The herbalist’s shop had a cheery sign and was easy to find. A short, curly-haired woman sat by the door. She was holding a frog in one hand and writing with the other. Eragon assumed that she was Angela, the herbalist. On either side of the store was a house. “Which one do you think is his?” he asked.
Brom deliberated, then said, “Let’s find out.” He approached the woman and asked politely, “Could you tell us which house Jeod lives in?”
“I could.” She continued writing. “Will you tell us?”
“Yes.” She fell silent, but her pen scribbled faster than ever. The frog on her hand croaked and looked at them with baleful eyes. Brom and Eragon waited uncomfortably, but she said no more. Eragon was about to blurt something out when Angela looked up. “Of course I’ll tell you! All you have to do is ask. Your first question was whether or not Icould tell you, and the second was if Iwould tell you. But you never actually put the question to me.” “Then let me ask properly,” said Brom with a smile. “Which house is
Jeod’s? And why are you holding a frog?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she bantered. “Jeod is on the right. And as for the frog, he’s actually a toad. I’m trying to prove that toads don’t exist—that there are only frogs.”
“How can toads not exist if you have one on your hand right now?” interrupted Eragon. “Besides, what good will it do, proving that there are only frogs?”
The woman shook her head vigorously, dark curls bouncing. “No, no, you don’t understand. If I prove toads don’t exist, then this is a frog and never was a toad. Therefore, the toad you see now doesn’t exist. And,” she raised a small finger, “if I can prove there are only frogs, then toads won’t be able to do anything bad—like make teeth fall out, cause warts, and poison or kill people. Also, witches won’t be able to use any of their evil spells because, of course, there won’t be any toads around.”
“I see,” said Brom delicately. “It sounds interesting, and I would like to hear more, but we have to meet Jeod.”
“Of course,” she said, waving her hand and returning to her writing.
Once they were out of the herbalist’s hearing, Eragon said, “She’s crazy!”
“It’s possible,” said Brom, “but you never know. She might discover
something useful, so don’t criticize. Who knows, toads might really be frogs!”
“And my shoes are made of gold,” retorted Eragon.
They stopped before a door with a wrought-iron knocker and marble doorstep. Brom banged three times. No one answered. Eragon felt slightly foolish. “Maybe this is the wrong house. Let’s try the other one,” he said. Brom ignored him and knocked again, pounding loudly.
Again no one answered. Eragon turned away in exasperation, then heard someone run to the door. A young woman with a pale complexion and light blond hair cracked it open. Her eyes were puffy; it looked like she had been crying, but her voice was perfectly steady. “Yes, what do you want?”
“Does Jeod live here?” asked Brom kindly.
The woman dipped her head a little. “Yes, he is my husband. Is he expecting you?” She opened the door no farther.
“No, but we need to talk with him,” said Brom. “He is very busy.”
“We have traveled far. It’s very important that we see him.” Her face hardened. “He is busy.”
Brom bristled, but his voice stayed pleasant. “Since he is unavailable, would you please give him a message?” Her mouth twitched, but she consented. “Tell him that a friend from Gil’ead is waiting outside.”
The woman seemed suspicious, but said, “Very well.” She closed the door abruptly. Eragon heard her footsteps recede.
“That wasn’t very polite.” he commented.
“Keep your opinions to yourself,” snapped Brom. “And don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.” He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers. Eragon clamped his mouth shut and looked away.
The door suddenly flew open, and a tall man burst out of the house. His expensive clothes were rumpled, his gray hair wispy, and he had a mournful face with short eyebrows. A long scar stretched across his scalp to his temple. At the sight of them, his eyes grew wide, and he sagged against the doorframe, speechless. His mouth opened and closed several times like a
gasping fish. He asked softly, in an incredulous voice, “Brom . . . ?”
Brom put a finger to his lips and reached forward, clasping the man’s arm. “It’s good to see you, Jeod! I’m glad that memory has not failed you, but don’t use that name. It would be unfortunate if anyone knew I was here.”
Jeod looked around wildly, shock plain on his face. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “What happened? Why haven’t you contacted me before?”
“All things will be explained. Do you have a place where we can talk
safely?”
Jeod hesitated, swinging his gaze between Eragon and Brom, face unreadable. Finally he said, “We can’t talk here, but if you wait a moment, I’ll take you somewhere we can.”
“Fine,” said Brom. Jeod nodded and vanished behind the door.
I hope I can learn something of Brom’s past,thought Eragon.
There was a rapier at Jeod’s side when he reappeared. An embroidered jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, matched by a plumed hat. Brom cast a critical eye at the finery, and Jeod shrugged self-consciously.
He took them through Teirm toward the citadel. Eragon led the horses behind the two men. Jeod gestured at their destination. “Risthart, the lord of Teirm, has decreed that all the business owners must have their headquarters in his castle. Even though most of us conduct our business elsewhere, we still have to rent rooms there. It’s nonsense, but we abide by it anyway to keep him calm. We’ll be free of eavesdroppers in there; the walls are thick.”
They went through the fortress’s main gate and into the keep. Jeod strode to a side door and pointed to an iron ring. “You can tie the horses there. No one will bother them.” When Snowfire and Cadoc were safely tethered, he opened the door with an iron key and let them inside.
Within was a long, empty hallway lit by torches set into the walls. Eragon was surprised by how cold and damp it was. When he touched the wall, his fingers slid over a layer of slime. He shivered.
Jeod snatched a torch from its bracket and led them down the hall. They stopped before a heavy, wooden door. He unlocked it and ushered them into a room dominated by a bearskin rug laden with stuffed chairs. Bookshelves stacked with leather-bound tomes covered the walls.
Jeod piled wood in the fireplace, then thrust the torch under it. The fire quickly roared. “You, old man, have some explaining to do.”
Brom’s face crinkled with a smile. “Who are you calling an old man? The last time I saw you there was no gray in your hair. Now it looks like it’s in the final stages of decomposition.”
“And you look the same as you did nearly twenty years ago. Time seems to have preserved you as a crotchety old man just to inflict wisdom upon each new generation. Enough of this! Get on with the story. That’s always what you were good at,” said Jeod impatiently. Eragon’s ears pricked up, and he waited eagerly to hear what Brom would say.
Brom relaxed into a chair and pulled out his pipe. He slowly blew a smoke ring that turned green, darted into the fireplace, then flew up the chimney. “Do you remember what we were doing in Gil’ead?”
“Yes, of course,” said Jeod. “That sort of thing is hard to forget.”
“An understatement, but true nevertheless,” said Brom dryly. “When we were . . . separated, I couldn’t find you. In the midst of the turmoil I stumbled into a small room. There wasn’t anything extraordinary in it—just crates and boxes—but out of curiosity, I rummaged around anyway. Fortune smiled on me that hour, for I found what we had been searching for.” An expression of shock ran over Jeod’s face. “Once it was in my hands, I couldn’t wait for you. At any second I might have been discovered, and all lost. Disguising myself as best I could, I fled the city and ran to the . . .” Brom hesitated and glanced at Eragon, then said, “ran to our friends. They stored it in a vault, for safekeeping, and made me promise to care for whomever received it. Until the day when my skills would be needed, I had to disappear. No one could know that I was alive—not even you—though it grieved me to pain you unnecessarily. So I went north and hid in Carvahall.”
Eragon clenched his jaw, infuriated that Brom was deliberately keeping
him in the dark.
Jeod frowned and asked, “Then our . . . friends knew that you were alive all along?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “I suppose the ruse was unavoidable, though I wish they had told me. Isn’t Carvahall farther north, on the other side of the Spine?” Brom inclined his head. For the first time, Jeod inspected Eragon. His gray eyes took in every detail. He raised his eyebrows and said, “I assume, then, that you are fulfilling your duty.”
Brom shook his head. “No, it’s not that simple. It was stolen a while ago
—at least that’s what I presume, for I haven’t received word from our friends, and I suspect their messengers were waylaid—so I decided to find out what I could. Eragon happened to be traveling in the same direction. We have stayed together for a time now.”
Jeod looked puzzled. “But if they haven’t sent any messages, how could you know that it was—”
Brom overrode him quickly, saying, “Eragon’s uncle was brutally killed by the Ra’zac. They burned his home and nearly caught him in the process. He deserves revenge, but they have left us without a trail to follow, and we need help finding them.”
Jeod’s face cleared. “I see. . . . But why have you come here? I don’t know where the Ra’zac might be hiding, and anyone who does won’t tell you.”
Standing, Brom reached into his robe and pulled out the Ra’zac’s flask. He tossed it to Jeod. “There’s Seithr oil in there—the dangerous kind. The Ra’zac were carrying it. They lost it by the trail, and we happened to find it.
We need to see Teirm’s shipping records so we can trace the Empire’s purchases of the oil. That should tell us where the Ra’zac’s lair is.”
Lines appeared on Jeod’s face as he thought. He pointed at the books on the shelves. “Do you see those? They are all records from my business.One business. You have gotten yourself into a project that could take months. There is another, greater problem. The records you seek are held in this castle, but only Brand, Risthart’s administrator of trade, sees them on a regular basis. Traders such as myself aren’t allowed to handle them. They fear that we will falsify the results, thus cheating the Empire of its precious taxes.”
“I can deal with that when the time comes,” said Brom. “But we need a few days of rest before we can think about proceeding.”
Jeod smiled. “It seems that it is my turn to help you. My house is yours, of course. Do you have another name while you are here?”
“Yes,” said Brom, “I’m Neal, and the boy is Evan.”
“Eragon,” said Jeod thoughtfully. “You have a unique name. Few have ever been named after the first Rider. In my life I’ve read about only three people who were called such.” Eragon was startled that Jeod knew the origin of his name.
Brom looked at Eragon. “Could you go check on the horses and make sure they’re all right? I don’t think I tied Snowfire to the ring tightly enough.” They’re trying to hide something from me. The moment I leave they’re going to talk about it.Eragon shoved himself out of the chair and left the room, slamming the door shut. Snowfire had not moved; the knot that held him was fine. Scratching the horses’ necks, Eragon leaned sullenly against the
castle wall.
It’s not fair,he complained to himself.If only I could hear what they are saying. He jolted upright, electrified. Brom had once taught him some words that would enhance his hearing.Keen ears aren’t exactly what I want, but I should be able to make the words work. After all, look what I could do with brisingr!
He concentrated intensely and reached for his power. Once it was within his grasp, he said, “Thverr stenr un atra eka hórna!” and imbued the words with his will. As the power rushed out of him, he heard a faint whisper in his ears, but nothing more. Disappointed, he sank back, then started as Jeod said, “—and I’ve been doing that for almost eight years now.”
Eragon looked around. No one was there except for a few guards standing against the far wall of the keep. Grinning, he sat on the courtyard and closed his eyes.
“I never expected you to become a merchant,” said Brom. “After all the time you spent in books. And finding the passageway in that manner! What
made you take up trading instead of remaining a scholar?”
“After Gil’ead, I didn’t have much taste for sitting in musty rooms and reading scrolls. I decided to help Ajihad as best I could, but I’m no warrior. My father was a merchant as well—you may remember that. He helped me get started. However, the bulk of my business is nothing more than a front to get goods into Surda.”
“But I take it that things have been going badly,” said Brom.
“Yes, none of the shipments have gotten through lately, and Tronjheim is running low on supplies. Somehow the Empire—at least I think it’s them— has discovered those of us who have been helping to support Tronjheim. But I’m still not convinced that it’s the Empire. No one sees any soldiers. I don’t understand it. Perhaps Galbatorix hired mercenaries to harass us.”
“I heard that you lost a ship recently.”
“The last one I owned,” answered Jeod bitterly. “Every man on it was loyal and brave. I doubt I’ll ever see them again. . . . The only option I have left is to send caravans to Surda or Gil’ead—which I know won’t get there, no matter how many guards I hire—or charter someone else’s ship to carry the goods. But no one will take them now.”
“How many merchants have been helping you?” asked Brom.
“Oh, a good number up and down the seaboard. All of them have been plagued by the same troubles. I know what you are thinking; I’ve pondered it many a night myself, but I cannot bear the thought of a traitor with that much knowledge and power. If there is one, we’re all in jeopardy. You should return to Tronjheim.”
“And take Eragon there?” interrupted Brom. “They’d tear him apart. It’s the worst place he could be right now. Maybe in a few months or, even better, a year. Can you imagine how the dwarves will react? Everyone will be trying to influence him, especially Islanzadi. He and Saphira won’t be safe in Tronjheim until I at least get them through tuatha du orothrim.”
Dwarves!thought Eragon excitedly.Where is this Tronjheim? And why did he tell Jeod about Saphira? He shouldn’t have done that without asking me!
“Still, I have a feeling that they are in need of your power and wisdom.”
“Wisdom,” snorted Brom. “I’m just what you said earlier—a crotchety old man.”
“Many would disagree.”
“Let them. I’ve no need to explain myself. No, Ajihad will have to get along without me. What I’m doing now is much more important. But the prospect of a traitor raises troubling questions. I wonder if that’s how the Empire knew where to be ” His voice trailed off.
“And I wonder why I haven’t been contacted about this,” said Jeod. “Maybe they tried. But if there’s a traitor . . .” Brom paused. “I have to
send word to Ajihad. Do you have a messenger you can trust?”
“I think so,” said Jeod. “It depends on where he would have to go.”
“I don’t know,” said Brom. “I’ve been isolated so long, my contacts have probably died or forgotten me. Could you send him to whoever receives your shipments?”
“Yes, but it’ll be risky.”
“What isn’t these days? How soon can he leave?”
“He can go in the morning. I’ll send him to Gil’ead. It will be faster,” said Jeod. “What can he take to convince Ajihad the message comes from you?”
“Here, give your man my ring. And tell him that if he loses it, I’ll personally tear his liver out. It was given to me by the queen.”
“Aren’t you cheery,” commented Jeod.
Brom grunted. After a long silence he said, “We’d better go out and join Eragon. I get worried when he’s alone. That boy has an unnatural propensity for being wherever there’s trouble.”
“Are you surprised?” “Not really.”
Eragon heard chairs being pushed back. He quickly pulled his mind away and opened his eyes. “What’s going on?” he muttered to himself.Jeod and other traders are in trouble for helping people the Empire doesn’t favor. Brom found something in Gil’ead and went to Carvahall to hide. What could be so important that he would let his own friend think he was dead for nearly twenty years? He mentioned a queen—when there aren’t any queens in the known kingdoms—and dwarves, who, as he himself told me, disappeared underground long ago.
He wanted answers! But he would not confront Brom now and risk jeopardizing their mission. No, he would wait until they left Teirm, and then he would persist until the old man explained his secrets. Eragon’s thoughts were still whirling when the door opened.
“Were the horses all right?” asked Brom.
“Fine,” said Eragon. They untied the horses and left the castle.
As they reentered the main body of Teirm, Brom said, “So, Jeod, you finally got married. And,” he winked slyly, “to a lovely young woman. Congratulations.”
Jeod did not seem happy with the compliment. He hunched his shoulders and stared down at the street. “Whether congratulations are in order is debatable right now. Helen isn’t very happy.”
“Why? What does she want?” asked Brom.
“The usual,” said Jeod with a resigned shrug. “A good home, happy children, food on the table, and pleasant company. The problem is that she comes from a wealthy family; her father has invested heavily in my business. If I keep suffering these losses, there won’t be enough money for her to live the way she’s used to.”
Jeod continued, “But please, my troubles are not your troubles. A host should never bother his guests with his own concerns. While you are in my house, I will let nothing more than an over-full stomach disturb you.”
“Thank you,” said Brom. “We appreciate the hospitality. Our travels have long been without comforts of any kind. Do you happen to know where we could find an inexpensive shop? All this riding has worn out our clothes.”
“Of course. That’s my job,” said Jeod, lightening up. He talked eagerly about prices and stores until his house was in sight. Then he asked, “Would you mind if we went somewhere else to eat? It might be awkward if you came in right now.”
“Whatever makes you feel comfortable,” said Brom.
Jeod looked relieved. “Thanks. Let’s leave your horses in my stable.” They did as he suggested, then followed him to a large tavern. Unlike the
Green Chestnut, this one was loud, clean, and full of boisterous people. When the main course arrived—a stuffed suckling pig—Eragon eagerly dug into the meat, but he especially savored the potatoes, carrots, turnips, and sweet apples that accompanied it. It had been a long time since he had eaten much more than wild game.
They lingered over the meal for hours as Brom and Jeod swapped stories. Eragon did not mind. He was warm, a lively tune jangled in the background, and there was more than enough food. The spirited tavern babble fell pleasantly on his ears.
When they finally exited the tavern, the sun was nearing the horizon. “You two go ahead; I have to check on something,” Eragon said. He wanted to see Saphira and make sure that she was safely hidden.
Brom agreed absently. “Be careful. Don’t take too long.”
“Wait,” said Jeod. “Are you going outside Teirm?” Eragon hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “Make sure you’re inside the walls before dark. The gates close then, and the guards won’t let you back in until morning.”
“I won’t be late,” promised Eragon. He turned around and loped down a side street, toward Teirm’s outer wall. Once out of the city, he breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air.Saphira! he called.Where are you? She guided him off the road, to the base of a mossy cliff surrounded by maples. He saw her head poke out of the trees on the top and waved.How am I supposed to get
up there?
If you find a clearing, I’ll come down and get you.
No,he said, eyeing the cliff,that won’t be necessary.I’ll just climb up. It’s too dangerous.
And you worry too much. Let me have some fun.
Eragon pulled off his gloves and started climbing. He relished the physical challenge. There were plenty of handholds, so the ascent was easy. He was soon high above the trees. Halfway up, he stopped on a ledge to catch his breath.
Once his strength returned, he stretched up for the next handhold, but his arm was not long enough. Stymied, he searched for another crevice or ridge to grasp. There was none. He tried backing down, but his legs could not reach his last foothold. Saphira watched with unblinking eyes. He gave up and said,I could use some help.
This is your own fault.
Yes! I know. Are you going to get me down or not?
If I weren’t around, you would be in a very bad situation.
Eragon rolled his eyes.You don’t have to tell me.
You’re right. After all, how can a mere dragon expect to tell a man like yourself what to do? In fact, everyone should stand in awe of your brilliance of finding the only dead end. Why, if you had started a few feet in either direction, the path to the top would have been clear.She cocked her head at him, eyes bright.
All right! I made a mistake. Now can you please get me out of here?he pleaded. She pulled her head back from the edge of the cliff. After a moment he called, “Saphira?” Above him were only swaying trees. “Saphira! Come back!” he roared.
With a loud crash Saphira barreled off the top of the cliff, flipping around in midair. She floated down to Eragon like a huge bat and grabbed his shirt with her claws, scratching his back. He let go of the rocks as she yanked him up in the air. After a brief flight, she set him down gently on the top of the cliff and tugged her claws out of his shirt.
Foolishness,said Saphira gently.
Eragon looked away, studying the landscape. The cliff provided a wonderful view of their surroundings, especially the foaming sea, as well as protection against unwelcome eyes. Only birds would see Saphira here. It was an ideal location.
Is Brom’s friend trustworthy?she asked.
I don’t know.Eragon proceeded to recount the day’s events.There are forces circling us that we aren’t aware of. Sometimes I wonder if we can ever
understand the true motives of the people around us. They all seem to have secrets.
It is the way of the world. Ignore all the schemes and trust in the nature of each person. Brom is good. He means us no harm. We don’t have to fear his plans.
I hope so,he said, looking down at his hands.
This finding of the Ra’zac through writing is a strange way of tracking,she remarked.Would there be a way to use magic to see the records without being inside the room?
I’m not sure. You would have to combine the word forseeingwithdistance.
. . or maybelightanddistance.Either way, it seems rather difficult. I’ll ask Brom.
That would be wise.They lapsed into tranquil silence.
You know, we may have to stay here awhile.
Saphira’s answer held a hard edge.And as always, I will be left to wait outside.
That is not how I want it. Soon enough we will travel together again. May that day come quickly.
Eragon smiled and hugged her. He noticed then how rapidly the light was fading.I have to go now, before I’m locked out of Teirm. Hunt tomorrow, and I will see you in the evening.
She spread her wings.Come, I will take you down. He got onto her scaly back and held on tightly as she launched off the cliff, glided over the trees, then landed on a knoll. Eragon thanked her and ran back to Teirm.
He came into sight of the portcullis just as it was beginning to lower. Calling for them to wait, he put on a burst of speed and slipped inside seconds before the gateway slammed closed. “Ya cut that a little close,” observed one of the guards.
“It won’t happen again,” assured Eragon, bending over to catch his breath. He wound his way through the darkened city to Jeod’s house. A lantern hung outside like a beacon.
A plump butler answered his knock and ushered him inside without a word. Tapestries covered the stone walls. Elaborate rugs dotted the polished wood floor, which glowed with the light from three gold candelabra hanging from the ceiling. Smoke drifted through the air and collected above.
“This way, sir. Your friend is in the study.”
They passed scores of doorways until the butler opened one to reveal a study. Books covered the room’s walls. But unlike those in Jeod’s office, these came in every size and shape. A fireplace filled with blazing logs warmed the room. Brom and Jeod sat before an oval writing desk, talking
amiably. Brom raised his pipe and said in a jovial voice, “Ah, here you are. We were getting worried about you. How was your walk?”
I wonder what put him in such a good mood? Why doesn’t he just come out and ask how Saphira is?“Pleasant, but the guards almost locked me outside the city. And Teirm is big. I had trouble finding this house.”
Jeod chuckled. “When you have seen Dras-Leona, Gil’ead, or even Kuasta, you won’t be so easily impressed by this small ocean city. I like it here, though. When it’s not raining, Teirm is really quite beautiful.”
Eragon turned to Brom. “Do you have any idea how long we’ll be here?” Brom spread his palms upward. “That’s hard to tell. It depends on whether we can get to the records and how long it will take us to find what we need. We’ll all have to help; it will be a huge job. I’ll talk with Brand
tomorrow and see if he’ll let us examine the records.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to help,” Eragon said, shifting uneasily. “Why not?” asked Brom. “There will be plenty of work for you.” Eragon lowered his head. “I can’t read.”
Brom straightened with disbelief. “You mean Garrow never taught you?” “He knew how to read?” asked Eragon, puzzled. Jeod watched them with
interest.
“Of course he did,” snorted Brom. “The proud fool—what was he thinking? I should have realized that he wouldn’t have taught you. He probably considered it an unnecessary luxury.” Brom scowled and pulled at his beard angrily. “This sets my plans back, but not irreparably. I’ll just have to teach you how to read. It won’t take long if you put your mind to it.”
Eragon winced. Brom’s lessons were usually intense and brutally direct.How much more can I learn at one time? “I suppose it’s necessary,” he said ruefully.
“You’ll enjoy it. There is much you can learn from books and scrolls,” said Jeod. He gestured at the walls. “These books are my friends, my companions. They make me laugh and cry and find meaning in life.”
“It sounds intriguing,” admitted Eragon. “Always the scholar, aren’t you?” asked Brom.
Jeod shrugged. “Not anymore. I’m afraid I’ve degenerated into a bibliophile.”
“A what?” asked Eragon.
“One who loves books,” explained Jeod, and resumed conversing with Brom. Bored, Eragon scanned the shelves. An elegant book set with gold studs caught his attention. He pulled it off the shelf and stared at it curiously.
It was bound in black leather carved with mysterious runes. Eragon ran his fingers over the cover and savored its cool smoothness. The letters inside
were printed with a reddish glossy ink. He let the pages slip past his fingers. A column of script, set off from the regular lettering, caught his eye. The words were long and flowing, full of graceful lines and sharp points.
Eragon took the book to Brom. “What is this?” he asked, pointing to the strange writing.
Brom looked at the page closely and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Jeod, you’ve expanded your collection. Where did you get this? I haven’t seen one in ages.”
Jeod strained his neck to see the book. “Ah yes, theDomia abr Wyrda. A man came through here a few years ago and tried to sell it to a trader down by the wharves. Fortunately, I happened to be there and was able to save the book, along with his neck. He didn’t have a clue what it was.”
“It’s odd, Eragon, that you should pick up this book, theDominance of Fate, ” said Brom. “Of all the items in this house, it’s probably worth the most. It details a complete history of Alagaësia—starting long before the elves landed here and ending a few decades ago. The book is very rare and is the best of its kind. When it was written, the Empire decried it as blasphemy and burned the author, Heslant the Monk. I didn’t think any copies still existed. The lettering you asked about is from the ancient language.”
“What does it say?” asked Eragon.
It took Brom a moment to read the writing. “It’s part of an elven poem that tells of the years they fought the dragons. This excerpt describes one of their kings, Ceranthor, as he rides into battle. The elves love this poem and tell it regularly—though you need three days to do it properly—so that they won’t repeat the mistakes of the past. At times they sing it so beautifully it seems the very rocks will cry.”
Eragon returned to his chair, holding the book gently.It’s amazing that a man who is dead can talk to people through these pages. As long as this book survives, his ideas live. I wonder if it contains any information about the Ra’zac?
He browsed through the book while Brom and Jeod spoke. Hours passed, and Eragon began to drowse. Out of pity for his exhaustion, Jeod bid them good night. “The butler will show you to your rooms.”
On the way upstairs, the servant said, “If you need assistance, use the bellpull next to the bed.” He stopped before a cluster of three doors, bowed, then backed away.
As Brom entered the room on the right, Eragon asked, “Can I talk to you?”
“You just did, but come in anyway.”
Eragon closed the door behind himself. “Saphira and I had an idea. Is
there—”
Brom stopped him with a raised hand and pulled the curtains shut over the window. “When you talk of such things, you would do well to make sure that no unwelcome ears are present.”
“Sorry,” said Eragon, berating himself for the slip. “Anyway, is it possible to conjure up an image of something that you can’t see?”
Brom sat on the edge of his bed. “What you are talking about is called scrying. It is quite possible and extremely helpful in some situations, but it has a major drawback. You can only observe people, places, and things that you’ve already seen. If you were to scry the Ra’zac, you’d see them all right, but not their surroundings. There are other problems as well. Let’s say that you wanted to view a page in a book, one that you’d already seen. You could only see the page if the book were open to it. If the book were closed when you tried this, the page would appear completely black.”
“Why can’t you view objects that you haven’t seen?” asked Eragon. Even with those limitations, he realized, scrying could be very useful.I wonder if I could view something leagues away and use magic to affect what was happening there?
“Because,” said Brom patiently, “to scry, you have to know what you’re looking at and where to direct your power. Even if a stranger was described to you, it would still be nigh impossible to view him, not to mention the ground and whatever else might be around him. You have to knowwhat you’re going to scry before youcan scry it. Does that answer your question?”
Eragon thought for a moment. “But how is it done? Do you conjure up the image in thin air?”
“Not usually,” said Brom, shaking his white head. “That takes more energy than projecting it onto a reflective surface like a pool of water or a mirror. Some Riders used to travel everywhere they could, trying to see as much as possible. Then, whenever war or some other calamity occurred, they would be able to view events throughout Alagaësia.”
“May I try it?” asked Eragon.
Brom looked at him carefully. “No, not now. You’re tired, and scrying takes lots of strength. I will tell you the words, but you must promise not to attempt it tonight. And I’d rather you wait until we leave Teirm; I have more to teach you.”
Eragon smiled. “I promise.”
“Very well.” Brom bent over and very quietly whispered, “Draumr kópa” into Eragon’s ear.
Eragon took a moment to memorize the words. “Maybe after we’ve left Teirm, I can scry Roran. I would like to know how he’s doing. I’m afraid that
the Ra’zac might go after him.”
“I don’t mean to frighten you, but that’s a distinct possibility,” said Brom. “Although Roran was gone most of the time the Ra’zac were in Carvahall, I’m sure that they asked questions about him. Who knows, they may have even met him while they were in Therinsford. Either way, I doubt their curiosity is sated. You’re on the loose, after all, and the king is probably threatening them with terrible punishment if you aren’t found. If they get frustrated enough, they’ll go back and interrogate Roran. It’s only a matter of time.”
“If that’s true, then the only way to keep Roran safe is to let the Ra’zac know where I am so that they’ll come after me instead of him.”
“No, that won’t work either. You’re not thinking,” admonished Brom. “If you can’t understand your enemies, how can you expect to anticipate them? Even if you exposed your location, the Ra’zac wouldstill chase Roran. Do you know why?”
Eragon straightened and tried to consider every possibility. “Well, if I stay in hiding long enough, they might get frustrated and capture Roran to force me to reveal myself. If that didn’t work, they’d kill him just to hurt me. Also, if I become a public enemy of the Empire, they might use him as bait to catch me. And if I met with Roran and they found out about it, they would torture him to find out where I was.”
“Very good. You figured that out quite nicely,” said Brom. “But what’s the solution? I can’t let him be killed!”
Brom clasped his hands loosely. “The solution is quite obvious. Roran is going to have to learn how to defend himself. That may sound hard-hearted, but as you pointed out, you cannot risk meeting with him. You may not remember this—you were half delirious at the time—but when we left Carvahall, I told you that I had left a warning letter for Roran so he won’t be totally unprepared for danger. If he has any sense at all, when the Ra’zac show up in Carvahall again, he’ll take my advice and flee.”
“I don’t like this,” said Eragon unhappily. “Ah, but you forget something.”
“What?” he demanded.
“There is some good in all of this. The king cannot afford to have a Rider roaming around that he does not control. Galbatorix is the only known Rider alive besides yourself, but he would like another one under his command. Before he tries to kill you or Roran, he will offer you the chance to serve him. Unfortunately, if he ever gets close enough to make that proposition, it will be far too late for you to refuse and still live.”
“You call that some good!”
“It’s all that’s protecting Roran. As long as the king doesn’t know which side you’ve chosen, he won’t risk alienating you by harming your cousin. Keep that firmly in mind. The Ra’zac killed Garrow, but I think it was an ill-considered decision on their part. From what I know of Galbatorix, he would not have approved it unless he gained something from it.”
“And how will I be able to deny the king’s wishes when he is threatening me with death?” asked Eragon sharply.
Brom sighed. He went to his nightstand and dipped his fingers in a basin of rose water. “Galbatorix wants your willing cooperation. Without that, you’re worse than useless to him. So the question becomes, If you are ever faced with this choice, are you willing to die for what you believe in? For that is the only way you will deny him.”
The question hung in the air.
Brom finally said, “It’s a difficult question and not one you can answer until you’re faced with it. Keep in mind that many people have died for their beliefs; it’s actually quite common. The real courage is in living and suffering for what you believe.”
T HEWITCH AND THEWERECAT
It was late in the morning when Eragon woke. He dressed, washed his face in the basin, then held the mirror up and brushed his hair into place. Something about his reflection made him stop and look closer. His face had changed since he had run out of Carvahall just a short while ago. Any baby fat was gone now, stripped away by traveling, sparring, and training. His cheekbones were more prominent, and the line of his jaw was sharper. There was a slight cast to his eyes that, when he looked closely, gave his face a wild, alien appearance. He held the mirror at arm’s length, and his face resumed its normal semblance—but it still did not seem quite his own.
A little disturbed, he slung his bow and quiver across his back, then left the room. Before he had reached the end of the hall, the butler caught up with him and said, “Sir, Neal left with my master for the castle earlier. He said that you could do whatever you want today because he will not return until this evening.”
Eragon thanked him for the message, then eagerly began exploring Teirm. For hours he wandered the streets, entering every shop that struck his fancy and chatting with various people. Eventually he was forced back to Jeod’s by his empty stomach and lack of money.
When he reached the street where the merchant lived, he stopped at the herbalist’s shop next door. It was an unusual place for a store. The other shops were down by the city wall, not crammed between expensive houses. He tried
to look in the windows, but they were covered with a thick layer of crawling plants on the interior. Curious, he went inside.
At first he saw nothing because the store was so dark, but then his eyes adjusted to the faint greenish light that filtered through the windows. A colorful bird with wide tail feathers and a sharp, powerful beak looked at Eragon inquisitively from a cage near the window. The walls were covered with plants; vines clung to the ceiling, obscuring all but an old chandelier, and on the floor was a large pot with a yellow flower. A collection of mortars, pestles, metal bowls, and a clear crystal ball the size of Eragon’s head rested on a long counter.
He walked to the counter, carefully stepping around complex machines, crates of rocks, piles of scrolls, and other objects he did not recognize. The wall behind the counter was covered with drawers of every size. Some of them were no larger than his smallest finger, while others were big enough for a barrel. There was a foot-wide gap in the shelves far above.
A pair of red eyes suddenly flashed from the dark space, and a large, fierce cat leapt onto the counter. It had a lean body with powerful shoulders and oversized paws. A shaggy mane surrounded its angular face; its ears were tipped with black tufts. White fangs curved down over its jaw. Altogether, it did not look like any cat Eragon had ever seen. It inspected him with shrewd eyes, then flicked its tail dismissively.
On a whim, Eragon reached out with his mind and touched the cat’s consciousness. Gently, he prodded it with his thoughts, trying to make it understand that he was a friend.
You don’t have to do that.
Eragon looked around in alarm. The cat ignored him and licked a paw.Saphira? Where are you? he asked. No one answered. Puzzled, he leaned against the counter and reached for what looked like a wood rod.
That wouldn’t be wise.
Stop playing games, Saphira,he snapped, then picked up the rod. A shock of electricity exploded through his body, and he fell to the floor, writhing. The pain slowly faded, leaving him gasping for air. The cat jumped down and looked at him.
You aren’t very smart for a Dragon Rider. I did warn you.
You said that!exclaimed Eragon. The cat yawned, then stretched and sauntered across the floor, weaving its way between objects.
Who else?
But you’re just a cat!he objected.
The cat yowled and stalked back to him. It jumped on his chest and crouched there, looking down at him with gleaming eyes. Eragon tried to sit
up, but it growled, showing its fangs.Do I look like other cats?
No . . .
Then what makes you think I am one?Eragon started to say something, but the creature dug its claws into his chest.Obviously your education has been neglected. I—to correct your mistake—am a werecat. There aren’t many of us left, but I think even a farm boy should have heard of us.
I didn’t know you were real,said Eragon, fascinated. A werecat! He was indeed fortunate. They were always flitting around the edges of stories, keeping to themselves and occasionally giving advice. If the legends were true, they had magical powers, lived longer than humans, and usually knew more than they told.
The werecat blinked lazily.Knowing is independent of being. I did not know you existed before you bumbled in here and ruined my nap. Yet that doesn’t mean you weren’t real before you woke me.
Eragon was lost by its reasoning.I’m sorry I disturbed you.
I was getting up anyway,it said. It leapt back onto the counter and licked its paw.If I were you, I wouldn’t hold on to that rod much longer. It’s going to shock you again in a few seconds.
He hastily put the rod back where he had found it.What is it? A common and boring artifact, unlike myself.
But what’s it for?
Didn’t you find out?The werecat finished cleaning its paw, stretched once more, then jumped back up to its sleeping place. It sat down, tucked its paws under its breast, and closed its eyes, purring.
Wait,said Eragon,what’s your name?
One of the werecat’s slanted eyes cracked open.I go by many names. If you are looking for my proper one, you will have to seek elsewhere. The eye closed. Eragon gave up and turned to leave.However, you may call me Solembum.
Thank you,said Eragon seriously. Solembum’s purring grew louder.
The door to the shop swung open, letting in a beam of sunlight. Angela entered with a cloth bag full of plants. Her eyes flickered at Solembum and she looked startled. “He says you talked with him.”
“You can talk with him, too?” asked Eragon.
She tossed her head. “Of course, but that doesn’t mean he’ll say anything back.” She set her plants on the counter, then walked behind it and faced him. “He likes you. That’s unusual. Most of the time Solembum doesn’t show himself to customers. In fact, he says that you show some promise, given a few years of work.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s a compliment, coming from him. You’re only the third person to come in here who has been able to speak with him. The first was a woman, many years ago; the second was a blind beggar; and now you. But I don’t run a store just so I can prattle on. Is there anything you want? Or did you only come in to look?”
“Just to look,” said Eragon, still thinking about the werecat. “Besides, I don’t really need any herbs.”
“That’s not all I do,” said Angela with a grin. “The rich fool lords pay me for love potions and the like. I never claim that they work, but for some reason they keep coming back. But I don’t think you need those chicaneries. Would you like your fortune told? I do that, too, for all the rich fool ladies.”
Eragon laughed. “No, I’m afraid my fortune is pretty much unreadable.
And I don’t have any money.”
Angela looked at Solembum curiously. “I think . . .” She gestured at the crystal ball resting on the counter. “That’s only for show anyway—it doesn’t do anything. But I do have . . . Wait here; I’ll be right back.” She hurried into a room at the back of the shop.
She came back, breathless, holding a leather pouch, which she set on the counter. “I haven’t used these for so long, I almost forgot where they were. Now, sit across from me and I’ll show you why I went to all this trouble.” Eragon found a stool and sat. Solembum’s eyes glowed from the gap in the drawers.
Angela laid a thick cloth on the counter, then poured a handful of smooth bones, each slightly longer than a finger, onto it. Runes and symbols were inscribed along their sides. “These,” she said, touching them gently, “are the knucklebones of a dragon. Don’t ask where I got them; it is a secret I won’t reveal. But unlike tea leaves, crystal balls, or even divining cards, these have true power. They do not lie, though understanding what they say is . . . complicated. If you wish, I will cast and read them for you. But understand that to know one’s fate can be a terrible thing. You must be sure of your decision.”
Eragon looked at the bones with a feeling of dread.There lies what was once one of Saphira’s kin. To know one’s fate . . . How can I make this decision when I don’t know what lies in wait for me and whether I will like it? Ignorance is indeed bliss. “Why do you offer this?” he asked.
“Because of Solembum. He may have been rude, but the fact that he spoke to you makes you special. Heis a werecat, after all. I offered to do this for the other two people who talked with him. Only the woman agreed to it. Selena was her name. Ah, she regretted it, too. Her fortune was bleak and painful. I don’t think she believed it—not at first.”
Emotion overcame Eragon, bringing tears to his eyes. “Selena,” he whispered to himself. His mother’s name.Could it have been her? Was her destiny so horrible that she had to abandon me? “Do you remember anything about her fortune?” he asked, feeling sick.
Angela shook her head and sighed. “It was so long ago that the details have melted into the rest of my memory, which isn’t as good as it used to be. Besides, I’ll not tell you what I do remember. That was for her and her alone. It was sad, though; I’ve never forgotten the look on her face.”
Eragon closed his eyes and struggled to regain control of his emotions. “Why do you complain about your memory?” he asked to distract himself. “You’re not that old.”
Dimples appeared on Angela’s cheeks. “I’m flattered, but don’t be deceived; I’m much older than I look. The appearance of youth probably comes from having to eat my own herbs when times are lean.”
Smiling, Eragon took a deep breath.If that was my mother and she could bear to have her fortune told, I can too. “Cast the bones for me,” he said solemnly.
Angela’s face became grave as she grasped the bones in each hand. Her eyes closed, and her lips moved in a soundless murmur. Then she said powerfully,“Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!” and tossed the bones onto the cloth. They fell all jumbled together, gleaming in the faint light.
The words rang in Eragon’s ears; he recognized them from the ancient language and realized with apprehension that to use them for magic, Angela must be a witch. She had not lied; this was a true fortunetelling. Minutes slowly passed as she studied the bones.
Finally, Angela leaned back and heaved a long sigh. She wiped her brow and pulled out a wineskin from under the counter. “Do you want some?” she asked. Eragon shook his head. She shrugged and drank deeply. “This,” she said, wiping her mouth, “is the hardest reading I’ve ever done. You were right. Your future is nigh impossible to see. I’ve never known of anyone’s fate being so tangled and clouded. I was, however, able to wrestle a few answers from it.”
Solembum jumped onto the counter and settled there, watching them both. Eragon clenched his hands as Angela pointed to one of the bones. “I will start here,” she said slowly, “because it is the clearest to understand.”
The symbol on the bone was a long horizontal line with a circle resting on it. “Infinity or long life,” said Angela quietly. “This is the first time I have ever seen it come up in someone’s future. Most of the time it’s the aspen or the elm, both signs that a person will live a normal span of years. Whether this means that you will live forever or that you will only have an
extraordinarily long life, I’m not sure. Whatever it foretells, you may be sure that many years lie ahead of you.”
No surprises there—I am a Rider,thought Eragon. Was Angela only going to tell him things he already knew?
“Now the bones grow harder to read, as the rest are in a confused pile.” Angela touched three of them. “Here the wandering path, lightning bolt, and sailing ship all lie together—a pattern I’ve never seen, only heard of. The wandering path shows that there are many choices in your future, some of which you face even now. I see great battles raging around you, some of them fought for your sake. I see the mighty powers of this land struggling to control your will and destiny. Countless possible futures await you—all of them filled with blood and conflict—but only one will bring you happiness and peace. Beware of losing your way, for you are one of the few who are truly free to choose their own fate. That freedom is a gift, but it is also a responsibility more binding than chains.”
Then her face grew sad. “And yet, as if to counteract that, here is the lightning bolt. It is a terrible omen. There is a doom upon you, but of what sort I know not. Part of it lies in a death—one that rapidly approaches and will cause you much grief. But the rest awaits in a great journey. Look closely at this bone. You can see how its end rests on that of the sailing ship. That is impossible to misunderstand. Your fate will be to leave this land forever. Where you will end up I know not, but you will never again stand in Alagaësia. This is inescapable. It will come to pass even if you try to avoid it.”
Her words frightened Eragon.Another death . . . who must I lose now?
His thoughts immediately went to Roran. Then he thought about his homeland.What could ever force me to leave?And where would I go? If there are lands across the sea or to the east, only the elves know of them.
Angela rubbed her temples and breathed deeply. “The next bone is easier to read and perhaps a bit more pleasant.” Eragon examined it and saw a rose blossom inscribed between the horns of a crescent moon.
Angela smiled and said, “An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary, as the moon indicates—for that is a magical symbol—and strong enough to outlast empires. I cannot say if this passion will end happily, but your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare.”
Of noble birth,thought Eragon in surprise.How could that ever happen? I have no more standing than the poorest of farmers.
“Now for the last two bones, the tree and the hawthorn root, which cross each other strongly. I wish that this were not so—it can only mean more
trouble—but betrayal is clear. And it will come from within your family.” “Roran wouldn’t do that!” objected Eragon abruptly.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Angela carefully. “But the bones have never lied, and that is what they say.”
Doubt wormed into Eragon’s mind, but he tried to ignore it. What reason would there ever be for Roran to turn on him? Angela put a comforting hand on his shoulder and offered him the wineskin again. This time Eragon accepted the drink, and it made him feel better.
“After all that, death might be welcome,” he joked nervously.Betrayal from Roran? It couldn’t happen! It won’t!
“It might be,” said Angela solemnly, then laughed slightly. “But you shouldn’t fret about what has yet to occur. The only way the future can harm us is by causing worry. I guarantee that you’ll feel better once you’re out in the sun.”
“Perhaps.”Unfortunately, he reflected wryly,nothing she said will make sense until it has already happened. If it really does, he amended himself. “You used words of power,” he noted quietly.
Angela’s eyes flashed. “What I wouldn’t give to see how the rest of your life plays out. You can speak to werecats, know of the ancient language, and have a most interesting future. Also, few young men with empty pockets and rough traveling clothes can expect to be loved by a noblewoman. Who are you?”
Eragon realized that the werecat must not have told Angela that he was a Rider. He almost said, “Evan,” but then changed his mind and simply stated, “I am Eragon.”
Angela arched her eyebrows. “Is that who you are or your name?” she asked.
“Both,” said Eragon with a small smile, thinking of his namesake, the first Rider.
“Now I’m all the more interested in seeing how your life will unfold.
Who was the ragged man with you yesterday?”
Eragon decided that one more name couldn’t hurt. “His name is Brom.”
A guffaw suddenly burst out of Angela, doubling her over in mirth. She wiped her eyes and took a sip of wine, then fought off another attack of merriment. Finally, gasping for breath, she forced out, “Oh . . . that one! I had no idea!”
“What is it?” demanded Eragon.
“No, no, don’t be upset,” said Angela, hiding a smile. “It’s only that— well, he is known by those in my profession. I’m afraid that the poor man’s doom, or future if you will, is something of a joke with us.”
“Don’t insult him! He’s a better man than any you could find!” snapped Eragon.
“Peace, peace,” chided Angela with amusement. “I know that. If we meet again at the right time I’ll be sure to tell you about it. But in the meantime you should—” She stopped speaking as Solembum padded between them. The werecat stared at Eragon with unblinking eyes.
Yes?Eragon asked, irritated.
Listen closely and I will tell you two things. When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls.
Before Eragon could ask what Solembum meant, the werecat walked away, waving his tail ever so gracefully. Angela tilted her head, coils of dense hair shadowing her forehead. “I don’t know what he said, and I don’t want to know. He spoke to you and only you. Don’t tell anyone else.”
“I think I have to go,” said Eragon, shaken.
“If you want to,” said Angela, smiling again. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you like, especially if you buy some of my goods. But go if you wish; I’m sure that we’ve given you enough to ponder for a while.”
“Yes.” Eragon quickly made his way to the door. “Thank you for reading my future.”I think.
“You’re welcome,” said Angela, still smiling.
Eragon exited the shop and stood in the street, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the brightness. It was a few minutes before he could think calmly about what he had learned. He started walking, his steps unconsciously quickening until he dashed out of Teirm, feet flying as he headed to Saphira’s hiding place.
He called to her from the base of the cliff. A minute later she soared down and bore him up to the cliff top. When they were both safely on the ground, Eragon told her about his day.And so, he concluded,I think Brom’s right; I always seem to be where there’s trouble.
You should remember what the werecat told you. It’s important. How do you know?he asked curiously.
I’m not sure, but the names he used feel powerful.Kuthian, she said, rolling the word around.No, we should not forget what he said.
Do you think I should tell Brom?
It’s your choice, but think of this: he has no right to know your future. To tell him of Solembum and his words will only raise questions you may not want to answer. And if you decided to only ask him what those words mean, he will want to know where you learned them. Do you think you can lie
convincingly to him?
No,admitted Eragon.Maybe I won’t say anything. Still, this might be too important to hide. They talked until there was nothing more to say. Then they sat together companionably, watching the trees until dusk.
Eragon hurried back to Teirm and was soon knocking on Jeod’s door. “Is Neal back?” he asked the butler.
“Yes sir. I believe he’s in the study right now.”
“Thank you,” said Eragon. He strode to the room and peeked inside.
Brom was sitting before the fire, smoking. “How did it go?” asked Eragon. “Bloody awful!” growled Brom around his pipe.
“So you talked to Brand?”
“Not that it did any good. Thisadministrator of trade is the worst sort of bureaucrat. He abides by every rule, delights in making his own whenever it can inconvenience someone, and at the same time believes that he’s doing good.”
“Then he won’t let us see the records?” asked Eragon.
“No,” snapped Brom, exasperated. “Nothing I could say would sway him. He even refused bribes! Substantial ones, too. I didn’t think I would ever meet a noble who wasn’t corrupt. Now that I have, I find that I prefer them when they’re greedy bastards.” He puffed furiously on his pipe and mumbled a steady stream of curses.
When he seemed to have calmed, Eragon asked tentatively, “So, what now?”
“I’m going to take the next week and teach you how to read.” “And after that?”
A smile split Brom’s face. “After that, we’re going to give Brand a nasty surprise.” Eragon pestered him for details, but Brom refused to say more.
Dinner was held in a sumptuous dining room. Jeod sat at one end of the table, a hard-eyed Helen at the other. Brom and Eragon were seated between them, which Eragon felt was a dangerous place to be. Empty chairs were on either side of him, but he didn’t mind the space. It helped to protect him from the glares of their hostess.
The food was served quietly, and Jeod and Helen wordlessly began eating. Eragon followed suit, thinking,I’ve had cheerier meals at funerals. And he had, in Carvahall. He remembered many burials that had been sad, yes, but not unduly so. This was different; he could feel simmering resentment pouring from Helen throughout the dinner.
