Eragon: Book One (The Inheritance cycle 1)

ERAGON WOKE FROM his nap to a golden sunset. Red and orange beams of light streamed into the room and fell across the bed. They warmed his back pleasantly, making him reluctant to move. He dozed, but the sunlight crept off him, and he grew cold. The sun sank below the horizon, lighting the sea and sky with color. Almost time!

He slung his bow and quiver on his back, but left Zar’roc in the room; the sword would only slow him, and he was averse to using it. If he had to disable someone, he could use magic or an arrow. He pulled his jerkin over his shirt and laced it securely.

He waited nervously in his room until the light faded. Then he entered the hallway and shrugged so the quiver settled comfortably across his back. Brom joined him, carrying his sword and staff.

Jeod, dressed in a black doublet and hose, was waiting for them outside. From his waist swung an elegant rapier and a leather pouch. Brom eyed the rapier and observed, “That toad sticker is too thin for any real fighting. What will you do if someone comes after you with a broadsword or a flamberge?”

“Be realistic,” said Jeod. “None of the guards has a flamberge. Besides, this toad sticker is faster than a broadsword.”

Brom shrugged. “It’s your neck.”

They walked casually along the street, avoiding watchmen and soldiers. Eragon was tense and his heart pounded. As they passed Angela’s shop, a flash of movement on the roof caught his attention, but he saw no one. His palm tingled. He looked at the roof again, but it was still empty.

Brom led them along Teirm’s outer wall. By the time they reached the castle, the sky was black. The sealed walls of the fortress made Eragon shiver. He would hate to be imprisoned there. Jeod silently took the lead and strode up to the gates, trying to look at ease. He pounded on the gate and waited.

A small grille slid open and a surly guard peered out. “Ya?” he grunted shortly. Eragon could smell rum on his breath.

“We need to get in,” said Jeod.

The guard peered at Jeod closer. “Wha’ for?”

“The boy here left something very valuable in my office. We have to retrieve it immediately.” Eragon hung his head, shamefaced.

The guard frowned, clearly impatient to get back to his bottle. “Ah, wha’ever,” he said, swinging his arm. “Jus’ make sure ’n give ’im a good beating f’r me.”

“I’ll do that,” assured Jeod as the guard unbolted a small door set into the gate. They entered the keep, then Brom handed the guard a few coins.

“Thank’ee,” mumbled the man, tottering away. As soon as he was gone, Eragon pulled his bow from its tube and strung it. Jeod quickly let them into the main part of the castle. They hurried toward their destination, listening carefully for any soldiers on patrol. At the records room, Brom tried the door. It was locked. He put his hand against the door and muttered a word that Eragon did not recognize. It swung open with a faint click. Brom grabbed a torch from the wall, and they darted inside, closing the door quietly.

The squat room was filled with wooden racks piled high with scrolls. A barred window was set in the far wall. Jeod threaded his way between the racks, running his eyes over the scrolls. He halted at the back of the room. “Over here,” he said. “These are the shipping records for the past five years. You can tell the date by the wax seals on the corner.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Eragon, pleased that they had made it so far without being discovered.

“Start at the top and work down,” said Jeod. “Some scrolls only deal with taxes. You can ignore those. Look for anything that mentions Seithr oil.” He took a length of parchment from his pouch and stretched it out on the floor, then set a bottle of ink and a quill pen next to it. “So we can keep track of whatever we find,” he explained.

Brom scooped an armful of scrolls from the top of the rack and piled them on the floor. He sat and unrolled the first one. Eragon joined him, positioning himself so he could see the door. The tedious work was especially difficult for him, as the cramped script on the scrolls was different from the printing Brom had taught him.

By looking only for the names of ships that sailed in the northern areas, they winnowed out many of the scrolls. Even so, they moved down the rack slowly, recording each shipment of Seithr oil as they located it.

It was quiet outside the room, except for the occasional watchman. Suddenly, Eragon’s neck prickled. He tried to keep working, but the uneasy feeling remained. Irritated, he looked up and jerked with surprise—a small boy crouched on the windowsill. His eyes were slanted, and a sprig of holly was woven into his shaggy black hair.

Do you need help? asked a voice in Eragon’s head. His eyes widened with shock. It sounded like Solembum.

Is that you? he asked incredulously.

Am I someone else?

Eragon gulped and concentrated on his scroll. If my eyes don’t deceive me, you are.

The boy smiled slightly, revealing pointed teeth. What I look like doesn’t change who I am. You don’t think I’m called a werecat for nothing, do you?

What are you doing here? Eragon asked.

The werecat tilted his head and considered whether the question was worth an answer. That depends on what you are doing here. If you are reading those scrolls for entertainment, then I suppose there isn’t any reason for my visit. But if what you are doing is unlawful and you don’t want to be discovered, I might be here to warn you that the guard whom you bribed just told his replacement about you and that this second official of the Empire has sent soldiers to search for you.

Thank you for telling me, said Eragon.

Told you something, did I? I suppose I did. And I suggest you make use of it.

The boy stood and tossed back his wild hair. Eragon asked quickly, What did you mean last time about the tree and the vault?

Exactly what I said.

Eragon tried to ask more, but the werecat vanished through the window. He announced abruptly, “There are soldiers looking for us.”

“How do you know?” asked Brom sharply.

“I listened in on the guard. His replacement just sent men to search for us. We have to get out of here. They’ve probably already discovered that Jeod’s office is empty.”

“Are you sure?” asked Jeod.

“Yes!” said Eragon impatiently. “They’re on their way.”

Brom snatched another scroll from the rack. “No matter. We have to finish this now!” They worked furiously for the next minute, scanning the records as fast as they could. As the last scroll was finished, Brom threw it back onto the rack, and Jeod jammed his parchment, ink, and pen into his pouch. Eragon grabbed the torch.

They raced from the room and shut the door, but just as it closed they heard the heavy tramp of soldiers’ boots at the end of the hall. They turned to leave, but Brom hissed furiously, “Damnation! It’s not locked.” He put his hand against the door. The lock clicked at the same time three armed soldiers came into view.

“Hey! Get away from that door!” shouted one of them. Brom stepped back, assuming a surprised expression. The three men marched up to them. The tallest one demanded, “Why are you trying to get into the records?” Eragon gripped his bow tighter and prepared to run.

“I’m afraid we lost our way.” The strain was evident in Jeod’s voice. A drop of sweat rolled down his neck.

The soldier glared at them suspiciously. “Check inside the room,” he ordered one of his men.

Eragon held his breath as the soldier stepped up to the door, tried to open it, then pounded on it with his mailed fist. “It’s locked, sir.”

The leader scratched his chin. “Ar’right, then. I don’t know what you were up to, but as long as the door’s locked, I guess you’re free to go. Come on.” The soldiers surrounded them and marched them back to the keep.

I can’t believe it, thought Eragon. They’re helping us get away!

At the main gates, the soldier pointed and said, “Now, you walk through those and don’t try anything. We’ll be watching. If you have to come back, wait until morning.”

“Of course,” promised Jeod.

Eragon could feel the guards’ eyes boring into their backs as they hurried out of the castle. The moment that the gates closed behind them, a triumphant grin stretched across his face, and he jumped into the air. Brom shot him a cautioning look and growled, “Walk back to the house normally. You can celebrate there.”

Chastised, Eragon adopted a staid demeanor, but inside he still bubbled with energy. Once they had hurried back to the house and into the study, Eragon exclaimed, “We did it!”

“Yes, but now we have to figure out if it was worth the trouble,” said Brom. Jeod took a map of Alagaësia from the shelves and unrolled it on the desk.

On the left side of the map, the ocean extended to the unknown west. Along the coast stretched the Spine, an immense length of mountains. The Hadarac Desert filled the center of the map—the east end was blank. Somewhere in that void hid the Varden. To the south was Surda, a small country that had seceded from the Empire after the Riders’ fall. Eragon had been told that Surda secretly supported the Varden.

Near Surda’s eastern border was a mountain range labeled Beor Mountains. Eragon had heard of them in many stories—they were supposed to be ten times the height of the Spine, though he privately believed that was exaggeration. The map was empty to the east of the Beors.

Five islands rested off the coast of Surda: Nía, Parlim, Uden, Illium, and Beirland. Nía was no more than an outcropping of rock, but Beirland, the largest, had a small town. Farther up, near Teirm, was a jagged island called Sharktooth. And high to the north was one more island, immense and shaped like a knobby hand. Eragon knew its name without even looking: Vroengard, the ancestral home of the Riders—once a place of glory, but now a looted, empty shell haunted by strange beasts. In the center of Vroengard was the abandoned city of Dorú Areaba.

Carvahall was a small dot at the top of Palancar Valley. Level with it, but across the plains, sprawled the forest Du Weldenvarden. Like the Beor Mountains, its eastern end was unmapped. Parts of Du Weldenvarden’s western edge had been settled, but its heart lay mysterious and unexplored. The forest was wilder than the Spine; the few who braved its depths often came back raving mad, or not at all.

Eragon shivered as he saw Urû’baen in the center of the Empire. King Galbatorix ruled from there with his black dragon, Shruikan, by his side. Eragon put his finger on Urû’baen. “The Ra’zac are sure to have a hiding place here.”

“You had better hope that that isn’t their only sanctuary,” said Brom flatly. “Otherwise you’ll never get near them.” He pushed the rustling map flat with his wrinkled hands.

Jeod took the parchment out of his pouch and said, “From what I saw in the records, there have been shipments of Seithr oil to every major city in the Empire over the past five years. As far as I can tell, all of them might have been ordered by wealthy jewelers. I’m not sure how we can narrow down the list without more information.”

Brom swept a hand over the map. “I think we can eliminate some cities. The Ra’zac have to travel wherever the king wants, and I’m sure he keeps them busy. If they’re expected to go anywhere at anytime, the only reasonable place for them to stay is at a crossroads where they can reach every part of the country fairly easily.” He was excited now and paced the room. “This crossroads has to be large enough so the Ra’zac will be inconspicuous. It also has to have enough trade so any unusual requests—special food for their mounts, for example—will go unnoticed.”

“That makes sense,” said Jeod, nodding. “Under those conditions, we can ignore most of the cities in the north. The only big ones are Teirm, Gil’ead, and Ceunon. I know they’re not in Teirm, and I doubt that the oil has been shipped farther up the coast to Narda—it’s too small. Ceunon is too isolated … only Gil’ead remains.”

“The Ra’zac might be there,” conceded Brom. “It would have a certain irony.”

“It would at that,” Jeod acknowledged softly.

“What about southern cities?” asked Eragon.

“Well,” said Jeod. “There’s obviously Urû’baen, but that’s an unlikely destination. If someone were to die from Seithr oil in Galbatorix’s court, it would be all too easy for an earl or some other lord to discover that the Empire had been buying large amounts of it. That still leaves many others, any one of which could be the one we want.”

“Yes,” said Eragon, “but the oil wasn’t sent to all of them. The parchment only lists Kuasta, Dras-Leona, Aroughs, and Belatona. Kuasta wouldn’t work for the Ra’zac; it’s on the coast and surrounded by mountains. Aroughs is isolated like Ceunon, though it is a center of trade. That leaves Belatona and Dras-Leona, which are rather close together. Of the two, I think Dras-Leona is the likelier. It’s larger and better situated.”

“And that’s where nearly all the goods of the Empire pass through at one time or another, including Teirm’s,” said Jeod. “It would be a good place for the Ra’zac to hide.”

“So … Dras-Leona,” said Brom as he sat down and lit his pipe. “What do the records show?”

Jeod looked at the parchment. “Here it is. At the beginning of the year, three shipments of Seithr oil were sent to Dras-Leona. Each shipment was only two weeks apart, and the records say they were all transported by the same merchant. The same thing happened last year and the year before that. I doubt any one jeweler, or even a group of them, has the money for so much oil.”

“What about Gil’ead?” asked Brom, raising an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t have the same access to the rest of the Empire. And,” Jeod tapped the parchment, “they’ve only received the oil twice in recent years.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Besides, I think we forgot something—Helgrind.”

Brom nodded. “Ah yes, the Dark Gates. It’s been many years since I’ve thought of it. You’re right, that would make Dras-Leona perfect for the Ra’zac. I guess it’s decided, then; that’s where we’ll go.”

Eragon sat abruptly, too drained of emotion to even ask what Helgrind was. I thought I would be happy to resume the hunt. Instead, I feel like an abyss has opened up before me. Dras-Leona! It’s so far away. …

The parchment crackled as Jeod slowly rolled up the map. He handed it to Brom and said, “You’ll need this, I’m afraid. Your expeditions often take you into obscure regions.” Nodding, Brom accepted the map. Jeod clapped him on the shoulder. “It doesn’t feel right that you will leave without me. My heart expects to go along, but the rest of me reminds me of my age and responsibilities.”

“I know,” said Brom. “But you have a life in Teirm. It is time for the next generation to take up the standard. You’ve done your part; be happy.”

“What of you?” asked Jeod. “Does the road ever end for you?”

A hollow laugh escaped Brom’s lips. “I see it coming, but not for a while.” He extinguished his pipe, and they left for their rooms, exhausted. Before he fell asleep, Eragon contacted Saphira to relate the night’s adventures.