I own none of Christopher Paolini's characters or his books. I merely admire The Inheritance Cycle and wish to write my own sequel to it. Personally, I believe the book ended with too many "loose ends" and left room for so much more. I hope you enjoy my fanfiction, Rise of Misfortune. This story is set after Paolini's last book, Inheritance. I love feeback and I would love to receive some. :)
Prologue
A small-cloaked figure was hidden behind musty bales of hay, protected by the fearsome elements that raged outside of the barn. His cloak was damp, but his honey-colored skin remained dry and warm under the fabric. He let out a content sigh, his breath making puffs of smoke in front of his young-looking face. The boy wasn't very old but patches of stubble were beginning to appear on his chin and on the sides of his face. His hair was shaggy, stopping a little after his ears, and was the color of ripe wheat. Under his cloak he wore simple woven clothes, worn leather boots, and gloves riddled with holes. The only valuables the boy had on him was a small pouch with a couple of coins he had obtained through odd jobs or less nobly, stealing, and a dagger he had fastened to his side.
His eyes fluttered beneath his lids as sleep fought to overtake him, and as one hand clung to his dagger possessively, he let it have its way.
As an orphan Rauthr was use to sleeping in such a way, only the strongest and cleverest survived on their own. His mother and father had died during the capture of Gil'ead after a large, red dragon known as Thorn shot fire into their home. The fire had burned his parents alive and left him with pink, knotted scars that ran up his legs and waist. The elves that had captured the city helped heal him to the best of their ability, but some scars still remained, too severe for magic to erase. They named him "Rauthr" due to the misfortune he had experienced and left him under the guardianship of an kind, old woman.
He lived with the woman for many years, doing chores around the house and helping to prepare meals. She taught him how to read and write, how to milk a cow, and how to fix the fence around the chicken coop so that foxes couldn't run off with their hens. The woman's days were counted, however, and in the weeks before her death her distant relatives swarmed like flies who fought over both her property and belongings. When she died Rauthr was only eleven. This left him to try to live on the streets of Gil'ead.
Chapter One
"Sorvil!" The sound of a man growled, causing the symphonic sound of snow hitting wood to be broken in the midnight air. Rauthr's eyes snapped open at the sound of the irritated man and his grip tightened around the dagger. He remained silent. He was well hidden behind the large bales of hay and his cloak would further help him mold into the dark shadows. "I told you to be careful with that, it's worth more than your worthless life!" The man continued to shout with authoritative anger.
"It's so heavy!" A different man, quieter than the other, replied with a hiss. "Why are we carrying around this stupid rock anyways?"
"It's not just a rock, you idiot. Those pointy-eared freaks weren't guarding it for nothing." His voice turned almost lustful, full of excitement. "Who knows what we could get for it."
The other man gave a grunt in reply. He then grumbled to himself, almost too softly for Rauthr to hear. "It's just a rock. We must've grabbed the wrong thing…"
It wasn't long before silence returned once more to the barn. The thieves, Rauthr assumed, had stolen something from the elves. He had recently heard that the elves had been traveling outside of Du Weldenvarde but he hadn't seen any since they had stopped occupying Gil'ead. He wondered what had caused them to venture from their forests, everyone assumed that they would stay there after the war ended. Rauthr's fingers brushed against the dagger's blade, comforting him. He knew two men were still in the barn with him. If there were more he was not sure. What he did know was that the thieves had something potentially valuable. It could be worth the risk.
"Is it worth dying over?" He thought to himself, he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as adrenaline began to take over. The pouch of coins he kept tied around his neck was meager. It was turning colder each day and it wouldn't be long before everyone would be locked up within their cozy homes. Work would be difficult to find, as well as food, which was already raising in price each day. He closed his eyes with a silent prayer. The darkness enveloped him. Something urged him to go on.
Rauthr unsheathed his dagger silently and shifted over onto his elbows and knees. He would use the darkness to his advantage. His cloak would make him resemble a dark shadow, a trick on the eyes that would make him overlooked if one of the men happened to wake. If not he would be forced to use his dagger. The young boy had never killed a man before, and he didn't think he was ready to. As his eyes adjusted he crawled from behind the bales, his dagger secured between his teeth. He was relieved when he saw the men laid out on the ground fast asleep, covered by animal furs. A small lantern illuminated their faces. They were rugged and their faces were covered with harsh lines. The life of a thief wasn't a gentle one. The boy promised himself never to become like them and to make a better life for himself, even if it did require him to steal one last time.
His eyes reflected the flame from the lantern as he looked carefully around the two men. He didn't even really know what he was looking for, except that it was something that looked like a rock. Maybe it wasn't something of value, maybe the men had grabbed the wrong thing. He silently encouraged himself to find whatever it was so that he could be the judge of that. By one of the men, he assumed the louder and more angry one, was what looked like a leather bag. The bag was large so it had to be full of something. The man had his armed curled around it protectively. He mentally cursed. It would be risky to take it. As doubt filled his mind the same mysterious presence eased him, nudging him to continue.
He crawled over next to the man and took the dagger from his mouth and into his right hand, sitting up on his knees. This was the last wall separated him from what could be a better life, and he wasn't going to let it stop him. He reached for the man's arm with his free hand and gripped it carefully. He then slowly started to move it, smelling the alcohol on the man's breath as he did so. Just as he thought he was finally in the clear the man started to stir, causing Rauthr's heartbeat to leap from his chest and his breath to catch. The man's eyes opened, dark and ugly holes that grew wide with anger as he spotted the boy. He could and would kill him with one punch. The boy couldn't help but to quickly cover the man's mouth with one hand and to stab with the other, his innocence left like the light from the man's eyes.