Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (72 page)

large, sir.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. I—”

Feeling that they were in dangerous territory, Roran interrupted: “I’m

curious, sir, as to the nature of the shop next to your house. It seems odd

to have such a humble store among all these grand buildings.”

For the first time, a smile, if only a small one, brightened Jeod’s expres-

sion, erasing years from his appearance. “Well, it was owned by a woman

who was a bit odd herself: Angela the herbalist, one of the best healers

I’ve ever met. She tended that store for twenty-some years and then, only

a few months ago, up and sold it and left for parts unknown.” He sighed.

“It’s a pity, for she made an interesting neighbor.”

“That’s who Gertrude wanted to meet, isn’t it?” asked Nolfavrell, and

looked up at his mother.

Roran suppressed a snarl and flashed a warning glance strong enough to

make Nolfavrell quail in his chair. The name would mean nothing to

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Jeod, but unless Nolfavrell guarded his tongue better, he was liable to

blurt out something far more damaging. Time to go, thought Roran. He

put down his goblet.

It was then that he saw the name did mean something to Jeod. The

merchant’s eyes widened with surprise, and he gripped the arms of his

chair until the tips of his fingers turned bone white. “It can’t be!” Jeod fo-

cused on Roran, studying his face as if trying to see past the beard, and

then breathed, “Roran. . Roran Garrowsson.”

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AN UNEXPECTED ALLY

Roran had already pulled his hammer from his belt and was halfway

out of the chair when he heard his father’s name. It was the only thing

that kept him from leaping across the room and knocking Jeod uncon-

scious. How does he know who Garrow is? Beside him, Loring and Birgit

jumped to their feet, drawing knives from within their sleeves, and even

Nolfavrell readied himself to fight with a dagger in hand.

“It is Roran, isn’t it?” Jeod asked quietly. He showed no alarm at their

weapons.

“How did you guess?”

“Because Brom brought Eragon here, and you look like your cousin.

When I saw your poster with Eragon’s, I realized that the Empire must

have tried to capture you and that you had escaped. Although,” Jeod’s

gaze drifted to the other three, “in all my imaginings, I never suspected

that you took the rest of Carvahall with you.”

Stunned, Roran dropped back into his chair and placed the hammer

across his knees, ready for use. “Eragon was here?”

“Aye. And Saphira too.”

“Saphira?”

Again, surprise crossed Jeod’s face. “You don’t know, then?”

“Know what?”

Jeod considered him for a long minute. “I think the time has come to

drop our pretenses, Roran Garrowsson, and talk openly and without de-

ception. I can answer many of the questions you must have—such as

why the Empire is pursuing you—but in return, I need to know the rea-

son you came to Teirm. . the real reason.”

“An’ why should we trust you, Longshanks?” demanded Loring. “You

could be working for Galbatorix, you could.”

“I was Brom’s friend for over twenty years, before he was a storyteller

in Carvahall,” said Jeod, “and I did my best to help him and Eragon when

they were under my roof. But since neither of them are here to vouch for

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me, I place my life in your hands, to do with as you wish. I could shout

for help, but I won’t. Nor will I fight you. All I ask is that you tell me

your story and hear my own. Then you can decide for yourself what

course of action is proper. You’re in no immediate danger, so what harm

is there in talking?”

Birgit caught Roran’s eye with a flick of her chin. “He could just be try-

ing to save his hide.”

“Maybe,” replied Roran, “but we have to find out whatever it is he

knows.” Hooking an arm underneath his chair, he dragged it across the

room, placed the back of the chair against the door, and then sat in it, so

that no one could burst in and catch them unawares. He jabbed his

hammer at Jeod. “All right. You want to talk? Then let us talk, you and

I.”

“It would be best if you go first.”

“If I do, and we’re not satisfied by your answers afterward, we’ll have to

kill you,” warned Roran.

Jeod folded his arms. “So be it.”

Despite himself, Roran was impressed by the merchant’s fortitude; Jeod

appeared unconcerned by his fate, if a bit grim about the mouth. “So be

it,” Roran echoed.

Roran had relived the events since the Ra’zac’s arrival in Carvahall often

enough, but never before had he described them in detail to another per-

son. As he did, it struck him how much had happened to him and the

other villagers in such a short time and how easy it had been for the Em-

pire to destroy their lives in Palancar Valley. Resuscitating old terrors was

painful for Roran, but he at least had the pleasure of seeing Jeod exhibit

unfeigned astonishment as he heard about how the villagers had rousted

the soldiers and Ra’zac from their camp, the siege of Carvahall thereafter,

Sloan’s treachery, Katrina’s kidnapping, how Roran had convinced the vil-

lagers to flee, and the hardships of their journey to Teirm.

“By the Lost Kings!” exclaimed Jeod. “That’s the most extraordinary

tale. Extraordinary! To think you’ve managed to thwart Galbatorix and

that right now the entire village of Carvahall is hiding outside one of the

Empire’s largest cities and the king doesn’t even know it. . ” He shook his

head with admiration.

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“Aye, that’s our position,” growled Loring, “and it’s precarious at best, so

you’d better explain well and good why we should risk letting you live.”

“It places me in as much—”

Jeod stopped as someone rattled the latch behind Roran’s chair, trying

to open the door, followed by pounding on the oak planks. In the hall-

way, a woman cried, “Jeod! Let me in, Jeod! You can’t hide in that cave

of yours.”

“May I?” murmured Jeod.

Roran clicked his fingers at Nolfavrell, and the boy tossed his dagger to

Roran, who slipped around the writing desk and pressed the flat of the

blade against Jeod’s throat. “Make her leave.”

Raising his voice, Jeod said, “I can’t talk now; I’m in the middle of a

meeting.”

“Liar! You don’t have any business. You’re bankrupt! Come out and

face me, you coward! Are you a man or not that you won’t even look

your wife in the eye?” She paused for a second, as if expecting a response,

then her screeches increased in volume: “Coward! You’re a gutless rat, a

filthy, yellow-bellied sheep-biter without the common sense to run a

meat stall, much less a shipping company. My father would have never

lost so much money!”

Roran winced as the insults continued. I can’t restrain Jeod if she goes on

much longer.

“Be still, woman!” commanded Jeod, and silence ensued. “Our fortunes

might be about to change for the better if you but have the sense to re-

strain your tongue and not rail on like a fishmonger’s wife.”

Her answer was cold: “I shall wait upon your pleasure in the dining

room, dear husband, and unless you choose to attend me by the evening

meal and explain yourself, then I shall leave this accursed house, never to

return.” The sound of her footsteps retreated into the distance.

When he was sure that she was gone, Roran lifted the dagger from

Jeod’s neck and returned the weapon to Nolfavrell before reseating him-

self in the chair pushed against the door.

Jeod rubbed his neck and then, with a wry expression, said, “If we don’t

464

reach an understanding, you had better kill me; it’d be easier than ex-

plaining to Helen that I shouted at her for naught.”

“You have my sympathy, Longshanks,” said Loring.

“It’s not her fault. . not really. She just doesn’t understand why so much

misfortune has befallen us.” Jeod sighed. “Perhaps it’s my fault for not dar-

ing to tell her.”

“Tell her what?” piped Nolfavrell.

“That I’m an agent for the Varden.” Jeod paused at their dumbfounded

expressions. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning. Roran, have you

heard rumors in the past few months of the existence of a new Rider

who opposes Galbatorix?”

“Mutterings here and there, yes, but nothing I’d give credence to.”

Jeod hesitated. “I don’t know how else to say this, Roran. . but there is a

new Rider in Alagaësia, and it’s your cousin, Eragon. The stone he found

in the Spine was actually a dragon egg I helped the Varden steal from

Galbatorix years ago. The dragon hatched for Eragon and he named her

Saphira. That is why the Ra’zac first came to Palancar Valley. They re-

turned because Eragon has become a formidable enemy of the Empire

and Galbatorix hoped that by capturing you, they could bring Eragon to

bay.”

Roran threw back his head and howled with laughter until tears gath-

ered at the corners of his eyes and his stomach hurt from the convulsions.

Loring, Birgit, and Nolfavrell looked at him with something akin to fear,

but Roran cared not for their opinions. He laughed at the absurdity of

Jeod’s assertion. He laughed at the terrible possibility that Jeod had told

the truth.

Taking rasping breaths, Roran gradually returned to normal, despite an

occasional outburst of humorless chuckles. He wiped his face on his

sleeve and then regarded Jeod, a hard smile upon his lips. “It fits the facts;

I’ll give you that. But so do a half dozen other explanations I’ve thought

of.”

Birgit said, “If Eragon’s stone was a dragon egg, then where did it come

from?”

“Ah,” replied Jeod, “now there’s an affair I’m well acquainted with. ..”

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Comfortable in his chair, Roran listened with disbelief as Jeod spun a

fantastic story of how Brom—grumpy old Brom!—had once been a Rider

and had supposedly helped establish the Varden, how Jeod had discov-

ered a secret passageway into Urû’baen, how the Varden arranged to filch

the last three dragon eggs from Galbatorix, and how only one egg was

saved after Brom fought and killed Morzan of the Forsworn. As if that

were not preposterous enough, Jeod went on to describe an agreement

between the Varden, dwarves, and elves that the egg should be ferried

between Du Weldenvarden and the Beor Mountains, which was why the

egg and its couriers were near the edge of the great forest when they

were ambushed by a Shade.

A Shade—ha! thought Roran.

Skeptical as he was, Roran attended with redoubled interest when Jeod

began to talk of Eragon finding the egg and raising the dragon Saphira in

the forest by Garrow’s farm. Roran had been occupied at the time—

preparing to leave for Dempton’s mill in Therinsford—but he remem-

bered how distracted Eragon had been, how he spent every moment he

could outdoors, doing who knows what. .

As Jeod explained how and why Garrow died, rage filled Roran that

Eragon had dared keep the dragon secret when it so obviously put every-

one in danger. It’s his fault my father died!

“What was he thinking?” burst out Roran.

He hated how Jeod looked at him with calm understanding. “I doubt

Eragon knew himself. Riders and their dragons are bound together so

closely, it’s often hard to differentiate one from the other. Eragon could

have no more harmed Saphira than he could have sawed off his own leg.”

“He could have,” muttered Roran. “Because of him, I’ve had to do things

just as painful, and I know—he could have.”

“You’ve a right to feel as you do,” said Jeod, “but don’t forget that the

reason Eragon left Palancar Valley was to protect you and all who re-

mained. I believe it was an extremely hard choice for him to make. From

his point of view, he sacrificed himself to ensure your safety and to

avenge your father. And while leaving may not have had the desired ef-

fect, things would have certainly turned out far worse if Eragon had

stayed.”

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Roran said nothing more until Jeod mentioned that the reason Brom

and Eragon had visited Teirm was to see if they could use the city’s ship-

ping manifests to locate the Ra’zac’s lair. “And did they?” cried Roran,

bolting upright.

“We did indeed.”

“Well, where are they, then? For goodness’ sake, man, say it; you know

how important this is to me!”

“It seemed apparent from the records—and I later had a message from

the Varden that Eragon’s own account confirmed this—that the Ra’zac’s

den is in the formation known as Helgrind, by Dras-Leona.”

Roran gripped his hammer with excitement. It’s a long way to Dras-

Leona, but Teirm has access to the only open pass between here and the

southern end of the Spine. If I can get everyone safely heading down the

coast, then I could go to this Helgrind, rescue Katrina if she’s there, and fol-

low the Jiet River down to Surda.

Something of Roran’s thoughts much have revealed themselves on his

face, because Jeod said, “It can’t be done, Roran.”

“What?”

“No one man can take Helgrind. It’s a solid, bare, black mountain of

stone that’s impossible to climb. Consider the Ra’zac’s foul steeds; it

seems likely they would have an eyrie near the top of Helgrind rather