I will not post the bonus chapters for the lack of trade tokens(reviews). This will, however, not affect the plot in any way. It was just more insight into an important moment that was related to Eragon/Saphira/Arya/Angela journey.
The mumblings and the voices of those which were gathered around the merchant became clearer to Roran as he approached the small gathering. Taken aback by the light atmosphere which was animated by laughter, chuckling and good will, Roran inspected the merchant's offers with his own eyes. Such good will, in spite of the recent events, raised his suspicion, no matter Roran's own beliefs in miracles. They did not exist. A man had to hammer his way through life with only his will and expertise to guide him.
The camp, which was structured in three separate parts was ran by a young, bearded man and a young boy who moved from place to place with alacrity in his steps, trying to be as useful as possible. To the left, a medium sized campfire surrounded by different sized pots crackled, spraying tiny embers. Only the smoke of the fire which slowly rose towards the sky was clearly visible among the different objects, the biggest of them being a cauldron which was placed over the fire, its weight supported by a metal frame that was placed a few feet above the cherry red charcoal.
In the direction opposite to the cauldron, a similar fire was burning with even greater intensity as its orange flames licked at the large chunks of meat skewered by a metal rod. With the help of two metal frames which held it above the fire, the meat was emanating a pleasant, enticing smell as it slowly cooked.
The quantity of meat that was stored away from the campfires, in a hefty wagon, surprised Roran: different sized chunks, legs, and even entire heads which belonged to different species of animals were among the treats which waited for the burning fire to roast them.
Roran squinted through the crowd, trying to get a better view of the man who appeared to be responsible for the sudden abundance of food in Feinster. With the Varden's diminishing supplies and the grain supplies burned and pillaged during the siege and the following chaos, such a feast would attract the whole city.
I have never seen this man before, yet he appears at our doorstep with such large supplies of meat? From where did he get them? Roran asked himself as his eyes were set upon the middle aged man that moved back and forth between his cooking fires.
"Look! Another hungry soldier managed to make his way over here," spoke a male voice.
Raising an eyebrow, Roran wondered if the man was referring to him. An elbow nudge in his ribs made him grunt, his attention grabbed by a gnarled, ragged figure.
"Fhhend, ye nee' to wai' fo' ye tuhhn!"
Ignoring the comment, Roran took a few more steps forward before he was again hit on the side of his torso, this time with more power.
An old, poorly dressed beggar whose front teeth were all but missing laughed in his face as soon as Roran turned his head around.
"Ye can't go ahead like that. Ye can't-!" he said, extending his frail hands, gripping Roran's shoulders frenziedly.
"Don't bother, old man, we won't stay here for long," answered Prestov as he pulled the old man back, relieving Roran of this extra nuisance.
Sighing, Roran walked past the people carefully, trying not to bump into another citizen that had a certain grudge against him.
"Thank you, thank you for your selflessness and kindness. May your children be safe from this cursed war!" shouted a man who rapidly moved away from the crowd, carrying one of the roasted pieces of meat in his hands.
"That was the last one for now, but you don't have to wait for long! My delicacies are enough to feed you for two lifetimes as long as you can wait a little longer while the fire does its job!" shouted the merchant, extending his arms above, as if embracing the crowd. The people cheered and shuffled closer, their anticipation flaring. They whispered among themselves, throwing repeated fugitive glances at the cook, others nodding in approval or with gratitude.
Quickly covering the remaining distance, Roran pushed his way through the crowd and knocked on the large wooden table to attract the cook's attention.
"Delicious deer stew with a few chops of boar. Steamy, heartening rabbit soup… or should is be a large chunk of roasted meat from the best boar you ever tasted?" Came the loud voice of the cook who spoke without even turning around. "No? Nothing? Are your tastes too exquisite, perhaps?"
"No, I just want to-"
"Very well then," he said hastily, making a quick gesture with his bloody hand. "My assistant can offer you the necessary information about my other meals, but those are not as good as the ones I mentioned!" he continued, his voice trailing off as the cook raised his meat cleaver, bringing it down with force.
Roran looked strangely at the cook before the young boy abandoned his duties and appeared in front of him.
"Greetings, sir, how can I be of help?"
The young, raven haired boy had still a long way to reach his adolescence, but the tone of his voice and the conviction with which he spoke was impressive. Smiling, Roran placed his hands on the table and moved closer towards the boy. "I would like to know the answer to a few questions I have."
The boy's eyebrows met in a frown as he crossed his arms, eyeing Roran suspiciously. "Tell me the questions!"
Removing his arms from the table, Roran adopted a more serious tone as the boy clearly realized that he was not taken seriously.
"You're very perceptive for one so young," said Roran kindly, trying to make up for what happened earlier. "Now, when did you arrive in the city? I haven't seen you two around here."
The child sketched a small smile at the compliment. "We arrived yesterday, just when the sun was setting."
He paused for a while, scratching his arm, "And if you want to know, me and my father have come here because he said that we should offer help to those who need it."
"That is great!" replied Roran, trying not to be more inquiring than he already was. Turning his eyes from the child's persistent gaze, Roran looked around and gestured towards the supplies of meat. "You gathered an impressive amount of food, one that could feed both of you during the winter. Did you have any contribution?"
"I did!" the child replied with slight indignation." I hunted the rabbits myself, the ones that are part of the soup," he said with pride, locking his hands together before he slowly moved his left like he was pulling a string, releasing it shortly after.
"That's good to know," laughed Roran.
Despite the appearances, Roran was thinking endlessly about what kind of questions would draw out the answers he was seeking.
"I'm convinced that you had no problems on your way here, as you look like a true hunter already. These are dangerous times, and your selflessness may not be appreciated by the Empire or the thugs that lie in wait to prey on the helpless travelers."
The child's eyes widened. "The empire is-"
"Naren, check on the meat! I don't want it to become tougher and more devoid of juices than it should be!"
The cook abandoned his hatchet and turned around rapidly, eyeing Roran through narrow eyes, "What's with you and all these questions? You'll get thinner in no time if that mouth of yours continues to speak unchecked."
Roran drew his head back, slightly surprised by the cook's angry tone.
"I did not mean to-"
The cook threw him a scornful look, "But you did. What is it you want to know? You have three choices: you ask me, eat something from what I have to offer, or leave."
"How did you get here without us knowing it? You know that without protection you risk losing both your goods and your life."
The cook grunted and gripped a piece of cloth, cleaning his hands off the blood that stained them. "Heh… you come here, worrying about how I got here instead of delighting your mouth with one of my treats…"
Turning his attention away from Roran, he quickly shouted, "Naren, the cauldron! I don't want the stew to be too-"
"Got it!" replied the child, running past the two of them.
"Now, where were we…" spoke the man, his attention being divided between the crowd and Roran.
"Ah yes, about protection, eh?" he chuckled. "I did not come here alone. I and my companions, who have set camps over there," he gestured, "traveled together, passing from one location to another. Having seen the ravages of the war, we have gathered ourselves in a small group with the purpose of providing the Varden soldiers with everything they need to defend the rest of us and fight against the oppressor king."
Roran scratched his beard under the inquisitive gaze of the cook, who appeared to be looking into his very soul. "I don't understand… who supplied all that meat when the resources are greatly depleted because of the war?"
The man snickered. "Don't bother your mind with useless questions. Focus on the present and the moment at hand, for you can eat here as much as you want and without having to give anything in exchange!"
"That is very selfless of you, but what about-"
Contorting his face in anger, the cook slammed his fist on the table. "What about you cease your pestering questions and be on your way? I'm here to provide you with food, not answers, so be gone unless you decide to fill your inquiring mouth with something more nutrient," he spat as he turned around, grumbling angrily.
"You did a great job, did you know that? I will personally burn your home if I will lose my chance at a hearty meal because of you!" Shouted a man from the crowd.
"Go away, you ungrateful swine, and leave the man alone!" shouted another voice.
"Is that what a kind soul gets for giving away the food that is rightfully his so he could feed hungry mouths?"
"Ye spoiled bhaat! I knew thhaa ye be thable when I see ya!" shouted the beggar as well, courage igniting inside his old, frail body.
The people began to talk among themselves, throwing insults and shooting venomous glances at Roran in between.
"You deserve a beating for that!"
Suddenly, the shouts gave way to an eerie silence, only to be ignited shortly after, this time fiercer and more determined.
"Let's beat him!"
"Aye, I'm gonna punch that idio' in tha' face!"
Realizing that the situation was about to get messy as certain individuals moved towards him, Roran abandoned any thoughts of reasoning with the people and ran away from the hostile crowd, making his way to the outer, more impatient and docile rim of people.
"The meals are almost ready to be served, good people! Turn your attention away from that man and focus them here, on what truly matters!" shouted the cook, his powerful voice dwarfing the lesser hateful mumblings of the crowd.
Due to the cook's timely announcement, Roran could make his way towards Prestov with no incidents happening on the way. The captain awaited him beside the corner of a building, beckoning him to take shelter alongside him.
"Indeed you have a certain way of capturing the attention of the people, but this time it could very well work against you."
Lifting his head, he took a quick look at the crowd before he again focused his attention on Roran. "There's none that shows any interest in following you, luckily. Now, what did you find out?"
"Nothing of importance," he frowned. "The cook was too busy to answer my questions so he asked his son to provide me with the answers I was searching for."
Prestov chuckled,"Children can be craftier than you think and keep secrets better than a trained scout."
Roran smiled weakly, trying to not be indifferent to Prestov's amusement, "Maybe you are right, but this one was did not shine brighter than a copper coin in a chest full of silver."
The smile on his face vanished almost instantly, his features acquiring the usual serious, imposing look. "He mentioned something about the empire, but the cook cut him off in an instant.
"And you are surprised by that?" Asked Prestov, raising an eyebrow. "They are merchants, Roran, defenseless ones, so it is not surprising that they live with that innate fear of something happening to them while they travel between settlements."
Crossing his arms in a steadfast manner, Roran switched his gaze towards the gray, dirty blocks of stone that covered the soft ground underneath. The brown soil was something Roran was used to since he was a child. Being a farmer's child, he was taught everything about its nurturing properties in preparing for the healthy crops that would rise from the tiny seeds planted into it.
Fear…impending attacks from the empire… I know them too well, he mused, thinking about the fateful day when he and the rest of the villagers were forced to abandon their homes and crops so they could live another, uncertain day.
Say what you want, but I liked this chapter, and I have the feeling you will like them even more when I'm done with Roran and this whole story starts to piece up together. I now have a complete puzzle that came to me without even asking for it, and I'm more than grateful for it. You'll see what I'm talking about in due time.