Eragon
Page 68

Before Eragon could ask what Solembum meant, the werecat walked away, waving his tail ever so gracefully. Angela tilted her head, coils of dense hair shadowing her forehead. “I don’t know what he said, and I don’t want to know. He spoke to you and only you. Don’t tell anyone else.”
“I think I have to go,” said Eragon, shaken.
“If you want to,” said Angela, smiling again. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you like, especially if you buy some of my goods. But go if you wish; I’m sure that we’ve given you enough to ponder for a while.”
“Yes.” Eragon quickly made his way to the door. “Thank you for reading my future.”I think.
“You’re welcome,” said Angela, still smiling.
Eragon exited the shop and stood in the street, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the brightness. It was a few minutes before he could think calmly about what he had learned. He started walking, his steps unconsciously quickening until he dashed out of Teirm, feet flying as he headed to Saphira’s hiding place.
He called to her from the base of the cliff. A minute later she soared down and bore him up to the cliff top. When they were both safely on the ground, Eragon told her about his day.And so, he concluded,I think Brom’s right; I always seem to be where there’s trouble.
You should remember what the werecat told you. It’s important.
How do you know?he asked curiously.
I’m not sure, but the names he used feel powerful.Kuthian, she said, rolling the word around.No, we should not forget what he said.
Do you think I should tell Brom?
It’s your choice, but think of this: he has no right to know your future. To tell him of Solembum and his words will only raise questions you may not want to answer. And if you decided to only ask him what those words mean, he will want to know where you learned them. Do you think you can lie convincingly to him?
No,admitted Eragon.Maybe I won’t say anything. Still, this might be too important to hide. They talked until there was nothing more to say. Then they sat together companionably, watching the trees until dusk.
Eragon hurried back to Teirm and was soon knocking on Jeod’s door. “Is Neal back?” he asked the butler.
“Yes sir. I believe he’s in the study right now.”
“Thank you,” said Eragon. He strode to the room and peeked inside. Brom was sitting before the fire, smoking. “How did it go?” asked Eragon.
“Bloody awful!” growled Brom around his pipe.
“So you talked to Brand?”
“Not that it did any good. Thisadministrator of trade is the worst sort of bureaucrat. He abides by every rule, delights in making his own whenever it can inconvenience someone, and at the same time believes that he’s doing good.”
“Then he won’t let us see the records?” asked Eragon.
“No,” snapped Brom, exasperated. “Nothing I could say would sway him. He even refused bribes! Substantial ones, too. I didn’t think I would ever meet a noble who wasn’t corrupt. Now that I have, I find that I prefer them when they’re greedy bastards.” He puffed furiously on his pipe and mumbled a steady stream of curses.
When he seemed to have calmed, Eragon asked tentatively, “So, what now?”
“I’m going to take the next week and teach you how to read.”
“And after that?”
A smile split Brom’s face. “After that, we’re going to give Brand a nasty surprise.” Eragon pestered him for details, but Brom refused to say more.
Dinner was held in a sumptuous dining room. Jeod sat at one end of the table, a hard-eyed Helen at the other. Brom and Eragon were seated between them, which Eragon felt was a dangerous place to be. Empty chairs were on either side of him, but he didn’t mind the space. It helped to protect him from the glares of their hostess.
The food was served quietly, and Jeod and Helen wordlessly began eating. Eragon followed suit, thinking,I’ve had cheerier meals at funerals. And he had, in Carvahall. He remembered many burials that had been sad, yes, but not unduly so. This was different; he could feel simmering resentment pouring from Helen throughout the dinner.
O FREADING ANDPLOTS
Brom scratched a rune on parchment with charcoal, then showed it to Eragon. “This is the lettera, ” he said. “Learn it.”
With that, Eragon began the task of becoming literate. It was difficult and strange and pushed his intellect to its limits, but he enjoyed it. Without anything else to do and with a good—if sometimes impatient—teacher, he advanced rapidly.
A routine was soon established. Every day Eragon got up, ate in the kitchen, then went to the study for his lessons, where he labored to memorize the sounds of the letters and the rules of writing. It got so that when he closed his eyes, letters and words danced in his mind. He thought of little else during that time.
Before dinner, he and Brom would go behind Jeod’s house and spar. The servants, along with a small crowd of wide-eyed children, would come and watch. If there was any time afterward, Eragon would practice magic in his room, with the curtains securely closed.
His only worry was Saphira. He visited her every evening, but it was not enough time together for either of them. During the day, Saphira spent most of her time leagues away searching for food; she could not hunt near Teirm without arousing suspicion. Eragon did what he could to help her, but he knew that the only solution for both her hunger and loneliness was to leave the city far behind.