He bowed his head as he saw that the explosion had killed Parr. Nine other men had died. Already wives and mothers rent the night with their wails of grief.
“Everyone, come!” called Baldor.
Roran blinked and stumbled to the middle of the road, where Baldor stood. A Ra’zac sat beetle-like on a horse only twenty yards away. The creature crooked a finger at Roran and said, “You... you sssmell like your cousin. We never forget a sssmell.”
“What do you want?” he shouted. “Why are you here?”
The Ra’zac chuckled in a horrible, insectile way. “We want...
AZSWELDN RAKANHUIN
Light burst into the tunnel as the doors dragged open. Eragon winced, his eyes sorely unaccustomed to daylight after so long underground. Beside him, Saphira hissed and arched her neck to get a better view of their surroundings.
It had taken them two days to traverse the subterranean passage from Farthen Dur, though it felt longer to Eragon, due to the never-ending dusk that surrounded them and the silence it had imposed upon their group. In all, he could recall only a handful of words being exchanged during their journey.
Eragon had hoped to learn more about Arya while they traveled together, but the only information he had gleaned came simply as a result of observation. He had not supped with her before and was startled to see that she brought her own food and ate no meat. When he asked her why, she said, “You will never again consume an animal’s flesh after you have been trained, or if you do, it will be only on the rarest of occasions.”
“Why should I give up meat?” he scoffed.
“I cannot explain with words, but you will understand once we reach Ellesmera.”
All that was forgotten now as he hurried to the threshold, eager to see their destination. He found himself standing on a granite outcropping, more than a hundred feet above a purple-hued lake, brilliant under the eastern sun. Like Kostha-merna, the water reached from mountain to mountain, filling the valley’s end. From the lake’s far side, the Az Ragni flowed north, winding between the peaks until — in the far distance — it rushed out onto the eastern plains.
To his right, the mountains were bare, save for a few trails, but to his left... to his left was the dwarf city Tarnag. Here the dwarves had reworked the seemingly immutable Beors into a series of terraces. The lower terraces were mainly farms — dark curves of land waiting to be planted — dotted with squat halls, which as best he could tell were built entirely of stone. Above those empty levels rose tier upon tier of interlocking buildings until they culminated in a giant dome of gold and white. It was as if the entire city was nothing more than a line of steps leading to the dome. The cupola glistened like polished moonstone, a milky bead floating atop a pyramid of gray slate.
Orik anticipated Eragon’s question, saying, “That is Celbedeil, the greatest temple of dwarf dom and home of Durgrimst Quan — the Quan clan — who act as servants and messengers to the gods.”
“Nay,” said Arya, stepping past them. “Though the Quan are strong, they are small in numbers, despite their power over the afterlife... and gold. It is the Ragni Hefthyn — the River Guard — who control Tarnag. We will stay with their clan chief, Undin, while here.”
As they followed the elf off the outcropping and through the gnarled forest that blanketed the mountain, Orik whispered to Eragon, “Mind her not. She has been arguing with the Quan for many a year. Every time she visits Tarnag and speaks with a priest, it produces a quarrel fierce enough to scare a Kull.”
“Arya?”
Orik nodded grimly. “I know little of it, but I’ve heard she disagrees strongly with much that the Quan practice. It seems that elves do not hold with ‘muttering into the air for help.’ ”
Eragon stared at Arya’s back as they descended, wondering if Orik’s words were true, and if so, what Arya herself believed. He took a deep breath, pushing the matter from his mind. It felt wonderful to be back in the open, where he could smell the moss and ferns and trees of the forest, where the sun was warm on his face and bees and other insects swarmed pleasantly.
The path took them down to the edge of the lake before rising back toward Tarnag and its open gates. “How have you hidden Tarnag from Galbatorix?” asked Eragon. “Farthen Dur I understand, but this... I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Orik laughed softly. “Hide it? That would be impossible. No, after the Riders fell, we were forced to abandon all our cities aboveground and retreat into our tunnels in order to escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn. They would often fly through the Beors, killing anyone who they encountered.”
“I thought that dwarves always lived underground.”
Orik’s thick eyebrows met in a frown. “Why should we? We may have an affinity for stone, but we like the open air as much as elves or humans. However, it has only been in the last decade and a half, ever since Morzan died, that we have dared return to Tarnag and other of our ancient dwellings. Galbatorix may be unnaturally powerful, but even he would not attack an entire city alone. Of course, he and his dragon could cause us no end of trouble if they wanted, but these days they rarely leave Uru’baen, even for short trips. Nor could Galbatorix bring an army here without first defeating Buragh or Farthen Dur.”
Cresting a small mound, Eragon jolted with surprise as an animal crashed through the underbrush and onto the path. The scraggly creature looked like a mountain goat from the Spine, except that it was a third larger and had giant ribbed horns that curled around its cheeks, making an Urgal’s seem no bigger than a swallow nest. Odder still was the saddle lashed across the goat’s back and the dwarf seated firmly on it, aiming a half-drawn bow into the air.
“Hert durgrimst? Fild rastn?” shouted the strange dwarf.
“Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Durgrimst Ingeitum,” answered Orik. “Wharn, az vanyali- carharug Arya. Ne oc Undinz grimstbelardn.” The goat stared warily at Saphira. Eragon noted how bright and intelligent its eyes were, though its face was rather droll with its frosty beard and somber expression. It reminded him of Hrothgar, and he almost laughed, thinking how very dwarfish the animal was.
“Azt jok jordn rast,” came the reply.
With no discernible command on the dwarf’s part, the goat leaped forward, covering such an extraordinary distance it seemed to take flight for a moment. Then rider and steed vanished between the trees.
“What was that?” asked Eragon, amazed.
Orik resumed walking. “A Feldunost, one of the five animals unique to these mountains. A clan is named after each one. However, Durgrimst Feldunost is perhaps the bravest and most revered of the clans.”
“Why so?”
“We depend upon Feldunost for milk, wool, and meat. Without their sustenance, we could not live in the Beors. When Galbatorix and his traitorous Riders were terrorizing us, it was Durgrimst Feldunost who risked themselves — and still do — to tend the herds and fields. As such, we are all in their debt.”
“Do all dwarves ride Feldunost?” He stumbled slightly over the unusual word.
“Only in the mountains. Feldunost are hardy and sure-footed, but they are better suited for cliffs than open plains.”
Saphira nudged Eragon with her nose, causing Snowfire to shy away.
She snorted, irritated.
Now the path that had concealed them for so long under dark boughs entered the great clearing that
