Inheritance
Page 45
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“As you wish.”
When Roran was satisfied they had learned everything they could by looking at the city, he had Brigman lead them to the nearest set of mills.
They were much as Brigman had described. The water in the canal flowed over three consecutive twenty-foot falls. At the base of each fall was a waterwheel, edged with buckets. The water splashed into the buckets, driving the machine round and round. The wheels were connected by thick axles to three identical buildings that stood stacked one above the other along the terraced bank and which contained the massive grindstones needed to produce the flour for Aroughs’s population. Though the wheels were moving, Roran could tell they were disengaged from the complex arrangement of gears hidden inside the buildings, for he did not hear the rumble of the grindstones turning in their places.
He dismounted by the lowest mill and walked up the path between the buildings, eyeing the sluice gates that were above the falls and that controlled the amount of water released into them. The gates were open, but a deep pool of water still lay beneath each of the three slowly spinning wheels.
He stopped halfway up the hill and planted his feet on the edge of the soft, grassy bank, crossed his arms, and tucked his chin against his chest while he pondered how he could possibly capture Aroughs. That there was a trick or a strategy that would allow him to crack open the city like a ripe gourd, he was confident, but the solution eluded him.
He thought until he was tired of thinking, and then he gave himself over to the creaking of the turning axles and the splashing of the falling water.
Soothing as those sounds were, a thorn of unease still rankled him, for the place reminded him of Dempton’s mill in Therinsford, where he had gone to work the day the Ra’zac had burned down his home and tortured his father, mortally wounding him.
Roran tried to ignore the memory, but it stayed with him, twisting in his gut.
If only I had waited another few hours to leave, I could have saved him. Then the more practical part of Roran replied: Yes, and the Ra’zac would have killed me before I could have even raised a hand. Without Eragon to protect me, I would have been as helpless as a newborn babe.
With a quiet step, Baldor joined him by the edge of the canal. “The others are wondering: have you decided on a plan?” he asked.
“I have ideas, but no plan. What of you?”
Baldor crossed his arms as well. “We could wait for Nasuada to send Eragon and Saphira to our aid.”
“Bah.”
For a while, they watched the never-ending motion of the water below them. Then Baldor said, “What if you just asked them to surrender? Maybe they’ll be so frightened when they hear your name, they’ll throw open the gates, fall at your feet, and beg for mercy.”
Roran chuckled briefly. “I doubt word of me has reached all the way to Aroughs. Still …” He ran his fingers through his beard. “It might be worth a try, to put them off balance if nothing else.”
“Even if we gain entrance to the city, can we hold it with so few men?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
A pause grew between them; then Baldor said, “How far we have come.”
“Aye.”
Again, the only sound was that of the water and of the turning wheels. Finally, Baldor said, “The snowmelt must not be as great here as it is at home. Otherwise, the wheels would be half underwater come springtime.”
Roran shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how much snow or rain they get. The sluice gates can be used to limit the amount of water that runs over the wheels, so they don’t turn too fast.”
“But once the water rises to the top of the gates?”
“Hopefully, the day’s grinding is finished by then, but in any case, you uncouple the gears, raise the gates, and …” Roran trailed off as a series of images flashed through his mind, and his whole body flushed with warmth, as if he had drunk an entire tankard of mead in a single gulp.
Could I? he thought wildly. Would it really work, or … It doesn’t matter; we have to try. What else can we do?
He strode out to the center of the berm that held back the middlemost pond and grasped the spokes that stuck out from the tall wooden screw used to raise and lower the sluice gate. The screw was stiff and hard to move, even though he set his shoulder against it and pushed with all his weight.
“Help me,” he said to Baldor, who had remained on the bank, watching with puzzled interest.
Baldor carefully made his way to where Roran stood. Together they managed to close the sluice gate. Then, refusing to answer any questions, Roran insisted that they do the same with both the uppermost and the lowermost gates.
When all three were firmly shut, Roran walked back to Carn, Brigman, and the others and motioned for them to climb off their horses and gather around him. He tapped the head of his hammer while he waited, suddenly feeling unreasonably impatient.
“Well?” Brigman demanded once they were in place.
Roran looked each of them in the eyes, to make sure that he had their undivided attention, then he said, “Right, this is what we’re going to do—” And he began to talk, quickly and intensely, for a full half hour, explaining everything that had occurred to him in that one, revelatory instant. As he spoke, Mandel began to grin, and though they remained more serious, Baldor, Delwin, and Hamund also appeared excited by the audacious nature of the scheme he outlined.
Their response gratified Roran. He had done much to earn their trust, and he was pleased to know that he could still count on their support. His only fear was that he might let them down; of all the fates he could imagine, only losing Katrina seemed worse.
When Roran was satisfied they had learned everything they could by looking at the city, he had Brigman lead them to the nearest set of mills.
They were much as Brigman had described. The water in the canal flowed over three consecutive twenty-foot falls. At the base of each fall was a waterwheel, edged with buckets. The water splashed into the buckets, driving the machine round and round. The wheels were connected by thick axles to three identical buildings that stood stacked one above the other along the terraced bank and which contained the massive grindstones needed to produce the flour for Aroughs’s population. Though the wheels were moving, Roran could tell they were disengaged from the complex arrangement of gears hidden inside the buildings, for he did not hear the rumble of the grindstones turning in their places.
He dismounted by the lowest mill and walked up the path between the buildings, eyeing the sluice gates that were above the falls and that controlled the amount of water released into them. The gates were open, but a deep pool of water still lay beneath each of the three slowly spinning wheels.
He stopped halfway up the hill and planted his feet on the edge of the soft, grassy bank, crossed his arms, and tucked his chin against his chest while he pondered how he could possibly capture Aroughs. That there was a trick or a strategy that would allow him to crack open the city like a ripe gourd, he was confident, but the solution eluded him.
He thought until he was tired of thinking, and then he gave himself over to the creaking of the turning axles and the splashing of the falling water.
Soothing as those sounds were, a thorn of unease still rankled him, for the place reminded him of Dempton’s mill in Therinsford, where he had gone to work the day the Ra’zac had burned down his home and tortured his father, mortally wounding him.
Roran tried to ignore the memory, but it stayed with him, twisting in his gut.
If only I had waited another few hours to leave, I could have saved him. Then the more practical part of Roran replied: Yes, and the Ra’zac would have killed me before I could have even raised a hand. Without Eragon to protect me, I would have been as helpless as a newborn babe.
With a quiet step, Baldor joined him by the edge of the canal. “The others are wondering: have you decided on a plan?” he asked.
“I have ideas, but no plan. What of you?”
Baldor crossed his arms as well. “We could wait for Nasuada to send Eragon and Saphira to our aid.”
“Bah.”
For a while, they watched the never-ending motion of the water below them. Then Baldor said, “What if you just asked them to surrender? Maybe they’ll be so frightened when they hear your name, they’ll throw open the gates, fall at your feet, and beg for mercy.”
Roran chuckled briefly. “I doubt word of me has reached all the way to Aroughs. Still …” He ran his fingers through his beard. “It might be worth a try, to put them off balance if nothing else.”
“Even if we gain entrance to the city, can we hold it with so few men?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
A pause grew between them; then Baldor said, “How far we have come.”
“Aye.”
Again, the only sound was that of the water and of the turning wheels. Finally, Baldor said, “The snowmelt must not be as great here as it is at home. Otherwise, the wheels would be half underwater come springtime.”
Roran shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how much snow or rain they get. The sluice gates can be used to limit the amount of water that runs over the wheels, so they don’t turn too fast.”
“But once the water rises to the top of the gates?”
“Hopefully, the day’s grinding is finished by then, but in any case, you uncouple the gears, raise the gates, and …” Roran trailed off as a series of images flashed through his mind, and his whole body flushed with warmth, as if he had drunk an entire tankard of mead in a single gulp.
Could I? he thought wildly. Would it really work, or … It doesn’t matter; we have to try. What else can we do?
He strode out to the center of the berm that held back the middlemost pond and grasped the spokes that stuck out from the tall wooden screw used to raise and lower the sluice gate. The screw was stiff and hard to move, even though he set his shoulder against it and pushed with all his weight.
“Help me,” he said to Baldor, who had remained on the bank, watching with puzzled interest.
Baldor carefully made his way to where Roran stood. Together they managed to close the sluice gate. Then, refusing to answer any questions, Roran insisted that they do the same with both the uppermost and the lowermost gates.
When all three were firmly shut, Roran walked back to Carn, Brigman, and the others and motioned for them to climb off their horses and gather around him. He tapped the head of his hammer while he waited, suddenly feeling unreasonably impatient.
“Well?” Brigman demanded once they were in place.
Roran looked each of them in the eyes, to make sure that he had their undivided attention, then he said, “Right, this is what we’re going to do—” And he began to talk, quickly and intensely, for a full half hour, explaining everything that had occurred to him in that one, revelatory instant. As he spoke, Mandel began to grin, and though they remained more serious, Baldor, Delwin, and Hamund also appeared excited by the audacious nature of the scheme he outlined.
Their response gratified Roran. He had done much to earn their trust, and he was pleased to know that he could still count on their support. His only fear was that he might let them down; of all the fates he could imagine, only losing Katrina seemed worse.
