“I was Brom’s friend for over twenty years,” said Jeod. “I knew him even before he became a storyteller in Carvahall, 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 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 trying 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 person. 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 Empire 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 villagers 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.
“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 hallway, 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 restrain 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 himself in the chair pushed against the door.
Jeod rubbed his neck and then, with a wry expression, said, “If we don’t reach an understanding, you had better kill me; it’d be easier than explaining 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 daring 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 returned 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 gathered 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.…”
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 discovered a secret passageway into Urû’baen, how the Varden arranged to steal the last three dragon eggs from Galbatorix, and how Brom had fought and killed Morzan of the Forsworn over the only egg the Varden’s thief had succeeded in pilfering. 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 remembered 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 everyone 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 co
uld 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 remained. 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 effect, things would have certainly turned out far worse if Eragon had stayed.”
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 shipping 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 follow 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 than bed near the ground, where they are most vulnerable. How, then, would you reach them? And if you could, do you really believe that you could defeat both Ra’zac and their two steeds, if not more? I have no doubt you are a fearsome warrior—after all, you and Eragon share blood—but these are foes beyond any normal human.”
Roran shook his head. “I can’t abandon Katrina. It may be futile, but I must try to free her, even if it costs me my life.”
“It won’t do Katrina any good if you get yourself killed,” admonished Jeod. “If I may offer a bit of advice: try to reach Surda as you’ve planned. Once there, I’m sure you can enlist Eragon’s help. Even the Ra’zac cannot match a Rider and dragon in open combat.”
In his mind’s eye, Roran saw the huge gray-skinned beasts the Ra’zac rode upon. He was loath to acknowledge it, but he knew that such creatures were beyond his ability to kill, no matter the strength of his motivation. The instant he accepted that truth, Roran finally believed Jeod’s tale—for if he did not, Katrina was forever lost to him.
Eragon, he thought. Eragon! By the blood I’ve spilled and the gore on my hands, I swear upon my father’s grave I’ll have you atone for what you’ve done by storming Helgrind with me. If you created this mess, then I’ll have you clean it up.
Roran motioned to Jeod. “Continue your account. Let us hear the rest of this sorry play before the day grows much older.”
Then Jeod spoke of Brom’s death; of Murtagh, son of Morzan; of capture and escape in Gil’ead; of a desperate flight to save an elf; of Urgals and dwarves and a great battle in a place called Farthen Dûr, where Eragon defeated a Shade. And Jeod told them how the Varden left the Beor Mountains for Surda and how Eragon was even now deep within Du Weldenvarden, learning the elves’ mysterious secrets of magic and warfare, but would soon return.
When the merchant fell silent, Roran gathered at the far end of the study with Loring, Birgit, and Nolfavrell and asked their thoughts. Lowering his voice, Loring said, “I can’t tell whether he’s lying or not, but any man who can weave a yarn like that at knifepoint deserves to live. A new Rider! And Eragon to boot!” He shook his head.
“Birgit?” asked Roran.
“I don’t know. It’s so outlandish.…” She hesitated. “But it must be true. Another Rider is the only thing that would spur the Empire to pursue us so fiercely.”
“Aye,” agreed Loring. His eyes were bright with excitement. “We’ve been entangled in far more momentous events than we realized. A new Rider. Just think about it! The old order is about to be washed away, I tell you.… You were right all along, Roran.”
“Nolfavrell?”
The boy looked solemn at being asked. He bit his lip, then said, “Jeod seems honest enough. I think we can trust him.”
“Right, then,” said Roran. He strode back to Jeod, planted his knuckles on the edge of the desk, and said, “Two last questions, Longshanks. What do Brom and Eragon look like? And how did you recognize Gertrude’s name?”
“I knew of Gertrude because Brom mentioned that he left a letter for you in her care. As for what they looked like: Brom stood a bit shorter than me. He had a thick beard, a hooked nose, and he carried a carved staff with him. And I dare say he was rather irritable at times.” Roran nodded; that was Brom. “Eragon was … young. Brown hair, brown eyes, with a scar on his wrist, and he never stopped asking questions.” Roran nodded again; that was his cousin.
Roran stuck his hammer back under his belt. Birgit, Loring, and Nolfavrell sheathed their blades. Then Roran pulled his chair away from the door, and the four of them resumed their seats like civilized beings. “What now, Jeod?” asked Roran. “Can you help us? I know you’re in a difficult situation, but we … we are desperate and have no one else to turn to. As an agent of the Varden, can you guarantee us the Varden’s protection? We are willing to serve them if they’ll shield us from Galbatorix’s wrath.”
“The Varden,” said Jeod, “would be more than happy to have you. More than happy. I suspect you already guessed that. As for help …” He ran a hand down his long face and stared past Loring at the rows of books on the shelves. “I’ve been aware for almost a year that my true identity—as well as that of many other merchants here and elsewhere who have assisted the Varden—was betrayed to the Empire. Because of that, I haven’t dared flee to Surda. If I tried, the Empire would arrest me, and then who knows what horrors I’d be in for? I’ve had to watch the gradual destruction of my business without being able to take any action to oppose or escape it. What’s worse, now that I cannot ship anything to the Varden and they dare not send envoys to me, I feared that Lord Risthart would have me clapped in irons and dragged off to the dungeons, since I’m of no further interest to the Empire. I’ve expected it every day since I declared bankruptcy.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Birgit, “they want you to flee so they can capture whoever else you bring with you.”
Jeod smiled. “Perhaps. But now that you are here, I have a means to leave that they never anticipated.”
“Then you have a plan?” asked Loring.
Glee crossed Jeod’s face. “Oh yes, I have a plan. Did the four of you see the ship Dragon Wing moored at port?”
Roran thought back to the vessel. “Aye.”
“The Dragon Wing is owned by the Blackmoor Shipping Company, a front for the Empire. They handle supplies for the army, which has mobilized to an alarming degree recently, conscripting soldiers among the peasants and commandeering horses, asses, and oxen.” Jeod raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what it indicates, but it’s possible Galbatorix means to march on Surda. In any case, the Dragon Wing is to sail for Feinster within the week. She’s the finest ship ever built, from a new design by master shipwright Kinnell.”
“And you want to pirate her,” concluded Roran.
“I do. Not only to spite the Empire or because the Dragon Wing is reputed to be the fastest square-rigged ship of her tonnage, but because she’s already fully provisioned for a long voyage. And since her cargo is food, we’d have enough for the whole village.”
Loring uttered a strained cackle. “I ’ope you can sail her yourself, Longshanks, ’cause not one of us knows how to handle anything larger than a barge.”
> “A few men from the crews of my ships are still in Teirm. They’re in the same position I am, unable to fight or flee. I’m confident they’ll jump at a chance to get to Surda. They can teach you what to do on the Dragon Wing. It won’t be easy, but I don’t see much choice in the matter.”
Roran grinned. The plan was to his liking: swift, decisive, and unexpected.
“You mentioned,” said Birgit, “that in the past year none of your ships—nor those from other merchants who serve the Varden—have reached their destination. Why, then, should this mission succeed when so many have failed?”
Jeod was quick to answer: “Because surprise is on our side. The law requires merchant ships to submit their itinerary for approval with the port authority at least two weeks before departure. It takes a great deal of time to prepare a ship for launch, so if we leave without warning, it could be a week or more before Galbatorix can launch intercept vessels. If luck is with us, we won’t see so much as the topmast of our pursuers. So,” continued Jeod, “if you are willing to attempt this enterprise, this is what we must do.…”
ESCAPE
fter they considered Jeod’s proposal from every possible angle and agreed to abide by it—with a few modifications—Roran sent Nolfavrell to fetch Gertrude and Mandel from the Green Chestnut, for Jeod had offered their entire party his hospitality.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” said Jeod, rising, “I must go reveal to my wife that which I should never have hidden from her and ask if she’ll accompany me to Surda. You may take your pick of rooms on the second floor. Rolf will summon you when supper is ready.” With long, slow steps, he departed the study.
“Is it wise to let him tell that ogress?” asked Loring.
Roran shrugged. “Wise or not, we can’t stop him. And I don’t think he’ll be at peace until he does.”
Instead of going to a room, Roran wandered through the mansion, unconsciously evading the servants as he pondered the things Jeod had said. He stopped at a bay window open to the stables at the rear of the house and filled his lungs with the brisk and smoky air, heavy with the familiar smell of manure.
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