Jeod shrugged. “Not anymore. I’m afraid I’ve degenerated into a bibliophile.”
“A what?” asked Eragon.
“One who loves books,” explained Jeod, and resumed conversing with Brom. Bored, Eragon scanned the shelves. An elegant book set with gold studs caught his attention. He pulled it off the shelf and stared at it curiously.
It was bound in black leather carved with mysterious runes. Eragon ran his fingers over the cover and savored its cool smoothness. The letters inside were printed with a reddish glossy ink. He let the pages slip past his fingers. A column of script, set off from the regular lettering, caught his eye. The words were long and flowing, full of graceful lines and sharp points.
Eragon took the book to Brom. “What is this?” he asked, pointing to the strange writing.
Brom looked at the page closely and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Jeod, you’ve expanded your collection. Where did you get this? I haven’t seen one in ages.”
Jeod strained his neck to see the book. “Ah yes, theDomia abr Wyrda. A man came through here a few years ago and tried to sell it to a trader down by the wharves. Fortunately, I happened to be there and was able to save the book, along with his neck. He didn’t have a clue what it was.”
“It’s odd, Eragon, that you should pick up this book, theDominance of Fate, ” said Brom. “Of all the items in this house, it’s probably worth the most. It details a complete history of Alagaësia — starting long before the elves landed here and ending a few decades ago. The book is very rare and is the best of its kind. When it was written, the Empire decried it as blasphemy and burned the author, Heslant the Monk. I didn’t think any copies still existed. The lettering you asked about is from the ancient language.”
“What does it say?” asked Eragon.
It took Brom a moment to read the writing. “It’s part of an elven poem that tells of the years they fought the dragons. This excerpt describes one of their kings, Ceranthor, as he rides into battle. The elves love this poem and tell it regularly — though you need three days to do it properly — so that they won’t repeat the mistakes of the past. At times they sing it so beautifully it seems the very rocks will cry.”
Eragon returned to his chair, holding the book gently.It’s amazing that a man who is dead can talk to people through these pages. As long as this book survives, his ideas live. I wonder if it contains any information about the Ra’zac?
He browsed through the book while Brom and Jeod spoke. Hours passed, and Eragon began to drowse. Out of pity for his exhaustion, Jeod bid them good night. “The butler will show you to your rooms.”
On the way upstairs, the servant said, “If you need assistance, use the bellpull next to the bed.” He stopped before a cluster of three doors, bowed, then backed away.
As Brom entered the room on the right, Eragon asked, “Can I talk to you?”
“You just did, but come in anyway.”
Eragon closed the door behind himself. “Saphira and I had an idea. Is there—”
Brom stopped him with a raised hand and pulled the curtains shut over the window. “When you talk of such things, you would do well to make sure that no unwelcome ears are present.”
“Sorry,” said Eragon, berating himself for the slip. “Anyway, is it possible to conjure up an image of something that you can’t see?”
Brom sat on the edge of his bed. “What you are talking about is called scrying. It is quite possible and extremely helpful in some situations, but it has a major drawback. You can only observe people, places, and things that you’ve already seen. If you were to scry the Ra’zac, you’d see them all right, but not their surroundings. There are other problems as well. Let’s say that you wanted to view a page in a book, one that you’d already seen. You could only see the page if the book were open to it. If the book were closed when you tried this, the page would appear completely black.”
“Why can’t you view objects that you haven’t seen?” asked Eragon. Even with those limitations, he realized, scrying could be very useful.I wonder if I could view something leagues away and use magic to affect what was happening there?
“Because,” said Brom patiently, “to scry, you have to know what you’re looking at and where to direct your power. Even if a stranger was described to you, it would still be nigh impossible to view him, not to mention the ground and whatever else might be around him. You have to knowwhat you’re going to scry before youcan scry it. Does that answer your question?”
Eragon thought for a moment. “But how is it done? Do you conjure up the image in thin air?”
“Not usually,” said Brom, shaking his white head. “That takes more energy than projecting it onto a reflective surface like a pool of water or a mirror. Some Riders used to travel everywhere they could, trying to see as much as possible. Then, whenever war or some other calamity occurred, they would be able to view events throughout Alagaësia.”
“May I try it?” asked Eragon.
Brom looked at him carefully. “No, not now. You’re tired, and scrying takes lots of strength. I will tell you the words, but you must promise not to attempt it tonight. And I’d rather you wait until we leave Teirm; I have more to teach you.”
Eragon smiled. “I promise.”
“Very well.” Brom bent over and very quietly whispered, “Draumr kópa” into Eragon’s ear.
Eragon took a moment to memorize the words. “Maybe after we’ve left Teirm, I can scry Roran. I would like to know how he’s doing. I’m afraid that the Ra’zac might go after him.”
“I don’t mean to frighten you, but that’s a distinct possibility,” said Brom. “Although Roran was gone most of the time the Ra’zac were in Carvahall, I’m sure that they asked questions about him. Who knows, they may have even met him while they were in Therinsford. Either way, I doubt their curiosity is sated. You’re on the loose, after all, and the king is probably threatening them with terrible punishment if you aren’t found. If they get frustrated enough, they’ll go back and interrogate Roran. It’s only a matter of time.”
“If that’s true, then the only way to keep Roran safe is to let the Ra’zac know where I am so that they’ll come after me instead of him.”
“No, that won’t work either. You’re not thinking,” admonished Brom. “If you can’t understand your enemies, how can you expect to anticipate them? Even if you exposed your location, the Ra’zac wouldstill chase Roran. Do you know why?”
Eragon straightened and tried to consider every possibility. “Well, if I stay in hiding long enough, they might get frustrated and capture Roran to force me to reveal myself. If that didn’t work, they’d kill him just to hurt me. Also, if I become a public enemy of the Empire, they might use him as bait to catch me. And if I met with Roran and they found out about it, they would torture him to find out where I was.”
“Very good. You figured that out quite nicely,” said Brom.
“But what’s the solution? I can’t let him be killed!”
Brom clasped his hands loosely. “The solution is quite obvious. Roran is going to have to learn how to defend himself. That may sound hard-hearted, but as you pointed out, you cannot risk meeting with him. You may not remember this — you were half delirious at the time — but when we left Carvahall, I told you that I had left a warning letter for Roran so he won’t be totally unprepared for danger. If he has any sense at all, when the Ra’zac show up in Carvahall again, he’ll take my advice and flee.”
“I don’t like this,” said Eragon unhappily.
“Ah, but you forget something.”
“What?” he demanded.
“There is some good in all of this. The king cannot afford to have a Rider roaming around that he does not control. Galbatorix is the only known Rider alive besides yourself, but he would like another one under his command. Before he tries to kill you or Roran, he will offer you the chance to serve him. Unfortunately, if he ever gets close enough to make that proposition, it will be far too late for you to refuse and still live.”
“You call that some good!”
“It’s all that’s protecting Roran. As long as the king doesn’t know which side you’ve chosen, he won’t risk alienating you by harming your cousin. Keep that firmly in mind. The Ra’zac killed Garrow, but I think it was an ill-considered decision on their part. From what I know of Galbatorix, he would not have approved it unless he gained something from it.”
“And how will I be able to deny the king’s wishes when he is threatening me with death?” asked Eragon sharply.
Brom sighed. He went to his nightstand and dipped his fingers in a basin of rose water. “Galbatorix wants your willing cooperation. Without that, you’re worse than useless to him. So the question becomes, If you are ever faced with this choice, are you willing to die for what you believe in? For that is the only way you will deny him.”
The question hung in the air.
Brom finally said, “It’s a difficult question and not one you can answer until you’re faced with it. Keep in mind that many people have died for their beliefs; it’s actually quite common. The real courage is in living and suffering for what you believe.”
T HEWITCH AND
THEWERECAT
It was late in the morning when Eragon woke. He dressed, washed his face in the basin, then held the mirror up and brushed his hair into place. Something about his reflection made him stop and look closer. His face had changed since he had run out of Carvahall just a short while ago. Any baby fat was gone now, stripped away by traveling, sparring, and training. His cheekbones were more prominent, and the line of his jaw was sharper. There was a slight cast to his eyes that, when he looked closely, gave his face a wild, alien appearance. He held the mirror at arm’s length, and his face resumed its normal semblance — but it still did not seem quite his own.
A little disturbed, he slung his bow and quiver across his back, then left the room. Before he had reached the end of the hall, the butler caught up with him and said, “Sir, Neal left with my master for the castle earlier. He said that you could do whatever you want today because he will not return until this evening.”