The clan chief of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin pressed his hands flat against the table, veins bulging underneath his tanned skin. “If this Dragon Rider is a knurla in all but blood, then he is no guest and we may treat him as we would any of our enemies from a different clan.”

“Why, that’s preposterous!” exclaimed Orik, almost sputtering with outrage. “You can’t say he—”

“Still your tongue, if you please, Orik,” said Gannel. “Shouting will not settle this point. Orik, Nado, Íorûnn, if you will come with me.”

Worry began to gnaw at Eragon as the four dwarves went and conferred with the readers-of-law for several minutes. Surely they won’t let Vermûnd escape punishment just because of some verbal trickery! he thought.

Returning to the table, Íorûnn said, “The readers-of-law are unanimous. Even though Eragon is a sworn member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, he also holds positions of importance beyond our realm: namely, that of Dragon Rider, but also that of an official envoy of the Varden, sent by Nasuada to witness the coronation of our next ruler, and also that of a friend of high influence with Queen Islanzadí and her race as a whole. For those reasons, Eragon is due the same hospitality we would extend to any visiting ambassador, prince, monarch, or other person of significance.” The dwarf woman glanced sidelong at Eragon, her dark, flashing eyes bold upon his limbs. “In short, he is our honored guest, and we should treat him as such . . . which every knurla who is not cave-mad ought to know.”

“Aye, he is our guest,” concurred Nado. His lips were pinched and white and his cheeks drawn, as if he had just bitten into an apple only to discover it was not yet ripe.

“What say you now, Vermûnd?” demanded Gannel.

Rising from his seat, the purple-veiled dwarf looked around the table, gazing at each of the clan chiefs in turn. “I say this, and hear me well, grimstborithn: if any clan turns their ax against Az Sweldn rak Anhûin because of these false accusations, we shall consider it an act of war, and we shall respond appropriately. If you imprison me, that too we shall consider an act of war, and we shall respond appropriately.” Eragon saw Vermûnd’s veil twitch, and he thought the dwarf might have smiled underneath. “If you strike at us in any possible way, whether with steel or with words, no matter how mild your rebuke, we shall consider it an act of war, and we shall respond appropriately. Unless you are eager to rend our country into a thousand bloody scraps, I suggest you let the wind waft away this morning’s discussion and, in its place, fill your minds with thoughts of who should next rule from upon the granite throne.”

The clan chiefs sat in silence for a long while.

Eragon had to bite his tongue to keep from jumping onto the table and railing against Vermûnd until the dwarves agreed to hang him for his crimes. He reminded himself that he had promised Orik that he would follow Orik’s lead when dealing with the clanmeet. Orik is my clan chief, and I must let him respond to this as he sees fit.

Freowin unfolded his hands and slapped the table with a meaty palm. With his hoarse baritone voice, which carried throughout the room, although it seemed no louder than a whisper, the corpulent dwarf said, “You have shamed our race, Vermûnd. We cannot retain our honor as knurlan and ignore your trespass.”

The elderly dwarf woman, Hadfala, shuffled her sheaf of rune-covered pages and said, “What did you think to accomplish, besides our doom, by killing Eragon? Even if the Varden could unseat Galbatorix without him, what of the sorrow the dragon Saphira would rain down upon us if we slew her Rider? She would fill Farthen Dûr with a sea of our own blood.”

Not a word came from Vermûnd.

Laughter broke the quiet. The sound was so unexpected, at first Eragon did not realize it was coming from Orik. His mirth subsiding, Orik said, “If we move against you or Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, you will consider it an act of war, Vermûnd? Very well, then we shall not move against you, not at all.”

Vermûnd’s brow beetled. “How can this provide you with a source of amusement?”

Orik chuckled again. “Because I have thought of something you have not, Vermûnd. You wish us to leave you and your clan alone? Then I propose to the clanmeet that we do as Vermûnd wishes. If Vermûnd had acted upon his own and not as a grimstborith, he would be banished for his offenses upon pain of death. Therefore, let us treat the clan as we would treat the person; let us banish Az Sweldn rak Anhûin from our hearts and minds until they choose to replace Vermûnd with a grimstborith of a more moderate temperament and until they acknowledge their villainy and repent of it to the clanmeet, even if we must wait a thousand years.”

The wrinkled skin around Vermûnd’s eyes went pale. “You would not dare.”

Orik smiled. “Ah, but we would not lay a finger upon you or your kind. We will simply ignore you and refuse to trade with Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. Will you declare war upon us for doing nothing, Vermûnd? For if the meet agrees with me, that is exactly what we shall do: nothing. Will you force us at swordpoint to buy your honey and your cloth and your amethyst jewelry? You have not the warriors to compel us so.” Turning to the rest of the table, Orik asked, “What say the rest of you?”

The clanmeet did not take long to decide. One by one, the clan chiefs stood and voted to banish Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. Even Nado, Gáldhiem, and Havard—Vermûnd’s erstwhile allies—supported Orik’s proposal. With every vote of affirmation, what skin was visible of Vermûnd’s face grew ever whiter, until he appeared like a ghost dressed in the clothes of his former life.