Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely familiar in this fanfic.
Second update this week, all written in one sitting! HA! I do hope that the right people would take time to read the note after this chapter, it's kind of important. XD
NOTE: The Banishing of Names did not take place, but instead, the Forsworn became permanently crazy (though Morzan and Enduriel functions better than the other four)
Chapter 17: Decisive Points
Three and a half days were wasted by the citizens of Carvahall simply to discuss the latest attack and the death of young Elmund. Toward the middle of the third day did they only start to plan their next course of action. The debate was furiously carried out with the help of heated arguments which shook every home in the village. Everyone argued. Not even friends or families were safe from turning against each other.
Many insisted that they might as well as kill the Forsworn and the remaining soldiers for vengeance, since the village was doomed anyway. Some insisted that if that was the case, then they could just surrender and trust the king's – almost nonexistent – mercy, though it may mean torture and certain death for Garrow and slavery for the rest. Many didn't subscribe to either opinion, but simply let their anger consume them and blame everyone who were involved in the current situation. Yet even more simply drowned their worries and panic within tankards of ale.
With eleven soldiers dead, the Forsworn did not have enough forces to attack Carvahall. Even with their powers, they had no means to attack the village without being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. They were forced to retreat farther down the road and posted sentinels across the valley, content to wait for reinforcements.
"Wait for the rest of the flea-bitten Forsworn, if you ask me," Loring wheezed during one meeting.
Garrow kept quiet during such meetings and quietly evaluated the various schemes, which all seemed very dangerous. The most dangerous plan of all was what Sloan planned to propose, but he told the butcher to keep it to themselves for the time being, and present it only if no other viable option was available.
Luckily, there were a lot of things that must still be done, and so the two men were often too busy to dwell on the dangerous suggestion. A lot of people were willing to help this time, especially after the last fight. Those who did not blame Garrow for their dilemma were ready to listen and obey. The new authority surprised him – not even his boys ever followed him with such eagerness.
As night began to veil the valley, Garrow strode into Horst's dining room, where people were seated around the candlelit table. Kiselt was busy explaining Carvahall's supplies, and how they would run out before next winter. Gertrude also stated her fears of being outnumbered and overwhelmed soon, which caused an argument to break out between Horst and her.
Loring banged a fist on the table to get their attention. "I say that it's our turn to strike before we ourselves get outnumbered. The Forsworn's dragons are away, and I fear that they will return with reinforcements soon. But without them, those blasted elves are nothing more than stronger, spellcasting people. We just need a few men, shields and weapons. We can wipe out this infestation by tonight."
It was something that Loring kept insisting every night, and it always caused an argument between the group. That night, it wasn't resolved within an hour. And this time, no ideas were presented to act as alternatives – aside from Thane kindly asking Gedric to tan his own hide and started a fistfight.
Sloan rolled his eyes and glanced at Garrow. "Now?"
Garrow nodded grimly. He limped to the table as fast as his injuries could allow. The quicker to get it over with. "Shut up," he growled to the arguing villagers. "Sloan and I had an idea."
Eyes of differing expressions locked onto him, and he took a deep breath. "Sloan?"
"I think indecision would kill us faster than swords and arrows." Sloan said from his seat, arms crossed and feet resting on the table. "I'm not one that you should ask if we must attack or flee."
"Oh, now you said it," snorted Kiselt.
"But I do know that our children, our mothers and our infirm cannot be expected to defend themselves from danger."
"We know that," growled Loring. "But what are we going to do? They barred our way to Cawley and other farms down the valley."
"So what?" grunted Garrow. "We know this land better than any in Alagaesia. It has been our home for generations. It will grant us safe passage."
Sloan nodded appreciatively. "Besides, I hate to say this, but there is still a place where our loved ones will be safe." His face soured, like it was taking all of his strength to choke out the next words. "Before, I would have said that I'll be hanged before I set foot in this place, but we must begin to trust The Spine."
Horst slammed his hand on the table, silencing the commotion. He gave Garrow a pleading look. "You would seriously go along with his hare-brained plan?" he asked. "You of all people should know that the Spine is too dangerous. It's where your lads found their dragon eggs. Even without that, the mountains are still cold, filled with wild animals and who knows what else!"
Garrow clenched his fists. He wanted to keep the children safe. He saw what happened to Elmund. No one would like that to happen to even other people's children. "No matter how many soldiers those vile Forsworn can summon, none of the will ever dare enter the Spine. Galbatorix lost half his army in it, and one of the Forsworn perished with them."
Morn stroked his beard. "That was twenty years ago."
Sloan nodded. "To people who live as long as the king, twenty years is but a heartbeat. Besides, the stories grow more frightening when they are told. Besides, a trail exists to the top of Igualda Falls. Ismira – Ismira has shown it to me before she left. We can send the children and others up there, on the fringe of the mountains. They will be safe. I know that it feels dangerous. If we are taken, then they can wait until the soldiers leave and find refuge in Therinsford."
"Dangerous? Ha!" Kiselt shook his head. "That does not even fully describe it. It is too cold. There are dangerous beasts. No sane man would send his family there."
Sloan's eyes darkened. "Ismira survived it. She reached the south. She was right, and now I must know my duty too. Our duty is to protect our families. I will not let my daughter lose a home that she can always return to," he growled. "It is not that bad. The snow has melted off the peaks already. It's no colder in the falls than it was down here just a few months ago. Wolves and bears will not dare attack a large group."
The butcher bowed his head sadly. His wife, Ismira, left him a few years ago to rejoin the Varden. She arrived in the village eighteen years ago, a stranger in the northern lands, but the village accepted her and she eventually married Sloan and started a family. But Ismira eventually revealed that she was an agent of the Varden who was simply in hiding, and tried to convince Sloan to come with her and take Katrina with them. But he refused, and she left.
"Delwin," Garrow said quietly. "It might be cruel of me to say this, but if Elmund wasn't in Carvahall during the attack then he would still be alive. Please, you must agree. This is the right thing to do. You can save other parents from experiencing the same anguish, and prevent other children from suffering the same fate." An uncomfortable silence followed this. "Birgit, Nolfavrell can't suffer the same fate as his father. He must leave. This is the only way to keep your children safe. I cannot protect mine, but we must protect yours. We must do what we can for the children."
Delwin was the first to stir from the silence. "I can't leave Carvahall. Not while my son's killers remain here. We cannot deny this truth. We must protect the children."
"As I said from the beginning," argued Tara.
"Fear and superstitions will be our enemies," Sloan barked.
Baldor nodded. "They're right. You must know that. Fear and supperstition will blind us. We've climbed the top of the falls one time or another and it is safe enough."
Birgit straightened up, eyes hard with the tears she was holding back. "I must agree."
Horst stood up. "I would rather find another way, but with the circumstances that we are facing… We might not have another choice."
The rest of the men and women in the room quietly, slowly and reluctantly accepted the proposal. They began to discuss the topic of preparations. While Garrow and Sloan joined in the initial discussion, they eventually slipped out to continue their assistance in improving the defenses of the village.
"It would have been different if someone lost a loved one in those falls and caused a ruckus back there," Sloan grumbled, "but I am glad that you have defended my idea."
"Is is the only way," Garrow said. "You did the right thing. I once thought you were an insensitive piece of rock."
The butcher laughed. "Nay. I am afraid of the Spine, but Ismira – she has a spine of steel. She was never afraid of it and would even gather herbs on top of the Igualda Falls. Almost died a number of times too."
"Do you think Katrina already rejoined her in the Varden?"
"I know not. If she truly is an agent of the Varden, then she could be anywhere in Alagaesia, doing gods-know-what." Sloan's eyes darkened. "And Katrina might still be busy adventuring with your blasted sons."
Garrow stared at the veiled horizon. "Do you think that Galbatorix could ever be vanquished?"
Sloan shrugged. "Certainly not in this lifetime. Though if stories about the Riders are true, then our children would still be very young after three generations have passed, and then they are powerful enough to slay the king and the Forsworn." He nodded to Garrow before heading his own way.
Dawn was chilly. Garrow lay for a long time, watching the whitewashed ceiling. He thought of the decisions they have made the past few days, and his shaky alliance with Sloan. Though they were now considerably civil to each other despite a long past of hostilities, he was still afraid that the butcher might turn on him any moment.
He pushed the dark thoughts aside and rolled off the bed wearily. He truly was getting old for this, but if he didn't help, then what would happen to Carvahall? He got dressed for the day and shuffled to the kitchen. He smeared a chunk of bread with soft cheese and strode to the front porch, enjoying his meal while admiring the sunrise.
A group of happy, unruly children dashed about the garden of the house to the left. They shrieked happily while playing Catch-the-Cat, followed by the adults who were supposed to be looking after them. Garrow chuckled. Back in what felt like lifetimes away, he, Sloan and Horst were up to the same task of chasing after their playing, unruly children. He smiled, ate the last of his breakfast, and returned to the kitchen.
The rest of the household was in there already. Elain nodded to him. "Good morning." She opened the window shutters and spent a few seconds staring at the sky. "It seems like it will be raining again soon."
Horst nodded, pleased. "The more the better, I say. It will keep us hidden on our way up Narnmor Mountain."
"Us?" Garrow raised an eyebrow. He took his seat beside a drowsy-looking Albreich.
"Aye, food and supplies need to be carried up the falls. We have to bring enough up there for everyone to eat properly."
"What about the men? Will there be enough to defend Carvahall?"
"Of course. Most will still be staying in the village."
Right after breakfast, Garrow, Albreich and Baldor began to wrap spare food, blankets and supplies in three large bundles which they slung across their shoulders. They hauled their luggage to the northern part of the village. The pain in Garrow's calf was bearable, luckily. The three brothers Darmmen, Larne and Hamund were bringing similar bundles when they joined the men along the way.
"I do hope that we don't get caught," Darmmen said quietly.
Baldor chuckled, but it sounded grim. "We won't be. I'm sure."
They reached the trench that ran around the houses. Children, parents and grandparents were gathered all around the place, organizing the expedition. Several families volunteered both horses and donkeys for carrying the goods, the younger children, the sick and the elderly. These animals were picketed in a line, and they all made loud noises which added to the confusion.
Albreich sighed. "This is going to be a long day."
They set their bundles on the ground, and Garrow surveyed the group. Svart – Ivor's uncle, who was the oldest man in Carvahall as he was nearing sixty, now that Brom wasn't around – was seated on a bale of clothes. He teased a baby with the tip of the tip of his long, white beard. The infant gurgled and laughed happily. Nolfavrell stood by Birgit, knife in hand. Many other mothers stood with their own children with worried expressions. Some other reluctant villagers, both men and women, also stayed nearby. Sloan was also there, carrying packages of dried and preserved meat.
With no one in charge, the villagers looked up to Garrow to sort out the chaos. He did his best to do exactly that, overseeing the arrangements and supply packaging. He asked for more waterskins upon discovering the shortage, and ended up with thirteen too many, much to Albreich and Baldor's amusement. Most of the morning was used up just to get everything in order.
"We might need extra shoes," Loring said worriedly. "Some might get worn out in the mountains, and they can't afford to go barefoot."
"Please see to it," Garrow told him.
Sloan stood nearby, surveying the work of the men that he was assigned to watch over. He nodded, pleased by the redistribution of the meat. He nodded as Garrow approached. "The farmers will be coming soon with some of their stock left over from winter," he said.
"Good. Then they won't get hungry."
Sloan grunted. "Do you think supporting my idea is worth it?"
Garrow nodded. "It's the best option for us now. No matter what happens, the children of the village must endure and survive. Many mothers and grandparents are coming, after all. They will be cared for."
"It's going to be a long day."
A few minutes after more extra shoes were provided by the Loring straight from his shop. More and more villagers arrived, supplies in and and children in tow. Garrow supervised the arrangement of the children and the elderly, and began loading supplies on the horses and donkeys.
By midmorning, the caravan of people and pack animals ascended the bare trail that led from the side of Narnmor Mountain to the top of the Igualda falls. The steep climb was taken even more slowly than people usually did, due to the fact that children came along and they carried a lot of supplies.
Calitha, Thane's wife, and her five children kept Garrow and Sloan company most of the climb. While the woman made small talk and eventually engaged in an earnest conversation with the previously surly butcher, Garrow mostly reviewed the recent events during the trek. A nagging worry of the village being overwhelmed soon also crept up his mind. He knew that it was their eventual fate, it made him sober p.
Three quarters of the way, the group paused to rest. Garrow leaned against a tree and admired the elevated view of the valley laid out before him. From their height, he couldn't spot the Forsworn's camp.
"Wouldn't it be too much to hope for Katrina and your sons to come back and save us?" Horst asked.
"I don't know." Garrow looked away from the valley. "I think they're headed for things bigger than just a small village. Besides, they are not yet powerful enough to handle one of the Forsworn and come out on top. They're on their way to getting stronger, but not yet."
A while later, they continued their journey. Long before the Igualda Falls came to sight, the thundering roar of its water could already be heard. The children began to chatter in excitement, while the older villagers became subdued. The falls soon came into sight – a snowy mane of angry water that burst forth from the craggy head of Narnmor, spilling to the valley floor half a mile below.
There was a glen filled with thimbleberries just past the edge of the falls, which led to a clearing guarded on one side by massive boulders. The people who arrived first already set up camp, while children shouted and cried all around them.
Garrow untied an ax from the top of his pack and helped those who were clearing the underbrush from the site. Then they chopped trees to encircle the camp. The scent of pine sap tickled their noses.
"This should be enough," announced Sloan, and the men began to build the fortifications.
Once it was complete, the camp was also set up completely with seventeen massive wool tents and four small cookfires. Everyone looked glum. Nobody wanted to leave, yet no one wanted to stay either. A group of old men and young boys clutched spears and knives, ready to defend the camp from the wild animals or even people.
"Too much experience and too little," he muttered to Sloan.
The butcher gave him a withering look. "You think?" He snorted. "The grandfathers may know how to deal with the bears or any other, but they're not strong enough to do it. Like the grandsons."
"Oh, but look," Garrow said, pointing to the women holding babies in their arms and tending scraped knees. Shields and spears were not far from their reach. "We still have hope."
"Hope is too big a word," Sloan said, before moving away to help in the assortment of smaller tasks.
Nolfavrell sat alone on a log, eyes gazing wistfully toward Palancar Valley. Garrow joined the boy, who gave him a serious glance. "Will you be leaving soon?" the child asked. "Please do your best to kill the Forsworn and avenge my father. I would do it myself, but Mama told me to guard my brothers and sisters."
"Of course." Garrow smiled. "I'll bring you their heads if I can, but I cannot assure you of that."
The boy's chin trembled, reminding Garrow of Murtagh when he was much younger. "That is good enough for me. Thank you!"
"Nolfavrell. You are the only one here besides me who has ever killed a man. It doesn't make us better or worse than anyone else, understand? We did what we had to, and we will do it again for the ones that we love. I can trust you to fight well if you are attacked."
Nolfavrell's chest swelled with pride. "You can always rely on me! Mama doesn't like you, but I'm sure you will also kill the Forsworn!"
Garrow chuckled. "I am not so sure about that, but maybe Roran, Eragon, Murtagh or even Katrina could do the job for us someday, eh? Maybe they will come back here with their dragons."
"So it is true? That they are Riders?"
"Yes, along with two other young ladies their age." Garrow smiled. "Six Riders and six Forsworn. Maybe someday, we will have a fighting chance."
Birgit approached. She gave him a forced smile. "It is time." She hugged her son before following the other villagers who were to return to Carvahall. Behind them were the people left behind in the camp, standing against the felled trees and staring sadly through the wooden bars.
As Garrow worked on the final lines of defenses around Carvahall, he felt the emptiness of the village within him. It was like the very heart and soul of the the place – and the villagers – were left behind in the Spine. With the children gone, Carvahall looked more like an armed camp, making everyone grim and grave.
By sunset, Garrow returned to Horst's house, where some of the villagers were also to stay for the night to finalize some individual plans of theirs. Elain was in the kitchen, knitting. She nodded as Garrow took a seat by the window. "We chose a long and hard path," she said, rising to get cool cider from their stocks.
"Aye, we all did." Garrow rubbed his forehead.
Elain nodded and smiled. She handed Garrow a cup of cider. "We must do the best for the future of Carvahall. You know, my father once told me that many people in the valley have the blood of King Palancar and his court running in their veins."
"King Palancar?"
"The first human king of Alagaesia, of course. My father heard the story from the village storyteller when he was but a little boy, but the belief stayed with him until his deathbed. Maybe it is enough to make us resilient people."
Garrow nodded contemplatively. Outside, it began to rain. Finishing the last of his cider, he rose to his feet. "I must rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow," he said.
A thunderclap woke him up.
He barely registered the light that flared as he opened his eyes and struggled to clear his mind from the last cobwebs of sleep. A jagged hole has been blasted through his door. Six soldiers marched through the gaping maw with Kialandi. A sword was quickly pressed against Garrow's neck.
"Up," Kialandi said through gritted teeth. Garrow stood up, heart thudding nervously. "Tie the son of a sandworm properly."
A soldier approached Garrow wearily, but a loud cry tore the air, followed by swift footsteps. Before anyone could reply, Birgit arrived with ten other villagers including Sloan, plus Horst and his sons. The woman jumped toward Kialandi and before the fast elf could even react, she raked her nails down his face.
"Slytha," Formora said, thrusting his hand out.
For a moment, no one moved, afraid of the elf's attempted magic.
But nothing happened.
Before the elf could regain his composure, Birgit raised her staff and charged. Garrow used the commotion and grabbed the ax he kept on his bedside. He swung the ax around with a fierce roar. Formora threw himself at him with blinding speed while the other villagers fought with the soldiers. He barely managed to block Kialandi's brown blade with his ax head.
"Brisingr! Blast it, brisingr!" the elf kept shrieking.
Clangs and shouts could be heard outside, as the soldiers fell to the villagers. Kialandi's strength pushed Garrow to the ground after a few seconds, but Birgit and the others surrounded them.
"Touch him, and we won't hesitate to kill you."
Kialandi sneered, grabbed Garrow and with inhuman speed, rushed to the window. There was a loud thunking sound, and Birgit's staff hit the elf's head. While he was stunned, Garrow jammed his heels against the sides of the window frames and hit Kialandi's groin with the shaft of his ax. Losing balance, the enemy released him and fell into the night. Peering from the window, Garrow could see the other villagers fending off the rest of the soldiers, while Formora dragged Kialandi in a hasty retreat.
The villagers in the room converged on Garrow. "We heard the commotion. Other soldiers tried to get rid of us," Baldor explained. "We fought them off and went after the elf as fast as we can."
"And not a moment too soon," Albreich said in agreement.
Birgit tapped the floor impatiently with her feet before she picked up her fallen staff. "Come, we must go after them. It seems like the Forsworn cannot use magic all the time."
"She's right. We can't wait." Garrow hefted his ax and they left the house after scavenging shields from the fallen soldiers.
They left the house and ran to the very edge of Carvahall, where the wall of trees were blasted to pieces by magic, no doubt. The watchman, Byrd, lay dead. His mangled back was smoking. No doubt another spell from the Forsworn. All around Carvahall's perimeter, the other watchmen began to converge on Byrd's corpse as Garrow did his best to explain the situation.
Five of the watchmen agreed to accompany them, while the rest were to stay and continue guarding the breach in the wall and alert the rest of the village.
Anger surged within Garrow. They infiltrated Carvahall, murdered another villager and attempted to take him too. Rage fueled him and lent him strength.
Half a mile from Carvahall, Ivor pointed out the sentry that stood on a hillock. Of course, this forced them to take a very wide detour, and a hundred yards beyond, they could spot the faint glow of dying torches. Garrow raised his arms to slow their advance. He led them, crawling through the tangled grass. They made their way to the very edge of a grove of cattails and stopped. Garrow parted the curtain of stalks, revealing the thirteen remaining soldiers.
These men all looked sullen and haggard, with worn out weapons and armor. They were heavily bandaged with blood-splattered cloth. They clustered together, shivering in the cold night. Before them stood Kialandi and Formora, who looked frustrated. A low fire burned in the center.
"Over half of us were killed by those imbred, cockle-headed woodrats!" A soldier crossed arms. "They can't even tell a pike from a poleax or find the point of a sword that is stabbing their gut. You don't have half the sense of my banner boy. I don't care if you're the king's personal Riders, we won't do a thing unless Morzan or Enduriel become our new commanders." The men nodded.
A dark smile curled Formora's full lips. "Is that so?" she asked, a hint of venom in her voice.
"We've had enough taking orders from elves like you – you're supposed to be the wisest, most powerful race in Alagaesia, and you could barely focus to cast spells! I don't know what you did to Sardson but if you stay another night, we will put steel in you just to see if elves do bleed red blood!"
Before the man could say another word, Formora drew her sword – a sickly, garish hue of violet that was so unlike Roran's. With a swift flick of the blade, she decapitated the man.
"Blast it," mumbled Sloan.
Formora grabbed a torch and thrust it to the dead man's body, burning it. "Very well. We shall go. Morzan truly is on his way here. Stay if you wish. My mate and I have far more important things to deal with than insubordination and that flea-bitten village." His eyes turned cold and detached. "But mark my words, human, the king shall hear of this."
The two Forsworn nodded to each other and bounded off into the night with the speed of a horse. All that was left to do was to kill the remaining soldiers.
"Should we attack?" Horst asked.
"Now." Garrow replied. Hefting his ax, he led the charge.
So before the really important announcement thingie, I must thank you all for the whopping nine comments this chapter and for finally breaking through 100! I promise a better balance between fluff and action once we reach Ellesmera. But yes, the dragon hunting is still on! Someone has correctly predicted something to do with Oromis and the Fall but I'm not going to elaborate yet! Mwahaha! And someone suggested the Wheel of Time? I'm going to stock up on the whole series soon. Like, really, really soon. I've been eyeing those books for quite some time but local bookstores rarely have the complete set. UGH.
I do appreciate it when you guys point out errors in the story! I'm kind of too lazy to go back to them right now but I promise to correct them when I have the time. And I'm glad you guys have responded well to the overwhelmingly fluffy scenes, they're a great way to warm up during this ridiculously cold season!
So now, for the kind of important announcement thingie that I don't know how to start with.
Okay, um, here goes. Everyone knows that I do love interacting with my readers as much as my laziness allows me to, and that I love you all to bits, especially the regulars (you know who you are) and I especially love it when you give me feedback since it helps me know how to handle the next chapters. You do know that I love comments and suggestions, and do take note of them especially since they really are so helpful. I do want to apologize to a certain guest/anonymous reviewer who sent a lengthy review (duly noted and considered) about what he/she thinks I should do about the story.
Actually, I was really bothered with the wording. Sorry, I'm really too much of a softie and was kind of upset that a reader wasn't really pleased with my work. Okay, I know that I can't please anyone but still... uh. I'm really sorry if my story isn't really to your liking.
If you must know, I really am aware that the Inheritance cycle is about Eragon. Hey, he's the hero and truly is made of win. I think it's in the blood. Both sides. It might sound selfish of me, but the point of this fanfiction is to rewrite the story in a whole new way, and while I do believe that Eragon really will end up being the leader when the tale closes, this story has transformed so much that it's not just his story now. As Murtagh said, they will rise together, or not at all, and now the series of fanfics i'm working on has become the story of the six Riders and their dragons. It's not just about Eragon at this point.
I do admit that he's one of my favorite characters along with Murtagh himself. But as I've said way back in Bloodkin, a lot of things will be changed in this fic, though many things will stay. I think it might be very unfair if Eragon transforms and randomly becomes the best while the rest stay far behind, when they all have their own Forsworn to match and do battle with.
I do sincerely apologize if certain changes are not to your liking, or if your favorite Riders do not become exceptionally special compared to the others, but it just doesn't feel right for this story. :(
Please don't burn me.