Eragon [en]

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 horna!” 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.”