I found the thing I hated most about dwarves.

They were entirely too comfortable digging tunnels miles long and not having anything to light the damn things with.

Yeah, illuminating tunnels when they weren’t heavily used would probably be a massive waste of resources but I’m sure they could have come up with something. It also didn’t help that the rest of my traveling companions seemed mostly fine with our situation. Orik, who had been chosen by the dwarven king as a representative to oversee Eragon’s training, was naturally fine. Arya, being an ambassador for the elves, had probably traveled these tunnels often. But even Eragon and Saphira seemed to be handling the journey better than I was.

It didn’t help that I had accidentally scared Eragon off talking to me for a bit after I snapped at him. The feeling of being trapped was definitely making me irritable.

So we ended up walking what seemed like forever down a dark corridor with only a couple torches for light and featureless stone walls for scenery. Needless to say, I was getting a little claustrophobic by the time we made it to the exit. So much so that I didn’t even mind nearly going blind from the sudden light from the sun.

While I was enjoying the open skies and the sun on my face we got our first look at Tarnag, our destination. It was actually a really cool looking city.

The dwarves had carved ‘steps’ into the mountain to allow areas for farming and give them room for the city itself, almost like a fantasy Machu Picchu, all leading up to a massive gold and white dome that Orik explained was a temple to the dwarven gods.

As we walked Eragon was getting an impromptu history lesson about surface-dwelling dwarves and how they were forced to abandon most of their cities after the fall of the Riders since Galbatorix’s Forsworn would often fly though the mountain range, killing anything they found.

Little else happened while we made our way towards Tarnag. A scout stopped us to find out who we were, but it seemed like a routine thing considering the dwarf would have to be a special kind of stupid to mistake Saphira for anything other than Eragon’s dragon. The scout had more likely been the one to run back to the city and prep the welcoming party that greeted us outside the gates and offered to shelter us while we were in the city. It would have been a lot more impressive if the dwarves hadn’t been riding…well, there was no better way to put it…they were riding giant mountain goats.

It would have been ridiculous if it wasn’t for the fact the dwarves clearly respected the animals, and Orik’s earlier explanation that the Feldûnost were relied on for milk, wool, and meat let us know just how high the dwarves’ level of respect was. Basically, without that one animal living in the Beors would be impossible.

Once we were inside the city things started to get…interesting.

Right before we left Tronjheim, King Hrothgar had offered to adopt Eragon into his clan. This made the Rider, culturally, a Dwarf belonging to Clan Ingeitum. Not necessarily a bad thing considering it gave the Dwarves a link to Eragon beyond just being allies to the Varden, but it had consequences. By its very nature the adoption was a slight to the other twelve Clans. Something that was pretty obvious by the angry glares and even angrier shouting coming from some of the crowd once they saw the clan symbol on Eragon’s helm marking him as a member of the Durgrimst Ingeitum.

I was glad neither Eragon or Saphira had any idea what was being shouted at them because if they did… well, angry dragons tended to be rough on crowds.

I did have to admire the sheer gall of the one idiot who decided to call a Dragon Rider that killed a Shade a ‘whoreson spawn of a male goat milk drinker’. Though I think he was one of the ones that was banking on us not knowing dwarven considering how much he paled before fleeing into the crowd when I fixed him with a particularly unimpressed look.

If that wasn’t interesting enough, our next bit of excitement came when right before we made it to our final destination a group of armed dwarves ran out from the surrounding buildings and formed a thick line, blocking us from moving forward. Long purple veils covered their faces and draped over their shoulders.

The one I assumed was the leader cried.

The veiled dwarf began to rant angrily for a while, even drawing our local guide into an argument. This was going to end in blood or tears; several dwarves were reaching for weapons only to check themselves and move their hands away.

And then the veiled dwarf looked at Eragon; more importantly he looked at the clan crest.

the dwarf screamed in disbelieving horror. Yup, time to step in before someone starts a clan war.

Instantly complete an utter silence.

alive during the Dragon War is…rather stupid. Especially since his goal is to dethrone the king.> I continued, happily ignoring the fact everyone was staring only at me. I seemed destined to piss off entire groups of people in this dimension.

The dwarf in front of me was so mad that what little skin I could see was so dark with rage I was half expecting him to pop a blood vessel.

I replied pleasantly.

This time when hands went to their weapons, they tended to stay there. To counter some hot headed idiot from deciding a brawl was better than…whatever they were hoping to accomplish, I released a trickle of mana into the air.

See, the thing about mana is; it conducts things. Sounds stupid, I know, but that’s how people that could tap into the stuff and use it managed to convey the intent to make a small fire on top of their hand instead of say, lighting their hand on fire.

What I allowed my mana to conduct was my certainty that if anyone attacked, they would be the first to regret it. Otherwise known as Killing Intent. Something I rarely used because the impact of technique was dependent on the target’s sensitivity and easily ignored under the right circumstances. But with all of their attention on me? Oh, they felt my Intent alright. Just enough to make them hesitate.

Of course that didn’t mean I could influence them to make a smart decision - they had already decided lining up in front of a dragon and insulting her and her Rider was a good idea - so I was unsurprised when the lead dwarf pulled an iron ring from his pocket, pulled three hairs from his beard, wrapped them around the ring, and threw it at Eragon’s feet. I was a little surprised when proceeded to pull out a dagger and cut his palm with it. Blood welled from the cut and the dwarf used his injured hand to yank off his necklace before throwing that at me as well. Then, without another word, the purple dwarves filed away.

Gasps rang out from the guards meaning something significant had just happened beyond me getting a bloody piece of jewelry thrown at me but I had no idea what it was. And I had failed to stop the veiled dwarf from declaring a clan war against Eragon as well.

I was starting to not like this city.

“Well, that happened.”

“That happened, she says.” Orik scoffed as he picked up the ring and placed it in a pouch. He also handed me the necklace, but treated it as if it was something disgusting.

“What do those mean?” Eragon asked, visibly unsettled by the turn of events.

“It means,” our guide said. “that you have enemies.”

-o-

After our little encounter we were quickly ushered off the streets and into the great hall of the Clan chief. Our hosts, Ûndin; clan chief of Dûrgrimst Ragni Hefthyn and Gannel; clan chief of Dûrgrimst Quan, had greeted us in an open courtyard but had sent us to some guest rooms to give us some time to freshen up in preparation for a feast after Orik presented the ring the veiled dwarf threw at Eragon and had me do the same for the necklace. Both leaders were visibly taken aback by the objects.

In our absence Ûndin had called a few additional guards but didn’t seem to be expecting an attack. So the feast continued as planned, Eragon sitting to the right of Ûndin with Orik beside him and Arya and myself sitting directly across.

We had barely sat down when Ûndin slammed a hand on the table and called for the food to be brought out.

A parade of gourmet dishes poured out of the kitchens but the centerpiece easily held my attention. It’s hard to appreciate a mushroom carved to look like a castle when it's placed next to a boar the size of a horse.

“Nagra,” Orik whispered to Eragon, just loudly enough for me to overhear. “Giant boar. Ûndin truly honors you tonight, Eragon. Only the bravest dwarves dare hunt Nagran, and it's only served to those who have great valor.”

I can see why. The tusks on this thing are basically short swords and it's big enough that hitting a vital organ not only takes both strength and skill, but that it also might kill you through sheer momentum alone even if you do manage to stab it.

Ûndin started things off by taking the first bite and declaring it safe to eat. The rest of us dug in soon after. I spent most of the meal talking to one of the servers who apparently was also one of the cooks. We ended up playing a fun game - for me - where I tried to guess the ingredients and techniques that went into every dish. Something incredibly easy with structural analysis but I tried to limit my usage of it to make things more fun. I really only used it when the prick started giving me dishes with ingredients I had no way of guessing because they relied on mushrooms only found in the Beors.

Jerk.

Anyway, the feast ended up lasting long into the afternoon simply due to the size of it and everyone was enjoying themselves. Then Ûndin fucked it up by indirectly treating Saphira as just another animal when he said he moved the feast just so she could be there.

Not exactly the best idea with her Rider right there. And Eragon proved himself to be every inch a petty human teenager in revenge.

“Saphira and I thank you.” Followed by, “Sir, why were those things thrown at us?”

Silence quickly filled the courtyard as nearly every dwarf scowled.

Ûndin sighed and looked between Eragon and myself. “The knurlagn you met are of a tragic clan. Are either of you familiar with the tale?”

Eragon shook his head.

“Only the basics,” I admitted, it would be weird for me to have called them out earlier and then suddenly claim to not know who they were. “The clan fully supported the Rider’s during the Fall. But between that and them living to the west, nearly every member of the clan was killed except for a woman named Anhûin and her guard. The clan renamed themselves after her when she died.”

“A decent understanding, though you are right. That is only the basics of the story.” Ûndin nodded. “Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, or the Tears of Anhûin in common, have sworn themselves to revenge and have dedicated long decades of rebuilding in order to achieve it. And then you, Eragon, appear before them wearing Hrothgar’s mark. To them, it is the ultimate insult, no matter your service in Farthen Dûr. Thus the ring, the ultimate challenge. Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has set them utterly against you and will oppose you in every matter, large or small.”

“Rather short sighted of them, since Eragon could very well be their best hope of getting rid of Galbatorix.” I commented.

“Hold your tongue!” Ûndin snapped. “You may disagree with their actions but the sacrifice of their clan demands your respect.”

I disagreed, but didn’t say so just to keep the peace.

“What about the necklace?” Eragon asked, trying to shift topics.

The clan leader sighed. “If the ring is the ultimate challenge then the necklace is the ultimate declaration, though the tradition is more for the clan symbol rather than a necklace specifically. It means there will never be a reconciliation between the clan and the receiver. They will do their utmost to ensure you perish by their hand.”

“They mean to harm us then?” the Rider asked.

Ûndin faltered a little and shot a look to Gannel before forcing a laugh that was just a bit too loud to be genuine.

“No, Shadeslayer, Lightbringer! It is forbidden to harm a guest. For as long as you remind guests of our hall not even they would dare.”

Somehow I don’t think any of us believed that.