Instead of Arya, I prefer her mom (Chapter 9) (Patreon)

That night, the villagers and traders gathered in the local inn, discussing politics and exchanging stories. Nearly everyone was there, including Cedric and Brom, though the boy was alone in a corner.

With his butt in a chair and boots on a table, he reflected on today’s events. His concerns were indeed justified—that Brom’s tutelage was more likely to burden than benefit. The old timer spent more time telling him what he couldn’t do, rather than what he could.

While in thought, he vaguely heard Eragon arguing with a merchant. Knowing on which side his bread was buttered, the fellow was openly supportive of the empire’s policies. Currently, he defended Galbatorix’s decision to withhold reinforcements from Urgal-accosted villages.

Such opinions were predictably unpopular, but even more so here. Carvahall’s villagers unanimously disliked their tyrannical rulers, and on account of being so remote, weren’t shy about saying it.

“…No, no, you don’t understand. It is only through the king’s unceasing efforts on your behalf that you are able to argue with us in safety. If he, in all his wisdom, were to withdraw that support, woe unto you…!”

“…Right, why don’t you also tell us the Riders have returned and you’ve killed a hundred elves. Do you think we’re children to believe in your tales? We can take care of ourselves…”

“…You’re angry with the Empire for treating people unfairly, a legitimate concern, but a government cannot please everyone. There will inevitably be arguments and conflicts. However, the majority of us have nothing to complain about. Every country has some small group of malcontents who aren’t satisfied with the balance of power…”

“…Yeah, if you’re willing to call the Varden small…!”

The arguments continued getting more heated, but Cedric wasn’t interested. In fact, he was about to get up and leave, go spend his time more productively, when Eragon suddenly showed up at his table.

“Ah, you’re here, Cid?”

Without waiting for a response, he pulled out a chair and sat down, giving one trader the stink-eye over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe those people. After everything the empire did, they-…”

Cedric chuckled, shaking his head.

“Don’t get worked up. In the end, it’s about money—they know it’s bad for business, publicly getting on the king’s wrong side.”

Eragon’s eyes flicked from the heavyset man to Cedric, grunting dissatisfiedly.

“Still, it’s not right. What about everyone else, suffering under Galbatorix’s rule? Don’t they care?”

Cedric shrugged. It was very much like Eragon, to moralize, but he wasn’t in the mood. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Never mind that. The stone…”

His voice was kept low, so people wouldn’t overhear.

At the mention of it, Eragon’s expression shifted, becoming at once curious, excited and vexed.

“Ugh, don’t mention that thing. I wanted to sell it off, but nobody would buy it, nor could they tell me what it was…”

Toward the end of his sentence, he started trailing off, noticing something odd in Cedric’s eyes.

“…what, why are you looking at me like that?”

The red-haired boy smiled thinly.

“Have you tried asking Brom? He’s from out of town, you know, and he’s been all around the world. If anyone has a clue, it’ll probably be him. Not some random merchant.”

Eragon startled, his eyebrows raising.

“Brom? You think he’ll know? It’s not about finding out what it is, but selling it… Oh, by the way, I hear you’re living with him, now. That’s… crazy.”

Cedric ignored the other boy’s remark about his living conditions, getting to his feet.

“Actually, he should be around here-… He’s gone. Preparing for his telling, no doubt. You’ll be going to listen, right? We might as well head over now and ask him about the stone.”

Eragon got up too, but he didn’t follow Cedric.

“Sorry, can’t. Garrow, Roran and I are having dinner at Horst’s. I’ll only be able to stop by later.”

“…I see. In that case, you’ll have to ask him yourself. I won’t be attending. I have… other things to do.”

His expression suddenly turning disinterested, he stuffed his hands in his pockets before giving Eragon a nod, heading out the door.

“Greet Albriech and Balder for me.”

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Later that night, Eragon lay in his bed, thinking.

He’d gone to watch the performers, of which Brom was one. The old man told the dragon riders’ tale, how great they were, and how one of their own brought them low—Galbatorix. He showed uncharacteristic emotion, even shedding a tear toward the end.

Eragon was deeply impacted by the story, along with every other listener. He and Roran returned to the farm in a somber mood, mulling over what they heard. According to Garrow, Brom almost never shared that particular story—they were lucky for having heard it.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, his head sinking into his straw pillow. That feeling of past glory, of greatness never to return provoked a sense of deep loss. What he wouldn’t give, to see those golden, gleaming cities. And the dragon riders, soaring through the sky, challenging the heavens…

On the windowsill, the oval, blue stone sat like a trophy, catching the moonlight. Suddenly, it trembled faintly, imperceptibly.

Eragon remained oblivious, his mind wandering as sleep gripped him. For some reason, the red-haired Cid appeared in front of his eyes, standing in the tavern’s doorway. The firelight gleamed in his coppery hair and golden eyes, smiling mysteriously.

Despite being two years Eragon’s junior, evidenced by his appearance and voice, his personality and bearing weren’t at all childish. He was an odd character, too… that incident by the river was a good example, though there were others as well.

Snorting to himself, Eragon dismissed such thoughts. Tired after a long day, he drifted off into dreamland.

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That night, the dragon hatched, and when it did… Cedric knew. Having plumbed his memories, dredging up the novel’s events, he’d a pretty good idea of the timeline, and for that reason, intensified his training. Only a month remained ‘till the king’s inhuman bounty hunters showed up on their doorstep.

He was never a slacker, but the added pressure lit a fire under his ass. Every spare moment not attending to Brom’s inane tasks was spent in the woods.

At this point, his understanding of magic was refined. He’d all but confirmed it found its source not in lifeforce itself, but a separate well of energy—one he’d simply named ‘mana’. Inextricably linked to both body and mind, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart.

Two observations clued him in on its existence—the amount of ‘work’ accomplished by magic exceeded the reserves of biochemical energy, and the growth of that energy reserve wasn’t one-to-one with the growth of his body.

By depleting his stores every day, projecting his consciousness into the distance and levitating whatever objects he found there, his capabilities had steadily expanded. As they did, Cedric started formulating another hypothesis—that mental power correlated strongly with magical power. The stronger the mind, the more powerful the magic.

One needed to look no further than the most magically ‘gifted’ entities—elves, spirits and dragons. Their consciousness were exceptionally powerful, with spirits firmly established at the top. Neither dragons nor elves were capable of shielding their minds against spirits, and the ethereal beings were similarly peerless when it came to magic.

Sorcery was barely touched on in the novel, but Cedric already had some ideas about how spirits were subjugated despite their prowess—with the cooperation of multiple powerful minds, as well as magical constructs. However, he had no intention of trying it for himself. The creatures were extremely intolerant of being bound, and he had no assistance in any case—Brom certainly wouldn’t endorse it.

Nearly all his strength was bent toward increasing his mana, and by association, his mind. However, he hadn’t abandoned his initial philosophy—that magic wasn’t to be wielded like a sledgehammer. He’d already come up with a few clever spells to use against the Ra’zac—the most immediate threat. Other problems loomed, but he’d solve them when the time came.

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About a week had passed, and Cedric’s patience reached its limit. Unwilling to wait for Brom to make his move, the boy acted on his own.

It was on a remote dirt path, snaking from Garrow’s farm to Spine, that Cedric cornered Eragon, his arms crossed and a half-smile on his lips.

“Well, well… I was just taking a walk to clear my head, and who did my little eye spy? Why, none other than Eragon! Could you be out hunting, perhaps? Oh, but I don’t see your bow…”

His eyes glinted mischievously, scanning the other boy from top to bottom. Meanwhile, Eragon was trying his best to keep his composure, but couldn’t stop his face from paling a little. He’d specifically chosen this route because nobody ever walked it! Why was Cedric suddenly here?

“Ah, Cid… I’m, uh…”

Understandably shocked by someone suddenly stepping out from behind a brush, his brain struggled to catch up. Did he know about… Saphira? But how could he, when neither Roran nor Garrow noticed? No, this must just be a coincidence.

“…I just wanted to get out of the house. We’ve been busy and, you know, Roran will be leaving soon. He’s, well… you know about him and Katrina. He’s getting apprenticed to that miller…”

The words coming out of his mouth had little bearing on the current situation, but Eragon at least hoped they’d serve to distract Cedric.

“Yes, yes. Sad to see him go and so on, but never mind all that…”

The red-haired boy took a step closer, his eyes staring piercingly into Eragon’s own.

“…actually, our meeting isn’t a coincidence. Wandering around the area, I stumbled across some strange… signs. They look like they were made by a big animal, but I don’t have a clue what it could be. I’d hoped you could help me take a look. It’d be bad news if some kind of predator settled this close to town. Plenty people keeping birds, pigs or sheep—uncle Garrow too.”

Hearing Cedric’s words, Eragon felt his heart dropping into his stomach. If his friend noticed, it wasn’t long before others did too!

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