"Gotcha!" Yelled Roran.
He held Eragon by the arm, which he was twisting behind his cousins back.
"Ok, ok, you win!" Cried Eragon.
Roran released Eragon, who turned to face his cousin. For a moment, it seemed the boys would strike each other again, but then their stances relaxed and their serious faces split into wide grins.
"You're getting better. Still can't beat me – no hope of that – but you can hold me off for longer now. Perhaps you will be a soldier one day after all." Roran told Eragon, clapping him on the shoulder.
"And then one day we'll be the greatest soldiers in all of Alagaësia, and build our castle on the top of the bald hill. We'll protect Carvahall on our own!" Eragon gabbled excitedly. It was a dream, a fantasy the pair had shared for a couple of years, since they'd witnessed an empire soldier single-handedly defeat a group of thieves that had ransacked Sloans' shop.
"One day, cousin. One day." Grinned Roran.
"What shall we play now?" Asked Eragon. He enjoyed the games he and his cousin shared, making each silly, childish game a small training exercise, a 'mission' they had to fulfil in order to achieve what their very young minds perceived to be their heroic, noble destiny. Eragons' favourites were the running and jumping games, because Roran may be stronger and more skilled with a sword (stick) than he, but Eragon was faster and more agile, full of energy. He was also far better with a bow, though his uncle, Rorans' father, Garrow, had only allowed them to try that a couple of times.
"Hide and seek!" Exclaimed Roran. Something else a young Roran was good at was blending into the shadows and thinking up hiding places no one would suspect. Eragon groaned. His cousin always beat him at hide and seek.
"I thought we were soldiers…" Eragon moaned.
"Well you're a soldier, in an enemy stronghold, hiding from the guard, me. When I find you, you have to beat me in a sword fight to escape a horrible doom." Eragon still looked dubious. "How can you be a warrior if you can't invade enemy territory without getting trapped?" Eragon saw the point in his words. Roran was right. Again.
"Ok, I'll play. Do I get to hide first?"
"Yep, as long as you don't leave the village." Warned Roran.
"I know, I know. Now count to a hundred."
"One, two, three, four…" Rorans' voice faded into the distance as Eragon scrambled off in search of a decent hidey-hole that he hadn't used a hundred times already. There was the thicket near Birgits' house, but that was dense and seemed terrifying to Eragons nine year old mind. There was the funny little pit near Horsts' forge, but he worried that if he got into it, and Roran couldn't find him, he might not be able to get himself out. He was could simply blend into the shadows like Roran, and everywhere else he thought of was too obvious… Unless… it was dangerous, and he would be in serious trouble if anyone but Roran – who'd probably think it brave and clever – found him.
Broms' little ramshackle hut stood on the outskirts of the village. It was small, with a flat roof. If Eragon could get up there and lie flush with the roof, it could be ages before Roran found him, and he might finally win a game. He wasn't usually particularly competitive, but when it came to Roran, Eragon wanted to win really quite badly, to wipe the smug smile off Rorans' face.
It was daylight, and Garrow would be busy for some several hours more. Eragon had seen Brom in the Inn, telling stories and gathering a large crowd. He always did when the kings' soldiers weren't around. He too would be gone for hours.
Eragon realised he'd have to climb up the house from behind, using something, a stool or crate perhaps to push himself up, then kicking them over once he was on the roof. Then he could simply lie in wait.
It was simple enough getting a barrel and some crates and stacking them – Brom had a couple strewn around his narrow yard. Climbing wasn't a problem either, and soon Eragon found himself pushing the barrel away and squirming across the roof, so he could see the village just over the lip of the shack. He suppressed a giggle of triumph and waited.
It wasn't much later, maybe a half hour or so, when Eragon heard Roran calling him.
"Eragon? Where are you? I've searched the whole village! Did you leave? If you did, you're a cheater and a coward, and you'll never be a good soldier! Eragon? Did you hear me? I said…" Once more Roran moved out of earshot and Eragon had to bite down on his tongue to prevent himself crowing with delight. He'd done it. He'd finally found a hiding place that Roran couldn't find. But… a part of his mind said, Roran sounded really angry. You know he doesn't like being beaten. He thought that were he to tell his cousin, and his cousin got even angrier, he might tell Garrow of Eragons hiding place and get him into a heap of trouble. So Eragon decided to stay up there a while longer, and not reveal his hiding place to Roran. There was also the fact that Eragon wouldn't be able to use the spot in future if he told Roran. Roran might not believe his cousin hadn't cheated, but Eragon knew he hadn't and that was all that mattered. So he lay back and daydreamed about battles, victories and treasures.
Almost an hour later, Eragon realised the afternoon light was starting to fade, and Garrow would soon be looking for him and Roran, wanting to head back to the farm. It was probably a good time to reveal himself. Eragon dragged himself back across the roof, towards the back, behind the chimney, where he could stand up and brace himself to jump back to the ground. His actions were absent-minded, as he also wondered how furious his cousin would be with him for outwitting him. He sidled up the chimney and used it to push himself upright. Eragons' legs wobbled precariously as he stood, but it wasn't until he prepared to jump and looked over the edge of the shack that the blood rushed to his head from lying down for so long. At the same time he got a flash of vertigo. The overall effect was disorientating and Eragon reached out to steady himself. However, in his dizziness, he leant forward and stumbled… sending himself plummeting towards Earth.
There was an enormous whoosh as all the air in Eragons' body was forced out of him, leaving him completely breathless, and a sharp crunch, which Eragon, even in his muddled state, perceived as the cracking and snapping of bones. He'd landed on top of his right arm, and a hot burning sensation spread through it. He struggled to push himself onto his back, so that he might be able to breath, and his body screamed in protest. Clearly he had broken some ribs as well. He hoped against hope that he punctured a lung. He tried to call for help, but his lungs refused to give him the air to talk. Eragon lay where he was for a few long, agonized minutes before he slowly, stupidly, attempted to sit up. The world went black around him.
The moon was full and bright in the sky and the acres of blue-blackness was scattered with twinkling stars when the bucket of icy water brought Eragon to his senses. Hours he must have lay there before Brom discovered his prone body. The man leant over Eragon, talking to him, but the blood pounded so hard in Eragons ears, it was a moment before he could make out the words.
"Boy! Are you alright? What happened? Can you hear me?" Eragon nodded slowly in response, to which question he did not know. He winced a little at the pain the movement caused him. Brom seemed dissatisfied with this reaction, and plied the boy with more questions. "Who did this to you? Were you attacked? What happened?" Broms' blue eyes blazed with an intense, terrifying fury that Eragon took as being directed at him. He whimpered from fear and pain.
"I'm sorry." He managed in a hoarse whisper. His throat was parched from the long afternoon without water. He coughed and gasped at the spark of pain from his ribs.
"Sorry for what? What have you done?" The questions were ceaseless.
"Fell… The roof… Hiding…" Wheezed Eragon. His breath still hitched slightly in his throat.
"Hiding from what boy?" Demanded Brom. His hand had clenched into a fist in Eragons tunic.
"Playing… with Roran… Stupid game…" The fire in Broms' eyes died with these words, and his clenched fist released Eragon. He turned to look at Eragons' wounds quickly, but not quickly enough that Eragon missed the relief on the old man's face. He poked and prodded at Eragon for a few moments, then sighed, and turned to face him again.
"Your bones are broke. Quite badly. None have punctured your lungs, it seems, but you risk them doing exactly that if you move too much. I can help you, but not here, where everyone can see." Eragon vaguely wondered what he could mean, but the pain in his ribs had grown worse since Brom had jabbed at them, and his thoughts were fuzzy. "I'll have to carry you inside, but I warn you – This IS going to hurt."
Eragon braced himself as the old man slid his hands under Eragon and pulled the boy into his arms. Eragon bit down hard on his lip to prevent the scream escaping him, but he couldn't help the gasp. His eyes watered and his hand, the undamaged one, curled into a tight fist, the ragged nails biting into the soft flesh of his palm. Brom nodded appreciatively at the boys' bravery, then grunted as he started to trudge towards the back door of the hut.
Eragons eyes widened when they stepped over the threshold of the building; he could see books, – huge leather-bound tomes, with strange looking runes scrawled on the spines and covers – a sword – the blade of which was a dull red colour – and some other strange, fascinating artefacts. The place was full of them. Brom laid the boy down on a hard cot in the corner and once again checked the wounds. Eragons eyes continued to wander, and he focused on a map of Alagaësia to distract him from his discomfort. It was huge, he realised, the world. Much bigger than the tiny village of Carvahall. Bigger than Palancar Valley. Bigger than he'd ever dreamed.
"What game were you playing that required you being on my roof?" Broms' deep voice brought Eragon out of his reverie. "And why did your cousin just leave you there in this condition?"
"It… It was a game of hide and seek. Sort of. Roran didn't know I was there. I was a soldier in an enemy castle, hiding, trying to escape." A flash of what could have been pain crossed Broms' face for a brief second, but it passed so quickly, Eragon barely noticed. "I needed a good place to hide – Roran always win at hide and seek. I hid on the roof, and then when I was sure I'd won, I went to climb down, but I went dizzy and fell." Eragon paused. "You won't tell Garrow will you?" A pleading note coloured this last request. Brom smiled wryly.
"Nay, boy, but I don't know how you'll explain your absence…" Eragon fell silent and pondered this. Eventually he sighed.
"I'll have to tell him. How else can I explain all this?" He gestured with his good arm at his broken body. "I'm going to be in so much trouble…" Brom laughed a little at this.
"You'll get over it. The young always do. Then they grow up and wish they still only had that kind of trouble to contend with."
"I just wanted to be a good soldier. To be brave and clever." Eragon whispered miserably. "To serve the Empire and get rich." Brom stiffened. His face went hard and blank. A mask.
"You don't want that, boy. You really don't want to be one of them." His voice was straining to stay neutral, but it cracked on the last word. "Eragon, promise me you'll never serve that man. Promise me." The slightest notes of pain colouring his tone made Eragon wonder briefly about the man's past. "Those men are cruel, unnecessarily so. And those that serve that oath-breaking, egg-destroying murderer of their own free will – They are the worst kind of scum." Eragon registered the ancient hurts in the man's voice and realised that Brom meant what he said. A king whose subjects despised him as Brom obviously despised Galbatorix could not be good, could he?
"I promise." Brom looked at him in surprise.
"Thank you. Your… your father would be proud of you, Eragon." Eragon assumed he meant Garrow, who disliked the Empire soldiers, and whom had always been like a father to him. Broms' face softened and he smiled fleetingly. "Right." The moment passed. "I guess we should heal these bones then."
"How are we going to do that?" Eragon asked, incredulous. The man had no bandages or tonics to hand and Eragon struggled to understand how the man could fix broken bones without them. A shadow crossed Broms' face.
"Now don't panic. This may be a little… unsettling. I… I'm going to use magic…" Eragons voice died in his throat. He didn't know what to say, what to think. The world shifted slightly. His breathing became shallow, and his eyes widened to discs on his face. He was at the mercy of a magician. He remembered clearly being told that magicians were dangerous and not to be trusted.
"Stay away from me." Gasped Eragon. He went to push himself off of the cot, to flee, but was forced back down by the weight of his own agony. Through the buzzing in his ears, he heard Brom talking softly.
"I won't hurt you, Eragon. You're in pain, and I can help. Afterwards, you won't even remember. I'll make you forget. Just let me help you." Eragon continued to panic. "Please?" The plea in Broms' voice calmed Eragon slightly. "We aren't all bad. I won't hurt you. I swear I Eragon." Eventually, Eragons' breathing slowed, and the pain in his ribs took over. His pointless struggling had increased the agony to an unbearable intensity. It was this, above all else, that drove Eragon to accept Broms' offer of help.
"Ok. I trust you. Please, make it go away…" Eragon whimpered. Brom nodded once and held out his hands. At first Eragon was confused, unsure whether to take the hands or not, then Brom closed his eyes and started to whisper. The words were faint, and Eragon barely heard them, but he thought Brom whispered 'waíse heill'. What Eragon thought he saw then, he immediately dismissed. Broms' hand began to glow white, the light leaking out around the edges of his fingerless glove. Then the pain began to recede, and Eragons' attention was drawn elsewhere, to the itching in his skin, the feeling of bones melding back together and skin re-stitching itself. He reached out his broken arm and shook it, then used it to prod at his own ribs. None of the actions caused him any pain and he sighed with audible relief. "Thank you." He said to the now tired looking man next to him. Brom nodded once in response.
"You should go find Garrow. He'll be very worried." He turned his back on Eragon and started pouring himself a goblet of wine.
"I thought you said I wouldn't remember… That you'd make me forget…" Eragon began.
"The wards that protect my house will make you forget. The moment you walk out that door, your memory will be reset, so that you don't remember anything you saw in here, that I'm a magician, even that you broke some bones in your fall. Nothing that could lead people to be suspicious of what I'm doing here." Brom told the boy, seeming strangely sad.
"What are you doing here?" Eragon asked him, his curiosity overflowing. Broms expression became even more solemn.
"Protecting." Was all he said in response.
"Protecting what?" Eragon was now the one who was full of questions.
"Garrow will be wondering where you are. I daresay he's already in a major panic as to your whereabouts." Brom turned to face the window, refusing to watch Eragon leave. The boy swung himself off the cot.
"I guess so." He mumbled. He looked over at the man. "I don't think you're bad, you know? Thank you for helping me." As he reached the door, Eragon whispered, "Bye Brom," and carried on into the night.
A single tear rolled down Broms' cheek, a rare occurrence. That was the closest he'd ever get to hearing his son saying he loved him. His son who'd just walked away from him, and forgotten, once more, how much his father loved him.