I just looked at the word count for this story. My god, 300k. That's ridiculous. I hope my writing has improved after all that.

Anyway, enjoy!


Chapter 44 – The Making of a King

Eragon leaned against Saphira's side, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the dwarves work before him. Saphira took up much of the hallway, barely able to fit her bulk down the many twists and turns, but she had vehemently declared to Orik that she would not leave Eragon's side. Orik stood not too far off from the host of warriors and spellcasters he brought with him, muttering lowly under his breath to one of his advisors.

Kvîstor stood among his clansmen, gesturing about the hall and explaining what he had witnessed.

Saphira sniffed at the air, a puff of smoke leaving her nostrils and making the dwarves pause in their examinations. This is taking too long, she growled. We should be searching for the perpetrator while the scent is still fresh.

He ran his hand over her scales, trying to sooth the fury that was boiling underneath. Peace, Saphira, Eragon murmured to her. We promised to let Orik take charge of the investigation. He already swore to you that he would find the one responsible and judge them accordingly.

It took nearly a half an hour before Orik strode over the Eragon and Saphira, finished hearing what evidence his clansmen found. "We have much to do, and little time in which to do it," Orik murmured to him and Saphira. "Before the clanmeet resumes tomorrow, we must establish beyond all doubt who ordered the attack. A clan war was already threatening us, but now it stands on the very threshold. We must move quickly if we are to avert that dreadful fate. There are knurlan to find, questions to ask, threats to make, bribes to offer, and scrolls to steal – and all before morn."

Eragon did not envy Orik's position. The dwarf had much on his shoulders already, but the attempt on Eragon's life only doubled it. "What do you wish of me?"

Orik placed his fists on his hips, eyeing Eragon carefully. "Will you oblige me in staying hidden, so that our attackers remain unaware of your fate? If they suspect you wounded or dead, then we may be able to keep them uncertain as to the safety of the rock beneath their feet."

Eragon mulled over Orik's words. He did not like the situation, and would have preferred to look for the orchestrator themselves, but he knew the value of Orik's proposition. "Fine," Eragon agreed. "But no guards. They'd be useless anyway -Saphira won't let me out of her sight until this matter is dealt with."

Orik scowled and muttered under his breath, but eventually nodded his head. "Very well. Luckily, the hall we provided you with has but one entrance, and even Az Sweldn rak Anhûin knows better than to stalk into a dragon's lair."

Saphira lifted the corner of her lips, displaying one of her large teeth in a terrifying visage that made both Eragon and Orik shiver. Let them try.

Orik cleared his throat and turned to his men, calling for them to remove the bodies. The dwarves set about their work quickly, and Eragon figured that his presence was no longer needed. He asked Orik for a guide back to his hall, and Orik commanded Kvîstor to escort the Rider and dragon. The dwarf seemed eager to leave, beckoning for Eragon and Saphira to follow him.

Saphira twisted as best she could in the hall, and Eragon fell in step behind Kvîstor. The dwarf remained silent, though every so often Eragon could see him glance around cautiously.

You are deep in thought, Saphira said to him after a few minutes of walking in silence. What is on your mind, little-one?

The spell I used, Eragon frowned. I did not intend for it to kill the assassins.

Saphira snorted as they walked, though he could feel a stirring of curiosity reverberating through their bond. You wished for the fight to end quickly¸ Saphira pointed out, and death is quite possibly the quickest way. Should it surprise you that your magic responded as such?

He pondered over her words as they followed Kvîstor, who lead them through different corridors that Eragon had never knew existed. What does it feel like when you use your magic? Eragon asked Saphira. He knew from her own memories what the experience was like, but maybe having her explain it to him would help.

The few times it has happened, it felt as though something deep stirred within me. I never paused to consider whether I was casting a spell or not. I just willed the world to change, and it did. It was not something deliberate. Was this what you felt?

Some, Eragon answered. I… I wanted to protect Kvîstor, and stop the assassins, but reaching for my magic was intentional in this case. I should have read more of Tenga's scroll before trying something so dangerous. I could have accidentally killed Kvîstor, or even myself by trying to use magic in such a manner without practice.

It seems you will have some time before we return to the Varden, and you already succeeded in finding your flower, so why not spend it on this matter?

Eragon agreed. Hopefully, Orik can find the one who ordered the assassination quickly.

The rest of Eragon's day was spent inside his hall with Saphira, and the only thing that kept him from going stir crazy was his devotion to reading Tenga's scroll. He poured over its length for most of the evening, only pausing when a knock sounded at his door. Eragon opened it, surprised to discover that Orik had ordered his chefs to deliver him and Saphira food. The dwarf's carrying the plates were escorted by guards, but even then Eragon still checked the food for any poison with a quick spell.

It was several hours later, late evening by Eragon's guess, when another knock sounded at the massive doors. Eragon's wards alerted him that nine dwarves were outside his quarters. Saphira stirred as Eragon opened the door, Orik waiting patiently on the other side. With a quick greeting Eragon let the dwarf in, and Orik gestured for his guards to wait outside.

"I have news," Orik stated. Saphira yawned and stretched her neck, turning to peer at the dwarf. After giving Saphira a brief nod in greeting, Orik continued, "We captured three knurlan in an abandon storeroom. Two of their minds we broke, and from them we discovered that it was they who equipped the assassins for the attack, gave them the daggers and their black clothes, and fed and sheltered them last night."

Saphira lips quivered, as though fighting off a snarl. Where are they now?

Orik spared Eragon a quick glance before answering, "They are being held somewhere secure, and will be escorted to the clanmeet tomorrow so that the other grimstborithn may interrogate them at their pleasure."

"How did you find them?" Eragon asked.

"I had several of our smiths examine the daggers, and they were able to identify the craftsmanship as that of Kiefna Long-nose, a bladesmith of great renown among our people. From there we were able to track the daggers to an armorer in Dalgon, who sold them to a knurlaf. She is of Dûrgrimst Nagra, and from her we learned that a dwarf engaged her to buy the daggers and deliver them to a wine merchant who would take them from Dalgon. She did not know to whom the daggers were destined, but we were able to discern from the other merchants that he traveled directly to one of the cities held by Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin."

Eragon blinked, astonished that Orik had been able to do so much in such little time. If he held any doubts before of Orik's commitment both to his people and to the war, the dwarf's display of cunning and leadership washed them firmly away. "I take it your spellcasters followed the assassin's trail to the storeroom?" At Orik's nod, Eragon asked, "who are they, then?"

"Bah!" Orik exclaimed, and spat on the floor. Eragon fought back a grimaced; he had seen enough dwarves already follow the same custom today, and though he understood its meaning, he would never truly find it anything but revolting. "They are Vargrimstn, warriors who have disgraced themselves and are now clan-less. No one deals with such filth unless they do not wish others to know of it, and it is they who took the orders directly from Grimstborith Vermûnd."

To Orik, Saphira asked, what is your plan for the clanmeet? Any evidence you present may very will raise suspicion against us, especially if they suspect we are trying to deceive them.

"Aye," Orik nodded. "I have a plan. We need to convince the other clans of what Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has done, and avoid further bloodshed. If we are unable to resolve this before we draw our swords, then we may be facing a clan war that could split mine people in two. To that end, will you," the dwarf motioned at Eragon, "allow magicians from different clans to examine your memories of the attack? I recall that you did not submit to the twins – which was a wise decision given their true intentions- but it may be necessary to show them that we did not stage it to our own benefit."

Eragon grimaced, thinking over Orik's ask. Crossing his arms, Eragon drummed his fingers and looked to Saphira. She gave him a single blink of her eye, her feelings of the matter already known. Eragon reluctantly said, "No." Orik frowned and stamped his foot, but before the dwarf could speak Eragon continued, "I'm sorry, Orik, but there are things that I know that should never be spoken of, and my mind is not the place for even a dwarf to venture. However,

I have something in mind that should suffice."

At Orik's curious look, Eragon strode over to his bag and retrieved his mirror. Holding it so that the dwarf could see, Eragon explained, "There is a spell that I can use that will show my memory on a mirror for all to see. It's costly in terms of energy, but it should be able to provide enough evidence to show my own actions for the day."

Orik peered at mirror curiously, stroking his beard in thought. "Do you require a specific mirror? Can the image be altered in any way?"

"It could be altered," Eragon said, answering Orik's second question first. "But that would require extensive time and effort, as well as a multitude of other spells, and is hard to maintain properly. The signs of alteration are easy to see, even for those without magic. We will allow the magicians to hear my words for themselves, and they will be able to see that I am not altering the image. The mirror itself doesn't matter; it is a variation on the scrying spell, so any reflective material can be used."

"Can you show me the memory now, and an attempt at alteration?" Orik asked. "If we are to present this as an alternative, then we must be able to prove that we are not deceiving the other grimstborithn."

Aloud, Eragon intoned the words of the spell, drawing up the memory in his mind of the attack. The mirror misted briefly before clearing, leaving behind a clear rendition of Eragon's memory. It was set through his own eyes as he walked down the hallway following Kvîstor, and he heard Orik let out a murmur in awe. Together the two of them watch Eragon's memory, and when it was over Eragon let his hold on the magic fade.

When Eragon did not speak for a few minutes Orik turned to him, a frown firmly in place. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Sorry," Eragon muttered, "I need a moment to think. I know the theory behind the magic, but I have not tried it for myself."

Orik nodded. The dwarf was patient as Eragon pondered his words, drawing on Saphira's help as he formulated the spell.

Tilting the mirror so that Orik knew he was ready, Eragon spoke the same words of the memory scrying spell, though this time he had to continually speak for the alterations to take place. The same image of Kvîstor walking down the hallway came up before, but this time when Eragon turned around in surprise it was not the assassins he saw, but Orik and a few guardsmen. Their faces were clouded over in a slight haze, and whenever they moved their movements seemed inconsistent and jumped from one place to the next. The memory's view shifted to the left, and Kvîstor came onto frame, but this time instead of bellowing out a war cry the dwarf offered the false-memory Orik a bow.

When he saw that Orik was satisfied, Eragon ended the spell. "I can teach the words to the other magicians, and it will allow them to try it for themselves. As you can see, it requires a constant chant, and without proper time can be easily seen through."

"A must stunning piece of magic," Orik grumbled. "Did the Rider's teach you this?"

"No, I learned it from a group of elves I found living outside of Alagaësia a few centuries ago." Saphira shifted on the stone dais she rested on, and he felt her lingering anger over another attempted assassination that Eragon lived through. He pushed his own thoughts of Seril aside, though for some reason her memory reminded him that he had yet to tell Arya over what happened.

After Orik is finished, Eragon promised himself, trying to hide a grimace. Arya would not be pleased to hear his story, especially with him denying Orik's offer of guards.

"I will present this magic to the others, and if they accept it, I foresee that this may very well change the way we view other's memories," Orik said. The dwarf continued to stroke his beard, thinking aloud, "We will have to speak the words first in front of the other grimstborithn, so that it is clear there is no deception, and it might be best that the magicians try it themselves. Can you write down the words for me, so that I can see that mine own kin have them?" The last part was said to Eragon, and he nodded in answer.

He retrieved a blank parchment and quill, quickly writing down the runes to the spell. Pausing, Eragon turned to Orik and asked, "Do your magicians know the elven runes?"

"Aye, they should. If not, there's bound to be a knurlan from among the clans who knows."

When he was finished, Eragon handed over the parchment to Orik. The dwarf glanced down at them before bidding them a goodnight, reminding Eragon that he was to appear early in the morning for the meeting. He had asked that Saphira not attend the meeting, but agreed when she asked to be with the stationed warriors Orik had arranged to be placed near the clanmeet. According to Orik, the other clan chiefs were unaware of this, and it would provide a place for them in case a clan war did break out. With that, the dwarf left, and Eragon let out a large sigh.

To Saphira, Eragon softly said, "I know its not the justice you want, but Orik is right; further bloodshed may only worsen the situation."

She huffed, but he knew she understood. Fine. So long as they are punished, I will be content.

Eragon strode over to her snout and hugged her as best he could. Saphira hummed under her breath, and Eragon let their minds meld. They stayed like that for some time, simply enjoying the others presence, but eventually Saphira drew back and nudged Eragon. Go, she said, and talk to your elf. She would want to hear from you this news.

This time, Eragon let his grimace finally show.


As he had suspected, Arya was not pleased. Though she was never one to raise her voice, he could tell by the furrow of her brow and the downturn of her mouth that the assassination attempt on his life made even Arya furious. His mention of turning down Orik's guards had also been met with a withering gaze, but his promise to follow Orik's advice had softened her look. Eventually she had let him rest, but not before she received a full recounting of the events that transpired. Eragon was heartened to spend any time conversing with her, letting his gaze trace over her features as he spoke.

He missed her terribly.

It was late in the night when Eragon finally was able to lay his head down, letting Saphira's comforting presence lull him to sleep.

The clanmeet was set for the early hours in the morning, and when the hour struck Eragon found himself leaning against one of the walls in the conference room. He kept a sharp eye as he watched the clan chiefs take their seats at the round table, and Orik gave him a slight nod as the dwarf sat before him. Vermûnd, garbed in a purple veil, did not glance at Eragon as the grimstborith entered the room, but Eragon did not let himself relax in the slightest.

Saphira's mind pressed lightly against his, and Eragon opened himself to her, letting her see what he did. She was situated three doors down from him, having snuck in long before the clan chiefs had arrived. The dwarves she was housed with, from what he could tell, where keeping their distance from her, even if they remained polite.

When all of the chiefs were seated, those who were watching from the walls took their seats, and Eragon followed as well.

Gannel, the warrior-priest of Dûrgrimst Quan, was the one presiding over the current meeting. The dwarf stood and began to speak in dwarvish, "Greetings again, mine fellow clan chiefs. But whether 'tis well met or not, I am undecided, for certain disturbing rumors have reached mine ears. I have no information beyond these vague and worrisome mutterings, nor proof upon which to find an accusation of misdeeds. However, as today is mine day to preside over this congregation, I propose that we delay our most serious debates and discover thine source with but a few questions."

There was muttering among the clan chiefs for a moment. Íorûnn was the first to speak, "I have no objection, Grimstborith Gannel. Let us hear what questions you have."

"Aye, let us hear them," came from the rest of the clan chiefs, including Vermûnd.

With a nod, Gannel rested his knuckles on the table and drew silent for a minute, before saying, "Yesterday, while we were lunching in our chosen places of repast, one of mine guards relayed to me the most grewsome of discoveries; evidence of death above Tronjheim's very heart, in the hallways our people keep most sacred. There was not a single drop of blood upon the ground, and the seven knurlan we found were most certainly felled by powerful magic, that, I am told, could still be detected within the area. Even now, several of our most accomplished spellcasters are attempting to reconstruct a pictorial facsimile of what occurred, but they have little hope of success. So my first question for the meet is this: do any of you possess further knowledge of this mysterious act?"

Orik cleared his throat. "I believe I can satisfy some of your curiosity, Gannel. However, since my answer is a lengthy one, I suggest you ask your other questions before I begin."

Gannel frowned. "Very well. I have also had numerous reports of knurlan moving through Tronjheim, gathering into large bands of armed men. My agents were unable to determine the clan of these warriors, but I should not need to remind those of this meet that any attempt to marshal their forces whilst we are engaged in deciding who should succeed King Hrothgar suggests motives of the darkest kind. So I ask this: who is responsible for this ill-though-of maneuvering?"

A flurry of whispered conversation assaulted Eragon's ears. From what he could discern, many of the grimstborithn hurled accusations at each other, while all were denied by the opposition, muttering their own counteraccusations in turn. It wasn't until Orik cleared his throat loudly did the congregation halt, all of the knurlan assembled stopping to stare at him.

"This too I can explain, Gannel. At least in part. I cannot speak to the activities of the other clans, but several hundred of the warriors are of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. This I freely admit."

Hmm. Saphira hummed in his mind. Orik must believe firmly that he will win his case.

Eragon said nothing, watching with rapt attention at those gathered round. None of the dwarves were pleased with Orik's answer, but no single dwarf reached for their weapons.

Íorûnn was again the first to break the silence, asking, "And what explanation have you for this belligerent behavior, Orik, Thrifk's son?"

"As I have said before," Orik mildly said, "my answer must of necessity be a lengthy one. Gannel, if you have any other questions to ask, I suggest you proceed."

Eragon did not think the frown on Gannel's face could deepen any further, but was surprised when the dwarf's eyebrows nearly touched at Orik's words. "I will withhold mine for the time being, however, since you are involved fist and foot with these doubtful activities I would ask you this specifically: For what reason did you desert yesterday's meet? Well, it is time for you to provide a full accounting of yourself, Grimstborith Orik."

Orik surprised even Eragon when he began his explanation, not starting with the assassination attempt on Eragon's life, but with the beginnings of dwarven history. He spoke of how the dwarven people left the fields of the Hadarac Desert for the Beor Mountains, and how they began to dig their endless miles of tunnels and cities. He continued with the various wars they waged, both against their own kin and that of the dragons, whom they regarded with a combination of hate, fear, and reluctant awe.

From there Orik continued his tale with the arrival of the elves, and how they had also waged a war against the dragons until they nearly destroyed each other, and how the creation of the Dragon Riders ended the bloody conflict. "And what was our response when we learned of their intentions?" Orik demanded. "Did we ask to be included in their pact? Did we aspire to share in the power that would be the Dragon Riders'? No! We clung to our old ways, our old hatreds, and we rejected the very thought of bonding with the dragons or allowing anyone outside our realm to police us. To preserve our authority, we sacrificed our future, for I am convinced that if some of the Dragon Riders had been knurlan, Galbatorix might have never risen to power!"

Orik's words stirred something in Eragon, making his brows furrow in thought. A dwarven rider?

Stranger things have happened, Saphira commented. You must admit that Orik himself would make a fine Rider, despite his fear of heights.

Hmm.

The image of a dwarven Rider merited some thought, but Eragon himself did not know the words used in the initial binding of the Riders. The elves may have held the knowledge, but without any dragon eggs there was no reason to change the ancient spell.

"Even if I am wrong, we cannot deny that our importance in Alagaësia has diminished ever since Queen Tarmunora and the first Eragon made peace with the dragons. At first our lessened status was not so bitter a draught to swallow, and often it was easier to deny than to accept. But then came the Urgals, and then the humans, and the elves amended their spells so that humans might be Riders as well. And then did we seek to be included in their accord, as well we might have? As was our right?" Orik shook his head.

"We did not need to chain our fate to the dragons' in order to save our race from destruction, as had the elves and humans. We ignored, of course, the battles we raged among ourselves. Those, we reasoned, were private affairs and of no concern to anyone else." The gathered chiefs stirred at his words, many of them showing signs of displeasure, while some seem more receptive.

"While the Riders watched over Alagaësia, we enjoyed the greatest period of prosperity our people had ever seen, but we were not the cause. When the Riders fell our fortune faltered alongside, but again we had no share in the cause. Neither state of affairs is, I deem, fitting for a race of our stature. We are not a country of vassals subject to the whims of foreign masters. Nor should those who are not the descendants of Odgar and Hlordis dictate our fate." Havard, one of the clan chiefs, clapped at the final line, while many of the others smiled and nodded at Orik, pleased with his line of reasoning.

"Consider now our present era," Orik continued, "Galbatorix is ascendant, and every race rights to remain free of his rule. He has grown so powerful, the only reason we are not his slaves is that he has not chosen to fly out upon his black dragon and attack us directly. If he did, we would fall before him like saplings before an avalanche. Fortunately, he seems content to wait for us to slaughter our way to the gates of his citadel. Before Eragon's arrival, we had not even the hope of a hope. When Eragon first presented himself, displaying for our kin the true power of a Rider, we have for the first time seen what true hope is! A Rider of old, returned from the east, promising his alliance with the Varden. He and the elven ambassadors had done what others could not, retrieving from Galbatorix his most prized possession! He slew Durza, and so allowed us to save our homes, and his dragon Saphira has promised to heal the Star Rose."

Something inside Saphira stirred at the reminder of her promise, but Orik's continued speech drew Eragon's attention away. "During the Battle of the Burning Plains Eragon unleashed magic unlike anything we have ever seen, driving Murtagh and Thorn to the ground, allowing us to win the day. Then, when we thought Murtagh and Thorn too powerful, he managed to capture his half-brother, stealing from Galbatorix the Red Rider that we have lived the last century in fear of! King Hrothgar, in his wisdom, even named Eragon friend of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, despite the feverish backlash he knew would stem from naming a Rider as such. Eragon accepted his offer of friendship, and has remained a steadfast ally of all knurlan since."

He knows of our laws and our language, and follows our traditions, and during my stay in Ellesméra sought to learn more of our culture. He has given me the respect I am due as grimstborithn, and I am proud to call the Leader of the Rider's mine dear friend. He is everything we have ever wished for, even more powerful then we could have ever dreamed!" Orik lowered his voice. "And how have we responded to his friendship? In the main, with sneers and slights and surly resentment. We are an ungrateful race, I say, and our memories are too long for our own good. There are even those who have become so filled with hatred that they are still believing they are doing what is best for our people. Otherwise, why would they try to kill Eragon?"

A shocked stillness descended over the clan chiefs. All of their gazes remained locked onto Orik, even as he began to relay how the seven assassins attack Eragon and Kvîstor. When Orik told them of the braided horsehair bracelet, Vermûnd stood up sharply from the table. "Do not think to blame this attack upon my clan! One can buy similar trinkets in most every market in our realm!"

"Indeed," Orik said, inclining his head towards the other chief. He continued his story, sharing with them all he had told Eragon last night; how they had confirmed where the knives were purchased, and how they had eventually made their way to one of the cities held by Az Sweldn rak Anhûin.

Vermûnd, unsurprisingly, protested, accusing Orik of having no ground to stand upon.

Orik nodded his head, "I was of the same opinion as you, Grimstborith Vermûnd." Then the dwarf explained how his spellcasters had retraced the assassin's steps and found three knurlan who had been hiding in the storeroom. "We broke into the minds of two of them, and from them we learned that they provided shelter for assassins. And, most importantly of all, we learned from them the identity of their master. I name you, Grimstborith Vermûnd! I name you Murderer and Oath-breaker. I name you enemy of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, and I name you a traitor to your kind!"

Absolute chaos erupted at Orik's words, though both him and Vermûnd remained unspeaking. Eragon remained seated, but kept a careful watch on those around him, hearing distantly Gannel's protest for order.

Eventually the clan chiefs drew quiet, and Gannel turned to face the grimstborith of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. "Grimstborith Vermûnd, can you refute these charges?"

"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 switched over to Orik. "Present your evidence, Grimstborith Orik, that we may judge if it is valid or not. There are five readers-of-law here today," Gannel motioned towards one of the walls, where five dwarves with white beards stood. "They will ensure that we do not stray beyond the boundaries of the law in our investigation. Are we agreed?"

"I am agreed," came from each of the clan chiefs, save Vermûnd.

Orik presented first the bracelet. Every clan chief had their magicians inspect the object, though each agreed that it was inconclusive. Next Orik had a mirror brought in by a dwarf, which was mounted upon a bronze tripod. One of Orik's magicians cast a spell of scrying, and the image of a small book-filled room appeared. A dwarf came striding into the room not a moment later, introducing himself as Rimmar. He then went on to explain, after swearing oaths in the ancient language, how he and his assistants had made their discoveries concerning the daggers.

It took some time for the clan chiefs to question Rimmar, but once they were satisfied Orik had his people bring in the three dwarves that had captured. Gannel ordered them to swear in the ancient language to tell the truth, but at their denial he ordered all of the clan's magicians to join their thoughts and invade into their minds. Each of the magicians confirmed what Orik had already said, and Gannel dismissed the three dwarves to await their own punishment.

Next, Orik called upon Eragon to give his testimony. Gannel asked for him to give his oath, and once that was done Eragon began his own explanation of the events. The other chiefs asked questions when he had finished, and he answered them as truthfully as he could. Afterwards, Gannel ordered that his mind examined, but Eragon shook his head. "I am afraid that I must deny that request."

The other grimstborith frowned heavily, and some began to murmur among themselves, but Gannel held a hand and level Eragon with a careful look. "And why is that Shadeslayer? Would you deny us our right to ascertain the truth for ourselves, as dictated by our laws?"

"No," Eragon answered carefully. "I am beholden to no one race, save for the dragons. I am the Leader of the Order, and cannot allow any to be privy to my thoughts. Not even Queen Islanzadí herself would ask such a thing, as is the right afforded to me by my position. However, I will provide an alternative, one that your magicians themselves can assert is the truth."

Some of the clan chiefs scowled at Eragon, but he was pleased to see that many agreed with his reasoning. "What is your alternative, Shadeslayer?" Gannel asked. There was a hint of curiousness in the priest-warriors voice, and Eragon turned to nod toward Orik.

The dwarf motioned to one of his aides, who distributed copies of the gramarye to the dwarven magicians Eragon had wrote down the night before. The magicians from all of the clans studied his words for some time, debating together the wording and intent behind the magic. Eventually one of them strode forward and said to the chiefs, "From what we best tell, the Shadeslayer's spell will allow everyone to see themselves his memory through the use of a mirror, similar to the spell of scrying." To Eragon, he asked, "Can these memories be fabricated or altered in anyway?"

"Yes," Eragon answered in the ancient language, "but would require the caster to continuously chant, and the subversion would be easy to see. The wording of the original spell does not allow for a memory that was altered to be displayed; any attempt will result in nothing being shown. I will speak the words clearly for you to hear, and will remain completely silent until the memory concludes."

The dwarf retreated and spoke quickly to the other magicians. The clan chiefs shifted uneasily in their chairs, most of them unable to understand the ancient language and thus not left clueless as to Eragon's words. Turning to them, Eragon repeated them in dwarvish, watching as first surprise then satisfaction came over their features. Eventually the magician returned and turned to Gannel. "We have determined that this will be an acceptable alternative, so long as the Shadeslayer agrees to our request; we must hear the words spoke aloud, and not to speak until the memory has concluded. The mirror Grimstborith Orik provided has already been inspected, and shall be the one used for the memory."

Gannel frowned, though Eragon could not see if it were either in displeasure or something else. "Do the clans agree with your magician's conclusion? Will we accept his testimony?"

There was some debate among them, though Orik was obviously the first to agree. After a few whispers Íorûnn stood and gestured towards Eragon, "I wish to see for myself this magic. I will accept his testimony."

Soon after the others agreed, and Eragon could see that they were indeed curious about his spell. The dwarven magicians strode over to Eragon and stood behind the mirror, their eyes firmly affixed to him as he began the spell. The clan chiefs were transfixed, eagerly watching on as the mirror clouded over and displayed for them to see his memory for themselves. They made him replay the memory nearly a dozen times before they were satisfied, and Eragon grimaced each time as the energy draw only increased. Saphira supplied him with some of her own strength, and Eragon graciously thanked her.

When they were done Eragon was finally allowed to return to his seat, and he shared a nod with Orik as he did. Orik had proven himself to be a capable leader, as well as a better politician then even Eragon could claim to be.

Gannel rose from his chair and turned towards the readers-of-law, "Are you satisfied with the quality of evidence Grimstborith Orik and Eragon Shadeslayer have shown us?"

All five of the white-bearded dwarves bowed together, and it was the one in the middle who spoke. "We are, Grimstborith Gannel."

The warrior-priest seemed unsurprised and let out a grunt. "Grimstborith Vermûnd, you are held responsible in the attempted killing of a guest. By doing so, you have brought shame upon our entire race. What say you to this?"

"If this Dragon Rider has been granted the status of dwarf-friend, then he is no guest, and we may treat him as we would any of our enemies from a different clan!"

Eragon could see the outrage growing in Orik, but his words were cut short when Gannel ordered the other clan chiefs to confer with the readers-of-law. He could see Orik stroking his beard in worry, and Eragon drew in a slow breath.

Several minutes later, Íorûnn was the first to return to the table. "The readers-of-law are unanimous. Even though Eragon has been named dwarf-friend to Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, that does not change the importance he holds beyond our realm: he is the Leader of the Order, the acting envoy for the Varden, and a friend of high importance with Queen Islanzadí. For those reasons, Eragon is to be treated as an honored guest, and is afforded the same hospitality as any other ambassador or monarch."

"Aye, he is our guest." Nado added, the reluctance in his tone easy for Eragon to hear.

Gannel and the others resumed their seats around the table, and the warrior-priest turned towards Vermûnd. "What say you?"

The grimstborith rose from the table, his gaze moving around the room and pausing on each of the clan chiefs. The dwarf's eyes moved over Eragon as though he was not even there. From the back of his mind, he could feel Saphira's indignation at the purple-veiled dwarf's slight. "I say this: if any clan turns their ax against Az Sweldn rak Anhûin because of these false accusations, we shall consider it an act of war. Unless you are eager to rend our country into a thousand bloody scraps, I suggest you instead fill your minds with thoughts of who should next rule."

When the other clan chiefs remained silent, Eragon glanced over towards Orik. The dwarf remained quiet, but he could see that he did not hold as much worry as the other clan chiefs.

Freowin, the grimstborith of Dûrgrimst Gedthrall, slapped the table. "You have shamed our race, Vermûnd. We cannot retain our honor as knurlan and ignore your trespass."

The grimstborith of Dûrgrimst Ebardac chimed in, an elderly dwarf-woman by name Hadfala. "What would you accomplish, but to seal our doom? The sorrow of the dragon Saphira would rain down upon us at her Riders death, and fill Farthen Dûr with a sea of our own blood."

I would, Saphira growled in his mind.

Eragon shushed her, surprise lifting inside him when he heard Orik laugh. "You would consider us moving against you an act of war? Very well, then we shall not move against you, not at all. You wish for you and thine clan to be left alone, and thus I propose to the clanmeet that we do as Vermûnd wishes; let us banish Vermûnd and his clan from our hearts and mind until they choose to replace Vermûnd, and until they acknowledge their villainy and repent to the clanmeet, even if we must wait a thousand years."

"You would not dare," Vermûnd paled.

"Ah, but we would not lay a finger upon you or your kind." Orik smiled and turned to the other clan chiefs and asked, "What say the rest of you?"

The vote was one of the fastest Eragon had ever seen. Each of the other clan chiefs agreed with the banishment, even those that supported Vermûnd. When the vote was finished, Gannel pointed towards the door. "Begone, Vargrimstn Vermûnd. Though your clan may absolve themselves of their dishonor, you may not. From this day forward you shall always remain Vargrimstn, even unto your dying day. Such is the will of the clanmeet."

Vermûnd spewed outrage at each of the clan chiefs, but none of them even so much as glanced at the dwarf. Eragon felt himself shiver at how their gazes would slide over Vermûnd, and even when the dwarf accosted Hreidamar they still did not acknowledge his presence.

To be forgotten so easily, by his own race. Cast aside as though he did not even exist. Though Eragon felt no pity for the dwarf, it was a fate that he would rather be killed over then face.

Vermûnd swore at them loudly and left, those of his clan following in his wake. The mood inside the room changed instantly once the dwarf departed. The clan chiefs began talking loudly, discussions raging about whatever else they needed to accomplish concerning Az Sweldn rak Anhûin.

Orik called for attention of the group, and waited until they quieted and turned their gazes towards him. "Now that we have dealt with Vermûnd, there something else the meet must consider. We have all much to say on the topic of Hrothgar's successor, but it is now time to put words behind us and allow our actions to speak. I call upon the meet to decide whether we are ready to proceed with the final vote three days henceforth, as is our law. My vote, as I cast it, is aye."

The others glanced around at each other, and slowly one by one they agreed. They broke for lunch, and as they exited the room Eragon let out a sigh.

I know it's not what you wanted, Eragon murmured to Saphira, but Vermûnd has been dealt with.

He has suffered a fate worse then death, Saphira responded. He will become forgotten by his own kin, and regarded as nothing more than the swine he is. I am satisfied.

Eragon felt a small smile grace his lips, but it fell when he remembered that the election would not take place for another three days. He let out a sigh. Orik motioned for Eragon to follow him, turning with his guards towards his own chambers. Saphira commented that she was going to for a flight, and Eragon briefly bemoaned that he would be unable to accompany her.

When Eragon settled in with Orik for lunch, after ensuring their privacy, he could not help but comment, "You planned for that all along, didn't you?"

Orik smiled. "Aye. I imagine that despite their hate for you, his clan will be appalled by what Vermûnd did in their name. He will not remain grimstborith for long."

"Do you have the support you need?" Eragon asked.

"Before this morning, I would have said that no one did. Now, however, the field has changed, and we might as well strike while the iron is hot. I imagine that you are eager to return to the Varden, no?"

Eragon nodded. "Last I heard, they were nearing Feinster. I have no doubt that Arya and Fírnen can hold their own for now, but we have not heard yet of whether Thorn has returned."

Orik's face darkened at Thorn's name. "We have yet to speak of it, but you brought your brother to the elves, yes? He has yet to pay for killing Hrothgar, Eragon. He is your prisoner, as is your right, but he must stand before the clans so that they can have their retribution."

Eragon's gaze fell to the floor at the thought of his brother. He wondered for a moment what Murtagh was doing now, and if Oromis had managed to at all help him. "Murtagh is a name-slave," Eragon said softly. "If Galbatorix was the one to order it, then Murtagh was merely the weapon he chose to use."

"And if he didn't?"

For once, Eragon did not have an answer.


Entry 77:

I've spent a great deal of my time pondering the cause of gravity, and how it acts upon a falling object. One of my experiments took longer than I had originally intended, and I found myself surrounded by the darkness of night. It was then that I looked up towards the sky, and asked myself this: How is the moon not also falling? The Grey Folk have long since known that the land we call home is not flat, but instead curved. The only shape such an object could take would for it to be round, and based on their calculations the world we live on must be enormous. If that is true, then our moon must circle this land, travelling from one side to the other. But what holds it in place? Does gravity not act upon it as it does everything else?

It was then that I had a thought: If an archer fires their bow from atop a large mountain, the arrow curves towards the ground. If one were to impart more force, the arrow would travel farther, but it would still curve. What if one were to impart so much force on the arrow that it never touched the ground? In that instance, the arrow would travel around unimpeded until it reached the archer, mirroring the movements of the moon.

The world we live on must influence the moon with its gravity, pulling it down, but the celestial body in our sky is moving so quickly that it never touches!

The three days that passed until the election were some of the longest Eragon had ever experienced. Though the danger of Vermûnd and his ilk had passed, Orik still thought it best that Eragon limit himself in his excursions around the halls of Tronjheim. He had agreed, much to the satisfaction of Saphira, though it was mostly because he had already retrieved that which he had set out for; the Fairth he created for Arya was safely stowed in one of Saphira's many saddlebags, undamaged by the attempt on his life, and he had checked to make sure that the seedling he found was similarly unharmed.

His remaining time was split between quality time with Saphira and his studies of Tenga's works. For the former, he and Saphira would fly in the open spaces of Farthen Dûr, both wishing that they could leave the mountain behind and wander as they once did. Of his reading, Eragon was much more diligent.

Tenga's works on time either ranged from long entries that lasted pages, outline each of the many experiments that the hermit undertook, or were simply observations or thoughts that he seemed to have written down. Some of them were harder then others to understand, and Eragon had to spend much of his time contemplating the words the magician had written.

The Grey Folk scroll held no direct answers to help Eragon determine why his magic acted as it did and killed the assassins, but it did provide some enlightenment around how the wielders thoughts could influenced magic. He carefully followed Tenga's worded lessons, using meditation techniques with which he was unfamiliar. One such style had him contemplating the "true nature of reality," which involved him searching inward about such things as what it means to suffer, how the impermanence of the world affected his world view, and how the prejudices he held corrupted the ultimate truth. Many of the meditation sessions left him drained and weary, and Saphira would often whisk him away for a quick flight in order to help center him.

The day of the election was like every other clanmeet before it, though Eragon could feel the tension in the air as each of the clan chiefs waited for the voting to begin. The readers-of-law called for the voting to begin, in which each of the chiefs would stand and cast their vote.

It was the white-haired dwarf woman Hadfala who stood first. "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Grimstborith Orik as our new king."

One. Eragon thought. Hadfala's allegiance had shifted from Gannel to Orik, which boded well for the election.

Gáldhiem of Dûrgrimst Feldûnost was the next to rise. "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Grimstborith Nado as our new king."

Eragon shot Orik a look, in which the dwarf merely nodded his head. As expected, then.

"On behalf of mine clan, Manndrâth of Dûrgrimst Ledwonnû declared, "I vote for Grimstborith Orik as our new king."

Two.

Gannel was the next to vote, and Eragon knew that as the high priest of Gûntera his vote held considerable sway. "On behalf of mine clan," Gannel said, "I vote for Grimstborith Nado as our new king."

Eragon shared another look with Orik. The dwarf remained still as stone, and Eragon's attention was drawn away when Ûndin of Dûrgrimst Ragni Hefthyn proclaimed, "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Grimstborith Nado as our new king."

Two to three.

He could see Orik cross his arms and scowl from where he was seated. Eragon began to lightly drum his fingers on his lap, the noise too low for the dwarves around him to hear.

Thordris of Dûrgrimst Nagra stood, and said, "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Grimstborith Orik as our new king."

Three to three.

Orik's opponent Nado stood, laying his beard flat against his chest with one hand. "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for myself as our new king."

Three to four. I suppose it would be too much for him to vote for someone else, Eragon thought.

The next to stand was Freowin of Dûrgrimst Gedthrall, who Eragon remembered had already promised his vote to Orik. "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Nado as our new king."

Orik cursed lightly under his breath.

Three to five.

Eragon could see that Orik wanted to comment on Freowin's vote, but was unable to when the entire clanmeet turned their attention towards him. Standing from his chair, Orik declared, "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for my self as our new king."

Four to five.

The drumming of his fingers increased, and it was only the glare Orik shot him that Eragon realized his movements had become audible. "Sorry," Eragon murmured, leaning forward to stop himself from further fidgeting.

Havard of Dûrgrimst Fanghur was the next in line to cast his vote. The dwarf stood and remained silent, appearing deep in thought. After a moment, the dwarf nodded his head and said, "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Grimstborith Orik as our new king."

"Ha!" Orik muttered. From across the table Eragon could see that Nado's eyes had widened, likely surprised as they were about Havard's vote.

Five to five. There were only two more votes left; that of Hreidamar and Íorûnn. While Hreidamar appeared uneasy, Íorûnn was instead smiling, the look on her face making Eragon narrow his brow. The last to votes were incredibly important; for a ruler to be elected, a clan chief needed a majority of the votes. Falling that, the chief with the least votes would be eliminated, and the voting would begin again with up to any three days wait.

Hreidamar stood, and said, "On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Grimstborith Orik as our new king."

Six to five. Eragon sighed.

The final vote came down to Íorûnn, who stood from her chair and smiled red lips at Eragon. It made him shiver, and a flash of amusement from Saphira had him suddenly glad that Arya was not here. "It seems that it falls to me to decide the outcome of today's meet. I have listened carefully to both of your arguments, and if this were merely a war between clans it would not matter which side I chose. However, this is not the case, and if Galbatorix were to emerge victorious from the war not even Farthen Dûr will protect us from his wrath. Thus, I must vote as such: On behalf of mine clan, I vote for Grimstborith Orik as our new king!"

A sigh of relief left Eragon's lips. From her resting place inside their hall, Eragon could feel Saphira's satisfaction on the outcome as well.

One of the readers-of-law stepped forward, striking the end of his polished staff against the stone floor. "All hail King Orik, the forty-third king of Tronjheim, Farthen Dûr, and every knurla above and below the Beor Mountains!"


Under normal circumstances, as Orik had explained to Eragon one night, the coronation of a new monarch would be held three months after the election, so that all dwarves that wished to attend could have enough time to travel even from the farthest parts of their realm.

These were not normal times.

The Drums of Derva summoned forth all the dwarves in Tronjheim, and Eragon watched from just outside the central chamber as hundreds of dwarves stood among the various archways of each level. He could feel their gazes upon him in return, but neither he nor Saphira fidgeted under them. When the drums had ceased their pounding, Eragon stepped with Saphira into the chamber.

Trumpets began to play, and a choir rose to accompany them.

Ahead of him was a ring of dwarves, standing around the star sapphire in the center, with the black granite throne situated next to it. It had, from what Orik had told him, been brought up from underneath Tronjheim and faced east. The Isidar Mithrim itself had just been completed the night before; the dwarf in charge, Skeg, had sent a message to Eragon that he and his team had finished piecing together the individual fragments, and was ready for Saphira to keep her promise.

As Eragon joined the dwarves situated in the ring, he took stock of those around him. All of the clan chiefs, sans Vermûnd, were in attendance, as well as other notable dwarven members of their race. Hvedra, Orik's wife, stood at the forefront of the congregation, having only just arrived this morning.

The music continued for half an hour in total, in which Orik walked from the eastern gate to the center of Tronjheim. The dwarf was garbed in fine garments that made him shimmer in the lantern light, and Eragon could see that his beard was brushed clean. At the dwarf's side hung Volund, Hrothgar's hammer that was forged by the first dwarf king Korgan, displayed proudly for all to see.

Behind Orik came twelve dwarven children, split evenly between male and females. Each of them carried a polished orb six inches across in their cradled hands, and Eragon noted that all of the orbs were of a different type of stone.

Soft pink rose petals fell from the top of Tronjheim, settling on and around each of those in attendance.

When Orik reached the black throne, the trumpets and choir immediately fell silent. The dwarf knelt on one knee before the throne, his head bowed. It was Gannel who stepped forward next, breaking from the ring of people that Eragon stood in. The high priest lifted his staff over head and struck it against the ground. The dwarf began to speak, but Eragon tuned him out until his words shifted into the ancient language.

Surprised, Eragon directed his attention back to the high priest, listening intently to the spell the dwarf was crafting. "Gûntera, creator of the heavens and the earth and the boundless sea, hear now the cry of your faithful servant! We thank you for your magnanimity. Our race flourishes. This and every year, we have offered to you the finest rams of our flocks and also flagons of spiced mead and a portion of our harvests of fruits, vegetables, and grain. Your temples are the richest in the land, and none may hope to compete with the glory that is yours. O mighty Gûntera, king of the gods, hear now mine plea and grant me this request: time is for us to name a mortal ruler of our earthly affairs. Will you deign to bestow your blessing upon Orik, Thrift's son, and to crown him in the tradition of his predecessors?"

Eragon frowned; what kind of spell was this? It sounded more like a prayer to Eragon, and he could feel even Saphira's curiousness at the high priest's words. Saphira nudged him, and Eragon followed her gaze.

Thirty feet above, in between the falling petals, a void was beginning to form. Each petal moved around the invisible disturbance, and Eragon watched with shock as it extended downward until it touched the floor. Blinking, Eragon could see the shape of a creature in the void, with arms and legs similar to all of the two-legged beings that inhabited Alagaësia, but its proportions where all wrong.

Thin light radiated out from the shape, coalescing into the image of a large, shaggy-haired male figure. The male was adorned in nothing but a loincloth, his face dark and unreadable. It was then that Eragon noticed the presence of a strange consciousness spreading inside the chambers. The mind was incomprehensible to him, its thoughts as strange as any being Eragon had ever encountered before.

His mind was racing, but before he could think clearly the dwarves sank to their knees in a single unified motion.

The being began to question Orik, its voice sweeping over him and reminding Eragon of the sound of boulders grinding against one another.

An illusion? Eragon said to Saphira, tuning out the beings' questions.

Possibly. Saphira responded. If it were a god, why would it come running like a trained hound at Gannel's call? I would not… Perhaps, if it is not an illusion, it is merely the memory of an ancient and long-forgotten race. We have already seen once what magic can call forth in Ellesméra; what's to say this is any different?

The image of the elven twin's tattoo forming into a dragon stirred in his thoughts.

The illusion, if that is what it truly was, placed his forefingers on either side of Orik's bare head. The air between shimmered, and upon Orik's brow the gem-encrusted helm of gold that Hrothgar wore appeared. The apparition slapped his own belly and let loose a loud chuckle, then faded away from view.

"Thus qroth Gûntera!" Gannel proclaimed.

Qroth? Eragon struggled to translate the word, but based on the context took it to mean decrees or says. His dwarvish was good, but sometimes simple words tripped him up.

Loudly, the trumpets blared into existence around them, and Orik rose from his kneeling position. The now crowned king turned to face his people, and sank down onto the black throne behind him.

"Hail, Grimstnzborith Orik!" The dwarves chanted, striking their shields and stamping the floor.

Eragon joined in, and Saphira roared her own cry. A massive blast of flame extended from her jaws, incinerating in an instant a substantial portion of the falling rose petals and making Eragon's eyes water.

One by one the clan chiefs stepped forward and knelt in front of Orik, with Gannel being the first. Each of the dwarves pledged themselves to Orik's service, and after them came the various guild leaders.

When they were finished Orik's gaze landed on Eragon, a short nod indicating to him that it was his turn. Striding forward purposely, Eragon stopped in front of the new king. Not kneeling as the others did, Eragon instead bowed, and offered his congratulations on behalf of both himself as the Leader of the Order, and as the emissary of the Varden.

After Eragon withdrew others came forward, and one by one they began to offer Orik gifts. The number of offerings was staggering to Eragon, and for each in turn Orik offering rings as token of his gratitude.

The whole precession lasted for hours, until finally it was Eragon's and Saphira's turn once more. Eragon once again bowed, and offered Orik a fine armband of gold that he had acquired the previous day. Offering it up to the king, Eragon explained that he had enchanted it heavily, and that it should serve the king well in nearly any situation he may find himself.

Orik accepted the armband with an inclined head, sliding it onto his left arm in clear view of those around them.

Eragon stepped back, and Saphira projected her thoughts for all those around her to hear. My gift is this, Orik.

Moving past the throne, Saphira lifted her forefeet and placed them on the scaffolding holding together the star sapphire. For a moment Eragon feared it would collapse, but after a few precarious creaks it held.

All in attendance where silent as Saphira stood as still as a statue, her nose inches from the large gem. Eragon did not want to break her concentration, but when the minutes began build without any sign he made to intrude. He was stopped when a single voice started singing, the melody sad and wistful.

Soon enough more joined in on the verse, and the music started to fill something inside of Eragon. The sad crooning of the dwarves made Eragon think of a different time, one that was now long since lost to him. Thoughts of centuries ago filled his mind; Vrael, standing tall and proud before an assembled Rider's, the flight of dragon's and their breathtaking beauty, and the friends that he had made, now all lost to time.

Something began to build inside Saphira, his own melancholy echoing inside her. The loss of her race weighed heavy on them both, but for Saphira it was something more. She was the last female dragon, and the burden of her races continued existence awakened some ancient part of her. As the last note of the song ended, a surge of energy raced through Saphira. It came from deep within her, and Eragon felt some of it leaking through their bond.

Reaching the tip of her nose forward, Saphira gently touched the star sapphire. Light spilled forth from the cracks in the gem, and nearly blinding in its intensity before the sudden crash of the scaffolding revealed what her magic had wrought.

The Isidar Mithrim, whole once more. The color of the gem was a deep red, and Eragon could see flecks of gold on the innermost petals, reflecting in the lantern light and making it seem as if it were glowing.

All at once the dwarves leapt to their feet and began to cheer, pounding their feet against the stone floor and making Eragon wince at the intensity of their applause. Saphira turned to face the crowd and dipped her massive head, and Eragon caught her gaze briefly.

Gratitude flowed from her, and Eragon let a smile grace his face.

Orik lifted his arms and quieted the crowd. "On behalf of our entire race, I thank you for your gift, Saphira. Let it not be said that the knurlan are ungrateful; from now until the end of time your name will not be forgotten. Both you and Eragon have demonstrated your friendship to mine people, and for that you have my personal gratitude."

The coronation ended after another round of rituals that left Eragon confounded, and before long he was joining Orik for the banquet held in the new king's honor. As Eragon took a sip of the dwarven mead he could not help but wonder what this meant for the future of Alagaësia. For the first time, dwarves and dragons had struck a common ground between them, the prospect leaving Eragon feeling hopeful.


This chapter borrows heavily from Brisingr, and all credit for the dialogue goes to CP. I really didn't want to reinvent the wheel, but I also felt that skipping over such an important part of the story wouldn't do it justice. Hopefully there's enough differences to make it somewhat interesting, especially with Eragon's little magic show added in. It was a difficult chapter to get through, and I won't be relying so much on the books like I did here.

Hope you guys understand.

Thanks again for everything, all of your reviews are great and mean a lot!

P.S.

I've started working on another series, but its not an Inheritance Cycle story. I'm not even going to start posting it until this one is done, and I promise it won't affect this story's uploads. I just couldn't get the thought out of my head, and I needed to put pen to paper (not literally lol). Honestly, writing something else is actually refreshing, and I think it will help me with this story, which sounds weird, but has made this chapter come to me easier. The Path Least Chosen is still my priority, I just wanted to let you all know!

If you're curious, the story I've started is in the Lucifer (TV Series) universe. Don't know if any of you read it, but I think it's coming along pretty good so far.

Ancient Language translations (Old Norse):

Italics represents the Old Norse translation; Bold represents Ancient Language.

Fyrir Neðan – Below Something. Fallen One

Du vættr Bani The Bane of Spirits: Name of the Brotherhood

Vættr - being, creature; supernatural being, spirit

Bani - death; bane, cause of death, slayer

Skörungrleader, notable or outstanding person, paragon. Title for Leader of the Riders; given as an honor.

Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr - Luck be with you, Leader.