Instead of Arya, I prefer her mom (Chapter 26) (Patreon)

Drawing closer to Teirm, they encountered more travelers. Brom purchased a mule from a trio of men in poor straits. As it was, entering the city with two mounts between the three of them was bound to be suspicious.

Saphira didn’t like it, but with no other choice, she’d been relegated to the rear, her flights with Eragon coming to an end. Heading eastward, the flora gave way to a more coastal variety, providing little cover for a creature her size.

Camping together was out of the question, so when the city’s walls appeared in the distance, it’d been days since Eragon, Cedric and Brom last saw her.

“…isn’t it time you revealed your intent, Brom? We’ve followed you all the way here, and you’ve mentioned your friend, Jeod, but…”

Eragon exchanged glances with Cedric before looking at Brom, his tone not exactly pleased. The old man’s secretive nature was really getting on his nerves.

“All will become clear once we meet with Jeod. Just be patient.”

Predictably, no answer was forthcoming. If Cedric didn’t already know the facts, he’d long since have throttled the geezer. As things stood, he was impressed by Eragon’s restraint.

Suddenly, Brom’s gaze shifted to Cedric, his grey eyes boring into the boy’s.

“Remember what I told you, brat. You think yourself very clever and talented, but no matter your ability, you can’t resist the king. And he doesn’t tolerate mages outside his control.”

“I’m not a simpleton either. You’ve been tagging along, but it’s not out of concern for us or any feeling of companionship on your part—I know that much. Whatever your planning, you better be real circumspect about it. For various reasons, the empire is keeping an eye on Teirm. Do not kick the hornets’ nest.”

He went silent, the look on his face impressing the matter’s seriousness upon both boys.

However, Eragon wasn’t looking at Brom, but Cedric. Since that… village, he found himself wondering why his friend was still around, and whether he could even be called such.

For the life of him, Eragon couldn’t guess what Cedric was thinking, or even get a handle on who he was as a person. And as with Saphira, a fear of the unknown was slowly sprouting in his subconscious, though their roles had unknowingly reversed.

Sure, he didn’t know much about the red-head back in Carvahall either, but they barely interacted then. Now, they’d been together every day, yet Eragon felt the haze around Cedric was just as impenetrable.

It made him uneasy.

“I see you two don’t think very highly of me. I suppose I could share my intentions if it’ll help you feel more at ease…”

Crossing his arms, Cedric stared at Brom and Eragon in turn, a thin smile appearing on his face.

“…I don’t have any. What, why such suspicious looks? I’ve lived in that little village all my life, what plans could I possibly have? I barely know anything about the world. Though I didn’t appreciate your little ‘trick’, old man, now that I’m already here, I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to look around.”

Brom’s response was a glower, his disbelief on display, while Eragon had the decency to look ashamed.

“Let’s not stand around all day, I haven’t slept in a proper bed for near a month, and I’m hungry to boot. The sooner we’re inside Tierm’s walls, the happier I’ll be.”

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Teirm was surrounded by a white wall, a hundred feet tall. The city behind it was barely visible, aside from a tremendous citadel, rising into the sky. Getting past the gates was simple, blending in with the milling crowd and answering a few questions once at the queue’s front.

Once inside, the three were faced with the sight of flat-roofed houses with small windows and narrow doorways. They were dense and cramped together with narrow paths, wide enough for a single person, snaking between them. Cedric was reminded of southern European cities he’d seen in his past life.

As one headed toward Teirm’s center, the roads widened and buildings grew more spacious with comfortable, two-story layouts.

“Wow.”

Eragon expressed his amazement, his neck swiveling left and right.

“Why is everything… built like this?”

“I’m assuming you mean the staggered elevations? Teirm has a history of being invaded by pirates, so the layout is meant to aid during defense. Archers posted on rooftops can shoot down and over their comrades stationed below, while enemy archers must shoot upward…”

Brom shared the finer details of city planning with Eragon while Cedric scanned the surroundings, his expression faintly impatient. As much as he’d like to appreciate the medieval scenery, hunger currently occupied his thoughts.

It was about twenty minutes later that Brom finally stopped his rambling.

“…ah, here we are. ‘The Green Chestnut’… wonderful.”

The three of them led their horses across a street toward the tavern, tying them to hitching posts. Above their heads, a battered, emblemed sign swung on a pole.

Taking a single step inside, Cedric wondered what was so ‘wonderful’ about the place. A dirty little fire squatted in the hearth, on the verge of going out. The interior had a distinctly seedy feel, with a few shady people loitering around.

Walking forward, Brom leaned against the bar, addressing the sullen-faced bartender.

“Do you know where a man named Jeod lives?”

The bartender, to nobody’s surprise, was uncooperative.

“Now why would I know something like that? You think I keep track of all the mangy louts entering and exiting this place?”

His response was just loud enough to attract all the wrong kinds of attention, as the ‘patrons’ turned and looked to their party of three.

Cedric at once felt two urges—the desire to both groan and facepalm. It was all so stupid. Hadn’t Brom lectured him about remaining circumspect just a few hours ago? What was all this, then?

If he was attempting to dig out information, he’d simply do the psychic equivalent of grabbing someone by the ankles, shaking them upside-down until the proverbial coins started tumbling out. If done right, little attention would be attracted, and virtually no trail would remain for anyone to follow.

“Can you be enticed to remember?”

Brom spoke smoothly, sliding some money across the bar.

“Could be…”

The man set his glass down, reaching for the coins.

“…but my memory takes a great deal of prodding.”

Cedric thought the whole interaction screamed ‘suspicious’, while also signaling to the gathered crooks they had money to blow. If this was the extent of his plan, then he couldn’t help losing respect for the geezer. The Brom he remembered from the books, admittedly vague as his memory was, seemed competent despite his flaws.

However, throughout Cedric’s stay in Carvahall, he’d interacted precious little with Brom. Perhaps the old coot just hadn’t had a chance to mess up, and so maintained his image of mystery in Cedric’s mind.

Now, after living with him for three months, as well as their travels, his faults were being exposed one after the other. Not only was Brom weak, but he wasn’t that smart, with his decisions showing a distinct lack of long-term planning.

Thinking it over, perhaps there was no better example than his death in the books, essentially waltzing into Dras-Leona, the Ra’zac’s home-base. He and Eragon’s detection, as well as the subsequent ambush and Brom’s death, was unsurprising.

As the saying went: never meet your heroes, lest they inevitably end up disappointing you. Despite himself, Cedric had considered Brom a hero.

Was he blinded him to the truth?

“…Gareth, what in the blazes are you doing? Anyone could tell them were Jeod lives? What’re you charging them for?”

The issue ended up being resolved by a kind Samaritan, a man named Evan. As convenience would have it, Brom talked him into having a few beers, extracting recent news from him while Cedric and Eragon sat with their backs to the wall.

When they were done, Brom thanked Evan a last time, leaving for the west side of Teirm. It was a far more affluent area, where people wore expensive clothing, and houses were large and opulent.

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‘Jeod lives next to an herbalist’s shop in west-end, run by a woman named Angela.’ Those were the directions they received.

Cedric’s desire to meet the mysterious witch couldn’t get any lower, having found her rather insufferable. However, he decided not to avoid her, for various reasons.

Perhaps it was confidence, or rather, arrogance, but he was curious whether she’d notice anything odd about him. With the amount of super-powered, ancient magic users in the setting, he’d prefer his vulnerabilities be exposed sooner rather than later.

Not that he was letting the chips fall as they willed. If the witch did prove hostile, well… unlike his ‘mentor’, Cedric staunchly believed in proper preparation.

Soon, a quant little boutique, complete with a cheery sign, entered their view. In front, a short, frizzy-haired woman sat by the door, a frog in one hand and a pen in the other. Faced with such an eccentric sight, there was no doubting her identity.

“Could you tell us which house Jeod lives in?”

Brom approached her first, speaking politely.

Next to the herbalist’s shop were two houses, either of which could belong to the Varden agent. Cedric wondered why the old man couldn’t have confirmed the fact with Evan beforehand, but then again, he’d already determined Brom wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

“I could.”

The witch replied, but continued writing without looking up.

“…will you tell us?”

“Yes.”

Despite her agreement, no answer was forthcoming, her pen continuing to scribble against the parchment. Cedric fought the urge to blurt out something rude, finding this little ‘joke’ of hers about as funny as a wet fart.

The atmosphere soon turned awkward, but before they could leave, she suddenly looked up. Angela was rather plain-faced with a distinct ‘middle-school English teacher’ look.

“Of course I’ll tell you! All you had to do was ask. Your first question was if I could tell you, and the second was if I would! But you never actually asked me outright.”

Cedric couldn’t fight the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. However, he did shut his eyes lest Angela see them rolling into the back of his skull.

Apparently, Brom didn’t find it as awful, because a smile was audible in his voice.

“Then let me ask properly. Which house is Jeod’s? And why are you holding a frog-…?”

Cedric tuned out the rest, not wanting to listen to her whole spiel about wanting to disprove the existence of toads and their distinction from frogs.

Mercifully, the dumb conversation was soon at an end, and they were walking down the path to Jeod’s house. When they were out of earshot, Eragon let his opinion be known.

“She’s crazy.”

Cedric huffed, though the sound was devoid of amusement.

“That, or she thinks herself very clever.”

“Don’t criticize, boys, she might discover something useful. Besides, who knows, toads might really be frogs…”

Eragon wasn’t having any of it, putting him in the same boat as Cedric.

“And my shoes are made of gold!”

They argued back and forth until coming to the front door. Brom stepped forward and knocked, but after waiting a while, nobody answered. Undeterred, he kept up his banging to Eragon’s embarrassment until footsteps eventually sounded, thumping down the hall.

The door opened, exposing a young, blonde-haired woman with a pale complexion. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying, but spoke with a steady voice.

“Yes, what do you want?”

Brom cleared his throat.

“Does Jeod live here? We need to speak with him.”

“He’s my husband. Is he expecting you?”

She sounded a tad suspicious.

“No, but we’ve traveled far. It’s important we see him.”

The woman’s face hardened. Her attitude was unsurprising, given a trio of strangers showing up uninvited on her doorstep.

“He’s busy.”

Brom’s tone remained pleasant, showing uncharacteristic temperance. At least, his fuse was a lot shorter when dealing with Eragon, and certainly when Cedric was involved.

“Since he’s unavailable, will you please give him a message? Tell him a friend from Gil’ead is waiting outside.”

With an abrupt ‘very well’, she retreated, shutting the door in their faces. Her footsteps sounded again, disappearing down the hall.

“…”

Stunned, it took a moment for Eragon to respond to what’d happened.

“…that wasn’t very polite.”

“Keep your opinions to yourself! And don’t say anything, let me do the talking!”

If the young rider was surprised by the woman, Brom’s sudden scolding upset him even more. However, before he could protest, someone came storming down the hallway, the door suddenly flinging open to reveal the figure of a tall man, clad in expensive clothing.

Seeing them, he grew wide-eyed, sagging speechlessly against the doorframe. His mouth opened and closed a few times like a gaping fish,  before speaking softly, his voice incredulous.

“Brom…?”

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