Chapter Forty-Seven: Carvahall

After dinner they had been escorted back to the west wing of the castle. They were given new rooms that connected through double doors in the wall. They both were as immaculate as the first, though much more accommodating with food and drinks on a table near the crackling fireplace. When the guards closed the doors to Mariah's room, Murtagh lingered nearby for a moment.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He asked, running his finger over the top of a dresser.

She sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed, forcing a crushed red velvet blanket to crease, "Why didn't you tell me before, about any of this? I trust you Murtagh, with my life. You saved me, Mark and Eragon more times than I care to count yet you still hide things from me."

"It wasn't my wish to hide anything, especially not from you." Murtagh admitted, glancing over. "Your brother was right to be suspicious of me."

"Of course, he has a natural talent for recognizing when people are lying," Mariah said.

"That's probably because he too is a frequent liar." He paused, "Kieran and her sister are not a surprise to me, no. When I was younger, growing up in the castle I often played with them, they were like my own sisters. We are close to the same age and though they are technically princesses, they weren't raised in seclusion. As I said before, only a handful of people are allowed to know of their existence and even fewer of their ranking. It was only after I turned ten that I found out about their royal lineage. That day Galbatorix made me swear never to tell anyone what I knew. He insisted it was important and I didn't question it. Then, when Nasreen hatched for Kieran two years ago, I was sworn to secrecy again. Never to tell a living soul about the new dragon or the fact her Rider was a daughter of Galbatorix. I couldn't tell you about them until after you already knew. I'm very sorry."

Mariah looked up at him, "That wouldn't have been your fault then… since you were unable to tell us about them."

"If I could have," he insisted. "They're extremely dangerous." She rubbed her eyes, sighing heavily. "Mariah… tomorrow you'll be going with them. Don't do anything that would put you in harm's way. Come back alive and we'll find a way out of this."

"It's my home, Murtagh… he wants me to destroy the one place I care about most…"

He watched her, "I have never had anywhere I would specifically call my home… so I can't say I know how that feels. But having something you care about being taken away from you is painful… and I'm sorry. If there was anything I could do to help, you know I would."

"…what oath did you swear to the king when you arrived?"

"Several, I couldn't rename them all if I tried." She bit her lip, feeling her eyes tear up. "Mariah look at me." She snapped her head up, staring at him. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." Mariah said, looking at him. No matter how hard he tried to make his face sympathetic, his eyes betrayed more sorrow than he could express. He truly was sorry for what had happened.

He shook his head, "Come back after your trip alive, that's all that matters to me right now. You should sleep… I probably won't see you in the morning. Good night."

"Night…" she muttered, watching the door close behind him. After waiting several minutes, trying to be sure no one was around to listen and that Murtagh was indeed asleep. Mariah slipped off her bed and trotted to the mirror hanging above a table on the wall. "Draumr kópa." She whispered, trying her hardest to scry her brother. The mirror seemed to swirl with black for a moment before dissipating; the only thing visible in the mirror was herself.

After a minute of self-pity she tried again, with Eragon, "Draumr kópa." Watching the mirror turn black, it stayed like that a moment before flickering with sparks, then returning to its normal state. Andrar was right, the magic around Urû'baen wouldn't let her scry anyone. Sighing, Mariah turned and sat on the floor, burying her face in her hands and crying.

In the morning, she woke up on the floor, sore and exhausted. The incessant banging forced her to wake just before Kieran burst into her room. "You were supposed to be up an hour ago, get ready we're leaving soon." She snapped, turning on her heel.

Mariah watched her walk back out and stood, searching the room for clothes. She found a better set of clothes in a large decorated wardrobe, resembling the ones she'd left The Varden in, and changed quickly. The black belt settled on her hips, though she felt naked without a blade at her side. Walking into the hallway, she came to a sudden halt as Murtagh and Kieran were arguing loudly.

"That means you lied to me!"

"You lie to me all the time, what does it matter if I do it once?" Kieran asked, heading for the staircase, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

He followed after her with long strides, his face red, "No. This is different, you know it's different. You told me she was out hunting or something. I know you don't particularly care about her, but lying about her absence?"

She wheeled about on the stairs to face him, looking down at the man, "I wasn't about to tell you she ran away and father was tracking her down. She should have known better than to leave, but no. Left right after you, she did. I assumed once we found you she'd be nearby, but I was wrong. When father does catch her, you know what he's going to do?"

"Don't-" Murtagh insisted quickly.

Kieran pressed a finger into his chest, "He's going to torture her for an answer as to why she left, search her mind so vigorously she won't even remember what she looks like. And after he gets every last drop of information out of her, he's going to kill her for trying to leave. That is what I lied to you about Murtagh - it was for your own benefit." She spat, walking up the stairs.

He stood at the foot of the staircase and watched her ascend, looking as if he was about to be sick. When he wheeled about to go back to his room, he saw Mariah standing there. He faltered for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Kendra hates them both..." Murtagh explained, "Kieran's sister. I… left last year and hadn't told her. I've always regretted it, but I was too frightened to say anything aloud where Galbatorix might be listening." He blinked, meeting her gaze. "Go with Kieran, you're going to be late." Without a word, he walked off, leaving Mariah to only follow the princess.

"Good, now that you're here, I'm going to properly outfit you," Kieran said, having waited for her in the room above the staircase. "Follow."

Mariah did as she said, rolling her eyes a bit and trotting after the woman. Her heels were becoming annoying with their clicking against the stone. They arrived at the armory where she allowed her to pick out a sword. Mariah quickly glanced over the weapons before snatching a slim long sword with a good grip, not quite a rapier, but close. She also picked up a dagger and tied both sheaths to her waist.

"You'll be in need of armor as well. You do wear armor, right?" Kieran asked her, raising an eyebrow. She herself was already wearing the ornate outfit Mariah had met her in. The silver chest plate formed around her breasts with intricate details and jewels embedded in the metal, ending with her ribcage, leaving a gap between the bottom and her waistline. Her pauldrons, greaves and vambraces all decorated with the same swirling designs. Under her armor she wore a fine silver chainmail dress; a belt wrapping around her hips, with tassets on her thighs, covered her pelvis with a deep purple piece of fabric draping down past her knees. The black boots underneath her greaves had a fairly thin four inch heel on them.

"Sometimes…" she said warily, definitely not wanting to wear anything of the princesses'.

Kieran looked her over a moment before walking her into a separate room nearby the armory. "Choose whatever you like. I don't know how much you'll find, but you will need something. Perhaps Galbatorix will have a set made for you by the time you return."

If anyone else had suggested such a thing she would have been ecstatic, however the thought of being given such a gift by the king made her feel ill. Especially because armor was to be used in battle and she had no want to fight anyone for him.

Finally her eyes landed on a leather skirt. The leather strips were studded and overlapped each other when worn by the belt they were attached to. Mariah quickly wound it over her hips and buckled it tight. She found a pair of leather vambraces that seemed to be small enough for her nearby a similar pair of greaves. Though all leather, none of it matched. She would have to make due without a breastplate, seeing as there was no female equipment in the room. When she turned to Kieran however, the woman was holding onto a thick leather corset. Mariah shook her head. "I'm not wearing that."

"I have nothing else for you to wear, so you'd best put it on." She threw it to her and Mariah caught it instinctively. Sighing a bit she wrapped the corset over her torso and started lacing it up the sides tightly. Taking a deep breath to make sure it wasn't too snug, she nodded. "I don't need anymore than this… too much heavy armor weighs me down."

"Fair enough, now come, we have to go before it gets much later." She said, turning and striding out of the room, holding onto her sword with her left hand.

Light burst into the tunnel as the doors dragged open. Eragon winced, is eyes sorely unaccustomed to daylight after so long underground. Beside him, Saphira hissed and arched her neck to get a better view of their surroundings.

It had taken the m two days to traverse the subterranean passage from Farthen Dûr, though it felt longer to Eragon, due to the never ending dusk that surrounded them and the silence it had imposed upon their group. In all, he could recall only a handful of words being exchanged during their journey, aside from the ceremony in which he had taken part – effectively becoming an adopted member of Orik and Hrothgar's clan, Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. The first time any human had been offered such a position.

Eragon had hoped to learn more about Arya while they traveled together, but the only information he had gleaned came simply as a result of observation. He had not supped with her before and was startled to see that she brought her own food and ate no meat. When he asked her why, she said, 'You will never again consume an animal's flesh after you have been trained, or if you do, it will be only on the rarest of occasions."

"Why should I give up meat?" he scoffed.

"I cannot explain with words, but you will understand once we reach Ellesméra."

All that was forgotten now as he hurried to the threshold, eager to see their destination. He found himself standing on a granite outcropping, more than a hundred feet above a purple-hued lake, brilliant under the eastern sun. Like Kóstha-mérna, the water reached from mountain to mountain, filling the valley's end. From the lake's far side, the Âz Ragni flowed north, winding between the peaks until – in the far distance – it rushed out onto the eastern plains.

To his right, the mountains were bare, save for a few trails, but to his left… to his left was the dwarf city Tarnag. Here the dwarves had reworked the seemingly immutable Beors into a series of terraces. The lower terraces were mainly farms – dark curves of land waiting to be planted – dotted with squat halls, which at best he could tell were built entirely of stone. Above those empty levels rose tier upon tier of interlocking buildings until they culminated in a giant dome of gold and white. It was as if the entire city was nothing more than a line of steps leading to the dome. The cupola glistened like polished moonstone, a milky bead floating atop a pyramid of gray slate.

Orik anticipated Eragon's question, saying, "That is Celbedeil, the greatest temple of dwarfdom and home of Dûrgrimst Quan – the Quan clan – who act as servants and messengers to the gods."

"Do they rule Tarnag?" Eragon asked for Saphira.

"Nay," said Arya, stepping past them. "Though the Quan are strong, they are small in numbers, despite their power over the afterlife… an gold. It is the Ragni Hefthyn – the River Guard – who control Tarnag. We will stay with their clan chief, Ûndin, while here."

As they followed the elf off the outcropping and through the gnarled forest that blanketed the mountain, Orik whispered to Eragon, "Mind her not. She has been arguing with the Quan for many a year. Every time she visits Tarnag and speaks with a priest, it produces a quarrel fierce enough to scare a Kull."

"Arya?"

Orik nodded grimly. "I know little of it, but I've heard she disagrees strongly with much that the Quan practice. It seems that elves do not hold with 'muttering into the air for help'."

Eragon stared at Arya's back as they descended, wondering if Orik's words were true, and if so, what Arya herself believed. He took a deep breath, pushing the matter from his mind. It felt wonderful to be back in the open, where he could smell the moss and ferns and trees of the forest, where the sun was warm on his face and bees and other insects swarmed pleasantly. It reminded him of Carvahall and Palancar Valley so far away.

The path took them down to the edge o the lake before rising back toward Tarnag and its open gates. "How have you hidden Tarnag from Galbatorix?" asked Eragon. "Farthen Dûr I understand, but this… I've never seen anything like it."

Orik laughed softly. "Hide it? That would be impossible. No, after the Riders fell, we were forced to abandon all our cities above ground and retreat into our tunnels in order to escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn. They would often fly through the Beors, killing anyone who they encountered."

"I thought that dwarves always lived underground."

Orik's thick eyebrows met in a frown. "Why should we? We may have an affinity for stone, but we like the open air as much as elves or humans. However, it has only been in the last decade and a half, ever since Morzan died, that we have dared return to Tarnag and other of our ancient dwellings. Galbatorix may be unnaturally powerful and his dragon could cause us no end of trouble if they wanted, but these days they rarely leave Urû'baen, even for short trips. Nor could Galbatorix bring an army here without first defeating Buragh or Farthen Dûr."

Cresting a small mound, Eragon jolted with surprise as an animal crashed through the underbrush and onto the path. The scraggly creature looked like a mountain goat from the Spine, except that it was a third larger and had giant ribbed horns that curled around its cheeks, making an Urgal's seem no bigger than a swallow nest. Odder still was the saddle lashed across the goat's back and the dwarf seated firmly on it, aiming a half-drawn bow into the air.

"Hert dûrgrimst? Fild rastn?"shouted the strange dwarf.

"Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum," answered Orik. "Wharn, az vanyali-carharug Arya. Ne oc Ûndinz grimstbelardn." The goat stared warily at Saphira. Eragon noted how bright and intelligent its eyes were, though its face was rather droll with its frost beard and somber expression. It reminded him of Hrothgar, and he almost laughed, thinking how very dwarfish the animal was.

"Azt jok jordn rast," came the reply.

With no discernible command on the dwarf's part, the goat leaped forward, covering such an extraordinary distance it seemed to take flight for a moment. Then rider and steed vanished between the trees.

"What was that?" asked Eragon, amazed.

Orik resumed walking. "A Feldûnost, one of the five animals unique to these mountains. A clan is named after each one. However, Dûrgrimst Feldûnost is perhaps the bravest and most revered of the clans."

"Why so?"

"We depend upon Feldûnost for milk, wool, and meat. Without their sustenance, we could not live in the Beors. When Galbatorix and his traitorous Riders were terrorizing us, it was Dûrgrimst Feldûnost who risked themselves – and still do – to tend the herds and fields. As such, we are all in their debt."

"Do all dwarves ride Feldûnost?" He stumbled slightly over the unusual word.

"Only in the mountains. Feldûnost are hardy and sure-footed, but they are better suited for cliffs than open plains."

Saphira nudged Eragon with her nose, causing Snowfire to shy away. Now those would be good hunting, better than any I had in the Spine or hence! If I have time in Tarnag-

No, he said. We can't afford to offend the dwarves.

She shorted, irritated. I could ask permission first.

Now the path that had concealed them for so long under dark boughs entered the great clearing that surrounded Tarnag. Groups of observers had already begun to gather in the fields when seven Feldunost with jeweled harnesses bounded out from the city. Their riders bore lances tipped with pennants that snapped like whips In the air. Reining in his strange beast, the lead dwarf said, "Thou art well-come to this city of Tarnag. By otho of Ûndin and Gannel, I, Thorv, son of Brokk, offer in peace the shelter of our halls." His accent grumbled and rasped with a rough burr quite unlike Orik's.

"And by Hrothgar's otho, we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality," responded Orik.

The flight was long, and she fell asleep mid-flight more than once from pure exhaustion. The countryside she had once favored so much made her stomach flip and contort in pain. Kieran had made a straight path from Urû'baen to Carvahall, bypassing Gil'ead, Daret and even Yazuac by a few leagues. The empty fields of the Empire were dotted with nothing but herds of elk and deer being followed by wolf packs. They stopped only a few times during the flight, effectively making a trip that would have lasted weeks on horseback only a three days' journey. Stops included time for the dragons to rest and eat, allowing Nasreen to show off her hunting skills for Andrar. With blinding speed she would fall out of the sky like a shadow and rip into the largest animal of a herd, crushing its entire back in one bite of her massive jaws. She would devour her kill swiftly while keeping eye contact with the male dragon, who tried his best to avoid her piercing gaze.

She's showing you just how much of an advantage she has over you, if we decide to run. Mariah realized after a few instances.

Yes. He admitted tightly, More than that even.

What do you mean? Mariah asked, but he said nothing more, going to sleep for the few hours Kieran allowed him.

When her eyes fell upon Carvahall, she nearly threw up in her saddle. The valley was well into summer with colorful flowers and green grass. Any other time she would have cried out of sheer happiness, but Kieran flying beside her on Nasreen made the experience less than enjoyable. The dragons landed near the forest discreetly and waited. Mariah didn't have long to guess why they were, for two figures soon walked toward them. She tensed and stared at the two Ra'zac as they spoke with Kieran. She talked with them quickly before they turned and headed back toward Carvahall.

"…what are they doing here?" She asked, watching them leave.

Kieran adjusted her sword on her hip, "The soldiers set fire to the barn a few nights ago, I gathered, in a drunken stupor. Coming here was an attempt to get to you and your rider friend to join us. He has a cousin, right? That's what I managed to gather at least."

"…" Mariah watched her, swallowing any names that popped into her head.

She sighed, "Either way, the town's become a nuisance. After the fire, the townspeople have started attacking my soldiers. The Ra'zac have given them a choice – to hand over the cousin or die. I think you may be able to spare the rest of the town's life if you go down and convince him to come with us."

"And if I don't?"

"I'm burning the whole town to the ground, of course."

"You can't…" she said, "This is my home, you can't." Mariah said to her, feeling her chest tighten.

Kieran walked to her, placing a finger on her lips, "Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. If I say burn it to the ground, I will. Or would you rather I tell you to go down and capture every single person and kill them by hand?" Mariah shivered and started crying silently as the woman caressed her cheek. "I thought so. You may rest the remainder of the night." Kieran told her, sitting down next to her dragon.

Sleep my darling, we shall figure this out come morning. Andrar insisted, wrapping his tail around his Rider, leading her into a restless sleep.

Just before the sun rose and the sky started lightening, she heard Kieran let out a snarl. Mariah looked up and watched her stiffen. Peering through the darkness, her lips pulled back, revealing her teeth.

Pushing up next to her, Mariah stared. Her gaze lingered on burned buildings and her heart jumped, hoping no one had been killed in whatever fire had caused it. The rest of the town looked like a war zone, upturned wagons and boarded up windows everywhere. A trench was cut into the earth around the village, felled trees helping form a barricade.

"It was not like this yesterday," the princess growled. "They were supposed to submit, not fortify their little village. You are going now. If you do not convince him to come with us, I will burn it to the ground."

Mariah swallowed and turned to climb on Andrar's back. She paused and looked at her dragon before twisting back to Kieran, "I will do it on my own terms. And I will convince him in whatever way I deem fit. If you interfere there will be no chance of me succeeding."

"Fine," she snapped. "Go. Do it quickly, before the day is over."

She untied her sword from her belt and dropped it at her feet, pulling the knife from her boot as well. Mariah removed any armor she'd been given and left it on the ground. Kneeling down, she re-laced both her boots and adjusted the belt around her waist, her gaze never leaving the village. Taking a deep breath, she started down the hill toward Carvahall.

After resting a while and feasting with the new clan of dwarves, the leader Grimstborith Gannel offered to show Eragon the temple – Celbedeil - the day after their arrival. After consulting Orik, he took the dwarf up on his offer and followed him inside the temple at the top tier of the city, bringing Zar'roc with him at Saphira's urging.

His first impression was of color. A burning-green sward splayed around the pillared mass of Celbedeil, like a mantle dropped over the symmetrical hill that upheld the temple. Ivy strangled the building's ancient walls in foot after foot of hairy ropes, dew swill glittering on the pointed leaves. And curving above all but the mountains was the great white cupola ribbed with chiseled gold.

His next impression was of smell. Flowers and incense mixed their perfumes into an aroma so ethereal, Eragon felt as if he could live on the scent alone.

Last was sound, for despite clumps of priests strolling along mosaic pathways and spacious grounds, the only noise Eragon could discern was the soft thump of a rook flying overhead.

The dwarf beckoned again and strode down the main avenue toward Celbedeil. As they passed under its eaves, Eragon could only marvel at the wealth and craftsmanship displayed around him. The walls were spotted with gems of every color and cut – though all flawless – and red gold had been hammered into the veins lacing the stone ceilings, walls, and floor. Pearls and silver provided accents. Occasionally, they passed a screen partition carved entirely of jade.

The temple was devoid of cloth decorations. In their absence, the dwarves had carved a profusion of statues, many depicting monsters and deities locked in epic battles.

After climbing several floors, they passed through a copper door waxy with verdigris and embossed with intricate, patterned knots into a bare room floored with wood. Armor hung thickly on the walls, along with racks of staff-swords identical to the one Angela had fought with in Farthen Dûr.

Gannel was there, sparring with three younger dwarves. The clan chief's robe was tucked up over his thighs so he could move freely, his face a fierce scowl as the wood shaft spun in his hands, unsharpened blades darting like riled hornets.

Two dwarves lunged at Gannel, only to be stymied in a clatter of wood and metal as he spun past them, rapping their knees and heads and sending them to the floor. Eragon grinned as he watched Gannel disarm his last opponent in a brilliant flurry of blows.

At last the clan chief noticed Eragon and dismissed the other dwarves. As Gannel set his weapon on a rack, Eragon said, "Are all Quan so proficient with the blade? It seems an odd skill for priests."

Gannel faced him. "We must be able to defend ourselves, no? Many enemies stalk this land."

Eragon nodded. "Those are unique swords. I've never seen their like, except for one an herbalist used in the battle of Farthen Dûr."

The dwarf sucked in his breath, then let it hiss out between his teeth. "Angela." His expression soured. "She won her staff from a priest in a game of riddles. It was a nasty trick, as we are the only ones allowed to use hûthvirn. She and Arya…" He shrugged and went to a small table, where he filled two mugs with ale. Handing one to Eragon, he said, "I invited you here today at Hrothgar's request. He told me that if you accepted his offer to become Ingeitum, I was to acquaint you with the dwarf traditions."

Eragon sipped the ale and kept silent, eying how Gannel's thick brow caught the light, shadows dripping down his cheeks from the bony ridge.

The clan chief continued: "Never before has an outsider been taught our secret beliefs, nor may you speak of them to human or elf. Ney without this knowledge, you cannot uphold what it means to be knurla. You are Ingeitum now: our blood, our flesh, our honor. You understand?"

"I do."

"Come." Keeping his ale in hand, Gannel took Eragon from the sparring room and conveyed him through five grand corridors, stopping them in the archway to a dim chamber hazy with incense. Facing them, the squat outline of a statue swelled ponderously from the floor to ceiling, a faint light cast across the brooding dwarf face hacked with uncharacteristic crudeness from brown granite.

"Who is he?" asked Eragon, intimidated.

"Gûntera, King of the Gods. He is a warrior and a scholar, though fickle in his moods, so we burn offerings to assure his affection at the solstices, before sowing, and at deaths and births." Gannel twisted his hand in a strange gesture and bowed to the statue. "It is to him we pray before battles, for he molded this land from the bones of a giant and gives the world its order. All realms are Gûntera's."

Then Gannel instructed Eragon how to properly venerate the god, explaining the signs and words that were used for homage. He elucidated the meaning of the incense – how it symbolized life and happiness – and spent long minutes, recounting legend s about Gûntera, how the god was born fully formed to a she-wolf at the dawn of stars, how he had battled monsters and giants to win a place for his kin in Alagaësia, and how he had taken Kílf, the goddess of rivers and the sea, as his mate.

Next they went to Kílf's statue, which was carved with exquisite delicacy out of pale blue stone. Her hair flew back in liquid ripples, rolling down her neck and framing merry amethyst eyes. In her hands, she cupped a water lily and a chunk of porous red rock that Eragon did not recognize.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing.

"Coral taken from deep within the sea that borders the Beors."

"Coral?" He asked, the word sounding familiar yet foreign.

Gannel took a draught of ale, then said, "Our divers found it while searching for pearls. It seems that, in brine, certain stones like to grow plants."

Eragon stared with wonder. He had never thought of pebbles or boulders as alive, yet here was proof that all they needed was water and salt to flourish. It finally explained how rocks had continued to appear in their fields in Palancar Valley, even after the soil had been combed clean each spring. They grew!

They proceeded to Urûr, master of the air and heavens, and his brother Morgothal, god of fire. At the carmine statue of Morgothal, the priest told how the brothers loved each other so much, neither could exist independently. Thus, Morgothal's burning place in the sky during the day, and the sparks from his forge that appeared overhead every night. And also thus, how Urûr constantly fed his sibling so he would not die. Only two more gods were left after that: Sindri – mother of the earth – and Helzvog.

Helzvog's statue was different from the rest. The nude god was bowed in half over a dwarf-sized lump of gray flint, caressing it with the tip of his forefinger. The muscles of his back bunched and knotted with inhuman strain, yet his expression was incredibly tender, as if a newborn child lay before him.

Gannel's voice dropped to a low rasp: Gûntera may be King of the Gods, but it is Helzvog who holds our hearts. It was he who felt that the land should be peopled after the giants were vanquished. The other gods disagreed, but Helzvog ignored them and, in secret, formed the first dwarf from the roots of a mountain. When his deed was discovered, jealousy swept the gods and Gûntera created elves to control Alagaësia for himself. Then Sindri brought forth humans from the soil, and Urûr and Morgothal combined their knowledge and released dragons into the land. Only Kílf restrained herself. So the first races entered this world."

Eragon absorbed Gannel's words, accepting the clan chief's sincerity but unable to quell a simple question: How does he know? Eragon sensed that it would be an awkward query, however, and merely nodded as he listened.

"This," said Gannel, finishing the last of his ale, "leads to our most important rite, which I know Orik has discussed with you… All dwarves must be buried in stone, else our spirits will never join Helzvog in his hall. We are not of the earth, air, or fire, but of stone. And as Ingeitum, it is your responsibility to assure a proper resting place for any dwarf who may die in your company. If you fail – in the absence of injury or enemies – Hrothgar will exile you, and no dwarf will acknowledge your presence until after your death." He straightened his shoulders, staring hard at Eragon. "You have much more to learn, yet uphold the customs I outlined today and you will do well."

"I won't forget," said Eragon.

Elvish

Draumr kópa - Dream stare (spell used for scrying)

Dwarvish

Kóstha-mérna - Foot Pool (a lake)

Âz Ragni - The River

Hert dûrgrimst? - What clan?

Fild rastn?- Who passes?

Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum.- Orik, Thrifk's son, and Shadeslayer Eragon of Clan Ingeitum.

Wharn, az vanyali-carharug Arya. - Also, the elf-courier Arya.

Ne oc Ûndinz grimstbelardn. - We are Ûndin's hall-guests.

Azt jok jordn rast. - Then you may pass.

Grimstborith - Clan chief

hûthvirn - dwarvish bladed staff weapon

knurla - dwarf (literally: one of stone)

otho - faith

So... much DWARVISH... I am now proficient! Not... really, but close.

I'm sorry this was so much straight from the book, but I feel like I didn't have much of a choice.

I had such a hard time with this chapter. I want to write about Mariah in Carvahall, but I really don't want to get into anything with what Roran's doing right now. That would be SO much copying, since none of my characters are there. His parts are spaced out so much through the book that it's difficult to get through the Carvahall story arc without drastic skips to Eragon's story, and in turn Mark's. To space it out better, I'm going to have to write about Eragon and Co. Also, I liked this chapter with all the stuff about the dwarves' history. I think it's fairly important even if Paolini doesn't ever use much of it again...

And no Mark, because… all he's doing is planning with Nasuada. I promise he'll be in the next chapter, at least a little.

Thank you so much for all your reviews... and yes - I do try my hardest not to have errors in my writing. When I'm copying passages quickly, my fingers do slip sometimes and I make mistakes. It happens. My brother often catches them where I don't... because he has me read everything aloud and does the male voices for me.

Last thing: Rocks do not grow out of the ground Eragon… you freakin' moron.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah