eyebrow. “So that was it. Well, I won’t argue about it, but why on earth didn’t you speak to Sloan about your engagement before this morning? When Horst asked my father, he gave our family twelve sheep, a sow, and eight pairs of wrought-iron candlesticks before he even knew if my parents would agree. That’s how it should be done. Surely you could have thought of a better strategy than striking your father-in-law-to-be.”

  A painful laugh escaped Roran. “I could have, but it never seemed the right time with all the attacks.”

  “The Ra’zac haven’t attacked for almost six days now.”

  He scowled. “No, but… it was… Oh, I don’t know!” He banged his fist on the table with frustration.

  Elain put down her cup and wrapped her tiny hands around his. “If you can mend this rift between you and Sloannow, before years of resentment accumulate, your life with Katrina will be much, much easier. Tomorrow morning you should go to his house and beg his forgiveness.”

  “I won’t beg! Not to him.”

  “Roran, listen to me. It’s worth a month of begging to have peace in your family. I know from experience; strife does naught but make you miserable.”

  “Sloan hates the Spine. He’ll have nothing to do with me.”

  “You have to try, though,” said Elain earnestly. “Even if he spurns your apology, at least you can’t be blamed for not making the effort. If you love Katrina, then swallow your pride and do what’s right for her. Don’t make her suffer for your mistake.” She finished her cider, used a tin hat to snuff the candles, and left Roran sitting alone in the dark.

  Several minutes elapsed before Roran could bring himself to stir. He stretched out an arm and traced along the counter’s edge until he felt the doorway, then proceeded upstairs, all the while running the tips of his fingers over the carved walls to keep his balance. In his room, he disrobed and threw himself lengthwise on the bed.

  Wrapping his arms around his wool-stuffed pillow, Roran listened to the faint sounds that drifted through the house at night: the scrabble of a mouse in the attic and its intermittent squeaks, the groan of wood beams cooling in the night, the whisper and caress of wind at the lintel of his window, and… and the rustle of slippers in the hall outside his room.

  He watched as the latch above the doorknob was pulled free of its hook, then the door inched forward with a rasp of protest. It paused. A dark form slipped inside, the door closed, and Roran felt a curtain of hair brush his face along with lips like rose petals. He sighed.

  Katrina.

  A thunderclap tore Roran from sleep.

  Light flared on his face as he struggled to regain awareness, like a diver desperate to reach the surface. He opened his eyes and saw a jagged hole blasted through his door. Six soldiers rushed through the yawning cleft, followed by the two Ra’zac, who seemed to fill the room with their ghastly presence. A sword was pressed against Roran’s neck. Beside him, Katrina screamed and pulled the blankets around her.

  “Up,”ordered the Ra’zac. Roran cautiously got to his feet. His heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest. “Tie his handsss and bring him.”

  As a soldier approached Roran with rope, Katrina screamed again and jumped on the men, biting and clawing furiously. Her sharp nails furrowed their faces, drawing streams of blood that blinded the cursing soldiers.

  Roran dropped to one knee and grabbed his hammer from the floor, then planted his feet, swinging the hammer over his head and roaring like a bear. The soldiers threw themselves at him in an attempt to subdue him through sheer numbers, but to no avail: Katrina was in danger, and he was invincible. Shields crumpled beneath his blows, brigandin
es and mail split under his merciless weapon, and helmets caved in. Two men were wounded, and three fell to rise no more.

  The clang and clamor had roused the household; Roran dimly heard Horst and his sons shouting in the hall. The Ra’zac hissed to one another, then scuttled forward and grasped Katrina with inhuman strength, lifting her off the floor as they fled the room.

  “Roran!”she shrieked.

  Summoning his energy, Roran bowled past the two remaining men. He stumbled into the hall and saw the Ra’zac climbing out a window. Roran dashed toward them and struck at the last Ra’zac, just as it was about to descend below the windowsill. Jerking upward, the Ra’zac caught Roran’s wrist in midair and chittered with delight, blowing its fetid breath onto his face. “Yesss! You are the one we want!”

  Roran tried to twist free, but the Ra’zac did not budge. With his free hand, Roran buffeted the creature’s head and shoulders—which were as hard as iron. Desperate and enraged, he seized the edge of the Ra’zac’s hood and wrenched it back, exposing its features.

  A hideous, tortured face screamed at him. The skin was shiny black, like a beetle carapace. The head was bald. Each lidless eye was the size of his fist and gleamed like an orb of polished hematite; no iris or pupil existed. In place of a nose, mouth, and chin, a thick beak hooked to a sharp point that clacked over a barbed purple tongue.

  Roran yelled and jammed his heels against the sides of the window frame, struggling to free himself from the monstrosity, but the Ra’zac inexorably drew him out of the house. He could see Katrina on the ground, still screaming and fighting.

  Just as Roran’s knees buckled, Horst appeared by his side and wrapped a knotted arm around his chest, locking him in place. “Someone get a spear!” shouted the smith. He snarled, veins bulging on his neck from the strain of holding Roran. “It’ll take more than this demon spawn to best us!”