Page 83 of Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle 4)

  “I wanted to say farewell and to wish you luck on your journey.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mmh. Try not to let yourself get too wrapped up in your head wherever you settle. Make sure you get out in the sun often enough.”

  “I will. What of you and Solembum? Will you stay here for a while and watch over Elva? You mentioned you would.”

  The herbalist snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Stay? How can I stay when Nasuada seems intent on spying on every magician in the land?”

  “You heard about that as well?”

  She gave him a look. “I disapprove. I disapprove very much. I will not be treated like a child who has done something naughty. No, the time has come for Solembum and me to relocate to more friendly climes: the Beor Mountains, perhaps, or Du Weldenvarden.”

  Eragon hesitated for a moment and then said, “Would you like to come with Saphira and me?”

  Solembum opened one eye and studied him for a second before closing it again.

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Angela, “but I think we will decline. At least, for the time being. Sitting around guarding the Eldunarí and training new Riders seems boring … although, raising a clutch of dragons is sure to prove exciting. But no; for the time being, Solembum and I will stay in Alagaësia. Besides, I want to keep an eye on Elva for the next few years, even if I can’t watch over her in person.”

  “Haven’t you had your fill of interesting events?”

  “Never. They’re the spice of life.” She held up her half-finished hat. “How do you like it?”

  “It’s nice. The blue is pretty. But what do the runes say?”

  “Raxacori—Oh, never mind. It wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway. Safe travels to you and Saphira, Eragon. And remember to watch out for earwigs and wild hamsters. Ferocious things, wild hamsters.”

  He smiled despite himself. “Safe travels to you as well, and to you, Solembum.”

  The werecat’s eye opened again. Safe travels, Kingkiller.

  Eragon left the building and picked his way through the city until he arrived at the house where Jeod and his wife, Helen, now lived. It was a stately hall, with high walls, a large garden, and bowing servants stationed within the entryway. Helen had done exceedingly well. By provisioning the Varden—and now Nasuada’s kingdom—with much-needed supplies, she had quickly built up a trading company larger than the one Jeod had once owned in Teirm.

  Eragon found Jeod washing up in preparation for their evening meal. After refusing an offer to dine with them, Eragon spent a few minutes explaining to Jeod the same things he had explained to Nasuada. At first Jeod was surprised and somewhat upset, but in the end, he agreed that it was necessary for Eragon and Saphira to leave with the other dragons. As with Nasuada and the herbalist, Eragon also invited Jeod to accompany them.

  “You tempt me sorely,” said Jeod. “But my place is here. I have my work, and for the first time in a long while, Helen is happy. Ilirea has become our home, and neither of us wants to pick up and move elsewhere.”

  Eragon nodded, understanding.

  “But you … you’re going to travel where few but the dragons or Riders have ever gone. Tell me, do you know what lies to the east? Is there another sea?”

  “If you travel far enough.”

  “And before that?”

  Eragon shrugged. “Empty land for the most part, or so the Eldunarí say, and I have no reason to think that’s changed in the past century.”

  Then Jeod moved closer to him and lowered his voice. “Since you are leaving … I will tell you this. Do you remember when I told you about the Arcaena, the order devoted to preserving knowledge throughout Alagaësia?”

  Eragon nodded. “You said that Heslant the Monk belonged to them.”

  “As do I.” At Eragon’s look of surprise, Jeod made a sheepish gesture and ran his hand through his hair. “I joined them long ago, when I was young and looking for a cause to serve. I’ve provided them with information and manuscripts throughout the years, and they’ve helped me in return. Anyway, I thought you should know. Brom was the only other person I’ve told.”

  “Not even Helen?”

  “Not even her. … Anyway, when I finish writing my account of you and Saphira and the rise of the Varden, I’ll send it to our monastery in the Spine, and it will be included as a number of new chapters in Domia abr Wyrda. Your story will not be forgotten, Eragon; that much, at least, I can promise you.”

  Eragon found the knowledge strangely affecting. “Thank you,” he said, and grasped Jeod by the forearm.

  “And you, Eragon Shadeslayer.”

  Afterward, Eragon made his way back to the hall, where he and Saphira had been living along with Roran and Katrina, who were waiting to eat with him.

  All through supper, the talk was of Arya and Fírnen. Eragon held his tongue about his plans for departure until after the food was gone and the three of them—and the baby—had retired to a room overlooking the courtyard, where Saphira lay napping with Fírnen. There they sat drinking wine and tea and watching as the sun descended toward the distant horizon.

  When an appropriate amount of time had passed, Eragon broached the subject. As he expected, Katrina and Roran reacted with dismay and tried to convince him to change his mind. It took Eragon nearly an hour to lay out his reasons to them, for they argued every point and refused to concede until he answered their objections in exacting detail.

  Finally, Roran said, “Blast it, you’re family! You can’t leave!”

  “I have to. You know it as well as I do; you just don’t want to admit it.”

  Roran struck his fist against the table between them and then strode over to the open window, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

  The baby squalled, and Katrina said, “Shh, now,” and patted her on the back.

  Eragon joined Roran. “I know it isn’t what you want. I don’t want it either, but I have no choice.”

  “Of course you have a choice. You of all people have a choice.”

  “Aye, and this is the right thing to do.”

  Roran grunted and crossed his arms.

  Behind them, Katrina said, “If you leave, you won’t be able to be an uncle to Ismira. Is she supposed to grow up without ever knowing you?”

  “No,” said Eragon, going back to her. “I’ll still be able to talk with her, and I’ll see to it that she’s well protected; I may even be able to send her presents from time to time.” He knelt and held out a finger, and the girl wrapped a hand around it and tugged with precocious strength.

  “But you won’t be here.”

  “No … I won’t be here.” Eragon gently extricated his finger from Ismira’s grip and returned to stand by Roran. “As I said, you could join me.”

  The muscles in Roran’s jaw shifted. “And give up Palancar Valley?” He shook his head. “Horst and the others are already preparing to return. We’ll rebuild Carvahall as the finest town in the whole Spine. You could help; it would be like before.”

  “I wish I could.”

  Below, Saphira uttered a throaty gurgle and nuzzled the side of Fírnen’s neck. The green dragon snuggled closer to her.

  In a low voice, Roran said, “Is there no other way, Eragon?”

  “Not that Saphira or I can think of.”

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

  “I won’t be entirely alone. Blödhgarm 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 Fírnen.

  “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 Ellesméra. 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 Ellesméra is out of the question.”

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

  “How long would the flight to Ellesméra 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 Fírnen,” 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 Feldûnost 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, Jörmundur, Jeod, and Elva met them outside the city’s southern gate, where Saphira and Fírnen 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 Fírnen’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!”