He paused as Rolf backed into the study, carrying a large silver tray dotted with pastries, cut-crystal goblets, a glass of milk, and a decanter of brandy. The butler placed the tray on a padded footstool and then proceeded to serve the refreshments. Roran took his goblet and sipped the mellow brandy, wondering how soon courtesy would allow the four of them to excuse themselves and resume their quest.
When Rolf left the room, Jeod drained his goblet with a single draught, then said, “I may be of no use to you, but I do know a number of people in my profession who might... might... be able to help. If you can give me a bit more detail about what you want to buy, then I’d have a better idea of who to recommend.”
Roran saw no harm in that, so he began to recite a list of items the villagers had to have, things they might need, and things they wanted but would never be able to afford unless fortune smiled greatly upon them. Now and then Birgit or Loring mentioned something Roran had forgotten — like lamp oil — and Jeod would glance at them for a moment before returning his hooded gaze to Roran, where it remained with growing intensity. Jeod’s interest concerned Roran; it was as if the merchant knew, or suspected, what he was hiding.
“It seems to me,” said Jeod at the completion of Roran’s inventory, “that this would be enough provisions to transport several hundred people to Feinster or Aroughs... or beyond. Admittedly, I’ve been rather occupied for the past few weeks, but I’ve heard of no such host in this area, nor can I imagine where one might have come from.”
His face blank, Roran met Jeod’s stare and said nothing. On the inside, he seethed with self-contempt for allowing Jeod to amass enough information to reach that conclusion.
Jeod shrugged. “Well, be as it may, that’s your own concern. I’d suggest that you see Galton on Market Street about your food and old Hamill by the docks for all else. They’re both honest men and will treat you true and fair.” Reaching over, he plucked a pastry from the tray, took a bite, and then, when he finished chewing, asked Nolfavrell, “So, young Kell, have you enjoyed your stay in Teirm?”
“Yes, sir,” said Nolfavrell, and grinned. “I’ve never seen anything quite so large, sir.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. I—”
Feeling that they were in dangerous territory, Roran interrupted: “I’m curious, sir, as to the nature of the shop next to your house. It seems odd to have such a humble store among all these grand buildings.”
For the first time, a smile, if only a small one, brightened Jeod’s expression, erasing years from his appearance. “Well, it was owned by a woman who was a bit odd herself: Angela the herbalist, one of the best healers I’ve ever met. She tended that store for twenty-some years and then, only a few months ago, up and sold it and left for parts unknown.” He sighed. “It’s a pity, for she made an interesting neighbor.”
“That’s who Gertrude wanted to meet, isn’t it?” asked Nolfavrell, and looked up at his mother.
Roran suppressed a snarl and flashed a warning glance strong enough to make Nolfavrell quail in his chair. The name would mean nothing to Jeod, but unless Nolfavrell guarded his tongue better, he was liable to blurt out something far more damaging. Time to go, thought Roran. He put down his goblet.
It was then that he saw the name did mean something to Jeod. The merchant’s eyes widened with surprise, and he gripped the arms of his chair until the tips of his fingers turned bone white. “It can’t be!” Jeod focused on Roran, studying his face as if trying to see past the beard, and then breathed, “Roran... Roran Garrowsson.”
AN UNEXPECTED ALLY
Roran had already pulled his hammer from his belt and was halfway out of the chair when he heard his father’s name. It was the only thing that kept him from leaping across the room and knocking Jeod unconscious. How does he know who Garrow is? Beside him, Loring and Birgit jumped to their feet, drawing knives from within their sleeves, and even Nolfavrell readied himself to fight with a dagger in hand.
“It is Roran, isn’t it?” Jeod asked quietly. He showed no alarm at their weapons.
“How did you guess?”
“Because Brom brought Eragon here, and you look like your cousin. When I saw your poster with Eragon’s, I realized that the Empire must have tried to capture you and that you had escaped. Although,” Jeod’s gaze drifted to the other three, “in all my imaginings, I never suspected that you took the rest of Carvahall with you.”
Stunned, Roran dropped back into his chair and placed the hammer across his knees, ready for use. “Eragon was here?”
“Aye. And Saphira too.”
“Saphira?”
Again, surprise crossed Jeod’s face. “You don’t know, then?”
“Know what?”
Jeod considered him for a long minute. “I think the time has come to drop our pretenses, Roran Garrowsson, and talk openly and without deception. I can answer many of the questions you must have — such as why the Empire is pursuing you — but in return, I need to know the reason you came to Teirm... the real reason.”
“An’ why should we trust you, Longshanks?” demanded Loring. “You could be working for Galbatorix, you could.”
“I was Brom’s friend for over twenty years, before he was a storyteller in Carvahall,” said Jeod, “and I did my best to help him and Eragon when they were under my roof. But since neither of them are here to vouch for me, I place my life in your hands, to do with as you wish. I could shout for help, but I won’t. Nor will I fight you. All I ask is that you tell me your story and hear my own. Then you can decide for yourself what course of action is proper. You’re in no immediate danger, so what harm is there in talking?”
Birgit caught Roran’s eye with a flick of her chin. “He could just be trying to save his hide.”
“Maybe,” replied Roran, “but we have to find out whatever it is he knows.” Hooking an arm underneath his chair, he dragged it across the room, placed the back of the chair against the door, and then sat in it, so that no one could burst in and catch them unawares. He jabbed his hammer at Jeod. “All right. You want to talk? Then let us talk, you and I.”
“It would be best if you go first.”
“If I do, and we’re not satisfied by your answers afterward, we’ll have to kill you,” warned Roran.
Jeod folded his arms. “So be it.”
Despite himself, Roran was impressed by the merchant’s fortitude; Jeod appeared unconcerned by his fate, if a bit grim about the mouth. “So be it,” Roran echoed.
Roran had relived the events since the Ra’zac’s arrival in Carvahall often enough, but never before had he described them in detail to another person. As he did, it struck him how much had happened to him and the other villagers in such a short time and how easy it had been for the Empire to destroy their lives in Palancar Valley. Resuscitating old terrors was painful for Roran, but he at least had the pleasure of seeing Jeod exhibit unfeigned astonishment as he heard about how the villagers had rousted the soldiers and Ra’zac from their camp, the siege of Carvahall thereafter, Sloan’s treachery, Katrina’s kidnapping, how Roran had convinced the villagers to flee, and the hardships of their journey to Teirm.
“By the Lost Kings!” exclaimed Jeod. “That’s the most extraordinary tale. Extraordinary! To think you’ve managed to thwart Galbatorix and that right now the entire village of Carvahall is hiding outside one of the Empire’s largest cities and the king doesn’t even know it... ” He shook his head with admiration.