Eragon
Page 18
“Did you ever see one?”
“Nay,” said Brom, “it was long before my time.”
And now for a name.“I’ve been trying to recall the name of a certain dragon, but it keeps eluding me. I think I heard it when the traders were in Carvahall, but I’m not sure. Could you help me?”
Brom shrugged and quickly listed a stream of names. “There was Jura, Hírador, and Fundor—who fought the giant sea snake. Galzra, Briam, Ohen the Strong, Gretiem, Beroan, Roslarb . . .” He added many others. At the very end, he uttered so softly Eragon almost did not hear, “. . . and Saphira.” Brom quietly emptied his pipe. “Was it any of those?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Eragon. Brom had given him much to think about, and it was getting late. “Well, Roran’s probably finished with Horst. I should get back, though I’d rather not.”
Brom raised an eyebrow. “What, is that it? I expected to be answering your questions until he came looking for you. No queries about dragon battle tactics or requests for descriptions of breathtaking aerial combat? Are we done?”
“For now,” laughed Eragon. “I learned what I wanted to and more.” He stood and Brom followed.
“Very well, then.” He ushered Eragon to the door. “Goodbye. Take care. And don’t forget, if you remember who that trader was, tell me.”
“I will. Thank you.” Eragon stepped into the glaring winter sunlight, squinting. He slowly paced away, pondering what he had heard.
AN AME OFPOWER
On the way home Roran said, “There was a stranger from Therinsford at Horst’s today.”
“What’s his name?” asked Eragon. He sidestepped a patch of ice and continued walking at a brisk pace. His cheeks and eyes burned from the cold.
“Dempton. He came here to have Horst forge him some sockets,” said Roran. His stocky legs plowed through a drift, clearing the way for Eragon.
“Doesn’t Therinsford have its own smith?”
“Yes,” replied Roran, “but he isn’t skilled enough.” He glanced at Eragon. With a shrug he added, “Dempton needs the sockets for his mill. He’s expanding it and offered me a job. If I accept, I’ll leave with him when he picks up the sockets.”
Millers worked all year. During winter they ground whatever people brought them, but in harvest season they bought grain and sold it as flour. It was hard, dangerous work; workers often lost fingers or hands to the giant millstones. “Are you going to tell Garrow?” asked Eragon.
“Yes.” A grimly amused smile played across Roran’s face.
“What for? You know what he thinks about us going away. It’ll only cause trouble if you say anything. Forget about it so we can eat tonight’s dinner in peace.”
“I can’t. I’m going to take the job.”
Eragon halted. “Why?” They faced each other, their breath visible in the air. “I know money is hard to come by, but we always manage to survive. You don’t have to leave.”
“No, I don’t. But the money is for myself.” Roran tried to resume walking, but Eragon refused to budge.
“What do you need it for?” he demanded.
Roran’s shoulders straightened slightly. “I want to marry.”
Bewilderment and astonishment overwhelmed Eragon. He remembered seeing Katrina and Roran kissing during the traders’ visit, but marriage? “Katrina?” he asked weakly, just to confirm. Roran nodded. “Have you asked her?”
“Not yet, but come spring, when I can raise a house, I will.”
“There’s too much work on the farm for you to leave now,” protested Eragon. “Wait until we’re ready for planting.”
“No,” said Roran, laughing slightly. “Spring’s the time I’ll be needed the most. The ground will have to be furrowed and sown. The crops must be weeded—not to mention all the other chores. No, this is the best time for me to go, when all we really do is wait for the seasons to change. You and Garrow can make do without me. If all goes well, I’ll soon be back working on the farm, with a wife.”
Eragon reluctantly conceded that Roran made sense. He shook his head, but whether with amazement or anger, he knew not. “I guess I can only wish you the best of luck. But Garrow may take this with ill humor.”
“We will see.”
They resumed walking, the silence a barrier between them. Eragon’s heart was disturbed. It would take time before he could look upon this development with favor. When they arrived home, Roran did not tell Garrow of his plans, but Eragon was sure that he soon would.
Eragon went to see the dragon for the first time since it had spoken to him. He approached apprehensively, aware now that it was an equal.
Eragon.
“Is that all you can say?” he snapped.
Yes.
His eyes widened at the unexpected reply, and he sat down roughly.Now it has a sense of humor. What next? Impulsively, he broke a dead branch with his foot. Roran’s announcement had put him in a foul mood. A questioning thought came from the dragon, so he told it what had happened. As he talked his voice grew steadily louder until he was yelling pointlessly into the air. He ranted until his emotions were spent, then ineffectually punched the ground.
“I don’t want him to go, that’s all,” he said helplessly. The dragon watched impassively, listening and learning. Eragon mumbled a few choice curses and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the dragon thoughtfully. “You need a name. I heard some interesting ones today; perhaps you’ll like one.” He mentally ran through the list Brom had given him until he found two names that struck him as heroic, noble, and pleasing to the ear. “What do you think of Vanilor or his successor, Eridor? Both were great dragons.”
“Nay,” said Brom, “it was long before my time.”
And now for a name.“I’ve been trying to recall the name of a certain dragon, but it keeps eluding me. I think I heard it when the traders were in Carvahall, but I’m not sure. Could you help me?”
Brom shrugged and quickly listed a stream of names. “There was Jura, Hírador, and Fundor—who fought the giant sea snake. Galzra, Briam, Ohen the Strong, Gretiem, Beroan, Roslarb . . .” He added many others. At the very end, he uttered so softly Eragon almost did not hear, “. . . and Saphira.” Brom quietly emptied his pipe. “Was it any of those?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Eragon. Brom had given him much to think about, and it was getting late. “Well, Roran’s probably finished with Horst. I should get back, though I’d rather not.”
Brom raised an eyebrow. “What, is that it? I expected to be answering your questions until he came looking for you. No queries about dragon battle tactics or requests for descriptions of breathtaking aerial combat? Are we done?”
“For now,” laughed Eragon. “I learned what I wanted to and more.” He stood and Brom followed.
“Very well, then.” He ushered Eragon to the door. “Goodbye. Take care. And don’t forget, if you remember who that trader was, tell me.”
“I will. Thank you.” Eragon stepped into the glaring winter sunlight, squinting. He slowly paced away, pondering what he had heard.
AN AME OFPOWER
On the way home Roran said, “There was a stranger from Therinsford at Horst’s today.”
“What’s his name?” asked Eragon. He sidestepped a patch of ice and continued walking at a brisk pace. His cheeks and eyes burned from the cold.
“Dempton. He came here to have Horst forge him some sockets,” said Roran. His stocky legs plowed through a drift, clearing the way for Eragon.
“Doesn’t Therinsford have its own smith?”
“Yes,” replied Roran, “but he isn’t skilled enough.” He glanced at Eragon. With a shrug he added, “Dempton needs the sockets for his mill. He’s expanding it and offered me a job. If I accept, I’ll leave with him when he picks up the sockets.”
Millers worked all year. During winter they ground whatever people brought them, but in harvest season they bought grain and sold it as flour. It was hard, dangerous work; workers often lost fingers or hands to the giant millstones. “Are you going to tell Garrow?” asked Eragon.
“Yes.” A grimly amused smile played across Roran’s face.
“What for? You know what he thinks about us going away. It’ll only cause trouble if you say anything. Forget about it so we can eat tonight’s dinner in peace.”
“I can’t. I’m going to take the job.”
Eragon halted. “Why?” They faced each other, their breath visible in the air. “I know money is hard to come by, but we always manage to survive. You don’t have to leave.”
“No, I don’t. But the money is for myself.” Roran tried to resume walking, but Eragon refused to budge.
“What do you need it for?” he demanded.
Roran’s shoulders straightened slightly. “I want to marry.”
Bewilderment and astonishment overwhelmed Eragon. He remembered seeing Katrina and Roran kissing during the traders’ visit, but marriage? “Katrina?” he asked weakly, just to confirm. Roran nodded. “Have you asked her?”
“Not yet, but come spring, when I can raise a house, I will.”
“There’s too much work on the farm for you to leave now,” protested Eragon. “Wait until we’re ready for planting.”
“No,” said Roran, laughing slightly. “Spring’s the time I’ll be needed the most. The ground will have to be furrowed and sown. The crops must be weeded—not to mention all the other chores. No, this is the best time for me to go, when all we really do is wait for the seasons to change. You and Garrow can make do without me. If all goes well, I’ll soon be back working on the farm, with a wife.”
Eragon reluctantly conceded that Roran made sense. He shook his head, but whether with amazement or anger, he knew not. “I guess I can only wish you the best of luck. But Garrow may take this with ill humor.”
“We will see.”
They resumed walking, the silence a barrier between them. Eragon’s heart was disturbed. It would take time before he could look upon this development with favor. When they arrived home, Roran did not tell Garrow of his plans, but Eragon was sure that he soon would.
Eragon went to see the dragon for the first time since it had spoken to him. He approached apprehensively, aware now that it was an equal.
Eragon.
“Is that all you can say?” he snapped.
Yes.
His eyes widened at the unexpected reply, and he sat down roughly.Now it has a sense of humor. What next? Impulsively, he broke a dead branch with his foot. Roran’s announcement had put him in a foul mood. A questioning thought came from the dragon, so he told it what had happened. As he talked his voice grew steadily louder until he was yelling pointlessly into the air. He ranted until his emotions were spent, then ineffectually punched the ground.
“I don’t want him to go, that’s all,” he said helplessly. The dragon watched impassively, listening and learning. Eragon mumbled a few choice curses and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the dragon thoughtfully. “You need a name. I heard some interesting ones today; perhaps you’ll like one.” He mentally ran through the list Brom had given him until he found two names that struck him as heroic, noble, and pleasing to the ear. “What do you think of Vanilor or his successor, Eridor? Both were great dragons.”
