The woman tilted her arm, and a cloth fell from the bundle, revealing a baby's face. Hoarse and desperate, she said, "The child has no parents-there is no one to care for her but me, and I am weak. Bless her with your power, Argetlam. Bless her for luck!"

Eragon looked to Orik for help, but the dwarf only watched with a guarded expression. The small crowd fell silent, waiting for his response. The woman's eyes were still fastened on him. "Bless her, Argetlam, bless her," she insisted.

Eragon had never blessed anyone. It was not something done lightly in Alagaesia, as a blessing could easily go awry and prove to be more curse than boon-especially if it was spoken with ill intent or lack of conviction. Do I dare take that responsibility? Do I dare take that responsibility? he wondered. he wondered.

"Bless her, Argetlam, bless her."

Suddenly decided, he searched for a phrase or expression to use. Nothing came to mind until, inspired, he thought of the ancient language. This would be a true blessing, spoken with words of power, by one of power.

He bent down and tugged the glove off his right hand. Laying his palm on the babe's brow, he intoned, "Atra gulai un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waise skolir fra rauthr." The words left him unexpectedly weak, as if he had used magic. He slowly pulled the glove back on and said to the woman, "That is all I can do for her. If any words have the power to forestall tragedy, it will be those."

"Thank you, Argetlam," she whispered, bowing slightly. She started to cover the baby again, but Saphira snorted and twisted until her head loomed over the child. The woman grew rigid; her breath caught in her chest. Saphira lowered her snout and brushed the baby between the eyes with the tip of her nose, then smoothly lifted away.

A gasp ran through the crowd, for on the child's forehead, where Saphira had touched her, was a star-shaped patch of skin as white and silvery as Eragon's gedwey ignasia. The woman stared at Saphira with a feverish gaze, wordless thanks in her eyes.

Immediately Saphira took flight, battering the awestruck spectators with the wind from her powerful wing strokes. As the ground dwindled away, Eragon took a deep breath and hugged her neck tightly. What did you do? What did you do? he asked softly. he asked softly.

I gave her hope. And you gave her a future.

Loneliness suddenly flowered within Eragon, despite Saphira's presence. Their surroundings were so foreign-it struck him for the first time exactly how far he was from home. A destroyed home, but still where his heart lay. What have I become, Saphira? What have I become, Saphira? he asked. he asked. I'm only in the first year of manhood, yet I've consulted with the leader of the Varden, am pursued by Galbatorix, and have traveled with Morzan's son-and now blessings are sought from me! What wisdom can I give people that they haven't already learned? What feats can I achieve that an army couldn't do better? It's insanity! I should be back in Carvahall with Roran. I'm only in the first year of manhood, yet I've consulted with the leader of the Varden, am pursued by Galbatorix, and have traveled with Morzan's son-and now blessings are sought from me! What wisdom can I give people that they haven't already learned? What feats can I achieve that an army couldn't do better? It's insanity! I should be back in Carvahall with Roran.

Saphira took a long time to answer, but her words were gentle when they came. A hatchling, that is what you are. A hatchling struggling into the world. I may be younger than you in years, but I am ancient in my thoughts. Do not worry about these things. Find peace in where and what you are. People often know what must be done. All you need do is show them the way-that is wisdom. As for feats, no army could have given the blessing you did. A hatchling, that is what you are. A hatchling struggling into the world. I may be younger than you in years, but I am ancient in my thoughts. Do not worry about these things. Find peace in where and what you are. People often know what must be done. All you need do is show them the way-that is wisdom. As for feats, no army could have given the blessing you did.

But it was nothing, he protested. he protested. A trifle. A trifle.

Nay, it wasn't. What you saw was the beginning of another story, another legend. Do you think that child will ever be content to be a tavern keeper or a farmer when her brow is dragon-marked and your words hang over her? You underestimate our power and that of fate.

Eragon bowed his head. It's overwhelming. I feel as if I am living in an illusion, a dream where all things are possible. Amazing things do happen, I know, but always to someone else, always in some far-off place and time. But I found your egg, was tutored by a Rider, and dueled a Shade-those can't be the actions of the farm boy I am, or was. Something is changing me. It's overwhelming. I feel as if I am living in an illusion, a dream where all things are possible. Amazing things do happen, I know, but always to someone else, always in some far-off place and time. But I found your egg, was tutored by a Rider, and dueled a Shade-those can't be the actions of the farm boy I am, or was. Something is changing me.

It is your wyrd that shapes you, said Saphira. said Saphira. Every age needs an icon-perhaps that lot has fallen to you. Farm boys are not named for the first Rider without cause. Your namesake was the beginning, and now you are the continuation. Or the end. Every age needs an icon-perhaps that lot has fallen to you. Farm boys are not named for the first Rider without cause. Your namesake was the beginning, and now you are the continuation. Or the end.

Ach, said Eragon, shaking his head. said Eragon, shaking his head. It's like speaking in riddles. . . . But if all is foreordained, do our choices mean anything? Or must we just learn to accept our fate? It's like speaking in riddles. . . . But if all is foreordained, do our choices mean anything? Or must we just learn to accept our fate?

Saphira said firmly, Eragon, I chose you from within my egg. You have been given a chance most would die for. Are you unhappy with that? Clear your mind of such thoughts. They cannot be answered and will make you no happier. Eragon, I chose you from within my egg. You have been given a chance most would die for. Are you unhappy with that? Clear your mind of such thoughts. They cannot be answered and will make you no happier.

True, he said glumly. he said glumly. All the same, they continue to bounce around within my skull. All the same, they continue to bounce around within my skull.

Things have been . . . unsettled . . . ever since Brom died. It has made me uneasy, acknowledged Saphira, which surprised him because she rarely seemed perturbed. They were above Tronjheim now. Eragon looked down through the opening in its peak and saw the floor of the dragonhold: Isidar Mithrim, the great star sapphire. He knew that beneath it was nothing but Tronjheim's great central chamber. Saphira descended to the dragonhold on silent wings. She slipped over its rim and dropped to Isidar Mithrim, landing with the sharp clack of claws. acknowledged Saphira, which surprised him because she rarely seemed perturbed. They were above Tronjheim now. Eragon looked down through the opening in its peak and saw the floor of the dragonhold: Isidar Mithrim, the great star sapphire. He knew that beneath it was nothing but Tronjheim's great central chamber. Saphira descended to the dragonhold on silent wings. She slipped over its rim and dropped to Isidar Mithrim, landing with the sharp clack of claws.

Won't you scratch it? asked Eragon. asked Eragon.

I think not. It's no ordinary gem. Eragon slid off her back and slowly turned in a circle, absorbing the unusual sight. They were in a round roofless room sixty feet high and sixty feet across. The walls were lined with the dark openings of caves, which differed in size from grottoes no larger than a man to a gaping cavern larger than a house. Shiny rungs were set into the marble walls so that people could reach the highest caves. An enormous archway led out of the dragonhold. Eragon slid off her back and slowly turned in a circle, absorbing the unusual sight. They were in a round roofless room sixty feet high and sixty feet across. The walls were lined with the dark openings of caves, which differed in size from grottoes no larger than a man to a gaping cavern larger than a house. Shiny rungs were set into the marble walls so that people could reach the highest caves. An enormous archway led out of the dragonhold.

Eragon examined the great gem under his feet and impulsively lay down on it. He pressed his cheek against the cool sapphire, trying to see through it. Distorted lines and wavering spots of color glimmered through the stone, but its thickness made it impossible to discern anything clearly on the floor of the chamber a mile below them.

Will I have to sleep apart from you?

Saphira shook her enormous head. No, there is a bed for you in my cave. Come see. No, there is a bed for you in my cave. Come see. She turned and, without opening her wings, jumped twenty feet into the air, landing in a medium-sized cave. He clambered up after her. She turned and, without opening her wings, jumped twenty feet into the air, landing in a medium-sized cave. He clambered up after her.

The cave was dark brown on the inside and deeper than he had expected. The roughly chiseled walls gave the impression of a natural formation. Near the far wall was a thick cushion large enough for Saphira to curl up on. Beside it was a bed built into the side of the wall. The cave was lit by a single red lantern equipped with a shutter so its glow could be muted.

I like this, said Eragon. said Eragon. It feels safe. It feels safe.

Yes. Saphira curled up on the cushion, watching him. With a sigh he sank onto the mattress, weariness seeping through him. Saphira curled up on the cushion, watching him. With a sigh he sank onto the mattress, weariness seeping through him.

Saphira, you haven't said much while we've been here. What do you think of Tronjheim and Ajihad?

We shall see. . . . It seems, Eragon, that we are embroiled in a new type of warfare here. Swords and claws are useless, but words and alliances may have the same effect. The Twins dislike us-we should be on our guard for any duplicities they might attempt. Not many of the dwarves trust us. The elves didn't want a human Rider, so there will be opposition from them as well. The best thing we can do is identify those in power and befriend them. And quickly, too.

Do you think it's possible to remain independent of the different leaders?

She shuffled her wings into a more comfortable position. Ajihad supports our freedom, but we may be unable to survive without pledging our loyalty to one group or another. We'll soon know either way. Ajihad supports our freedom, but we may be unable to survive without pledging our loyalty to one group or another. We'll soon know either way.

MANDRAKE ROOT AND NEWT'S TONGUE The blankets were bunched underneath Eragon when he woke, but he was still warm. Saphira was asleep on her cushion, her breath coming in steady gusts.

For the first time since entering Farthen Dur, Eragon felt secure and hopeful. He was warm and fed and had been able to sleep as long as he liked. Tension unknotted inside him-tension that had been accumulating since Brom's death and, even before, since leaving Palancar Valley.

I don't have to be afraid anymore. But what about Murtagh? No matter the Varden's hospitality, Eragon could not accept it in good conscience, knowing that-intentionally or not-he had led Murtagh to his imprisonment. Somehow the situation had to be resolved. No matter the Varden's hospitality, Eragon could not accept it in good conscience, knowing that-intentionally or not-he had led Murtagh to his imprisonment. Somehow the situation had to be resolved.

His gaze roamed the cave's rough ceiling as he thought of Arya. Chiding himself for daydreaming, he tilted his head and looked out at the dragonhold. A large cat sat on the edge of the cave, licking a paw. It glanced at him, and he saw a flash of slanted red eyes.

Solembum? he asked incredulously. he asked incredulously.

Obviously. The werecat shook his rough mane and yawned languorously, displaying his long fangs. He stretched, then jumped out of the cave, landing with a solid thump on Isidar Mithrim, twenty feet below. The werecat shook his rough mane and yawned languorously, displaying his long fangs. He stretched, then jumped out of the cave, landing with a solid thump on Isidar Mithrim, twenty feet below. Coming? Coming?

Eragon looked at Saphira. She was awake now, watching him motionlessly. Go. I will be fine, Go. I will be fine, she murmured. Solembum was waiting for him under the arch that led to the rest of Tronjheim. she murmured. Solembum was waiting for him under the arch that led to the rest of Tronjheim.

The moment Eragon's feet touched Isidar Mithrim, the werecat turned with a flick of his paws and disappeared through the arch. Eragon chased after him, rubbing the sleep from his face. He stepped through the archway and found himself standing at the top of Vol Turin, The Endless Staircase. There was nowhere else to go, so he descended to the next level.

He stood in an open arcade that curved gently to the left and encircled Tronjheim's central chamber. Between the slender columns supporting the arches, Eragon could see Isidar Mithrim sparkling brilliantly above him, as well as the city-mountain's distant base. The circumference of the central chamber increased with each successive level. The staircase cut through the arcade's floor to an identical level below and descended through scores of arcades until it disappeared in the distance. The sliding trough ran along the outside curve of the stairs. At the top of Vol Turin was a pile of leather squares to slide on. To Eragon's right, a dusty corridor led to that level's rooms and apartments. Solembum padded down the hall, flipping his tail.

Wait, said Eragon. said Eragon.

He tried to catch up with Solembum, but glimpsed him only fleetingly in the abandoned passageways. Then, as Eragon rounded a corner, he saw the werecat stop before a door and yowl. Seemingly of its own accord, the door slid inward. Solembum slipped inside, then the door shut. Eragon halted in front of it, perplexed. He raised his hand to knock, but before he did, the door opened once more, and warm light spilled out. After a moment's indecision he stepped inside.

He entered an earthy two-room suite, lavishly decorated with carved wood and clinging plants. The air was warm, fresh, and humid. Bright lanterns hung on the walls and from the low ceiling. Piles of intriguing items cluttered the floor, obscuring the corners. A large four-poster bed, curtained by even more plants, was in the far room.

In the center of the main room, on a plush leather chair, sat the fortuneteller and witch, Angela. She smiled brightly.

"What are you doing here?" blurted Eragon.

Angela folded her hands in her lap. "Well, why don't you sit on the floor and I'll tell you? I'd offer you a chair, but I'm sitting on the only one." Questions buzzed through Eragon's mind as he settled between two flasks of acrid bubbling green potions.

"So!" exclaimed Angela, leaning forward. "You are are a Rider. I suspected as much, but I didn't know for certain until yesterday. I'm sure Solembum knew, but he never told me. I should have figured it out the moment you mentioned Brom. Saphira . . . I like the name-fitting for a dragon." a Rider. I suspected as much, but I didn't know for certain until yesterday. I'm sure Solembum knew, but he never told me. I should have figured it out the moment you mentioned Brom. Saphira . . . I like the name-fitting for a dragon."

"Brom's dead," said Eragon abruptly. "The Ra'zac killed him."

Angela was taken aback. She twirled a lock of her dense curls. "I'm sorry. I truly am," she said softly.

Eragon smiled bitterly. "But not surprised, are you? You foretold his death, after all."

"I didn't know whose death it would be," she said, shaking her head. "But no . . . I'm not surprised. I met Brom once or twice. He didn't care for my 'frivolous' attitude toward magic. It irritated him."

Eragon frowned. "In Teirm you laughed at his fate and said that it was something of a joke. Why?"

Angela's face tightened momentarily. "In retrospect, it was in rather bad taste, but I didn't know what would befall him. How do I put this? . . . Brom was cursed in a way. It was his wyrd to fail at all of his tasks except one, although through no fault of his own. He was chosen as a Rider, but his dragon was killed. He loved a woman, but it was his affection that was her undoing. And he was chosen, I assume, to guard and train you, but in the end he failed at that as well. The only thing he succeeded at was killing Morzan, and a better deed he couldn't have done."

"Brom never mentioned a woman to me," retorted Eragon.

Angela shrugged carelessly. "I heard it from one who couldn't have lied. But enough of this talk! Life goes on, and we should not trouble the dead with our worries." She scooped a pile of reeds from the floor and deftly started plaiting them together, closing the subject to discussion.

Eragon hesitated, then gave in. "All right. So why are you in Tronjheim instead of Teirm?"

"Ah, at last an interesting question," said Angela. "After hearing Brom's name again during your visit, I sensed a return of the past in Alagaesia. People were whispering that the Empire was hunting a Rider. I knew then that the Varden's dragon egg must have hatched, so I closed my shop and set out to learn more."

"You knew about the egg?"

"Of course I did. I'm not an idiot. I've been around much longer than you would believe. Very little happens that I don't know about." She paused and concentrated on her weaving. "Anyway, I knew I had to get to the Varden as fast as possible. I've been here for nearly a month now, though I really don't care for this place-it's far too musty for my taste. And everyone in Farthen Dur is so so serious and noble. They're probably all doomed to tragic deaths anyway." She gave a long sigh, a mocking expression on her face. "And the dwarves are just a superstitious bunch of ninnies content to hammer rocks all their lives. The only redeeming aspect of this place is all the mushrooms and fungi that grow inside Farthen Dur." serious and noble. They're probably all doomed to tragic deaths anyway." She gave a long sigh, a mocking expression on her face. "And the dwarves are just a superstitious bunch of ninnies content to hammer rocks all their lives. The only redeeming aspect of this place is all the mushrooms and fungi that grow inside Farthen Dur."

"Then why stay?" asked Eragon, smiling.

"Because I like to be wherever important events are occurring," said Angela, cocking her head. "Besides, if I had stayed in Teirm, Solembum would have left without me, and I enjoy his company. But tell me, what adventures have befallen you since last we talked?"

For the next hour, Eragon summarized his experiences of the last two and a half months. Angela listened quietly, but when he mentioned Murtagh's name she sputtered, "Murtagh!"

Eragon nodded. "He told me who he is. But let me finish my story before you make any judgments." He continued with his tale. When it was complete, Angela leaned back in her chair thoughtfully, her reeds forgotten. Without warning, Solembum jumped out of a hiding place and landed in her lap. He curled up, eyeing Eragon haughtily.

Angela petted the werecat. "Fascinating. Galbatorix allied with the Urgals, and Murtagh finally out in the open. . . . I'd warn you to be careful with Murtagh, but you're obviously aware of the danger."

"Murtagh has been a steadfast friend and an unwavering ally," said Eragon firmly.

"All the same, be careful." Angela paused, then said distastefully, "And then there's the matter of this Shade, Durza. I think he's the greatest threat to the Varden right now, aside from Galbatorix. I loathe loathe Shades-they practice the most unholy magic, after necromancy. I'd like to dig his heart out with a dull hairpin and feed it to a pig!" Shades-they practice the most unholy magic, after necromancy. I'd like to dig his heart out with a dull hairpin and feed it to a pig!"

Eragon was startled by her sudden vehemence. "I don't understand. Brom told me that Shades were sorcerers who used spirits to accomplish their will, but why does that make them so evil?"

Angela shook her head. "It doesn't. Ordinary sorcerers are just that, ordinary-neither better nor worse than the rest of us. They use their magical strength to control spirits and the spirits' powers. Shades, however, relinquish that control in their search for greater power and allow their bodies to be controlled by by spirits. Unfortunately, only the evilest spirits seek to possess humans, and once ensconced they never leave. Such possession can happen by accident if a sorcerer summons a spirit stronger than himself. The problem is, once a Shade is created, it's terribly difficult to kill. As I'm sure you know, only two people, Laetri the Elf and Irnstad the Rider, ever survived that feat." spirits. Unfortunately, only the evilest spirits seek to possess humans, and once ensconced they never leave. Such possession can happen by accident if a sorcerer summons a spirit stronger than himself. The problem is, once a Shade is created, it's terribly difficult to kill. As I'm sure you know, only two people, Laetri the Elf and Irnstad the Rider, ever survived that feat."

"I've heard the stories." Eragon gestured at the room. "Why are you living so high up in Tronjheim? Isn't it inconvenient being this isolated? And how did you get all this stuff up here?"

Angela threw back her head and laughed wryly. "Truthfully? I'm in hiding. When I first came to Tronjheim, I had a few days of peace-until one of guards who let me into Farthen Dur blabbed about who I was. Then all the magic users here, though they barely barely rate the term, pestered me to join their secret group. Especially those drajl Twins who control it. Finally, I threatened to turn the lot of them into toads, excuse me, frogs, but when that didn't deter them, I sneaked up here in the middle of the night. It was less work than you might imagine, especially for one with my skills." rate the term, pestered me to join their secret group. Especially those drajl Twins who control it. Finally, I threatened to turn the lot of them into toads, excuse me, frogs, but when that didn't deter them, I sneaked up here in the middle of the night. It was less work than you might imagine, especially for one with my skills."

"Did you have to let the Twins into your mind before you were allowed into Farthen Dur?" asked Eragon. "I was forced to let them sift through my memories."

A cold gleam leapt into Angela's eye. "The Twins wouldn't dare probe me, for fear of what I might do to them. Oh, they'd love to, but they know the effort would leave them broken and gibbering nonsense. I've been coming here long before the Varden began examining people's minds . . . and they're not about to start on me now."

She peered into the other room and said, "Well! This has been an enlightening talk, but I'm afraid you have to go now. My brew of mandrake root and newt's tongue is about to boil, and it needs attending. Do come back again when you have the time. And please please don't tell anyone that I'm here. I'd hate to have to move again. It would make me very . . . don't tell anyone that I'm here. I'd hate to have to move again. It would make me very . . . irritated. irritated. And you don't want to see me irritated!" And you don't want to see me irritated!"

"I'll keep your secret," assured Eragon, getting up.

Solembum jumped off Angela's lap as she stood. "Good!" she exclaimed.

Eragon said farewell and left the room. Solembum guided him back to the dragonhold, then dismissed him with a twitch of his tail before sauntering away.

HALL OF THE.

MOUNTAIN KING.

A dwarf was waiting for Eragon in the dragonhold. After bowing and muttering, "Argetlam," the dwarf said with a thick accent, "Good. Awake. Knurla Orik waits for you." He bowed again and scurried away. Saphira jumped out of her cave, landing next to Eragon. Zar'roc was in her claws. dwarf was waiting for Eragon in the dragonhold. After bowing and muttering, "Argetlam," the dwarf said with a thick accent, "Good. Awake. Knurla Orik waits for you." He bowed again and scurried away. Saphira jumped out of her cave, landing next to Eragon. Zar'roc was in her claws.

What's that for? he asked, frowning. he asked, frowning.

She tilted her head. Wear it. You are a Rider and should bear a Rider's sword. Zar'roc may have a bloody history, but that should not shape your actions. Forge a new history for it, and carry it with pride. Wear it. You are a Rider and should bear a Rider's sword. Zar'roc may have a bloody history, but that should not shape your actions. Forge a new history for it, and carry it with pride.

Are you sure? Remember Ajihad's counsel. Remember Ajihad's counsel.

Saphira snorted, and a puff of smoke rose from her nostrils. Wear it, Eragon. If you wish to remain above the forces here, do not let anyone's disapproval dictate your actions. Wear it, Eragon. If you wish to remain above the forces here, do not let anyone's disapproval dictate your actions.

As you wish, he said reluctantly, buckling on the sword. He clambered onto her back, and Saphira flew out of Tronjheim. There was enough light in Farthen Dur now that the hazy mass of the crater walls-five miles away in each direction-was visible. While they spiraled down to the city-mountain's base, Eragon told Saphira about his meeting with Angela. he said reluctantly, buckling on the sword. He clambered onto her back, and Saphira flew out of Tronjheim. There was enough light in Farthen Dur now that the hazy mass of the crater walls-five miles away in each direction-was visible. While they spiraled down to the city-mountain's base, Eragon told Saphira about his meeting with Angela.

As soon as they landed by one of Tronjheim's gates, Orik ran to Saphira's side. "My king, Hrothgar, wishes to see both of you. Dismount quickly. We must hurry."

Eragon trotted after the dwarf into Tronjheim. Saphira easily kept pace beside them. Ignoring stares from people within the soaring corridor, Eragon asked, "Where will we meet Hrothgar?"

Without slowing, Orik said, "In the throne room beneath the city. It will be a private audience as an act of otho-of 'faith.' You do not have to address him in any special manner, but speak to him respectfully. Hrothgar is quick to anger, but he is wise and sees keenly into the minds of men, so think carefully before you speak."

Once they entered Tronjheim's central chamber, Orik led the way to one of the two descending stairways that flanked the opposite hall. They started down the right-hand staircase, which gently curved inward until it faced the direction they had come from. The other stairway merged with theirs to form a broad cascade of dimly lit steps that ended, after a hundred feet, before two granite doors. A seven-pointed crown was carved across both doors.

Seven dwarves stood guard on each side of the portal. They held burnished mattocks and wore gem-encrusted belts. As Eragon, Orik, and Saphira approached, the dwarves pounded the floor with the mattocks' hafts. A deep boom rolled back up the stairs. The doors swung inward.

A dark hall lay before them, a good bowshot long. The throne room was a natural cave; the walls were lined with stalagmites and stalactites, each thicker than a man. Sparsely hung lanterns cast a moody light. The brown floor was smooth and polished. At the far end of the hall was a black throne with a motionless figure upon it.

Orik bowed. "The king awaits you." Eragon put his hand on Saphira's side, and the two of them continued forward. The doors closed behind them, leaving them alone in the dim throne room with the king.

Their footsteps echoed through the hall as they advanced toward the throne. In the recesses between the stalagmites and stalactites rested large statues. Each sculpture depicted a dwarf king crowned and sitting on a throne; their sightless eyes gazed sternly into the distance, their lined faces set in fierce expressions. A name was chiseled in runes beneath each set of feet.

Eragon and Saphira strode solemnly between the two rows of long-dead monarchs. They passed more than forty statues, then only dark and empty alcoves awaiting future kings. They stopped before Hrothgar at the end of the hall.

The dwarf king himself sat like a statue upon a raised throne carved from a single piece of black marble. It was blocky, unadorned, and cut with unyielding precision. Strength emanated from the throne, strength that harked back to ancient times when dwarves had ruled in Alagaesia without opposition from elves or humans. A gold helm lined with rubies and diamonds rested on Hrothgar's head in place of a crown. His visage was grim, weathered, and hewn of many years' experience. Beneath a craggy brow glinted deep-set eyes, flinty and piercing. Over his powerful chest rippled a shirt of mail. His white beard was tucked under his belt, and in his lap he held a mighty war hammer with the symbol of Orik's clan embossed on its head.

Eragon bowed awkwardly and knelt. Saphira remained upright. The king stirred, as if awakening from a long sleep, and rumbled, "Rise, Rider, you need not pay tribute to me."

Straightening, Eragon met Hrothgar's impenetrable eyes. The king inspected him with a hard gaze, then said gutturally, "az knurl deimi lanok. 'Beware, the rock changes'-an old dictum of ours. . . . And nowadays the rock changes very fast indeed." He fingered the war hammer. "I could not meet with you earlier, as Ajihad did, because I was forced to deal with my enemies within the clans. They demanded that I deny you sanctuary and expel you from Farthen Dur. It has taken much work on my part to convince them otherwise." 'Beware, the rock changes'-an old dictum of ours. . . . And nowadays the rock changes very fast indeed." He fingered the war hammer. "I could not meet with you earlier, as Ajihad did, because I was forced to deal with my enemies within the clans. They demanded that I deny you sanctuary and expel you from Farthen Dur. It has taken much work on my part to convince them otherwise."

"Thank you," said Eragon. "I didn't anticipate how much strife my arrival would cause."

The king accepted his thanks, then lifted a gnarled hand and pointed. "See there, Rider Eragon, where my predecessors sit upon their graven thrones. One and forty there are, with I the forty-second. When I pass from this world into the care of the gods, my hirna will be added to their ranks. The first statue is the likeness of my ancestor Korgan, who forged this mace, Volund. For eight millennia-since the dawn of our race-dwarves have ruled under Farthen Dur. We are the bones of the land, older than both the fair elves and the savage dragons." Saphira shifted slightly.

Hrothgar leaned forward, his voice gravelly and deep. "I am old, human-even by our reckoning-old enough to have seen the Riders in all their fleeting glory, old enough to have spoken with their last leader, Vrael, who paid tribute to me within these very walls. Few are still alive who can claim that much. I remember the Riders and how they meddled in our affairs. I also remember the peace they kept that made it possible to walk unharmed from Tronjheim to Narda.