“Now, if you will excuse me,” said Jeod, rising, “I must go reveal to my wife that which I should never have hidden from her and ask if she’ll accompany me to Surda. You may take your pick of rooms on the second floor. Rolf will summon you when supper is ready.” With long, slow steps, he departed the study.
“Is it wise to let him tell that ogress?” asked Loring.
Roran shrugged. “Wise or not, we can’t stop him. And I don’t think he’ll be at peace until he does.”
Instead of going to a room, Roran wandered through the mansion, unconsciously evading the servants as he pondered the things Jeod had said. He stopped at a bay window open to the stables at the rear of the house and filled his lungs with the brisk and smoky air, heavy with the familiar smell of manure.
“Do you hate him?”
He started and turned to see Birgit silhouetted in the doorway. She pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders as she approached.
“Who?” he asked, knowing full well.
“Eragon. Do you hate him?”
Roran looked at the darkening sky. “I don’t know. I hate him for causing the death of my father, but he’s still family and for that I love him... I suppose that if I didn’t need Eragon to save Katrina, I would have nothing to do with him for a long while yet.”
“As I need and hate you, Stronghammer.”
He snorted with grim amusement. “Aye, we’re joined at the hip, aren’t we? You have to help me find Eragon in order to avenge Quimby on the Ra’zac.”
“And to have my vengeance on you afterward.”
“That too.” Roran stared into her unwavering eyes for a moment, acknowledging the bond between them. He found it strangely comforting to know that they shared the same drive, the same angry fire that quickened their steps when others faltered. In her, he recognized a kindred spirit.
Returning through the house, Roran stopped by the dining room as he heard the cadence of Jeod’s voice. Curious, he fit his eye to a crack by the middle door hinge. Jeod stood opposite a slight, blond woman, who Roran assumed was Helen.
“If what you say is true, how can you expect me to trust you?”
“I cannot,” answered Jeod.
“Yet you ask me to become a fugitive for you?”
“You once offered to leave your family and wander the land with me. You begged me to spirit you away from Teirm.”
“Once. I thought you were terribly dashing then, what with your sword and your scar.”
“I still have those,” he said softly. “I made many mistakes with you, Helen; I understand that now. But I still love you and want you to be safe. I have no future here. If I stay, I’ll only bring grief to your family. You can return to your father or you can come with me. Do what will make you the happiest. However, I beg you to give me a second chance, to have the courage to leave this place and shed the bitter memories of our life here. We can start anew in Surda.”
She was quiet for a long time. “That young man who was here, is he really a Rider?”
“He is. The winds of change are blowing, Helen. The Varden are about to attack, the dwarves are gathering, and even the elves stir in their ancient haunts. War approaches, and if we’re fortunate, so does Galbatorix’s downfall.”
“Are you important among the Varden?”
“They owe me some consideration for my part in acquiring Saphira’s egg.”
“Then you would have a position with them in Surda?”
“I imagine so.” He put his hands on her shoulders, and she did not draw away.
She whispered, “Jeod, Jeod, don’t press me. I cannot decide yet.”
“Will you think about it?”
She shivered. “Oh yes. I’ll think about it.”
Roran’s heart pained him as he left.
Katrina.
That night at dinner, Roran noticed Helen’s eyes were often upon him, studying and measuring — comparing him, he was sure, to Eragon.
After the meal, Roran beckoned to Mandel and led him out into the courtyard behind the house.
“What is it, sir?” asked Mandel.
“I wished to talk with you in private.”
“About what?”
Roran fingered the pitted blade of his hammer and reflected on how much he felt like Garrow when his father gave a lecture on responsibility; Roran could even feel the same phrases rising in his throat. And so one generation passes to the next, he thought. “You’ve become quite friendly with the sailors as of late.”
“They’re not our enemies,” objected Mandel.
“Everyone is an enemy at this point. Clovis and his men could turn on us in an instant. It wouldn’t be a problem, though, if being with them hadn’t caused you to neglect your duties.” Mandel stiffened and color bloomed in his cheeks, but he did not lower himself in Roran’s esteem by denying the charge. Pleased, Roran asked, “What is the most important thing we can do right now, Mandel?”
“Protect our families.”
“Aye. And what else?”
Mandel hesitated, uncertain, then confessed, “I don’t know.”
“Help one another. It’s the only way any of us are going to survive. I was especially disappointed to learn that you’ve gambled food with the sailors, since that endangers the entire village. Your time would be far better spent hunting than playing games of dice or learning to throw knives. With your father gone, it’s fallen upon you to care for your mother and siblings. They rely on you. Am I clear?”
“Very clear, sir,” replied Mandel with a choked voice.
“Will this ever happen again?”
“Never again, sir.”
“Good. Now I didn’t bring you here just to chastise you. You show promise, which is why I’m giving you a task that I would trust to no one else but myself.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Tomorrow morning I need you to return to camp and deliver a message to Horst. Jeod believes the Empire has spies watching this house, so it’s vital that you make sure you aren’t followed. Wait until you’re out of the city, then lose whoever is trailing you in the countryside. Kill him if you have to. When you find Horst, tell him to...” As Roran outlined his instructions, he watched Mandel’s expression change from surprise, to shock, and then to awe.
“What if Clovis objects?” asked Mandel.
“That night, break the tillers on the barges so they can’t be steered. It’s a dirty trick, but it could be disastrous if Clovis or any of his men arrive at Teirm before you.”
“I won’t let that happen,” vowed Mandel.
Roran smiled. “Good.” Satisfied that he had resolved the matter of Mandel’s behavior and that the young man would do everything possible to get the message to Horst, Roran went back inside and bade their host good night before heading off to sleep.
With the exception of Mandel, Roran and his companions confined themselves to the mansion throughout the following day, taking advantage of the delay to rest, hone their weapons, and review their stratagems.
From dawn till dusk, they saw some of Helen as she bustled from one room to the next, more of Rolf with his teeth like varnished pearls, and none of Jeod, for the gray-pated merchant had left to walk the city and — seemingly by accident — meet with the few men of the sea whom he trusted for their expedition.
Upon his return, he told Roran, “We can count on five more hands. I only hope it’s enough.” Jeod remained in his study for the rest of the evening, drawing up various legal documents and otherwise tending to his affairs.
Three hours before dawn, Roran, Loring, Birgit, Gertrude, and Nolfavrell roused themselves and, fighting back prodigious yawns, congregated in the mansion’s entryway, where they muffled themselves in long cloaks to obscure their faces. A rapier hung at Jeod’s side when he joined them, and Roran thought the narrow sword somehow completed the rangy man, as if it reminded Jeod who he really was.