shadows in the village

Leo crouched behind a thick cluster of underbrush, his keen eyes fixed on the wooden wall surrounding Carvahall. The village had changed in his absence—what had once been an open and peaceful settlement now stood as a walled enclave, the scent of freshly cut timber still lingering in the air. Beyond the wall, torchlight flickered in the night, illuminating the silhouettes of guards patrolling the perimeter.

He had seen the King's army camped beyond the valley, a thousand strong, their banners fluttering like carrion birds waiting for a feast. But why were they here? And why was Carvahall fortifying itself like a besieged city?

Leo needed answers.

Moving like a shadow, he crept along the outskirts of the village, searching for a weak point in the fortifications. The wall was hastily built, sturdy but not perfect. Near the river, where the earth was soft and damp, the logs had sunk slightly, creating a narrow gap near the bottom. It wasn't much, but it was enough. He slid through, careful not to disturb the dirt, and landed in the outskirts of the village.

Carvahall was eerily quiet. The usual sounds of an evening—laughter from the tavern, the chatter of townsfolk—were gone, replaced by an unsettling stillness. Many of the homes had their shutters drawn, candlelight barely flickering through the cracks. People were hiding.

Keeping to the shadows, Leo moved toward the heart of the village, his senses on high alert. As he passed the butcher's shop, he caught a glimpse of Sloan peering through a crack in his window, his face twisted with paranoia. The man had always been an unpleasant sort, but now, fear seemed to grip him like a vice.

Further ahead, Leo reached the tavern, Morne's place. The door was slightly ajar, voices murmuring inside. Pressing himself against the outer wall, he edged toward the window and listened.

"…they've been questioning everyone," came a hushed voice. It was Horst, the blacksmith. "They want to know about Eragon. Where he went. What he took."

Leo's stomach clenched.

"I told them nothing," Morne's voice grumbled, followed by the sound of a cup being set down roughly. "But they're not leaving, Horst. They mean to stay."

A third voice, softer, spoke next. "They're looking for something. Or someone."

Leo recognized the voice—Elain, Horst's wife.

There was a long pause. Then Horst sighed. "Eragon left us with more trouble than he knew. And now we must pay the price."

Leo shifted slightly, careful not to make a sound. The soldiers weren't just here on a whim—they were hunting Eragon, and likely, whatever he had taken from the Spine.

The 'stone.'

Had the strangers reported back to the King? Were they the ones who had led the army here? It seemed too much of a coincidence that only weeks after their departure, the village was now crawling with soldiers.

Leo took a slow breath. He needed to get closer.

Moving away from the tavern, he slipped through the narrow alleys between homes, making his way toward the center of the village. As he neared the well, he spotted a group of soldiers gathered around a makeshift command post, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. Their leader, a tall man with a cruel set to his jaw, was speaking to his men.

"We continue searching at dawn," the commander said, his voice hard as steel. "Someone in this village knows more than they're saying. If we have to drag them out of their homes one by one, we will."

A murmur of assent went through the ranks. Leo's fists clenched. These weren't just soldiers—they were enforcers. The King's dogs, sniffing for any sign of rebellion.

The commander turned to a nearby soldier. "Send a rider to report back to Gil'ead. If the boy isn't found soon, we escalate."

Escalate? Leo's mind raced. Did that mean they would start killing? Burning the village? The King was not known for patience.

Leo had heard enough. He needed to get out before he was spotted.

Carefully, he retraced his steps, sticking to the darkest paths between homes. But as he neared the wall, voices rose in alarm.

"Who goes there?!"

Leo froze. He had been seen.

A soldier was coming his way, torch raised. Without hesitation, Leo darted toward the gap in the wall, moving fast and low. The guard shouted behind him, but Leo was already slipping through the narrow opening.

The moment he was outside, he sprinted toward the tree line, heart pounding. Shouts echoed from the village as more torches flared to life. He had stirred the nest.

But he had also gotten what he came for.

As he disappeared into the Spine, the image of the King's army camped outside Carvahall burned in his mind.

This was just the beginning.