“No, no setback. Only, these deliberations are trying in the extreme.”
“I noticed.”
“And everyone noticed your frustration,” said Orik. “You must control yourself better hereafter, Eragon. Revealing weakness of any sort to our opponents does nothing but further their cause. I—”Orik fell silent as a portly dwarf waddled up and deposited a plate of steaming food in front of him.
Eragon scowled at the edge of the table. “But are you any closer to the throne? Have we gained any ground with all of this long-winded prattle?”
Orik raised a finger while he chewed on a mouthful of bread. “We have gained a great deal. Do not be so gloomy! After you left, Havard agreed to lower the tax on the salt Durgrimst Fanghur sells to the Ingeitum, in exchange for summer access to our tunnel to Nalsvrid-merna, so they may hunt the red deer that gather around the lake during the warm months of the year. You should have seen how Nado gritted his teeth when Havard accepted my offer!”
“Bah,” spat Eragon. “Taxes, deer — what does any of it have to do with who succeeds Hrothgar as ruler? Be honest with me, Orik. What is your position compared with the other clan chiefs? And how much longer is this likely to drag on? With every day that passes, it becomes more likely that the Empire will discover our ruse and Galbatorix will strike at the Varden when I am not there to fend off Murtagh and Thorn.”
Orik wiped his mouth on the corner of the tablecloth. “My position is sound enough. None of the grimstborithn have the support to call a vote, but Nado and I command the greatest followings. If either of us can win over, say, another two or three clans, the balance will quickly tip in that person’s favor. Havard is already wavering. It won’t take too much more encouragement, I think, to convince him to defect to our camp. Tonight we will break bread with him, and I will see what I can do toward providing that encouragement.” Orik devoured a piece of roast mushroom, then said, “As for when the clanmeet will end, maybe after another week if we are lucky, and maybe two if we’re not.”
Eragon cursed in an undertone. He was so tense, his stomach churned and rumbled and threatened to reject the meal he had just eaten.
Reaching across the table, Orik caught Eragon by the wrist. “There is nothing you or I can do to further hasten the clanmeet’s decision, so do not let it upset you overmuch. Worry about what you can change, and leave the rest to sort itself out, eh?” He released Eragon.
Eragon slowly exhaled and leaned on his forearms against the table. “I know. It’s only that we have so little time, and if we fail...”
“What will be will be,” said Orik. He smiled, but his eyes were sad and hollow. “No one can escape fate’s design.”
“Couldn’t you seize the throne by force? I know you don’t have that many troops in Tronjheim, but with my support, who could stand against you?”
Orik paused with his knife halfway between his plate and his mouth, then shook his head and resumed eating. Between mouthfuls, he said, “Such a ploy would prove disastrous.”
“Why?”
“Must I explain? Our entire race would turn against us, and instead of seizing control of our nation, I would inherit an empty title. If that came to pass, I would not bet a broken sword we would live to see out the year.”
“Ah.”
Orik said nothing more until the food on his plate was gone. Then he downed a mouthful of beer, belched, and resumed the conversation: “We are balanced upon a windy mountain path with a mile-high drop on either side. So many of my race hate and fear Dragon Riders because of the crimes Galbatorix, the Forsworn, and now Murtagh have committed against us. And so many of them fear the world beyond the mountains and the tunnels and caverns wherein we hide.” He turned his mug around on the table. “Nado and Az Sweldn rak Anhuin are only worsening the situation. They play upon people’s fears and poison their minds against you, the Varden, and King Orrin... Az Sweldn rak Anhuin is the epitome of what we must overcome if I am to be king. Somehow we must needs find a way to allay their concerns and the concerns of those like them, for even if I am king, I will have to give them a fair hearing if I am to retain the support of the clans. A dwarf king or queen is always at the mercy of the clans, no matter how strong a ruler they may be, just as the grimstborithn are at the mercy of the families of their clan.” Tilting back his head, Orik drained the last of the beer from his mug, then set it down with a sharp clack.
“Is there anything I could do, any custom or ceremony of yours I could perform, that would appease Vermund and his followers?” asked Eragon, naming the current grimstborith of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin. “There must be
Orik laughed and stood from the table. “You could die.”
Early the next morning, Eragon sat with his back against the curved wall of the round room set deep below the center of Tronjheim, along with a select group of warriors, advisers, servants, and family members of the clan chiefs who were privileged enough to attend the clanmeet. The clan chiefs themselves were seated in heavy, carved chairs arranged around the edge of a circular table, which like most objects of note in the lower levels of the city-mountain bore the crest of Korgan and the Ingeitum.
At the moment, Galdhiem, grimstborith of Durgrimst Feldunost, was speaking. He was short, even for a dwarf — hardly more than two feet in height — and wore patterned robes of gold, russet, and midnight blue. Unlike the dwarves of the Ingeitum, he did not trim or braid his beard, and it tumbled across his chest like a tangled bramble. Standing on the seat of his chair, he pounded the polished table with his gloved fist and roared, “... Eta! Narho udim etal os isu vond! Narho udim etal os formvn mendunost brakn, az Varden, hrestvog dur grimstnzhadn! Az Jurgenvren qathrid ne domar oen etal—”
“... No,” Eragon’s translator, a dwarf named Hundfast, whispered in his ear. “I will not let that happen. I will not let these beardless fools, the Varden, destroy our country. The Dragon War left us weak and not—”
Eragon stifled a yawn, bored. He allowed his gaze to drift around the granite table, from Galdhiem to Nado, a round-faced dwarf with flaxen hair who was nodding with approval at Galdhiem’s thundering speech; to Havard, who was using a dagger to clean under the fingernails of the two remaining fingers on his right hand; to Vermund, heavy-browed but otherwise inscrutable behind his purple veil; to Gannel and Undin, who sat leaning toward each other, whispering, while Hadfala, an elderly dwarf woman who was the clan chief of Durgrimst Ebardac and the third member of Gannel’s alliance, frowned at the sheaf of rune-covered parchment she brought with her to every meeting; and then to the chief of Dur grimst Ledwonnu, Manndrath, who sat in profile to Eragon, displaying his long, drooping nose to good effect; to Thordris, grimstborith of Durgrimst Nagra, of whom he could see little but her wavy auburn hair, which fell past her shoulders and lay coiled on the floor in a braid twice as long as she was tall; to the back of Orik’s head as he slouched to one side in his chair; to Freowin, grimstborith of Durgrimst Gedthrall, an immensely corpulent dwarf who kept his eyes fixed upon the block of wood he was busy carving into the likeness of a hunched raven; and then to Hreidamar, grimstborith of Durgrimst Urzhad, who, in contrast with Freowin, was fit and compact, with corded forearms, and who wore a mail hauberk and helm to every gathering; and finally to Iorunn, she of the nut-brown skin marred only by a thin, crescent-shaped scar high upon her left cheekbone, she of the satin-bright hair bound underneath a silver helm wrought in the shape of a snarling wolf’s head, she of the vermilion dress and the necklace of flashing emeralds set in squares of gold carved with lines of arcane runes.
Iorunn noticed Eragon looking at her. A lazy smile appeared on her lips. With voluptuous ease, she winked at Eragon, obscuring one of her almond-shaped eyes for a pair of heartbeats.
Eragon’s cheeks stung as blood suffused them, and the tips of his ears burned. He shifted his gaze and returned it to Galdhiem, who was still busy pontificating, his chest puffed out like that of a strutting pigeon.
As Orik had asked, Eragon remained impassive throughout the meeting, concealing his reactions from those who were watching. When the clanmeet broke for their midday meal, he hastened over to Orik and, bending so that no one else could hear, said, “Do not look for me at your table. I have had my fill of sitting and talking. I am going to explore the tunnels for a bit.”
Orik nodded, appearing distracted, and murmured in reply, “Do as you wish, only be sure you are here when we resume; it would not be meet for you to play truant, no matter how tedious these talks be.”
“As you say.”
Eragon edged out of the conference room, along with the press of dwarves eager to have their lunches, and rejoined his four guards in the hallway outside, where they had been playing dice with idle warriors from other clans. With his guards in tow, Eragon struck out in a random direction, allowing his feet to carry him where they
