Read Online Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) by Unknown - Free Book Online

Horst.” Baldor nodded, and
    they pushed on.
    After two miles, they stopped to drink and rest briefly. When their
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    panting subsided, they continued through the low hills preceding Carva-
    hall. The rolling ground slowed them considerably, but even so, the vil-
    lage soon burst into view.
    Roran immediately broke for the forge, leaving Baldor to make his way
    to the center of town. As he pounded past the houses, Roran wildly con-
    sidered schemes to evade or kill the strangers without incurring the
    wrath of the Empire.
    He burst into the forge to catch Horst tapping a peg into the side of
    Quimby’s wagon, singing:
    . . hey O!
    And a ringing and a dinging
    Rang from old iron! Wily old iron.
    With a beat and a bang on the bones of the land,
    I conquered wily old iron!
    Horst stopped his mallet in midblow when he saw Roran. “What’s the
    matter, lad? Is Baldor hurt?”
    Roran shook his head and leaned over, gasping for air. In short bursts,
    he reiterated all they had seen and its possible implications, most impor-
    tantly that it was now clear the strangers were agents of the Empire.
    Horst fingered his beard. “You have to leave Carvahall. Fetch some
    food from the house, then take my mare—Ivor’s pulling stumps with
    her—and ride into the foothills. Once we know what the soldiers want,
    I’ll send Albriech or Baldor with word.”
    “What will you say if they ask for me?”
    “That you’re out hunting and we don’t know when you’ll return. It’s
    true enough, and I doubt they’ll chance blundering around in the trees for
    fear of missing you. Assuming it’s you they’re really after.”
    Roran nodded, then turned and ran to Horst’s house. Inside, he grabbed
    the mare’s tack and bags from the wall, quickly tied turnips, beets, jerky,
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    and a loaf of bread in a knot of blankets, snatched up a tin pot, and
    dashed out, pausing only long enough to explain the situation to Elain.
    The supplies were an awkward bundle in his arms as he jogged east
    from Carvahall to Ivor’s farm. Ivor himself stood behind the farmhouse,
    flicking the mare with a willow wand as she strained to tear the hairy
    roots of an elm tree from the ground.
    “Come on now!” shouted the farmer. “Put your back into it!” The horse
    shuddered with effort, her bit lathered, then with a final surge tilted the
    stump on its side so the roots reached toward the sky like a cluster of
    gnarled fingers. Ivor stopped her exertion with a twitch of the reins and
    patted her good-naturedly. “All right. . There we go.”
    Roran hailed him from a distance and, when they were close, pointed
    to the horse. “I need to borrow her.” He gave his reasons.
    Ivor swore and began unhitching the mare, grumbling, “Always the
    moment I get a bit of work done, that’s when the interruption comes.
    Never before.” He crossed his arms and frowned as Roran cinched the
    saddle, intent on his work.
    When he was ready, Roran swung onto the horse, bow in hand. “I am
    sorry for the trouble, but it can’t be helped.”
    “Well, don’t worry about it. Just make sure you aren’t caught.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    As he set heels to the mare’s sides, Roran heard Ivor call, “And don’t be
    hiding up my creek!”
    Roran grinned and shook his head, bending low over the horse’s neck.
    He soon reached the foothills of the Spine and worked his way up to the
    mountains that formed the north end of Palancar Valley. From there he
    climbed to a point on the mountainside where he could observe Carva-
    hall without being seen. Then he picketed his steed and settled down to
    wait.
    Roran shivered, eyeing the dark pines. He disliked being this close to
    the Spine. Hardly anyone from Carvahall dared set foot in the mountain
    range, and those who did often failed to return.
    Before long Roran saw the soldiers march up the road in a double line,
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    two ominous black figures at their head. They were stopped at the edge
    of Carvahall by a ragged group of