The storm had come as predicted. Horst had been accepting of the possible snow storm coming. Even going so far as to claim that the old men in the village had felt its coming for days. Ka'zhid wasn't sure if he believed this or not. Back home there had been older khajiit who claimed that they could feel lightning storms in their ears and tails. He had tried a few times to feel that connection but nothing came of it save ridicule.

Perhaps it is like a fine altmer wine, it improves with age. He would have to remember to test that when he got older. If he got older that is. Adventure is a dangerous game, especially when far from home.

For the next few days wind and snow swept through the streets of Carvahall. People went about bundling up, or stayed close to their home fires. Ka'zhid was probably in the worst spot to avoid the cold. As he trudged through the streets depositing a few small orders. He was really just taking it slow to avoid his last delivery. A farm a few miles outside of town.

It was going to be a long monotonous trudge through the snow. Standing on the edge of town he gazed out at the snow and ice. The wind seemed to pick up in challenge, creating a wall of frost to block his path. Almost as if it were a challenge.

Ka'zhid took a deep breath and marched forward.

-~o

As he walked he noticed things. Snow in tree branches, the wind whipping cold flakes into miniature storms. About the only thing he can do right now is keep pushing forward. After the hour and a half walk to the farmstead he was making his way back. It would have been faster but he had wandered off in the wrong direction several times and had to correct himself. The snow had also deepened slightly and that impeded progress as well.

Now that he had cleared the way, the return trip would be much easier if not as boring.

Then he stopped. The wind had lifted a little and he could see something. It was almost indistinguishable from the snow around it except for the tips.

A small white stoat was skittering across the snow. Not only that but it had a rabbit dragging along with it. Ka'zhid watched the small critter drag its prey home. The small trail of blood was already freezing over. Tenacious little animal, I'll give it that.

He watched for a few more moments then set off at a brisk pace.

-~o

Two days later, the traders arrived. It had been explained that the traders were annual visitors to Carvahall that traded in all manner of things. Everything from tools to trinkets could be found among their stalls.

Ka'zhid wasn't sure of these people. He wasn't worried about their character. He trusted the villagers at least that much. No, what made him unsure was their faces. Good natured, well traveled faces they were. Right now they had a look of wariness, and worry. Good people come to hard times.

Ka'zhi had seen it enough in his own people's faces. The trading caravans knew what they were doing but they always had rough patches here and there. After years of dealing with racism, and bandits during the Civil War they had, sadly in Ka'zhid's opinion, grown accustomed to such hardships. These people were newly come to it.

Stirrings must have rippled through the wide world. This place may be too isolated to experience such things. He watched as a group of children ran past giggling and shouting. He smiled slightly. The sketch he had composed from where he sat was finished, so he decided to see what these people had to offer.

He saw many things. Tools, pendants, rings, oddities, pans, pots, cloth, food, candy, knives, and much more. Even so he didn't really need anything. Not anything he could think of. A nudge at his mind made him freeze. Not a nudge really, but a familiar ebb of magic. That stone.

He followed the ebb to a collection of stalls. There he could see Eragon and an older man conversing with a trader. After a few words the trader packed up his things and all three made off towards the tents the traders had set up. Trying to sell it no doubt. I wonder. . .

After staring after them for a time he wandered back into the stalls. Well I can't think of much to buy. Wait, iron could be useful. It's almost that time anyways. I'll probably need something when I leave anyway. Making his way to the closest source he pulled out a few coins.

-~o

After purchasing what he needed, Ka'zhid decided to get a drink. He wasn't a big drinker but occasionally he used to go to the local inn with Onmund. Mostly to make sure the young nord made it across the bridge safely.

A wave of warm air passed over him as he entered The Seven Sheaves. Taking in the scene he made his way to the bar and ordered himself a beer. People were crammed around the oak tables. Sipping the brew he noticed that two traders were sitting at a table talking to the villagers. One was quite overweight, while the other was the exact opposite.

Even with his limited knowledge of this land Ka'zhid knew the two men were weaving tall tales. Something about urgals? And a rebel group called the Varden. Supposedly the two had formed an alliance and only the king was keeping them safe. The villagers weren't convinced by this and seemed to rebuke the strangers. Ka'zhid's gaze flitted to the door as Eragon came in.

Returning his gaze to the traders he watched as the two men tried to defend the king and his supposed support.

"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!"

From a farther table "Right, why don't you also tell us the Riders have returned and you've each killed a hundred elves. Do you think we're children to believe in your tales? We can take care of ourselves." The fat one seemed about to retort but his skinny companion interrupted.

"You misunderstand. We know the Empire cannot care for each of us personally, but it can keep urgals and other abominations from overrunning this," he searched for a word "place."

"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, if you're willing to call the Varden small." A woman next to Ka'zhid called out.

The fat one sighed. "We already explained that the Varden have no interest in helping you. That's only a falsehood perpetrated by the traitors in an attempt to disrupt the Empire and convince us that the real threat is inside - not outside - our borders. 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." Some people were starting to nod at their honeyed words.

"How do you know this?" Eragon had stepped forward and seemed to be challenging the traders. "I can say the clouds are green, but that doesn't mean it's true. Prove you aren't lying." The two men glared at him, while the other patrons waited for an answer.

The thin man spoke first "Aren't your children taught respect? Or do you let boys challenge men whenever they want to?" Ka'zhid noticed that the thin man wouldn't meet Eragon's eyes. The fat man was beginning to sweat. Ka'zhid swirled the last of his beer before draining the tankard, and slamming it onto the bar. All attention turned to him.

"Children often see clearer when men do not. Which begs the boy's question, how do you know these things?" A clamor of voices followed his question as the merchants and villagers began to argue again.

Ka'zhid casually strolled out the door and took in a breath of fresh air. The sun was on the horizon and casting shadows. Angry voices could be heard as the door opened behind him. Eragon was standing there. The two didn't say anything as they walked.

"Thank you for your help back there."

"It was nothing. The search for the truth is any man's prerogative." Eragon seemed to take in that information.

"Well, thank you anyways." Eragon walked with him for a moment before the boy trotted over to someone standing in an alley. Ka'zhid had only walked for a few yards before he was rejoined by Eragon and the stranger.

"Ka'zhid, this is my cousin, Roran. Roran, this is Ka'zhid." Roran held out his hand. Ka'zhid took it and examined the young man. He looked quite like the older man he had seen with Eragon earlier. That must have been Roran's father, the uncle Eragon referred to when we met Horst.

"A pleasure to meet you Roran."

"Tou you as well Ka'zhid."

As they walked all three were silent. Nearing the edge of the village Ka'zhid got an idea. He stopped walking and started to walk back towards the tents of the traders. Eragon hollered after him.

"Where are you going?"

"This one forgot something. He will catch up to you later." Eragon shrugged and kept walking.

Making his way towards the traders, he looked around. Nobody was close, so he slipped into the closest alley. Most people were at home doing business with the traders, eating dinner, or drinking at The Seven Sheaves. He made his way towards the parked wagons.

Using his nose he managed to find Eragon's wagon. He didn't know where the stone was but he didn't need to. This would only take a moment. Pulling off one of his gloves he opened the gateway.

He closed his eyes and released the spell. He let it take effect for some seconds before opening his eyes. Red lines filled his vision and he saw many moving, talking, and eating. Then he turned his vision to the wagon.

There, among the sacks of grain, was a small circle of red.

So, it isn't a rock. It's an egg.

-~o

A few people were gathered at Horst's for dinner. It was boisterous and cheerful. Ale and food made the rounds which added to the happy atmosphere. After a while people started to drift towards a circle of candles on poles.

Troubadours and bards piled out of their tents and entered the circle. Stories followed that the bards recited and the younger troubadours acted out. Comedies and myths filled the time. When the candles began to sputter out an older man came out. Ka'zhid had seen the man occasionally but he seemed to keep to himself.

"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." He looked around.

"Before your grandfather's fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Rider's were formed. To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their strength 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 the living stone. While they kept 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." Sadness leaked into his voice.

"Though no enemy could destroy them, they could not guard against themselves. And it came to pass that at the height of their power that a boy, Galbatorix by name, was born in the province of Inzelbeth, 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. Gifted with a sharp mind and strong body, he quickly took his place in the Rider's ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned the others, but the Rider's 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 Urgal's 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 his arms. Then were the seeds of madness planted."

"Alone, bereft of much of 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 Rider's 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 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 showed no sign of his fevered mind. When he was brought before a council convened to judge him, Galbatorix demanded another dragon. The desperation of his 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."

"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 elder. 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, Morzan - strong of body, but weak of mind. Galabatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel of Ilirea, which is now called Urû'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 a dark apprenticeship, learning secrets and dark magic that should never be revealed. When his instruction was finished and Galbatorix's black dragon, Shruikan, was fully grown, Galbatorix revealed himself to the world, Morzan at his side. Together they fought any Riders 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 Doru 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 the power rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaësia. And from that day he has ruled us." As the story ended everyone began to shuffle off to their beds. On the way Ka'zhid asked Horst about the old man.

"I don't know him well. Brom is his name. He showed up fifteen years ago and has kept to himself mostly."

Hmm, interesting.

That night Ka'zhid borrowed a bottle of ale and a candle and set off into the woods behind Horst's house despite the cold. After finding a suitable hill under a tall pine tree he set down his things. He started by heating the candle and attaching it to a knobby root before lighting it. As he opened his notebook he sighed. It was going to be a long night.

-~o

The candle had long since gone out, but he still scribbled away furiously. Ideas and thoughts swirled through his head. With that one story he understood, at least on a basic level, what was transpiring in the world. That was just enough to make theories and hypotheses collect in his brain.

Sometime in the night he fell asleep. He had been too caught up in thoughts to feel his eyes close.

The night was silent and still with only the occasional snowflake to disturb the air. The clouds moved on in silence, waiting to deposit their winter fury somewhere else. The wind did not stir the branches, almost as if it had fallen asleep itself. The only thing to disturb this night was a wave of quiet power that would ripple the world.

-~o

Ka'zhid shot awake. Something had woken him. Something insubstantial yet powerful. Powerful as it was he had caught only a faint feeling and that was enough to wake him.

The feeling was fading, but not along with it was his concern. I only started using this sense last year so it must've been something very powerful to send out that much of a wave. What in the sands could have...on boy.

I just hope whatever was in that egg isn't too dangerous.

The cold had crept into his feet and fingers as he slept so he tramped around the tree to regain some feeling. A swig of ale helped spread the warm feeling from his stomach to his whole body. As the feeling came back he moved to collect his things. The candle was gone but half of the ale remained. He packed his journal, nearly empty inkpot, and quill into his satchel.

He moved to the border of pine needles and snow. Looking up he could see holes in the clouds through which stars peeked. As if they were staring through the sky's window to see events below. The white moon hung in the sky illuminating the snow and turning it to resemble frozen diamonds of a stark white palace. He was about to step into the snow when another wave hit.

His mind swirled like a ship going into a whirlpool. The magic infused but didn't empower him. Touched but didn't trace him. It whispered many things into his head. Whispers of a bond, a contract, a melding of souls so deep he couldn't comprehend its complexity.

In a flash the magic was gone and the mutterings with it like so many little birds flitting about. His mind still reeled at what just happened. He fell to his knees and stared blankly at the snow.

What in the Oblivion just happened?