Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.
A short chapter, it didn't even reach my 3000-word target! But I just had to update, because I might not have the chance again until the interim between Christmas and New Year.
Soooo...
Chapter 9: Enemies of Stone
Roran's eyes hurt. The doors before them were dragged open, and light filled the tunnel. Eyes unaccustomed to daylight after his time underground, he raised a hand to cover his face. The dragons hissed and shifted themselves in order to better see their surroundings.
Two days were spent in traversing the underground tunnel that led from Farthen Dur, though everyone kept complaining that it felt longer than that. After all, the darkness and silence around them felt like it would never end at all. Nobody spoke much, even Eragon and Murtagh, who often chatted a lot during their journey with Brom.
Roran hoped that he could spend the time to talk to Katrina more, but they were all too tired to make much conversation. The only time that he could remember talking to her was the previous night, when he was about to take the first watch.
"I'm a little nervous," he confided in her, as she was setting up her bedroll.
She smiled at him, her copper hair flickering in the dim tunnel. "There's nothing to worry about. We're far behind our enemies, unless we have some among the dwarves of Tarnag." She leaned over to brush off some of Roran's hair away from his face.
Roran felt his cheeks burn. He glanced at her uncomfortably. "You didn't have to do that, but thanks."
Her smile was nothing but beautiful. "I was no problem," she said softly. She gazed at the dull red lamp by Roran's feet. "I miss Carvahall, but I'm also thankful to be away from it. Now that I'm close to sixteen – close to being a woman – father will be pressuring me to meet suitable husbands and making arrangements with them. I would have said yes and let him, before I became a Rider."
"Being Riders have taught all of us a lot, eh? So you want to choose your suitors, then?"
"True." Katrina laughed softly as she removed Luneria's saddle and rubbed the silver dragon's snout. In the darkness, the butcher's daughter seemed to glow. "I won't have any of that now. True, I'm a Rider, but I'm not going to picky about suitors because of that. It's because I want to marry someone that I really love. Someone kind of like you."
"What?"
Katrina shrugged. "It would be interesting to have someone like you as a potential husband," she said. "Though of course, I was kidding. Now, I must sleep. Wake me up in an hour."
Roran forgot that as he followed his friends to the threshold, excited to see their destination. They ended up standing on a granite outcropping that was right above a pale violet lake that shimmered like Askanir's scales under a bright eastern sun. It was just like blue Kostha-merna, stretching from mountain to mountain and sealing the end of the valey. The Az Ragni flowed north, winding between peaks until it rushed out onto the eastern plains, far, far away.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Eragon said with wide eyes.
"Aye," Roran said with a grin. "What a view."
To the right was nothing but a few trails, while the dwarf city of Tarnag was to the left. The unchanging Beors were transformed by the dwarves into a series of terraces. The lower ones acted as farms and squat halls made of pure stone. Tiers of interlocking buildings buildings culminated in a massive dome made of gold and white – as if the city was nothing but steps leading to that place. Its milky dome looked like a giant piece of polished moonstone set upon a pyramid made of gray slate.
"Ah, Celbedeil," Orik said wistfully. "It's the greatest dwarf temple and home of the Durgrimst Quan. They act as servants and messengers to gods."
"Saphira wants to know if they rule Tarnag," Eragon said.
"No, no." Faolin made his way to stand with them. "They're strong and powerful clan both politically and religeously, but they're also small. They're quite rich, though. The Ragni Hefthyn – or River Guard – controls Tarnag. Their clan chief, Undin, will be our host."
They followed Orik and Faolin off the outcropping and entered the forest of gnarled trees that covered the mountain. "He's still a little sore from meeting the Quan previously. He is eager to learn our culture but the priests of Tarnag somehow dislike him even if he means them no harm."
"That's… a little harsh." Roran muttered.
"Aye. The elves and dwarves have a long history of disagreements – especially since elves believe in no gods, but Faolin here has an open mind. Our priests dislike him simply because of his race, though."
"I missed being out in the open!" exclaimed Murtagh.
Roran smiled. The sun was warm, could smell the forest and the insects swarmed pleasantly. It was a beautiful day. They followed the path right to the edge of the lake, where it rose back to Tarnag's open gates.
"How did you hide this place from the king?" asked Eragon. He wiped sweat off his brow. "Farthen Dur is very easy to hide, I guess, but this is something very unusual – in a good way."
"Lad, that would be impossible," Orik said with a soft laugh. He shook his head. "We abandoned our cities aboveground after the Fall. We fled to our tunnels to escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn, since they kept flying through the Beors and killed anyone that they saw."
"But didn't dwarves always live underground?" Murtagh asked.
Orik frowned. "You lads ask a lot, don't you? And besides, why should we always live underground? We do have an affinity with stone, but the open air is as sweet to us as it is to elves and humans. We've only started returning to Tarnag and our other during the last decade and a half, since Morzan and the rest of the surviving Forsworn began to stay near Uru'baen. They haven't ventured far from the major cities for fifteen years – until that visit to the village of yours. It was strange behavior, but I think it started when Brom disappeared. They all had to be on their guard and prepared to meet him in the open if he made his move."
Are they afraid of Brom? Askanir made Roran ask.
"Afraid would be understating it," Faolin said from in front. "They think that he has powers hidden right under his sleeve. I mean, he had clashed with the Forsworn many times and lived to tell the tale. He is not as powerful as them, especially since his dragon is dead."
"Aye, and he managed to kill five of the currently dead Forsworn. One of the other two died during the Fall, and the other one committed suicide seventeen years ago in a fit of madness." Orik led them to a small mound.
As they reached the top, an animal crashed through the underbrush. Roran stepped back in surprise and stepped on Arya's boot.
"Please try your very best to lose weight," the elf girl said, eyes watering. "That hurt."
"Sorry," Roran muttered. "Won't happen again.
The animal looked a lot like a mountain goat back in the Spine, but was a third larger and had massive ribbed horns curling around its cheeks.
An Urgal would be envious, Askanir noted.
Roran agreed. They'll probably go on a rampage just because this goat has a better – and bigger – set of horns, eh?
He saw the saddle lashed across the goat's back, where a dwarf was sitting with a half-drawn bow. "Hert durgrimst? Fild rastn?"
While Orik answered in his own tongue, Roran's eyes settled on the goat, who stared at the dragons warily. It seems quite intelligent, though its face is quite comical.
Askanir snorted. It does have a frosty beard and that over-solemn expression. Very much like a dwarf.
It is their land, so I suppose the animals are very dwarvish too.
Without any visible command from the dwarf, the goat leapt forward. The distance it covered was quite large and it seemed to momentarily take flight. It vanished with its rider between the trees.
"What exactly was that?" Katrina asked, eyes wide.
"That's a Feldunost," explained Orik. "It's one of the five unique animals that you can only find in the Beor Mountains. We have one clan named after each of them. Durgrimst Feldunost is the bravest and most revered, though. We depend on the Feldunost for milk, wool and meat, and without them, we can't live here in the Beors. Durgrimst Feldunost risked themselves – still do, as a matter of fact – to tend to our herbs and fields when we were terrorized by the traitorous Riders. We are still in their debt."
"Do all dwarves ride these Feldunost?" Arya asked.
"Only in the mountains. They're quite hardy and sure-footed, but they would do better in cliffs than open plains."
As they walked, Eragon seemed to have a small mental argument with an annoyed Saphira. Feldunost must be tasty, Askanir said. But the dwarves might get angry.
The path was concealing them under dark boughs for a while when they finally entered the clearing that surrounded Tarnag. Groups of dwarven observerce flocked the fields as seven Feldunost wearing jeweled harnesses leapt out of the city. They had riders that carred pennant-tipped lances that snapped like whips when the Feldunost moved. Their leader reined in his strange beast, saying, "Thou art welcome in our city, Tarnag. Upon the otho of both Undin and Gannel, I, Thorv, son of Brokk, offer our peaceful halls as shelter." He had a grumbling, raspy accent that was very different from Orik's.
"By Hrothgar's otho, we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality," Orik responded.
"As do we, in Melikir's stead," Nasuada said with a charming smie.
"And as do we, in Islanzadi's stead, finished Faolin.
Appearing satisfied, Thorv signalled his fellow Riders. Together, they spurred their feldunost around the group of newcomers. The dwarves rode off with a flourish, guiding the group through the city gates and into Tarnag. Eyes wide, Roran gazed at the thick outer wall, forming a shadowed tunnel that led to the first of the numerous farms belting Tarnag. They passed through five more tiers guarded by fortified gates, carrying them past the fields and into the city itself.
The buildings within the thick ramparts were made of stone too, and yet were shaped so skillfully so that they appeared very graceful and light. They turned left, to a massive hall pressed to the very side of the mountain protected by two towers with projecting galleries.
A group of armed dwarves began to make their exit from houses, forming a thick line to block the street. Their faces were concealed behind long, purple faces and were draped over their shoulders like a mail coif. The guards reined in their Feldunost with hardened faces.
"What's going on?" Nasuada asked.
Orik shook his head and moved forward with a hand resting on his ax. A veiled dwarf began to argue harshly with Thorv in their own language, though respect still somehow showed itself through Thorv.
Murtagh tried to shift to the side just to get a better view of the queer dwarves past Thorv's Feldunost, but the one arguing with their guard began to jab at his helm with a horrified expression, before yelling in Dwarvish again. This earned Orik's ire and their friend moved forward, drawing his ax. He spoke in a quiet but threatening voice.
The dwarf gave Orik a long, hard look. He removed an iron ring from his pocket and plucked three hairs around his beard – which he twined around the ring and threw on the street before he spat after it. Without another word, the strange dwarves filed away. The other dwarves flinched as the ring bounced across the granite pavement, and Faolin stared at it with horror. The younger dwarves went white as they reached for their blades before Thorv prevented them with one growl.
The dwarves' reactions was more unsettling than the angry exchange. Nasuada never saw anything like that happen in Tronjheim – nor did she see any purple-veiled dwarf before. She watched Orik walk forward by himself to deposit the ring in a pouch. "What was that all about?"
Thorv shook his head. "It means that you have enemies, Rider."
They marched hurriedly through the tower and into a wide courtyard that contained three banquet tables. Vivid lanterns and banners decorated it. A group of dwarves stood before the tables. One of note was one wrapped in wolf pelt. He spread his arms proudly. "Welcome to Tarnag, the home of Durgrimst Ragni Hefthyn. We have heard of many good things about you, Riders. I am Undin, son of Derund and clan chief."
A second dwarf stepped forward. This one had the body ofa warrior, with hooded black eyes that lingered on the Riders' faces. A flicker of distaste passed his face as he gazed at Arya's enthusiastic face. "I am Gannel, son of Orm Blood-ax and clan chief of Durgrimst Quan."
The irritation from six ignored dragons flashed through Nasuada's mind, esspecially her bonded partner's. Patience, she growled to all six of them. "It is an honor to be your guests," she told the dwarves.
The clan chiefs greeted Faolin – with much discomfort on Gannel's part – and Orik, who responded by extending his hand and showing them the iron ring on his palm.
Undin's dark eyes widened as he lifted the ring cautiously. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, as if afraid that it could be venomous. "Who gave this to you?" he asked quietly.
"Az Sweldn rak Anhuin," Orik replied simply. "Not to me, but to Eragon and Murtagh – and in extension, to the other Riders and their dragons themselves."
Nasuada watched alarm spread across the faces of the other dwarves, and Nasuada felt unease settle in her stomach. Lone dwarves could face group upon group of Urgals without fear. The ring must have meant something dreadful if it could break their courage.
Undin round, listening to his muttering advisers before saying, "We must consult on this issue. Riders, we have prepared a feast in your honor. If you would allow my servants to guide you to your quarters, you can refresh yourself and we might begin."
"Of course." Taking lead, Nasuada herded her friends as they followed a guide into a wall. She looked back, seeing Faolin and Orik following the clan chiefs with heads pressed close together. She caught Solaris' eye. We won't be long. Then we can talk as much as we want.
Oh, take your time. We have a lot of things to discuss here too. Solaris paused. Thorn and Saphira are understandably more upset than the rest of us.
Being members of a dwarf clan, they should. I think that threat is more dangerous for them than it is for the rest of us.
Nasuada crouched through the dwarf-sized corridors, smiling as Roran and Murtagh cussed whenever they bumped their heads on the ceiling. The room assigned to her was luckily spacious enough for her to stand freely. The servant bowed and said, "I shall return when Grimstborith Undin is ready."
Once she was truly alone, Nasuada took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The veiled dwarves left her shaken – too shaken to relax. Luckily, they won't stay too long in Tarnag so they won't be hindered by that. She peeled off her gloves and headed to the marble basin set right next to the low bed and put her hands in the water. She yelped and jerked her hands out because the water was almost boiling. Realizing that it might be a dwarf custom, she waited for it to cool before scrubbing her face and neck clean.
She felt better as she took off her traveling clothes and switched them for the clothes she wore to her father's funeral. The good thing about them was that they were good enough for any formal situation, from a feast, to a meeting with leaders and even for a funeral. She touched her sword and belted it on with her hunting knife.
She had to look good and intimidating enough as a Rider.
Shamelessly plugging my PJatO fic called The Weapons Thief. :3
Oh, and the Banishing of Names didn't happen here, but the state of the Forsworn is still quite bad which is why they're still REALLY, REALLY AX-CRAZY.
Thank you for reading as far as this chapter, you guys! :D I'll do my best to post longer stuff once the double holiday celebrations are over! :3
The dragons wish you a very, very happy holiday season and hope that you enjoy it! :3
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