When he finished, he asked, “Can I visit Garrow now?”
Gertrude sighed. “You’re a determined one, aren’t you? Well, if you really want to, I won’t stop you. Put on your clothes and we’ll go.”
She turned her back as he struggled into his pants, wincing as they dragged over the bandages, and then slipped on his shirt. Gertrude helped him stand. His legs were weak, but they did not pain him like before.
“Take a few steps,” she commanded, then dryly observed, “At least you won’t have to crawl there.”
Outside, a blustery wind blew smoke from the adjacent buildings into their faces. Storm clouds hid the Spine and covered the valley while a curtain of snow advanced toward the village, obscuring the foothills. Eragon leaned heavily on Gertrude as they made their way through Carvahall.
Horst had built his two-story house on a hill so he could enjoy a view of the mountains. He had lavished all of his skill on it. The shale roof shadowed a railed balcony that extended from a tall window on the second floor. Each water spout was a snarling gargoyle, and every window and door was framed by carvings of serpents, harts, ravens, and knotted vines.
The door was opened by Elain, Horst’s wife, a small, willowy woman with refined features and silky blond hair pi
“Elain, you’ll have to help Eragon up the stairs,” Gertrude said, then hurried up them two at a time.
“It’s okay, I can do it myself.”
“Are you sure?” asked Elain. He nodded, but she looked doubtful. “Well. . as soon as you’re done come visit me in the kitchen. I have a fresh-baked pie you might enjoy.” As soon as she left, he sagged against the wall, welcoming the support. Then he started up the stairs, one painful step at a time. When he reached the top, he looked down a long hallway dotted with doors. The last one was open slightly. Taking a breath, he lurched toward it.
Katrina stood by a fireplace, boiling rags. She looked up, murmured a condolence, and then returned to her work. Gertrude stood beside her, grinding herbs for a poultice. A bucket by her feet held snow melting into ice water.
Garrow lay on a bed piled high with blankets. Sweat covered his brow, and his eyeballs flickered blindly under their lids. The skin on his face was shrunken like a cadaver’s. He was still, save for subtle tremors from his shallow breathing. Eragon touched his uncle’s forehead with a feeling of unreality. It burned against his hand. He apprehensively lifted the edge of the blankets and saw that Garrow’s many wounds were bound with strips of cloth. Where the bandages were being changed, the burns were exposed to the air. They had not begun to heal. Eragon looked at Gertrude with hopeless eyes. “Can’t you do anything about these?”
She pressed a rag into the bucket of ice water, then draped the cool cloth over Garrow’s head. “I’ve tried everything: salves, poultices, tinctures, but nothing works. If the wounds closed, he would have a better chance. Still, things may turn for the better. He’s hardy and strong.”
Eragon moved to a corner and sank to the floor.This isn’t the way things are supposed to be! Silence swallowed his thoughts. He stared blankly at the bed. After a while he noticed Katrina kneeling beside him. She put an arm around him. When he did not respond, she diffidently left.
Sometime later the door opened and Horst came in. He talked to Gertrude in a low voice, then approached Eragon. “Come on. You need to get out of here.” Before Eragon could protest, Horst dragged him to his feet and shepherded him out the door.
“I want to stay,” he complained.
“You need a break and fresh air. Don’t worry, you can go back soon enough,” consoled Horst.
Eragon grudgingly let the smith help him downstairs into the kitchen. Heady smells from half a dozen dishes — rich with spices and herbs — filled the air. Albriech and Baldor were there, talking with their mother as she kneaded bread. The brothers fell silent as they saw Eragon, but he had heard enough to know that they were discussing Garrow.
“Here, sit down,” said Horst, offering a chair.
Eragon sank into it gratefully. “Thank you.” His hands were shaking slightly, so he clasped them in his lap. A plate, piled high with food, was set before him.