Chapter 27: Teirm
Saphira tilted downwards, maintaining a steep and fast glide towards the coast. Below, mist and fog greyed the endless green of the terrain below. Eragon picked out a spot to land and they touched down on the soft turf.
"Oh hello there," a voice affecting boredom souded from behind them. Harry was sitting on a stump idly twirling a strange flat black disc on his right forefinger. He yawned, wavin his hand. "Dear me, I've been waiting forever."
Saphira growled warningly and Harry stepped back rather quickly, before grinning impishly. "Don't worry, Arya and the old guy are waaay behind us," he assured. He got a mischievous look. "Say, would you like to play a bit of a prank on the old guy?"
Brom landed breathing heavily. He had spotted Harry and Eragon playing chess while sitting atop a hillock. Arya sat next to them and was visibly restraining herself from shouting out moves at the two poor chess players. Dismounting some ways away, Brom approached. So engrossed were they, no one noticed him approaching. Grinning, the old rider began to stealthily creep towards them, intent on scaring the group.
He was nearly there. A fearsome roar scared him shitless as Saphira's head shot out from under the 'hillock,' actually a sod carpet thrown over her. Harry laughed when Brom tripped backwards at the sound. "Pinch!" Brom commanded in irritation. The wizard yelped but did not stop laughing.
Eragon was gasping for air on his back, tears of mirth running down his cheeks. Arya turned away to hide her smile. "Fools," he grumbled. "What if a traveler heard?"
Harry grinned. "I set up alert wards pretty far around us. If someone was in earshot, I'd know," he said. "Besides, it was totally worth the risk," he cackled. "You should see your face!"
Brom rolled his eyes. "Whatever, come on. We should make the city by nightfall."
They continued on foot, leaving Saphira outside the city borders atop a cliff which had enough cover to hide her but was positioned such that she could watch the city from her perch. The city slowly approached in the distance. They rode their horses, having just extracted them from the tent. With fresh mounts, they did not have to stop once before drawing near to Teirm. The dull thunder of the surf pounding the shore wafted all the way over to where they rode.
Proud ships with furled sails anchored at extensive docks jutting into the glittering azure sea. White cap waves rolled in from the sea and crashed against the surrounding sandy beaches. The city was contained behind a white wall a hundred feet high and thirty feet thick composed of large mortared limestone bricks. Two iron portcullises broke up the smooth surface. One faced the road inland, the other towards the shore and extensive docks. An enormous citadel rose above the entire city capped with a gleaming lighthouse. Only the citadel was visible beyond the walls.
"The Empire may have heard of us, either from the Ra'zac, Durza, or someone from Daret. Whatever happens, do not panic or flee," Brom ordered.
Arya nodded sharply and Harry murmured his agreement. He held them up for a moment and cast a few glamors, subtle things which altered facial structure just enough to render someone unfamiliar rather than recognizable.
"How big is this place?" Eragon asked in amazement. He was craning his neck to keep the top of the walls within sight.
Harry smiled. "They don't make cities like this anymore," he reminisced. "The only large one I've seen is London. It is many many times larger and the buildings are far far higher, but there are no walls like this."
"Larger?" Eragon gaped.
"Oh yes," Harry laughed. "London has a population of nine million."
Arya and Brom both were lost for words. "What was the total population of your world?" she asked quietly.
"Seven billion," he mentioned offhandedly. She choked.
"Seven billion?" she asked incredulously. Harry nodded.
"London is not even the largest city. It ranks about thirtieth in population. The most populous city is Tokyo with nearly forty million people."
At that point, his companions just gaped senselessly. Harry tugged them onwards. "Come on, I want to see what the inside of this place is like," he said.
Brom shook his head and composed himself. The guards at the front portcullis were approaching earshot.
At their approach, the guards crossed their pikes. "What's yer name?" one of them challenged in a bored tone.
"I'm Harry," Harry offered before Brom could make to speak. The old man tried to discretely glare at him, but Harry either ignored him or did not notice. Brom gave it even odds.
"Your friends?" the other asked.
"Family," he corrected. "Anise," he indicated Arya, "My sister," he explained. "Gedric, my grandfather," he indicated Brom, "and Roran, my brother."
The guards eyed them suspiciously. "Harry's a rather strange name, stranger."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I suppose yours is much better?" he challenged.
"Mine's Edric," he said proudly. "I'd say so. Why are you coming to Teirm?"
Harry smiled at the guard, pointing a thumb at Brom. "We're meeting our mother's family. We came all the way from Daret."
The guard regarded them suspiciously for a very long few seconds. Harry kept his muscles relaxed and his expression eager. Finally, the man sagged. "Right. Go on through, and don't cause trouble." He raised his pike back to vertical and waved them through the open gate.
"Thank you good sir," Harry smiled and waved, flicking Stupid's reins and making him canter forwards.
"I had a plan!" Brom hissed once they were out of earshot. They rode deeper. The houses were foreboding and grim. Harry noted that the place looked more like one enormous fortification than a residential port city. The entire city was built like a massive tiered layer cake, each concentric ring of buildings higher than the last. The roofs were flat slate surrounded by metal railings. In the center the tallest buildings were the citadel and the fortress. Though the citadel was taller, the fortress was built thick and defensible.
"This place looks ready for war," Eragon noted.
"It is," Arya agreed. "Teirm is notable even among elves for being the human settlement with the most recorded attacks and sackings."
Brom nodded. "Galbatorix provides this city with a large garrison, all the better to protect the mass of wealth the port sees moving through. The city is constructed as one enormous fortress. The roofs are tiered so archers can be stationed on them and shoot over each others' heads without worrying about friendly fire."
"I've never seen a city planned like this," Eragon said in wonder.
Harry scoffed. "You've never seen any cities besides Carvahall and maybe Therinsford." Eragon shifted in embarrassment.
Harry observed that the citizens were a rather miserable looking lot. Men walked around blatantly armed with massive swords and such, women hurried from house to house, and there were vanishingly few kids playing in the streets. "They're a cheery lot," he joked.
Brom nodded. "Same as everywhere else," he said grimly. "We have to find Jeod." He made to enter a tavern but Harry grabbed his hand. They ducked into an alley where Harry furtively withdrew his wand.
"Point me, Jeod." The wand pointed towards the west side of town. As they made their way around the citadel and fortress, the wand continued to rotate upon Harry's palm, guiding them directly towards Jeod. They arrived at an imposing looking manor house with a thick oak door. Across the street was a starkly contrasting cheery little herbalist shop. Harry read the sign aloud. "Angela's Herbs." That name sounded familiar- "Brom, why don't you meet with Jeod. If this is who I think it is, our visit just got a lot more interesting," Harry grinned.
Brom looked suspicious but knocked regardless. A butler emerged and they spoke to each other, but Harry left before he caught any words.
By the door of the shop a short woman with curly hair sat on a stool. In one hand she held a quill, the other was occupied by a frog. Harry assumed she was Angela, the herbalist. The store was sandwiched in between houses.
"Hello," Harry greeted the woman. "Are you Angela?" he asked.
Angela smiled cheerily. "Am I? Are any of us really who we say we are?"
Harry grinned happily. This one was just like Luna. "An excellent question," he complimented. "I like to think I am rather honest about my identity. But I suppose everyone lies about themselves, especially to themselves."
Angela appraised him. "Good answer!" she exclaimed. "And a relevant one, too. Why just now I'm trying to lie about this frog's identity in the hope of forcing it to change."
"But that's a toad- ahh. Whatever did toads do to deserve such harsh treatment? I hardly think they bore dragon hunters in an effort to extinguish the lives of their kin."
The herbalist looked up sharply with renewed interest. "Nothing so serious as the Banishing of Names," she admitted. "But toads are useful in all sorts of unsavoury brews. It would be for the best if people couldn't make those sorts of things anymore. Speaking of names, would you mind giving me yours?"
Harry rubbed his chin. "Harry. I have a bit of fondness for toads, myself," he admitted. "A friend of mine had a rather unfaithful one named Trevor. Always trying to escape him," Harry shook his head.
"Toads are rather picky about where they live, why, this one has tried to escape me no less than-" the toad leapt out of Angela's upturned palm but she deftly snatched him out of the sky. "-twenty seven times, now."
"Perhaps you ought to fetch him a toadstool," Harry remarked wryly.
"Frogstool," Angela wagged her finger at him.
"Care to sell me anything?" Harry asked curiously, entering the dimly lit shop. Vines and plants covered the walls and ceilings. Behind a shop counter, a wall of drawers stood. The drawers were haphazardly arranged in every size imaginable, some large enough to fit barrels, some smaller than Harry's little finger. A gap between the top of the drawer wall and the roof of about a foot housed a pair of dim red eyes.
Harry eyed the top of the shelf warily. "Angela?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes?" she did not look up from her parchment, quill scratching away.
"Do you perhaps have any evil red-eyed creatures lurking above your drawers and shelves?"
"Perhaps I do," she remarked, "Though Solembum has never given any indication of evilness. I suppose he could be biding his time. Werecats are notoriously cunning and patient."
"Werecat?" Harry said curiously. "What do they turn into full cats on the full moon or something?"
Angela laughed. "Nay, on the full moon they are no more catlike or humanlike than they choose. They remain just as mysterious and enigmatic as they are on every other day." The red eyes retreated further into the shadows.
Harry perused the myriad of plants crawling along the walls, floor, and ceiling. He recognized many of them from Herbology and did not expect to see them in this world. "Where in the world did you find Devil's Snare?" he asked bewildered, slapping away the vines curling around his wrist.
The herbalist set down her frog and quill. "You know," she said, hands on her hips. "You are hands-down the most interesting customer I have ever had."
"Oh?" Harry asked bemused. "I'm flattered, Mooneater."
Angela actually visibly lost composure. "And which tribe granted you friend-of-urgal status?" she asked in genuine surprise.
"The Bolvek tribe," Harry admitted. "Yourself?"
She grinned. "Likewise. Is Nar Talrok still chieftain? I liked the ram quite a bit."
He shook his head. "Nar Garzhvog is now. But I fear for their safety."
"Why?" she asked, cocking her head. "The Bolvek tribe is the strongest among them."
Harry grimly scryed the village with a basin in the back. Angela's face reddened in fury at the sight of the totem."Blasphemy!" she hissed angrily. "I would bet my true name it was Durza, was it not?" Harry nodded.
"He forced me and my companions to move from Palancar Valley, and many other crimes besides."
Angela scowled. "I loathe shades. They practice the foulest magic, unholy necromancy and the like. Why, I'd like to dig out Durza's heart with a dull hairpin!" she exclaimed vehemently.
Harry privately agreed. "Holy necromancy is where it's at," he joked. Angela rolled her eyes.
"Are you planning on buying anything?" she asked exasperated.
Harry nodded eagerly. "I do not want to fetch all this stuff myself," he admitted. "I can pay you pretty much whatever you want."
Angela eyed his arm muscles. "You're a smith?" He nodded. "Got any interesting weapons?" she asked.
"Hmm," he wondered. "I can take orders if you like? I'll have it for you by tomorrow," Harry proposed. Angela thought about it, then nodded. She moved to behind the counter and bent over, shuffling around through piles of stuff before withdrawing a three foot case. She popped the latches. Resting upon the velvet interior were two halves of a long weapon. It looked like a double ended blade staff. The center ends of the pieces were threaded to be screwed together.
"May I?" Harry asked permission. Angela nodded. He assembled the thing and hefted it, noting the balance and weight. "What is this called?"
"A huthvir," she told him. "Traditionally used by especially religious short and superstitious ninnies," she grinned.
"It's a dwarvish weapon?" Harry clarified. Angela nodded. He hefted the thing and smiled. "I think I can manage something," he assured her.
He untwisted the pieces and set them carefully back in the case. Angela bade him goodbye and whipped out a cloth to polish the blades.
The butler let Harry in without challenge so he thanked the man, trotting deeper into the manor. The inside was opulently decorated with artwork in gilded frames, intricate glass chandeliers, and dark wood trim. Intriguing sculptures rested on little tables against door frames and corners. He heard indistinguishable murmuring, garbled and distorted in the familiar way anti-eavesdropping spells caused. Following the noise, Harry knocked on a walnut door next to a plaque with Jeod's name and company on it.
The voices paused and the door swung open. It was Brom. "Come in, boy. We haven't got all day," he said irritably. Harry waved him off and dropped into a plush chair inside. It was an L-shaped room. The far end was dominated by a large desk behind which was a wall-to-wall floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Chairs were arranged around the desk, one of which Arya occupied. Two others were empty. In the external corner, Eragon sat on a much more plush chair with his legs crossed. In his lap was a closed book, yet one which Harry recognized. The Dominance of Fate.
Brom followed his gaze and startled. "Jeod, you've expanded your collection! I had no idea these even existed outside of the elves and dwarves."
"I've seen one in an urgal library," Harry piped up.
Brom was taken aback, but said nothing. Instead, he introduced him to Jeod.
Jeod was a wiry older man sitting behind the large desk in a tall chair. He had grey wispy hair and a mournful face with short eyebrows. He wore expensive but unkempt clothes, and had a long and prominent scar from his scalp to his temple. "Hello," he greeted Harry. "I am Jeod."
"Harry," he introduced, shaking Jeod's extended hand. "I hear we have some things to talk about."
Jeod glanced sharply at Arya and Brom who tipped his head. "Very well. If we wish to speak privately, I know the place." He beckoned them to follow. Eragon reluctantly shelved the book and followed them out. They collected their horses and rode to the stronghold. "Lord Ristheart demands that all merchants maintain an office in the keep. We do it to keep him happy, and the walls there are thick."
The merchant guided them to an alcove with a metal ring mounted on the wall. "If you tie your mounts here, no one will bother them," he instructed. Eragon tied off the bundle of reins, securing Glenwing, Cadoc, Snowfire, and Stupid to the anchor. Jeod waved them over to a door and led them through dark stone hallways to a thick ironbound door which he unlocked and pushed open. "Come in," he invited.
They filed in obligingly. Rather than the rather neat and bookish office in Jeod's house, this one was clearly lived in. Piles of documents and scrolls were strewn about various surfaces, leather bound ledgers on shelves against the wall. Several chairs arrayed around the desk, resting on a thick bearskin rug.
Against the wall opposite the desk was a hearth which Jeod quickly fuelled and lit with a torch. The warmth from the fire banished the dim lighting and the damn cold of the keep. Then he turned to Brom. "You, old man, have some explaining to do."
Brom's face crinkled in a smile. "Who are you calling an old man? Last I saw you there was no grey in your hair. Now it's in the final stages of decomposition."
Jeod smiled fondly. "You look exactly the same as I last saw you: a crotchety old man. Come on, get on with the story. I hear it's your profession now."
Brom relaxed into a chair and lit his pipe, puffing greenish smoke rings which zipped up the hearth's chimney. "You remember our little task in Gil'ead?" he asked.
"Yes, of course." Jeod nodded. "That sort of thing is rather hard to forget."
"An understatement, but all the more true for it," Brom agreed. "After the search separated us, I hid from the soldiers in a small hidden basement room. In boredom, I trawled through the boxes and can you guess what I found?" he asked.
"No," Jeod breathed in awe.
"Yes," Brom said smugly. "A blue dragon egg." Jeod glanced at him.
"You trust these people?" he asked.
"With my life," Brom nodded. "I'd better, since most of them have saved it already."
Jeod laughed. "Brom you old dog! I can't say I miss the mortal peril, but I definitely miss the thrill. Had any good adventures?"
He nodded. "Oh yes, plenty." He jabbed his pipe at Harry. "This one you wouldn't even believe. He got hint of the Varden's shipping troubles," Brom looked at Jeod meaningfully, "and immediately began production of supplies for our friends down south."
"Really?" Jeod observed Harry critically. "How have you managed that?" he asked the wizard.
"Mad skills," Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, tell us about your lost shipments and any news that needs running to the Varden. I hear that's on our itinerary soon."
Jeod crossed his arms. "I want to hear the rest of this story first, Brom."
The old man obliged. "I disguised myself and got out of Gil'ead with the egg. I made it to the Varden who stashed it for safekeeping. They extracted a promise to train the next rider, whoever the egg hatched for once it did. Unfortunately, I couldn't do that dead and so I hid in Carvahall, a small village way up north."
Jeod frowned. "You mean the Varden knew you were alive the whole time and didn't tell me?"
"Yes."
He sighed. "I guess if the message got intercepted it would defeat the point of hiding and scupper your plans. Alas, the Varden only calls on me when they need more stuff," he said wryly. "So then," Jeod's eyes darted between Arya, Harry, and Eragon, "are you currently fulfilling your duty?"
Brom nodded. "But we're skipping around in the story. Hush, you." Jeod grinned. "Arya here," he gestured, "was the courier for the egg. The agreement was to ferry it between the elves and Varden in the hopes that it would hatch for one of them. Politics," he said in disgust. "Regardless, Durza," his eyes darkened, "managed to find out Arya's route and ambushed her in the Spine-"
"Harry saved me from Durza, killed his body, and helped me find the dragon egg again." Arya interjected.
"Find it again?" Jeod said quizzically.
"I sent it away with magic when it became apparent that Durza would defeat my guards and I. This was before Harry arrived and nicked him with a poisoned blade," she explained.
Jeod raised an eyebrow at Harry. "What?" he complained self-consciously. "I won," he crossed his arms stubbornly and dared the merchant to argue.
"-Anyways," Brom crossed, "the egg went off the mark and arrived in front of Eragon here. It hatched for him, but by the time it did, the Empire sent the Ra'zac sniffing around Carvahall. Vengeance for Eragon is another task we're here to finish. The creatures managed to kill Garrow in a horrific manner. Harry found him drenched in Seithr oil–the dangerous kind. Besides hopefully ferreting out the Varden's spy with whatever information you can give us, we will find the Ra'zac's lair. We need to take a little peek at the shipping record for Seithr oil."
Lines appeared on Jeod's face as he thought. "That's a tall order, my old friend. Only Brand, Ristheart's administrator of trade, is allowed to see the records with any regularity. The record room is in this keep, but under a rather heavy guard." He spread his arms deprecating. "Lowly merchants such as myself are not allowed in, for fear we will falsify the records and cheat the Empire out of its precious taxes."
Brom gestured to Harry. "If we can get a glance inside, the guards shall pose no problem."
"A much more doable task," Jeod reassured the old rider. "While you wait for your opportunity, my house is your house. However," he gestured to the piles and mountains of parchment and enormous ledgers, "this is the paperwork for one business, and mine is certainly not the largest. You had better be able to carve out a lot of time for your examinations, or else be prepared to return many times."
With a smile Brom remarked, "If we can impose upon your hospitality for such a duration, I foresee no problems."
Jeod smiled widely, eyes crinkling. "It will be a pleasure to host you as my guests for however long you deem necessary. I've missed you, old friend." He clapped Brom on the back.
Harry browsed Jeod's ledgers while the old gasbags flapped their gums at each other. He whistled lowly, catching the merchant's attention. "Bad year of trade?" he asked rhetorically.
Jeod scowled. "No ship captain will even take my goods anymore. Every shipment I send out, whether by sea or land, is hit by bandits and pirates. Even without your suspicions, Brom, I'd have soon reached the conclusion there was a leak somewhere."
"Ha!" Brom exclaimed, "piracy. I'd sooner believe you a rather poor merchant, my friend," he teased. "Why would you ever choose to be a bean counter over a scholar?"
"After Gil'ead, I was done with reading musty scrolls and sitting around in gloomy dark rooms. I wanted to help Ajihad, and this was the best way. My father–as you well know–was a merchant," Jeod explained. "Ajihad and the Varden helped me get off the ground, and ever since I have been using my business as a front to ship goods to Surda–or at least I used to."
"Have you tried using intermediaries?" Brom asked.
Jeod's face was dark. "More evidence. Anyone I contract to ship goods is subject to the same piracy and brigandry of my company. People are gossiping about my black luck behind my back already. Tronjheim is running low on supplies and the dwarves will not voluntarily starve to feed the Varden. If there is indeed a traitor responsible for my misfortune, you are needed there. I cannot bear the thought of one with that much knowledge and power running unchecked."
Brum mulled it over. "We will certainly head there eminently, but we have one last stop before making the trek across the Hadarac."
"Gil'ead?" Jeod guessed humorlessly.
"Gil'ead," Brom agreed. "The chances of another egg being there are vanishingly rare, but there may be clues. And if you are losing shipments with such frequency, I figure there is a very good chance the Varden's couriers may be experiencing the same thing. It will also give me the time necessary to prepare Eragon for the politics that the Varden will thrust upon him. Islanzadi, Hrothgar, Ajihad, and their respective high councils will all try to get their hooks into him. Better to stall with a credible mission such as this and prepare better for the politicking that will surely follow Eragon's arrival in Tronjheim. Hopefully, we'll get a lead on the Ra'zac and be able to slay them, too. I'd like a year ideally to train him."
Jeod looked agreeable. "Very well. Shall we return to my house? The amenities will surely beat this drafty old fort."
"Is it possible to swing by the records room before we leave?" Brom asked.
"I suppose so," he said agreeably. They were led on a different route out than they came in. Halfway along they came to a heavily guarded corridor. It was long and there was only a single door set halfway down on the right side, the side which was up against the colossal Teirm wall. If someone wanted to access the room, they'd have to use the door or tunnel through several dozen feet of closely fitted limestone blocks.
Jeod did not even try to enter the corridor, instead continuing past the intersection and out the front of the building. They circled back around to the rear and retrieved the horses. Night had fallen by the time the five of them returned to Jeod's house. The merchant indicated his stables and Eragon volunteered to stable the horses.
Everyone enjoyed a full meal prepared by Jeod's butler. Harry had almost forgotten how nice it was to have food prepared for him by a professional. He heartily congratulated the man on his way up to the room Jeod set aside for him.
Instead of sleeping, Harry tossed out his tent and made his way to the forges. He had an order to fill. The wizard had the itching feeling that he would see Angela several more times before Galbatorix was in the ground and wanted a good relationship with her. A strange woman like that had a lot of secrets, and secrets could be very dangerous indeed.
Parchment rustled as Harry scribbled and crossed out plans. He eventually settled on the design she had shown him with a few key differences. Like the veins in his broomsticks, Harry added a capillary system into the haft which would feed a liquid onto the blade. An herbalist would surely appreciate the ability to use her own brews on her weapons. He had an inkling that the 'most honorable race' of dwarves would frown rather heavily on the use of poisoned weapons, and her old weapon probably had no such features.
The forging began in earnest. Harry used 1095 steel from his foundry to start. Pounding two billets into the rough shape, Harry reached his magic through his tools and began imposing his will on the hot metal. Every stroke brought the final form closer to what he envisioned. Once finished with the grinding and sharpening process, Harry carefully transfigured the tiniest layer of air he could between the center of the blades. Two perfectly flat halves of each blade. Harry retrieved a tiny chisel and mallet and began etching the poison veins in the blade. The opening to where they reached was nearly invisible to the naked eye, but it was there. Tiny little capillaries around the edge of the blade.
To reseal the two halves of each blade, Harry tried something new. The surfaces were flawless and his standard deviation spell returned a literal zero, so he knew if he could get it right it would work flawlessly. Harry wanted to try vacuum welding. He added another appliance near the smithy, a glass-fronted box enchanted with supernatural durability. Using clamps, Harry perfectly aligned the two halves of the blades and set them up slightly apart in clamps, then sealed the box.
Using vanishing charms, Harry removed all the air in the box. Somewhat concerningly, the metal frame holding the glass panes groaned under the stress, but they held, and that was all that mattered. He cast the vanishing spell over and over again until eventually, when he cast the spell while focused on the air in the box, the magic slipped and failed. He took that to mean it was a perfect vacuum and carefully maneuvered the vices together with magic.
Where the two halves of each blade met, Harry could see no seam. But then, even if it wasn't welded he wouldn't see it. The human eye couldn't pick out such subtle indicators. Here goes nothing, he thought. Gripping the sliding top of the vacuum chamber, Harry heaved against the pressure differential resistance. The crack of displaced air rang out and he felt a slight breeze as the indoor air shifted around to accommodate the missing gas.
The blades were perfect. Harry could not pry the halves apart and was forced to concede that they were fully welded. A tiny little hole at the base of the tang was all the indication that the sharp blades were specially designed to accommodate poisoning. Back up in the courtyard, Harry sang a wooden shaft out of a new oak tree. Indented English described the enchantments he intended to add.
He returned to the workshop and polished the wood until it gleamed before retrieving a long gold wire. Carefully, Harry hammered the ductile metal into the inset inscriptions. Retrieving two egg-sized diamonds, he coaxed the wood into enveloping the precious stones, just below the blades. As was becoming his signature, Harry changed the color of the diamond to resemble an emerald. He linked the diamonds to draw power from the tree, and linked the enchantments to the diamonds.
Harry added the generic suite; unbreakability, eternally maintained, eversharp, and such, but also incorporated an everful enchantment on the hidden compartment he added towards the center of the haft. The two pieces scewed together like a nut into a bolt. The protruding end of the screw was hollow in the middle, shaped for a small cylinder to be inserted. The inner part of the indented end had a tiny needle in it to poke into the poison container. Harry designed the mechanism for easy swapping of poisons.
It was only an hour or two past midnight at that point, so he had some time for more decoration work. Soon gilded vines spiralled up the haft from a sort of interlocking root system where the halves met. The diamonds were made to look like tree canopies with wooden branches holding them in place. Harry proudly set aside the completed project. If some amazing feature leapt out at him, he was not averse to adding it, but he had a quick chore to complete before going to bed.
Discretely, Harry padded down the hall to the records room. Shrouded with Death's cloak, the guards' eyes passed right through him. When he reached the door, Harry grinned madly. There was a tiny barred window set high on the door, just big enough to spot an ambusher on the other side. Harry focused his gaze through the bars, quickly blanketed both the interior and the hall with a silencing charm, and apparated.
The instant he landed, Harry canceled the charm. If the guards noticed that they couldn't make sound for a second, they didn't care for no one raised the alarm or even spoke. The only thing the wizard could hear outside was the gentle clinking of mail as armor shifted slightly with the men's breathing and posture changes.
Shelves upon shelves of impeccably sorted and shelved ledgers adorned the walls and extended into the room, forming long aisles. Against the wall with the door there was a desk on either side with a single chair each. Dimly lit lanterns hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, yet the place was empty. Harry breathed out a held breath quietly, and apparated back to Jeod's house. On his way down the hall to his room, he had to twist desperately to avoid crashing into a woman. That must be Helen, Jeod's wife, he thought. Heart pounding, Harry quietly slipped into his room, entered his tent, and made his way to his room, dropping heavily into bed.
Blinky raised her head from her warm stone and hissed a bleary goodnight. Hedwig did not stir from her perch. Head on the pillow, Harry consciously relaxed his muscles. The adrenaline rush rapidly faded, leaving him fatigued from the desperate racing flight against Saphira and the long day of intensive forging and sneaking. Snuggling deeper into his familiar bed, Harry allowed sleep to quickly claim him.