CHAPTER NINE

Jeod

The horses' hooves clattered against the cobblestone streets of Teirm, each step echoing off the stark, foreboding buildings. The air was thick with the mingling scents of salt from the nearby sea, baking bread, and the acrid tang of tar from the ships docked in the harbor. The houses around us seemed to frown, their grim facades covered in dark slate shingles. Small, deep-set windows barely allowed any light to enter, casting the interiors into a constant gloom. Recessed doors loomed like dark mouths, and iron railings lined the tops of flat roofs.

I let my gaze wander as we moved deeper into the city. The houses closest to the outer wall were squat, no more than a story high, but as we progressed inward, the structures grew taller. By the time we neared the citadel, the buildings loomed above us, formidable but insignificant compared to the fortress itself, which stood as a monolithic guardian over the city.

"This place looks ready for war," Eragon remarked, his voice tinged with awe.

I glanced at him. The weight of the city's design wasn't lost on me either, and the reality of standing here—experiencing the sights, sounds, and smells—was far more intense than I'd ever imagined while reading about it.

Brom gave a curt nod of agreement. "Teirm has faced many attacks in its time. Urgals, pirates, raiders—they all crave the riches this city gathers as the center of commerce. Wealth draws enemies, and the hardships have forced the people to take precautions. Galbatorix ensures the city remains fortified, though his reasons are as much about control as protection."

Eragon turned to Brom, his curiosity evident. "Why are some houses higher than others?"

Brom lifted his staff, pointing to the towering citadel. "The fortress has an unobstructed view of the entire city. If the outer wall were breached, archers would be stationed on the roofs. The lower houses near the wall allow those farther back to shoot over them without endangering their comrades. And if the enemy were to capture those lower buildings, it would be easy to pick them off from the citadel or the taller structures."

Eragon's face lit with wonder as he absorbed the explanation. "I've never seen a city planned like this before."

"Few are," Brom replied grimly. "This layout only came after Teirm was nearly burned to the ground during a pirate raid. Desperation forces innovation."

As we moved through the streets, the people around us gave us passing glances. Some curious, others indifferent. None lingered long, which was a relief. Despite our foreign appearance, we didn't seem to arouse undue suspicion.

"Let's start looking for Jeod," Brom said, nudging his horse forward.

We followed his lead, weaving through the bustling streets until we arrived at a weathered tavern with a faded green sign hanging above the door. The words The Green Chestnut were barely legible. It was a strange name, but then again, so was much of Alagaësia.

Tying the horses to the hitching post outside, I overheard Eragon ask Brom, "Why did we need horses when the airship left us so close to the city?"

Brom didn't look at him as he answered. "Teirm is an isolated city far from other towns and cities, if we approached on foot, the guards would be suspicious. We need to blend in, not raise questions. The less attention we draw, the better."

Eragon muttered something under his breath, but he didn't argue further. I noticed with some relief that the two of them seemed to be on better terms now. Even so, Eragon stubbornly called Brom by his name rather than acknowledging him as his father. I guessed he needed time.

The tavern's interior was dimly lit, the air heavy with the smell of stale ale and unwashed bodies. A few patrons sat scattered around, drinking or gambling. Brom led us to the bar, his gait steady and deliberate.

"Do you know of a man named Jeod?" Brom asked the barkeep, his voice calm but firm.

The bartender, a wiry man with a thick mustache, feigned ignorance, shaking his head. "Can't say I do."

Brom sighed, his expression souring. Reaching into his pouch, he withdrew a few coins and slid them across the counter. "Perhaps this will refresh your memory."

Before the bartender could pocket the bribe, a man seated in the shadows called out, his voice sharp. "Stop swindling them, Darrin. Anyone on the street could tell them where Jeod lives."

The bartender stiffened, scowling, but said nothing. Brom turned toward the man, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The stranger stood, revealing himself to be a broad-shouldered man with a rugged but honest face. "Name's Martin," he said, offering a nod. "Jeod's house is across from Angela's shop. You can't miss it."

Angela's shop. My mind sparked at the mention. The eccentric witch and her companion Solembum. I hadn't forgotten her from the books, and now, the prospect of meeting her in person piqued my curiosity.

Brom inclined his head in thanks. "You have my gratitude, Martin."

Martin waved it off, leaning against the bar. "Jeod's a good man. The Empire's made his life difficult. If you're friends of his, you'll have your work cut out for you."

Brom and Martin exchanged a few more words, mostly about the troubles plaguing the city—pirates, Imperial interference, and unrest among the merchants. Eragon listened intently, though his expression darkened when Jeod's misfortunes were mentioned.

When the conversation ended, we stepped back into the sunlight. The city seemed even more oppressive now, its streets buzzing with unseen tension.

"Let's find Jeod's house," Brom said, leading the way. Eragon and I followed silently, the weight of what was to come pressing down on us.

The streets of Teirm grew quieter as we followed Martin's directions. The hum of the marketplace faded behind us, replaced by the occasional creak of shutters swaying in the sea breeze and the muffled voices of people indoors. Finally, we came to a small shop with a cheery sign hanging over its door, marking it as an herbalist's. Sitting beside the entrance, a curly-haired woman held a squat green toad in one hand while furiously scribbling with the other.

I knew immediately who she was. Angela. The eccentric witch. The quirky oracle who had always fascinated me in the books now sat before me, her presence no less peculiar than I had imagined.

On either side of her shop stood modest houses. Eragon squinted at them, his brow furrowed. "Which one do you think is his?"

Brom studied the scene for a moment. "Let's find out," he said and strode up to Angela.

"Excuse me," he began, his voice polite but firm. "Could you tell us which house Jeod lives in?"

Angela didn't look up, her pen scratching rapidly across the parchment. "I could," she replied simply.

Brom waited, but when no further answer came, he asked, a hint of irritation creeping into his tone, "Will you tell us?"

"Yes," she said, then fell silent again. Her pen moved even faster, and the toad in her hand emitted a croak, its bulbous eyes rolling lazily toward us.

Brom's patience, never his strongest trait, began to fray. Beside him, Eragon shifted uncomfortably. I stifled a chuckle, unable to resist poking fun at their discomfort. "Brom," I said with mock seriousness, "you asked if she could tell us but never actually asked her the question."

Eragon looked at me, confused. "What difference does that make?"

Smirking, I explained, "You have to be specific. Otherwise, she'll just keep playing word games."

Angela paused her writing to glance at me, a spark of amusement in her sharp eyes. "That is correct. Finally, someone who understands the importance of wordplay." She turned to Brom, a hint of mischief curling her lips. "Jeod lives in the house on the right."

Brom managed a tight smile, but I could see the irritation behind it. Deciding to push his patience further, I gestured toward the toad in Angela's hand. "Why are you holding that frog?"

Angela's smile widened. "Ah, but he's not a frog. He's a toad," she corrected, raising the creature slightly. "I'm trying to prove toads don't exist—that there are only frogs. You see, if I can prove that, then this little fellow was never a toad to begin with. And if toads don't exist, they can't do nasty things like causing warts or poisoning people. Also," she added with a conspiratorial grin, "it would put witches who rely on them for spells in a very awkward position."

Feigning deep thought, I rubbed my chin and looked skyward. "Hmm, that makes sense. But you do realize that all toads could technically be classified as frogs, while not all frogs can be classified as toads, thus proving your theory correct."

Angela froze, staring at me with wide eyes. "And how, pray tell, did you come to this conclusion?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but Brom grabbed my arm and yanked me away. "Apologies, but we're in a hurry," he said to Angela, his tone clipped. Turning to me, he muttered, "Stop wasting time on nonsense."

As we walked toward Jeod's house, Eragon glanced back at Angela, who had already returned to her writing. "Is she mad?" he asked in a low voice.

Brom shook his head. "No, I don't think so. She may know things we don't. Best to tread carefully around her."

Eragon nodded, his expression thoughtful.

When we reached the house on the right, Brom knocked firmly. After a few moments, the door opened, revealing a young woman with red-rimmed eyes and an air of frustration. I recognized her immediately as Helen, Jeod's wife.

"Yes?" she asked curtly, her tone clipped and impatient.

"We're here to see Jeod," Brom said evenly.

"He's busy," she snapped. "You'll have to come back later."

Brom opened his mouth to respond, likely to attempt persuasion, but I stepped forward. "Tell Jeod that friends from his old life have come to see him with an offer to make him rich. If he doubts it, tell him it's an old friend from Gil'ead."

Helen hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized me. Then, with a reluctant nod, she disappeared inside.

Eragon frowned, glancing at Brom. "She didn't have to be so rude."

Brom, however, was staring at me intently. "How do you know about that?" he asked, his voice low.

I met his gaze steadily. "You know how I know."

He grumbled something under his breath and gave a curt nod, clearly chalking my knowledge up to my usual source of inexplicable insight. Angvard.

The door opened again, this time with more force. A tall man with streaks of gray in his hair stood before us, his expression a mixture of shock and joy. "Brom!" he exclaimed, his voice low but urgent.

Brom raised a hand to silence him. "Not here. Do you have somewhere we can talk privately?"

Jeod nodded quickly. "Not here, no. But I know a place. Wait." He disappeared inside, returning moments later with a coat and a slim rapier strapped to his side. "Follow me."

We trailed Jeod through the streets, heading toward the castle. As we walked, he explained in hushed tones, "The city's ruler insists all business owners keep their headquarters in the castle. It's a means of control, of course, but we'll be able to speak freely there."

Brom nodded, his expression unreadable, while Eragon and I exchanged a glance. The weight of what was to come hung heavily over us as the imposing castle loomed closer.

The room was bathed in golden light from the setting sun streaming through a high, arched window. Jeod's office was cramped but cozy, the scent of parchment and aged leather thick in the air. We had been seated for hours, the conversation ebbing and flowing like a tide. Brom and Jeod, old friends reunited, caught up on years of separation, their tones alternating between nostalgia and the weight of the present.

Eragon and I sat to the side. He leaned closer, his voice low so as not to interrupt their conversation. "Do you think we'll get what we need on Gil'ead?"

I considered his question carefully before nodding. "It's possible. Jeod knows things, and if anyone can get us the information, it's him. But we'll need to be ready for anything, and to be careful, I do not trust this city."

Eragon frowned slightly, his eyes distant. I recognized the look—it was the same one he had whenever he was speaking with Saphira through their bond. Good. It meant the airship was still safely hidden, and everyone onboard was out of danger.

Brom's voice carried across the room as he turned to Jeod, his tone now more formal. "There's something you should know," he began, glancing briefly at Eragon and me. "The egg we stole from Galbatorix, it hatched after finding its rider, the boy you see here isn't just anyone. This is Eragon, my son... and now a Dragon Rider."

Jeod froze, his eyes widening as he processed Brom's words. He turned to Eragon, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. Slowly, he rose from his chair, extending a hand. "It's an honor to meet you, Rider, and brom's son no less" he said reverently, his voice carrying the weight of generations who had once revered the Riders as protectors of Alagaësia.

Eragon, clearly unused to such reverence, flushed slightly but shook Jeod's hand firmly.

Brom gestured toward me. "And this is my protégé, Mark. He's a gifted magician and warrior, and has been invaluable to our cause."

I extended my hand, and Jeod shook it warmly, his grip firm despite his apparent exhaustion. I studied his face as I did so. Beneath the weariness lay sharp intelligence and the faint flicker of hope rekindled by Brom's presence.

As they settled back into conversation, I noticed Eragon's far-off expression again. Relaying this to Saphira, I thought, satisfied. Keeping her informed was crucial; if we ran into trouble, her mobility and firepower could turn the tide in an instant.

The conversation shifted to the reason we had come. "Jeod," Brom said, leaning forward, his voice quieter now, "we need information on Gil'ead. We're planning to rescue an old friend from there."

Jeod frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't have much on Gil'ead, not recently. Security's tighter than ever. But…" He stood and walked to a small cabinet crammed with papers and letters. "There is something. An old letter from a trader who worked near Gil'ead. He left the city because of a new person in the area, one of the king's top lieutenants."

My stomach tightened. Durza, I thought immediately. My fingers itched to get my hands on that letter. If we were heading into the Shade's domain, I wanted every scrap of intelligence we could muster.

"I'd like to see that letter," I said, standing and joining Jeod as he rifled through the cabinet.

He nodded, pulling out a folded sheet of parchment. As he handed it to me, I could see the lines of concern deepening on his face.

While I read through the letter's contents—details of fortifications, the barracks, and restrictions on traders—Eragon approached Brom and asked for permission to explore the city.

"Go ahead," Brom said, waving him off. "But don't draw attention to yourself."

Eragon nodded and slipped out. I smirked. Going to see Saphira, I guessed.

The hours passed in intense discussion as we planned for Gil'ead. My mind worked quickly, not just on the rescue but on larger plans. Jeod's failing business, his ties to the Varden—it all fit perfectly into my vision for the future. I needed experienced sailors for the Varden's growing network, and Jeod's connections could be invaluable.

When Eragon returned at sunset, his expression calm and focused, we moved from the office to Jeod's home. The transition into his private study was seamless, though the clutter of books and scrolls immediately caught Eragon's attention.

"Look at all this!" he exclaimed, his hands brushing over the spines reverently. "There's so much here."

Brom chuckled at his enthusiasm. "You can read them now, thanks to those lessons back in Carvahall."

As Brom and Eragon discussed the books, I approached Jeod, who greeted me with a nod.

"Jeod," I began, lowering my voice so the others wouldn't overhear at first, "your business is failing because the king knows about your ties to the Varden. Staying here puts you and your wife in danger."

Jeod frowned, but he didn't interrupt.

"I have a solution," I continued. "Come with us. Join the Varden. I can guarantee you'll be taken care of—more than that, I'll make you so rich you'll never have to worry about money again. All you have to do is help me build something bigger."

Brom and Eragon had stopped their conversation and were now listening intently.

Jeod sat back, running a hand through his hair. "It's a generous offer, but... Helen. I need to talk to her about this."

"Do it here," I suggested. "In this office. If she's hesitant, I'll explain it to her."

Reluctantly, Jeod nodded and sent for his wife. When she entered the room, her guarded expression and tense posture made it clear she wasn't pleased to see us still lingering.

Jeod took a deep breath. "Helen, we need to talk."

She glanced around at us suspiciously. "About what?"

Jeod hesitated, looking to me for support. This is it, I thought. Now or never.

The air in Jeod's study was tense, thick with the weight of unspoken truths that had lingered for far too long. Helen sat stiffly in a chair opposite her husband, her hands clenched in her lap. Her eyes darted between Jeod and Brom, as though searching for cracks in the facade of the man she thought she knew.

Jeod sat forward, his hands clasped together, his voice subdued but steady as he began. "Helen... there are things I've kept from you, things I thought I'd never need to revisit. But now, I must. You deserve to know the truth before we decide on our next steps."

She frowned but said nothing, her gaze sharpening as he continued.

"Years ago, before I met you, I was part of the Varden," Jeod said, his words slow and deliberate. "I believed in their cause—to overthrow Galbatorix and restore balance to Alagaësia. I worked with them, provided resources, information, whatever I could. It was through that work that I met Brom." He gestured toward the man sitting beside me.

Helen's eyes narrowed, and she studied Brom closely, as if trying to reconcile the unassuming man before her with the daring figure Jeod described.

Jeod pressed on, his voice growing heavier. "Together, Brom and I did something that shaped the course of history. I helped him steal a dragon egg from the king."

Helen's mouth fell open, her disbelief stark. "You? You helped steal from Galbatorix?"

Jeod nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of her scrutiny. "Yes. It was a risk, but one I believed was worth taking to ensure the Riders could rise again." He looked at her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "The king recently found out about my involvement with the varden. That's why our business has been failing. He's been punishing me by sinking our ships and cutting off our trade routes."

Helen stared at him, her expression a storm of anger and shock. For a moment, she was silent, then she burst out, her voice trembling with fury, "You should have told me this when we married! I did not sign up to be a spy's wife or to be dragged into some rebellion against the king! I married a trader, Jeod. A man who promised me stability, wealth, and a family. And now you want me to leave everything behind—to live in squalor with the Varden?" Her voice broke, but her anger didn't waver. "If you leave, I won't follow you."

The words landed like a blow. Jeod's face fell, and he looked down, his hands trembling slightly. The pain in his expression was palpable, and I felt a pang of sympathy for him. He had sacrificed so much for a noble cause, and now it threatened to cost him the one thing he cherished most—his wife.

I couldn't sit by and watch him suffer alone. Leaning forward, I spoke calmly but firmly, my voice cutting through the tension. "Helen, your husband has been instrumental in the Varden's success. Without his help, they might have fallen long ago. Would you really doom the people fighting against a tyrant like Galbatorix by denying them your husband's assistance?"

She turned her anger on me, her eyes flashing. "That's not what I said!" she snapped. "I only want him to fulfill the promises he made when he wooed me—promises of a big family, wealth, and a comfortable life. Is that too much to ask?"

I met her gaze steadily. "If Jeod could provide you with all of that and more," I said carefully, "would you follow him to the Varden and help him as we work to defeat the king?"

Helen hesitated, her anger giving way to uncertainty. Her eyes flicked to Jeod, then back to me. She was quiet for a long moment, the room filled with the sound of her measured breaths.

Finally, she sighed, the fight draining from her shoulders. "Fine," she said softly, almost reluctantly. "I will follow you, husband. I will go with you to the Varden."

Relief washed over Jeod's face, and he reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "Thank you, Helen," he murmured. "I promise you won't regret this."

They spoke quietly for a few minutes, their voices low and intimate, before Helen excused herself to begin preparing for their departure.

As the door closed behind her, Jeod straightened and turned to his butler. "Spread the word to all our employees who are in the same situation. Have them meet us tomorrow morning outside of town, but make sure they leave separately to avoid suspicion."

The butler nodded briskly and left the room.

Jeod turned to me, his gratitude evident. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Without you, I don't think I could have convinced her."

I smiled faintly. "We all have our parts to play, Jeod. Yours is as important as anyone's."

Brom clapped me on the shoulder, his approval evident. "Well done, boy. That was a wise decision. With Jeod aiding us, we have more resources to fight the king. He could establish an excellent spy network."

I nodded, my thoughts already moving ahead. Turning to Eragon, I said, "Could you ask Saphira to tell Baldor to expect us tomorrow morning, where he dropped us off. We'll need him ready for a larger group."

Eragon closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. "It's done, though she not pleased being a messenger," he said.

I glanced out the window at the darkening sky. The airship's cloaking spell had proven invaluable, keeping the ship and Saphira hidden and ensuring seamless communication. Still, I knew we'd need to develop another way to communicate in the future. For now, though, we had taken a crucial step forward.

The dawn was just beginning to paint the horizon in hues of pink and orange as we left for the airship. Jeod's butler had already departed with the other employees, and the majority of the sailors had made it safely aboard. The streets were quiet, the city still wrapped in the shroud of sleep, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed it—shadowy figures trailed us at a distance. It was clear that Jeod was being monitored.

As we passed Angela's shop, I noticed the shutters were closed and the place looked abandoned. She had made her move to join the Varden, just like the books. Eragon had mentioned visiting her the day before, and though he hadn't shared the details of their conversation, I knew she had read his fortune. What lingered in my mind was whether her prophecy still aligned with the books or if my actions had shifted his destiny.

The gates loomed ahead, massive and imposing, yet strangely inviting as they marked the boundary between the city and the freedom beyond. We crossed through without issue, but just as we cleared them, the bells rang out, their clanging echoing like an alarm through the still morning air.

The guards scrambled onto the ramparts, shouting orders and sealing the gates behind us. Relief washed over me for a brief moment—we were on the outside—but it quickly turned to tension. The bells meant we had been discovered, and pursuit would not be far behind.

It didn't take long. From the distant sky came the distinct, bone-chilling screech of the Lethrblaka. Moments later, its dark form emerged from the horizon, on its back was the smaller, more human-like Ra'zac.

I groaned inwardly. Really? Does Galbatorix still think the Ra'zac are a match for me? It was either arrogance or the prelude to something more sinister.

Turning to Eragon, I said sharply, "Tell Saphira to stay put. Have Baldor rotate the ship so its starboard side faces us and instruct him to aim the targeting mirror at the Lethrblaka. But keep the ship cloaked for now. On my word, he's to fire the guns."

Eragon relayed the message through his link with Saphira, and I tightened my grip on the reins as our horses thundered forward, hooves pounding against the dirt road in a desperate race to reach the extraction point.

The Lethrblaka screeched again, its ominous cry piercing through the dawn, and it dove toward us, wings slicing through the air like scythes.

"NOW!" I bellowed.

A heartbeat later, the morning sky erupted in a blinding flash of light as the airship fired. A deafening roar followed, and twin fireballs streaked through the sky, their trajectory true. They struck the Lethrblaka with brutal precision, engulfing it in an explosion of fire and smoke. The creature let out a final, horrific wail before its charred remains plummeted to the ground.

Jeod pulled his horse to a halt, his face pale and frozen in shock. "What in heaven was that?" he managed, his voice trembling as Helen clutched him from behind, equally wide-eyed with terror and awe.

The sun finally breached the horizon, its golden rays illuminating the towering silhouette of the airship as it decloaked. Its sleek, imposing form hovered above the landscape, a marvel of engineering and magic.

Jeod's mouth fell open as he stared. "In all my years... I've never seen... is that a ship? Why is it so big? Why is it not in the water? And why is it shaped like that?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "I'll give you a personal tour, Jeod and all shall be explained. But for now, shall we leave before more reinforcements show up?"

Jeod nodded mutely, still too stunned to speak, while Helen simply tightened her grip around him, her expression a mix of fear, awe and determination.

Brom rode up beside me, his usual stoic demeanor softened by a hint of approval. "Well done, Mark," he said. "Now let's get aboard. It's time to rescue Arya and then head for the Varden."

I nodded, feeling the weight of the moment but also the thrill of progress. Together, we spurred our horses toward the airship, the promise of freedom and the next step in our journey hanging tantalizingly ahead.