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 4: Tea for Three
Time for that one month seemed to fly. The dragons growth was so explosive that Eragon and Blaster had to build a secret shelter on the ground. They also had to forgo using harnesses so that their dragons could hunt. Eragon still had trouble trying to get his dragon to stay, but Blaster was having a lot of luck, probably from his experience. The dragons would spend time in the Spine hunting, which both relieved and frightened Eragon and Blaster. Although the squeaks turned into roars, there was no fire as of yet. There were massive puffs of smoke, but no flame.
By the end of the month, the dragons shoulder was level with Eragon's elbow. Such a short time from being a small, weak animal to a powerful beast. The scales were like steel armor and the teeth were like daggers. Blaster would spend time with the dragon, but he soon found out that Sloan had tried to melt down his gold brick to make coins soon after the traders had left. He had cornered Blaster and showed him the coins, which didn't come out right, and demanded that Blaster pay off his new debt in another form. So, Blaster worked in the butcher's shop for that month. It wasn't particularly enjoyable, but at least he got a laugh while he had.
Finally, on the last day Blaster had to work, he finished and ran to the dragons, keeping well out of sight. It wasn't long before he found the perimeter of the dragon's "domain." It wasn't easy to miss, what with loads of large tracks a foot deep and piles of dung dotting the white snow. Soon, he and Eragon were at the dragon's shelter, amazed that luck had brought them there. Blaster told his dragon he was done, but, once Eragon said something about visiting Brom, the dragons seemed to be a bit upset for no reason.
Blaster was the first to calm his dragon down. Finally, after a month of just emotions, the dragon said only one word.
Blaster.
It lightened up his heart because he would no longer have to wonder what his dragon was trying to say. However, it seemed like Eragon was afraid, because he ran back to his house. Both Blaster and his dragon looked at each other, then shrugged before Blaster went to calm the sapphire dragon down. Tomorrow, Blaster would find out what he would name his dragon, but first, he'd have to wait for that next day to arrive.
The next day, Blaster and Eragon met at the edge of town. They both walked up to Brom's house and knocked on the door. Their answer came from behind them, where Brom stood, leaning against a twisted staff with strange carvings. His brown cloak made him look like a friar. He had a pouch hanging from a scuffed leather belt, and his nose hooked over his mouth and white beard. He peered at the two with deep-set eyes as he awaited their reasoning for waiting outside his front door.
"Roran is getting a chisel fixed and I had free time, so we came to see if you could answer a few questions," Eragon said.
Brom grunted and reached for the door. Eragon and Blaster noticed a gold ring on his right hand, and light glinted off a sapphire with a strange symbol carved on its face.
"You might as well come in," Brom said. "We'll be talking awhile. Your questions never seem to end." The interior of the house was darker than charcoal, an acrid smell heavy in the air. "Now, for a light." The two heard the old man move around, then a low curse as something crashed to the floor. "Ah, here we go." A white spark flashed and a flame wavered into existence.
Brom stood with a candle before a stone fireplace. Stacks of books surrounded a high-backed, deeply carved chair that faced the mantle. The four legs were shaped like eagle claws, and the seat and back were padded with leather embossed with a swirling rose pattern. A cluster of lesser chairs held piles of scrolls. Ink pots and pens were scattered across a writing desk. After a warning that some if these items were very valuable, Eragon and Blaster stepped over pages of parchment that were covered with angular runes. They carefully set two chair-fulls of crumbling scrolls on the floor, then sat down in a cloud of dust. Blaster could tell that Eragon was trying his best to stifle a sneeze.
Brom bent down and lit the fire with his candle, saying something about sitting by a fire for conversation that Blaster didn't really catch. Finally, Brom un-hooded himself, revealing silver hair instead of white, then placed a kettle over the fire before settling into the high-backed chair.
"Now, what do you want?" Brom asked, roughly, but not unkindly.
"Well," Eragon replied, wondering how best to approach the subject. "We keep hearing about the Dragon Riders and their supposed accomplishments. Most everyone seems to want them to return, but I've never heard tell of how they were started, where the dragons came from, or what made them special—aside from the dragons."
"A vast subject to tell about," grumbled Brom. He peered at the two alertly. "If I told you their whole story, we would be still sitting here when winter comes again. It will have to be reduced to a manageable length. But before we start properly, I need my pipe."
They waited patiently as Brom tamped down the tobacco. Blaster could tell that Eragon liked Brom, and it was easy to see why. The old man was irascible at times, but he never seemed to mind taking time for curious folks, like Eragon. Even at this moment, Blaster found it hard to not like Brom. However, he had found out from Garrow after the story-telling that Brom was only in Carvahall for about fifteen years.
Brom used at tinderbox to light the pipe. He puffed a few times, then said, "There…we won't have to stop, except for the tea. Now, about the riders, or the Shur'tugal, as they are called by the elves. Where to start? They spanned countless years and, at the height of their power, held sway over twice the Empire's lands. Numerous stories have been told about them, most nonsense. If you believed everything said, you would expect them to have the powers of a lesser god. Scholars have devoted entire lives to separating those fictions from fact, but it's doubtful any of them will succeed. However, it isn't an impossible task if we confine ourselves to the three areas you specified: how the Riders begain, why they were so highly regarded, and where the dragons came from. I shall start with the last item." Eragon settled back, listening to the man's mesmerizing voice.
"Dragons have no beginning, unless it lies with the creation of Alagaësia itself. And if they have an end, it will be when this world perishes, for they suffer as the land does. They, the dwarves, and a few others are the true inhabitants of this land. They lived here before all others, strong and proud in their elemental glory. Their world was unchanging until the first elves sailed over the sea on their silver ships."
"Where did the elves come from?" interrupted Eragon. "And why are they called the fair folk? Do they really exist?"
"Okay," Blaster said. "Eragon, do you want your original questions answered, or not? They won't be if we go exploring every obscure piece of knowledge this side of the Spine."
"Sorry," Eragon said. He dipped his head and tried to look contrite.
"No, you're not," Brom replied with some amusement. He shifted his gaze to the fire and watched the flames lick at the underside of the kettle. "If you must know, elves are not legends, and they are called the fair folk because they are more graceful than any of the other races. They come from what they call Alalea, though none but they know what, or even where, it is.
"Now," he glared from under his eyebrows to make sure there would be no further interruptions, "the elves were a proud race then, and strong in magic. At first they regarded dragons as mere animals. From that belief rose a deadly mistake. A brash elven youth hunted down a dragon, as he would a stag, and killed it. Outraged, the dragons ambushed and slaughtered the elf. Unfortunately, the bloodletting did not stop there. The dragons massed together and attacked the entire elven nation. Dismayed by the terrible misunderstanding, the elves tried to end the hostilities, but couldn't find a way to communicate with the dragons.
"Thus, to greatly abbreviate a complicated series of occurrences, there was a very long and very bloody war, with both sides later regretted. At the beginning the elves fought only to defend themselves, for they were reluctant to escalate the fighting, but the dragons' ferocity eventually forced them to attack for their own survival. This lasted for five years and would have continued for much longer if an elf called Eragon found a dragon egg." Eragon blinked in surprise. "Ah, I see you didn't know of your namesake."
"No," Eragon replied. The teakettle whistled stridently. Even Blaster began to wonder why Eragon was named after an elf.
"Then you should find this all the more interesting," said Brom. He hooked the kettle out of the fire and poured boiling water into three cups. Handing two to Eragon and Blaster, he warned, "These leaves don't need to steep long, so drink it quickly before it gets too strong." Eragon tried a sip, but it scalded his tongue. Brom and Blaster set theirs down, the former continuing to smoke his pipe.
"No one knows why that egg was abandoned. Some say the parents were killed in an elven attack. Others believe the dragons purposefully left it there. Either way, Eragon saw the value of raising a friendly dragon. He cared for it secretly and, in the custom of the ancient language, named him Bid'Daum. When Bid'Daum had grown to a good size, they traveled together among the dragons and convinced them to live in peace with the elves. Treaties were formed between the two races. To ensure that war would never break out again, they decided that it was necessary to establish the Riders.
"At first the Riders were intended merely as a means of communication between the elves and dragons. However, as time passed, their worth was recognized and they were given ever more authority. Eventually they took the island Vroengard for their home and built a city on it—Dorú Areaba. Before Galbatorix overthrew them, the Riders held more power than all the kings of Alagaësia. Now I believe that answers two of your questions."
"Yes," Eragon said absently. It seemed like an incredible coincidence that he had been named after the first Rider. For some reason his name didn't feel the same anymore. "What does Eragon mean?"
"I don't know," Brom replied. "It's very old. I doubt anyone remembers except the elves, and fortune would have to smile greatly before you talked with one. It is a good name to have, though; you should be proud of it. Not everyone has one so honorable."
Blaster mulled it over, wondering why his father had insisted on naming him Blastbone. However, before he could think about it long, Eragon came up with an issue. Namely, something was missing from the story. "I don't understand. Where were we when the Riders were created?"
"We?" Brom asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You know, all of us." Eragon waved his hands vaguely. "Humans in general." Brom laughed.
"We are no more native to this land than the elves. It took our ancestors another three centuries to arrive here and join the Riders."
"That can't be," Eragon protested. "We've always lived in Palancar Valley."
"That might be true for a few generations, but beyond that, no. It isn't even true for you, Eragon," Brom said gently. "Though you consider yourself part of Garrow's family, and rightly so, your sire was not from here. Ask around and you'll find many people who haven't been here that long. This valley is old and hasn't always belonged to us."
Eragon scowled and gulped at his tea. Blaster did the same to his. It was hot enough to burn his throat, but Blaster could tell that something else was burning in Eragon. Then he surprised Blaster with what appeared to be a change of subject. "What happened to the dwarves after the Riders were destroyed?"
"No one really knows. They fought with the Riders through the first few battles, but when it became clear that Galbatorix was going to win, they sealed all the known entrances to their tunnels and disappeared underground. As far as I know, not one has been seen since."
"And the dragons?" Eragon asked. "What of them? Surely they weren't all killed."
"That is the greatest mystery in Alagaësia nowadays," Brom answered sorrowfully. "How many dragons survived Galbatorix's murderous slaughter? He spared those who agreed to serve him, but only the twisted dragons of the Forsworn would assist his madness. If any dragons aside from Shruikan are still alive, they have hidden themselves so they will never be found by the Empire."
Eragon seemed to keep changing the subject slightly because he next asked, "Where the Urgals here when the elves came to Alagaësia?"
"No, they followed the elves across the sea, like ticks seeking blood. They were one of the reasons the Riders became valued for their battle prowess and ability to keep the peace…Much can be learned from history. It's a pity the king makes it a delicate subject," Brom reflected.
"Yes, we heard your story last time Eragon was in town," Blaster said.
"Story!" Brom roared. Lightning seemed to flash in his eyes. "If it is a story, then the rumors of my death are true and you are speaking to a ghost! Respect the past; you never know how it may affect you."
Eragon waited for Brom to relax before asking, "How big were the dragons?"
A dark plume of smoke swirled around Brom like a mini thunderstorm. "Larger than a house. Even the small ones had wingspans over a hundred feet; they never stopped growing. Some of the ancient ones, before the empire killed them, could have passed for large hills."
Great, Blaster thought. How are we going to hide something that big in the years to come? Eragon too was silently raging with himself, but kept his voice calm. "When did they mature?"
"Well," Brom said, scratching his chin," they couldn't breathe fire until they were around five or six months old, which was about when they could mate. The older a dragon was, the longer it could breathe fire. Some of them could keep at it for minutes." He blew a smoke ring and watched it float up to the ceiling.
"I heard their scales shone like diamonds," Eragon said
Brom leaned forward and growled," You heard right. They came in every color and shade. It was said that a group of them looked like a living rainbow, constantly shifting and shimmering. But who told you that?"
Eragon froze for a second, then lied, "A trader."
"What was his name?" Brom asked. His white eyebrows met in a thick white line and the wrinkles deepened in his forehead. Eragon pretended to think.
"I don't know," he finally said. "He was talking in Morn's but I never found out who he was."
"I wish you had," Brom muttered.
"He also said a Rider could hear his dragon's thoughts," Eragon said quickly, hoping to avoid suspicion for his fictitious trader. Brom's eyes narrowed as he pulled out his tinderbox and relit his pipe, which had gone out a few seconds ago.
"He was wrong," Brom said in a flat voice. "It isn't in any of the stories, and I know them all. Did he say anything else?"
"No," Eragon shrugged. Brom was too interested in the fake trader, so Blaster knew it was time to change the subject.
"Did the dragons live long?" Blaster asked. Brom didn't respond at once. His chin sank to his chest while his fingers tapped the pipe thoughtfully, the light reflecting off his ring.
"Sorry, my mind was elsewhere," Brom said. "Yes, a dragon will live for quite a while, forever, in fact, as long as it isn't killed and its Rider doesn't die."
"How does anyone know that?" Eragon objected. "If dragons die when their Riders do, they could only live to be sixty or seventy. You said during your…narration that Riders lived for hundreds of years, but that's impossible." It seemed to trouble Eragon to think of him outliving his family and friends. A smile seemed to curl on Brom's lips.
"What is possible is subjective," he said, slyly. "Some would say that you cannot travel through the Spine and live, yet you do, Eragon. It's a matter of perspective. You must be very wise to know so much at such a young age." Eragon flushed, but the old man chuckled. "Don't be angry; you can't be expected to know such things. You forget that the dragons were magical—they affected everything around them in strange ways. The Riders were closest to them and experienced this the most. The most common side effect was an extended life. Our king has lived long enough to make this apparent, but most people attribute it to his magical abilities. There were also other, less noticeable changes. All the Riders were stronger of body, keener of mind, and truer of sight than normal men. Along with this, a human Rider would slowly acquire pointed ears, though they were never as prominent as an elf's."
Another thing to worry about, Blaster thought. It took everything in his power to prevent himself from reaching up and checking his ears. Seconds later, he had to resist dope-slapping Eragon upside the head. "Were dragons very smart?"
"Didn't you pay attention to what I told you earlier!" Brom demanded. "How could the elves form agreements and peace treaties with dumb brutes? They were as intelligent as you or I."
"But they were animals," Eragon protested.
"They were no more animals than we are," Brom snorted. "For some reason people praise everything the Riders did, yet ignore the dragons, assuming that they were nothing more than an exotic means to get from one town to another. They weren't. The Riders' great deeds were only possible because of the dragons. How many men would draw their swords if they knew a giant fire-breathing lizard – one with more natural cunning and wisdom than even a king could hope for – would soon be there to stop the violence? Hmm?" He blew another smoke ring and watched it waft away.
"Have you ever seen one?" Blaster asked.
"Nay," Brom replied, "it was long before my time." Then Eragon spoke again.
"I've been trying to recall the name of a certain dragon, but it keeps eluding me. I think I heard it when the traders were in Carvahall, but I'm not sure. Could you help me?"
Brom shrugged and rifled off a stream of names. "There was Jura, Hírador, and Fundor—who fought the giant seas snake. Galzra, Briam, Ohen the Strong, Gretiem, Beroan, Roslarb…" He added many others. At the end, he uttered one so softly that even Blaster almost didn't hear, "…and Saphira." Brom emptied his pipe. "Was it any of those?"
"Afraid not," Eragon replied. Brom had given them much to think about, and it was beginning to get late. "Well, Roran's probably finished with Horst. I should get back, though I'd rather not."
Brom raised an eyebrow. "What, is that it? I expected to be answering your questions until he came looking for you. No queries about dragon battle tactics or requests for descriptions of breathtaking aerial combat? Are we done?"
"For now," Eragon laughed. "I learned what I wanted to and more." He, Blaster and Brom all stood up.
"And, Blastbone," Brom said. "An interesting name to say the least. You have been quiet all along. How come?"
"Well, sir," Blaster replied, "I was just as interested in the same topics, but haven't had the time to talk to you, what with being forced to work with Sloan. I really regret giving him that brick of fool's gold now, but at least it was good to see him humbled by it."
"Very well, then," Brom said. He ushered them to the door. "Goodbye. Take care. And don't forget, if you remember who that trader was, tell me."
"I will, thanks." The two stepped out into the sun, but Eragon went one way, pondering over much of what he had heard.
What names will they chose? How long can they keep a secret? Tune in...er, SIGN in next time for another exciting (or boring, depending on your POV) chapter of Free Riders.