INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

TABLE OF KINGS

Zidda's face glowed an ominous brown in the light of the candle that stuck out from the roasted corpse of a boar that was laid beside him.

"Of that I do not doubt, but you would be best off if you did not speak such things. It will not matter- after this feast we will be on our way."

Murtagh had almost forgotten.

The feast was being thrown for him. Rather, the men chosen to lead Nasuada to the Dwarf kingdoms. They were twelve- Twelve hardy and skilled fighters that Orrin picked himself.

Murtagh was the first of the picked, and Orrin, in his pride, would not go back on his word. There was a clicking, glass against glass, and conversation died as heads turned towards the sound.

Orrin stood, shining in a tunic laced with gold, long sleeved with flared cuffs. He wore pants fashioned from soft silk. His crown shone on his head, and the jeweled sword he maimed Murtagh with hung from a black belt.

"Tonight, we gather in honor of freedom. In honor of truth, and in honor of justice." Orrin paused, his eyes lingering at no-one in particular, and then started anew.

"For too long we have suffered blunder after blunder under the heel of Galbatorix. For too long we have paid for his sins. The Gods themselves spurn his prayers, and in the deep cold of night, the mother weeps, begging for a savior.

My fellow countrymen, this land was just the beginning. With the treaty we will strike with the Dwarves, Varden territory will stretch from Surda to the edges of the homeland . . . and with that, our allies, still shackled with bonds born of treachery, will announce their intentions. My fellow Lords; those of you who left your keeps and castles to march down into this desert- I know the pain. I know that your bravery was met with death, deaths to your house and kin, pillaging of your lands. But I promise you this, you will be avenged. I have received word that the great northern House Pike has liberated Gil'ead, cutting of Galbatorix's expansion in the North. Even now, they root out Imperial loyalists and gather lesser houses to their name. The Great Houses of the East and West will join us, once the dwarves have added their strength to ours. This is our hour, this is our time, and I am your KING!" Orrin cried, and the men of the table cheered and roared, banging cups on the fine wood.

The sound hit Murtagh's ears with a crescendo of noise, and even Zidda smiled. Murtagh however remained silent, a lock of his raven-black hair falling between his eyes.

This fool has no idea what he is dealing with.

Murtagh intended to flee for home once they left. He would take Zidda with him, and then kill the Dwarves and leave Nasuada along with  the rest helpless in the desert.

He had no great ill will towards them, but they were Orrin's pets, and had been aloof to his own suffering. He had not told Zidda . . . but he would, when the time was right. Orrin sat, and Killian spoke next, his voice muffled by his mask, which provided only a small square of mouth visible.

"The Langfeld line has persisted from the beginning of time. We united the mainland, fought off invasions from Elf and Dwarf and Urgal.

We helped the ancient order of the Riders and turned enemies into friends. Even now I hear that Elves run from their homeland, waiting for us to reach the Dwarves, and some others taking up space with declared houses, vowing themselves to our cause." Killian coughed. A man approached with a napkin, dabbing at the corner of his mouth.

Killian grabbed the man's arm, pulling him harshly down to the face of the table's hard surface. The man crashed against dishes and food, a splash of blood falling from the servant. Killian resumed.

"With this treaty, we sign Galbatorix's doom."

The room was silent save for a few scattered claps.

Orrin frowned, his fingers twitching. Two men came to drag the servant away from the table. Killian watched impassively, before turning to his own meal, casually rebuilding his plate.

"That was ill-done." Murtagh muttered, to no one at all. But one of the Twins looked up at him suddenly, and smiled. Murtagh averted his eyes immediately, and when he looked back again, the man had turned his attentions back to those around him.

The feast ended shortly after.

Murtagh left for the stables. His companions were with him then, Zidda among them. The Dwarves were found as well, silent and stoic.

Nasuada and Nasuadon were among the stables as well, horses being brought out before them. In the end, they each received three horses for the journey. The Dwarves had their own steeds, hardy and thick mares that they claimed would be able to carry them home and back, even from the edge of the earth.

They rode their horses out from the stables.

Orrin stood with his father, shining in the dark night. A small crowd of nobles cheered them, and Orrin stopped the party before they were off.

"Once you secure the Dwarves, we will ride for the mainland." He promised, and pressed Nasuada's thigh.

"I wish you luck here." She said, her voice deep. Nasuadon bowed his head silently.

Orrin turned his head towards Murtagh, grinning. He said nothing, but let his eyes linger on the bandage that hugged Murtagh's face.

"For Alagaesia!" He cried. The crowd clapped, cheering and laughing.

They rode from the Tower then, into the deep desert where Murtagh promised himself that they will meet their doom.