“Itis Roran, isn’t it?” Jeod asked quietly. He showed no alarm at their weapons.

“How did you guess?”

“Because Brom brought Eragon here, and you look like your cousin. When I saw your poster with Eragon’s, I realized that the Empire must have tried to capture you and that you had escaped. Although,” Jeod’s gaze drifted to the other three, “in all my imaginings, I never suspected that you took the rest of Carvahall with you.”

Stunned, Roran dropped back into his chair and placed the hammer across his knees, ready for use. “Eragon was here?”

“Aye. And Saphira too.”

“Saphira?”

Again, surprise crossed Jeod’s face. “You don’t know, then?”

“Know what?”

Jeod considered him for a long minute. “I think the time has come to drop our pretenses, Roran Garrowsson, and talk openly and without deception. I can answer many of the questions you must have—such as why the Empire is pursuing you—but in return, I need to know the reason you came to Teirm . . . thereal reason.”

“An’ why should we trust you, Longshanks?” demanded Loring. “You could be working for Galbatorix, you could.”

“I was Brom’s friend for over twenty years, before he was a storyteller in Carvahall,” said Jeod, “and I did my best to help him and Eragon when they were under my roof. But since neither of them are here to vouch for me, I place my life in your hands, to do with as you wish. I could shout for help, but I won’t. Nor will I fight you. All I ask is that you tell me your story and hear my own. Then you can decide for yourself what course of action is proper. You’re in no immediate danger, so what harm is there in talking?”

Birgit caught Roran’s eye with a flick of her chin. “He could just be trying to save his hide.”

“Maybe,” replied Roran, “but we have to find out whatever it is he knows.” Hooking an arm underneath his chair, he dragged it across the room, placed the back of the chair against the door, and then sat in it, so that no one could burst in and catch them unawares. He jabbed his hammer at Jeod. “All right. You want to talk? Then let us talk, you and I.”

“It would be best if you go first.”

“If I do, and we’re not satisfied by your answers afterward, we’ll have to kill you,” warned Roran.

Jeod folded his arms. “So be it.”

Despite himself, Roran was impressed by the merchant’s fortitude; Jeod appeared unconcerned by his fate, if a bit grim about the mouth. “So be it,” Roran echoed.

Roran had relived the events since the Ra’zac’s arrival in Carvahall often enough, but never before had he described them in detail to another person. As he did, it struck him how much had happened to him and the other villagers in such a short time and how easy it had been for the Empire to destroy their lives in Palancar Valley. Resuscitating old terrors was painful for Roran, but he at least had the pleasure of seeing Jeod exhibit unfeigned astonishment as he heard about how the villagers had rousted the soldiers and Ra’zac from their camp, the siege of Carvahall thereafter, Sloan’s treachery, Katrina’s kidnapping, how Roran had convinced the villagers to flee, and the hardships of their journey to Teirm.

“By the Lost Kings!” exclaimed Jeod. “That’s the most extraordinary tale. Extraordinary! To think you’ve managed to thwart Galbatorix and that right now the entire village of Carvahall is hiding outside one of the Empire’s largest cities and the king doesn’t even know it. . . .” He shook his head with admiration.

“Aye, that’s our position,” growled Loring, “and it’s precarious at best, so you’d better explain well and good why we shouldrisk letting you live.”

“It places me in as much—”

Jeod stopped as someone rattled the latch behind Roran’s chair, trying to open the door, followed by pounding on the oak planks. In the hallway, a woman cried, “Jeod! Let me in, Jeod! You can’t hide in that cave of yours.”

“May I?” murmured Jeod.

Roran clicked his fingers at Nolfavrell, and the boy tossed his dagger to Roran, who slipped around the writing desk and pressed the flat of the blade against Jeod’s throat. “Make her leave.”

Raising his voice, Jeod said, “I can’t talk now; I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“Liar! You don’t have any business. You’re bankrupt! Come out and face me, you coward! Are you a man or not that you won’t even look your wife in the eye?” She paused for a second, as if expecting a response, then her screeches increased in volume: “Coward! You’re a gutless rat, a filthy, yellow-bellied sheep-biter without the common sense to run a meat stall, much less a shipping company. My father would have never lost so much money!”

Roran winced as the insults continued.I can’t restrain Jeod if she goes on much longer.

“Be still, woman!” commanded Jeod, and silence ensued. “Our fortunes might be about to change for the better if you but have the sense to restrain your tongue and not rail on like a fishmonger’s wife.”

Her answer was cold: “I shall wait upon your pleasure in the dining room, dear husband, and unless you choose to attend me by the evening meal and explain yourself, then I shall leave this accursed house, never to return.” The sound of her footsteps retreated into the distance.

When he was sure that she was gone, Roran lifted the dagger from Jeod’s neck and returned the weapon to Nolfavrell before reseating himself in the chair pushed against the door.