“Roran, you have to relax,” said Carn. “I think I can heal you, but you’re only going to make this more difficult if you pass out.” Taking him by the shoulder, he guided Roran back to the cot that Hamund had just dragged out of a tent, and Roran obediently sat.
“How am I supposed to relax?” he asked with a short, brittle laugh.
“Breathe deeply and imagine you’re sinking into the ground each time you exhale. Trust me; it’ll work.”
Roran did as he was told, but the moment he released his third breath, his knotted muscles began to unclench and blood sprayed from the cut, splashing Carn on the face. The magician recoiled and uttered an oath. Fresh blood spilled down Roran’s stomach, hot against his bare skin.
“Now it hurts,” he said, gritting his teeth.
“Oi!” shouted Carn, and waved at Delwin, who was running toward them, his arms full of bandages and other items. As the villager deposited the mound of objects on one end of the cot, Carn grabbed a wad of lint and pressed it against Roran’s wound, stopping the bleeding for the moment. “Lie down,” he ordered.
Roran complied, and Hamund brought over a stool for Carn, who seated himself, keeping pressure on the lint the whole while. Extending his free hand, Carn snapped his fingers and said, “Open the mead and give it to me.”
Once Delwin passed him the jug, Carn looked directly at Roran and said, “I have to clean out the cut before I can seal it with magic. Do you understand?”
Roran nodded. “Give me something to bite.”
He heard the sound of buckles and straps being undone, then either Delwin or Hamund placed a thick sword belt between his teeth, and he clamped down on it with all his strength. “Do it!” he said as best he could past the obstruction in his mouth.
Before Roran had time to react, Carn plucked the lint off his chest and, in the same motion, poured mead across his wound, washing the hair, gore, and other accumulated filth out of the incision. As the mead struck, Roran uttered a strangled groan and arched his back, scrabbling at the sides of the cot.
“There, all done,” said Carn, and put aside the jug.
Roran stared up at the stars, every muscle in his body quivering, and tried to ignore the pain as Carn placed his hands over the wound and began to murmur phrases in the ancient language.
After a few seconds, although it seemed more like minutes to Roran, he felt an almost unbearable itch deep within his chest as Carn repaired the damage the assassin’s knife had caused. The itch crawled upward, toward the surface of his skin, and where it passed, the pain vanished. Still, the sensation was so unpleasant, it made him want to scratch at himself until he tore his flesh.
When it was over, Carn sighed and slumped over, holding his head in his hands.
Forcing his rebellious limbs to do as he wished, Roran swung his legs over the edge of the cot and sat upright. He ran a hand over his chest. Aside from the hair, it was perfectly smooth. Whole. Unblemished. Exactly as it had been before the one-eyed man had snuck into his tent.
Magic.
Off to the side, Delwin and Hamund stood staring. They appeared a bit wide-eyed, though he doubted anyone else would have noticed.
“Take yourselves to bed,” he said, and waved. “We’ll be leaving in a few hours, and I need you to be alert.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Delwin asked.
“Yes, yes,” he lied. “Thank you for your help, but go now. How am I supposed to rest with the two of you hovering over me like mother hens?”
After they had departed, Roran rubbed his face and then sat looking at his trembling, bloodstained hands. He felt wrung out. Empty. As if he had done an entire week’s worth of work in just a few minutes.
“Will you still be able to fight?” he asked Carn.
The magician shrugged. “Not so well as before.… It was a price that had to be paid, though. We can’t go into battle without you to lead us.”
Roran did not bother to argue. “You should get some rest. Dawn isn’t far off.”
“What of you?”
“I’m going to wash, find a tunic, and then check with Baldor and see if he’s ferreted out any more of Galbatorix’s killers.”
“Aren’t you going to lie down?”
“No.” Without meaning to, he scratched at his chest. He stopped himself when he realized what he was doing. “I couldn’t sleep before, and now …”
“I understand.” Carn slowly rose from the stool. “I’ll be in my tent if you need me.”