“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?”