Eragon thanked Skeg for his prediction, then took his leave. With his guards trailing after him, Eragon walked to one of the many common eating halls in the city-mountain, a long, low room with stone tables arranged in rows on one side and dwarves busying themselves about soapstone ovens on the other.

There Eragon dined on sourdough bread, fish with white meat that the dwarves caught in underground lakes, mushrooms, and some sort of mashed tuber that he had eaten before in Tronjheim but whose provenance he had yet to learn. Before he began eating, though, he was careful to test the food for poison, using the spells Oromis had taught him.

As Eragon washed down the last crust of bread with a sip of thin, watered-down breakfast beer, Orik and his contingent of ten warriors entered the hall. The warriors sat at their own tables, positioning themselves where they could watch both entrances, while Orik joined Eragon, lowering himself onto the stone bench opposite him with a weary sigh. He placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with his hands.

Eragon cast several spells to prevent anyone from eavesdropping, then asked, “Did we suffer another setback?”

“No, no setback. Only, these deliberations are trying in the extreme.”

“I noticed.”

“And everyone noticed your frustration,” said Orik. “You must control yourself better hereafter, Eragon. Revealing weakness of any sort to our opponents does nothing but further their cause. I—”Orik fell silent as a portly dwarf waddled up and deposited a plate of steaming food in front of him.

Eragon scowled at the edge of the table. “But are you any closer to the throne? Have we gained any ground with all of this long-winded prattle?”

Orik raised a finger while he chewed on a mouthful of bread. “We have gained a great deal. Do not be so gloomy! After you left, Havard agreed to lower the tax on the salt Dûrgrimst Fanghur sells to the Ingeitum, in exchange for summer access to our tunnel to Nalsvrid-mérna, so they may hunt the red deer that gather around the lake during the warm months of the year. You should have seen how Nado gritted his teeth when Havard accepted my offer!”

“Bah,” spat Eragon. “Taxes, deer—what does any of it have to do with who succeeds Hrothgar as ruler? Be honest with me, Orik. What is your position compared with the other clan chiefs? And how much longer is this likely to drag on? With every day that passes, it becomes more likely that the Empire will discover our ruse and Galbatorix will strike at the Varden when I am not there to fend off Murtagh and Thorn.”

Orik wiped his mouth on the corner of the tablecloth. “My position is sound enough. None of the grimstborithn have the support to call a vote, but Nado and I command the greatest followings. If either of us can win over, say, another two or three clans, the balance will quickly tip in that person’s favor. Havard is already wavering. It won’t take too much more encouragement, I think, to convince him to defect to our camp. Tonight we will break bread with him, and I will see what I can do toward providing that encouragement.” Orik devoured a piece of roast mushroom, then said, “As for when the clanmeet will end, maybe after another week if we are lucky, and maybe two if we’re not.”

Eragon cursed in an undertone. He was so tense, his stomach churned and rumbled and threatened to reject the meal he had just eaten.

Reaching across the table, Orik caught Eragon by the wrist. “There is nothing you or I can do to further hasten the clanmeet’s decision, so do not let it upset you overmuch. Worry about what you can change, and leave the rest to sort itself out, eh?” He released Eragon.

Eragon slowly exhaled and leaned on his forearms against the table. “I know. It’s only that we have so little time, and if we fail . . .”

“What will be will be,” said Orik. He smiled, but his eyes were sad and hollow. “No one can escape fate’s design.”

“Couldn’t you seize the throne by force? I know you don’t have that many troops in Tronjheim, but with my support, who could stand against you?”

Orik paused with his knife halfway between his plate and his mouth, then shook his head and resumed eating. Between mouthfuls, he said, “Such a ploy would prove disastrous.”

“Why?”

“Must I explain? Our entire race would turn against us, and instead of seizing control of our nation, I would inherit an empty title. If that came to pass, I would not bet a broken sword we would live to see out the year.”

“Ah.”

Orik said nothing more until the food on his plate was gone. Then he downed a mouthful of beer, belched, and resumed the conversation: “We are balanced upon a windy mountain path with a mile-high drop on either side. So many of my race hate and fear Dragon Riders because of the crimes Galbatorix, the Forsworn, and now Murtagh have committed against us. And so many of them fear the world beyond the mountains and the tunnels and caverns wherein we hide.” He turned his mug around on the table. “Nado and Az Sweldn rak Anhûin are only worsening the situation. They play upon people’s fears and poison their minds against you, the Varden, and King Orrin. . . . Az Sweldn rak Anhûin is the epitome of what we must overcome if I am to be king. Somehow we must needs find a way to allay their concerns and the concerns of those like them, for even if I am king, I will have to give them a fair hearing if I am to retain the support of the clans. A dwarf king or queen is always at the mercy of the clans, no matter how strong a ruler they may be, just as the grimstborithn are at the mercy of the families of their clan.” Tilting back his head, Orik drained the last of the beer from his mug, then set it down with a sharp clack.