Chapter 17:

Schemes

Eragon was crouched to the ground, alert of all his surroundings. The frigid air that he breathed stung his throat and gusts of wind bit at his cheeks and tousled his shaggy sandy blonde hair. The bushes that he was hiding in rustled from a sudden breeze. He mentally sighed. He had been listening to the tramp of heavy war boots as he waited for hours on end. Of course, the march was only audible to him at the distance he was at. His finger twitched on Brisingr's pommel. He was restless. He thought back to when he had come. Just before arriving, he had made himself invisible from a spell that he had used to deflect rays of light.

Nasuada had spent nigh on a month devising a plan of action. Everything was interlocked so well with everything else that if he screwed even the slightest bit, the scheme would fall to pieces. He was supposed to be several hundred yards away from the gates. He sat outside a grove of trees, surreptitious in a cluster of bushes. He was bent low to the ground on the outskirts of Dras-Leona. The mission he had been sent on was excessively important. He knew everything about the plot; it would be a lot of fun setting it into motion.

Cupping his mouth to make it louder, he growled as loud as he could and burst out of the bushes. A few guards by the gates and on the wall turned towards the brush, and one even fired a couple of arrows. By the time they all had turned away, he was inside the city doors. Just as he walked in, the large portal began to swing closed. Just in time, he thought. He sequestered himself in an alleyway and lifted the spell that he had placed on himself. He unclipped Brisingr and his belt from his hip and then threw it up towards the sky. Angela, who had rented a room in an inn, caught it. She waved down and mouthed, Good luck. She was also part of the plan. Eragon was ordered not to cause alarm, so Nasuada posted Angela in Dras-Leona especially for the mission. He nodded to her, and then emerged out of the alley. He blended in with the crowd of people that seemed to all be going to one place, even at this time of night. Usually the soldiers were doing their rounds by this time. He thought hard, and then came up with a very simple answer. The traders must be here, he thought, almost two years since I left Carvahall. Another, more daunting thought came to mind, two years since Uncle Garrow died…. As the crowd dispersed into the city square, he saw just how many people and how much merchandise there was.

Several lights that were posted around the stands outshined the stars, and caused temporary blindness if you looked into a dark spot. He walked around for a span, feeling like a child again. Many of the things he saw were things he remembered, and he even saw Merlock who he spoke to for a while. Once he was done, he turned around, and saw a man clothed in all black, then he clasped his shoulder. The man spun around and took off his hood to reveal Roran.

"Ready?" He queried, turning his head to the side a fraction of an inch.

"Ready as I'll ever be." He reached inside his cloak. "I'm ready as I'll ever be." He repeated.

"On my mark."

"Aye."

"Now." Whipping his hands out of his cloak, Eragon threw the two throwing knives that had been concealed within his robe.

The glass on the top floor of the palace shattered.

Women screamed, and children fled. Men drew what weapons they had, and soldiers dashed to the palace. Roran was among them, for he had had a soldiers' uniform under his own clothing. Eragon acted shocked like the other villagers, but instead of running away he ran towards the palace. He heard footsteps going up the stairs, and then heavy crashes. Good, Roran has incapacitated the other soldiers. Eragon proceeded downstairs. As he reached the dungeon and the large wooden safe that held all of Dras-Leona's riches, he spotted a couple of guards. He shot two pebbles at their temples, and then moved onward towards the two massive oaken doors.

He lifted up the bar that held the doors closed and dropped it by his feet. The resulting report made him cover his ears. He knew he had to move quickly. He pulled open one of the doors and gasped as he beheld the masses of gold that were held within. He gaped for a moment, and then stepped in. He was ordered to use the spell of teleportation to help transport the money. All he had to do was draw on a small portion of the seemingly infinite reserves of Aren's power. The small bit of power he grasped onto was extremely infinitesimal. It was still huge compared to his energy. He focused it into the spell and then mouthed the words.

The explosion blew him backwards a couple hundred feet. Gold coins rained down upon him, and he was momentarily rendered deaf. Upon regaining sight and sound, he looked at the safe. Almost half the money was gone, which was more than enough to buy the Varden's food. He stood up, wobbling on weak knees; the amount of energy needed to cast the spell was enormous even after reinforcing himself with Aren. After acquiring enough stamina to run, he bolted out of the dark basement. He went out the back door of the huge building, blinking hard as he got into darkness and spots filled his vision. After the red lights had disappeared, he looked up. Roran was shimmying down the wall, holding onto a small rope. Once his feet touched the ground, Roran and Eragon both dashed away, kicking up small clods of dust as they ran.