A cheer rang in their ears as Saphira stepped into the hall and paraded down it. Eragon raised his hand, eliciting another roar from the throng, though many of the dwarves did not join the welcoming shout.
The mile-long hall ended in an arch flanked by black onyx pillars. Yellow zircons three times the size of a man capped the dark columns, coruscating piercing gold beams along the hall. Saphira stepped through the opening, then stopped and craned back her neck, humming deeply in her chest.
They were in a circular room, perhaps a thousand feet across, that reached up to Tronjheim’s peak a mile overhead, narrowing as it rose. The walls were lined with arches — one row for each level of the city-mountain — and the floor was made of polished carnelian, upon which was etched a hammer girdled by twelve silver pentacles, like on Orik’s helm.
The room was a nexus for four hallways — including the one they had just exited — that divided Tronjheim into quarters. The halls were identical except for the one opposite Eragon. To the right and left of that hall were tall arches that opened to descending stairs, which mirrored each other as they curved underground.
The ceiling was capped by a dawn-red star sapphire of monstrous size. The jewel was twenty yards across and nearly as thick. Its face had been carved to resemble a rose in full bloom, and so skilled was the craftsmanship, the flower almost seemed to be real. A wide belt of lanterns wrapped around the edge of the sapphire, which cast striated bands of blushing light over everything below. The flashing rays of the star within the gem made it appear as if a giant eye gazed down at them.
Eragon could only gape with wonder. Nothing had prepared him for this. It seemed impossible that Tronjheim had been built by mortal beings. The city-mountain shamed everything he had seen in the Empire. He doubted if even Urû’baen could match the wealth and grandeur displayed here. Tronjheim was a stunning monument to the dwarves’ power and perseverance.
The bald man walked in front of Saphira and said, “You must go on foot from here.” There was scattered booing from the crowd as he spoke. A dwarf took Tornac and Snowfire away. Eragon dismounted Saphira but stayed by her side as the bald man led them across the carnelian floor to the right-hand hallway.
They followed it for several hundred feet, then entered a smaller corridor. Their guards remained despite the cramped space. After four sharp turns, they came to a massive cedar door, stained black with age. The bald man pulled it open and conducted everyone but the guards inside.
A JIHAD
Eragon entered an elegant, two-story study paneled with rows of cedar bookshelves. A wrought-iron staircase wound up to a small balcony with two chairs and a reading table. White lanterns hung along the walls and ceiling so a book could be read anywhere in the room. The stone floor was covered by an intricate oval rug. At the far end of the room, a man stood behind a large walnut desk.
His skin gleamed the color of oiled ebony. The dome of his head was shaved bare, but a closely trimmed black beard covered his chin and upper lip. Strong features shadowed his face, and grave, intelligent eyes lurked under his brow. His shoulders were broad and powerful, emphasized by a tapered red vest embroidered with gold thread and clasped over a rich purple shirt. He bore himself with great dignity, exuding an intense, commanding air.
When he spoke, his voice was strong, confident: “Welcome to Tronjheim, Eragon and Saphira. I am Ajihad. Please, seat yourselves.”
Eragon slipped into an armchair next to Murtagh, while Saphira settled protectively behind them. Ajihad raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A man stepped out from behind the staircase. He was identical to the bald man beside him. Eragon stared at the two of them with surprise, and Murtagh stiffened. “Your confusion is understandable; they are twin brothers,” said Ajihad with a small smile. “I would tell you their names, but they have none.”
Saphira hissed with distaste. Ajihad watched her for a moment, then sat in a high-backed chair behind the desk. The Twins retreated under the stairs and stood impassively beside each other. Ajihad pressed his fingers together as he stared at Eragon and Murtagh. He studied them for a long time with an unwavering gaze.
Eragon squirmed, uncomfortable. After what seemed like several minutes, Ajihad lowered his hands and beckoned to the Twins. One of them hurried to his side. Ajihad whispered in his ear. The bald man suddenly paled and shook his head vigorously. Ajihad frowned, then nodded as if something had been confirmed.
He looked at Murtagh. “You have placed me in a difficult position by refusing to be examined. You have been allowed into Farthen Dûr because the Twins have assured me that they can control you and because of your actions on behalf of Eragon and Arya. I understand that there may be things you wish to keep hidden in your mind, but as long as you do, we cannot trust you.”
“You wouldn’t trust me anyway,” said Murtagh defiantly.
Ajihad’s face darkened as Murtagh spoke, and his eyes flashed dangerously. “Though it’s been twenty and three years since it last broke upon my ear. . I know that voice.” He stood ominously, chest swelling. The Twins looked alarmed and put their heads together, whispering frantically. “It came from another man, one more beast than human. Get up.”
Murtagh warily complied, his eyes darting between the Twins and Ajihad. “Remove your shirt,” ordered Ajihad. With a shrug, Murtagh pulled off his tunic. “Now turn around.” As he pivoted to the side, light fell upon the scar on his back.
“Murtagh,” breathed Ajihad. A grunt of surprise came from Orik. Without warning, Ajihad turned on the Twins and thundered, “Did you know of this?”
The Twins bowed their heads. “We discovered his name in Eragon’s mind, but we did not suspect that thisboy was the son of one as powerful as Morzan. It never occurred—”
“And you didn’t tell me?” demanded Ajihad. He raised a hand, forestalling their explanation. “We will discuss it later.” He faced Murtagh again. “First I must untangle this muddle. Do you still refuse to be probed?”
“Yes,” said Murtagh sharply, slipping back into his tunic. “I won’t let anyone inside my head.”
Ajihad leaned on his desk. “There will be unpleasant consequences if you don’t. Unless the Twins can certify that you aren’t a threat, we cannot give you credence, despite, and perhaps because of, the assistance you have given Eragon. Without that verification, the people here, dwarf and human alike, will tear you apart if they learn of your presence. I’ll be forced to keep you confined at all times — as much for your protection as for ours. It will only get worse once the dwarf king, Hrothgar, demands custody of you. Don’t force yourself into that situation when it can easily be avoided.”
Murtagh shook his head stubbornly. “No. . even if I were to submit, I would still be treated like a leper and an outcast. All I wish is to leave. If you let me do that peacefully, I’ll never reveal your location to the Empire.”
“What will happen if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix?” demanded Ajihad. “He will extract every secret from your mind, no matter how strong you may be. Even if you could resist him, how can we trust that you won’t rejoin him in the future? I cannot take that chance.”
“Will you hold me prisoner forever?” demanded Murtagh, straightening.
“No,” said Ajihad, “only until you let yourself be examined. If you are found trustworthy, the Twins will remove all knowledge of Farthen Dûr’s location from your mind before you leave. We won’t risk someone with those memories falling into Galbatorix’s hands. What is it to be, Murtagh? Decide quickly or else the path will be chosen for you.”
Just give in,Eragon pleaded silently, concerned for Murtagh’s safety.It’s not worth the fight.
Finally Murtagh spoke, the words slow and distinct. “My mind is the one sanctuary that has not been stolen from me. Men have tried to breach it before, but I’ve learned to defend it vigorously, for I am only safe with my innermost thoughts. You have asked for the one thing I cannot give, least of all to those two.” He gestured at the Twins. “Do with me what you will, but know this: death will take me before I’ll expose myself to their probing.”
Admiration glinted in Ajihad’s eyes. “I’m not surprised by your choice, though I had hoped otherwise. . Guards!” The cedar door slammed open as warriors rushed in, weapons ready. Ajihad pointed at Murtagh and commanded, “Take him to a windowless room and bar the door securely. Post six men by the entrance and allow no one inside until I come to see him. Do not speak to him, either.”
The warriors surrounded Murtagh, watching him suspiciously. As they left the study, Eragon caught Murtagh’s attention and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” Murtagh shrugged, then stared forward resolutely. He vanished into the hallway with the men. The sound of their feet faded into silence.
Ajihad said abruptly, “I want everyone out of this room but Eragon and Saphira. Now!”
Bowing, the Twins departed, but Orik said, “Sir, the king will want to know of Murtagh. And there is still the matter of my insubordination. . ”
Ajihad frowned, then waved his hand. “I will tell Hrothgar myself. As for your actions. . wait outside until I call for you. And don’t let the Twins get away. I’m not done with them, either.”
“Very well,” said Orik, inclining his head. He closed the door with a solid thump.
After a long silence, Ajihad sat with a tired sigh. He ran a hand over his face and stared at the ceiling. Eragon waited impatiently for him to speak. When nothing was forthcoming, he blurted, “Is Arya all right?”
Ajihad looked down at him and said gravely, “No. . but the healers tell me she will recover. They worked on her all through the night. The poison took a dreadful toll on her. She wouldn’t have lived if not for you. For that you have the Varden’s deepest thanks.”
Eragon’s shoulders slumped with relief. For the first time he felt that their flight from Gil’ead had been worth the effort. “So, what now?” he asked.
“I need you to tell me how you found Saphira and everything that’s happened since,” said Ajihad, forming a steeple with his fingers. “Some of it I know from the message Brom sent us, other parts from the Twins. But I want to hear it from you, especially the details concerning Brom’s death.”
Eragon was reluctant to share his experiences with a stranger, but Ajihad was patient.Go on, urged Saphira gently. Eragon shifted, then began his story. It was awkward at first but grew easier as he proceeded. Saphira helped him to remember things clearly with occasional comments. Ajihad listened intently the entire time.
Eragon talked for hours, often pausing between his words. He told Ajihad of Teirm, though he kept Angela’s fortunetelling to himself, and how he and Brom had found the Ra’zac. He even related his dreams of Arya. When he came to Gil’ead and mentioned the Shade, Ajihad’s face hardened, and he leaned back with veiled eyes.
When his narrative was complete, Eragon fell silent, brooding on all that had occurred. Ajihad stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and absently studied one of the bookshelves. After a time he returned to the desk.
“Brom’s death is a terrible loss. He was a close friend of mine and a powerful ally of the Varden. He saved us from destruction many times through his bravery and intelligence. Even now, when he is gone, he’s provided us with the one thing that can ensure our success — you.”
“But what can you expect me to accomplish?” asked Eragon.
“I will explain it in full,” said Ajihad, “but there are more urgent matters to be dealt with first. The news of the Urgals’ alliance with the Empire is extremely serious. If Galbatorix is gathering an Urgal army to destroy us, the Varden will be hard pressed to survive, even though many of us are protected here in Farthen Dûr. That a Rider, even one as evil as Galbatorix, would consider a pact with such monsters is indeed proof of madness. I shudder to think of what he promised them in return for their fickle loyalty. And then there is the Shade. Can you describe him?”
Eragon nodded. “He was tall, thin, and very pale, with red eyes and hair. He was dressed all in black.”
“What of his sword — did you see it?” asked Ajihad intensely. “Did it have a long scratch on the blade?”
“Yes,” said Eragon, surprised. “How did you know?”