Eragon longed to accept the gift, but still he hesitated. “Brom said that Domia abr Wyrda was the most valuable thing in your house. And rare as well. . . . Besides, what of your work? Don’t you need this for your research?”

“Domia abr Wyrda is valuable and it is rare,” said Jeod, “but only in the Empire, where Galbatorix burns every copy he finds and hangs their unfortunate owners. Here in the camp, I have already had six copies foisted upon me by members of King Orrin’s court, and this is hardly what one would call a great center of learning. However, I do not part with it lightly, and only because you can put it to better use than I can. Books should go where they will be most appreciated, and not sit unread, gathering dust on a forgotten shelf, don’t you agree?”

“I do.” Eragon closed Domia abr Wyrda and again traced the intricate patterns on the front with his fingers, fascinated by the swirling designs that had been chiseled into the leather. “Thank you. I shall treasure it for as long as it is mine to watch over.” Jeod dipped his head and leaned back against the wall of the tent, appearing satisfied. Turning the book on its edge, Eragon examined the lettering on the spine. “What was Heslant a monk of?”

“A small, secretive sect called the Arcaena that originated in the area by Kuasta. Their order, which has endured for at least five hundred years, believes that all knowledge is sacred.” A hint of a smile lent Jeod’s features a mysterious cast. “They have dedicated themselves to collecting every piece of information in the world and preserving it against a time when they believe an unspecified catastrophe will destroy all the civilizations in Alagaësia.”

“It seems a strange religion,” Eragon said.

“Are not all religions strange to those who stand outside of them?” countered Jeod.

Eragon said, “I have a gift for you as well, or rather, for you, Helen.” She tilted her head, a quizzical frown on her face. “Your family was a merchant family, yes?” She jerked her chin in an affirmative. “Were you very familiar with the business yourself?”

Lightning sparked in Helen’s eyes. “If I had not married him”—she motioned with a shoulder—“I would have taken over the family affairs when my father died. I was an only child, and my father taught me everything he knew.”

That was what Eragon had hoped to hear. To Jeod, he said, “You claimed that you are content with your lot here with the Varden.”

“And so I am. Mostly.”

“I understand. However, you risked a great deal to help Brom and me, and you risked even more to help Roran and everyone else from Carvahall.”

“The Palancar Pirates.”

Eragon chuckled and continued. “Without your assistance, the Empire would surely have captured them. And because of your act of rebellion, you both lost all that was dear to you in Teirm.”

“We would have lost it anyway. I was bankrupt and the Twins had betrayed me to the Empire. It was only a matter of time before Lord Risthart had me arrested.”

“Maybe, but you still helped Roran. Who can blame you if you were protecting your own necks at the same time? The fact remains that you abandoned your lives in Teirm in order to steal the Dragon Wing along with Roran and the villagers. And for your sacrifice, I will always be grateful. So this is part of my thanks. . . .”

Sliding a finger underneath his belt, Eragon removed the second of the three gold orbs and presented it to Helen. She cradled it as gently as if it were a baby robin. While she gazed at it with wonder, and Jeod craned his neck to see over the edge of her hand, Eragon said, “It’s not a fortune, but if you are clever, you should be able to make it grow. What Nasuada did with lace taught me that there is a great deal of opportunity for a person to prosper in war.”

“Oh yes,” breathed Helen. “War is a merchant’s delight.”

“For one, Nasuada mentioned to me last night at dinner that the dwarves are running low on mead, and as you might suspect, they have the means to buy as many casks as they want, even if the price were a thousandfold of what it was before the war. But then, that’s just a suggestion. You may find others who are more desperate to trade if you look for yourself.”

Eragon staggered back a step as Helen rushed at him and embraced him. Her hair tickled his chin. She released him, suddenly shy, then her excitement burst forth again and she lifted the honey-colored globe in front of her nose and said, “Thank you, Eragon! Oh, thank you!” She pointed at the gold. “This I can use. I know I can. With it, I’ll build an empire even larger than my father’s.” The shiny orb disappeared within her clenched fist. “You believe my ambition exceeds my abilities? It shall be as I have said. I shall not fail!”

Eragon bowed to her. “I hope that you succeed and that your success benefits us all.”

Eragon noticed that hard cords stood out in Helen’s neck as she curtsied and said, “You are most generous, Shadeslayer. Again I thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Jeod, rising from the bed. “I cannot think that we deserve this”—Helen shot him a furious look, which he ignored—“but it is most welcome nevertheless.”

Improvising, Eragon added, “And for you, Jeod, your gift is not from me, but Saphira. She has agreed to let you fly on her when you both have a spare hour or two.” It pained Eragon to share Saphira, and he knew that she would be upset he had not consulted her before volunteering her services, but after giving Helen the gold, he would have felt guilty about not giving Jeod something of equal value.