In Eragon as a Mage

The faint gray of dawn barely pierced the horizon when Leo awoke to the sound of his father moving about the small room. The creak of wood, the soft clink of metal, and the muffled rustle of fabrics told him that his father was already preparing for the day ahead.

Leo sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The room was cold, the fire from the night before long since extinguished. He stretched and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. His father, already dressed and fastening his thick leather belt, glanced at him.

"Time to get up," his father said, his voice low and steady as always. "We've got a lot to do before the market opens."

Leo nodded and quickly dressed, pulling on a thick tunic and trousers to ward off the early morning chill. He slipped on his sturdy boots and grabbed his cloak before following his father downstairs.

Morne's tavern was quiet, the hearth fire reduced to glowing embers. A few other merchants were already stirring, their low voices blending with the occasional clatter of boots on the floorboards.

Outside, the air was crisp and damp, carrying the faint scent of dew-covered grass and wood smoke from distant hearths. The town was still waking, its streets mostly empty save for a few early risers.

The wagon was parked near the edge of the square where the market stalls would be set up. Its wooden sides were laden with carefully bundled pelts and furs, each tied with rough twine. The talons of the Roc, wrapped in cloth, lay hidden beneath the more mundane wares.

Leo's father began unloading the wagon with practiced efficiency, handing bundles to Leo as they worked to set up their stall. The wooden frame of the stall was simple but sturdy, with a canvas covering to shield their goods from the sun. They laid out the furs with care, arranging them by size and quality: thick wolf pelts, soft rabbit furs, and the glossy hides of foxes and deer.

"Make sure they're spread out evenly," his father said, stepping back to survey their work. "We want the best ones at the front to catch the eye."

Leo nodded, adjusting a particularly large wolf pelt so its edges draped neatly over the side of the table. His father was meticulous when it came to their trade, always emphasizing the importance of presentation.

As they worked, the square gradually came to life. Other merchants arrived, setting up their stalls with wares ranging from fresh produce and baked goods to tools and textiles. The murmur of voices grew louder, punctuated by the occasional laugh or shout as townsfolk began to trickle in.

Leo's father straightened, brushing his hands off on his trousers. "That'll do. Now, remember what I taught you about bargaining. Don't let them talk you down too much, but don't be so rigid that you scare off a good buyer."

Leo smirked. "I'll try not to trade a wolf pelt for a loaf of bread."

His father gave him a rare smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Good. Keep your wits about you, and you'll do fine."

The sun was just beginning to crest the rooftops, casting long shadows across the square. The market was in full swing now, the air filled with the mingled scents of fresh bread, roasting meat, and damp earth.

As Leo stood behind the stall, watching the townsfolk bustle about, he felt a flicker of excitement. This was a world he rarely got to see, a break from the solitude of the Spine. Though he preferred the quiet of the forest, there was something invigorating about the energy of the market—the constant hum of life, the endless possibilities in every exchange.

His father nudged him gently. "First customer's coming. Show me what you've learned."

Leo glanced up to see a middle-aged man approaching, his eyes already scanning the display of furs. Taking a deep breath, Leo stepped forward, ready to put his father's lessons to the test.

The market buzzed with activity as merchants shouted over one another, townsfolk haggled for the best prices, and children darted between stalls. Leo stood behind their display of furs, his father beside him, arms crossed and eyes scanning the bustling square. Business had been steady so far, with a few bundles of rabbit and fox pelts already sold.

It wasn't long before a familiar figure appeared in the crowd, striding toward their stall. Horst, the blacksmith of Carvahall, was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick, wiry beard and hands that looked as though they could bend steel as easily as twigs. His dark leather apron was streaked with soot, and his eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked over the furs as he approached.

"Morning, Leo," Horst said, his deep voice carrying over the din of the market. He gave a brief nod to Leo's father. "Your boy's been busy, I see."

Leo straightened, offering a polite smile. "Morning, Master Horst. We've brought some of our best pelts this time."

Horst leaned over the stall, inspecting the furs with a practiced eye. He ran his fingers over a wolf pelt, testing its thickness, before moving to a bundle of rabbit skins. "Fine work," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Good stitching, clean cuts. You've got a steady hand, Leo."

"Thank you," Leo said, a flicker of pride warming his chest.

Horst picked up a fox pelt, holding it up to the light. The rich, reddish fur glowed in the sunlight, its texture smooth and flawless. "I've been needing some good furs for lining," he said, turning the pelt over. "Winter's coming fast, and I'll have orders piling up soon enough. How much for this one?"

Leo hesitated, glancing at his father, who gave a subtle nod of encouragement.

"Three silver pieces," Leo said, his voice steady.

Horst raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Three, eh? You're confident." He set the fox pelt down and gestured to the wolf fur. "What about this one?"

"Six silver," Leo replied. "It's larger and thicker. Perfect for a cloak or a rug."

Horst chuckled. "Fair points. All right, lad, let's make a deal. I'll take the fox pelt, the wolf fur, and two bundles of rabbit skins. How does twelve silver sound for the lot?"

Leo's mind raced, calculating the value of the furs. It was a good offer—fair, if not slightly generous. He nodded. "That sounds reasonable, Master Horst."

Horst reached into the leather pouch at his belt, counting out twelve gleaming silver coins. He handed them to Leo, who accepted them with both hands. The weight of the coins felt heavier than he'd expected, the cool metal pressing against his palm.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Horst said, gathering the furs into his arms. "You've got talent, lad. Keep at it." With a final nod to Leo's father, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Leo stared at the coins in his hand, a strange mix of excitement and disbelief washing over him. He'd earned money before, but this felt different—bigger, more meaningful.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention. "You handled that well," he said, his voice calm but laced with approval. "And as I promised, the coins are yours to do with as you please."

Leo blinked, surprised. "You mean... all of them?"

His father nodded. "You earned them. What you do with them is up to you. Just remember, every coin spent is a choice made. Spend wisely."

Leo looked back at the silver coins, their surfaces catching the sunlight. A dozen possibilities flitted through his mind—supplies, tools, maybe even something for himself. But for now, he tucked the coins into a small pouch at his belt, feeling their reassuring weight as he returned his focus to the stall.

The market carried on around them, but Leo felt a newfound sense of independence, a small step toward something greater. Whatever lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain: the Spine had taught him survival, but the market was teaching him how to thrive.