Chapter 10
As Isline walked away, she kept thinking about the mysterious and handsome stranger, and what he was doing in Carvahall. And wondering how long he was going to stay. Isline looked down at the beautiful bracelet he had gotten for her, and blushed. Then suddenly Isline crashed into someone. Well I guess this is my fault for not looking where I was going…
"I am so sorry, I wasn't looking where I–" Isline then looked up to see who she had bumped into, then smirked. "Oh never mind, I totally meant to run you into the ground, Eragon."
He got up with a smirk holding his hand out to help bring her up. Isline pushed the hand away and got up herself. "So what have you been up to, dear Isline?"
She just answered nonchalantly, "Oh here and there. Did you get anyone to buy your stone?" Isline was very curious about the stone, or whatever it was, and if he got rid of it. She hoped he didn't, but she had no influence on what he did.
Eragon scratched his head a little. "No. But one of the traders looked at it, and it was most strange. The stone was harder than diamond and was hollow! Why would someone go through all of that hard work, just to make a hollow stone? And apparently the reason that all the traders were late was because of quote on quote 'We could not avoid illness, attacks, and cursed bad luck.' He then blamed the Varden for the increased attacks on Galbatorix who took men away from battling the Urgals. And there are reports of a Shade!" Isline gasped. A Shade! Not many people live to encounter Urgals, much less Shades. For those who do not know, Shades are magic users who have been possessed by evil spirits, and become a new creature altogether.
"Well it is a good thing then, we live in a small town protected by the Spine and by the mountains. Let's do a little shopping for candy while we are waiting for the day to pass, shall we? We can use my money, because you probably spent all of yours already."
Isline quickly defended herself. "Hey I actually didn't buy anything this time around!" She waved her hand around.
He looked at my wrist where my new bracelet lay. "Then how did you get there?"
She just looked down and blushed. "Umm… A friend got it for me." Then Isline looked around quickly trying to change the subject. Finally she found a cart full of candy. Isline knew that Eragon had a sweet tooth, and they had previously been talking about getting candy. "Oh look! Candy!" He then looked away, as Isline let out a breathe of air, thankful that he didn't notice anything.
He then turned back to her and said, "Don't think I didn't see that blush there." And apparently she had spoke too soon. He playfully nudged her. "We will talk about this 'friend" later."
As the sun slowly began to set, Isline was eager for the troubadors would come out. They were known for tricks, and amazing stories. Her favorite stories were always from the old storyteller, Brom. He used the same stories over and over again, through the years, and she had almost all of them memorized. But Isline never tired of them. The way Brom told the stories, it was like magic. Some of the stories, he told almost as if he was there.
Eragon had just broken off an icicle from a porch, and as soon as Isline was about to scold him, she spotted Sloan. She hadn't seen him since the fight, and she didn't think Eragon had either. And since Isline was not in the mood for another fight she dragged Eragon into Morn's tavern. As soon as Eragon started protesting, she hissed Sloan in his ear, and he followed straight away.
Before they went in, she took a deep breath of air. It was always stuffy and hot in the tavern. Then they went in. As soon as Isline walked in, she noticed that there was Urgal horns on the wall, and a huge bar, with men all around listening to the two traders who had finished early, and were looking for a beer.
Morn suddenly looked up from a mug he was cleaning. "Ah! Eragon and Isline. Good to see you. Where's your uncle?"
Eragon answered for Isline. "Buying. He isn't going to be here for awhile."
Then she jumped in. "Also Roran is here! No sick animals, means everyone gets to come. Otherwise it was my turn to stay back."
"Good, good."
"Who are they?" Eragon asked.
"Grain buyers. They bought everyone's seed at ridiculously low prices, and now they're telling wild stories expecting us to believe them." Morn answered. Isline was about to beat some traders. People needed that money here to survive. So this is where she jumped in.
"What type of stories?" Isline asked.
Morn snorted with disbelief. "They say the Varden have formed a pact with the Urgals and are massing an army to attack us. Supposedly, it is only through the grace of our king that we've been protected for so long – as if Galbatorix would care if we burned to the ground . . . Go listen to them. I have enough on my hands without explaining their lies."
The first trader was so big; the whole chair was taken up. And that was quite a feat, for the chairs themselves were quite large. He was as bald as a newborns butt, his huge hands were smooth, (which meant he probably had never worked hard in his life) and he sat in the chair like he owned the world. The second man had a face with so much red tint to it he looked like a radish. The face on his skin was super dry, and he was super skinny, he almost looked sickly.
The first trader, who Isline decided to call Slacker (since he probably was one) tried to stand up in vain, protesting to something someone had said. "No, no, you don't understand. It is only through the king's unceasing efforts on your behalf that you are able to argue with us in safety. If he, in all his wisdom, were to withdraw that support, woe unto you." Isline just rolled her eyes at this.
Isline hollered, "Right, why don't you also tell us the Riders have returned, you've each killed a hundred elves, and pigs can fly? We can take care of ourselves." Everyone chuckled at this.
Slacker started to reply when the other trader, who she decided to name Dirt, since his face is dry and crackly that he looked sick, interrupted with a wave of his hand. Huge jewels flashed on his fingers. "You misunderstand. We know the Empire cannot care for each of us personally, as you may want, but it can keep Urgals and other abominations from overrunning this," He scrunched his nose, and faltered as if trying to come up with a non-offensive term for Carvahall, "place."
Dirt continued, "You're angry with the Empire for treating people unfairly, a legitimate concern, but a government cannot please everyone. There will inevitably be arguments and conflicts. However, the majority of us have nothing to complain about. Every country has some small group of malcontents who aren't satisfied with the balance of power."
"Yeah," Shouted a woman, "if you're willing to call the Varden small!"
Slacker huffed and sighed. "We already explained that the Varden have no interest in helping you. That's only a falsehood perpetuated by the traitors in an attempt to disrupt the Empire and convince us that the real threat is inside–not outside–our boarders. All they want to do is overthrow the king and take possession of our land. They have spies everywhere as they prepare to invade. You never know who might be working for them."
Isline did not agree at all. The Varden were trying to overthrow a corrupt government. They were brave and daring, and she wished sometimes she could have the guts to join them. But she didn't know where they were, and she could not leave her family to fend for themselves. They would be hopeless without her. Eragon didn't seem to agree either. He stepped forward and said, "How do you know this? I can say that clouds are green, but that doesn't mean that it's true. Prove you aren't lying." The two men glared at him while everyone else waited for an answer. To Isline's delight they looked stumped for an answer.
Dirt spoke first. He avoided Eragon's eyes however. "Aren't your children taught respect? Or do you let boys challenge men whenever they want to?"
The crowd looked like they didn't know what to say, and stared at Eragon. Then a man said, "Answer the question."
"It's only common sense," Slacker said; sweat piling up on his lip, almost looking like drool. His reply made the crowd get riled up even more, and the argument started up again.
Eragon grabbed Isline's hand and dragged her to the bar. Isline had a dry taste in her mouth. She had never met anyone before who had actually favored the Empire. Everyone pretty much hated the Empire, because when we were starving, no one helped us, and tax collectors were heartless. I have known people who lost everything, because no one helped. But the conversation brought up the old topic about the Varden.
The Varden was a rebel group that constantly raided and attacked the Empire. However they were shrouded in mystery, for no one knew who ran it, or who started it when Galbatorix rose to power over a century ago. The group had many supporters and sympathy, as they continued on, despite Galbatorix's efforts to destroy them. The only thing really known about them was that the Varden would accept you if you had to hide, or hated the Empire. The only problem was finding them.
Morn leaned over the bar and said, "Incredible, isn't it? They're worse than vultures circling a dying animal. There's going to be trouble if they stay much longer."
Isline started to walk away at this. Angry voices were filling the tavern. She walked outside, and soon saw Eragon follow. He just caught up to her, and walked side by side, understanding that she didn't really want to talk. As they headed down the street, she saw Roran and Katrina standing in an ally. Isline saw them exchange a couple words, then Katrina sneak up to Roran and gave him a kiss. She then darted away, fast as an alley cat. Isline then reached Roran, and decided to tease him.
"Having a good time?" Isline started to break out laughing, until Eragon interrupted her.
"Like you had fun with Mystery man? Tell us what happened there, sweet, dear sister." Isline immediately stopped laughing and started glaring at him. If looks could kill, he would be dead ten times over. Roran then started laughing with Eragon.
Roran then questioned me, "What mystery guy? Is there anyone that I need to have a…" He paused for dramatic effect, and then cracked his knuckles, "talk with?"
Isline just rolled her eyes. "No. I don't even know his name. He is probably just a son of a trader."
"Okay then." Eragon finally stopped laughing, and became serious. He then questioned Roran. "Have you heard the traders' news?" Roran then began walking. Most of the people were inside, either waiting for tricks or talking to traders.
Roran finally responded. He seemed a little distracted. "Yes. What do you think of Sloan though?"
"I thought it was obvious. He hates us." Isline responded with.
"There'll be blood between us when he finds out about Katrina and me," Roran stated. She got sad then, because it was a tragic circumstance. Hopefully Sloan would focus on the fact that Roran made Katrina happy, instead of anything else. Eragon put his hand on one of Roran's shoulders, and Isline put her hand on the other, both of them showing that they had his back. Then they finally reached Horst's house.
Dinner at Horst's was fun as usual. There were jokes, conversation, and many laughs. When the food was out, everyone left to where the traders were camped. Candles were in the ground around a clearing. There were bonfires in the distance, making beautiful colors dance and sing all around.
The troubadors came out of the tents, in colorful clothing and articles, they had found in various places, and starting playing music and acting out stories. The first stories were humorous, and had everyone laughing at them. Later though, when the candles started dimming, and everyone was in a circle, Brom stepped forward. Isline sat up, and started paying extra close attention, to try and memorize as much of the story that he was about to tell as possible. His white beard, as white as the snow on the ground, reached mid-chest, while he had a black cloak on his shoulders. He spread his hands out wide, almost touching the two corners of the world with his arm-span. Then he started to speak.
"The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years pass whether we will them or not . . . but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live on in memories. That which you will hear is imperfect and fragmented, yet treasure it, for without you it does not exist. I give you now a memory that has been forgotten, hidden in the dreamy haze that lies behind us."
His sharp eyes, gaze around the circle, slowly looking at everyone, making sure that everyone was listening closely. His eyes stopped on Eragon for a while, then at Isline last. He took a deep breath, than continued.
"Before your grandfathers' fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Riders were formed. To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their prowess in battle was unmatched, for each had the strength of ten men. They were immortal unless blade or poison took them. For good only were their powers used, and under their tutelage tall cities and towers were built out of living stone. While they kept the peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time. The elves were our allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered. But weep . . . for it could not last."
Brom looked down. She could almost see a tear in his eye when he told the story. He looked in deep pain, almost as if it was just yesterday and he was there.
"Though no enemy could destroy them, they could not guard against themselves. And it came to pass at the height of their power that a boy, Galbatorix by name, was born in the province of Inzilbeth, which is no more. At ten he was tested, as was the custom, and it was found that great power resided in him. The Riders accepted him as their own.
"Through their training he passed, exceeding all others in skill. Gifted with a sharp mind and strong body, he quickly took his place among the Riders' ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned the others, but the Riders had grown arrogant in their power and ignored caution. Alas, sorrow was conceived that day.
"So it was that soon after his training was finished, Galbatorix took a reckless trip with two friends. Far north they flew, night and day, and passed into the Urgals' remaining territory, foolishly thinking their new powers would protect them. There on a thick sheet of ice, unmelted even in summer, they were ambushed in their sleep. Though his friends and their dragons were butchered and he suffered great wounds, Galbatorix slew his attackers. Tragically during the fight a stray arrow pierced his dragon's heart. Without the arts to save her, she died in her arms. Then were the seeds of madness planted." At this a few stray tears escaped her eyes at this. To lose someone, dragon or human, would break anyone's heart.
The storyteller clasped his hands and looked around slowly, the shadows dancing on his face.
"Alone, bereft of much his strength and half mad with loss, Galbatorix wandered without hope in that desolate land, seeking death. It did not come to him, though he threw himself without fear against any living thing. Urgals and other monsters soon fled from his haunted form. During this time he came to realize that the Riders might grant him another dragon. Driven by this thought, he began the arduous journey, on foot; back through the Spine Territory he had soared over effortlessly on a dragon's back now took him months to traverse. He could hunt with magic, but oftentimes he walked in places where animals did not travel. Thus when his feet finally left the mountains he was close to death. A farmer found him collapsed in the mud and summoned the Riders.
"Unconscious, he was taken to their holdings, and his body healed. He slept for four days. Upon awakening he gave no sign of his fevered mind. When he was brought before a council convened to judge him, Galbatorix demanded another dragon. The desperation of the request revealed his dementia, and the council saw him for what he truly was. Denied his hope, Galbatorix, through the twisted mirror of his madness, came to believe it was the Riders fault his dragon had died. Night after night he brooded on that and formulated a plan to exact revenge."
Brom's words dropped to a mesmerizing whisper. To hear him, Isline had to scoot in closer.
"He found a sympathetic Rider, and there his insidious words took root. By persistent reasoning and the use of dark secrets learned from a Shade, he inflamed the Rider against their elders. Together they treacherously lured and killed an elder. When the foul deed was done, Galbatorix turned on his ally and slaughtered him without warning. The Riders found him, then, with blood dripping from his hands. A scream tore from his lips, and he fled into the night. As he was cunning in his madness, they could not find him.
"For years he hid in wastelands like a hunted animal, always watching for pursuers. His atrocity was not forgotten, but over time searches ceased. Then through some ill fortune he met a young Rider, Moran–strong of body, but weak of mind. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel Ilirea, which is now called Uru'baen. Through this gate Galbatorix entered and stole a dragon hatchling.
"He and his new disciple hid themselves in an evil place where the Riders dared not venture. There, Morzan entered into a dark apprenticeship, learning secrets and forbidden magic that should never have been revealed. When his instruction was finished and Galbatorix's black dragon, Shruikan, was fully-grown, Galbatorix revealed himself to the world, with Morzan at his side. Together they fought any Rider they met. With each kill their strength grew. Twelve of the Riders joined Galbatorix out of desire for power and revenge against perceived wrongs. Those twelve, with Morzan, became the Thirteen Forsworn. The Riders were unprepared and fell beneath the onslaught. The elves too, fought bitterly against Galbatorix, but they were overthrown and forced to flee to their secret places, from whence they come no more.
"Only Vrael, leader of the Riders, could resist Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Ancient and wise, he struggled to save what he could and keep the remaining dragons from falling to his enemies. In the last battle, before the gates of Dour Araeba, Vrael defeated Galbatorix, but hesitated with the final blow. Galbatorix seized the moment and smote him in the side. Grievously wounded, Vrael fled to Utgard Mountain, where he hoped to gather strength. But it was not to be, for Galbatorix found him. As they fought, Galbatorix kicked Vrael in the fork of his legs. With that underhanded blow, he gained dominance over Vrael and removed his head with a blazing sword.
"Then as power rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaesia.
"And from that day, he has ruled us."
With the end of the story, Brom stood still for a couple minutes, until he finally left with the other troubadours. People were talking quietly to themselves. Isline just sat still, tears shining in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, then stood up. Garrow then came over to them, and said, "Consider yourselves fortunate. I have heard this tale only twice in my life. If the Empire knew that Brom had recited it, he would not live to see a new month."