Free Riders
Author's Note: Eragon is not mine. Char, Blaster, and Saranya are. Comment as you see fit. Actual title used, as well as a reference to the song of the same name.
Chapter 45: In The Hall Of The Mountain King
Blaster and Eragon were met by a dwarf waiting for them in the dragonhold. After bowing and muttering, "Argetlam," the dwarf said in a thick accent, "Good. Awake. Knurla Orik waits for you." He bowed again and scampered, leaving Blaster and Eragon to wonder what "Knurla" meant. Saphira and Sara jumped out of their caves, landing next to their Riders with a dull thud. Saphira had Zar'roc in her claws.
"Uh, what are you doing?" Blaster asked.
Eragon, you should wear it, Saphira replied. You are a Rider and should bear a Rider's sword. Zar'roc may have a bloody history, but that should not shape your actions. Forge a new history for it, and carry it with pride.
"Do you not remember Ajihad's councel?" Eragon asked.
Wear it, Saphira said, a puff of smoke rising from her nostrils. If you wish to remain above the forces here, do not let anyone's disproval dictate your actions.
"Okay," Eragon replied, belting the sword. Blaster had belted on Cratona, then the two climbed onto their dragon's backs and flew out of Tronjheim. The light was enough for all of them to see the hazy outline of Farthen Dûr's crater walls, easily five miles in every direction. As they spiraled down to the base of the city-mountain, the Riders told their dragons about their meeting with Angela.
As soon as they landed by one of Tronjheim's gates, Orik ran to Saphira's side. Sara landed right next to them. "I have talked to Brom and delayed your assessment, Eragon. My king, Hrothgar, wishes to see you all. Dismount quickly. We must hurry."
Eragon and Blaster trotted after the dwarf into Tronjheim. Saphira and Sara kept pace behind them easily. Ignoring the stares from people within the large corridor, Eragon asked, "Where will we meet Hrothgar?"
"In the throne room beneath the city," Orik said, not even pausing to slow down. "It will be a private audience as an act of otho—of 'faith.' You do not have to address him in any manner, but speak to him respectfully. Hrothgar is quick to anger, but he is wise and sees keenly into the minds of men, so think carefully before you speak."
Inside Tronjheim's central chamber, Orik led the way to one of the two descending stairways that flanked the opposite hallway. They started down the right-hand staircase which curved gently to the left until they were facing the direction they came from. The left-hand staircase merged with theirs to form a broad staircase that ended, after a hundred feet, before two granite doors. A seven-point crown was carved across both doors.
The seven motif continued as there were seven dwarves standing on each side of the portal. They held burnished mattocks and wore gem-encrusted belts. As the group approached, the dwarves pounded the floor with the hafts of their mattocks, creating a deep boom that rolled back up the stairs. The doors swung inwards.
The doors opening revealed a natural cave with walls lined with stalagmites and stalactites thicker than a man. The brown floor was polished smooth. Sparsely hung lanterns cast a moody light. At the end of the hall, a good bowshot long, sat a black throne with a motionless figure upon it.
Orik bowed. "The king awaits you." Eragon put his hand on Saphira's side while Blaster nodded. The four of them continued forward, the doors closing behind them, leaving them alone with the king.
Their footsteps reverberated through the hall as they approached the throne. In each of the recesses between the stalactites and stalagmites were large sculptures. Each sculpture was of a dwarf king, crowned and sitting on a throne, their sightless eyes gazing sternly into the distance, and fierce expressions on their stone faces. A name was chiseled in runes beneath each set of feet.
They continued onwards until, after passing more than forty statues, roughly twenty on each side, they came upon empty alcoves awaiting the likenesses of future kings. They stopped before Hrothgar at the end of the hall where he sat like a statue on a throne carved from a single piece of black marble. Blocky, unadorned, and cut with unyielding precision, the strength of the ancient times when the dwarves ruled in Alagaësia without opposition emanated from the throne.
Hrothgar himself was adorned with a gold helm lines with rubies and diamonds in place of a crown. He had a grim, weathered, and hewn visage from many years' experience. His eyes glinted under his craggy brow, flinty and piercing. His chest was adorned with a rippled mail shirt, and a long white beard was tucked under his belt. In his lap rested a mighty war hammer, emblazoned with the symbol of Orik's clan embossed on the head.
Eragon bowed awkwardly and knelt, but Blaster knelt then bowed. Saphira and Sara remained upright. The king stirred, as if awakening from a long sleep, and rumbled, "Rise, Riders, you need not pay tribute to me."
Straitening, Eragon and Blaster looked up to Hrothgar and met his impenetrable eyes. The king inspected them with hard gazes, then said gutturally, "Âz knurl demn lanok. 'Beware, the rock changes.' An old dictum of ours…And nowadays the rock changes very fast indeed." He fingered the war hammer. "I could not meet with you earlier, as Ajihad did, because I was forced to deal with my enemies within the clans. They demanded that I deny you sanctuary and expel you from Farthen Dûr. It has taken much work on my part to convince them otherwise."
"And for that, you have our thanks," Blaster replied. "I'm sure we didn't anticipate such strife could be caused by our arrival."
The king accepted the thanks, then lifted a gnarled hand and pointed. "See there, Riders Eragon and Blastbone, where my predecessors sit upon their graven thrones. One and forty there are, with I the fourty-second. When I pass from this world into the care of the gods, my hírna will be added to their ranks. The first statue is the likeness of my ancestor Korgan, who forged this mace, Volund. For eight millennia—since the dawn of our race—dwarves have ruled under Farthen Dûr. We are the bones of the land, older than both the fair elves and the savage dragons." Saphira and Sara shifted slightly.
Hrothgar leaned forward, his voice deep and gravelly. "I am old, humans—even by our reckoning—old enough to have seen the Riders in all their fleeting glory, old enough to have spoken with their last leader, Vrael, who paid tribute to me within these very walls. Few are still alive who can claim that much. I remember the Riders and how the meddled in our affairs. I also remember the peace they kept that made it possible to walk unharmed from Tronjheim to Narda.
"And now you stand before me—a lost tradition revived. Tell me, and speak truly in this, why have you come to Farthen Dûr? I know of the events that made you flee the Empire, but what is your intent now?"
"For now, we wish to rest and recuperate in Tronjheim," Eragon said. "We've faced many dangers in the many months we've traveled, so we wish to find sanctuary, but not to cause trouble. We may be sent to the elves by Ajihad, but until then, we have no desire to leave."
"Is that the only desire that drove you?" Hrothgar asked. "Do you seek to live here and forget your troubles with the Empire?"
"No, Your Majesty," Blaster said, forgetting that he didn't have to address Hrothgar in a special manner. "If Ajihad has told you of our pasts, then you will know that there are enough grievances we have faced to fight the Empire and Galbatorix until they are nothing but scattered ashes. But it's more than that, Your Majesty. Eragon and I have seen first-hand what the Empire has done…what they have let flourish that should have been abolished. There are people in there that are unable to escape from Galbatorix's iron rule. We have the strength and the will to do it, so it is only fitting that we must try to save as many as we can before our time is up."
The king seemed satisfied with Blaster's answer. He turned to the dragons and asked, "Dragons, what think you in this matter? For what reasons have you come?"
Saphira and Sara both curled their lips in growls. Tell him that I speak for the both of us, as we agreed that one of us should speak to save time, Saphira said. Tell him that we thirst for the blood of our enemies and eagerly await the day when we ride into battle against Galbatorix. We've no love nor mercy for traitors and egg breakers like that false king. He held us for over a century and, even now, still has two of our brethren, whom we will free if possible. And tell him that we think you two are ready for this task.
Eragon grimaced at her words, but dutifully relayed them. The corner of Hrothgar's mouth lifted in a hint of grim amusement, deepening his wrinkles. "I see that dragons have not changed with the centuries." He tapped the stone with a knuckle. "Do you know why this seat was quarried so flat and angular? So that no one would sit comfortably in it. I have not, and will relinquish it without regret when my time comes. What is there to remind you of your obligations, Eragon? If the Empire falls, will you take Galbatorix's place and claim his kingship?"
"I do not seek to wear the crown or rule," Eragon said, troubled. "Being a Rider is responsibility enough. No, I would not take the throne in Urû'baen. Not unless there was no one else willing or competent enough to take it."
Hrothgar warned gravely, "Certainly you would be a kinder king than Galbatorix, but no race should have a leader who does not age or leave the throne." He turned to Blaster. "And what of you, Blastbone? What do you have to remind you of your obligations?"
"I have responsibility enough being called 'The Chosen One' by my people," Blaster said. "A great evil has torn all but my fiancé and a few select friends away from me, and I will stop at nothing to make sure that this great evil has been served his justice. When I am done here, I will return to free those under the rule of this great evil. Like with Eragon, I do not seek to take the throne, but I will not stand idly and let an incompetent person rule without consequence."
"That is a truly worthy ambition and obligation," Hrothgar replied. "But you should know the time of the Riders has passed. They will never rise again—not even if Galbatorix should get his other eggs to hatch." A shadow crossed his face as he gazed at Eragon's side. "I see you carry an enemy's sword. I was told of this, and that you, Blaster, traveled with a son of the Forsworn. It does not please me to see this weapon." He extended a hand. "I would like to examine it."
Eragon drew Zar'roc and presented it to the king, hilt first. Hrothgar took the sword and ran a practiced eye over the red blade. The edge caught in the lantern light, reflecting it sharply. He tested the point with his palm, then said, "A masterfully forged blade. Elves rarely choose to make swords—they prefer bows and spears—but when they do, the results are unmatched. This is an ill-fated blade and I am not happy to see it within my realm. But carry it if you will. Perhaps its luck has changed." He returned Zar'roc, and Eragon sheathed it. "Has my nephew proved helpful during your time here?"
"Who?" Eragon asked.
"Wait, Orik is your nephew?" Blaster added.
"Yes," Hrothgar replied. "He's my youngest sister's son. He's been serving under Ajihad to show my support for the Varden. It seems that he has been returned to my command, however. I was gratified to hear that you defended him with your words."
"To be fair, Orik also defended himself with his actions," Blaster replied. He realized this was another sign of otho on Hrothgar's part. "We couldn't have asked for a better guide."
"That is good," Hrothgar said, clearly pleased. "Unfortunately, I cannot speak with you much longer. My advisors wait for me, as there are matters I must deal with. I will say this, though: If you wish the support of the dwarves within my realm, you must first prove yourself to them. We have long memories and do not rush to hasty decisions. Words will decide nothing, only deeds."
"We'll keep that in mind," Eragon said, bowing again.
Hrothgar nodded regally. "You may go then."
Blaster bowed himself, then turned with everyone else and proceeded out of the hall of the mountain king.
What other, hidden signs of faith did Hrothgar give the Riders and Dragons? Will the clans accept the Riders as allies? What will happen next time? Stay tuned to find out. Free Riders continues Tuesdays and Fridays on a hopefully regular schedule, with a multi-chapter story finale in a few updates. Please R&R, and remember, Flames will not be tolerated.