As they gazed at him with unblinking eyes, Orik related to the clanmeet how the seven black-clad dwarves had attacked Eragon and his guards while they were meandering among the tunnels underneath Tronjheim. Then Orik told them of the braided horsehair bracelet set with amethyst cabochons that Eragon's guards had found upon one of the corpses.

"Do not think to blame this attack upon mine clan based upon such paltry evidence!" exclaimed Vermund, bolting upright. "One can buy similar trinkets in most every market of our realm!"

"Quite so," said Orik, and inclined his head toward Vermund. In a dispa.s.sionate voice, and with a quick pace, Orik proceeded to tell his audience, as he had told Eragon the previous night, how his subjects in Dalgon had confirmed for him that the strange flickering daggers the a.s.sa.s.sins had wielded had been forged by the smith Kiefna, and also how his subjects had discovered that the dwarf who had bought the weapons had arranged for them to be transported from Dalgon to one of the cities held by Az Sweldn rak Anhuin.

Uttering a low, growling oath, Vermund leaped to his feet again. "Those daggers might never have reached our city, and even if they did, you can draw no conclusions from that fact! Knurlan of many clans stay within our walls, as they do within the walls of Bregan Hold, for example. It signifies nothing nothing. Be careful what you say next, Grimstborith Orik, for you have no grounds upon which to level accusations against mine clan."

"I was of the same opinion as you, Grimstborith Vermund," Orik replied. "Therefore, last night, my spellcasters and I retraced the a.s.sa.s.sins' path back to their place of origin, and on the twelfth level of Tronjheim, we captured three knurlan who were hiding in a dusty storeroom. We broke the minds of two of them and, from them, we learned they provisioned the a.s.sa.s.sins for their attack. And," said Orik, his voice growing harsh and terrible, "from them we learned the ident.i.ty of their master. I name you, Grimstborith Vermund! I name you Murderer and Oath-breaker. I name you an enemy of Durgrimst Ingeitum, and I name you a traitor to your kind, for it was you and your clan who attempted to kill Eragon!"

The clanmeet erupted into chaos as every clan chief except Orik and Vermund began to shout and wave their hands and otherwise attempt to dominate the conversation. Eragon stood and loosened his borrowed sword in its sheath, drawing it out a half inch, so he could respond with all possible speed if Vermund or one of his dwarves chose that moment to attack. Vermund did not move, however, nor did Orik; they stared at each other like rival wolves and paid no attention to the commotion around them.

When at last Gannel succeeded in restoring order, he said, "Grimstborith Vermund, can you refute these charges?"

In a flat, emotionless voice, Vermund replied, "I deny them with every bone in my body, and I challenge anyone to prove them to the satisfaction of a reader-of-law."

Gannel turned toward Orik. "Present your evidence, then, Grimstborith Orik, that we may judge whether it is valid or not. There are five readers-of-law here today, if I am not mistaken." He motioned toward the wall, where five white-bearded dwarves stood and bowed. "They will ensure that we do not stray beyond the boundaries of the law in our investigation. Are we agreed?"

"I am agreed," said undin.

"I am agreed," said Hadfala and all the rest of the clan chiefs after her save Vermund.

First, Orik placed the amethyst bracelet upon the table. Every clan chief had one of their magicians examine it, and all agreed that as evidence it was inconclusive.

Then Orik had an aide bring in a mirror mounted on a bronze tripod. One of the magicians within his retinue cast a spell, and upon the glossy surface of the mirror there appeared the image of a small, book-filled room. A moment pa.s.sed, and then a dwarf rushed into the room and bowed toward the clanmeet from within the mirror. In a breathless voice, he introduced himself as Rimmar, and after swearing oaths in the ancient language to ensure his honesty, he told the clanmeet how he and his a.s.sistants had made their discoveries concerning the daggers Eragon's attackers had wielded.

When the clan chiefs finished questioning Rimmar, Orik had his warriors bring in the three dwarves the Ingeitum had captured. Gannel ordered them to swear the oaths of truthfulness in the ancient language, but they cursed at him and spat on the floor and refused. Then magicians from all of the different clans joined their thoughts, invaded the prisoners' minds, and wrested from them the information the clanmeet desired. Without exception, the magicians confirmed what Orik had already said.

Lastly, Orik called upon Eragon to testify. Eragon felt nervous as he walked over to the table and the thirteen grim clan chiefs stared at him. He gazed across the room at a small whorl of color on a marble pillar and tried to ignore his discomfort. He repeated the oaths of truthfulness as one of the dwarf magicians gave them to him, and then, speaking no more than was necessary, Eragon told the clan chiefs how he and his guards had been attacked. Afterward, he answered the dwarves' inevitable questions and then allowed two of the magicians-whom Gannel chose at random from among those a.s.sembled-to examine his memories of the event. As Eragon lowered the barriers around his mind, he noted that the two magicians appeared apprehensive, and he drew some comfort from the observation. Good, Good, he thought. he thought. They will be less likely to wander where they should not if they fear me. They will be less likely to wander where they should not if they fear me.

To Eragon's relief, the inspection went without incident, and the magicians corroborated his account to the clan chiefs.

Gannel rose from his chair and addressed the readers-of-law, asking them: "Are you satisfied with the quality of the evidence Grimstborith Orik and Eragon Shadeslayer have shown us?"

The five white-bearded dwarves bowed, and the middle dwarf said, "We are, Grimstborith Gannel."

Gannel grunted, seeming unsurprised. "Grimstborith Vermund, you are responsible for the death of Kvistor, son of Bauden, and you attempted to kill a guest. By doing so, you have brought shame upon our entire race. What say you to this?"

The clan chief of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin pressed his hands flat against the table, veins bulging underneath his tanned skin. "If this Dragon Rider Dragon Rider is a knurla in all but blood, then he is no guest and we may treat him as we would any of our enemies from a different clan." is a knurla in all but blood, then he is no guest and we may treat him as we would any of our enemies from a different clan."

"Why, that's preposterous!" exclaimed Orik, almost sputtering with outrage. "You can't say he-"

"Still your tongue, if you please, Orik," said Gannel. "Shouting will not settle this point. Orik, Nado, iorunn, if you will come with me."

Worry began to gnaw at Eragon as the four dwarves went and conferred with the readers-of-law for several minutes. Surely they won't let Vermund escape punishment just because of some verbal trickery! Surely they won't let Vermund escape punishment just because of some verbal trickery! he thought. he thought.

Returning to the table, iorunn said, "The readers-of-law are unanimous. Even though Eragon is a sworn member of Durgrimst Ingeitum, he also holds positions of importance beyond our realm: namely, that of Dragon Rider, but also that of an official envoy of the Varden, sent by Nasuada to witness the coronation of our next ruler, and also that of a friend of high influence with Queen Islanzadi and her race as a whole. For those reasons, Eragon is due the same hospitality we would extend to any visiting amba.s.sador, prince, monarch, or other person of significance." The dwarf woman glanced sidelong at Eragon, her dark, flashing eyes bold upon his limbs. "In short, he is our honored guest, and we should treat him as such . . . which every knurla who is not cave-mad ought to know."

"Aye, he is our guest," concurred Nado. His lips were pinched and white and his cheeks drawn, as if he had just bitten into an apple only to discover it was not yet ripe.

"What say you now, Vermund?" demanded Gannel.

Rising from his seat, the purple-veiled dwarf looked around the table, gazing at each of the clan chiefs in turn. "I say this, and hear me well, grimstborithn: if any clan turns their ax against Az Sweldn rak Anhuin because of these false accusations, we shall consider it an act of war, and we shall respond appropriately. If you imprison me, that too we shall consider an act of war, and we shall respond appropriately." Eragon saw Vermund's veil twitch, and he thought the dwarf might have smiled underneath. "If you strike at us in any possible way, whether with steel or with words, no matter how mild your rebuke, we shall consider it an act of war, and we shall respond appropriately. Unless you are eager to rend our country into a thousand b.l.o.o.d.y sc.r.a.ps, I suggest you let the wind waft away this morning's discussion and, in its place, fill your minds with thoughts of who should next rule from upon the granite throne."

The clan chiefs sat in silence for a long while.

Eragon had to bite his tongue to keep from jumping onto the table and railing against Vermund until the dwarves agreed to hang him for his crimes. He reminded himself that he had promised Orik that he would follow Orik's lead when dealing with the clanmeet. Orik is my clan chief, and I must let him respond to this as he sees fit Orik is my clan chief, and I must let him respond to this as he sees fit.

Freowin unfolded his hands and slapped the table with a meaty palm. With his hoa.r.s.e baritone voice, which carried throughout the room, although it seemed no louder than a whisper, the corpulent dwarf said, "You have shamed our race, Vermund. We cannot retain our honor as knurlan and ignore your trespa.s.s."

The elderly dwarf woman, Hadfala, shuffled her sheaf of rune-covered pages and said, "What did you think to accomplish, besides our doom, by killing Eragon? Even if the Varden could unseat Galbatorix without him, what of the sorrow the dragon Saphira would rain down upon us if we slew her Rider? She would fill Farthen Dur with a sea of our own blood."

Not a word came from Vermund.

Laughter broke the quiet. The sound was so unexpected, at first Eragon did not realize it was coming from Orik. His mirth subsiding, Orik said, "If we move against you or Az Sweldn rak Anhuin, you will consider it an act of war, Vermund? Very well, then we shall not move against you, not at all."

Vermund's brow beetled. "How can this provide you with a source of amus.e.m.e.nt?"

Orik chuckled again. "Because I have thought of something you have not, Vermund. You wish us to leave you and your clan alone? Then I propose to the clanmeet that we do as Vermund wishes. If Vermund had acted upon his own and not as a grimstborith, he would be banished for his offenses upon pain of death. Therefore, let us treat the clan as we would treat the person; let us banish Az Sweldn rak Anhuin from our hearts and minds until they choose to replace Vermund with a grimstborith of a more moderate temperament and until they acknowledge their villainy and repent of it to the clanmeet, even if we must wait a thousand years."

The wrinkled skin around Vermund's eyes went pale. "You would not dare."

Orik smiled. "Ah, but we would not lay a finger upon you or your kind. We will simply ignore you and refuse to trade with Az Sweldn rak Anhuin. Will you declare war upon us for doing nothing, Vermund? For if the meet agrees with me, that is exactly what we shall do: nothing nothing. Will you force us at swordpoint to buy your honey and your cloth and your amethyst jewelry? You have not the warriors to compel us so." Turning to the rest of the table, Orik asked, "What say the rest of you?"

The clanmeet did not take long to decide. One by one, the clan chiefs stood and voted to banish Az Sweldn rak Anhuin. Even Nado, Galdhiem, and Havard-Vermund's erstwhile allies-supported Orik's proposal. With every vote of affirmation, what skin was visible of Vermund's face grew ever whiter, until he appeared like a ghost dressed in the clothes of his former life.

When the vote was finished, Gannel pointed toward the door and said, "Begone, Vargrimstn Vermund. Leave Tronjheim this very day and may none of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin trouble the clanmeet until they have fulfilled the conditions we have set forth. Until such time as that happens, we shall shun every member of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin. Know this, however: while your clan may absolve themselves of their dishonor, you, Vermund, shall always remain Vargrimstn, even unto your dying day. Such is the will of the clan-meet." His declaration concluded, Gannel sat.

Vermund remained where he was, his shoulders quivering with an emotion Eragon could not identify. "It is you who have shamed and betrayed our race," he growled. "The Dragon Riders killed all of our clan, save Anhuin and her guards. You expect us to forget this? You expect us to forgive this? Bah! I spit on the graves of your ancestors. We at least have not lost our beards. We shall not cavort with this puppet of the elves while our dead family members still cry out for vengeance."

Outrage gripped Eragon when none of the other clan chiefs replied, and he was about to answer Vermund's tirade with harsh words of his own when Orik glanced over at him and shook his head ever so slightly. Difficult as it was, Eragon kept his anger in check, although he wondered why Orik would allow such dire insults to pa.s.s uncontested.

It is almost as if . . . Oh.

Pushing himself away from the table, Vermund stood, his hands balled into fists and his shoulders hunched high. He resumed speaking, berating and disparaging the clan chiefs with increasing pa.s.sion until he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

No matter how vile Vermund's imprecations were, however, the clan chiefs did not respond. They gazed into the distance, as if pondering complex dilemmas, and their eyes slid over Vermund without pause. When, in his fury, Vermund grasped Hreidamar by the front of his mail hauberk, three of Hreidamar's guards jumped forward and pulled Vermund away, but as they did, Eragon noticed their expressions remained bland and unchanging, as if they were merely helping Hreidamar to straighten his hauberk. Once they released Vermund, the guards did not look at him again.

A chill crept up Eragon's spine. The dwarves acted as if Vermund had ceased to exist. So this is what it means to be banished among the dwarves So this is what it means to be banished among the dwarves. Eragon thought he would rather be killed than suffer such a fate, and for a moment, he felt a stir of pity for Vermund, but his pity vanished an instant later as he remembered Kvistor's dying expression.

With a final oath, Vermund strode out of the room, followed by those of his clan who had accompanied him to the meet.

The mood among the remaining clan chiefs eased as the doors swung shut behind Vermund. Once again the dwarves gazed around without restriction, and they resumed talking in loud voices, discussing what else they would need to do with regard to Az Sweldn rak Anhuin.

Then Orik rapped the pommel of his dagger against the table, and everyone turned to hear what he had to say. "Now that we have dealt with Vermund, there is another issue I wish the meet to consider. Our purpose in a.s.sembling here is to elect Hrothgar's successor. We have all had much to say upon the topic, but now I believe the time is ripe to put words behind us and allow our actions to speak for us. So I call upon the meet to decide whether we are ready-and we are more than ready, in mine opinion-to proceed to the final vote three days hence, as is our law. My vote, as I cast it, is aye."

Freowin looked at Hadfala, who looked at Gannel, who looked at Manndrath, who tugged on his drooping nose and looked at Nado, sunk low in his chair and biting the inside of his cheek.

"Aye," said iorunn.

"Aye," said undin.

". . . Aye," said Nado, and so did the eight other clan chiefs.

Hours later, when the clanmeet broke for lunch, Orik and Eragon returned to Orik's chambers to eat. Neither of them spoke until they entered his rooms, which were proofed against eavesdroppers. There Eragon allowed himself to smile. "You planned all along to banish Az Sweldn rak Anhuin, didn't you?"

A satisfied expression on his face, Orik smiled as well and slapped his stomach. "That I did. It was the only action I could take that would not inevitably lead to a clan war. We may still have a clan war, but it shall not be of our making. I doubt such a calamity will come to pa.s.s, though. As much as they hate you, most of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin will be appalled by what Vermund has done in their name. He will not remain grimstborith for long, I think."

"And now you have ensured that the vote for the new king-"

"Or queen."

"-or queen shall take place." Eragon hesitated, reluctant to tarnish Orik's enjoyment of his triumph, but then he asked, "Do you really have the support you need to win the throne?"

Orik shrugged. "Before this morning, no one had the support they needed. Now the balance has shifted, and for the time being, sympathies lie with us. We might as well strike while the iron is hot; we shall never have a better opportunity than this. In any case, we cannot allow the clanmeet to drag on any longer. If you do not return to the Varden soon, all may be lost."

"What shall we do while we wait for the vote?"

"First, we shall celebrate our success with a feast," Orik declared. "Then, when we are sated, we shall continue as before: attempting to gather additional votes while defending those we have already won." Orik's teeth flashed white underneath the fringe of his beard as he smiled again. "But before we consume so much as a single sip of mead, there is something you must attend to, which you have forgotten."

"What?" asked Eragon, puzzled by Orik's obvious delight.

"Why, you must summon Saphira to Tronjheim, of course! Whether I become king or not, we shall crown a new monarch in three days' time. If Saphira is to attend the ceremony, she will need to fly quickly in order to arrive here before then."

With a wordless exclamation, Eragon ran to find a mirror.

INSUBORDINATION The rich black soil was cool against Roran's hand. He picked up a loose clod and crumbled it between his fingers, noting with approval that it was moist and full of decomposing leaves, stems, moss, and other organic matter that would provide excellent food for crops. He pressed it to his lips and tongue. The soil tasted alive, full of hundreds of flavors, from pulverized mountains to beetles and punky wood and the tender tips of gra.s.s roots.

This is good farmland, thought Roran. He cast his mind back to Palancar Valley, and again he saw the autumn sun streaming through the field of barley outside his family's house-neat rows of golden stalks shifting in the breeze-with the Anora River to the west and the snowcapped mountains rising high on either side of the valley. thought Roran. He cast his mind back to Palancar Valley, and again he saw the autumn sun streaming through the field of barley outside his family's house-neat rows of golden stalks shifting in the breeze-with the Anora River to the west and the snowcapped mountains rising high on either side of the valley. That is where I should be, plowing the earth and raising a family with Katrina, not watering the ground with the sap of men's limbs. That is where I should be, plowing the earth and raising a family with Katrina, not watering the ground with the sap of men's limbs.

"Ho there!" cried Captain Edric, pointing toward Roran from on his horse. "Have an end to your dawdling, Stronghammer, lest I change my mind about you and leave you to stand guard with the archers!"

Dusting his hands on his leggings, Roran rose from a kneeling position. "Yes, sir! As you wish, sir!" he said, suppressing his dislike for Edric. Since he had joined Edric's company, Roran had attempted to learn what he could of the man's history. From what he heard, Roran had concluded Edric was a competent commander-Nasuada never would have put him in charge of such an important mission otherwise-but he had an abrasive personality, and he disciplined his warriors for even the slightest deviation from established practice, as Roran had learned to his chagrin upon three separate occasions during his first day with Edric's company. It was, Roran believed, a style of command that undermined a man's morale, as well as discouraged creativity and invention from those underneath you. Perhaps Nasuada gave me to him for those very reasons, Perhaps Nasuada gave me to him for those very reasons, thought Roran. thought Roran. Or perhaps this is another test of hers. Perhaps she wants to know whether I can swallow my pride long enough to work with a man like Edric Or perhaps this is another test of hers. Perhaps she wants to know whether I can swallow my pride long enough to work with a man like Edric.

Getting back onto Snowfire, Roran rode to the front of the column of two hundred and fifty men. Their mission was simple; since Nasuada and King Orrin had withdrawn the bulk of their forces from Surda, Galbatorix had apparently decided to take advantage of their absence and wreak havoc throughout the defenseless country, sacking towns and villages and burning the crops needed to sustain the invasion of the Empire. The easiest way to eliminate the soldiers would have been for Saphira to fly out and tear them to pieces, but unless she was winging her way toward Eragon, everyone agreed it would be too dangerous for the Varden to be without her for so long. So Nasuada had sent Edric's company to repel the soldiers, whose number her spies had initially estimated to be around three hundred. However, two days ago, Roran and the rest of the warriors had been dismayed when they came across tracks that indicated the size of Galbatorix's force was closer to seven hundred.

Roran reined in Snowfire next to Carn on his dappled mare and scratched his chin while he studied the lay of the land. Before them was a vast expanse of undulating gra.s.s, dotted with occasional stands of willow and cottonwood trees. Hawks hunted above, while below, the gra.s.s was full of squeaking mice, rabbits, burrowing rodents, and other wildlife. The only evidence that men had ever visited the place before was the swath of trampled vegetation that led toward the eastern horizon, marking the soldiers' trail.

Carn glanced up at the noonday sun, the skin pulling tight around his drooping eyes as he squinted. "We should overtake them before our shadows are longer than we are tall."

"And then we'll discover whether there are enough of us to drive them away," muttered Roran, "or whether they will just ma.s.sacre us. For once I'd like to outnumber our enemies."

A grim smile appeared on Carn's face. "It is always thus with the Varden."

"Form up!" shouted Edric, and spurred his horse down the trail trampled through the gra.s.s. Roran clamped his jaw shut and touched his heels to Snowfire's flanks as the company followed their captain.

Six hours later, Roran sat on Snowfire, hidden within a cl.u.s.ter of beech trees that grew along the edge of a small, flat stream clotted with rushes and strands of floating algae. Through the net of branches that hung before him, Roran gazed upon a crumbling, gray-sided village of no more than twenty houses. Roran had watched with ever-increasing fury as the villagers had spotted the soldiers advancing from the west and then had gathered up a few bundles of possessions and fled south, toward the heart of Surda. If it had been up to him, Roran would have revealed their presence to the villagers and a.s.sured them they were not about to lose their houses, not if he and the rest of his companions could prevent it, for he well remembered the pain and desperation and sense of hopelessness that abandoning Carvahall had caused him, and he would have spared them that if he could. Also, he would have asked the men of the village to fight with them. Another ten or twenty sets of arms might mean the difference between victory or defeat, and Roran knew better than most the fervor with which people would fight to defend their homes. However, Edric had rejected the idea and insisted that the Varden remain concealed in the hills southeast of the village.

"We're lucky they're on foot," murmured Carn, indicating the red column of soldiers marching toward the village. "We would not have been able to get here first otherwise."

Roran glanced back at the men gathered behind them. Edric had given him temporary command over eighty-one warriors. They consisted of swordsmen, spearmen, and a half-dozen archers. One of Edric's familiars, Sand, led another eighty-one of the company, while Edric headed the rest himself. All three groups were pressed against one another among the beech trees, which Roran thought was a mistake; the time it took to organize themselves once they broke from cover would be extra time the soldiers would have to marshal their defenses.

Leaning over toward Carn, Roran said, "I don't see any of them with missing hands or legs or other injuries of note, but that proves nothing one way or another. Can you tell if any of them are men who cannot feel pain?"

Carn sighed. "I wish I could. Your cousin might be able to, for Murtagh and Galbatorix are the only spellcasters Eragon need fear, but I am a poor magician, and I dare not test the soldiers. If there are any magicians disguised among the soldiers, they would know of my spying, and there is every chance I would not be able to break their minds before they alerted their companions we are here."

"We seem to have this discussion every time we are about to fight," Roran observed, studying the soldiers' armaments and trying to decide how best to deploy his men.

With a laugh, Carn said, "That's all right. I only hope we keep having it, because if not-"

"One or both of us will be dead-"

"Or Nasuada will have rea.s.signed us to different captains-"

"And then we might as well be dead, because no one else will guard our backs as well," Roran concluded. A smile touched his lips. It had become an old joke between them. He drew his hammer from his belt and then winced as his right leg twinged where the ox had ripped his flesh with its horn. Scowling, he reached down and ma.s.saged the location of the wound.

Carn saw and asked, "Are you well?"

"It won't kill me," said Roran, then reconsidered his words. "Well, maybe it will, but I'll be blasted if I'm going to wait here while you go off and cut those b.u.mbling oafs to pieces."

When the soldiers reached the village, they marched straight through it, pausing only to break down the door to each house and tramp through the rooms to see if anyone was hiding inside. A dog ran out from behind a rain barrel, his ruff standing on end, and began barking at the soldiers. One of the men stepped forward and threw his spear at the dog, killing it.

As the first of the soldiers reached the far side of the village, Roran tightened his hand around the haft of his hammer in preparation for the charge, but then he heard a series of high-pitched screams, and a sense of dread gripped him. A squad of soldiers emerged from the second-to-last house, dragging three struggling people: a lanky, white-haired man, a young woman with a torn blouse, and a boy no older than eleven.

Sweat sprang up on Roran's brow. In a low, slow monotone, he began to swear, cursing the three captives for not having fled with their neighbors, cursing the soldiers for what they had done and might yet do, cursing Galbatorix, and cursing whatever whim of fate had resulted in the situation as it was. Behind him, he was aware of his men shifting and muttering with anger, eager to punish the soldiers for their brutality.

Having searched all of the houses, the ma.s.s of soldiers retraced their steps to the center of the village and formed a rough semicircle around their prisoners.

Yes! crowed Roran to himself as the soldiers turned their backs to the Varden. Edric's plan had been to wait for them to do just that. In antic.i.p.ation of the order to charge, Roran rose up several inches above his saddle, his entire body tense. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. crowed Roran to himself as the soldiers turned their backs to the Varden. Edric's plan had been to wait for them to do just that. In antic.i.p.ation of the order to charge, Roran rose up several inches above his saddle, his entire body tense. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.

The officer in charge of the soldiers, who was the only man among them on a horse, dismounted his steed and exchanged a few inaudible words with the white-haired villager. Without warning, the officer drew his saber and decapitated the man, then hopped backward to avoid the resulting spray of blood. The young woman screamed even louder than before.

"Charge," said Edric.