Brisingr [en]

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. 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 assassins’ 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 assassins for their attack. And,” said Orik, his voice growing harsh and terrible, “from them we learned the identity 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 passed, 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 assistants 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 assembled — 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, he thought. 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 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! 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 ambassador, 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 bloody scraps, 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.

Freowin unfolded his hands and slapped the table with a meaty palm. With his hoarse 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 trespass.”

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.