Ajihad’s funeral. He touched Zar’roc, but decided it would only insult Undin’s table and instead belted on his hunting knife.
Then, from his pack, he took the scroll Nasuada had charged him with delivering to Islanzadi and weighed it in his hand, wondering where to hide it. The missive was too important to leave out in the open, where it could be read or stolen. Unable to think of a better place, he slipped the scroll up his sleeve.
When at last the servant returned for Eragon, it was only an hour or so past noon, but the sun had already vanished behind the looming mountains, plunging Tarnag into dusk. Exiting the hall, Eragon was struck by the city’s transformation. With the premature advent of night, the dwarves’ lanterns revealed their true strength, flooding the streets with pure, unwavering light that made the entire valley glow.
Undin and the other dwarves were gathered in the courtyard, along with Saphira, who had situated herself at the head of a table. No one appeared interested in disputing her choice.
“Eragon, please join me,” said Undin, gesturing at the chair to his right. The clan chief seated himself as Eragon did, and the rest of the company hurriedly followed suit.
Eragon was happy when Orik ended up beside him with Arya directly across the table, although both looked grim. Before he could ask Orik about the ring, Undin slapped the table and roared, “Ignh az voth!”
Servants streamed out of the hall, bearing platters of beaten gold piled high with meats, pies, and fruit. They divided into three columns — one for each table — and deposited the dishes with a flourish.
Before them were soups and stews filled with various tubers, roasted venison, long hot loaves of sourdough bread, and rows of honeycakes dripped with raspberry preserve. In a bed of greens lay filleted trout garnished with parsley, and on the side, pickled eel stared forlornly at an urn of cheese, as if hoping to somehow escape back into a river. A swan sat on each table, surrounded by a flock of stuffed partridges, geese, and ducks.
Mushrooms were everywhere: broiled in juicy strips, placed atop a bird’s head like a bonnet, or carved in the shape of castles amid moats of gravy. An incredible variety was on display, from puffy white mushrooms the size of Eragon’s fist, to ones he could have mistaken for gnarled bark, to delicate toadstools sliced neatly in half to showcase their blue flesh.
Then the centerpiece of the feast was revealed: a gigantic roasted boar, glistening with sauce. At least Eragon thought it was a boar, for the carcass was as large as Snowfire and took six dwarves to carry. The tusks were longer than his forearms, the snout as wide as his head. And the smell, it overwhelmed all others in pungent waves that made his eyes water from their strength.
“Nagra,” whispered Orik. “Giant boar. Undin truly honors you tonight, Eragon. Only the bravest dwarves dare hunt Nagran, and it is only served to those who have great valor. Also, I think he makes a gesture that he will support you over Durgrimst Nagra.”
Eragon leaned toward him so no one else could hear. “Then this is another animal native to the Beors? What are the rest?”
“Forest wolves big enough to prey on a Nagra and nimble enough to catch Feldunost. Cave bears, which we call Urzhadn and the elves call Beorn and for which they dubbed these peaks, though we do not call them such ourselves. The mountains’ name is a secret that we share with no race. And—”
“Smer voth,” commanded Undin, smiling at his guests. The servants immediately drew small curved knives and cut portions of the Nagra, which they set on everyone’s plates — except for Arya’s — including a weighty piece for Saphira. Undin smiled again, took a dagger, and sliced off a bit of his meat.
Eragon reached for his own knife, but Orik grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
Undin chewed slowly, rolling his eyes and nodding in an exaggerated fashion, then swallowed and proclaimed, “Ilf gauhnith!”
“Now,” said Orik, turning to the meal as conversation erupted along the tables.
Eragon had never tasted anything like the boar. It was juicy, soft, and oddly spicy — as if the meat had been soaked in honey and cider — which was enhanced by the mint used to flavor the pork.
Between bites, Orik explained, “It is custom, from days when poisoning was rampant among clans, for the host to taste the food first and declare it safe for his guests.”
During the banquet, Eragon divided his time between sampling the multitude of dishes and conversing with Orik, Arya, and dwarves farther down the table. In that manner, the hours hastened by, for the feast was so large, it was late afternoon before the last course had been served, the last bite consumed, and the last chalice drained. As servants removed the tableware, Undin turned to Eragon and said, “The meal pleased you, yes?”
“It was delicious.”
Undin nodded. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I had the tables moved outside yesterday so the dragon might dine with us.” He remained intently focused on Eragon all the while he spoke.
Eragon went cold inside. Intentionally or not, Undin had treated Saphira as no more than a beast. Eragon had intended to ask about the veiled dwarves in private, but now — out of a desire to unsettle Undin — he said, “Saphira and I thank you.” Then, “Sir, why was the ring thrown at us?”
A painful silence crept over the courtyard. Out of the corner of his eye, Eragon saw Orik wince. Arya, however, smiled as if she understood what he was doing.
Undin put down his dagger, scowling thickly. “The knurlagn you met are of a tragic clan. Before the Riders’ fall, they were among the oldest, richest families of our kingdom. Their doom was sealed, though, by two mistakes: they lived on the western edge of the Beor Mountains, and they volunteered their greatest warriors in Vrael’s service.”
Anger broke through his voice with sharp cracks. “Galbatorix and his ever-cursed Forsworn slaughtered them in your city of Uru’baen. Then they flew on us, killing many. Of that clan, only Grimstcarvlorss Anhuin and her guards survived. Anhuin soon died of grief, and her men took the name Az Sweldn rak Anhuin, The Tears of Anhuin, covering their faces to remind themselves of their loss and their desire for revenge.”
Eragon’s cheeks stung with shame as he fought to keep his face expressionless. “So,” said Undin, glowering at a pastry, “they rebuilt the clan over the decades, waiting and hunting for recompense. And now you come, bearing Hrothgar’s mark. It is the ultimate insult to them, no matter your service in Farthen Dur. Thus the ring, the ultimate challenge. It means Durgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhuin will oppose you with all their resources, in every matter, big or small. They have set themselves against you utterly, declared themselves blood enemies.”
“Do they mean me bodily harm?” asked Eragon stiffly.
Undin’s gaze faltered for a moment as he cast a look at Gannel, then he shook his head and uttered a gruff laugh that was, perhaps, louder than the occasion warranted. “No, Shadeslayer! Not even they would dare hurt a guest. It is forbidden. They only want you gone, gone, gone.” Yet Eragon still wondered. Then Undin said, “Please, let us talk no more of these unpleasant matters. Gannel and I have offered our food and mead in friendship; is that not what matters?” The priest murmured in concordance.
“It is appreciated,” Eragon finally relented.
Saphira looked at him with solemn eyes and said,
CELBEDEIL
The dawnless morning found Eragon in Undin’s main hall, listening as the clan chief spoke to Orik in Dwarvish. Undin broke off as Eragon approached, then said, “Ah, Shadeslayer. You slept well?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He gestured at Orik. “We have been considering your departure. I had hoped you’d be able to spend
