Answers to reviews:
headreviewer mk2: I know.
Guest: I'll... think about it.
Guest: Not sure yet, but it's following the books, not the movie.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Inheritance Cycle or The Elder Scrolls.
Many weeks passed since the traders arrived then left Carvahall, and everything returned to it's usual routine. Winter was still in effect, but it did not stop Daemon from going into the Spine in order to hunt some game... though that always came up a little short. Prey seemed rare these days, and he was so sure there was strange tracks of a big beast, but he never could seem to find it.
Daemon also had to be there for Eragon, after he was informed that Roran was planning on on leaving for Therinsford to take a job at the mill. It hit Eragon hard, and all Daemon could do was be there for his friend and support him since it's clear Eragon didn't want Roran to go but knew he couldn't stop him.
The Dragonborn had also picked up on a change in Eragon lately. Her wasn't sure what it was, but something seemed to be taking most of his time as Daemon hardly saw him these days. And when he did, he'd say he was busy with something and couldn't leave it. Whatever it was, Daemon just shrugged it off and assumed Eragon had something busy to do... but something within him told him it wasn't as simple as he thought it was.
On the day of Roran's leaving, Eragon had asked Daemon to be there for support. Daemon agreed, since Roran was also his friend and he figured he might as well say goodbye and wish him well.
Right now, the Dragonborn stood by, watching Eragon and Roran exit the house, then waved at Garrow who waved back, his eyes grave, and watched as they trudged to the road. After a long moment he shut the door. As the sound carried through the morning air, Roran halted.
Eragon looked back and surveyed the land. His eyes lingered on the lone buildings. They looked pitifully small and fragile. A thin finger of smoke trailing up from the house was the only proof that the snowbound farm was inhabited.
"There is our whole world," Roran observed somberly.
Eragon shivered impatiently and grumbled, "A good one too." Roran nodded, then straightened his shoulders and headed into his new future. The house disappeared from view as they descended the hill.
It was still early when they reached Carvahall, but they found the smithy doors already open. The air inside was pleasantly warm. Baldor slowly worked two large bellows attached to the side of a stone forge filled with sparkling coals. Before the forge stood a black anvil and an iron-bound barrel filled with brine. From a line of neck-high poles protruding from the walls hung rows of items: giant tongs, pliers, hammers in every shape and weight, chisels, angles, center punches, files, rasps, lathes, bars of iron and steel waiting to be shaped, vises, shears, picks, and shovels. Horst and Dempton stood next to a long table.
Dempton approached with a smile beneath his flamboyant red mustache. "Roran! I'm glad you came. There's going to be more work than I can handle with my new grindstones. Are you ready to go?"
Roran hefted his pack. "Yes. Do we leave soon?"
"I've a few things to take care of first, but we'll be off within the hour." Eragon shifted his feet as Dempton turned to him, tugging at the corner of his mustache. "You must be Eragon. I would offer you a job too, but Roran got the only one. Maybe in a year or two, eh?"
Eragon smiled uneasily and shook his hand. The man was friendly. Under other circumstances Eragon would have liked him, but right then, he sourly wished that the miller had never come to Carvahall. Dempton huffed. "Good, very good." He returned his attention to Roran and started to explain how a mill worked.
"They're ready to go," interrupted Horst, gesturing at the table where several bundles rested. "You can take them whenever you want to." They shook hands, then Horst left the smithy, beckoning to Eragon and Daemon on the way out.
Interested, they followed. They found the smith standing in the street with his arms crossed. Eragon thrust his thumb back toward the miller and asked, "What do you think of him?"
Horst rumbled, "A good man. He'll do fine with Roran." He absently brushed metal filings off his apron, then put a massive hand on Eragon's shoulder. "Lad, do you remember the fight you had with Sloan?"
"Uh, yeah." Eragon nodded. Horst had heard of the fight through Katrina, plus Daemon mentioned it in passing conversation with the blacksmith, including mentiining the stone.
"What I wanted to know is if you still have that blue stone." Horst said seriously.
"What's this about, Horst?" Daemon asked, briefly noticing a look of panic on Eragon's face before he composed himself.
"If you still have that stone, Eragon, get rid of it as soon as possible." Horst said. "Two men arrived here yesterday. Strange fellows dressed in black and carrying swords. It made my skin crawl just to look at them. Last evening they started asking people if a stone like yours had been found. They're at it again today." Eragon blanched. "No one with any sense said anything. They know trouble when they see it, but I could name a few people who will talk."
Dread filled Eragon's heart. Whoever had sent the stone into the Spine had finally tracked it down. Or perhaps the Empire had learned of Saphira. He did not know which would be worse. Think! Think! The egg is gone. It's impossible for them to find it now. But if they know what it was, it'll be obvious what happened... Saphira might be in danger! It took all of his self-control to retain a casual air. "Thanks for telling me. Do you know where they are?" He was proud that his voice barely trembled.
"I didn't warn you because I thought you needed to meet those men! Leave Carvahall. Go home."
"All right," said Eragon to placate the smith, "if you think I should."
"I do." Horst's face softened. "I may be overreacting, but these strangers give me a bad feeling. It would be better if you stay home until they leave. I'll try to keep them away from your farm, though it may not do any good."
Eragon looked at him gratefully. He wished he could tell him about Saphira. Tell Daemon about Saphira. "I'll leave now," he said, and hurried back to Roran.
Daemon turned to Horst. "Who are these strangers, Horst?" He asked in a serious voice.
Horst sighed. "Not sure... Could be working for the King, I expect. Keep an eye on him, Daemon. And look out for yourself."
Daemon smirled a little. "I always do."
Exchanging goodbyes with Horst, Daemon walked away and went looking around for anyone who appeared suspicious and out of character amongst the villagers of Carvahall. Whoever these strangers were, they were after what Eragon had, which means they'll be looking for him and Daemon did not know if they were dangerous or not... but if they were agents of the King himself, then they were dangerous.
He continued walking until he heard a sibilant voice from around a house. "When did this happen?" The words were smooth, like oiled glass, and seemed to worm their way through the air. Underlying the speech was a strange hiss that made the hairs on Daemon's skin crawl.
"About three months ago." Someone else answered. Daemon identified him as Sloan.
Quickly hiding in the shadows, which was easy due to being a Nightingale of Nocturnal herself as well as the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, the shadows were his ally. He slid up against the wall of the butcher's, listening in while his hand rested on the pommel of his sword.
A third person spoke. The voice was deep and moist. It conjured up images of creeping decay, mold, and other things best left untouched. "Are you sure? We would hate to think you had made a mistake. If that were so, it would be most... unpleasant."
"Yeah, I'm sure. He had it then. I'm not lying. Plenty of people know about it. Go ask them." Sloan sounded shaken. He said something else that Daemon did not catch.
"They have been... rather uncooperative." The words were derisive. There was a pause. "Your information has been helpful. We will not forget you."
Sloan muttered something, then Daemon heard someone hurrying away. He peered around the corner to see what was happening. Two tall men stood in the street. Both were dressed in long black cloaks that were lifted by sheaths poking past their legs. On their shirts were insignias intricately wrought with silver thread. Hoods shaded their faces, and their hands were covered by gloves. Their backs were oddly humped, as though their clothes were stuffed with padding.
His eyes widened when he saw Eragon, also listening in and trying to see the strangers for himself. He watched as one of them stiffened then grunted peculiarly to his companion. They both swiveled around and sank into crouches. Daemon's hand gripped the guard of his sword, and he began to pull it out, especially when the strangers stalked toward Eragon with a smooth, noiseless gait. He knew they could see his face now. They were almost to the corner, hands grasping at swords...
"Eragon! Daemon!" Daemon snapped his head to the source of the one who spoke his voice. The strangers froze in place and hissed. Brom hurried toward them from the side, head bare and staff in hand. The strangers were blocked from the old man's view. Eragon tried to warn him, but his tongue and arms would not stir. "Eragon!" cried Brom again. The strangers gave Eragon one last look, then slipped away between the houses.
Who were they? Daemon thought with narrowed eyes, slowly sheathing his sword again before he saw Eragon collapse to his knees, and went to check on him as Brom joined them.
The old man offered Eragon a hand and pulled him up with a strong arm. "You look sick; is all well?"
Eragon gulped and nodded mutely. His eyes flickered around, searching for anything unusual. "I just got dizzy all of a sudden... it's passed. It was very odd—I don't know why it happened."
"You'll recover," said Brom, "but perhaps it would be better if you went home. Both of you." He sent Daemon a look, one Daemon couldn't place quite well but he did agree with the old man.
"I think you're right. Maybe I'm getting ill." Eragon said.
"Then home is the best place for you. It's a long walk, but I'm sure you will feel better by the time you arrive. Let me escort you to the road." Eragon did not protest as Brom took his arm and led him away at a quick pace, Daemon following behind. Brom's staff crunched in the snow as they passed the houses.
"Why were you looking for me?" Eragon asked curiously.
Brom shrugged. "Simple curiosity. I learned you were in town and wondered if you had remembered the name of that trader."
Trader? What's he talking about? Eragon stared blankly; his confusion caught the attention of Brom's probing eyes. "No," he said, and then amended himself, "I'm afraid I still don't remember."
Brom sighed gruffly, as if something had been confirmed, and rubbed his eagle nose. "Well, then...if you do, come tell me. I am most interested in this trader who pretends to know so much about dragons." Eragon nodded with a distracted air. They walked in silence to the road, then Brom said, "Hasten home. I don't think it would be a good idea to tarry on the way." He offered a gnarled hand.
Eragon shook it, but as he let go something in Brom's hand caught on his mitt and pulled it off. It fell to the ground. The old man picked it up. "Clumsy of me," he apologized, and handed it back. As Eragon took the mitt, Brom's strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and twisted sharply. His palm briefly faced upward, revealing the silvery mark. Brom's eyes glinted, but he let Eragon yank his hand back and jam it into the mitt.
"Goodbye," Eragon forced out, perturbed, and hurried down the road with Daemon. Behind them, they heard Brom whistling a merry tune.
"What was that about?" Daemon asked with a frown. And what was that mark on Eragon's palm?
"Nothing." Eragon said quickly. Daemon gave him a long look before he sighed and let it go. Soon, they parted ways for their respective hiomes, though Daemon cast a worried glance back at his friend as he watched him hurry towards his farm.
Even as Daemon walked back to his own home, something told him he should've demanded more out of Eragon until he talked, and another part told him he should go with Eragon...
And that's it for this chapter. The next one is where things will really take off.