the gates closed behind them, a triumphant grin stretched across his face, and he jumped into the air. Brom shot him a cautioning look and growled, “Walk back to the house normally. You can celebrate there.”
Chastised, Eragon adopted a staid demeanor, but inside he still bubbled with energy. Once they had hurried back to the house and into the study, Eragon exclaimed, “We did it!”
“Yes, but now we have to figure out if it was worth the trouble,” said Brom. Jeod took a map of Alagaesia from the shelves and unrolled it on the desk.
On the left side of the map, the ocean extended to the unknown west. Along the coast stretched the Spine, an immense length of mountains. The Hadarac Desert filled the center of the map — the east end was blank. Somewhere in that void hid the Varden. To the south was Surda, a small country that had seceded from the Empire after the Riders’ fall. Eragon had been told that Surda secretly supported the Varden.
Near Surda’s eastern border was a mountain range labeled Beor Mountains. Eragon had heard of them in many stories — they were supposed to be ten times the height of the Spine, though he privately believed that was exaggeration. The map was empty to the east of the Beors.
Five islands rested off the coast of Surda: Nia, Parlim, Uden, Illium, and Beirland. Nia was no more than an outcropping of rock, but Beirland, the largest, had a small town. Farther up, near Teirm, was a jagged island called Sharktooth. And high to the north was one more island, immense and shaped like a knobby hand. Eragon knew its name without even looking: Vroengard, the ancestral home of the Riders — once a place of glory, but now a looted, empty shell haunted by strange beasts. In the center of Vroengard was the abandoned city of Doru Areaba.
Carvahall was a small dot at the top of Palancar Valley. Level with it, but across the plains, sprawled the forest Du Weldenvarden. Like the Beor Mountains, its eastern end was unmapped. Parts of Du Weldenvarden’s western edge had been settled, but its heart lay mysterious and unexplored. The forest was wilder than the Spine; the few who braved its depths often came back raving mad, or not at all.
Eragon shivered as he saw Uru’baen in the center of the Empire. King Galbatorix ruled from there with his black dragon, Shruikan, by his side. Eragon put his finger on Uru’baen. “The Ra’zac are sure to have a hiding place here.”
“You had better hope that that isn’t their only sanctuary,” said Brom flatly. “Otherwise you’ll never get near them.” He pushed the rustling map flat with his wrinkled hands.
Jeod took the parchment out of his pouch and said, “From what I saw in the records, there have been shipments of Seithr oil to every major city in the Empire over the past five years. As far as I can tell, all of them might have been ordered by wealthy jewelers. I’m not sure how we can narrow down the list without more information.”
Brom swept a hand over the map. “I think we can eliminate some cities. The Ra’zac have to travel wherever the king wants, and I’m sure he keeps them busy. If they’re expected to go anywhere at anytime, the only reasonable place for them to stay is at a crossroads where they can reach every part of the country fairly easily.” He was excited now and paced the room. “This crossroads has to be large enough so the Ra’zac will be inconspicuous. It also has to have enough trade so any unusual requests — special food for their mounts, for example — will go unnoticed.”
“That makes sense,” said Jeod, nodding. “Under those conditions, we can ignore most of the cities in the north. The only big ones are Teirm, Gil’ead, and Ceunon. I know they’re not in Teirm, and I doubt that the oil has been shipped farther up the coast to Narda — it’s too small. Ceunon is too isolated... only Gil’ead remains.”
“The Ra’zac might be there,” conceded Brom. “It would have a certain irony.”
“It would at that,” Jeod acknowledged softly.
“What about southern cities?” asked Eragon.
“Well,” said Jeod. “There’s obviously Uru’baen, but that’s an unlikely destination. If someone were to die from Seithr oil in Galbatorix’s court, it would be all too easy for an earl or some other lord to discover that the Empire had been buying large amounts of it. That still leaves many others, any one of which could be the one we want.”
“Yes,” said Eragon, “but the oil wasn’t sent to all of them. The parchment only lists Kuasta, Dras-Leona, Aroughs, and Belatona. Kuasta wouldn’t work for the Ra’zac; it’s on the coast and surrounded by mountains. Aroughs is isolated like Ceunon, though it is a center of trade. That leaves Belatona and Dras-Leona, which are rather close together. Of the two, I think Dras-Leona is the likelier. It’s larger and better situated.”
“And that’s where nearly all the goods of the Empire pass through at one time or another, including Teirm’s,” said Jeod. “It would be a good place for the Ra’zac to hide.”
“So... Dras-Leona,” said Brom as he sat down and lit his pipe. “What do the records show?”
Jeod looked at the parchment. “Here it is. At the beginning of the year, three shipments of Seithr oil were sent to Dras-Leona. Each shipment was only two weeks apart, and the records say they were all transported by the same merchant. The same thing happened last year and the year before that. I doubt any one jeweler, or even a group of them, has the money for so much oil.”
“What about Gil’ead?” asked Brom, raising an eyebrow.
“It doesn’t have the same access to the rest of the Empire. And,” Jeod tapped the parchment, “they’ve only received the oil twice in recent years.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Besides, I think we forgot something — Helgrind.”
Brom nodded. “Ah yes, the Dark Gates. It’s been many years since I’ve thought of it. You’re right, that would make Dras-Leona perfect for the Ra’zac. I guess it’s decided, then; that’s where we’ll go.”
Eragon sat abruptly, too drained of emotion to even ask what Helgrind was.
The parchment crackled as Jeod slowly rolled up the map. He handed it to Brom and said, “You’ll need this, I’m afraid. Your expeditions often take you into obscure regions.” Nodding, Brom accepted the map. Jeod clapped him on the shoulder. “It doesn’t feel right that you will leave without me. My heart expects to go along, but the rest of me reminds me of my age and responsibilities.”
“I know,” said Brom. “But you have a life in Teirm. It is time for the next generation to take up the standard. You’ve done your part; be happy.”
“What of you?” asked Jeod. “Does the road ever end for you?”
A hollow laugh escaped Brom’s lips. “I see it coming, but not for a while.” He extinguished his pipe, and they left for their rooms, exhausted. Before he fell asleep, Eragon contacted Saphira to relate the night’s adventures.
A COSTLY MISTAKE
In the morning Eragon and Brom retrieved their saddlebags from the stable and prepared to depart. Jeod greeted Brom while Helen watched from the doorway. With grave looks, the two men clasped hands. “I’ll miss you, old man,” said Jeod.
“And you I,” said Brom thickly. He bowed his white head and then turned to Helen. “Thank you for your hospitality; it was most gracious.” Her face reddened. Eragon thought she was going to slap him. Brom continued, unperturbed, “You have a good husband; take care of him. There are few men as brave and as determined as he is. But even he cannot weather difficult times without support from those he loves.” He bowed again and said gently, “Only a suggestion, dear lady.”
Eragon watched as indignation and hurt crossed Helen’s face. Her eyes flashed as she shut the door brusquely. Sighing, Jeod ran his fingers through his hair. Eragon thanked him for all his help, then mounted Cadoc. With the last farewells said, he and Brom departed.
At Teirm’s south gate, the guards let them through without a second glance. As they rode under the giant outer wall, Eragon saw movement in a shadow. Solembum was crouched on the ground, tail twitching. The werecat followed them with inscrutable eyes. As the city receded into the distance, Eragon asked, “What are werecats?”
Brom looked surprised at the question. “Why the sudden curiosity?”
