Eldest
Page 79
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Roran glared at Horst.
They were in Baldor’s room. Roran was propped upright in bed, listening as the smith said, “What did you expect me to do? We couldn’t attack once you fainted. Besides, the men were in no state to fight. Can’t blame them either. I nearly bit off my tongue when I saw those monsters.” Horst shook his wild mane of hair. “We’ve been dragged into one of the old tales, Roran, and I don’t like it one bit.” Roran retained his stony expression. “Look, you can kill the soldiers if you want, but you have to get your strength back first. You’ll have plenty of volunteers; people trust you in battle, especially after you defeated the soldiers here last night.” When Roran remained silent, Horst sighed, patted him on his good shoulder, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Roran did not even blink. So far in his life, he had only truly cared about three things: his family, his home in Palancar Valley, and Katrina. His family had been annihilated last year. His farm had been smashed and burned, though the land remained, which was all that really mattered.
But now Katrina was gone.
A choked sob escaped past the iron lump in his throat. He was faced with a quandary that tore at his very essence: the only way to rescue Katrina would be to somehow pursue the Ra’zac and leave Palancar Valley, yet he could not abandon Carvahall to the soldiers. Nor could he forget Katrina.
My heart or my home,he thought bitterly. They were worthless without each other. If he killed the soldiers it would only prevent the Ra’zac—and perhaps Katrina—from returning. Anyway, the slaughter would be pointless if reinforcements were nearby, for their arrival would surely signal Carvahall’s demise.
Roran clenched his teeth as a fresh burst of pain emanated from his bound shoulder. He closed his eyes.I hope Sloan gets eaten like Quimby. No fate could be too terrible for that traitor. Roran cursed him with the blackest oaths he knew.
Even if I were free to leave Carvahall, how could I find the Ra’zac? Who would know where they live? Who would dare inform on Galbatorix’s servants?Despair rolled over him as he wrestled with the problem. He imagined himself in one of the great cities of the Empire, searching aimlessly among dirty buildings and hordes of strangers for a hint, a glimpse, a taste of his love.
It was hopeless.
A river of tears followed as he doubled over, groaning from the strength of his agony and fear. He rocked back and forth, blind to anything but the desolation of the world.
An endless amount of time reduced Roran’s sobs to weak gasps of protest. He wiped his eyes and forced himself to take a long, shuddering breath. He winced. His lungs felt like they were filled with shards of glass.
I have to think,he told himself.
He leaned against the wall and—through the sheer strength of his will—began to gradually subdue each of his unruly emotions, wrestling them into submission to the one thing that could save him from insanity: reason. His neck and shoulders trembled from the violence of his efforts.
Once he regained control, Roran carefully arranged his thoughts, like a master craftsman organizing his tools into precise rows.There must be a solution hidden amid my knowledge, if only I’m creative enough.
He could not track the Ra’zac through the air. That much was clear. Someone would have to tell him where to find them, and of all the people he could ask, the Varden probably knew the most. However, they would be just as hard to find as the desecrators, and he could not waste time searching for them.Although . . . A small voice in his head reminded him of the rumors he had heard from trappers and traders that Surda secretly supported the Varden.
Surda.The country lay at the bottom of the Empire, or so Roran had been told, as he had never seen a map of Alagaësia. Under ideal conditions, it would take several weeks to reach on horse, longer if he had to evade soldiers. Of course, the swiftest mode of transportation would be to sail south along the coast, but that would mean having to travel all the way to the Toark River and then to Teirm to find a ship. It would take far too long. And he still might be apprehended by soldiers.
“If, could, would,might, ” he muttered, repeatedly clenching his left hand. North of Teirm, the only port he knew of was Narda, but to reach it, he would have to cross the entire width of the Spine—a feat unheard of, even for the trappers.
Roran swore quietly. The conjecture was pointless.I should be trying to save Carvahall, not desert it. The problem was, he had already determined that the village and all who remained in it were doomed. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes again.All who remain . . .
What . . . what if everyone in Carvahall accompanied me to Narda and then to Surda?He would achieve both his desires simultaneously.
The audacity of the idea stunned him.
It was heresy, blasphemy, to think that he could convince the farmers to abandon their fields and the merchants their shops . . . and yet . . . and yet what was the alternative but slavery or death? The Varden were the only group that would harbor fugitives of the Empire, and Roran was sure that the rebels would be delighted to have a village’s worth of recruits, especially ones who had proved themselves in battle. Also, by bringing the villagers to them, he would earn the Varden’s confidence, so that they would trust him with the location of the Ra’zac.Maybe they can explain why Galbatorix is so desperate to capture me.
If the plan were to succeed, though, it would have to be implemented before the new troops reached Carvahall, which left only a few days—if that—to arrange the departure of some three hundred people. The logistics were frightening to consider.
They were in Baldor’s room. Roran was propped upright in bed, listening as the smith said, “What did you expect me to do? We couldn’t attack once you fainted. Besides, the men were in no state to fight. Can’t blame them either. I nearly bit off my tongue when I saw those monsters.” Horst shook his wild mane of hair. “We’ve been dragged into one of the old tales, Roran, and I don’t like it one bit.” Roran retained his stony expression. “Look, you can kill the soldiers if you want, but you have to get your strength back first. You’ll have plenty of volunteers; people trust you in battle, especially after you defeated the soldiers here last night.” When Roran remained silent, Horst sighed, patted him on his good shoulder, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Roran did not even blink. So far in his life, he had only truly cared about three things: his family, his home in Palancar Valley, and Katrina. His family had been annihilated last year. His farm had been smashed and burned, though the land remained, which was all that really mattered.
But now Katrina was gone.
A choked sob escaped past the iron lump in his throat. He was faced with a quandary that tore at his very essence: the only way to rescue Katrina would be to somehow pursue the Ra’zac and leave Palancar Valley, yet he could not abandon Carvahall to the soldiers. Nor could he forget Katrina.
My heart or my home,he thought bitterly. They were worthless without each other. If he killed the soldiers it would only prevent the Ra’zac—and perhaps Katrina—from returning. Anyway, the slaughter would be pointless if reinforcements were nearby, for their arrival would surely signal Carvahall’s demise.
Roran clenched his teeth as a fresh burst of pain emanated from his bound shoulder. He closed his eyes.I hope Sloan gets eaten like Quimby. No fate could be too terrible for that traitor. Roran cursed him with the blackest oaths he knew.
Even if I were free to leave Carvahall, how could I find the Ra’zac? Who would know where they live? Who would dare inform on Galbatorix’s servants?Despair rolled over him as he wrestled with the problem. He imagined himself in one of the great cities of the Empire, searching aimlessly among dirty buildings and hordes of strangers for a hint, a glimpse, a taste of his love.
It was hopeless.
A river of tears followed as he doubled over, groaning from the strength of his agony and fear. He rocked back and forth, blind to anything but the desolation of the world.
An endless amount of time reduced Roran’s sobs to weak gasps of protest. He wiped his eyes and forced himself to take a long, shuddering breath. He winced. His lungs felt like they were filled with shards of glass.
I have to think,he told himself.
He leaned against the wall and—through the sheer strength of his will—began to gradually subdue each of his unruly emotions, wrestling them into submission to the one thing that could save him from insanity: reason. His neck and shoulders trembled from the violence of his efforts.
Once he regained control, Roran carefully arranged his thoughts, like a master craftsman organizing his tools into precise rows.There must be a solution hidden amid my knowledge, if only I’m creative enough.
He could not track the Ra’zac through the air. That much was clear. Someone would have to tell him where to find them, and of all the people he could ask, the Varden probably knew the most. However, they would be just as hard to find as the desecrators, and he could not waste time searching for them.Although . . . A small voice in his head reminded him of the rumors he had heard from trappers and traders that Surda secretly supported the Varden.
Surda.The country lay at the bottom of the Empire, or so Roran had been told, as he had never seen a map of Alagaësia. Under ideal conditions, it would take several weeks to reach on horse, longer if he had to evade soldiers. Of course, the swiftest mode of transportation would be to sail south along the coast, but that would mean having to travel all the way to the Toark River and then to Teirm to find a ship. It would take far too long. And he still might be apprehended by soldiers.
“If, could, would,might, ” he muttered, repeatedly clenching his left hand. North of Teirm, the only port he knew of was Narda, but to reach it, he would have to cross the entire width of the Spine—a feat unheard of, even for the trappers.
Roran swore quietly. The conjecture was pointless.I should be trying to save Carvahall, not desert it. The problem was, he had already determined that the village and all who remained in it were doomed. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes again.All who remain . . .
What . . . what if everyone in Carvahall accompanied me to Narda and then to Surda?He would achieve both his desires simultaneously.
The audacity of the idea stunned him.
It was heresy, blasphemy, to think that he could convince the farmers to abandon their fields and the merchants their shops . . . and yet . . . and yet what was the alternative but slavery or death? The Varden were the only group that would harbor fugitives of the Empire, and Roran was sure that the rebels would be delighted to have a village’s worth of recruits, especially ones who had proved themselves in battle. Also, by bringing the villagers to them, he would earn the Varden’s confidence, so that they would trust him with the location of the Ra’zac.Maybe they can explain why Galbatorix is so desperate to capture me.
If the plan were to succeed, though, it would have to be implemented before the new troops reached Carvahall, which left only a few days—if that—to arrange the departure of some three hundred people. The logistics were frightening to consider.
