Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (75 page)

Teirm’s east gate. Roran had counted on the pillar of smoke to hide the

ship from the archers on the battlements, but it was a near thing; a flight

of arrows tugged at the rigging, and one dart embedded itself in the deck

by Gertrude before the soldiers lost sight of the ship.

From the bow, Uthar shouted, “Pick your targets at will!”

The villagers were running pell-mell down the beach now. They

reached the north end of the wharf, and a handful of them stumbled and

fell as the soldiers in Teirm redirected their aim. Children screamed in

terror. Then the villagers regained momentum. They pounded down the

planks, past a warehouse engulfed in flame and along the pier. The pant-

ing mob charged onto the ship in a confused mass of jostling bodies.

Birgit and Gertrude guided the stream of people to the fore and aft

hatches. In a few minutes, the various levels of the ship were packed to

their limit, from the cargo hold to the captain’s cabin. Those who could

not fit below remained huddled on deck, holding Fisk’s shields over their

heads.

As Roran had asked in his message, all able-bodied men from Carvahall

clustered around the mainmast, waiting for instructions. Roran saw

Mandel among them and tossed him a proud salute.

Then Uthar pointed at a sailor and barked, “You there, Bonden! Get

those swabs to the capstans and weigh anchors, then down to the oars.

Double time!” To the rest of the men at the ballistae, he ordered, “Half of

you leave off and take the port ballistae. Drive away any boarding par-

481

ties.”

Roran was one of those who switched sides. As he prepared the ballis-

tae, a few laggards staggered out of the acrid smoke and onto the ship.

Beside him, Jeod and Helen hoisted the six prisoners one by one onto the

gangway and rolled them onto the pier.

Before Roran quite knew it, anchors had been raised, the gangway was

cut loose, and a drum pounded beneath his feet, setting the tempo for

the oarsmen. Ever so slowly, the Dragon Wing turned to starboard—

toward the open sea—and then, with gathering speed, pulled away from

the dock.

Roran accompanied Jeod to the quarterdeck, where they watched the

crimson inferno devour everything flammable between Teirm and the

ocean. Through the filter of smoke, the sun appeared a flat, bloated,

bloody orange disk as it rose over the city.

How many have I killed now? wondered Roran.

Echoing his thoughts, Jeod observed, “This will harm a great many in-

nocent people.”

Guilt made Roran respond with more force than he intended: “Would

you rather be in Lord Risthart’s prisons? I doubt many will be injured in

the blaze, and those that aren’t won’t face death, like we will if the Em-

pire catches us.”

“You needn’t lecture me, Roran. I know the arguments well enough.

We did what we had to. Just don’t ask me to take pleasure in the suffer-

ing we’ve caused to ensure our own safety.”

By noon the oars had been stowed and the Dragon Wing sailed under

her own power, propelled by favorable winds from the north. The gusts

of air caused the rigging overhead to emit a low hum.

The ship was miserably overcrowded, but Roran was confident that

with some careful planning they could make it to Surda with a minimum

of discomfort. The worst inconvenience was that of limited rations; if

they were to avoid starvation, food would have to be dispensed in mis-

erly portions. And in such cramped quarters, disease was an all too likely

possibility.

482

After Uthar gave a brief speech about the importance of discipline on a

ship, the villagers applied themselves to the tasks that required their im-

mediate attention, such as tending to their wounded, unpacking their

meager belongings, and deciding upon the most efficient sleeping ar-

rangement for each deck. They also had to choose people to fill the vari-

ous positions on the Dragon Wing : who would cook, who would train as

sailors under Uthar’s men, and so forth.

Roran was helping Elain hang a hammock when he became embroiled

in a heated dispute between Odele, her family, and Frewin, who had ap-

parently deserted Torson’s crew to stay with Odele. The two of them

wanted to marry, which Odele’s parents vehemently opposed on the

grounds that the young sailor lacked a family of his own, a respectable

profession, and the means to provide even a modicum of comfort for

their daughter. Roran thought it best if the enamored couple remained

together—it seemed impractical to try and separate them while they re-

mained confined to the same ship—but Odele’s parents refused to give

his arguments credence.

Frustrated, Roran said, “What would you do, then? You can’t lock her

away, and I believe Frewin has proved his devotion more than—”

“Ra’zac!”

The cry came from the crow’s nest.

Without a second thought, Roran yanked his hammer from his belt,

whirled about, and scrambled up the ladder through the fore hatchway,

barking his shin on the way. He sprinted toward the knot of people on

the quarterdeck, coming to a halt beside Horst.

The smith pointed.

One of the Ra’zac’s dread steeds drifted like a tattered shadow above

the edge of the coastline, a Ra’zac on its back. Seeing the two monsters

exposed in daylight in no way diminished the creeping horror they in-

spired in Roran. He shuddered as the winged creature uttered its terrify-

ing shriek, and then the Ra’zac’s insectile voice drifted across the water,

faint but distinct: “You shall not essscape!”

Roran looked at the ballistae, but they could not turn far enough to aim

at the Ra’zac or its mount. “Does anyone have a bow?”

483

“I do,” said Baldor. He dropped to one knee and began to string his

weapon. “Don’t let them see me.” Everyone on the quarterdeck gathered

in a tight circle around Baldor, shielding him with their bodies from the

Ra’zac’s malevolent gaze.

“Why don’t they attack?” growled Horst.

Puzzled, Roran searched for an explanation but found none. It was Jeod

who suggested, “Perhaps it’s too bright for them. The Ra’zac hunt at

night, and so far as I know they do not willingly venture forth from their

lairs while the sun is yet in the sky.”

“It’s not just that,” said Gertrude slowly. “I think they’re afraid of the

ocean.”

“Afraid of the ocean?” scoffed Horst.

“Watch them; they don’t fly more than a yard over the water at any

given time.”

“She’s right,” said Roran. At last, a weakness I can use against them!

A few seconds later, Baldor said, “Ready!”

At his word, the ranks of people who stood before him jumped aside,

clearing the path for his arrow. Baldor sprang to his feet and, in a single

motion, pulled the feather to his cheek and loosed the reed shaft.

It was a heroic shot. The Ra’zac was at the extreme edge of a longbow’s

range—far beyond any mark Roran had seen an archer hit—and yet Bal-

dor’s aim was true. His arrow struck the flying creature on the right flank,

and the beast gave a scream of pain so great that the glass on the deck

was shattered and the stones on the shore were riven in shards. Roran

clapped his hands over his ears to protect them from the hideous blast.

Still screaming, the monster veered inland and dropped behind a line of

misty hills.

“Did you kill it?” asked Jeod, his face pale.

“I fear not,” replied Baldor. “It was naught but a flesh wound.”

Loring, who had just arrived, observed with satisfaction, “Aye. But at

least you hurt him, and I’d wager they’ll think twice about bothering us

again.”

484

Gloom settled over Roran. “Save your triumph for later, Loring. This

was no victory.”

“Why not?” demanded Horst.

“Because now the Empire knows exactly where we are.” The quarter-

deck fell silent as they grasped the implications of what he had said.

485

CHILD’S PLAY

“And this,” said Trianna, “is the latest pattern we’ve invented.”

Nasuada took the black veil from the sorceress and ran it through her

hands, marveling at its quality. No human could throw lace that fine. She

gazed with satisfaction at the rows of boxes on her desk, which contained

samples of the many designs Du Vrangr Gata now produced. “You’ve

done well,” she said. “Far better than I had hoped. Tell your spellcasters

how pleased I am with their work. It means much to the Varden.”

Trianna inclined her head at the praise. “I will convey your message to

them, Lady Nasuada.”

“Have they yet—”

A disturbance at the doors to her quarters interrupted Nasuada. She

heard her guards swear and raise their voices, then a yelp of pain. The

sound of metal clashing on metal rang in the hallway. Nasuada backed

away from the door in alarm, drawing her dagger from its sheath.

“Run, Lady!” said Trianna. The sorceress placed herself in front of

Nasuada and pushed back her sleeves, baring her white arms in prepara-

tion to work magic. “Take the servants’ entrance.”

Before Nasuada could move, the doors burst open and a small figure

tackled her legs, knocking her to the floor. Even as Nasuada fell, a silvery

object flashed through the space she had just occupied, burying itself in

the far wall with a dull thud.

Then the four guards entered, and all was confusion as Nasuada felt

them drag her assailant off her. When Nasuada managed to stand, she saw

Elva hanging in their grip.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Nasuada.

The black-haired girl smiled, then doubled over and retched on the

braided rug. Afterward, she fixed her violet eyes on Nasuada and—in her

terrible, knowing voice—she said, “Have your magician examine the wall,

O Daughter of Ajihad, and see if I have not fulfilled my promise to you.”

Nasuada nodded to Trianna, who glided to the splintered hole in the

wall and muttered a spell. She returned holding a metal dart. “This was

486

buried in the wood.”

“But where did it come from?” asked Nasuada, bewildered.

Trianna gestured toward the open window overlooking the city of

Aberon. “Somewhere out there, I guess.”

Nasuada returned her attention to the waiting child. “What do you

know about this, Elva?”

The girl’s horrible smile widened. “It was an assassin.”

“Who sent him?”

“An assassin trained by Galbatorix himself in the dark uses of magic.”

Her burning eyes grew half-lidded, as if she were in a trance. “The man

hates you. He’s coming for you. He would have killed you if I hadn’t

stopped him.” She lurched forward and retched again, spewing half-

digested food across the floor. Nasuada gagged with revulsion. “And he’s

about to suffer great pain.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I will tell you he stays in the hostel on Fane Street, in the last

room, on the top floor. You had better hurry, or he’ll get away. . away.”

She groaned like a wounded beast and clutched her belly. “Hurry, before

Eragon’s spell forces me to stop you from hurting him. You’ll be sorry,

then!”

Trianna was already moving as Nasuada said, “Tell Jörmundur what’s

happened, then take your strongest magicians and hunt down this man.

Capture him if you can. Kill him if you can’t.” After the sorceress left,

Nasuada looked at her men and saw that their legs were bleeding from

numerous small cuts. She realized what it must have cost Elva to hurt

them. “Go,” she told them. “Find a healer who can mend your injuries.”

The warriors shook their heads, and their captain said, “No, Ma’am. We

will stay by your side until we know it’s safe again.”

“As you see fit, Captain.”

The men barricaded the windows—which worsened the already swel-

tering heat that plagued Borromeo Castle—then everyone retreated to

her inner chambers for further protection.

487

Nasuada paced, her heart pounding with delayed shock as she contem-

plated how close she had come to being killed. What would become of the

Varden if I died? she wondered. Who would succeed me? Dismay gripped

her; she had made no arrangements for the Varden in the event of her

own demise, an oversight that now seemed a monumental failing. I won’t

allow the Varden to be thrown into chaos because I failed to take precau-

tions!

She halted. “I am in your debt, Elva.”

“Now and forever.”

Nasuada faltered, disconcerted as she often was by the girl’s responses,

then continued: “I apologize for not ordering my guards to let you pass,

night or day. I should have anticipated an event like this.”

“You should have,” agreed Elva in a mocking tone.

Smoothing the front of her dress, Nasuada resumed pacing, as much to

escape the sight of Elva’s stone-white, dragon-marked face as to disperse

her own nervous energy. “How did you escape your rooms unaccompa-

nied?”

“I told my caretaker, Greta, what she wanted to hear.”

“That’s all?”

Elva blinked. “It made her very happy.”

“And what of Angela?”

“She left on an errand this morning.”

“Well, be as that may, you have my gratitude for saving my life. Ask