Brom was a suspiciously good flier for someone who should never have left the ground without jumping in his life.
Harry was finally in his element. He, Brom, and Eragon all flew in loose formation under the night sky. They had left Daret only a couple hours ago and already crossed weeks worth of distance. They followed Saphira until Brom called a halt. The dragon was the slowest of the three of them, and Harry had worked out her speed to be somewhere around seventy miles per hour when she was pushing herself.
They'd agreed to try and cover some distance immediately out of Daret, mostly on Harry's suggestion that they fly at night. Brom was the only one of them worn out by a day of walking, so it was no surprise that he was the one to call a stop.
They were navigating by Harry's point-me charm bound for Teirm. After all, there was no point in bothering with roads, rivers, or terrain when they had unlimited supplies and could fly right over even the toughest terrain.
So when they set down, it was an unremarkable patch of flat grass they pitched the tent on. Harry conjured a giant pan for Saphira and poured conjured, fresh cold water from his canteen until it was nearly full and she could drink her fill.
Brom went to bed straight away. Harry and Eragon took turns in the shower before succumbing to sleep. Harry's dream that night was particularly significant.
The boy had become a man at some point. His face and build had matured, and so had his dragon. Travel had been good to him and his friends. His dragon was enormous, glittering dark purple as he flew, leading a formation of his friends.
Below, a familiar mountain range slid past.
The man spotted something far below, something out of sight. Harry could not turn his head to get it in his view.
Somehow, Harry knew the mental message the man sent to his friends.
"Look, down there!"
But before Harry could see just what exactly was down there, someone was prodding him awake.
"How are you still asleep?" Eragon muttered. "It's almost noon!"
Harry shielded his eyes. Sunlight spilled from the open flap and chilly fresh air spurred him to pull his covers tighter about himself.
"You learn to cherish the sleep you get when you're an OWL student," Harry groaned. "Why wake me when we aren't going to start flying until the sun goes down?"
"Training," Eragon said, suddenly too eager for Harry's liking.
Harry groaned again and mushed his face into the pillow.
Eragon yanked his blanket off. Harry hissed like a wet cat and resentfully went about brushing his teeth and dressing for the day. "You're going to get it, mate," he warned Eragon as he conjured a Gryffindor hoodie and pulled it over his head.
"We'll see," Eragon said loftily. Harry put his makeshift glasses on and saw that Eragon already had pads on and a wooden stick in hand.
"Why do you already have that?" Harry asked, putting a healthy bit of distance between himself and Eragon. At least, as much as the rather cramped tent allowed.
"In case you needed more encouragement to wake up," Eragon grinned.
Despite his reluctance, Harry followed Eragon outside.
In two days, they'd made it as far as the Spine once more. Fläm Lake bordered the jagged mountains, fringed by forests, creeks, and marshes. With broomsticks and on dragonback, Alagaesia began to feel rather small. Flying immediately took a load of pressure off everybody's shoulders. They were moving so quickly that wasting time was much less of a concern. Since Brom and Harry were in agreement that they should only fly at night, the day was theirs to spend at their leisure.
Brom waited for them outside. Harry had taken to leaving a folding table and four chairs leaned up against the wall by the kitchenette so that they did not need him personally to set up eating outside. Brom had set up the table and only one folding chair. Evidently it would be Harry versus Eragon today. Fläm Lake was a deep blue mirror to the north of their campsite, cool air wafting off the wavy surface.
"We will be fighting with real swords today," he announced.
"Sounds a bit dangerous," Harry remarked.
Brom inclined his head. "We will use magic to keep our swords from cutting. But steel is heavier than wood, and an overzealous strike at the head can kill with blunt force just as easily as a lethal cut. Nonetheless, sticks cannot teach many critical aspects of swordplay, and so we must use steel."
Brom fought first with Eragon. The spell he used was 'geuloth du knifr,' and he was the one to cast it for Harry, who struggled most with Alagaesia's magic. Brom and Eragon had the first bout.
"I don't trust you two not to accidentally kill each other from some poorly-estimated strike," Brom said, drawing himself up and squaring off against Eragon. "No strikes at the head or with overwhelming force, regardless of padding."
He struck out at Eragon.
Harry was normally the one fighting the young Rider, which never quite gave him the opportunity to see what the two of them looked like. As a spectator, Harry was able to see what swordplay truly looked like from the outside.
It was less impressive than movies would have him think. Maybe Eragon was still not used to the increased weight of Zar'roc, but the exchange had a push and pull as both Eragon and Brom struck, backed up, and worked to reverse the momentum of their blades.
The clash was also louder, steel ringing over the rippling grass each time their blades met.
For all of Eragon's improvements, Brom still had a lot to teach him, and finished the fight with a flurry of blows that saw Eragon on the back foot until the older man was able to tap his sword against his shoulder, blade first.
Next it was Harry's turn. Brom did not go easy on him. Harry had half forgotten what it felt like to be so outclassed in a fight. The added weight of a real sword didn't help. It made him feel even clumsier. Brom's movements were slower than with the mock swords, but he had obvious experience swinging a real weapon, experience that shone through and served Harry an even more humiliating defeat than normal.
"Good," Brom grunted.
"Good?" Harry asked incredulously. "You smoked me."
Brom snorted. "Of course I did. I've been doing this for years. But you're applying yourself like you weren't before. I can see it in your eyes, the way you watch me move. You are not letting your limbs fight for you. You are making and executing plans, watching for openings – you're fighting deliberately. It's the fastest way to get better. What changed your mind?"
Harry sobered. "Yazuac."
Brom made a dark noise in his throat. "Yes, I imagine that would do it."
They stood around in awkward silence a moment. Eragon broke in. "Am I to spar with Harry now?"
Brom took a moment to consider. "No," he decided. "Harry has more ground to make up than you do. Now that he's actually trying, it's not a waste for me to spend more time on him. Take this time to practice magic. Situations are rarely so fortuitous, but you should gain experience using magic while you are well rested and clear headed. It makes a difference, and you may be surprised by your capabilities."
He regarded the empty plains for a moment. "Garjzla is the word for light. Use it to turn a patch of grass purple." And with that challenge issued, Brom turned back to Harry to continue his remedial lessons.
Their second bout, Harry thought he did better. It was exhausting, really paying attention to every last detail. That flow state Harry wanted to fall into constantly beckoned him, lured him to mindlessly trade blows until he saw an opening. It was a lot of mental effort to consciously make a plan to create an opening for himself, all while fending off Brom's attacks and penetrating stare.
"Are we in a staring contest?" Harry joked, rubbing his shoulder. He mended the bruise with a flick of his wand.
"The eyes are the window to the soul," Brom said. "Watch them closely, see where they go, and know what your opponent is thinking. If you may, guard your own so they do not betray you. I shall fight as most men do so you may understand the advantage this grants."
They fought again. Harry paid special attention to Brom's eyes. It made fighting tougher when both of their swords were in his peripheral vision, but Brom was right; he could catch some strikes before they happened. When Brom's irises glanced down at Harry's knees, flicked up to his sword, and then lingered on them again, it was a pretty good indicator of where the next blow would land. Harry prepared and when that strike came, he was ready with a riposte that struck the inside of Brom's thigh.
"Good!" Brom cried. "Again!"
The next bout, he was subtler with where he looked. But Harry had seen it once and now had some idea what to look for. Brom's glances were less obvious, yet Harry managed again to predict a couple of blows. This time, Brom was less free with allowing retaliation to land. He blocked Harry's ripostes and fought on until Harry misread a glance behind him and got smacked with the flat of Brom's sword for it.
All the eye contact reminded Harry of legilimency, which gave him pause.
"Do you ever read minds while fighting?" Harry wondered. "What better telegraph than the mind of the enemy?"
Brom scowled. "A person's mind is their most private sanctum. To violate it without great cause is evil. Against petty footmen, I do not bother. Against foes who try to do the same, yes, it is a valuable tactic. But those foes will know how to defend their minds and as such will give away less than the average soldier or guard. For most, the eyes will betray enough."
They fought for another hour. Harry was unused to sustaining such high effort for so long. By the end of it, he was panting, sweating, and chugging water from his canteen.
Meanwhile, Eragon was sitting in the grass, the shiny spot on his palm glowing as he muttered "Garjzla" to himself intermittently, turning a patch of grass bright, shadowed, warped as if through a distorted lens, trying to change its color to purple.
Harry never had much time to watch him work at his problem; Brom punished any slip in attention and the respites between bouts were short. Yet they had the whole day to kill, and Brom was eager to catch them up on using real swords.
Supper was quick. They were all antsy to get going. Saphira had slept through most of the day and wanted to get going. It was sunset when they took off, following Harry and the Elder Wand's towards Teirm. They flew over the backbone of the Spine, the largest and westernmost part where mountains stretched from horizon to horizon, each as tall and snow capped as the last, uncountable jagged vertebrae reaching for the navy, starlit sky.
Eragon had no idea the world could be so large! The Spine had always loomed impossibly huge around Carvahall. Yet these new mountains were all familiar, and none of them were the ones Eragon knew from home. As they flew overhead at night, they spotted dots of firelight deep in the hidden valleys. Villages, bonfires, and bobbing torches far, far below.
Who lives down there? Eragon wondered to Saphira.
Who knows? She shrugged. Whoever they are, they are dangerous enough to slay half of Galbatorix's armies.
Eragon had nearly forgotten that legend. It was a tale he lumped in with all the other superstitions surrounding the Spine when he went hunting. Dwelling on every little thing people said about it would drive him crazy. He only kept the practical advice and his learned experience in mind.
With respect and a bit of admiration, Eragon gazed down at the spots of light. Whoever they are, they evidently wish to be left alone.
Despite how enormous the mountains were, all distance seemed trivial on dragonback. Soon enough the tall jutting spikes fell away. Far out at the very edge of the horizon, torchlight spilled from a little spot.
To their left, a river flowed through a gap in the Spine, spots of light dotting along its length.
"Do we press on?" Eragon called over the wind to the small figures ahead, crouched over broomsticks.
"Teirm closes their gates at sundown!" Brom shouted back. "We can't get in no matter what tonight. We need to land close enough that the city is less than a day's walk."
"And that spot of light, that's Teirm?" Eragon called.
Harry glanced over his shoulder. "According to my point-me charm, yeah! Is there a road down there? We can land in the woods just off the road and take it into town tomorrow morning."
"Yes, along a river that cuts through the pass, from Woadark Lake to the ocean. The torchlight follows it." Brom gestured with his arm. It was tough to track exactly where he was pointing from so far up and away. "What time is it?"
Harry made a gesture. Something glowed briefly in front of him. "Two AM!" he called back.
They made their descent then, while it was dark. The moon was waning gibbous, and cast enough light still that if someone was looking, they might still spot Saphira. They flew low to the descending foothills, keeping the layout of the hills ahead in their minds to navigate towards
Eragon checked in on Saphira. She was tiring, but still had the energy to press on a bit further.
An hour later, they landed in a clearing half an hour from the road and two hours from Teirm's front gate. As they drew close to the landing site, Eragon became aware of a second horizon. Above the pool of orange light yet below the nighttime sky, a strip of brighter navy blue banded the western side of the world.
Awed, Eragon pointed it out to Saphira.
It makes me feel insignificant, Eragon marveled. It seems as though it goes on for eternity.
It will take more than this to make me feel insignificant, Saphira sniffed. Yet he felt her awe all the same.
Harry circled their campsite muttering.
"You're sure your spells will keep us hidden?" Brom asked. Harry nodded.
"Nobody is hunting us. The only possible way I could see it being defeated is if someone was on our tail and followed our footsteps straight to the tent," Harry yawned. "Unless we are literally being pursued, we will not be found. And even then, I bet they'd need a damned good tracker to find us. You can go past the line and see for yourself, if you want."
Brom waved him off. "Tomorrow morning, maybe."
They all went to sleep.
The next morning, Brom took Harry up on his offer and tested the campsite's concealments himself. To Eragon, it looked rather bizarre. Brom spent ten minutes frowning and growling, trying to step inside the ring. At the end of it all, he muttered under his breath, flinching, and managed to shoulder his way across.
He gasped and stumbled through the wardline.
Harry grinned and clapped.
"Bravo!" he called. "What was it like?"
"Very irritating," Brom growled. "I could sense that your minds were ahead of me, and I could see where my footsteps leading out were, but my mind refused to put it all together until I forced myself to walk over the border."
"Did you use magic?" Harry wondered. "Did the protections stop any spells?"
"I could not dispel it," Brom admitted. "I tried generic magic to end the effect, but my efforts were wasted. I had to force my legs to move. It was as if all my senses were certain there was nothing remarkable about this clearing, yet I was incapable of walking forward. I had to deliberately go through the physical limb manipulations of walking while convincing myself I wasn't trying to move forward. It was very uncomfortable."
"But it can be defeated," Eragon observed.
"Yes," Brom agreed. "Though I suspect only by those who can see with their minds. If I did not know, even if I saw the prints, I think I would walk in circles around this clearing for a hundred years and never find the camp."
"I suppose we'll all sleep well, then," Harry grinned. "So, to Teirm we go?"
"To Teirm we go," Brom agreed.
Saphira took off without warning. Eragon caught a sense of irritation from Saphira. Wait! He called after her, but she blocked him from her mind.
"Abrupt," was all the comment Brom made.
Thus far, Eragon had been largely spared the chore of walking on their trip. Today, he was given greater appreciation for what Saphira had spared him from. He wasn't sure, but he suspected she was unhappy having to hide herself now that they were near a human settlement. It couldn't be nice, feeling like an outlaw everywhere she went.
The terrain back to the road was not as tough as the northernmost section of the Spine up by Palancar Valley, but Eragon did not have the benefit of knowing the land, the game trails, the easy passes like the back of his hand. They trudged through bushes and over roots, parting low hanging branches and shoving through foliage on their descent down towards the road.
Once they reached the proper road, Harry gave a great sigh of relief. Brom shot him a dirty look. They hurried down to the dirt road. It would not do to be spotted coming out of the mountains by travelers who might spread the story.
Woadark River rushed alongside them, much deeper and quicker than the Anora had been. The whole journey was downwards, an easy walk alongside the aid of gravity. Now that spring was in full bloom, Eragon was grateful for the enchanted ring Harry had given him. If he unfocused his eyes, Eragon could see those little buzzing dots in swarms by the river shores, searching for victims. Somehow, the three of them never drew any fleas. They gave the three of them wide berth.
"We don't look very dirty," Brom grunted as they walked. "The guards might notice we're too put together for travelers who've been roughing it for at least a week."
"Do they hire guards based on brains?" Harry wondered aloud. "Guard sounds like a post for grunts."
"Don't confuse stories for reality," Brom lectured. "Everybody is the hero of their own story. As a point of fact, gate guards are usually selected from guards with the best memories, sharpest eye, and keenest mind. Nobody wants the fool to pick and choose who to let into the city."
"Things are so much easier when the bad guys are stupid," Harry bemoaned.
"Aye. Unfortunately, Teirm is not a sleepy village. It is a major trade port. The major trade port of the Empire, and as such, vast quantities of gold and goods pass through here. Teirm drew pirates like fleas to a carcass before they were burnt down during one unfortunate raid. They rebuilt carefully. Few cities are more secure. Of the Empire's, perhaps Gil'ead and Uru'baen." Brom gestured.
"We need a story, and it behooves us to have it straight before we are under the gaze of the city guard. We will use different names. I will be Neil, Eragon shall be Evan, and Harry shall be Harken. I don't expect it to matter, but if it does, we'll be grateful for the precaution. If someone later learns our names and tries to track where we've been-" Brom made a 'there you go' gesture. "The three of us hail from Ceunon. We are traveling to visit family. Eragon and I shall be uncle and nephew, and Harry shall be cousin from Eragon's mother's side."
Harry frowned. "Why?"
Brom stared flatly at him. "Eragon and I can pass as related."
"You do look a bit foreign," Eragon admitted.
"You look like a nobleman," Brom said bluntly.
"Really?" Harry demanded.
"Oh yes," Brom agreed. "You keep yourself clean, your teeth are straight and bright, you stand straight, and if you'll excuse me, you don't look like you've done a hard day's work in your life."
Harry seemed offended for a moment. Eragon took pity on him. "Your features are fairer than most commonfolk," he said. "And your scar is vivid. You do leave an impression. You speak clearer and with better vocabulary than most. Your accent is noble when you're not using bizarre slang. It's a lot of little things together."
"Which is fortunate," Brom cut in, "Because noblemen are usually afforded a bit of leeway when it comes to privacy. A guard can expect a farmer to give them their entire short, unimportant life story on demand. You can be cagey and people will assume it's not their place to pry. If the guard presses, you may tell him we are here to see Jeod the merchant on business."
"Are we?" Harry raised a brow.
"Yes."
"You've also got to take off that contraption on your face," Eragon added.
Harry touched the wire and glass device. "My glasses?"
"Unless you want to be seen as a jeweler," Brom said.
Still it seemed Harry took all that to heart. When Teirm drew closer, he straightened his back a bit, waving his wand and muttering under his breath. His clothes changed until Harry was wearing a waistcoat and white button up shirt with a crimson and gold lined ascot. His shoes shifted from trainers with an odd white check to black leather. Harry glanced down at the pale, knobbly wand in his hand with a raised brow and a bit of surprise, as if he wasn't quite sure what it would do until after he'd waved it.
"Great," Brom grumbled. "Now they'll be sure you're a noble, and they'll wonder what happened to our horses and guards. Tone it down a bit, please. Even nobles wear traveling clothes on the road."
Harry flicked his wand again and his clothing changed once more, the color leaching from black to hardy brown, thicker leather waistcoat. The ascot and button up were replaced by a plain grey shirt, and his shoes became boots. "Better?" Harry spread his arms.
"Much," Eragon said. Harry still looked rich, but he no longer looked like he'd fit in at a ballroom.
Teirm was amazing. It was so very different from all he had known, Eragon struggled to find similarities to compare and contrast it. From the ground, the city wall dominated the landscape. Made from fitted limestone bricks, it was higher than all but the centermost buildings, peeking over the serrated crenellations. The helmets and tops of spears of the city garrison shone in the sunlight, peeking over the wall on patrol.
Though it was far out and their vantage was poor, Eragon could see past Teirm on either side of the city. Masts and bundled sails poked up like toothpicks against an endless, beautiful blue vista. The ocean met the horizon in two shades of breathtaking blue.
Small houses dotted the land around the walls, none closer than a hundred yards from the base of the wall where a ditch circled the lowest bricks. Further out, farmland carpeted the gentle slopes leading towards Teirm. Eragon felt a pang of homesickness, gazing at the rows of crops. He quashed it and walked with Harry and Brom up to the front gate.
People passed them on the road from the city, covered wagons accompanied by guards on horseback, travelers on horseback, and beggars on foot. He understood how it looked that they were all on foot. Nobody who looked like Harry was walking. Those who looked like Harry were in carriages.
"Are there bandits near?" One bedraggled woman asked, glancing up the road with apprehension. "Horse thieves?"
Harry glanced up. "What-?" he caught himself and his tone. "No, madam. They died."
"All of them?" the dirty traveler asked a bit incredulously.
He winced. "Yeah. It was really unfortunate."
Brom put his face in his palm. "Thank you, Mister Evans. We ran low on water while crossing the Great Plains. We had to leave them behind."
"Oh," the woman said. "I'm sorry for your misfortune. You look rather well, though."
Brom gestured for her to move along. She scowled but passed them by without another word.
"Brilliantly done," Brom drawled when she was out of earshot. "That fills me with confidence in your ability to sell our story to the guards at the gate."
Harry frowned. "Can't you do the talking?"
"People generally do not expect peasants to speak for noblemen," Brom raised a brow. "At first, we're all visiting family. If the guard presses, you have shipping interests with Jeod Longshanks and run a business in Ceunon. Don't volunteer information."
"Should I act like poor people are a bit like dirt under my shoe, or is human decency something even rich people do around here?" Harry wondered.
"Polite but dismissive," Brom hedged. "You were taught manners all your life. Peasants are of no concern, but it costs you nothing to go through the motions."
Harry nodded to himself. "Alright then."
There was a line for the gate. A couple of wagons, six horse riders, and a group of three people on foot. Others were being waved in at a glance – residents, probably. When it was their turn, the guard seemed bored.
"Names?" he asked, an average man with a brown mustache and short beard tucked under his breastplate.
"Harken, Neil, Evan," Harry introduced, pointing at each of them in turn.
"Purpose for visiting Teirm?"
"Visiting family," Harry said with an easy smile. "We're from Ceunon."
The guard glanced up, briefly interested. "Really? Rather far." He frowned. "And no horses?"
"We ran out of water on the Great Plains." Eragon realized that Harry wasn't a half bad liar. The sadness on his face didn't seem forced or fake or over the top. "We left them out there. Maybe they found water-" he shrugged. "Either way. We're eager for this journey to be at an end."
"You have my sympathies," the guard said. "Plenty of inns with warm beds here. Welcome to Teirm."
"Thank you," Harry smiled, and they walked inside.
"Well done," Brom murmured, when they were out of earshot. Eragon gaped at the vast city. In that moment, he could see more people in the streets than were in all of Carvahall.
All the roofs on the buildings sloped upwards, building on each other like a tiered wedding cake. The central keep was at the center, high enough to see over the walls.
"The aforementioned pirates are responsible for such spectacular remodeling," Brom said, following Eragon's gaze. "So archers can shoot over each other's heads. It must've been successful; the last real attempt to take Teirm was well over a century back."
Broad streets were gorged with foot traffic and the odd wagon or cart. The thoroughfares branched off into smaller streets and alleys like arteries, veins, and capillaries. Everywhere he looked, something was vying for Eragon's attention. People beckoned passersby to kiosks of all sorts – fruit stands, pastries, bread, dolls and toys, shoe mending – it was all so much. Colorful signs and images hung from the eaves of proper shops, announcing smithies, tailors, and various other assorted markets. It seemed to Eragon that anything anyone might possibly want to buy or sell, Teirm accommodated.
Customers haggled and argued at the kiosks. Eragon was suddenly struck with an understanding of just why a person might kill over the kind of gold Harry was carrying with him; all those things he saw could be his, if he had enough coins.
It rather put in perspective what wealth really meant. In Carvahall, it did not matter how much gold somebody had, they could only buy what other villagers had to sell – unless the Traders were in town. In Teirm, gold could buy anything.
"How does this measure up?" Brom nudged Harry.
"To Hogsmeade?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Impressive. To London? It's about as impressive as Carvahall."
Brom whistled. "I suppose I must take heart in the fact that you have not yet seen the greatest of our cities. Uru'baen is several times grander. And Doru Araeba is grander still."
Harry frowned. "Doru Araeba – is that a giant sized city in a valley on an island?"
Brom was taken aback. "Yes, it is. How do you know of it?"
"Dreams," Harry admitted. "And no, even that doesn't hold a candle to London. Much less New York City or Tokyo, from what I've heard."
"Do you know where Jeod lives?" Eragon asked Brom. It seemed like they were just wandering aimlessly.
"I do not," Brom admitted cheerfully. "It's been years since I saw him. You weren't- well, maybe you were a glint in your father's eyes." He muttered sums under his breath. "Sometime around then, anyways."
"He'll still know you?" Eragon checked.
Brom gave a full-bellied laugh. "Oh yes. Yes, he and I knew each other very well."
Harry waggled his brows lasciviously. Brom scowled. "Not like that." Eragon blushed at the implication. "I've heard that he lives here from other friends of mine."
"And you think he'll know something about Selena?" Eragon asked.
Brom winced. "Something," he repeated. For a moment, he was lost in reminiscence, tinged with guilt. "Well I don't know. But when me and my friends needed to know something, either he knew it already, or he was able to find out soon after. So odds are good he'll put us on the right path."
They wandered for a while longer. It was a beautiful day out, so nobody minded walking up and down the streets of Teirm on a wild goose chase. Harry offered to find Jeod, but Brom refused.
"In some tiny little hamlet in the middle of nowhere, or while on the road, it's unlikely you'll encounter a magician," Brom murmured under his breath. "It is a certainty that there are several Empire magicians based in Teirm, any one of whom could catch you. In cities, magic must be used only indoors with drawn curtains. There are too many eyes here, and word travels too quickly to risk it."
Eragon was rather glad for the chance to walk for leisure instead of travel. The three of them followed their feet through some busier alleys and some quiet ones. They passed beneath the shaded eaves of an herbalist shop that drew Harry's attention, one which they had to drag the wizard away from.
"It's empty anyways," Eragon told him. "We can come back later when the shopkeeper is in."
Brom led them on to the shipping district. Towards the west end of the city, the meticulously tiered buildings flattened into low warehouses on broad roads. Wagons and laborers carried crates, barrels, and parcels around between warehouses and to and from the west gate.
Beyond the gate was an enormous wharf. Jetties and piers stuck out like many spindly teeth on the long, paved backbone of the wharf. Masted ships with bundled sails bobbed over the little ocean waves. And beyond that was the ocean.
Eragon gazed out at the blue horizon. The waves were captivating. Looking out was unique in that of any vista he had ever seen, there had always been land in the distance. Staring out at the western ocean, it seemed as if the rippling blue surface might go on forever.
He realized that the sound of the ocean had crept so slowly upon him that he'd missed it until now. Staring out the open gate at the endless water, Eragon could hear it crashing against the shore, the waves pushing and pulling, rushing, rumbling. The power and majesty of it all took his breath away.
The ocean scent mingled with the less pleasant smell of the city, salty fresh air overpowering the fish and dirt from Teirm.
"It's been a long time since I last saw the ocean," Brom sighed. "She's as beautiful as ever."
Eragon glanced over. For once, Harry was struck as speechless as him.
"Is this your first time seeing the ocean?" he asked.
Harry nodded. "Well, I saw it once. But the circumstances of that visit didn't exactly let me stand around and appreciate the view."
The seaside gate seemed a bit more lax than the one on the opposite side of the city, so Brom was willing to walk out there with them. Harry nodded to the guards on duty as they passed.
"Isn't that drawing attention?" Eragon wondered.
Harry shrugged. "I thought if I made sure he saw me, on the way back he'd know my face and would wave us through without thinking."
"Clever," Brom said.
The wharf was loud. Dock workers and traders raised their voices over each other and the sea itself to be heard. Captains hollered their intent to hire some labor for the day or for a voyage, which seemed like a pretty lax way to bring on new muscle.
Eragon marveled at the ships. Aside from the castle, they were some of the most magnificent creations he'd seen. They were plenty large for hundreds of men each, sails reaching as high as trees and supporting squares of canvas as large as a modest house. Complex networks of tarred roping, pulleys, knots, and cleats fixed all the rigging together in a bewildering web he couldn't imagine piecing together.
A ship was gliding into port from further south, sailors scrambling across the rigging, a dozen men working together to make the ship dance to their tune.
Eragon checked Harry's reaction. The wizard had a wry smile on his face. "Not as amazing as the ocean?" Eragon joked.
Harry shrugged. "I dunno. It's got charm, but it's missing something. The Age of Sail left many legends behind, for muggles and wizards alike. Modern shipping is different, I think. The piers are giant concrete blocks, and the ships are all made of steel. And they don't use sails, either. They have engines, like fans under the water that push the ships. And I know that those ships get a lot larger than these."
Eragon turned back to the ships. They looked plenty large to him. "Really?"
Harry grinned. "Yeah. They are huge."
"Don't just gawp around," a thickly accented voice shouted. "Are you looking for a day's work?"
The three of them turned to see a potbellied man with a clipboard and stick of charcoal scowling at them, his mustache damp with sweat. "Looking to get hired? The sun's gettin' pretty high." he jerked a thumb up at the sun. It was approaching noon.
Harry shook his head. "We're not here to get jobs."
The man gave them a suspicious look. "Looking to hire?"
Harry shook his head again, then paused. "We're actually looking for Jeod Longshanks."
He raised his brows. "Dunno where the man himself is, but that 'ere's his ship." He pointed out a tall masted model, one of the largest in the harbor. "I wouldn't be too eager to sign onto his crew. They've got a nasty habit of not being heard from again."
Brom's expression turned contemplative. Harry nodded. "We'll keep that in mind. No idea who to ask for the man himself?"
The man stroked his mustache. "Someone will be able to point you in the right direction if you head over towards his ship. Tarence is the captain of his ship. I'm Arne." He offered his hand.
Harry shook it. "Arne. I'm Harken. Thanks for the directions."
Arne grunted. "Well if you want to tie your fortune to a crew who's not cursed, all these fools will know how to get ahold of Arne. Good luck."
They followed Arne's directions to where the ship in question, the Defiant Crest, was being loaded with tons of produce and foodstuffs. Tarnace was short, but made himself seen and heard with an extra few inches of attitude and a voice that carried. Harry managed to get his attention with a tap on the shoulder.
"What?" he turned crankily. "I'm not paid to socialize, and neither are you. Make this quick."
"We're looking for Jeod," Harry said.
"And you think because I work for him, he gives me his itinerary and tells me every step he'll take?" Tarence demanded. "Go ask his – HEY! Open a crate again and you're fired! – assistant," he crabbed, as if nothing had happened. The boy he'd shouted at scarpered up the gangplank, heaving a barrel full of apples onto the deck.
He scratched something on his ledger. "Are any of you interested in a job?" he said conversationally. "We may have an opening soon."
Harry rolled his eyes. "No, thanks. Where might we find his assistant?"
Tarence scowled. "Jeod has an office in Lord Ristheart's keep that he never uses – Ristheart forces all the merchants based in Teirm to rent office space. You can ask there, or you can bother one of his servants at his home in the south quarter. The one across from that weird herbalist's shop, with the horse ring under the eaves. Now if we have no further business-?"
"Thank you for your time," Harry said. Tarence scowled and flapped his hand dismissively at Harry.
"I guess we walked right past it," Eragon mused, once they were on their way back. The guards at the gate hardly batted an eye when Harry waved at them. They headed right back up the streets until the shadowed shopfront came into view, somewhat out of place among the rather nice houses surrounding it. Brom found the house in question exactly as Tarence said it would be. Directly across the street, with an overhang sheltering a sort of makeshift stable and horse ring.
Eragon thought he saw movement in the shadowed shop, but the place was obviously closed, so he put it out of his mind. The three of them headed up to the front door. Brom gave the heavy brass knocker a few firm slams.
Half a minute later, a reedy man with a back so straight it might've been in a splint opened the door. "How may I help you?" he asked.
"We're here to see Jeod Longshanks," Harry said.
The servant frowned. "The master does not meet with every person who gets it in their heads to speak with him. Do you have business?"
Harry straightened up, probably about to inject a bit of pomp and posh in his mannerisms, but Brom stepped in front of him.
"Tell Jeod a cranky old friend from Gil'ead is here to see him."
The servant raised a brow, but disappeared, closing the door behind him. It was a couple minutes later that it opened again, this time by a tall man in fine clothes, but one whom money and station had not quite squashed down into its mold. Despite being in his forties, his eyes still held some glint of boyish excitement, and his clothes were a bit ruffled.
"I never thought I'd see the day," Jeod said gleefully. "I was sure-" his eyes flicked to Harry and Eragon. "Well, you'd all better come inside. Brom, as I live and breathe. Where the hell have you been all these years?!"
AN: Harry's single ocean visit was with Dumbledore, retrieving the fake locket horcrux.
I kind of ignored Jeod as a character last time. I didn't really know what to do with him, but I've been having a blast writing this version of him, so you may get to see more of Jeod than in HEFMA.
