Eragon [en]

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 for seeing with distance ... or maybe light and distance. 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, the Domia 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, the Dominance of Fate, ” said Brom. “Of all the items in this house, it’s probably worth the most. It details a complete history of Alagaesia — 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