It had been three days since the Ra'zac had come to their valley. Roran had begun pacing, unable to stop. He had no news since Albriech had visited him, and he couldn't find out anything else by watching Carvahall. So he would shoot angry glares at the soldier's tents before resuming his frantic pace.

Midday came, Roran stopping for a brief and dry lunch. How long are the Ra'zac willing to wait? He pondered. This was a game of patience they were playing, and Roran was Determined to outwait them.

Getting bored he practiced his archery, ending his session when he broke an arrow on a stone embedded in his target, a rotting log. Afterwards with nothing else to do, he kept pacing.

He was doing this until he heard footsteps. Roran snatched his bow and waited for the intruder. He was overcome with relief when he saw Baldor's face appeared. He waved the boy over. They both sat down.
"Why hasn't anyone come?" Roran started the conversation.

"We couldn't." Baldor explained, wiping his forehead and panting slightly. "The soldiers have been watching us too closely. This was the first opportunity we had to get away. I can't stay long, either." He glanced at the mountaintop high above, shivering. "You're braver than I, staying here. Have you had any trouble with wolves, bears, mountain cats?"
"No, I'm fine." Roran assured him, shaking his head. "Did the soldiers say anything new?"

"One of them bragged to Morn last night that their squad was handpicked for this mission." Roran didn't like that information. "They haven't been too quiet.… At least one or two of them get drunk each night. A group of them tore up Morn's tavern the first day."
"Did they pay for the damage?" Roran inquired.
"Course not."
Roran glanced at his beloved village. "I still have trouble believing that the Empire would go to these lengths to capture me. What could I give them? What do they think I can give them?"

Baldor traced his gaze. "The Ra'zac questioned Katrina today. Someone mentioned that the two of you are close, and the Ra'zac were curious if she knew where you'd gone." Roran snapped back to Baldor. "Is she all right?"
"It would take more than those two to scare her." Baldor comforted. Then his tone shifted to cautiousness.
"Perhaps you should consider turning yourself in."

"I'd sooner hang myself and them with me!" Roran burst out, heaving himself up and resuming his pacing, tapping his leg anxiously. "How can you say that, knowing how they tortured my father?"
Baldor caught his arm and explained. "What happens if you remain in hiding and the soldiers don't give up and leave? They'll assume we lied to help you escape. The Empire doesn't forgive traitors."

Roran shrugged him off, spinning while still tapping his leg, seating himself with sharp movements, thinking. If I don't show myself, the Ra'zac will blame the people at hand. If I attempt to lead the Ra'zac away…  he wasn't a skilled enough woodsman to lead thirty men and the Ra'zac astray without being captured.
Eragon could do it, but not me. He reminded himself.

He sighed through gritted teeth. "I don't want anyone to be hurt on my behalf. I'll wait for now, and if the Ra'zac grow impatient and threaten someone… Well then, I'll think of something else to do."
"It's a nasty situation all around." Baldor complained bitterly.
"One I intend to survive." Roran replied.

The conversation ended, Baldor left Roran to his thoughts, pacing a small trench into the dirt.
Dusk came, and Roran took off his boots so as not to wear them out too soon, continuing barefoot.

During the night, Roran paused to watch a disturbance in Carvahall, lanterns swaying through the walkways and roads and banding together in the middle of the town. Then they approached the stark line of torches at the edge of the village. They desperately flitted about beside the unforgiving wall for several hours until both sides departed back to the houses and tents. Roran went to bed once nothing more occurred.

The next day, Carvahall was engulfed in a flurry of activity. Figures walking between the houses, even heading out into the valley to several farms. Noon brought two men into the soldier's camp and vanish into the Ra'zac's tent the greater part of an hour.

He was halfway through dinner when Baldor arrived. "Hungry?" He asked, offering some of his meal. The boy shook his head wearily and plopped onto the ground beside him. "Quimby's dead."

Roran dropped his bowl. Then swore as he swept the cold broth off his leg. "How?"
Baldor began his tale.
"A couple of soldiers were bothering Tara last night. She didn't really mind, except the men got in a fight over who she was supposed to serve next. Quimby was there- checking a cask Morn had turned- and he tried to break them up."
Roran nodded for him to continue. Quimby was always the one to get involved so everyone remained on their best behavior.

"Only thing is, a soldier threw a pitcher and hit him on the temple. Killed him instantly."

Roran stared at the dirt as his breath became unsteady. It was as though Baldor had beaten the air from his lungs.
It doesn't seem possible…. Quimby, gone?
The man was a farmer and part-time brewer, a part of Palancar Valley and it's people. Unquestionably one of them, part of Carvahall.
"Will the soldiers be punished?"
To his dismay, Baldor shook his head. "Right after Quimby died, the Ra'zac stole his body from the tavern and hauled it out to their tents. We tried to get it back last night, but they wouldn't talk with us."
"I saw."

Balder rubbed his face tiredly, grunting. "Dad and Loring met with the Ra'zac today and managed to convince them to release the body. The soldiers, however, won't face any consequences." He hesitated.
"I was about to leave when Quimby was handed over. You know what his wife got? Bones."
"Bones?!" Roran exclaimed in horror.
"Every one of them was nibbled clean- you could see the bite marks- and most were cracked open for marrow."

Roran was lost in a well of nausea, added onto the profound sense of appalling injustice. It was was common knowledge that a person's spirit could never rest until they received a proper burial. Roran was utterly revolted. "What, who, ate him then?" He questioned fiercely.
"The soldiers were just as appalled. It must have been the Ra'zac."
"Why? To what end?"

Baldor thought for a moment. "I don't think," he began slowly. "That the Ra'zac are human. You've never seen them up close, but their breath is foul, and they always cover their faces with black scarves. Their backs are humped and twisted, and they speak to each other in clicks. Even the men seem to fear them."
"If they aren't human, then what kind of creatures can they be? They're not Urgals."
"Who knows?"

Roran felt fear join him- terror of the supernatural. It was mirrored upon Baldor's face as well, the youth wringing his hands worriedly.
Roran slowly realized something as he reflected.
"Something must be done."

…

The temperature began rising slowly throughout the night and day, peaking at afternoon as Palancar Valley displayed it's shimmering waves of heat. Carvahall appeared peaceful and calm under the sweltering blanket and pale blue sky.
Yet even Roran could feel the dissent and malicious resentment emanating from the dwellers of the village.

Despite the aura of building rage, nothing happened at all. Roran brushed Horst's mare to combat his boredom. Eventually he found sleep in the darkness of night, feeling as though he were falling upwards upon staring at the stars, falling into a distant Void, a Void of stars, lost in the infinite worlds among them…

He woke up coughing, throat raw from smoke. Roran grabbed his blankets and and saddled up, guiding her further up the mountain before realizing the smoke traveled with them. Roran turned to the side and rode until he met fresh air.
Glancing about from the ledge he found himself on, Roran found the source instantaneously.

Carvahall's hay barn was set alight, destroying the precious hay and leaving behind only useless ash and smoke. Roran had to stop himself from screaming and racing down to help in the efforts to put it out.
Then a malignant spark found Delwin's house. Within moments it was engulfed in flames.
Roran tore his hair and sobbed. This, this was why it was a terrible offense to mishandle fire in Carvahall. It can become a tinderbox in minutes.
Was it an accident? Was it the soldiers? Are the Ra'zac punishing the villagers for shielding me?… Am I somehow responsible for this?
Fisk's house caught the flames next, Roran turning away, abhorrent of his cowardice.

The flames danced unnaturally, twisting in unusual patterns as if yearning for the sky but bound to the homes with which they ruined. The water thrown at them forced them down, killing them off little by little.
Suddenly, the villagers putting out the fire ducked down and covered their heads.
Roran wondered what could have caused them to do this.

Then an unearthly shriek reached Roran's ears.
It sent a chill through his bones, goosebumps rising on his arms.

An entire swathe of flame seemed to wrench itself off the remains of the barn, but instead of dissappating, they seemed to become wings, massive wings of fire.
A bird large enough to carry five men created of fire pounded it's glowing wings, the gusts causing the rest of the flames to shoot upwards and those with buckets to dive for cover.

It reached an altitude far above the town and then pulled into a steep dive, headed straight for the camp.
At the last second it pulled out, reaching a high speed and racing off into the gloom. It was so bright it cast a glow on the surrounding forests and mountains, leaving a trail of orange light behind it.

The echoes of the soldier's screams met Roran's ears, as well as the screech of that unholy creature of flame. It had headed south, undoubtedly terrifying. Roran could only pray that it was not some foul beast of magic serving Galbatorix to terrorize his enemies.

But then, given the reactions of the soldiers in the tents at it's approach, it could have been a random occurrence. But even still, it could be something only the Ra'zac knew of.

Pondering this, Roran looked back at Carvahall.
All traces of fire was gone now, as if the departure of the creature had bade them to fizzle out.

Weary, Roran spurred Horst's mare back to his to his camp and collapsed into his blankets, asleep.

…

Upon waking, Roran waited for his inevitable visitor. But he did not find anyone he expected.

A branch cracked behind him.

Roran whirled around, grabbing a rock to defend himself with. A terrifying, glowing figure stood across his campsite.
The bird.

He went still, hoping beyond hope it wouldn't attack him as he studied it. It had a three-feather crest atop it's head, flames permanent held in semblance of feathers. It's long neck bent in an S-shape as it gazed at him calmly with glowing, bright blue eyes. A single black spot cut out the flickering flames of it's form on it's lower chest, a circle that curved inward at the top, forming two points. Embers dripped off it and floated lazily around the creature. It stood tall, Roran came up short in comparison. It's shoulders alone were a foot higher than his head.
The bird opened it's beak.

Yet, despite all his expectations, Roran was not expecting it to speak.