Inheritance

INTERREGNUM

Roran sat hunched over the edge of the table, toying with a jewel-encrusted goblet that he stared at without interest.

Night had fallen, and the only light in the lavish bedchamber came from the two candles on the desk and the small fire glowing on the hearth by the empty four-poster bed. All was quiet, save for an occasional crackle of burning wood.

A faint salty breeze wafted through the windows, parting the thin white curtains. He turned his face to catch the draft, welcoming the touch of cool air against his fevered skin.

Through the windows, he could see Aroughs laid out before him. Watchfires dotted the streets at intersections here and there, but otherwise the city was dark and motionless-unusually so, for everyone who could was hiding in their homes.

When the breeze ceased, he took another sip from the goblet, pouring the wine directly down his throat to avoid having to swallow. A drop fell onto the split in his lower lip, and he tensed and sucked in his breath while he waited for the spike of pain to vanish.

He set the goblet on the desk, next to the plate of bread and lamb and the half-empty bottle of wine, then glanced at the mirror propped upright between the two candles. It still reflected nothing but his own haggard face, bruised, bloodied, and missing a goodly portion of his beard on the right-hand side.

He looked away. She would contact him when she did. In the meantime he would wait. It was all he could do; he hurt too much to sleep.

He picked up the goblet again and rolled it between his fingers.

Time passed.

* * *

Late that night, the mirror shimmered like a rippling pool of quicksilver, causing Roran to blink and gaze at it through bleary, half-closed eyes.

The teardrop shape of Nasuada’s face took form before him, her expression as serious as ever. “Roran,” she said by way of greeting, her voice clear and strong.

“Lady Nasuada.” He straightened off the table as far as he dared, which was only a few inches.

“Have you been captured?”

“No.”

“Then I take it that Carn is either dead or wounded.”

“He died while fighting another magician.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.… He seemed a decent man, and we can ill afford to lose any of our spellcasters.” She paused for a moment. “And what of Aroughs?”

“The city is ours.”

Nasuada’s eyebrows rose. “Truly? I am most impressed. Tell me, how went the battle? Did everything go according to plan?”

Opening his jaw as little as he could, so as to minimize the discomfort of talking, Roran mumbled his way through an account of the past several days, from his arrival at Aroughs to the one-eyed man who had attacked him in his tent to the breaking of the dams at the mills to how the Varden had fought their way through Aroughs to the palace of Lord Halstead, including Carn’s duel with the enemy magician.

Then Roran related how he had been shot in the back, and how Brigman had cut the arrow out of him. “I’m lucky he was there; he did a good job of it. If not for him, I would have been next to useless until we found a healer.” He cringed inwardly as, for a second, the memory of his wounds being cauterized jumped to the forefront of his mind, and he again felt the touch of hot metal against his flesh.

“I hope you did find a healer to look at you.”

“Aye, later, but he was no spellcaster.”

Nasuada leaned back in her chair and studied him for a while. “I’m astonished you still have the strength to talk to me. The people of Carvahall are indeed made of stern stuff.”

“Afterward, we secured the palace, as well as the rest of Aroughs, although there are still a few places where our grip is weak. It was fairly easy to convince the soldiers to surrender once they realized we had slipped behind their lines and captured the center of the city.”

“And what of Lord Halstead? Did you capture him as well?”

“He was attempting to escape the palace when some of my men chanced upon him. Halstead had only a small number of guards with him, not enough to fight off our warriors, so he and his retainers fled into a wine cellar and barricaded themselves inside.…” Roran rubbed his thumb over a ruby set in the goblet before him. “They wouldn’t surrender, and I didn’t dare storm the room; it would have been too costly. So … I ordered the men to fetch pots of oil from the kitchens, light them on fire, and throw them against the door.”

“Were you trying to smoke them out?” Nasuada asked.

He nodded slowly. “A few of the soldiers ran out once the door burned down, but Halstead waited too long. We found him on the floor, suffocated.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Also … his daughter, Lady Galiana.” In his mind, he could still see her: tiny, delicate, garbed in a beautiful lavender dress covered with frills and ribbons.

Nasuada frowned. “Who succeeds Halstead as the earl of Fenmark?”

“Tharos the Quick.”

“The same who led the charge against you yesterday?”

“The same.”

It had been midafternoon when his men had brought Tharos before him. The small, bearded man had appeared dazed, though uninjured, and he had been missing his helm with its flamboyant plumes. To him, Roran-who was lying belly-down on a padded couch to save his back-had said, “I believe you owe me a bottle of wine.”

“How have you done this?!” Tharos had demanded in response, the sound of despair ringing in his voice. “The city was impregnable. None but a dragon could have broken our walls. And yet look what you wrought. You are something other than human, something other than …” And he had fallen silent, unable to speak any longer.

“How did he react to the deaths of his father and sister?” Nasuada asked.

Roran leaned his head against his hand. His brow was slick with sweat, so he wiped it dry with his sleeve. He shivered. Despite the perspiration, he felt cold all over, especially in his hands and feet. “He didn’t seem to much care about his father. His sister, though …” Roran winced as he remembered the torrent of abuse Tharos had directed at him after learning that Galiana was dead.

“If ever I get the chance, I’ll kill you for this,” Tharos had said. “I swear it.”

“You had best move quickly, then,” Roran had retorted. “Another has already claimed my life, and if anyone is going to kill me, my guess is that it’ll be her.”

“… Roran? … Roran!”

With a faint sense of surprise, he realized that Nasuada was calling his name. He looked at her again, framed in the mirror like a portrait, and struggled to find his tongue. At last he said, “Tharos isn’t really the earl of Fenmark. He’s the youngest of Halstead’s seven sons, but all of his brothers have fled or are hiding. So, for the time being, Tharos is the only one left to claim the title. He makes a good envoy between us and the elders of the city. Without Carn, though, there’s no way for me to tell who is sworn to Galbatorix and who isn’t. Most of the lords and ladies are, I assume, and the soldiers, of course, but it’s impossible to know who else.”

Nasuada pursed her lips. “I see.… Dauth is the closest city to you. I’ll ask Lady Alarice-whom I believe you’ve met-to send someone to Aroughs who is skilled in the art of reading minds. Most nobles keep one such person in their retinue, so it should be easy enough for Alarice to fulfill our request. However, when we marched for the Burning Plains, King Orrin brought with him every spellcaster of note from Surda, which means that whoever Alarice sends will most likely have no other skill with magic besides the ability to hear others’ thoughts. And without the proper spells, it will be difficult to prevent those who are loyal to Galbatorix from opposing us at every turn.”

While she spoke, Roran allowed his gaze to drift across the desk until it came to rest on the dark bottle of wine. I wonder if Tharos poisoned it? The thought failed to alarm him.

Then Nasuada was speaking to him again: “… hope that you have kept tight rein over your men and not let them run wild in Aroughs, burning, plundering, and taking liberties with its people?”

Roran was so tired, he found it difficult to marshal a coherent response, but at last he managed to say, “There are too few of us for the men to make mischief. They know as well as I do that the soldiers could retake the city if we gave them even the slightest opportunity.”

“A mixed blessing, I suppose.… How many casualties did you suffer during the attack?”

“Forty-two.”

For a while, silence lay between them. Then Nasuada said, “Did Carn have any family?”

Roran shrugged, a slight inward motion of his left shoulder. “I don’t know. He was from somewhere in the north, I think, but neither of us really talked about our lives before … before all of this.… It never seemed that important.”

A sudden itch in Roran’s throat forced him to cough again and again, and he curled over the table until his forehead touched the wood, grimacing as waves of pain assailed him from his back, his shoulder, and his mangled mouth. His convulsions were so violent, the wine in the goblet slopped over the rim and spilled onto his hand and wrist.

As he slowly recovered, Nasuada said, “Roran, you have to summon a healer to examine you. You’re unwell, and you ought to be in bed.”

“No.” He wiped the spittle from the corner of his mouth, then looked up at her. “They’ve done all they can, and I’m no child to be fussed over.”

Nasuada hesitated, then dipped her head. “As you wish.”

“Now what happens?” he asked. “Am I finished here?”

“It was my intention to have you return as soon as we captured Aroughs-however that was accomplished-but you’re in no condition to ride all the way to Dras-Leona. You’ll have to wait until-”

“I won’t wait,” Roran growled. He grabbed the mirror and pulled it toward him until it was only a few inches from his face. “Don’t you coddle me, Nasuada. I can ride, and I can ride fast. The only reason I came here is because Aroughs was a threat to the Varden. That threat is gone now-I removed it-and I’m not about to stay here, injuries or no injuries, while my wife and unborn child sit camped less than a mile away from Murtagh and his dragon!”

Nasuada’s voice hardened for a moment. “You went to Aroughs because I sent you.” Then, in a more relaxed tone, she said, “However, your point is well taken. You may return at once, if you are able. There’s no reason for you to ride night and day, as you did during the journey there, but neither should you dawdle. Be sensible about it. I don’t want to have to explain to Katrina that you killed yourself traveling.… Whom do you think I should select as your replacement when you leave Aroughs?”

“Captain Brigman.”

“Brigman? Why? Didn’t you have some difficulties with him?”

“He helped keep the men in line after I was shot. My head wasn’t very clear at the time-”

“I imagine not.”

“-and he saw to it that they didn’t panic or lose their nerve. Also, he led them on my behalf while I was stuck in this miserable music box of a castle. He was the only one who had the experience for it. Without him, we wouldn’t have been able to extend our control over the whole of Aroughs. The men like him, and he’s skilled at planning and organizing. He’ll do well at governing the city.”

“Brigman it is, then.” Nasuada looked away from the mirror and murmured something to a person he could not see. Turning back to him, she said, “I must admit, I never thought you would actually capture Aroughs. It seemed impossible that anyone could breach the city’s defenses in so little time, with so few men, and without the aid of either a dragon or Rider.”

“Then why send me here?”

“Because I had to try something before letting Eragon and Saphira fly so far away, and because you have made a habit of confounding expectations and prevailing where others would have faltered or given up. If the impossible were to happen, it seemed most likely that it would occur under your watch, as indeed it did.”

Roran snorted softly. And how long can I keep tempting fate before I end up dead like Carn?

“Sneer if you want, but you cannot deny your own success. You have won a great victory for us today, Stronghammer. Or rather, Captain Stronghammer, I ought to say. You have more than earned the right to that title. I am immensely grateful for what you have done. By capturing Aroughs, you have freed us from the prospect of fighting a war on two fronts, which would have almost certainly meant our destruction. All of the Varden are in your debt, and I promise you, the sacrifices you and your men have made will not be forgotten.”

Roran tried to say something, failed, tried again, and failed a second time before he finally managed to say: “I … I will be sure to let the men know how you feel. It will mean a lot to them.”

“Please do. And now I must bid you farewell. It is late, you are sick, and I have kept you far too long as it is.”

“Wait …” He reached toward her and struck the tips of his fingers against the mirror. “Wait. You haven’t told me: How goes the siege of Dras-Leona?”

She stared at him, her expression flat. “Badly. And it shows no signs of improving. We could use you here, Stronghammer. If we don’t find a way to bring this situation to an end, and soon, everything we have fought for will be lost.”