“We heard the crash when the gates fell,” said Katrina, wringing a bandage dry. “They didn’t hold for very long.”
“No.… It helps to have a dragon on your side.”
Roran gazed at her belly as she draped the bandage over the makeshift clothesline that ran from the peak of their tent across to a neighboring one. Whenever he thought of the child she was carrying, the child that the two of them had created, he felt an enormous sense of pride, but it was tinged with anxiety, for he did not know how he could hope to provide a safe home for their baby. Also, if the war was not over by the time Katrina gave birth, she intended to leave him and go to Surda, where she might raise their child in relative safety.
I can’t lose her, not again.
Katrina immersed another bandage in the tub. “And the battle in the city?” she asked, churning the water. “How went it?”
“We had to fight for every foot. Even Eragon had a hard time of it.”
“The wounded spoke of ballistae mounted on wheels.”
“Aye.” Roran wet his tongue with ale, then quickly described how the Varden had moved through Belatona and the setbacks they had encountered along the way. “We lost too many men today, but it could have been worse. Much worse. Jörmundur and Captain Martland planned the attack well.”
“Their plan wouldn’t have worked, though, if not for you and Eragon. You acquitted yourself most bravely.”
Roran loosed a single bark of laughter: “Ha! And do you know why that is? I’ll tell you. Not one man in ten is actually willing to attack the enemy. Eragon doesn’t see it; he’s always at the forefront of the battle, driving the soldiers before him, but I see it. Most of the men hang back and don’t fight unless they are cornered. Or they wave their arms about and make a lot of noise but don’t actually do anything.”
Katrina looked appalled. “How can that be? Are they cowards?”
“I don’t know. I think … I think that, perhaps, they just can’t bring themselves to look a man in the face and kill him, although it seems easy enough for them to cut down soldiers whose backs are turned. So they wait for others to do what they cannot. They wait for people like me.”
“Do you think Galbatorix’s men are equally reluctant?”
Roran shrugged. “They might be. But then, they have no choice but to obey Galbatorix. If he orders them to fight, they fight.”
“Nasuada could do the same. She could have her magicians cast spells to ensure that no one shirks their duty.”
“What difference would there be between her and Galbatorix, then? In any case, the Varden wouldn’t stand for it.”
Katrina left her washing to come and kiss him on the forehead. “I’m glad you can do what you do,” she whispered. She returned to the tub and began scrubbing another strip of soiled linen over the washboard. “I felt something earlier, from my ring.… I thought maybe something had happened to you.”
“I was in the middle of a battle. It wouldn’t be surprising if you had felt a twinge every few minutes.”
She paused with her arms in the water. “I never have before.”
He drained the mug of ale, seeking to delay the inevitable. He had hoped to spare her the details of his misadventure in the castle, but it was plain that she would not rest until she knew the truth. Attempting to convince her otherwise would only lead her to imagine calamities far worse than what had actually occurred. Besides, it would be pointless for him to hold back when news of the event would soon be common throughout the Varden.
So he told her. He gave her a brief account and tried to make the collapse of the wall seem more like a minor inconvenience rather than something that had almost killed him. Still, he found it difficult to describe the experience, and he spoke haltingly, searching for the right words. When he finished, he fell silent, troubled by the remembrance.
“At least you weren’t hurt,” said Katrina.
He picked at a crack in the lip of the mug. “No.”
The sound of sloshing water ceased, and he could feel her eyes heavy upon him.
“You’ve faced far greater danger before.”
“Yes … I suppose.”
Her voice softened. “What’s wrong, then?” When he did not answer, she said, “There’s nothing so terrible you can’t tell me, Roran. You know that.”
The edge of his right thumbnail tore as he picked at the mug again. He rubbed the sharp flap against his forefinger several times. “I thought I was going to die when the wall fell.”
“Anyone might have.”
“Yes, but the thing is, I didn’t mind.” Anguished, he looked at her. “Don’t you understand? I gave up. When I realized I couldn’t escape, I accepted it as meekly as a lamb led to slaughter, and I—” Unable to continue, he dropped the mug and hid his face in his hands. The swelling in his throat made it hard to breathe. Then he felt Katrina’s fingers light upon his shoulders. “I gave up,” he growled, furious and disgusted with himself. “I just stopped fighting.… For you … For our child.” He choked on the words.