Roran trundled alongside Orik's steed, his new helm feeling heavy on his head. However, that weight had nothing to do with the helm itself but, rather, what the helm represented. He was now a full fledged member of a dwarf clan! If someone had told him years ago that he would be adopted into a dwarf clan, he would have laughed in their face and taken away their mug of ale. The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed but, also, in a strange way it made sense. Garrow had always told him that he was destined for greatness but Roran was content with getting married and tending his farm. From the moment the Ra'zac attacked Carvahall, he found himself still clinging to the hope of returning to that life. Now, in the wake of everything that had happened, he wasn't sure he would ever get to be a simple farmer or even that he would be able to return home. If anything cemented that realization, it was his adoption into the Ingeitum. Between his duties as Earl and now his connections to the Dwarves, he was being pulled in too many directions to simply settle down and farm the land like he had previously wanted.
"How are you feeling, Roran?" Orik asked. "Need a turn in the saddle?"
Roran shook his head, "I'm fine. Honestly, I think I'm still running on adrenaline."
"Seems like that is the only fuel we have to burn lately." Orik replied. "Hopefully this ends soon. It is difficult enough keeping the thirteen clans of dwarves happy without having to fight a war every year."
"I thought it was hard keeping a simple farming town together. I can't even begin to imagine an entire race. How do you keep so many happy?"
"You don't." Orik said simply. "It is impossible. No matter what you decide, there will always be someone, somewhere, who disagrees. Such is the life of a leader. That is why we have a clan chief, a spokesman, for each clan. That is why we come together to make collaborative decisions. That is also why it takes so long for us to make a decision but, for the most part, it serves us well."
"Can I ask you something?" Roran ventured.
"Of course, Roran. We are family now, after all." Orik said.
"Do you think it is possible, if we survive this, to go back to the way life was before?"
"Is that what you want to do?" Orik asked thoughtfully.
"Before this whole thing with Arngeir I would have said yes. Now, I'm not so sure. What I do want, more than anything, is a safe place for my family."
"I think that what we want evolves as time passes. Look within yourself and you will find your answer, for you are the only one who knows what you truly want. And when you find it, hold onto it and never let it go."
Silence fell between them until long after the moon had risen and they veered from the beaten path. It was a crystal clear night, the stars twinkling high above them. The temperature dropped considerably until Roran's lungs burned from the chilly air he had to draw into his lungs to sustain his pace. But still he lumbered on. His boots crunched the snow underfoot, as did all the others. It made such a commotion that Roran developed a headache and debated about putting wads of cloth in his ears to dampen the sound. Still, no one asked for a break. They all understood the importance of their timely arrival in Ilirea and they refused to stop.
Morning came and went, the sunrise spawning new hopes and welcome warmth after the long, cold night. Their progress slowed as they entered into deeper now. Some of the deeper snow drifts caused dwarves to sink in up to their shoulders. Such occasions were earmarked by loud and inventive dwarf curses, one of which became Roran's favorite and, loosely translated, meant "dog breath."
"It doesn't mean anything in this language but, in ours, it is highly suggestive," Orik explained. "You see…"
"I don't need to hear it," Roran interjected. "I think I get it."
It wasn't until really late that night that they found the road again and the going became easier.
"We are really close, now," Orik yelled. "From here on out, it is as silent as possible. Weapons ready."
'Vor Orik's Korda!" came the reply.
Roran checked the hammer in his belt and double checked the strap on his shield. Across his back, he slung a quiver of arrows and a borrowed bow. He shrugged, checking the weight and adjusting the straps. Satisfied, he resumed his tireless trek over the countryside, several hundred of his newly adopted brethren behind him.
Eragon leapt out of the saddle, landing lightly on the ground in the city of Ilirea. Naturally, three dragons tended to draw a crown and today was no exception. Add to it three Riders, Blodhgarm and the enigmatic Angela and they stood no chance of getting off lightly. He had to endure twenty long minutes of shouts, praises and requests – several of marriage - from the crowd before Nasuada arrived and managed to extricate the five of them. Saphira, Thorn and Firnen took off immediately to hunt. They weren't sure when they would be able to eat and they needed the energy for the coming battle.
Be quick and be safe, Eragon said.
Always.
Blodhgarm peeled away from the small procession, making a beeline for the rear of the city where the rest of the Elves had taken refuge. They would all wish to fight alongside their Queen and it fell to Blodhgarm to prepare them. The tall, dark furred elf disappeared among the shadows of the buildings as Eragon ducked his head inside and out of the cold air. In front of him, Solembum's head was just visible over Angela's shoulder. She carried him so he wouldn't be trampled in the crowd.
Once inside, Eragon wasted no time. "We saw the wall defenses being prepared as we flew overhead. How many can we field?"
"I have twenty thousand fully marshalled and ready to be deployed wherever you need them. Another ten thousand are in charge of the wall and city defenses."
"Excellent. Orik and Roran should be close now. It might be actually work to our advantage that they will be late. Once the battle starts, they can circle around and attack from the other side."
"Speaking of Arngeir, scouts have reported a mass of men moving toward this location, flying the flag of Tharos the Quick, of Aroughs. Their numbers are estimated to be roughly fifteen thousand. I sent a runner to them seeking their intentions. The horse returned on its own, sans rider. The messenger' head was fixed to the saddle. " Nasuada shook her head. "I knew Tharos hated us but this is reprehensible."
"It is expected though," Angela said, taking a sip from a wineskin. Solembum stretched, spun in a tight circle and laid down at her feet, yawning. "Arngeir needed foot soldiers and he is a master of manipulation."
"Vermund is one thing but I always thought Tharos was smarter than that." Nasuada said, shaking her head.
"What about Vermund?" Eragon asked, his interest piqued.
"He attacked Orik's force yesterday. Az Sweldn Rak Ahuin and some men from an unknown location."
"What about Orik? And Roran? Are they alright?" Eragon asked quickly.
Nasuada raised her hands, gesturing for Eragon to calm down. "They are both fine. Roran slew Vermund and Orik's men survived with minimal casualties."
Eragon's mind began to race. It actually made sense that Vermund would leap at an opportunity to exact revenge but the encounter raised another, more important, question: who were the men they fought with? He posited the question to the group.
"Could they have been some of Tharos' men? We don't know when Arngeir got to Tharos and Vermund, it is possible that a small contingent could have passed anonymously and met up with Vermund to lie in wait." Murtagh suggested.
"No," said Angela. "I mean, it is possible as you said but I don't think so. Arngeir wouldn't risk those he subjugates to mingle with others. Much of his power in manipulation is in his ability to weave lies. If Tharos' men fought with the dwarves, some of the lies might become unveiled and, thus, undermine the illusion he so diligently created. The men must have come from somewhere else."
"Who else has a motive to betray us?" Arya asked.
"When Arngeir held us captive, he mentioned that it wasn't difficult to find people who wanted to see us burn. He didn't mention who but it seems clear he has planned all of his moves well in advance. The men who fought with Vermund could have come from anywhere." Eragon said.
"Well, either way, nightfall is fast approaching. We will find out soon enough. We should take this opportunity to eat and drink and prepare. As surprised as I am that Arngeir has held to his three day time line, he will not wait one second beyond that. At dawn, we will either die or we will, finally, mercifully, be at peace." Angela said, somewhat morosely.
The meeting broke up then, satisfied that their preparations were in place. Nasuada asked after Murtagh and, together, they left, heading in the direction of the kitchens. Arya switched chairs and set down next to Eragon, placing a soft, caring hand on his arm and her head on his shoulder. She seemed content to just pass what time she could with him.
Angela remained quiet and impassive, her eyes staring out across the room but not really seeing anything.
Eragon had never seen her so withdrawn. For the first time since discovering Angela was one of the Grey Folk, it occurred to Eragon how incredibly old she really was. One of the first things she said to him, that day in her shop in Teirm, was that she was older than she looked. She had been alive for untold millennia and, barring any unfortunate incident, she would continue on, untouched by time or bodily decline. Then Eragon thought about his own situation, knowing that, should he survive the battle, he would also live that long. It was quite a daunting feeling.
"The long life itself isn't so bad," Angela said, watching him closely. "It's the fact that you can't get close to anyone who doesn't share your longevity."
"We have to figure out a ward to guard against that mind reading thing," Eragon joked.
"That is probably a good idea. However, I didn't read your thoughts. I could just see it on your face. I had the same look when I realized what was in my future."
"When I was little," Arya began, "I asked my mother about this very topic. Such things are just understood in our culture and rarely talked about. She said something I'll never forget. She said, 'the years are not as important as what you accomplish with those years.' It is something humans could learn a lot from, given they have the shortest life span in Alagaesia. Doing something you are passionate about is key to enjoying what time you have on this earth. Even when you are as long lived as us, death by outside means is still a possibility so we fill our time with as much happiness as possible. It is the only way to ensure your time here is not wasted."
Eragon shifted his free arm and entangled his fingers with hers. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand.
"That's a nice sentiment. Should we survive this, I might consider it good advice." Angela said with a smile. "Speaking of time, ours is running short. I have some preparations to make, as do you. It might be a good idea to practice the techniques I taught you. If there is one thing I am certain of, we will need them."
Angela stood and waved goodbye, Solembum hot on her heels.
Even though they both knew Angela was right, they made no move to follow suit. The past few days had been draining on Eragon, physically and emotionally and just having a moment to sit in peace felt amazing. The only thing better was his company.
The minutes passed slowly and silently, broken only when Saphira touched his mind, We are returning. Thorn spotted a large mass of men approaching from the southeast. They must be Tharos' warriors. He could just make out two of the Grey Folk at the head of their procession.
Be careful. We don't know where Arngeir is. Return swiftly and safely. Eragon replied.
"As lovely as I find spending such time with you," Eragon said to Arya, "we probably should get moving now. Saphira says they are returning now and Thorn mentioned he saw Tharos' men approaching from the southeast."
"Wait…southeast?" Arya asked thoughtfully, "Southeast, not southwest?"
"That's what Thorn said. That makes sense, Aroughs is quite far south."
"Yes, south and to the west. Thorn said southeast. In order for Tharos to approach from the southeast he would have to traverse through Surda and circle around Lake Tudosten. That doesn't make any sense."
A sense of dreaded realization began to well up within Eragon. A flood of images and thoughts hit him then, all pointing to a possibility that was too outlandish to be true but, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.
Saphira?
I am already flying in that direction, Saphira said.
"I don't know; maybe I'm looking too much into it. What are you thinking?" Arya asked after several minutes.
"I just had an idea but it's probably nothing." Eragon said dismissively.
"What is it?" Arya pushed.
"I thought that, maybe, it was-"
Eragon, I flew overhead of the men. There must be thirty thousand of them! The two Grey Folk are marching in the lead.
Did you see their colors? What flag are they flying?
You were right, Eragon, it is him. It's King Orrin! He has betrayed us!