Free Riders
Author's Note: I do not own any part of the Inheritance Cycle. The only characters I own are Blaster, Char, and a yet-unnamed dragon.
Chapter 2: Traders and Dragons
"Holy!" Blaster exclaimed.
It had been merely nine days after he had arrived, and Blaster saw a blizzard the likes of which he had never seen. At least, not this early in the season. He was just about to head out the door to see if he could chat with Eragon about his stone, but thought better of it, letting mother nature figure this out first before traipsing through the snow. The storm blew for days, giving Blaster time to try and contact Alice or Char. He finally got in contact with Alice two days after the storm began, and found that the magic interference with this world was too much for her to get a bead on where Char may have been.
Blaster knew there was something wrong, but decided to hang out until Alice had finally gotten through the interference in order to take the two of them back to their own reality. Eventually, the storm passed, but a new anxiety emerged. The traders were supposed to be up at this point, but the people of Carvahall were getting anxious because they were late. Eight days after the storm had lifted, Blaster saw a large group of people with horses and carriages rolled up the road from the south. They were set up and open for business by the next day in the open field just on the outskirts.
Even this early, Blaster knew that there was something that was amiss. The children looked frightened and disheveled. The men wore an array of weaponry ranging from swords to daggers. The women, likewise, had weapons of their own, preferring poniards as opposed to daggers and swords. By noon, Eragon, and two men (whom Blaster assumed were Garrow and Roran) began to enter the town limits, getting Blaster's mind to stop thinking about why the traders had armed themselves.
Almost immediately, Eragon grabbed a wrapped item which could only be the sapphire stone. Blaster quickly caught up with the boy, expressing his interest in how much the stone might be worth, lugging his own in his pack. Once Blaster and Garrow introduced themselves, they made their way over to Merlock, one of the traders who specialized in odd trinkets and jewelry. Upon reaching the booth in question, they all saw the man trying to sell brooches to a group of women. Each one earned more exclamations of admiration, and it didn't even take a farmer to guess that more money purses would be empty by the end of the day.
Once the merchant was free, the trio made their way over to him. "And what might I help you with?" he asked. "Perhaps purchasing an amulet or trinket for a lady?" He pulled out a delicately carved silver rose, the polished metal gleaming in what light there was. "Not even three crowns, though it has come all the way from the famed craftsmen of Belatona."
"We're not looking to buy, but to sell," Garrow replied. This peaked Merlock's interests, and he hid the rose under a small cloth.
"I see. Maybe, if this item is of any value, you would like to trade it for one or two of these exquisite pieces." He paused for just long enough for Eragon and his uncle to get uncomfortable with the silence. "You did bring the object of consideration?"
"We have it, but we would rather show it to you elsewhere," Garrow replied. Merlock raised an eyebrow.
"In that case, let me invite you to my tent." He gathered his merchandise and gently laid them in an iron-bound chest, locking it. He then ushered the trio up the street to the temporary camp. Weaving between the wagons, they came to a tent pitched away from the other traders. Crimson at the top and sable at the bottom, the tent also had thin triangles of colors stabbing into each other. Merlock opened the tent and ushered them inside. They all sat down on seats carved from tree stumps. Other interesting things were small trinkets, and a gnarled dagger with a ruby in the pommel resting on a white cushion.
At that point, Merlock asked to see the stone, which Eragon unwrapped. Merlock took a thin box and withdrew from it a large set of copper scales. He weighed the stone, looked at it under a jeweler's glass, tapped it with a wooden mallet, and drew the point of a clear stone, diamond, by the looks of it, across it. He measured everything from the length to the diameter, writing his findings on a nearby slate. He thought for a while, then asked the one question Eragon didn't know. "Do you know what this is worth?"
"No," Garrow said. He twitched uncomfortably in his seat, but Blaster saw Merlock grimace.
"Unfortunately, neither do I," Merlock replied. "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 that 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 magic. Also, it's hollow." Garrow uttered a "what?" causing Merlock to sound irritated. "Did you ever hear a rock sound like this?"
With that, he grabbed the dagger and slapped the stone with the flat of the blade. A single note resonated through the tent, fading away smoothly. Eragon seemed to be alarmed, afraid that the stone had been damaged. However, Merlock tilted the stone towards them.
"You will find no scratches or blemishes where the dagger struck. I doubt I could do anything to harm this stone, even if I took a hammer to it."
"Believe me, I've tried," Blaster said. Everyone else looked confused until Blaster withdrew his own, silver stone. Merlock seemed to be out of his element because he looked like he had just about had a heart attack. The fact of the matter stood, and that was that these stones were probably made by magic.
"How much are they worth?" Garrow finally asked.
"I can't tell you that," Merlock groaned. "I'm sure that there are people who would pay dearly for something like this, but you won't find them in Carvahall. You'd have to go to the southern cities to find a buyer. These are a curiosity for most people. Certainly not an item to spend money on when practical things are needed."
"Will you buy it?" Garrow asked, looking like a gambler calculating his odds of winning.
"It's not worth the risk," the trader replied instantly. "I might be able to find a wealthy buyer during my spring travels, but I can't be certain. Even if I did, you'd have to wait until next winter to be paid. So, you're going to have to find someone else to trade with." He then looked at Garrow curiously. "Why did you insist on talking to me in private?"
"Because," Eragon replied, putting his stone away while Blaster did the same with his. "We found them in the Spine, and folks around here don't like that."
Merlock gave them all a startled look. "Do you know why we were late this year?" They shook their heads. "Our wanderings have been dogged with misfortune. Chaos seems to rule Alagaësia. We could not avoid illness, attack, and cursed black luck. Because the Varden attacks have increased, Galbatorix has forced cities to send more soldiers to the borders, men who are needed to fight the Urgals. The brutes have been migrating southeast to the Hadarac Desert. No one knows why and it wouldn't concern us, but they are passing through populated areas. They've been spotted on roads and outside cities. Worst of all are reports of a Shade, though the stories are unconfirmed. Few people survive these encounters."
"Why have we not heard of this?" Eragon asked.
"Because it only began a few months ago," Merlock replied, grimly. "Whole villages have been forced to move because Urgals have destroyed their fields and starvation threatens."
"Nonsense," Garrow grumbled. "We haven't seen any Urgals. The only one around here has his horns mounted in Moun's Tavern."
Blaster remembered noticing these the first day he asked for room. They were shiny black, and they were about as long as his outstretched arms. He then noticed Merlock raise an eyebrow.
"Maybe so," the trader said, "but this is a small village hidden by mountains. It's not surprising you haven't been noticed. However, I wouldn't expect that to last. Because strange things are happening here if you found such stones in the Spine." With that, he bid them farewell and ushered them politely out of the tent.
Blaster and Eragon decided against selling their stones. However, they split paths once they saw Sloan round a corner. Eragon dove into Moun's tavern, while Blaster decided to hike in the woods. After a few minutes, making sure he was alone, he tried again to speak to Alice. She was still having trouble trying to get through the interference, stating that it kept changing on her when she had just about cracked it. Blaster figured he'd leave her to it, since she wasn't one to get really flustered, being a computer in all.
Blaster and Eragon managed to meet up again while heading to Horst's for dinner later that night. It was such a hearty meal that Blaster went for seconds, which he rarely ever did. Once dinner and the conversations that went with it came to an end, the group, including Roran and Garrow, went to where the merchants were camped out. Bonfires blazed in the background of a clearing surrounded by a ring of poles, each with a lit candle atop them. The other villagers converged. Then, the troubadours emerged from their tents, dressed in tasseled clothes and followed up by older, more stately minstrels.
The people were soon entertained by the minstrels, who narrated and played music for their younger counterparts. Performances included everything from ridiculous characters to witty one-line jokes. When the candles began to darken, the stage was occupied by Brom, the old story teller. He had a knotted white beard that rippled over his chest, and a long black cape that wrapped around his shoulders, hiding his body. The spread his arms wide before diving headlong into his story.
"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 with out 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 eyes inspected all their interested faces, lingering on Blaster, then last of all, Eragon.
"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 the living stone. While they kept peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time. The elves were are allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered. But weep…for it could not last."
Brom looked down silently, and his voice seemed to resonate with infinite sadness.
"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 strong body, he quickly took his place among the Riders' ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned 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."
Brom clasped his hands and looked around slowly, shadows flickering from the candles on his face. He continued, his words coming like the mournful toll of a requiem.
"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 feat 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 often times he walked in places where animals did not travel. Thus when his feet finally left the mountain, 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 as he continued.
"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 pursuer. 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. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave the gate unbolted in the citadel 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 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 the 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 rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaësia.
"And from that day, he has ruled us."
Brom shuffled away with the troubadours when he had finished his story. Tears could be seen on his cheek. The people murmured to each other as they departed. Blaster turned just in time to hear Garrow say to Eragon and Roran, "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."
Next time: What will Blaster and Eragon do with the stones? And what is the purpose of the story Brom told? Stay tuned to the next chapter.