Another dwarf stepped forward. He had the shoulders and chest of a warrior, topped with hooded black eyes that never left Eragon’s face. “And I, Gannel, son of Orm Blood-ax and clan chief of Dûrgrimst Quan.”

“It is an honor to be your guests,” said Eragon, inclining his head. He felt Saphira’s irritation at being ignored.Patience, he murmured, forcing a smile.

She snorted.

The clan chiefs greeted Arya and Orik in turn, but their hospitality was lost on Orik, whose only response was to extend his hand, the iron ring on his palm.

Ûndin’s eyes widened, and he gingerly lifted the ring, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a venomous snake. “Who gave this to you?”

“It was Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. And not to me, but to Eragon.”

As alarm spread across their faces, Eragon’s earlier apprehension returned. He had seen lone dwarves face an entire group of Kull without shirking. The ring must symbolize something dreadful indeed if it could undermine their courage.

Ûndin frowned as he listened to the muttering of his advisers, then said, “We must consult on this issue. Shadeslayer, a feast is prepared in your honor. If you would allow my servants to guide you to your quarters, you can refresh yourself, and then we might begin.”

“Of course.” Eragon handed Snowfire’s reins to a waiting dwarf and followed a guide into the hall. As he passed through the doorway, he glanced back and saw Arya and Orik bustling away with the clan chiefs, their heads pressed close together.I won’t be long, he promised Saphira.

After crouching through dwarf-sized corridors, he was relieved that the room assigned to him was spacious enough to stand freely. The servant bowed and said, “I will return when Grimstborith Ûndin is ready.”

Once the dwarf was gone, Eragon paused and took a deep breath, grateful for the silence. The encounter with the veiled dwarves hovered in his mind, making it difficult for him to relax.At least we won’t be in Tarnag long. That should prevent them from hindering us.

Peeling off his gloves, Eragon went to a marble basin set on the floor next to the low bed. He put his hands in the water, then jerked them out with an involuntary yelp. The water was almost boiling.It must be a dwarf custom, he realized. He waited until it cooled a bit, then doused his face and neck, rubbing them clean as steam swirled off his skin.

Rejuvenated, he stripped out of his breeches and tunic and outfitted himself in the clothes he had worn to Ajihad’s funeral. He touched Zar’roc, but decided it would only insult Ûndin’s table and instead belted on his hunting knife.

Then, from his pack, he took the scroll Nasuada had charged him with delivering to Islanzadí and weighed it in his hand, wondering where to hide it. The missive was too important to leave out in the open, where it could be read or stolen. Unable to think of a better place, he slipped the scroll up his sleeve.It’ll be safe there unless I get into a fight, in which case I’ll have bigger problems to worry about.

When at last the servant returned for Eragon, it was only an hour or so past noon, but the sun had already vanished behind the looming mountains, plunging Tarnag into dusk. Exiting the hall, Eragon was struck by the city’s transformation. With the premature advent of night, the dwarves’ lanterns revealed their true strength, flooding the streets with pure, unwavering light that made the entire valley glow.

Ûndin and the other dwarves were gathered in the courtyard, along with Saphira, who had situated herself at the head of a table. No one appeared interested in disputing her choice.

Has anything happened?asked Eragon, hurrying toward her.

Ûndin summoned extra warriors, then had the gates barred.

Does he expect an attack?

At the very least, he’s concerned about the possibility.

“Eragon, please join me,” said Ûndin, gesturing at the chair to his right. The clan chief seated himself as Eragon did, and the rest of the company hurriedly followed suit.

Eragon was happy when Orik ended up beside him with Arya directly across the table, although both looked grim. Before he could ask Orik about the ring, Ûndin slapped the table and roared, “Ignh az voth!”

Servants streamed out of the hall, bearing platters of beaten gold piled high with meats, pies, and fruit. They divided into three columns—one for each table—and deposited the dishes with a flourish.

Before them were soups and stews filled with various tubers, roasted venison, long hot loaves of sourdough bread, and rows of honeycakes dripped with raspberry preserve. In a bed of greens lay filleted trout garnished with parsley, and on the side, pickled eel stared forlornly at an urn of cheese, as if hoping to somehow escape back into a river. A swan sat on each table, surrounded by a flock of stuffed partridges, geese, and ducks.

Mushrooms were everywhere: broiled in juicy strips, placed atop a bird’s head like a bonnet, or carved in the shape of castles amid moats of gravy. An incredible variety was on display, from puffy white mushrooms the size of Eragon’s fist, to ones he could have mistaken for gnarled bark, to delicate toadstools sliced neatly in half to showcase their blue flesh.

Then the centerpiece of the feast was revealed: a gigantic roasted boar, glistening with sauce. At least Eragon thought it was a boar, for the carcass was as large as Snowfire and took six dwarves to carry. The tusks were longer than his forearms, the snout as wide as his head. And the smell, it overwhelmed all others in pungent waves that made his eyes water from their strength.

“Nagra,” whispered Orik. “Giant boar. Ûndin truly honors you tonight, Eragon. Only the bravest dwarves dare hunt Nagran, and it is only served to those who have great valor. Also, I think he makes a gesture that he will support you over Dûrgrimst Nagra.”