Eragon understood that this was another sign of otho, of “faith,” on Hrothgar’s part. “I couldn’t ask for a better guide.”

“That is good,” said the king, clearly pleased. “Unfortunately, I cannot speak with you much longer. My advisors wait for me, as there are matters I must deal with. I will say this, though: If you wish the support of the dwarves within my realm, you must first prove yourself to them. We have long memories and do not rush to hasty decisions. Words will decide nothing, only deeds.”

“I will keep that in mind,” said Eragon, bowing again.

Hrothgar nodded regally. “You may go, then.”

Eragon turned with Saphira, and they proceeded out of the hall of the mountain king. Orik was waiting for them on the other side of the stone doors, an anxious expression on his face. He fell in with them as they climbed back up to Tronjheim’s main chamber. “Did all go well? Were you received favorably?”

“I think so. But your king is cautious,” said Eragon.

“That is how he has survived this long.”

I would not want Hrothgar angry at us,observed Saphira.

Eragon glanced at her.No, I wouldn’t either. I’m not sure what he thought of you—he seems to disapprove of dragons, though he didn’t say it outright.

That seemed to amuse Saphira.In that he is wise, especially since he’s barely knee-high to me.

In Tronjheim’s center, under the sparkling Isidar Mithrim, Orik said, “Your blessing yesterday has stirred up the Varden like an overturned beehive. The child Saphira touched has been hailed as a future hero. She and her guardian have been quartered in the finest rooms. Everyone is talking about your ‘miracle.’ All the human mothers seem intent on finding you and getting the same for their children.”

Alarmed, Eragon furtively looked around. “What should we do?”

“Aside from taking back your actions?” asked Orik dryly. “Stay out of sight as much as possible. Everyone will be kept out of the dragonhold, so you won’t be disturbed there.”

Eragon did not want to return to the dragonhold yet. It was early in the day, and he wanted to explore Tronjheim with Saphira. Now that they were out of the Empire, there was no reason for them to be apart. But he wanted to avoid attention, which would be impossible with her at his side.Saphira, what do you want to do?

She nosed him, scales brushing his arm.I’ll return to the dragonhold. There’s someone there I want to meet. Wander around as long as you like.

All right,he said,but who do you want to meet? Saphira only winked a large eye at him before padding down one of Tronjheim’s four main tunnels.

Eragon explained to Orik where she was going, then said, “I’d like some breakfast. And then I’d like to see more of Tronjheim; it’s such an incredible place. I don’t want to go to the training grounds until tomorrow, as I’m still not fully recovered.”

Orik nodded, his beard bobbing on his chest. “In that case, would you like to visit Tronjheim’s library? It’s quite old and contains many scrolls of great value. You might find it interesting to read a history of Alagaësia that hasn’t been tainted by Galbatorix’s hand.”

With a pang, Eragon remembered how Brom had taught him to read. He wondered if he still had the skill. A long time had passed since he had seen any written words. “Yes, let’s do that.”

“Very well.”

After they ate, Orik guided Eragon through myriad corridors to their destination. When they reached the library’s carved arch, Eragon stepped through it reverently.

The room reminded him of a forest. Rows of graceful colonnades branched up to the dark, ribbed ceiling five stories above. Between the pillars, black-marble bookcases stood back to back. Racks of scrolls covered the walls, interspersed with narrow walkways reached by three twisting staircases. Placed at regular intervals around the walls were pairs of facing stone benches. Between them were small tables whose bases flowed seamlessly into the floor.

Countless books and scrolls were stored in the room. “This is the true legacy of our race,” said Orik. “Here reside the writings of our greatest kings and scholars, from antiquity to the present. Also recorded are the songs and stories composed by our artisans. This library may be our most precious possession. It isn’t all our work, though—there are human writings here as well. Yours is a short-lived—but prolific—race. We have little or nothing of the elves’. They guard their secrets jealously.”

“How long may I stay?” asked Eragon, moving toward the shelves.

“As long as you want. Come to me if you have any questions.”

Eragon browsed through the volumes with delight, reaching eagerly for those with interesting titles or covers. Surprisingly, dwarves used the same runes to write as humans. He was somewhat disheartened by how hard reading was after months of neglect. He skipped from book to book, slowly working his way deep into the vast library. Eventually he became immersed in a translation of poems by Dóndar, the tenth dwarf king.

As he scanned the graceful lines, unfamiliar footsteps approached from behind the bookcase. The sound startled him, but he berated himself for being silly—he could not be the only person in the library. Even so, he quietly replaced the book and slipped away, senses alert for danger. He had been ambushed too many times to ignore such feelings. He heard the footsteps again; only now there were two sets of them. Apprehensive, he darted across an opening, trying to remember exactly where Orik was sitting. He sidestepped around a corner and started as he found himself face to face with the Twins.