Tarnag is like an overturned anthill, she observed.
Let’s hope we don’t get bitten.
Arya joined them before long, as did a group of fifty heavily armed dwarves who settled in the middle of the courtyard. The dwarves waited impassively, talking in low grunts as they eyed the barred gate and the mountain that rose up behind them.
“They fear,” said Arya, seating herself by Eragon, “that the crowds may prevent us from reaching the rafts.”
“Saphira can always fly us out.”
“Snowfire as well? And Ûndin’s guards? No, if we are stopped, we shall have to wait until the dwarves’ outrage subsides.” She studied the darkening sky. “It’s unfortunate that you managed to offend so many dwarves, but perhaps inevitable. The clans have ever been contentious; what pleases one infuriates another.”
He fingered the edge of his mail. “I wish now I hadn’t accepted Hrothgar’s offer.”
“Ah, yes. As with Nasuada, I think you made the only viable choice. You are not to blame. The fault, if any, lies with Hrothgar for making the offer in the first place. He must have been well aware of the repercussions.”
Silence reigned for several minutes. A half-dozen dwarves marched around the courtyard, stretching their legs. Finally, Eragon asked, “Do you have any family in Du Weldenvarden?”
It was a long time before Arya answered. “None that I’m close to.”
“Why... why is that?”
She hesitated again. “They disliked my choice to become the Queen’s envoy and ambassador; it seemed inappropriate. When I ignored their objections and still had the yawë tattooed on my shoulder — which indicates that I have devoted myself to the greater good of our race, as is the case with your ring from Brom — my family refused to see me again.”
“But that was over seventy years ago,” he protested.
Arya looked away, concealing her face behind a veil of hair. Eragon tried to imagine what it must have been like for her — ostracized from her family and sent to live among two completely different races. No wonder she’s so withdrawn, he realized. “Are there any other elves outside of Du Weldenvarden?”
Still keeping her face covered, she said, “Three of us were sent forth from Ellesméra. Fäolin and Glenwing always traveled with me when we transported Saphira’s egg between Du Weldenvarden and Tronjheim. Only I survived Durza’s ambush.”
“What were they like?”
“Proud warriors. Glenwing loved speaking to birds with his mind. He would stand in the forest surrounded by a flock of songbirds and listen to their music for hours. Afterward, he might sing us the prettiest melodies.”
“And Fäolin?” This time Arya refused to answer, though her hands tightened on her bow. Undaunted, Eragon cast around for another subject. “Why do you dislike Gannel so much?”
She faced him suddenly and touched his cheek with soft fingers. Eragon flinched with surprise. “That,” she said, “is a discussion for another time.” Then she stood and calmly relocated herself across the courtyard.
Confused, Eragon stared at her back. I don’t understand, he said, leaning against Saphira’s belly. She snorted, amused, then curled her neck and tail around him and promptly fell asleep.
As the valley darkened, Eragon struggled to stay alert. He pulled out Gannel’s necklace and examined it several times with magic, but found only the priest’s guarding spell. Giving up, he replaced the necklace under his tunic, pulled his shield over him, and settled down to wait through the night.
At the first hint of light in the sky overhead — though the valley itself was still in shadow and would remain so until almost midday — Eragon roused Saphira. The dwarves were already up, busy muffling their weapons so they could creep through Tarnag with utter secrecy. Ûndin even had Eragon tie rags around Saphira’s claws and Snowfire’s hooves.
When all was ready, Ûndin and his warriors assembled in a large block around Eragon, Saphira, and Arya. The gates were carefully opened — no sound came from the oiled hinges — and then they set out for the lake.
Tarnag seemed deserted, the vacant streets lined with houses where its inhabitants lay oblivious and dreaming. The few dwarves they encountered gazed at them silently, then padded away like ghosts in the twilight.
At the gate to each tier, a guard waved them through without comment. They soon left the buildings and found themselves crossing the barren fields at Tarnag’s base. Beyond those, they reached the stone quay that edged the still, gray water.
Waiting for them were two wide rafts tied alongside a pier. Three dwarves squatted on the first raft, four on the second. They stood as Ûndin came into view.
Eragon helped the dwarves hobble and blindfold Snowfire, then coax the reluctant horse onto the second raft, where he was forced to his knees and tied down. Meanwhile, Saphira slipped off the pier into the lake. Only her head remained above the surface as she paddled through the water.
Ûndin grasped Eragon’s arm. “Here is where we part. You have my best men; they will protect you until you reach Du Weldenvarden.” Eragon tried to thank him, but Ûndin shook his head. “No, it is not a matter for gratitude. It is my duty. I am only shamed that your stay was darkened by the hatred of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin.”
Eragon bowed, then boarded the first raft with Orik and Arya. The mooring ropes were unknotted, and the dwarves pushed away from shore with long poles. As dawn approached, the two rafts drifted toward the mouth of the Az Ragni, Saphira swimming between them.
DIAMONDS IN THE NIGHT
The Empire has violated my home.
So thought Roran as he listened to the anguished moans of the men injured during the previous night’s battle with the Ra’zac and soldiers. Roran shuddered with fear and rage until his whole body was consumed with feverish chills that left his cheeks burning and his breath short. And he was sad, so very sad... as if the Ra’zac’s deeds had destroyed the innocence of his childhood haunts.
Leaving the healer, Gertrude, tending to the wounded, Roran continued toward Horst’s house, noting the makeshift barriers that filled the gaps between buildings: the boards, the barrels, the piles of rocks, and the splintered frames of the two wagons destroyed by the Ra’zac’s explosives. It all seemed pitifully fragile.
The few people who moved through Carvahall were glassy-eyed with shock, grief, and exhaustion. Roran was tired too, more than he could ever remember being. He had not slept since the night before last, and his arms and back ached from the fighting.
He entered Horst’s house and saw Elain standing by the open doorway to the dining room, listening to the steady burn of conversation that emanated from within. She beckoned him over.
After they had foiled the Ra’zac’s counterattack, the prominent members of Carvahall had sequestered themselves in an attempt to decide what action the village should take and if Horst and his allies should be punished for initiating the hostilities. The group had been in deliberation most of the morning.
Roran peeked into the room. Seated around the long table were Birgit, Loring, Sloan, Gedric, Delwin, Fisk, Morn, and a number of others. Horst presided at the head of the table.
“... and I say that it was stupid and reckless!” exclaimed Kiselt, propping himself upright on his bony elbows. “You had no cause to endanger—”
Morn waved a hand. “We’ve been over this before. Whether what has been done should have been done is beside the point. I happen to agree with it — Quimby was my friend as much as anyone’s, and I shudder to think what those monsters would do with Roran — but... but what I want to know is how we can escape this predicament.”