The packing continued with renewed energy. Nari and Roran were both grinning, and even Garrow was almost smiling. Nari whistled a cheerful tune as she worked.
Sunrise saw the family packed up and ready to head for town. Nari had wrapped her stone up in her softest leather hood, and then placed it between three bags of grain, one beneath and one on each side, in case the wagon hit bumps. After a quick breakfast, the horses were harnessed to the wagon and they set off. Nari sat in the back on some of the sacks of grain. The road was easy enough to travel, as the Traders' wagons had already broken up most of the snow.
By noon, they had reached Carvahall. Nari beamed as her head twisted on her neck. She had always loved the sights, sounds, and smells that came with the Traders' visits. The village itself was more alive, laughter and shouts disrupting the normally peaceful village. The traders were camped in an empty field away from the village itself, but most of their stalls were set up along the main street. A steady stream of people linked the village and the colorfully decorated camp.
Garrow halted the wagon and picketed the horses. Drawing money from the pouch at his waist, he carefully counted out two piles of coins, placing the rest back in his pouch. He handed one handful to Roran and handed an equal handful to Nari.
"Get yourselves some treats," he instructed. "Roran, do what you want, only be at Horst's in time for supper. Nari, bring that stone and come with me. We'll see if it's worth selling." Nari slipped both the money and the stone into her bag, exchanging a smile with Roran before nimbly hopping out of the wagon.
Roran slipped away instantly, a determined expression on his face that worried Nari. Surely if he was going to visit Katrina, he would be pleased? Unless he planned to ask for her hand. Nari frowned faintly as she followed her uncle through the crowds. Sloan would not approve of the match, not unless Roran could prove to the man that he would be able to care for her. Sloan may be many things, but loved his daughter fiercely. A farmer would not be good enough, not in his opinion.
Trying to distract herself from such sad thoughts, Nari glanced at the stalls as they passed. Women were buying cloth and men were examining tools. Children eyed the foods with unconcealed longing and ran up and down the road shrieking with laughter while they played underfoot. Spices covered one stall, and harnesses another. Pots were laid out in shiny rows while knives glimmered in the sun.
Despite the beautiful display of wares, the Traders seemed on edge. The people who were usually so full of cheer now seemed subdued and dangerous. Men kept swords and daggers close, as though expecting thieves or murderers to leap at them. Even the women at poniards at the waists. The children were quieter than normal. Rather than reveling in the chance to play with other children, they hovered close to their parents. Their eyes held the frightened, wary look of cornered animals. Nari got the feeling that it was more than the snow which had caused their delay, and shivered slightly in fear. Anything that boded ill for the well-armed, well-trained Traders could not be good for the people of Carvahall, most of whom had never even seen a sword outside of the ones Horst forged or repaired for rich travelers.
Finally, her uncle found the man he was looking for. Merlock was a trader who specialized in odd trinkets and piece of jewelry. Nari had visited him more than once herself; unlike some others, Merlock never seemed to mind when she admired his goods with no intention of buying, though he often found her questions irritating.
Merlock was in the midst of showing a group of women a selection of brooches when they approached. Nari examined the pieces as best she could while the women admired them enthusiastically. As each new piece was revealed, Merlock seemed to flourish and become grander in his motions. Nari could see that some of the pieces were poorly made or dinged. That was probably why Merlock seemed almost contemptuous of them. Not, Nari thought, that his attitude was justified. The women of Carvahall didn't have much experience with the more expensive favored pieces of women from the larger cities. The only reason Nari knew of their lesser quality was because of the times she'd spent with him in years past.
Seeing that he was busy, her uncle settled in to wait. Nari carefully browsed several stalls nearby. At one stall there were puppies which, according to the Trader, were sired by a wolf-dog from Uru'Baen. She fell in love with one of them, a small female with dark fur and white stockings, but she knew she could not afford it. Such a beast might be helpful on the farm, but she would not ask her uncle for the additional money even if she thought he might concede. There was just no need for it, not when they managed well enough already. Still, she spent much of the time stroking the little beast.
Finally, her uncle called her attention back, gesturing to Merlock's unoccupied stall. She gave the dog one last scratch behind her ears before moving to join her uncle at the stall.
"Ah, greetings, Selenasdaughter. I see you've brought your uncle with you. Has he come to buy you one of my trinkets? With a twirl, he pulled out a delicately carved silver rose and offered ti for their inspection. Nari smiled appreciatively at the shine of the silver and the detail put into the petals. "Not even three crowns, though it has come all the way from the famed craftsmen of Belatona."
Garrow spoke in a quiet voice. "We aren't looking to buy, but to sell." Merlock immediately put the rose away, eyeing them with new interest.
"I see. Your niece knows well the sort of item I value. Perhaps if this item is profitable, you would like to trade it for one or two of my exquisite pieces." He waited for a moment before frowning when they shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "You did bring the object of consideration?"
Nari's hand moved to her bag, but Garrow stilled her.
"We have it, but we would rather show it to you elsewhere." He explained firmly.
Merlock raised an eyebrow in surprise, but conceded. "In that case, let me invite you to my tent." He quickly but carefully gathered his wares and gently laid them in an iron chest, which he locked. Then he ushered them away, up the street and into the Traders' camp.
The tent they came to was separate from the majority of the camp. It was crimson red at the top and sable near the bottom. Merlock untied the opening and invited them inside. The tent was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. Nari was drawn in by many trinkets but she refrained from investigating, not wishing to be rude.
Merlock closed the flap behind them and turned to them. "Please, seat yourselves." Once they had, he continued. "Now, show me why we are meeting in private." Nari reached into her pack, pulled out the stone and set it on the table between them. Merlock started to reach for it, a gleam in his eye, but checked himself. "May I?" Garrow gave an approving motion and Merlock picked it up, setting it in his lap. Next he reached for a thin box. Inside sat a set of copper scales, which he set on the table. After weighing it, he carefully inspected the stone under a jeweler's glass. Then he tapped it gently with a wooden mallet, drew the point of a tiny clear stone over it, measured its length and diameter, and recorded the figures on a slate. Finally, he sat back, considering the results. After a long while, he looked up at them. "Do you know what this is worth?"
"No," admitted Garrow uncomfortably. Nari knew her uncle well, and knew he feared Merlock would try to swindle them. Instead, Merlock grimaced, displeased.
"Unfortunately, neither do I. But I can tell you this much. The white veins are the same material as the blue that surrounds them, only a different color. What the material might be, though, I haven't a clue. It's harder than any rock I have ever seen, harder even than diamond. Whoever shaped it used tools I have never seen, or perhaps magic. Also, it's hollow."
"What?" Garrow exclaimed in surprise. Nari could see that he didn't believe Merlock, and she didn't blame him. A stone that was not a stone, hollowed out and shaped by magic. It sounded unbelievable. Clearly, Merlock noticed their disbelief because his next words were tinged with irritation.
"Did you ever hear a rock sound like this?" Abruptly, he grabbed a dagger from the cushion nearby and slapped the stone with the flat of the blade. A pure note rang out and filled the air and then quickly faded away. Nari was about to lunge forward and take it, afraid that he'd damaged it, but Merlock tilted it towards them. "You will find no blemishes where the dagger struck. I doubt I could do anything to harm this stone, even if I took a hammer to it."
Garrow crossed his arms with a reserved expression. Silence hung in the air. Nari frowned faintly. Why would anyone create a stone that was hollow and unbreakable? It had to be more than just a bauble.
"You haven't told us what it's worth." She observed. She flushed faintly as they both turned to her but she kept her gaze on Merlock.
"That's because I can't tell you," Merlock said, pained. "I am sure there are those who would pay dearly to have it, but none of them are in Carvahall. You would have to go to the southern cities to find a buyer. This is a curiosity for most people, not an item to spend money on when practical things are needed."
Garrow glanced at Nari and then directed his gaze up at the ceiling. He looked as though he were debating with himself.
"Will you buy it?" Garrow asked finally.
"It's not worth the risk," Merlock answered immediately. "I might be able to find a wealthy buyer during my spring travels, but I can't be certain. Even if I did, you wouldn't be paid until I returned next year. No, you will have to find someone else to trade with." He watched as Nari took the stone from him and placed it gently in her bag. "I am curious, however... Why did you insist on speaking with me in private?"
Nari fiddled with the clasp of her bag, making sure it was secure, before glancing up at him cautiously. "Because," she began finally, "I found it in the Spine, and the people around here don't like that."
Merlock gave her a startled look that made her regret her truthfulness.
"Do you know why my fellow merchants and I were late this year?" Nari shook her head, frowning. "Our wanderings have been dogged with misfortune. Chaos seems to rule Alagaesia. We could not avoid illness, attacks and the most cursed black luck. Because the Varden's attacks have increased, Galbatorix has forced cities to send more soldiers to the borders, men who are needed to combat the Urgals. The brutes have been migrating southeast, toward the Hadarac Desert. No one knows why and it wouldn't concern us, except they're passing through populated areas. They've been spotted on roads and near cities. Worst of all reports of a Shade, though the stories are unconfirmed. Not many people survive an encounter with such a creature."
"Why haven't we heard of this?" Nari cried, struggling with her worry. If Urgals or a Shade came to Carvahall...
"Because," Merlock said darkly. "It only began a few months ago. In that time, whole villages have been slaughtered or forced to move because Urgals destroyed their fields and starvation threatens. If you have any family in the larger cities, you should send your niece away." Nari frowned, but Merlock was looking at Garrow and didn't see.
"Nonsense." Garrow scoffed. "We haven't seen any Urgals. The only one around here has his horns mounted in Morn's tavern."
Merlock arched an eyebrow at him. "Maybe so, but this is a small village. It's not surprising that you've escaped notice. However I wouldn't expect that to last. I only mentioned this because things are happening here as well if you found such a stone in the Spine." Nari glanced down at her bag, rubbing her hand protectively over the bulge where the stone rested. Merlock rose and bid them farewell, ushering them from his tent.
"What do you think, Uncle?" Nari asked as they headed for Carvahall.
"I'm going to get more information before I make up my mind. Go on and do as you like. I'll meet you for dinner at Horst's." Nari smiled at him happily before darting off. With the money in her bag, and her uncle busy trading, she had hours to explore the stalls.
Slowly, she wandered from booth to booth, eyeing the wares on display. As she chatted with the Traders, she heard the same story again and again. All of them agreed that Alagaësia was becoming more and more dangerous with each passing day. Stories of Urgals moving through towns and near cities were so common that Nari thought there must be some truth to them.
More than once she was tempted to spend her money on this bauble or that one. The heat of the pies for sale drew her attention and made her mouth water, but she refrained from spending her money. Instead, she headed for a Trader which sold scrolls and tomes.
The man, an older man with tired eyes named Hatieg, didn't have much to sell. As she rifled through the small stacks, she couldn't help but frown. Most of these books were ones that Brom had, and others focused on topics that she had no interest in. It was, she admitted only to herself, a great disappointment. She'd hoped to find an interesting book that she could read and, perhaps, gift to the man who had been generous enough to teach her to read. None of these books would do.
Just as she was about to turn away, her eye was caught by a flicker of golden lettering. She shifted a book to the side. The tome was strange; its cover seemed to be wooden, but its pages didn't seem to have faded at all. The title was even stranger, mostly because she thought she'd gotten quite good at reading. Du Grind Eom Hûgin, however, made no sense to her at all. Was it a different language?
Brom might know or if he didn't, it might be a challenge for him. Either way, she thought he might like it.
She turned to the Trader, book in hand. "How much for this one?" The man glanced at it, eyes widening in surprise, before smoothing out his face. To one as well-trained as Nari, he looked as though he didn't think she'd want it. Clearly, very few people could read it, whatever it was, and didn't want it.
"Ah, such a fine work. You see how the script is designed to curve elegantly across the page. For such a lovely thing, I could not offer bear to sell it for less than it's worth. But for such a lovely young lady, perhaps twelve crowns?" Nari frowned.
"The cover is wooden; it will rot soon enough and fall apart. Four coins would be more than enough."
"Ah, but I have had this tome for near three years now, and it has not changed at all! See how the pages have not torn or molded. But since you are uncertain, perhaps eight crowns?"
"The book is hardly worth that. Its use is more decoration than knowledge. Six crowns."
"Done." The Trader said immediately. Nari carefully reached into her bag and fingered her coins quickly, counting out six crowns and pulling them out, careful not to make the rest of the coins jingle. Handing them over, Nari quickly stowed the book in her bag.
"A pleasure." She smiled at the Trader, nodding her head.
"A good day to you," Hatieg smiled. Nari walked away, pleased. The proof of a good bargain, her uncle had once told her, was everyone walking away thinking they'd gotten the better of the deal.
Nari thought about heading to Brom's, but decided against it. As excited as she was, she couldn't go now. If the book was to be a present, it would have to be given to him at the right time. She had not finished the book he'd lent her, and he'd definitely ask, and he'd be preparing for the storytelling part of the evening. Though the Traders often knew newer tales, Nari never got tired of listening to the stories Brom had to share. There was an air, a gravity, about him when he spoke, as though he'd truly been there when the Riders ruled the skies. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she had been too.
Instead, Nari wandered around, smiling at the children playing in the snow. Her eyes widened faintly as she spotted Sloan heading down the street towards her. He hadn't spotted her yet, so she glanced around quickly. Spotting Morn's Tavern not far away, she ducked her head down and darted for the door.
The inside of the Tavern was hot and smoky, candles sputtering in the wind as the door swung shut. Curious, she glanced up at the Urgal horns mounted over the door. They were twisted and black, as large across as Roran if he stood with his arms outstretched. She thought wildly that she could sit cradled in those horns without trouble and shuddered as the image popped into her mind.
"Nari! Good to see you! Where's your uncle?" Morn called out, wiping down the counters. He gestured to a cup in question but she shook her head. She made her way over to the bar, skirting the crowd gathered around two Traders who had clearly finished their business early.
"He's buying," she responded. "He's going to be a while."
"And Roran, is he here?" Morn switched to wiping glasses clean.
"Yes, no sick animals to keep him back this year, luckily."
"Good, good."
"What's going on here? Who are they?" Nari asked, gesturing to the crowd.
"Grain buyers. They bought everyone's seed at ridiculously low prices, and now they're telling wild stories, expecting us to believe them."
"What sort of stories?" She asked, worried.
"They say the Varden have formed a pact with the Urgals and are massing an army to attack us. Supposedly, it's 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. But keep quiet; I don't trust them."
"I'll try," she said, smiling. He winked at her easily. She moved closer to the crowd, listening.
"...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!"
A man somewhere hidden in the middle of the crowd shouted out, "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 crowd chuckled in agreement.
The fat trader was about to reply, she could see it in his eyes. The thinner trader, who was as ugly as the first, put up his hand. On his fingers were many gaudy jewels. When he spoke, Nari shuddered with distaste. She could see why Morn disapproved of these men. "You misunderstand. We know the empire cannot care for us personally, as you may want, but it can keep the Urgals and other abominations from overrunning this..." he looked for a word that described his disgust, "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," a woman shouted, "if you're willing to call the Varden small!"
"We already explained that the Varden have no interest in helping you. That is only a falsehood perpetuated by the traitors in 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."
Nari thought this was a falsehood of the same type, but others were nodding their heads. The men's words were smooth, she would give them that. Seeing Albriech nodding thoughtfully, she felt anger rise up in her. These words might be dismissed by some, but young men would be encouraged to join the King's army, and some of them might even go. She would not let friends be swayed this way.
"How do you know this? I can say the clouds are green, but that doesn't mean it's true. Prove you aren't lying." The men glared at her, but the villagers waited in silence. They may not like her activities, but none would dispute that it was a fair point.
"Aren't your women taught respect? Or do men answer to girls here?" The villagers fidgeted, embarrassed, but one man spoke up for her.
"Are your lies so feeble that you feel threatened by a child? Answer the question!"
"It's only common sense," one of the men insisted. Nari rolled her eyes and slipped back towards the bar as the crowd resumed the dispute.
"I apologize, Morn. I tried, I really did." Morn shook his head at her, smiling.
"If you did not ask questions, you would not be you. You'd best get out of here, though. There's going to be trouble if they stay much longer." As though confirming his words, the argument started to get louder. Nari headed for the door into the colder air.
Hearing sound coming from an alley, Nari glanced down it quickly, pausing when she saw the familiar shape of her cousin. He stood close to Katrina, staring down at her. He was saying something, but Nari could not make out the words. Katrina looked down at her hands, answering in an even quieter tone, then leaned up and kissed him quickly on the mouth before darting away. Nari watched as Roran stood silently for a moment.
"Roran," she called quietly. His head snapped up, but he relaxed when he spotted her. He walked towards her, and she fell into step with him. He seemed anxious, and didn't speak. "Have you heard the Traders' news?"
"Yes," he said distractedly. "What do you think of Sloan?" The question was abrupt, and she blinked in surprise.
"I thought it was obvious. If it is not, I think he is a cruel man who disdains everyone but his daughter."
"There'll be blood between us when he finds out about Katrina and me." Roran murmured softly. Nari could tell that this was truly worrying her cousin, but she could think of nothing to comfort him. Instead, the rest of the walk was in silence.
The dinner at Horst's was hearty. The room was full of talk and laughter and Nari felt her worries float away, if only for a little while. Sweet drinks and heavy ales were consumed, adding to the boisterous atmosphere. When the plates were empty and the table cleared, Horst's guests left and strolled to the field where the traders were camped. A ring of poles topped with candles had been stuck into the ground around a large clearing. Bonfires blazed in the background, painting the ground with dancing shadows.
The first performances were purely entertainment. The tales were full of bawdy jokes and ridiculous characters. Later, though, when the candles sputtered as if they were going to burn out at any second, Brom stepped forward. Nari closed her eyes, listening intently.
"The sands of time cannot be stopped." Brom's voice rung through the air, soothing and mesmerizing. "Years pass whether we want 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 a dreamy haze that lies behind us.
"Before your grandfather's 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 the 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." Infinite sadness resonated in Brom's voice, and Nari felt a tear trail down her cheek.
"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 Inzilbêth, 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 a 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 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 the riders might grant him another dragon. Driven by this thought, he began the arduous journey, on food, 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 voice dropped to a mesmerizing whisper, and Nari almost opened her eyes, but she could not for fear she would lose the images in her mind. She wanted to keep them there and replay them over and over until the story was so firmly in her mind, she would never forget it.
"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 the wastelands like a hunted animal, always watching for pursuers. His atrocity was not forgotten, but over time the searches ceased. Then, through some ill fortune, he met a young Rider, Morzan - strong of body, but weak of mind. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel of 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 Dorú Areaba, 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 surged through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaësia. And from that day, he has ruled us."
With the completion of the story, Brom shuffled away. Nari wanted nothing more than to follow him, but she knew better than to leave Garrow and Roran before they headed home.
"Consider yourselves fortunate." Garrow told them. "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."