Hey everyone! Quick update; the title of this story has been changed to better fit the plot. The new title is "We are all dwarves" in dwarvish. Also, I changed just a little detail in the second chapter, which was changing the size of Vardi from equal to Parlim to the size of Beirland and Parlim put together. This chapter is a bit longer, so I hope you enjoy! Lastly, I would like to thank darkdruid01 once again for his help in editing this, and I would also like to thank those of you that have left reviews, followed or favorited this story.

"Does it seem a bit…chilly?" Yilla asked, leaning slightly over the table as she did so. "There's hardly any conversation going on."

There is a reason that no one is talking, you twit, Cradic thought to himself, masterfully hiding his exasperation. "You are right, no one is very talkative tonight. Harfind is giving the human a look that could shame a dragon, and Bran has not touched his meal. What do you think, Grishnal?"

After a few words in her native tongue, the dam responded, "The boy seems both ashamed and hurt, whereas the dwarf is obviously angry with him. There's something else though; the boy almost seems angry with himself. I also notice that a scar has disappeared from Bran's right hand, which means he's healed himself recently. You don't think the two came to blows, do you?"

I certainly hope so. Those two have been a nuisance since Bran joined our ranks, Cradic thought. "I rather doubt it. The boy and dwarf have been nigh inseparable since Bran's first day in Ellesméra. It would be…unfortunate if they were to begin fighting now, especially if we all want to make good impressions on Eragon."

"That's not what's important, Cradic," Yilla scolded softly.

She's right, partner of my mind, Ävil said before he could respond. You may not like Bran or Harfind, but you know they would both lay down their lives in order to save yours. Would you do the same for them?

They are not even worthy to be Riders! Cradic retorted angrily. Elves were the only race that fought against the dragons, so elves should be the only Riders. Eragon was foolish to incorporate the dwarves and Urgals into the pact, especially since he doesn't deserve to be a Rider himself!

He defeated Galbatorix, you fool! Ävil shouted mentally. He deserves to be a Rider more than anyone, especially you. If it weren't for Eragon, elves and dragons would both be extinct by now, and you know it.

Bah, you know nothing. Finish your meal, hatchling.

Sometimes I don't even know why I hatched for such a bigoted, ungrateful sod. With that she slammed their mental contact shut, preventing him from getting the last word.

Cradic sat bolt upright, instantly alert. He had seen something during his waking dreams, something immensely important, but he couldn't quite grasp the memory. Ävil, I know you are still angry with me for what I said last night, but did my dreams bleed into your mind? I can't completely remember them, but I know that whatever I dreamed about will have giant consequences.

I don't know if your dreams bled through our link or if I had my own dream, but I agree, something is happening. All of the other dragons, Saphira and Fírnen included, are having similar conversations with their Riders. Get to the courtyard as quickly as you can! she yelled, sending him an image of five dragons attempting to simultaneously exit their caves, winging their way towards Galbagrind. Whatever was going on was momentous enough to frighten them.

After throwing on a black tunic and black pants, Cradic ran to the door, grabbing his belt as he went. Sprinting northward to the courtyard, he strapped the belt to his waist, slightly comforted by the familiar weight of Togira at his left hip. Loosening the blade and pulling it partially out of its sheath, Cradic couldn't help but wonder what was happening, and what he would be able to do about it. Flying past more doors than he cared to count, he began to wish that he had chosen a room closer to the courtyard.

Cradic ran under the enormous archway that marked the end of the hall and looked out into the courtyard. The sight he beheld chilled his blood, and caused him to instantly draw his bone-colored sword.

Sitting atop his huge red dragon, Morzan was holding Zar'roc over his head and shouting something towards the North hall, which was the direction he and his monstrous steed were facing. Quelling his fear at the sight of the foe he had thought to be dead, Cradic loosed a battle cry and charged, leaping into the air at the landing beast.

"Letta!" the man shouted, turning to face the elf.

Suspended in midair, Cradic was both astonished and frightened that his wards hadn't protected him from the hostile magic. He was even more astonished to realize that it was Murtagh in front of him, not Morzan, although that realization did little to abate Cradic's sudden bloodlust. "Release me, you traitorous swine! You have some nerve showing your face around here!"

"Hush, elf. I come with tidings from Her Majesty the Queen. Where are the others? Where is Eragon?" Murtagh asked urgently, sheathing Zar'roc as he did so.

"They are on their way, and will kill you if you do not release me immediately!" As if on cue, Grishnal appeared at the western edge of the courtyard and Yilla emerged from the hallway behind him. In the distance, the thunder of dragons could easily be heard in the still, cool air. "If you mean no harm, then why did you have that abomination at the ready?" Cradic asked, indicating the crimson sword.

"Because I know that I don't have many admirers, here or in Alagaësia. It's better to be safe than sorry," the man said loudly. With a gesture, he released Cradic from his magical snare.

Cradic sheathed Togira, but kept his hand on its hilt as Saphira and Fírnen landed in the courtyard. He then jogged over to Eragon as he dropped out of his saddle, fully armored and Brisingr at his hip. "Master, what do we do about these traitors?"

"They're not traitors, Cradic," Eragon replied as he began to stride towards his half-brother. Harfind and Bran finally appeared from the eastern and northern halls respectively. "Without Murtagh and Thorn, Galbatorix would still be alive. Never forget that."

"Eragon," Murtagh said with a slight nod after slipping out of the saddle. He eyed the loose circle that had formed around him and his dragon, appearing uneasy with being surrounded. As the Head Rider drew closer, Murtagh seemed to tense slightly. "I come with a message from Queen Nasuada."

Ignoring everyone else, Eragon embraced Murtagh tightly. "It's good to see you, brother." Appearing surprised, Murtagh took a moment to return the gesture. "You stayed in exile for too long. How did Nasuada contact you? I've tried many times, but I was never once successful."

"I've been living in Ilirea for almost a year now," Murtagh said.

"Why didn't Nasuada, or you for that matter, tell me?" Eragon asked, confused.

"She thought it best that you be told only if circumstances deemed it absolutely necessary. The queen knew how important it was that you not be distracted from your work. I disagreed, but I knew that I would be unable to convince her to change her mind, so I complied. About that message…it is rather important."

"How do we know that you are not lying?" Cradic called, voicing a concern that all five of the new Riders shared. Casting a glance skyward as the group of dragons arrived, he continued, "Why should we trust anything this traitor says?"

Because we say that they are trustworthy, Saphira said, broadcasting her thoughts so all could hear. Fírnen or myself could easily have been in Thorn's place, or Thorn ours. Both he and Murtagh did the best that they could with the situation they were given, and they have received pardons from Nasuada, Orik, Garzhvog, Orrin, Arya and Grimrr Halfpaw. Are you willing to dismiss the actions of the world's leaders simply because you do not want to forgive an innocent man and dragon?

Face flushed with shame, Cradic bowed deeply to Murtagh and Thorn. "Forgive my hasty words," he said. I do not trust them, but I can not risk angering our mentors, he said privately to Ävil.

"What news do you bring? And how were you able to cross the wards, or find us at all for that matter?" Eragon inquired of Murtagh.

"I used the Name to scry you, then used it again to slip through the barriers around the island. The news is dire, and I think we should speak alone, Eragon."

"A noble sentiment, but the students will find out one way or another. You might as well say it now," the Head Rider sighed.

"As you wish," Murtagh said after a brief pause. "A large, orange dragon was found dead near Galfni, the dwarvish city. While the death is certainly tragic, it would not be noteworthy if she had been killed in some other way. Her wounds led me to believe that…well, they made it appear as if she was caught mid-flight and crushed. Most of her bones were shattered, her wings were all but gone, and her eyes were popping out of her skull."

A brief silence followed his words, which was interrupted by Arya. "How do you know that the dragon was female, Murtagh?"

"We had no idea at first. When I went to investigate on behalf of Nasuada, I immediately assumed it was male, based solely on its size. While I was attempting to determine the cause of death, an egg slid out of her bloating corpse," he said, turning around to face Thorn's flank as he spoke. He climbed up Thorn's left foreleg, then pulled something out of his saddlebag. After jumping down to the ground, his dark clothes rustling when he landed, Murtagh slowly unwrapped what he was holding. There, under the white cloth, sat an amber egg. "I consulted with the Queen, and we both felt that because its mother was dead, the egg might as well be given to the Riders."

"Were you able to determine when she died?" Eragon asked as he took the large egg out of his half-brother's grasp.

"She died yesterday afternoon. I was able to get to her within an hour of her death. Lucky I was visiting Tronjheim, eh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows with a small grin.

I wonder if Glaedr or Umaroth have ever heard of something like this, Fírnen commented.

"Maybe we should pay them a visit," Eragon said. "They're eager to meet the new Riders, and I have to take the egg to the vault anyhow. Before we leave, however, I want oaths in the Ancient Language from each of you, dragons included. Here is what you must say…"

Eragon spent the next ten minutes extracting promises from each Rider and dragon, wording the oaths carefully so as to avoid possible loopholes. Once the fourteen of them had sworn that they would never reveal what they were about to see, the location of the vault, and that they would never visit the vault unless told to do so or accompanied by him, he ordered them all to prepare to leave. "Will we be going far, Master?" Cradic asked.

Eragon shook his head, folding his arms across his chest plate as he did. "We can get there before noon, easily." He then clambered into the saddle that was still on Saphira's back. "We need to leave, now. Sorry you five, but we don't have time to wait for you to get your saddles. You'll have to ride bareback."

Cradic climbed up to the spot on Ävil's back where there was a gap between the ivory spikes that lined her spine. Gripping the spike in front of him, he tightened his knees so that he had a more secure hold. Try to fly as smoothly as possible. I would rather not be impaled today, he said, only half joking.

Ävil ignored him as she took off, following closely behind Miramal's teal tail. Saphira led the thunder of apprehensive dragons away from Galbagrind, heading in the direction of the sun that had recently risen above the horizon. They reached the eastern edge of Vardi in about an hour and a half, the smaller dragons struggling to match Saphira's breakneck pace. The group then dove, plummeting several hundred feet, cliffs blurring past as they descended. About halfway down the face of the cliffs, Saphira halted, as did the other seven dragons.

The group of sixteen floated in front of a small outcropping of rock, thuds from eight pairs of wings echoing off of the wall of the island. From the small shelf of stone, a single lily was growing amidst some crabgrass. Ebrithilar, I thought we were visiting the Eldunarí. Why have we stopped here? Mendûnost asked, allowing all to hear his words.

Eragon turned his head to glance back at the other Riders, gave them a wink and a sly grin, then tightened his grip on the spike in front of him. Before anyone could utter a word or a cry, Saphira rushed toward the outcropping. Cries of fear turned into gasps of shock as first her head disappeared into the cliff, then the rest of her body. As the tip of her tail vanished into the stone, Fírnen inched his snout toward the lily, pushing himself forward until he too disappeared. Mendûnost followed, then Thorn, then Pïnor and Miramal, leaving Flint and Ävil outside with their Riders. Bran looked over at Cradic, shrugged, then urged Flint into the cliff.

What do you think we will find in there? Cradic asked nervously.

Let's find out, Ävil said as she lunged forward. The elf instinctively flinched as his body passed through what appeared to be solid rock. Looking backward, he saw that the illusion covered a hole in the cliff large enough that would have allowed even Shruikan to enter unhindered.

Shifting his gaze to what lay ahead, Cradic saw that the others were all flying briskly down an enormous tunnel. The stone had obviously been shaped by magic, since not even the dwarves would have been able to carve such a vast tunnel in a perfect circle unaided by the arcane. Cradic urged Ävil to catch up to the group in front of them.

After a few minutes of silent flying, Eragon called out for everyone to land. Once all eight dragons were on the curved floor, the group moved forward once again. A moment later, the tunnel opened into a square room that could have housed the entire city of Ilirea. The roof was shrouded in darkness, as were the faraway walls. In the center of the vast cavern sat a small figure, which gleamed in the light of the dozens of werelights floating throughout the cavern. After a few more minutes of walking, the group neared the center of the room, and Cradic was shocked to realize that the figure was made out of polished metal. The statue took the shape of a well-muscled man, had the head of a dragon, wore nothing but a loincloth of the same material as his body, and had a shield by his left hand and a Rider's sword by his right.

"What's with the statue?" Harfind asked, his voice bouncing around the room.

Before a word could be said, the metal man's eyes flashed open, emitting a fiery red glow. Cradic and the others winced simultaneously as hundreds, perhaps thousands of voices clamored for their attentions. Cradic looked around, wondering where all of the people were hiding, until he realized that the clamorous shouts were actually mental rather than verbal. As the number of voices slowly thinned, Cradic could make out the vague shapes of alcoves set into the far wall, some of which glowed softly, and others that did not. Finally, only one voice remained.

I am Umaroth. I speak as the representative of the dragons confined to their Eldunarí. Why have you brought so many to see us, Eragon-finiarel?

Something is happening in Alagaësia. We aren't sure what as of yet, but we know that it is dire. All of us, who live in Galbagrind anyways, dreamed of something last night that we cannot remember, but that left an impression of great peril. Murtagh investigated the corpse of a dragon, and the news is strange. I think I'll allow him to explain, Eragon said.

Is this the same Murtagh who was enslaved by Galbatorix? Umaroth asked.

Indeed, Murtagh answered. I am sorry I was not here to help further the progress of the Riders, but Thorn and I needed some time to ourselves in order to determine our course of action.

Do not apologize, young one. What happened to the two of you was a cruel twist of fate, and was in no way your fault. Would you be comfortable showing us the memory of the corpse? It might help us better understand what is going on, Umaroth said kindly.

Murtagh appeared slightly uncomfortable, but he agreed, with the condition that no one, dragon or otherwise, attempt to view any other part of his mind. Once everyone complied, Murtagh closed his eyes, furrowing his brow in concentration. Seconds later, a vision flashed before Cradic's eyes:

The large, orange dragon laid with its tail in a small stream, which ran red after meeting the corpse. The Beors rose all around, huge and foreboding. Several dwarves surrounded the crumpled body with the job of driving off any predators that were attracted by the smell of blood.

"I don't like this," one said, gesturing with his thumb at the body. "Why is it here? I thought Eragon said that the dragons would be leaving Alagaësia with him…"

"That's what you're worried about?" another replied as Murtagh's eyes took note of the dragon's popping yellow eyeballs. "I'm more concerned about what killed it! Something fierce is living in these mountains, something I've never had the displeasure of meeting. What could have crushed a dragon?"

Suddenly, a fresh wave of blood entered the stream, causing the smell of blood to grow stronger instantly, and churning Murtagh's stomach. Moving towards the dragon's tail to investigate, Murtagh was shocked to see a large, amber egg with black veins falling to the moss-covered ground. Picking it up gingerly, he shot a glance at the dwarves, none of which had noticed. Murtagh carefully brought the egg to Thorn's side, then wrapped it in a white cloth and placed it in a saddlebag. "I think it's time we paid Eragon and Saphira a visit," he said.

When the image faded, silence filled the enormous room. This is worse than I thought. That appeared to be Larin, one of the dragons who helped with the training yesterday, Eragon said, obviously upset. What do you think of this, Umaroth?

A moment passed before the old dragon answered. I have never seen anything like it

What about the other Eldunarí? Surely one of them must have some idea as to what killed her, Eragon pleaded. Glaedr, do you have any thoughts?

Neither I nor Oromis ever experienced this. I'm sorry, young one, Glaedr replied.

I know what killed her, a new voice said.

What, or who, killed Larin, Valdr-elda? Arya asked quietly.

The ancient dragon did not reply for several tense minutes. Finally, he said, We are all dwarves. No one could get another word out of him after that.

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