In Eragon as a Mage

The morning air carried a chill as Leo made his way through Carvahall, the sun casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths. The traders had set up their stalls in the village square, their wagons forming a haphazard semicircle. Usually, this was a lively scene—full of laughter, banter, and the hum of good-natured bargaining. Today, however, a strange tension hung in the air.

Leo approached a cluster of merchants near a wagon piled high with bolts of cloth. The traders greeted him with polite nods but none of the usual cheer. Their smiles were tight, their eyes darting nervously, scanning the square as if expecting trouble to appear at any moment.

"Morning, Leo," said Marik, an older trader with a beard streaked with silver. He leaned against the wagon, a pipe clutched between his fingers. His usual jovial tone was absent, replaced by a cautious wariness. "Didn't think we'd see you down here this early."

"Morning," Leo replied, his gaze flicking between the traders. "You all seem… different this year. Is everything all right?"

Marik hesitated, exchanging a glance with a younger trader standing nearby. The man cleared his throat and looked away, busying himself with adjusting the straps on a crate.

"Nothing's all right these days," Marik muttered under his breath. He tapped the bowl of his pipe against the edge of the wagon, the clinking sound breaking the uneasy silence.

"What do you mean?" Leo asked, lowering his voice.

Marik sighed and gestured for Leo to step closer. The other traders subtly edged away, as if unwilling to be overheard. Once they were alone, Marik leaned in, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

"We were attacked on the way here," he said, his tone grim. "Bandits hit us just past the edge of the Spine. Lost a wagon and two men."

Leo's stomach tightened. "Bandits? That's rare this far north. What did they want?"

Marik shook his head. "Everything. Goods, coin, horses—anything of value. They weren't like the usual lot, though. They were… organized. Armed to the teeth and acting like they had nothing to lose."

Leo frowned, his mind racing. Bandit attacks were uncommon near Carvahall, especially ones as coordinated as Marik described. But before he could press further, Marik continued.

"That's not all," the trader added, his voice dropping even lower. "We got stopped twice on the way here by the king's men. Searching every wagon, turning out every crate."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "The king's army? What were they looking for?"

Marik hesitated, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. "Don't know for sure," he said finally. "But the officer kept saying they were hunting for someone—or something. He wouldn't say what, but the way he acted… it felt important. They were in a hurry, too. Almost like they were scared of whatever it was they were after."

Leo felt a chill run down his spine, though he wasn't sure if it was the crisp air or Marik's words. "Did they find anything?"

Marik shook his head. "Not that I know of. But something's stirring, lad. Something big. Mark my words—these are strange times we're living in."

The conversation left a sour taste in Leo's mouth as he stepped away from the wagon. He cast a glance toward the distant edge of the Spine, its jagged peaks looming like silent sentinels. Something was out there, and it wasn't just bandits.

As he made his way back toward Morne's tavern, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that the strange events of late—the traders' unease, the king's soldiers, and even the mysterious whispers of his compendium—were all pieces of a larger puzzle. One he was only just beginning to glimpse.

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the Spine, casting golden light over Carvahall as Leo made his way through the village. The events of the morning still churned in his mind—Marik's story of bandits and the king's soldiers searching for something unknown. The quiet streets seemed unusually tense, as if the village itself had picked up on the unease that hung over the traders.

As he rounded a corner near the smithy, Leo nearly collided with someone walking the other way.

"Watch it!" a familiar voice called out, half-laughing.

Leo stepped back and recognized Eragon, his friend from the hunt. The younger boy grinned, his face flushed from the brisk air.

"Eragon," Leo greeted, managing a small smile. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Same to you," Eragon said, shouldering a small bag of supplies. "What brings you into the village? Don't you usually keep to the Spine this time of year?"

Leo shrugged. "Needed to talk to the traders. Figured it was time to check in on the world outside the forest."

Eragon nodded, his expression momentarily serious. "It's been strange lately, hasn't it? I've heard whispers about the king's men poking around, and traders are jumpy. Something's going on."

Leo leaned against a nearby post. "I was just talking to Marik about that. He said they were searching for someone—or something. Didn't say much else, though."

Eragon tilted his head, curiosity lighting his eyes. "Hmm. Speaking of strange things..." His grin returned, a mix of amusement and excitement. "You remember that 'stone' we found in the Spine? The blue and white one?"

Leo nodded, recalling the smooth, football-sized object they'd mistaken for a gemstone. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, I brought it to the traders to see if it was worth anything," Eragon began, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "But they said it was hollow. They laughed, told me it wasn't worth a single coin."

Leo frowned. "Hollow? That doesn't make sense. It felt solid when we found it."

"Exactly!" Eragon said, his eyes widening. "I thought the same thing. But they insisted. Said it wasn't even a proper gemstone, just some odd carving. So, I figured—why bother selling it? I decided to keep it."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "You're keeping it? What for?"

Eragon shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I don't know, really. It's... interesting, isn't it? Something about it feels important. Maybe it's just me being stubborn."

Leo couldn't help but chuckle. "You? Stubborn? Never."

Eragon laughed along with him, the sound cutting through the tension that had settled over the village. For a moment, it felt like things were normal again, like they were just two boys sharing a joke without the weight of bandits, soldiers, or mysterious stones hanging over them.

"Well," Eragon said, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder, "I'd better get back home. Garrow will have my hide if I'm late for supper again."

Leo nodded. "Take care, Eragon. And keep an eye on that stone. Something tells me it's not just a carving."

Eragon smirked. "You sound like Brom. He's always going on about legends and prophecies. But thanks, Leo. I'll see you around."

As Eragon walked away, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that the stone—or whatever it truly was—held more secrets than either of them realized. He thought as he returned to the tavern.

Leo sat at a corner table in Morne's tavern, sipping a warm mug of cider to shake off the chill of the evening air. The tavern was alive with quiet murmurs and the occasional clatter of plates, yet the tension among the villagers still lingered. Leo had just finished speaking with Morne about his father's passing when the tavern door creaked open, and Roran stepped in.

Roran, broad-shouldered and confident, scanned the room and spotted Leo. A grin spread across his face as he approached, his boots thudding lightly against the wooden floor.

"Leo!" Roran said, clapping him on the shoulder with a firm hand. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Roran," Leo greeted, nodding. "How's it going?"

Roran pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "Not bad, all things considered. Just finished helping Garrow with the last of the winter repairs, but I needed a break." He leaned back, a look of gratitude softening his rugged features. "You know, Eragon's been talking about you a lot lately."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I hope that's a good thing."

Roran chuckled. "It is. He says he's a better hunter now, thanks to you. Tells me you showed him a few tricks on that trip into the Spine. I can't thank you enough for that. It's been a real help to Garrow and me having him bring back game more regularly."

"It wasn't much," Leo said, waving off the compliment. "Eragon picks up on things quickly. He's got the instincts for it."

"Still," Roran insisted, "you've done more for him than you know. And speaking of family..." His expression turned thoughtful, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I wanted to share something with you. I got an offer—a job at Thernford's mill in the next town over."

Leo tilted his head. "The mill? That's a good opportunity, isn't it?"

Roran nodded. "It is. Steady work, decent pay, and a chance to build something for myself. It's not that I don't love helping Garrow on the farm, but..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing. "I want more than just scraping by. I want a future I can shape with my own hands."

Leo nodded in understanding. "That's fair. Have you told Garrow yet?"

"Not yet," Roran admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I'm planning to tell him at dinner tonight. I'm not sure how he'll take it. He's always counted on me to stay and help with the farm. But this is something I have to do."

Leo took a sip of his cider, considering Roran's words. "Garrow's a good man. He might not like it at first, but he'll understand. He'll want what's best for you, even if it's hard for him to let go."

"I hope you're right," Roran said with a sigh. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. "Anyway, I should get going. Thanks for listening, Leo. You're a good friend."

"Anytime," Leo replied. "Good luck tonight. Let me know how it goes."

Roran gave him a grateful nod and headed for the door, pausing just before he stepped outside. "Oh, and Leo—keep an eye on Eragon, would you? He's got that stone of his, and I don't know why, but I've got a bad feeling about it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Leo said, watching as Roran disappeared into the night.

As the door closed behind him, Leo leaned back in his chair, the weight of Roran's words settling in his chest. Between the bandits, the king's soldiers, and the strange events surrounding Eragon's stone, there was a storm brewing. And somehow, Leo knew he was already caught in the middle of it.