Vel Du Vindr abr Wyrda

by whattoname

What if, in a slight change of fate, the Varden managed to wrestle two eggs from Galbatorix's grasp. How would this change the story? Stick around and find out.

10. Chapter 9

Roran leaned on one knee and scratched his new beard as he looked down at Narda.

The small town was dark and compact, like a crust of rye bread tamped into a crevasse along the coast. Beyond it, the wine red sea glimmered with the last rays of the dying sunset. The water fascinated him; it was utterly different from the landscape he was accustomed to.

We made it.

Leaving the promontory, Roran walked back to his makeshift tent, enjoying deep breaths of the salty air. They had camped high in the foothills of the Spine in order to avoid detection by anyone who might alert the Empire as to their whereabouts. As he strode among the clumps of villagers huddled beneath the trees, Roran surveyed their condition with sorrow and anger. The trek from Palancar Valley had left people sick, battered, and exhausted; their faces gaunt from lack of food; their clothes tattered. Most everyone wore rags tied around their hands to ward off frostbite during the frigid mountain nights. Weeks of carrying heavy packs had bowed once-proud shoulders. The worst sight was the children: thin and unnaturally still.

They deserve better, thought Roran. I'd be in the clutches of the Ra'zac right now if they hadn't protected me.

Numerous people approached Roran, most of whom wanted nothing more than a touch on the shoulder or a word of comfort. Some offered him bits of food, which he refused or, when they insisted, gave to someone else. Those who remained at a distance watched with round, pale eyes. He knew what they said about him, that he was mad, that spirits possessed him, that not even the Ra'zac could defeat him in battle.

Crossing the Spine had been even harder than Roran expected. The only paths in the forest were game trails, which were too narrow, steep, and meandering for their group. As a result, the villagers were often forced to chop their way through the trees and underbrush, a painstaking task that everyone despised, not least because it made it easy for the Empire to track them. The one advantage to the situation was that the exercise restored Roran's injured shoulder to its previous level of strength, although he still had trouble lifting his arm at certain angles.

Other hardships took their toll. A sudden storm trapped them on a bare pass high above the timberline. Three people froze in the snow: Hida, Brenna, and Nesbit, all of whom were quite old. That night was the first time Roran was convinced that the entire village would die because they had followed him. Soon after, a boy broke his arm in a fall, and then Southwell drowned in a glacier stream. Wolves and bears preyed upon their livestock on a regular basis, ignoring the watchfires that the villagers lit once they were concealed from Palancar Valley and Galbatorix's hated soldiers. Hunger clung to them like a relentless parasite, gnawing at their bellies, devouring their strength, and sapping their will to continue. And yet they survived, displaying the same obstinacy and fortitude that kept their ancestors in Palancar Valley despite famine, war, and pestilence. The people of Carvahall might take an age and a half to reach a decision, but once they did, nothing could deter them from their course.

Now that they had reached Narda, a sense of hope and accomplishment permeated the camp. No one knew what would happen next, but the fact that they had gotten so far gave them confidence.

We won't be safe until we leave the Empire, thought Roran. And it's up to me to ensure that we aren't caught. I've become responsible for everyone here... A responsibility that he had embraced wholeheartedly because it allowed him to both protect the villagers from Galbatorix and pursue his goal of rescuing Katrina. It's been so long since she was captured. How can she still be alive?

He shuddered and pushed the thoughts away. True madness awaited him if he allowed himself to brood over Katrina's fate.

At dawn Roran, Horst, Baldor, Loring's three sons, and Gertrude set out for Narda. They descended from the foothills to the town's main road, careful to stay hidden until they emerged onto the lane. Here in the lowlands, the air seemed thick to Roran; it felt as if he were trying to breathe underwater. Roran gripped the hammer at his belt as they approached Narda's gate.

Two soldiers guarded the opening. They examined Roran's group with hard eyes, lingering on their ragged clothes, then lowered their poleaxes and barred the entrance. "Where'd you be from?" asked the man on the right. He could not have been older than twenty-five, but his hair was already pure white.

Swelling his chest, Horst crossed his arms and said, "Roundabouts Teirm, if it please you."

"What brings you here?"

"Trade. We were sent by shopkeepers who want to buy goods directly from Narda, instead of through the usual merchants."

"That so, eh? What goods?"

When Horst faltered, Gertrude said, "Herbs and medicine on my part. The plants I've received from here have either been too old or moldy and spoiled. I have to procure a fresh supply."

"And my brothers and I," said Darmmen, "came to bargain with your cobblers. Shoes made in the northern style are fashionable in Dras-Leona and Urû'baen." He grimaced. "At least they were when we set out."

Horst nodded with renewed confidence. "Aye. And I'm here to collect a shipment of ironwork for my master."

"So you say. What about that one? What does he do?" asked the soldier, motioning toward Roran with his ax.

"Pottery," said Roran.

"Pottery?"

"Pottery."

"Why the hammer, then?"

"How do you think the glaze on a bottle or jar gets cracked? It doesn't happen by itself, you know. You have to hit it." Roran returned the white-haired man's stare of disbelief with a blank expression, daring him to challenge the statement.

The soldier grunted and ran his gaze over them again. "Be as that may, you don't look like tradesmen to me. Starved alley cats is more like it."

"We had difficulty on the road," said Gertrude.

"That I'd believe. If you came from Teirm, where be your horses?"

"We left them at our camp," supplied Hamund. He pointed south, opposite where the rest of the villagers were actually hidden.

"Don't have the coin to stay in town, eh?" With a scornful chuckle, the soldier raised his ax and gestured for his companion to do likewise. "All right, you can pass, but don't cause trouble or you'll be off to the stocks or worse."

Once through the gate, Horst pulled Roran to the side of the street and growled in his ear, "That was a fool thing to do, making up something as ridiculous as that. Cracking the glaze! Do you want a fight? We can't-"

He stopped as Gertrude plucked at his sleeve. "Look," murmured the healer.

To the left of the entrance stood a six-foot-wide message board with a narrow shingle roof to protect the yellowing parchment underneath. Half the board was devoted to official notices and proclamations. On the other half hung a block of posters displaying sketches of various criminals. Foremost among them was a drawing of Roran without a beard.

Startled, Roran glanced around to make sure that no one in the street was close enough to compare his face to the illustration, then devoted his attention to the poster. He had expected the Empire to pursue them, but it was still a shock to encounter proof of it.

Galbatorix must be expending an enormous amount of resources trying to catch us.

When they were in the Spine, it was easy to forget that the outside world existed.

I bet posters of me are nailed up throughout the Empire.

He grinned, glad that he had stopped shaving and that he and the others had agreed to use false names while in Narda. A reward was inked at the bottom of the poster. Garrow never taught Roran and Eragon to read, but he did teach them their figures because, as he said, "You have to know how much you own, what it's worth, and what you're paid for it so you don't get rooked by some two-faced knave." Thus, Roran could see that the Empire had offered ten thousand crowns for him, enough to live in comfort for several decades. In a perverse way, the size of the reward pleased him, giving him a sense of importance.

Then his gaze drifted to the next poster in line. It was Eragon.

Roran's gut clenched as if he had been struck, and for a few seconds he forgot to breathe. He's alive!

After his initial relief subsided, Roran felt his old anger about Eragon's role in Garrow's death and the destruction of their farm take its place, accompanied by a burning desire to know why the Empire was hunting Eragon. It must have something to do with those stones and the Ra'zac's first visit to Carvahall.

Once again, Roran wondered what kind of fiendish machinations he and the rest of Carvahall had become entangled in. Instead of a reward, Eragon's poster bore two lines of runes.

"What crime is he accused of?" Roran asked Gertrude.

The skin around Gertrude's eyes wrinkled as she squinted at the board. "Treason, the both of you. It says Galbatorix will bestow an earldom on whoever captures Eragon, but that those who try should take care because he's extremely dangerous."

Roran blinked with astonishment.

Extremely dangerous? Eragon?

It seemed inconceivable until Roran considered how he himself had changed in the past few weeks. The same blood runs in our veins. Who knows, Eragon may have accomplished as much or more than I have since he left.

In a low voice, Baldor said, "If killing Galbatorix's men and defying the Ra'zac only earns you ten thousand crowns- large as that is- what makes you worth an earldom?"

"Buggering the king himself," suggested Larne.

"That's enough of that," said Horst. "Guard your tongue better, Baldor, or we'll end up in irons. And, Roran, don't draw attention to yourself again. With a reward like that, people are bound to be watching strangers for anyone who matches your description."

Running a hand through his hair, Horst pulled up his belt and said, "Right. We all have jobs to do. Return here at noon to report on your progress."

With that their party split into three. Darmmen, Larne, and Hamund set out together to purchase food for the villagers, both to meet present needs and to sustain them through the next stage of their journey.

Gertrude- as she had told the guard- went to replenish her stock of herbs, unguents, and tinctures.

Roran, Horst, and Baldor headed down the sloping streets to the docks, where they hoped to charter a ship that could transport the villagers to Surda or, at the very least, Teirm.

When they reached the weathered boardwalk that covered the beach, Roran halted and stared out at the ocean, which was gray from low clouds and dotted with whitecaps from erratic wind. He had never imagined that the horizon could be so perfectly flat. The hollow boom of water knocking against the piles beneath his feet made it feel as if he stood upon the surface of a huge drum. The odor of fish- fresh, gutted, and rotting- overwhelmed every other smell.

Glancing from Roran to Baldor, who was likewise entranced, Horst said, "Quite a sight, isn't it?"

"Aye," said Roran. "Makes you feel rather small, doesn't it?"

"Aye," said Baldor. Horst nodded. "I remember when I first saw the ocean, it had a similar effect on me."

"When was that?" asked Roran. In addition to the flocks of seagulls whirling over the cove, he noticed an odd type of bird perched upon the piers. The animal had an ungainly body with a striped beak that it kept tucked against its breast like a pompous old man, a white head and neck, and a sooty torso. One of the birds lifted its beak, revealing a leathery pouch underneath.

"Bartram, the smith who came before me," said Horst, "died when I was fifteen, a year before the end of my apprenticeship. I had to find a smith who was willing to finish another man's work, so I traveled to Ceunon, which is built along the North Sea. There I met Kelton, a vile old man but good at what he did. He agreed to teach me." Horst laughed. "By the time we were done, I wasn't sure if I should thank him or curse him."

"Thank him, I should think," said Baldor. "You never would have married Mother otherwise."

Roran scowled as he studied the waterfront. "There aren't many ships," he observed. Two craft were berthed at the south end of the port and a third at the opposite side with nothing but fishing boats and dinghies in between. Of the southern pair, one had a broken mast. Roran had no experience with ships but, to him, none of the vessels appeared large enough to carry almost three hundred passengers. Going from one ship to the next, Roran, Horst, and Baldor soon discovered that they were all otherwise engaged.

It would take a month or more to repair the ship with the broken mast.

The vessel beside it, the Waverunner, was rigged with leather sails and was about to venture north to the treacherous islands where the Seithr plant grew.

And the Albatross, the last ship, had just arrived from distant Feinster and was getting its seams recaulked before departing with its cargo of wool.

A dockworker laughed at Horst's questions. "You're too late and too early at the same time. Most of the spring ships came and left two, three weeks ago. An' another month, the nor'westers will start gusting, an' then the seal and walrus hunters will return and we'll get ships from Teirm and the rest of the Empire to take the hides, meat, and oil. Then you might have a chance of hiring a captain with an empty hold. Meanwhile, we don't see much more traffic than this."

Desperate, Roran asked, "Is there no other way to get goods from here to Teirm? It doesn't have to be fast or comfortable."

"Well," said the man, hefting the box on his shoulder, "if it doesn't have to be fast an' you're only going to Teirm, then you might try Clovis over there." He pointed to a line of sheds that floated between two piers where boats could be stored. "He owns some barges that he ships grain on in the fall. The rest of the year, Clovis fishes for a living, like most everybody in Narda." Then he frowned. "What kind of goods do you have? The sheep have already been shorn, an' no crops are in as of yet."

"This and that," said Horst. He tossed the man a copper. The dockworker pocketed it with a wink and a nudge. "Right you are, sir. This an' that. I know a dodge when I see one. But no need to fear old Ulric; mum's th' word, it is. Be seeing you, then, sir." He strolled off, whistling.

As it turned out, Clovis was absent from the docks. After getting directions, it took them a half hour to walk to his house on the other side of Narda, where they found Clovis planting iris bulbs along the path to his front door. He was a stout man with sunburned cheeks and a salt and pepper beard. An additional hour passed before they could convince the mariner that they really were interested in his barges, despite the season, and then troop back to the sheds, which he unlocked to reveal three identical barges, the Merrybell, Edeline, and Red Boar. Each barge was seventy five feet long, twenty feet wide, and painted rust red. They had open holds that could be covered with tarpaulins, a mast that could be erected in the center for a single square sail, and a block of above decks cabins at the rear- or aft, as Clovis called it- of the craft.

"Their draft be deeper than that of an inland scow," explained Clovis, "so you needn't fear them capsizing in rough weather, though you'd do well to avoid being caught in a real tempest. These barges aren't meant for the open sea. They're meant to stay within sight of land. And now be the worst time to launch them. By my honor, we've had nothing but thunderstorms every afternoon for a month."

"Do you have crews for all three?" asked Roran.

"Well now... see, there's a problem. Most of the men I employ left weeks ago to hunt seals, as they're wont to do. Since I need them only after the harvest, they're free to come and go as they please for the rest of the year... I'm sure you fine gentlemen understand my position." Clovis tried to smile, then glanced between Roran, Horst, and Baldor as if uncertain whom to address.

Roran walked the length of the Edeline, examining it for damage. The barge looked old, but the wood was sound and the paint was fresh. "If we replace the missing men in your crews, how much would it cost to go to Teirm with all three barges?"

"That depends," said Clovis. "The sailors earn fifteen coppers per day, plus as much good food as they can eat and a dram of whisky besides. What your men earn be your own business. I won't put them on my payroll. Normally, we also hire guards for each barge, but they're- "

"They're off hunting, yes," said Roran. "We'll provide guards as well."

The knob in Clovis's tanned throat jumped as he swallowed. "That'd be more than reasonable... so it would. In addition to the crew's wages, I charge a fee of two hundred crowns, plus recompense for any damage to the barges on account of your men, plus- as both owner and captain- twelve percent of the total profit from sale of the cargo."

"Our trip will have no profit."

That, more than anything, seemed to unnerve Clovis. He rubbed the dimple in his chin with his left thumb, began to talk twice, stopped, then finally said, "If that be the case, another four hundred crowns upon completion of the voyage. What- if I may make so bold as to inquire- do you wish to transport?"

We frighten him, thought Roran. "Livestock."

"Be it sheep, cattle, horses, goats, oxen... ?"

"Our herds contain an assortment of animals."

"And why do you want to take them to Teirm?"

"We have our reasons." Roran almost smiled at Clovis's confusion. "Would you consider sailing past Teirm?"

"No! Teirm's my limit, it is. I don't know the waters beyond, nor would I want to be gone any longer from my wife and daughter."

"When could you be ready?"

Clovis hesitated and executed two little steps. "Mayhap five or six days. No... no, you'd better make it a week; I have affairs that I must attend to before departing."

"We'd pay an additional ten crowns to leave day after tomorrow."

"I don't- "

"Twelve crowns."

"Day after tomorrow it is," vowed Clovis. "One way or another, I'll be ready by then."

Trailing his hand along the barge's gunwale, Roran nodded without looking back at Clovis and said, "May I have a minute alone to confer with my associates?"

"As you wish, sir. I'll just go for a turn about the docks until you're done." Clovis hurried to the door. Just as he exited the shed, he asked, "I'm sorry, but what'd be your name again? I fear I missed it earlier, an' my memory can be something dreadful."

"Stronghammer. My name is Stronghammer."

"Ah, of course. A good name, that."

When the door closed, Horst and Baldor converged on Roran. Baldor said, "We can't afford to hire him."

"We can't afford not to," replied Roran. "We don't have the gold to buy the barges, nor do I fancy teaching myself to handle them when everyone's lives depend on it. It'll be faster and safer to pay for a crew."

"It's still too expensive," said Horst.

Roran drummed his fingers against the gunwale. "We can pay Clovis's initial fee of two hundred crowns. Once we reach Teirm, though, I suggest that we either steal the barges using the skills we learn during the trip or incapacitate Clovis and his men until we can escape through other means. That way, we avoid paying the extra four hundred crowns, as well as the sailors' wages."

"I don't like cheating a man out of honest work," said Horst. "It goes against my fiber."

"I don't like it either, but can you think of an alternative?"

"How would you get everyone onto the barges?"

"Have them meet Clovis a league or so down the coast, out of sight of Narda."

Horst sighed. "Very well, we'll do it, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Call Clovis back in, Baldor, and we'll seal this pact."

That evening, the villagers gathered around a small banked fire in order to hear what had transpired in Narda. From where he knelt on the ground, Roran stared at the pulsing coals while he listened to Gertrude and the three brothers describe their separate adventures.

The news about Roran's and Eragon's posters caused murmurs of unease among the audience. When Darmmen finished, Horst took his place and, with short, brisk sentences, related the lack of proper ships in Narda, how the dockworker recommended Clovis, and the deal that was brokered thereafter. However, the moment Horst mentioned the word barges, the villagers' cries of ire and discontent blotted out his voice.

Marching to the forefront of the group, Loring raised his arms for attention. "Barges?" said the cobbler. "Barges? We don't want no stinking barges!" He spat by his foot as people clamored with agreement.

"Everyone, be quiet!" said Delwin. "We'll be heard if we keep this up." When the crackling fire was the loudest noise, he continued at a slower pace: "I agree with Loring. Barges are unacceptable. They're slow and vulnerable. And we'd be crammed together with a complete lack of privacy and no shelter to speak of for who knows how long. Horst, Elain is six months pregnant. You can't expect her and others who are sick and infirm to sit under the blazing sun for weeks on end."

"We can lash tarpaulins over the holds," replied Horst. "It's not much, but it'll shield us from the sun and the rain."

Birgit's voice cut through the crowd's low babble: "I have another concern." People moved aside as she walked to the fire. "What with the two hundred crowns Clovis is due and the money Darmmen and his brothers spent, we've used up most of our coin. Unlike those in cities, our wealth lies not in gold but in animals and property. Our property is gone and few animals are left. Even if we turn pirate and steal these barges, how can we buy supplies at Teirm or passage farther south?"

"The important thing," rumbled Horst, "is to get to Teirm in the first place. Once we're there, then we can worry about what to do next... It's possible that we may have to resort to more drastic measures."

Loring's bony face crumpled into a mass of wrinkles. "Drastic? What do you mean, drastic? We've already done drastic. This whole venture is drastic. I don't care what you say; I won't use those confounded barges, not after what we've gone through in the Spine. Barges are for grain and animals. What we want is a ship with cabins and bunks where we can sleep in comfort. Why not wait another week or so and see if a ship arrives that we can bargain passage on? Where's the harm in that, eh? Or why not- "

He continued to rail for over fifteen minutes, amassing a mountain of objections before ceding to Thane and Ridley, who built upon his arguments. The conversation halted as Roran unfolded his legs and rose to his full height, silencing the villagers through his presence. They waited, breathless, hoping for another of his visionary speeches.

"It's this or walk," he said. Then he went to bed.

The moon floated high among the stars when Roran left the makeshift tent he shared with Baldor, padded to the edge of the camp, and replaced Albriech on watch.

"Nothing to report," whispered Albriech, then slipped off.

Roran strung his bow and planted three goose-feather arrows upright in the loam, within easy reach, then wrapped himself in a blanket and curled against the rockface to his left. His position afforded him a good view down and across the dark foothills. As was his habit, Roran divided the landscape into quadrants, examining each one for a full minute, always alert for the flash of movement or the hint of light that might betray the approach of enemies.

His mind soon began to wander, drifting from subject to subject with the hazy logic of dreams, distracting him from his task. He bit the inside of his cheek to force himself to concentrate. Staying awake was difficult in such mild weather... Roran was just glad that he had escaped drawing lots for the two watches preceding dawn, because they gave you no opportunity to catch up on lost sleep afterward and you felt tired for the rest of the day.

A breath of wind ghosted past him, tickling his ear and making the skin on the back of his neck prickle with an apprehension of evil. The intrusive touch frightened Roran, obliterating everything but the conviction that he and the rest of the villagers were in mortal danger. He quaked as if with the ague, his heart pounded, and he had to struggle to resist the urge to break cover and flee.

What's wrong with me?

It required an effort for him to even nock an arrow. To the east, a shadow detached itself from the horizon. Visible only as a void among the stars, it drifted like a torn veil across the sky until it covered the moon, where it remained, hovering. Illuminated from behind, Roran could see the translucent wings of one of the Ra'zac's mounts. The black creature opened its beak and uttered a long, piercing shriek.

Roran grimaced with pain at the cry's pitch and frequency. It stabbed at his eardrums, turned his blood to ice, and replaced hope and joy with despair. The ululation woke the entire forest. Birds and beasts for miles around exploded into a yammering chorus of panic, including, to Roran's alarm, what remained of the villagers' herds.

Staggering from tree to tree, Roran returned to the camp, whispering, "The Ra'zac are here. Be quiet and stay where you are," to everyone he encountered. He saw the other sentries moving among the frightened villagers, spreading the same message.

Fisk emerged from his tent with a spear in hand and roared, "Are we under attack? What's set off those blasted-"

Roran tackled the carpenter to silence him, uttering a muffled bellow as he landed on his right shoulder and pained his old injury. "Ra'zac," Roran groaned to Fisk.

Fisk went still and in an undertone asked, "What should I do?"

"Help me to calm the animals."

Together they picked their way through the camp to the adjacent meadow where the goats, sheep, donkeys, and horses were bedded. The farmers who owned the bulk of the herds slept with their charges and were already awake and working to soothe the beasts. Roran thanked his paranoia that he had insisted on having the animals scattered along the edge of the meadow, where the trees and brush helped to camouflage them from unfriendly eyes. As he tried to pacify a clump of sheep, Roran glanced up at the terrible black shadow that still obscured the moon, like a giant bat. To his horror, it began to move toward their hiding place.

If that creature screams again, we're doomed.

By the time the Ra'zac circled overhead, most of the animals had quieted, except for one donkey, who insisted upon loosing a grating hee-haw. Without hesitation, Roran dropped to one knee, fit arrow to string, and shot the ass between the ribs. His aim was true, and the animal dropped without a sound. He was too late, though; the braying had already alerted the Ra'zac. The monster swung its head in the direction of the clearing and descended toward it with outstretched claws, preceded by its fetid stench.

Now the time has come to see if we can slay a nightmare, thought Roran.

Fisk, who was crouched beside him in the grass, hefted his spear, preparing to hurl it once the brute was in range. Just as Roran drew his bow- in an attempt to begin and end the battle with a well-placed shaft- he was distracted by a commotion in the forest.

A mass of deer burst through the underbrush and stampeded across the meadow, ignoring villagers and livestock alike in their frantic desire to escape the Ra'zac. For almost a minute, the deer bounded past Roran, mincing the loam with their sharp hooves and catching the moonlight with their white-rimmed eyes. They came so close, he heard the soft gasps of their labored breathing. The multitude of deer must have hidden the villagers because, after one last circuit over the meadow, the winged monster turned to the south and glided farther down the Spine, melding into the night.

Roran and his companions remained frozen in place, like hunted rabbits, afraid that the Ra'zac's departure might be a ruse to flush them into the open or that the creature's twin might be close behind. They waited for hours, tense and anxious, barely moving except to string a bow. When the moon was about to set, the Ra'zac's bone-chilling shriek echoed far in the distance... then nothing.

We were lucky, decided Roran when he woke the next morning. And we can't count on luck to save us the next time.

After the Ra'zac's appearance, none of the villagers objected to traveling by barge. On the contrary, they were so eager to be off, many of them asked Roran if it was possible to set sail that day instead of the next.

"I wish we could," he said, "but too much has to be done."

Forgoing breakfast, he, Horst, and a group of other men hiked into Narda. Roran knew that he risked being recognized by accompanying them, but their mission was too important for him to neglect. Besides, he was confident that his current appearance was different enough from his portrait on the Empire's poster that no one would equate one with the other.

They had no difficulty gaining entrance, as a different set of soldiers guarded the town gate, whereupon they went to the docks and delivered the two hundred crowns to Clovis, who was busy overseeing a gang of men as they readied the barges for sea.

"Thank'ee, Stronghammer," he said, tying the bag of coins to his belt. "There be nothing like yellow gold to brighten a man's day." He led them to a worktable and unrolled a chart of the waters surrounding Narda, complete with notations on the strength of various currents; locations of rocks, sandbars, and other hazards; and decades' worth of sounding measurements.

Drawing a line with his finger from Narda to a small cove directly south of it, Clovis said, "Here's where we'll meet your livestock. The tides are gentle this time o' year, but we still don't want to fight them an' no bones about it, so we'll have to be on our way directly after the high tide."

"High tide?" said Roran. "Wouldn't it be easier to wait until low tide and let it carry us out?"

Clovis tapped his nose with a twinkle in his eye. "Aye, it would, an' so I've begun many a cruise. What I don't want, though, is to be slung up on the beach, loading your animals, when the tide comes a-rushing back in and pushes us farther inland. There be no danger of that this way, but we'll have to move smart so as we're not left high an' dry when the waters recede. Assuming we do, the sea'll work for us, eh?"

Roran nodded. He trusted Clovis's experience. "And how many men will you need to fill out your crews?"

"Well, I managed to dig up seven lads- strong, true, an' good seamen all- who have agreed to this venture, odd as it is. Mind you, most of the boys were at the bottom of their tankards when I cornered them last night, drinking off the pay from their last voyage, but they'll be sober as spinsters come morn; that I promise you. Seeing as seven were all I could find, I'd like four more."

"Four it is," said Roran. "My men don't know much about sailing, but they're able bodied and willing to learn."

Clovis grunted. "I usually take on a brace of new lads each trip anyway. So long as they follow orders, they'll do fine; otherwise, they'll get a belaying pin upsides the head, mark my words. As for guards, I'd like to have nine- three per boat. An' they'd better not be as green as your sailors, or I won't budge from the dock, not for all the whisky in the world."

Roran allowed himself a grim smile. "Every man who rides with me has proved himself in battle many times over."

"An' they all answer to you, eh, young Stronghammer?" said Clovis. He scratched his chin, eyeing Gedric, Delwin, and the others who were new to Narda. "How many are with you?"

"Enough."

"Enough, you say. I wonder." He waved a hand. "Never you mind me; my tongue runs a league before my own common sense, or so my father used to tell me. My first mate, Torson, is at the chandler's now, overseeing the purchase of goods and equipment. I understand you have feed for your livestock?"

"Among other things."

"Then you'd best fetch them. We can load them into the holds once the masts are up."

Throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, Roran and the villagers with him labored to ferry the supplies- which Loring's sons had procured- from the warehouse where it was stored into the sheds with the barges.

As Roran trudged across the gangplank to the Edeline and lowered his bag of flour to the sailor waiting in the hold, Clovis observed, "Most of this t'aint feed, Stronghammer."

"No," said Roran. "But it's needed."

He was pleased that Clovis had the sense not to inquire further. When the last item had been stored away, Clovis beckoned to Roran. "You might as well go. Me and the boys will handle the rest. Just you remember to be at the docks three hours after dawn with every man jack you promised me, or we'll lose the tide."

"We'll be there."

Back in the foothills, Roran helped Elain and the others prepare for departure. It did not take long, as they were accustomed to breaking camp each morning. Then he picked twelve men to accompany him to Narda the next day. They were all good fighters, but he asked the best, like Horst and Delwin, to remain with the rest of the villagers in case soldiers found them or the Ra'zac returned.

Once night fell, the two groups parted. Roran crouched on a boulder and watched Horst lead the column of people down through the foothills toward the cove where they would wait for the barges.

Orval came up beside him and crossed his arms. "Do you think they'll be safe, Stronghammer?" Anxiety ran through his voice like a taut bowstring.

Though he too was worried, Roran said, "I do. I'd bet you a barrel of cider that they'll still be asleep when we put ashore tomorrow. You can have the pleasure of waking up Nolla. How does that sound?"

Orval smiled at the mention of his wife and nodded, appearing reassured.

I hope I'm right.

Roran remained on the boulder, hunched like a bleak gargoyle, until the dark line of villagers vanished from his sight. They woke an hour before sunrise, when the sky had just begun to brighten with pale green and the damp night air numbed their fingers. Roran splashed his face with water and then outfitted himself with his bow and quiver, his ever present hammer, one of Fisk's shields, and one of Horst's spears.

The others did likewise, with the addition of swords obtained during the skirmishes in Carvahall. Running as fast as they dared down the hummocky hills, the thirteen men soon arrived at the road to Narda and, shortly after that, the town's main gate.

To Roran's dismay, the same two soldiers who had troubled them earlier stood guard by the entrance.

As before, the soldiers lowered their poleaxes to block the way. "There be quite a bit more of you this time," observed the white-haired man. "And not all the same ones either. Except for you." He focused on Roran. "I suppose you expect me to believe that the spear and shield be for pottery as well?"

"No. We've been hired by Clovis to protect his barges from attack on the way to Teirm."

"You? Mercenaries?" The soldiers burst out laughing. "You said you were tradesmen."

"This pays better." The white-haired man scowled. "You lie. I tried my hand at being a gentleman of fortune once. I spent more nights hungry than not. How large be your company of tradesmen anyway? Seven yesterday and twelve today- thirteen counting you. It seems too large for an expedition from a bunch of shopkeepers." His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Roran's face. "You look familiar. What'd be your name, eh?"

"Stronghammer."

"It wouldn't happen to be Roran, would- "

Roran jabbed forward with his spear, catching the white-haired soldier in the throat. Scarlet blood fountained. Releasing the spear, Roran drew his hammer and twisted round as he blocked the second soldier's poleax with his shield. Swinging his hammer up and around, Roran crushed the man's helm. He stood panting between the two corpses. Now I have killed ten.

Orval and the other men stared at Roran with shock. Unable to bear their gazes, Roran turned his back on them and gestured at the culvert that ran beneath the road. "Hide the bodies before anyone sees," he ordered, brusque and harsh.

As they hurried to obey, he examined the parapet on top of the wall for sentries. Fortunately, no one was visible there or in the street through the gate. He bent and pulled his spear free, wiping the blade clean on a tuft of grass.

"Done," said Mandel, clambering out of the ditch. Despite his beard, the young man appeared pale.

Roran nodded and, steeling himself, faced his band. "Listen. We will walk to the docks at a quick but reasonable pace. We will not run. When the alarm is sounded- and someone may have heard the clash just now- act surprised and interested but not afraid. Whatever you do, give people no reason to suspect us. The lives of your families and friends depend on it. If we are attacked, your only duty is to see the barges launched. Nothing else matters. Am I clear?"

"Aye, Stronghammer," they answered.

"Then follow me."

As he strode through Narda, Roran felt so tense, he feared he might snap and explode into a thousand pieces.

What have I made of myself? he wondered. He glanced from man to woman, child to man, man to dog in an effort to identify potential enemies. Everything around him appeared unnaturally bright and filled with detail; it seemed as if he could see the individual threads in people's clothing.

They reached the docks without incident, whereupon Clovis said, "You be early, Stronghammer. I like that in a man. It'll give us the opportunity to put things nice an' shipshape before we head out."

"Can we leave now?" asked Roran.

"You should know better'n that. Have to wait till the tide's finished coming in, so we do." Clovis paused then, taking his first good look at the thirteen of them, and said, "Why, what'd be the matter, Stronghammer? The lot of you look as if you saw the ghost of old Galbatorix himself."

"Nothing a few hours of sea air won't cure," said Roran. In his current state, he could not smile, but he did let his features assume a more pleasant expression in order to reassure the captain.

With a whistle, Clovis summoned two sailors from the boats. Both men were tanned the color of hazelnuts. "This'd be Torson, my first mate," said Clovis, indicating the man to his right. Torson's bare shoulder was decorated with a coiled tattoo of a flying dragon. "He'll be skipper of the Merrybell. And this black dog is Flint. He's in command of the Edeline. While you are on board, their word is law, as is mine on the Red Boar. You'll answer to them and me, not Stronghammer... Well, give me a proper aye, aye if you heard me."

"Aye, aye," said the men.

"Now, which of you be my hands and which be my men-at-arms? For the life of me, I can't tell you apart."

Ignoring Clovis's admonishment that he was their commander, not Roran, the villagers looked at Roran to see if they should obey. He nodded his approval, and they divided into two factions, which Clovis proceeded to partition into even smaller groups as he assigned a certain number of villagers to each barge.

For the next half hour, Roran worked alongside the sailors to finish preparing the Red Boar for departure, ears open for the first hint of alarm.

We're going to be captured or killed if we stay much longer, he thought, checking the height of the water against the piers. He mopped sweat from his brow.

Roran started as Clovis gripped his forearm. Before he could stop himself, Roran pulled his hammer halfway out of his belt. The thick air clogged his throat.

Clovis raised an eyebrow at his reaction. "I've been watching you, Stronghammer, and I'd be interested to know how you won such loyalty from your men. I've served with more captains than I care to recall, an' not one commanded the level of obedience you do without raising his pipes."

Roran could not help it; he laughed. "I'll tell you how I did it; I saved them from slavery and from being eaten."

Clovis's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "Did you now? There's a story I'd like to hear."

"No, you wouldn't."

After a minute, Clovis said, "No, maybe I wouldn't at that." He glanced overboard. "Why, I'll be hanged. I do believe we can be on our way. Ah, and here's my little Galina, punctual as ever." The burly man sprang onto the gangplank and, from there, onto the docks, where he embraced a dark-haired girl of perhaps thirteen and a woman who Roran guessed was her mother. Clovis ruffled the girl's hair and said, "Now, you'll be good while I'm gone, won't you, Galina?"

"Yes, Father."

As he watched Clovis bid his family farewell, Roran thought of the two soldiers dead by the gate. They might have had families as well. Wives and children who loved them and a home they returned to each day...

He tasted bile and had to wrench his thoughts back to the pier to avoid being sick. On the barges, the men appeared anxious. Afraid that they might lose their nerve, Roran made a show of walking about the deck, stretching, and doing whatever he could to seem relaxed.

At last Clovis jumped back onto the Red Boar and cried, "Cast off, me lads! It's the briny deep for us."

In short order, the gangplanks were pulled aboard, the mooring ropes untied, and the sails raised on the three barges. The air rang with shouted orders and chants of heave-ho as the sailors pulled on ropes.

Behind them, Galina and her mother remained watching as the barges drew away, still and silent, hooded and grave.

"We're lucky, Stronghammer," said Clovis, clapping him on the shoulder. "We've a bit o' wind to push us along today. We may not have to row in order to reach the cove before the tide changes, eh!"

When the Red Boar was in the middle of Narda's bay and still ten minutes from the freedom of the open sea, that which Roran dreaded occurred: the sound of bells and trumpets floated across the water from among the stone buildings.

"What's that?" he asked.

"I don't rightly know," said Clovis. He frowned as he stared at the town, his hands planted on his hips. "It could be a fire, but no smoke is in the air. Maybe some Urgals were discovered in the area..." Concern grew upon his face. "Did you perchance spy anyone on the road this morning?"

Roran shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Flint drew alongside them and shouted from the deck of the Edeline, "Should we turn back, sir?"

Roran gripped the gunwale so hard that he drove splinters under his nails, ready to intercede but afraid to appear too anxious.

Tearing his gaze from Narda, Clovis bellowed in return, "No. We'd miss the tide then."

"Aye, aye, sir! But I'd give a day's pay to find out what caused that clamor."

"So would I," muttered Clovis.

As the houses and buildings shrank behind them, Roran crouched at the rear port of the barge, wrapped his arms around his knees, and leaned against the cabins. He looked at the sky, struck by its depth, clarity, and color, then into the Red Boar 's roiling green wake, where ribbons of seaweed fluttered. The pitch of the barge lulled him like the rock of a cradle.

What a beautiful day it is, he thought, grateful he was there to observe it. After they escaped the cove- to his relief- Roran climbed the ladder to the poop deck behind the cabins, where Clovis stood with his hand on the tiller, guiding their course.

The captain said, "Ah, there's something exhilarating about the first day of a voyage, before you realize how bad the food is an' start longing for home."

Mindful of his need to learn what he could about the barge, Roran asked Clovis the names and functions of various objects on board, at which point he was treated to an enthusiastic lecture on the workings of barges, ships, and the art of sailing in general.

Two hours later, Clovis pointed at a narrow peninsula that lay before them. "The cove be on the far side of that."

Roran straightened off the railing and craned his neck, eager to confirm that the villagers were safe. As the Red Boar rounded the rocky spit of land, a white beach was revealed at the apex of the cove, upon which were assembled the refugees from Palancar Valley. The crowd cheered and waved as the barges emerged from behind the rocks.

Roran relaxed.

Beside him, Clovis uttered a dreadful oath. "I knew something were amiss the moment I clapped eyes upon you, Stronghammer. Livestock indeed. Bah! You played me like a fool, you did."

"You wrong me," replied Roran. "I did not lie; this is my flock and I am their shepherd. Is it not within my right to call them 'livestock' if I want?"

"Call them what you will, I didn't agree to haul people to Teirm. Why you didn't tell me the true nature of your cargo, I might wonder, an' the only answer on the horizon is that whatever venture you're engaged in means trouble... trouble for you an' trouble for me. I should toss the lot of you overboard an' return to Narda."

"But you won't," said Roran, deadly quiet.

"Oh? An' why not?"

"Because I need these barges, Clovis, and I'll do anything to keep them. Anything. Honor our bargain and you'll have a peaceful trip and you'll get to see Galina again. If not..."

The threat sounded worse than it was; Roran had no intention of killing Clovis, though if he had to, he would abandon him somewhere along the coast.

Clovis's face reddened, but he surprised Roran by grunting and saying, "Fair enough, Stronghammer."

Pleased with himself, Roran returned his attention to the beach. Behind him, he heard a snick. Acting on instinct, Roran recoiled, crouching, twisting, and covering his head with his shield. His arm vibrated as a belaying pin broke across the shield. He lowered the shield and gazed at a dismayed Clovis, who retreated across the deck.

Roran shook his head, never taking his eyes off his opponent. "You can't defeat me, Clovis. I'll ask you again: Will you honor our bargain? If you don't, I'll put you ashore, commandeer the barges, and press your crew into service. I don't want to ruin your livelihood, but I will if you force me... Come now. This can be a normal, uneventful voyage if you choose to help us. Remember, you've already been paid."

Drawing himself up with great dignity, Clovis said, "If I agree, then you must do me the courtesy of explaining why this ruse were necessary, an' why these people are here an' where they're from. No matter how much gold you offer me, I won't assist an undertaking that contradicts my principles; no, I won't. Are you bandits? Or do you serve the blasted king?"

"The knowledge may place you in greater danger."

"I insist."

"Have you heard of Carvahall in Palancar Valley?" asked Roran.

Clovis waved a hand. "Once or twice. What of it?"

"You see it now on the beach. Galbatorix's soldiers attacked us without provocation. We fought back and, when our position became untenable, we crossed the Spine and followed the coast to Narda. Galbatorix has promised that every man, woman, and child from Carvahall will be killed or enslaved. Reaching Surda is our only hope of survival." Roran left out mention of the Ra'zac; he did not want to frighten Clovis too badly.

The weathered seaman had gone gray. "Are you still pursued?"

"Aye, but the Empire has yet to discover us."

"An' are you why the alarm was sounded?"

Very softly, Roran said, "I killed two soldiers who recognized me."

The revelation startled Clovis: his eyes widened, he stepped back, and the muscles in his forearms rippled as he clenched his fists.

"Make your choice, Clovis; the shore draws near."

He knew he had won when the captain's shoulders drooped and the bravado faded from his bearing. "Ah, the plague take you, Stronghammer. I'm no friend of the king; I'll get you to Teirm. But then I want nothing more to do with you."

"Will you give me your word that you won't attempt to slip away in the night or any similar deception?"

"Aye. You have it."

Sand and rocks grated across the bottom of the Red Boar 's hull as the barge drove itself up onto the beach, followed on either side by its two companions. The relentless, rhythmic surge of water dashing itself against the land sounded like the breathing of a gigantic monster. Once the sails were furled and the gangplanks extended, Torson and Flint both strode over to the Red Boar and accosted Clovis, demanding to know what was going on.

"There's been a change of plans," said Clovis.

Roran left him to explain the situation- skirting the exact reasons why the villagers left Palancar Valley- and jumped onto the sand, whereupon he set out to find Horst among the milling knots of people. When he spotted the smith, Roran pulled him aside and told him about the deaths in Narda.

"If it's discovered that I left with Clovis, they may send soldiers on horses after us. We have to get everyone onto the barges as fast as possible."

Horst met his eye for a long minute. "You've become a hard man, Roran, harder than I'll ever be."

"I've had to."

"Mind that you don't forget who you are."

Roran spent the next three hours moving and packing the villagers' belongings in the Red Boar until Clovis expressed his satisfaction. The bundles had to be secured so that they would not shift unexpectedly and injure someone, as well as distributed so that the barge rode level in the water, which was no easy task as the bundles were of irregular size and density.

Then the animals were coaxed on board much to their displeasure- and immobilized by tethers lashed to iron rings in the hold.

Last of all came the people, who, like the rest of the cargo, had to be organized into a symmetrical pattern within the barge to keep from capsizing it.

Clovis, Torson, and Flint each ended up standing at the fore of their barges, shouting directions to the mass of villagers below.

What now? thought Roran as he heard an argument break out on the beach. Pushing his way to the source of the disturbance, he saw Calitha kneeling beside her stepfather, Wayland, trying to calm the old man.

"No! I won't go on that beast ! You can't make me," cried Wayland. He thrashed his withered arms and beat his heels in an attempt to free himself from Calitha's embrace. Spittle flew from his lips. "Let me go, I say. Let me go!"

Wincing from his blows, Calitha said, "He's been unreasonable ever since we made camp last night."

It would have been better for all concerned if he had died in the Spine, what with the trouble he's caused, thought Roran.

He joined Calitha, and together they managed to soothe Wayland so that he no longer screamed and hit. As a reward for his good behavior, Calitha gave him a piece of jerky, which occupied his entire attention. While Wayland concentrated on gumming the meat, she and Roran were able to guide him onto the Edeline and get him settled in a deserted corner where he would not be a nuisance.

"Move your backsides, you lubbers," shouted Clovis. "The tide's about to turn. Hop to, hop to."

After a final flurry of activity, the gangplanks were withdrawn, leaving a cluster of twenty men standing on the beach before each barge. The three groups gathered around the prows and prepared to push them back into the water. Roran led the effort on the Red Boar.

Chanting in unison, he and his men strained against the weight of the huge barge, the gray sand giving beneath their feet, the timbers and cables creaking, and the smell of sweat in the air. For a moment, their efforts seemed to be in vain, then the Red Boar lurched and slid back a foot.

"Again!" shouted Roran.

Foot by foot, they advanced into the sea, until the frigid water surged about their waists. A breaker crashed over Roran, filling his mouth with seawater, which he spat out vigorously, disgusted by the taste of salt; it was far more intense than he expected.

When the barge lifted free of the seabed, Roran swam alongside the Red Boar and pulled himself up with one of the ropes draped over the gunwale. Meanwhile, the sailors deployed long poles that they used to propel the Red Boar into ever deeper water, as did the crews of the Merrybell and Edeline.

The instant they were a reasonable distance from shore, Clovis ordered the poles stowed away and oars broken out, with which the sailors aimed the Red Boar's prow toward the cove's entrance. They hoisted the sail, aligned it to catch the light wind, and, at the vanguard of the trio of barges, set forth for Teirm upon the uncertain expanse of the bounding main.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Roran stood upon the poop deck of the Red Boar, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted wide apart to steady himself on the rolling barge. The salty wind ruffled his hair and tugged at his thick beard and tickled the hairs on his bare forearms. Beside him, Clovis manned the tiller. The weathered sailor pointed toward the coastline at a seagull-covered rock silhouetted on the crest of a rolling hill that extended into the ocean. "Teirm be right on the far side of that peak."

Roran squinted into the afternoon sun, which reflected off the ocean in a blindingly bright band.

"We'll stop here for now, then."

"You don't want to go on into the city yet?"

"Not all of us at once. Call over Torson and Flint and have them run the barges up on that shore. It looks like a good place to camp."

Clovis grimaced. "Arrgh. I was hoping t' get a hot meal tonight."

Roran understood; the fresh food from Narda had long since been eaten, leaving them with naught but salt pork, salted herring, salted cabbage, sea biscuits the villagers had made from their purchased flour, pickled vegetables, and the occasional fresh meat when the villagers slaughtered one of their few remaining animals or managed to catch game when they landed.

Clovis's rough voice echoed over the water as he shouted to the skippers of the other two barges. When they drew near, he ordered them to pull ashore, much to their vociferous displeasure. They and the other sailors had counted on reaching Teirm that day and lavishing their pay on the city's delights.

After the barges were beached, Roran walked among the villagers and helped them by pitching tents here and there, unloading equipment, fetching water from a nearby stream, and otherwise lending his assistance until everyone was settled.

He paused to give Morn and Tara a word of encouragement, for they appeared despondent, and received a guarded response in turn. The tavern owner and his wife had been aloof to him ever since they left Palancar Valley. On the whole, the villagers were in better condition than when they arrived at Narda due to the rest they had garnered on the barges, but constant worry and exposure to the harsh elements had prevented them from recuperating as well as Roran hoped.

"Stronghammer, will you sup at our tent tonight?" asked Thane, coming up to Roran.

Roran declined with as much grace as he could and turned to find himself confronted by Felda, whose husband, Byrd, had been murdered by Sloan. She bobbed a quick curtsy, then said, "May I speak with you, Roran Garrowsson?"

He smiled at her. "Always, Felda. You know that."

"Thank you." With a furtive expression, she fingered the tassels that edged her shawl and glanced toward her tent. "I would ask a favor of you. It's about Mandel- "

Roran nodded; he had chosen her eldest son to accompany him into Narda on that fateful trip when he killed the two guards. Mandel had performed admirably then, as well as in the weeks since while he crewed the Edeline and learned what he could about piloting the barges.

"He's become quite friendly with the sailors on our barge and he's started playing dice with those lawless men. Not for money- we have none- but for small things. Things we need."

"Have you asked him to stop?" Felda twisted the tassels. "I fear that, since his father died, he no longer respects me as he once did. He has grown wild and willful."

We have all grown wild, thought Roran. "And what would you have me do about it?" he asked gently.

"You have ever dealt generously with Mandel. He admires you. If you talk with him, he will listen."

Roran considered the request, then said, "Very well, I will do what I can."

Felda sagged with relief.

"Tell me, though, what has he lost at dice?"

"Food mostly." Felda hesitated and then added, "But I know he once risked my grandmother's bracelet for a rabbit those men snared."

Roran frowned. "Put your heart at ease, Felda. I will tend to the matter as soon as I can."

"Thank you." Felda curtsied again, then slipped away between the makeshift tents, leaving Roran to mull over what she had said.

Roran absently scratched his beard as he walked. The problem with Mandel and the sailors was a problem that cut both ways; Roran had noticed that during the trip from Narda, one of Torson's men, Frewin, had become close to Odele- a young friend of Katrina. They could cause trouble when we leave Clovis.

Taking care not to attract undue attention, Roran went through the camp and gathered the villagers he trusted the most and had them accompany him to Horst's tent, where he said, "The five we agreed upon will leave now, before it gets much later. Horst will take my place while I'm gone. Remember that your most important task is to ensure Clovis doesn't leave with the barges or damage them in any way. They may be our only means to reach Surda."

"That, and make sure we aren't discovered," commented Orval.

"Exactly. If none of us have returned by nightfall day after tomorrow, assume we were captured. Take the barges and set sail for Surda, but don't stop in Kuasta to buy provisions; the Empire will probably be lying in wait there. You'll have to find food elsewhere."

While his companions readied themselves, Roran went to Clovis's cabin on the Red Boar.

"Just the five of you be going?" demanded Clovis after Roran explained their plan.

"That's right." Roran let his iron gaze bore into Clovis until the man fidgeted with unease. "And when I get back, I expect you, these barges, and every one of your men to still be here."

"You dare impugn my honor after how I've kept our bargain?"

"I impugn nothing, only tell you what I expect. Too much is at stake. If you commit treachery now, you condemn our entire village to death."

"That I know," muttered Clovis, avoiding his eyes.

"My people will defend themselves during my absence. So long as breath remains in their lungs, they'll not be taken, tricked, or abandoned. And if misfortune were to befall them, I'd avenge them even if I had to walk a thousand leagues and fight Galbatorix himself. Heed my words, Master Clovis, for I speak the truth."

"We're not so fond of the Empire as you seem to believe," protested Clovis. "I wouldn't do them a favor more than the next man."

Roran smiled with grim amusement. "Men will do anything to protect their families and homes."

As Roran lifted the door latch, Clovis asked, "And what will you do once you reach Surda?"

"We will- "

"Not we: you. What will you do? I've watched you, Roran. I've listened to you. An' you seem a good enough sort, even if I don't care for how you dealt with me. But I cannot fit it in my head, you dropping that hammer of yours and taking up the plow again, just because you've arrived in Surda."

Roran gripped the latch until his knuckles turned white. "When I have delivered the village to Surda," he said in a voice as empty as a blackened desert, "then I shall go hunting."

"Ah. After that redheaded lass of yours? I heard some talk of that, but I didn't put-"

The door slammed behind Roran as he left the cabin. He let his anger burn hot and fast for a moment- enjoying the freedom of the emotion before he began to subdue his unruly passions. He marched to Felda's tent, where Mandel was throwing a hunting knife at a stump.

Felda's right; someone has to talk some sense into him.

" You're wasting your time," said Roran.

Mandel whirled around with surprise. "Why do you say that?"

"In a real fight, you're more likely to put out your own eye than injure your enemy. If you don't know the exact distance between you and your target..." Roran shrugged. "You might as well throw rocks."

He watched with detached interest as the younger man bristled with pride. "Gunnar told me about a man he knew in Cithrí who could hit a flying crow with his knife eight times out of ten."

"And the other two times you get killed. It's usually a bad idea to throw away your weapon in battle." Roran waved a hand, forestalling Mandel's objections. "Get your kit together and meet me on the hill past the stream in fifteen minutes. I've decided you should come with us to Teirm."

"Yes, sir!" With an enthusiastic grin, Mandel dove into the tent and began packing.

As Roran left, he encountered Felda, her youngest daughter balanced on one hip. Felda glanced between him and Mandel's activity in the tent, and her expression tightened. "Keep him safe, Stronghammer."

She set her daughter on the ground and then bustled about, helping to gather the items Mandel would need.

Roran was the first to arrive at the designated hill. He squatted on a white boulder and watched the sea while he readied himself for the task ahead. When Loring, Gertrude, Birgit, and Nolfavrell, Birgit's son, arrived, Roran jumped off the boulder and said, "We have to wait for Mandel; he'll be joining us."

"What for?" demanded Loring.

Birgit frowned as well. "I thought we agreed no one else should accompany us. Especially not Mandel, since he was seen in Narda. It's dangerous enough having you and Gertrude along, and Mandel only increases the odds that someone will recognize us."

"I'll risk it." Roran met each of their eyes in turn. "He needs to come."

In the end, they listened to him, and, with Mandel, the six of them headed south, toward Teirm.

In that area, the coastline was composed of low, rolling hills verdant with lush grass and occasional briars, willows, and poplars. The soft, muddy ground gave under their feet and made walking difficult. To their right lay the glittering sea. To their left ran the purple outline of the Spine. The ranks of snowcapped mountains were laced with clouds and mist.

As Roran's company wended past the properties surrounding Teirm- some freehold farms, others massive estates- they made every effort to go undetected. When they encountered the road that connected Narda to Teirm, they darted across it and continued farther east, toward the mountains, for several more miles before turning south again. Once they were confident they had circumnavigated the city, they angled back toward the ocean until they found the southern road in.

During his time on the Red Boar, it had occurred to Roran that officials in Narda might have deduced that whoever killed the two guards was among the men who left upon Clovis's barges. If so, messengers would have warned Teirm's soldiers to watch for anyone matching the villagers' descriptions. And if the Ra'zac had visited Narda, then the soldiers would also know that they were looking not just for a handful of murderers but Roran Stronghammer and the refugees from Carvahall. Teirm could be one huge trap.

Yet they could not bypass the city, for the villagers needed supplies and a new mode of transportation. Roran had decided that their best precaution against capture was to send no one into Teirm who had been seen in Narda, except for Gertrude and himself- Gertrude because only she understood the ingredients for her medicines, and Roran because, though he was the most likely to be recognized, he trusted no one else to do what was required.

He knew he possessed the will to act when others hesitated, like the time he slew the guards. The rest of the group was chosen to minimize suspicion. Loring was old but a tough fighter and an excellent liar. Birgit had proven herself canny and strong, and her son, Nolfavrell, had already killed a soldier in combat, despite his tender age. Hopefully, they would appear as nothing more than an extended family traveling together.

That is, if Mandel doesn't throw the scheme awry, thought Roran.

It was also Roran's idea to enter Teirm from the south, and thus make it seem even more unlikely that they had come from Narda.

Evening was nigh when Teirm came into view, white and ghostly in the gloaming. Roran stopped to inspect what lay before them. The walled city stood alone upon the edge of a large bay, self contained and impregnable to any conceivable attack. Torches glowed between the merlons on the battlements, where soldiers with bows patrolled their endless circuits. Above the walls rose a citadel, and then a faceted lighthouse, which swept its hazy beam across the dark waters.

"It's so big," said Nolfavrell.

Loring bobbed his head without taking his eyes off Teirm. "Aye, that it is."

Roran's attention was caught by a ship moored at one of the stone piers jutting from the city. The three-masted vessel was larger than any he had seen in Narda, with a high forecastle, two banks of oarlocks, and twelve powerful ballistae mounted along each side of the deck for shooting javelins. The magnificent craft appeared equally suited for either commerce or war. Even more importantly, Roran thought that it might- might- be able to hold the entire village.

"That's what we need," he said, pointing.

Birgit uttered a sour grunt. "We'd have to sell ourselves into slavery to afford passage on that monster."

Clovis had warned them that Teirm's portcullis closed at sunset, so they quickened their pace to avoid spending the night in the countryside. As they neared the pale walls, the road filled with a double stream of people hurrying to and from Teirm. Roran had not anticipated so much traffic, but he soon realized that it could help shield his party from unwanted attention.

Beckoning to Mandel, Roran said, "Drop back a ways and follow someone else through the gate, so the guards don't think you're with us. We'll wait for you on the other side. If they ask, you've come here seeking employment as a seaman."

"Yes, sir."

As Mandel fell behind, Roran hunched one shoulder, allowed a limp to creep into his walk, and began to rehearse the story Loring had concocted to explain their presence at Teirm. He stepped off the road and ducked his head as a man drove a pair of lumbering oxen past, grateful for the shadows that concealed his features. The gate loomed ahead, washed in uncertain orange from the torches placed in sconces on each side of the entrance. Underneath stood a pair of soldiers with Galbatorix's twisting flame stitched onto the front of their crimson tunics. Neither of the armed men so much as glanced at Roran and his companions as they shuffled underneath the spiked portcullis and through the short tunnel beyond.

Roran squared his shoulders and felt some of his tension ease. He and the others clustered by the corner of a house, where Loring murmured, "So far, so good."

When Mandel rejoined them, they set out to find an inexpensive hostel where they could let a room. As they walked, Roran studied the layout of the city with its fortified houses- which grew progressively higher toward the citadel- and the gridlike arrangement of streets. Those north to south radiated from the citadel like a starburst, while those east to west curved gently across and formed a spiderweb pattern, creating numerous places where barriers could be erected and soldiers stationed.

If Carvahall had been built like this, he thought, no one could have defeated us but the king himself.

By dusk they had acquired lodging at the Green Chestnut, an exceedingly vile tavern with atrocious ale and flea infested beds. Its sole advantage was that it cost next to nothing. They went to sleep without dinner to save their precious coin, and huddled together to prevent their purses from being filched by one of the tavern's other guests.

The next day, Roran and his companions left the Green Chestnut before dawn to search for provisions and transportation.

Gertrude said, "I have heard tell of a remarkable herbalist, Angela by name, who lives here and is supposed to work the most amazing cures, perhaps even a touch of magic. I would go see her, for if anyone has what I seek, it would be she."

"You shouldn't go alone," said Roran. He looked at Mandel. "Accompany Gertrude, help her with her purchases, and do your best to protect her if you are attacked. Your nerve may be tested at times, but do nothing to cause alarm, unless you would betray your friends and family."

Mandel touched his forelock and nodded his obedience. He and Gertrude departed at right angles down a cross street, while Roran and the rest resumed their hunt.

Roran had the patience of a stalking predator, but even he began to thrum with restlessness when morning and afternoon slipped by and they still had not found a ship to carry them to Surda. He learned that the three masted ship, the Dragon Wing, was newly built and about to be launched on her maiden voyage; that they had no chance of hiring it from the Blackmoor Shipping Company unless they could pay a roomful of the dwarves' red gold; and indeed, that the villagers lacked the coin to engage even the meanest vessel. Nor would taking Clovis's barges solve their problems, because it still left unanswered the question of what they would eat on their trek.

"It would be hard," said Birgit, "very hard, to steal goods from this place, what with all the soldiers and how close together the houses are and the watchmen at the gate. If we tried to cart that much stuff out of Teirm, they'd want to know what we were doing."

Roran nodded. That too. Roran had suggested to Horst that if the villagers were forced to flee Teirm with naught but their remaining supplies, they could raid for their food. However, Roran knew that such an act would mean they had become as monstrous as those he hated. He had no stomach for it. It was one thing to fight and kill those who served Galbatorix- or even to steal Clovis's barges, since Clovis had other means of supporting himself- but it was quite another to take provisions from innocent farmers who struggled to survive as much as the villagers had in Palancar Valley. That would be murder.

Those hard facts weighed upon Roran like stones. Their venture had always been tenuous at best, sustained in equal parts by fear, desperation, optimism, and last minute improvisation. Now he feared that he had driven the villagers into the den of their enemies and bound them in place with a chain forged of their own poverty.

I could escape alone and continue my search for Katrina, but what victory would that be if I left my village to be enslaved by the Empire? Whatever our fate in Teirm, I will stand firm with those who trusted me enough to forsake their homes upon my word.

To relieve their hunger, they stopped at a bakery and bought a loaf of fresh rye bread, as well as a small pot of honey to slather it with. While he paid for the items, Loring mentioned to the baker's assistant that they were in the market for ships, equipment, and food.

At a tap on his shoulder, Roran turned. A man with coarse black hair and a thick slab of belly said, "Pardon me for overhearing your parley with the young master, but if it's ships and such you be after, and at a fair price, then I should guess you'd want to attend the auction."

"What auction is this?" asked Roran.

"Ah, it's a sad story, it is, but all too common nowadays. One of our merchants, Jeod- Jeod Longshanks, as we call him out of hearing- has had the most abominable run of bad luck. In less than a year, he lost four of his ships, an' when he tried to send his goods over land, the caravan was ambushed and destroyed by some thieving outlaws. His investors forced him to declare bankruptcy, and now they're going to sell his property to recoup their losses. I don't know 'bout food, but you'd be sure to find most everything else you're looking to buy at the auction."

A faint ember of hope kindled in Roran's breast. "When will the auction be held?"

"Why, it's posted on every message board throughout the city. Day after tomorrow, to be sure."

That explained to Roran why they had not learned of the auction before; they had done their best to avoid the message boards, on the off chance that someone would recognize Roran from the portrait on his reward poster.

"Thank you much," he said to the man. "You may have saved us a great deal of trouble."

"My pleasure, so it is."

Once Roran and his companions filed out of the shop, they huddled together on the edge of the street. He said, "Do you think we should look into this?"

"It's all we have to look into," growled Loring.

"Birgit?"

"You needn't ask me; it's obvious. We cannot wait until the day after tomorrow, though."

"No. I say we meet with this Jeod and see if we can strike a bargain with him before the auction opens. Are we agreed?"

They were, and so they set out for Jeod's house, armed with directions from a passerby. The house- or rather, mansion- was set on the west side of Teirm, close to the citadel, among scores of other opulent buildings embellished with fine scrollwork, wrought-iron gates, statues, and gushing fountains. Roran could scarcely comprehend such riches; it amazed him how different the lives of these people were from his own.

Roran knocked on the front door to Jeod's mansion, which stood next to an abandoned shop. After a moment, the door was pulled open by a plump butler garnished with overly shiny teeth. He eyed the four strangers upon his doorstep with disapproval, then flashed his glazed smile and asked, "How may I help you, sirs and madam?"

"We would talk with Jeod, if he is free."

"Have you an appointment?"

Roran thought the butler knew perfectly well that they did not. "Our stay in Teirm is too brief for us to arrange a proper meeting."

"Ah, well, then I regret to say that your time would have been better spent elsewhere. My master has many matters to tend. He cannot devote himself to every group of ragged tramps that bangs on his door, asking for handouts," said the butler. He exposed even more of his glassy teeth and began to withdraw inside.

"Wait!" cried Roran. "It's not handouts we want; we have a business proposition for Jeod."

The butler lifted one eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Aye, it is. Please ask him if he will hear us. We've traveled more leagues than you'd care to know, and it's imperative we see Jeod today."

"May I inquire as to the nature of your proposition?"

"It's confidential."

"Very well, sir," said the butler. "I will convey your offer, but I warn you that Jeod is occupied at the moment, and I doubt he will wish to bother himself. By what name shall I announce you, sir?"

"You may call me Stronghammer."

The butler's mouth twitched as if amused by the name, then slipped behind the door and closed it.

"If his head were any larger, 'e couldn't fit in the privy," muttered Loring out the side of his mouth.

Nolfavrell uttered a bark of laughter at the insult.

Birgit said, "Let's hope the servant doesn't imitate the master."

A minute later, the door reopened and the butler announced, with a rather brittle expression, "Jeod has agreed to meet you in the study." He moved to the side and gestured with one arm for them to proceed. "This way."

After they trooped into the sumptuous entryway, the butler swept past them and down a polished wood hallway to one door among many, which he opened and ushered them through. 4

If Roran had known how to read, he might have been more impressed by the treasure trove of books that lined the study walls. As it was, he reserved his attention for the tall man with graying hair who stood behind an oval writing desk. The man- who Roran assumed was Jeod- looked about as tired as Roran felt. His face was lined, careworn, and sad, and when he turned toward them, a nasty scar gleamed white from his scalp to his left temple. To Roran, it bespoke steel in the man. Long and buried, perhaps, but steel nevertheless.

"Do sit," said Jeod. "I won't stand on ceremony in my own house." He watched them with curious eyes as they settled in the soft leather armchairs. "May I offer you pastries and a glass of apricot brandy? I cannot talk for long, but I see you've been on the road for many a week, and I well remember how dusty my throat was after such journeys."

Loring grinned. "Aye. A touch of brandy would be welcome indeed. You're most generous, sir."

"Only a glass of milk for my boy," said Birgit.

"Of course, madam." Jeod rang for the butler, delivered his instructions, then leaned back in his chair. "I am at a disadvantage. I believe you have my name, but I don't have yours."

"Stronghammer, at your service," said Roran.

"Mardra, at your service," said Birgit.

"Kell, at your service," said Nolfavrell.

"And I'd be Wally, at your service," finished Loring.

"And I at yours," responded Jeod. "Now, Rolf mentioned that you wished to do business with me. It's only fair that you know I'm in no position to buy or sell goods, nor have I gold for investing, nor proud ships to carry wool and food, gems and spices across the restless sea. What, then, can I do for you?"

Roran rested his elbows on his knees, then knitted his fingers together and stared between them as he marshaled his thoughts. A slip of the tongue could kill us here, he reminded himself.

"To put it simply, sir, we represent a certain group of people who- for various reasons- must purchase a large amount of supplies with very little money. We know that your belongings will be auctioned off day after tomorrow to repay your debts, and we would like to offer a bid now on those items we need. We would have waited until the auction, but circumstances press us and we cannot tarry another two days. If we are to strike a bargain, it must be tonight or tomorrow, no later."

"What manner of supplies do you need?" asked Jeod. "Food and whatever else is required to outfit a ship or other vessel for a long voyage at sea."

A spark of interest gleamed in Jeod's weary face. "Do you have a certain ship in mind? For I know every craft that's plied these waters in the last twenty years."

"We've yet to decide."

Jeod accepted that without question. "I understand now why you thought to come to me, but I fear you labor under a misapprehension." He spread his gray hands, indicating the room. "Everything you see here no longer belongs to me, but to my creditors. I have no authority to sell my possessions, and if I did so without permission, I would likely be imprisoned for cheating my creditors out of the money I owe them."

He paused as Rolf backed into the study, carrying a large silver tray dotted with pastries, cut crystal goblets, a glass of milk, and a decanter of brandy. The butler placed the tray on a padded footstool and then proceeded to serve the refreshments.

Roran took his goblet and sipped the mellow brandy, wondering how soon courtesy would allow the four of them to excuse themselves and resume their quest.

When Rolf left the room, Jeod drained his goblet with a single draught, then said, "I may be of no use to you, but I do know a number of people in my profession who might...might... be able to help. If you can give me a bit more detail about what you want to buy, then I'd have a better idea of who to recommend."

Roran saw no harm in that, so he began to recite a list of items the villagers had to have, things they might need, and things they wanted but would never be able to afford unless fortune smiled greatly upon them. Now and then Birgit or Loring mentioned something Roran had forgotten- like lamp oil- and Jeod would glance at them for a moment before returning his hooded gaze to Roran, where it remained with growing intensity.

Jeod's interest concerned Roran; it was as if the merchant knew, or suspected, what he was hiding.

"It seems to me," said Jeod at the completion of Roran's inventory, "that this would be enough provisions to transport several hundred people to Feinster or Aroughs... or beyond. Admittedly, I've been rather occupied for the past few weeks, but I've heard of no such host in this area, nor can I imagine where one might have come from."

His face blank, Roran met Jeod's stare and said nothing. On the inside, he seethed with self contempt for allowing Jeod to amass enough information to reach that conclusion.

Jeod shrugged. "Well, be as it may, that's your own concern. I'd suggest that you see Galton on Market Street about your food and old Hamill by the docks for all else. They're both honest men and will treat you true and fair."

Reaching over, he plucked a pastry from the tray, took a bite, and then, when he finished chewing, asked Nolfavrell, "So, young Kell, have you enjoyed your stay in Teirm?"

"Yes, sir," said Nolfavrell, and grinned. "I've never seen anything quite so large, sir."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. I-"

Feeling that they were in dangerous territory, Roran interrupted: "I'm curious, sir, as to the nature of the shop next to your house. It seems odd to have such a humble store among all these grand buildings."

For the first time, a smile, if only a small one, brightened Jeod's expression, erasing years from his appearance. "Well, it was owned by a woman who was a bit odd herself: Angela the herbalist, one of the best healers I've ever met. She tended that store for twenty-some years and then, only a few months ago, up and sold it and left for parts unknown." He sighed. "It's a pity, for she made an interesting neighbor."

"That's who Gertrude wanted to meet, isn't it?" asked Nolfavrell, and looked up at his mother.

Roran suppressed a snarl and flashed a warning glance strong enough to make Nolfavrell quail in his chair. The name would mean nothing to Jeod, but unless Nolfavrell guarded his tongue better, he was liable to blurt out something far more damaging.

Time to go, thought Roran.

He put down his goblet. It was then that he saw the name did mean something to Jeod. The merchant's eyes widened with surprise, and he gripped the arms of his chair until the tips of his fingers turned bone white.

"It can't be!" Jeod focused on Roran, studying his face as if trying to see past the beard, and then breathed, "Roran... Roran Garrowsson."

Roran had already pulled his hammer from his belt and was halfway out of the chair when he heard his father's name. It was the only thing that kept him from leaping across the room and knocking Jeod unconscious. How does he know who Garrow is?

Beside him, Loring and Birgit jumped to their feet, drawing knives from within their sleeves, and even Nolfavrell readied himself to fight with a dagger in hand.

"It is Roran, isn't it?" Jeod asked quietly. He showed no alarm at their weapons.

"How did you guess?"

"Because Brom brought Eragon here, and you look like your cousin. When I saw your poster with Eragon's, I realized that the Empire must have tried to capture you and that you had escaped. Although," Jeod's gaze drifted to the other three, "in all my imaginings, I never suspected that you took the rest of Carvahall with you."

Stunned, Roran dropped back into his chair and placed the hammer across his knees, ready for use. "Eragon was here?"

"Aye. And Saphira too."

"Saphira?"

Again, surprise crossed Jeod's face. "You don't know, then?"

"Know what?"

Jeod considered him for a long minute. "I think the time has come to drop our pretenses, Roran Garrowsson, and talk openly and without deception. I can answer many of the questions you must have- such as why the Empire is pursuing you- but in return, I need to know the reason you came to Teirm... the real reason."

"An' why should we trust you, Longshanks?" demanded Loring. "You could be working for Galbatorix, you could."

"I was Brom's friend for over twenty years, before he was a storyteller in Carvahall," said Jeod, "and I did my best to help him and Eragon when they were under my roof. But since neither of them are here to vouch for me, I place my life in your hands, to do with as you wish. I could shout for help, but I won't. Nor will I fight you. All I ask is that you tell me your story and hear my own. Then you can decide for yourself what course of action is proper. You're in no immediate danger, so what harm is there in talking?"

Birgit caught Roran's eye with a flick of her chin. "He could just be trying to save his hide."

"Maybe," replied Roran, "but we have to find out whatever it is he knows." Hooking an arm underneath his chair, he dragged it across the room, placed the back of the chair against the door, and then sat in it, so that no one could burst in and catch them unawares.

He jabbed his hammer at Jeod. "All right. You want to talk? Then let us talk, you and I."

"It would be best if you go first."

"If I do, and we're not satisfied by your answers afterward, we'll have to kill you," warned Roran.

Jeod folded his arms. "So be it."

Despite himself, Roran was impressed by the merchant's fortitude; Jeod appeared unconcerned by his fate, if a bit grim about the mouth.

"So be it," Roran echoed. Roran had relived the events since the Ra'zac's arrival in Carvahall often enough, but never before had he described them in detail to another person. As he did, it struck him how much had happened to him and the other villagers in such a short time and how easy it had been for the Empire to destroy their lives in Palancar Valley.

Resuscitating old terrors was painful for Roran, but he at least had the pleasure of seeing Jeod exhibit unfeigned astonishment as he heard about how the villagers had rousted the soldiers and Ra'zac from their camp, the siege of Carvahall thereafter, Sloan's treachery, Katrina's kidnapping, how Roran had convinced the villagers to flee, and the hardships of their journey to Teirm.

"By the Lost Kings!" exclaimed Jeod. "That's the most extraordinary tale. Extraordinary! To think you've managed to thwart Galbatorix and that right now the entire village of Carvahall is hiding outside one of the Empire's largest cities and the king doesn't even know it..." He shook his head with admiration.

"Aye, that's our position," growled Loring, "and it's precarious at best, so you'd better explain well and good why we should risk letting you live."

"It places me in as much- " Jeod stopped as someone rattled the latch behind Roran's chair, trying to open the door, followed by pounding on the oak planks.

In the hallway, a woman cried, "Jeod! Let me in, Jeod! You can't hide in that cave of yours."

"May I?" murmured Jeod.

Roran clicked his fingers at Nolfavrell, and the boy tossed his dagger to Roran, who slipped around the writing desk and pressed the flat of the blade against Jeod's throat. "Make her leave."

Raising his voice, Jeod said, "I can't talk now; I'm in the middle of a meeting."

"Liar! You don't have any business. You're bankrupt! Come out and face me, you coward! Are you a man or not that you won't even look your wife in the eye?" She paused for a second, as if expecting a response, then her screeches increased in volume: "Coward! You're a gutless rat, a filthy, yellow-bellied sheep-biter without the common sense to run a meat stall, much less a shipping company. My father would have never lost so much money!"

Roran winced as the insults continued. I can't restrain Jeod if she goes on much longer.

"Be still, woman!" commanded Jeod, and silence ensued. "Our fortunes might be about to change for the better if you but have the sense to restrain your tongue and not rail on like a fishmonger's wife."

Her answer was cold: "I shall wait upon your pleasure in the dining room, dear husband, and unless you choose to attend me by the evening meal and explain yourself, then I shall leave this accursed house, never to return." The sound of her footsteps retreated into the distance. When he was sure that she was gone, Roran lifted the dagger from Jeod's neck and returned the weapon to Nolfavrell before reseating himself in the chair pushed against the door.

Jeod rubbed his neck and then, with a wry expression, said, "If we don't reach an understanding, you had better kill me; it'd be easier than explaining to Helen that I shouted at her for naught."

"You have my sympathy, Longshanks," said Loring.

"It's not her fault... not really. She just doesn't understand why so much misfortune has befallen us." Jeod sighed. "Perhaps it's my fault for not daring to tell her."

"Tell her what?" piped Nolfavrell.

"That I'm an agent for the Varden." Jeod paused at their dumbfounded expressions. "Perhaps I should start from the beginning. Roran, have you heard rumors in the past few months of the existence of a new Rider who opposes Galbatorix?"

"Mutterings here and there, yes, but nothing I'd give credence to."

Jeod hesitated. "I don't know how else to say this, Roran... but there is a new Rider in Alagaësia, and it's your cousin, Eragon. The stones he found in the Spine were actually a pair of dragon eggs I helped the Varden steal from Galbatorix years ago. One of them hatched for Eragon and he named her Saphira. That is why the Ra'zac first came to Palancar Valley. They returned because Eragon has become a formidable enemy of the Empire and Galbatorix hoped that by capturing you, they could bring Eragon to bay."

Roran threw back his head and howled with laughter until tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and his stomach hurt from the convulsions. Loring, Birgit, and Nolfavrell looked at him with something akin to fear, but Roran cared not for their opinions. He laughed at the absurdity of Jeod's assertion. He laughed at the terrible possibility that Jeod had told the truth.

Taking rasping breaths, Roran gradually returned to normal, despite an occasional outburst of humorless chuckles. He wiped his face on his sleeve and then regarded Jeod, a hard smile upon his lips. "It fits the facts; I'll give you that. But so do a half dozen other explanations I've thought of."

Birgit said, "If the stones were dragon eggs, then where did they come from?"

"Ah," replied Jeod, "now there's an affair I'm well acquainted with..."

Comfortable in his chair, Roran listened with disbelief as Jeod spun a fantastic story of how Brom- grumpy old Brom!- had once been a Rider and had supposedly helped establish the Varden, how Jeod had discovered a secret passageway into Urû'baen, how the Varden arranged to filch the last three dragon eggs from Galbatorix, and how only two eggs were saved after Brom fought Morzan of the Forsworn. As if that were not preposterous enough, Jeod went on to describe an agreement between the Varden, dwarves, and elves that the eggs should be ferried between Du Weldenvarden and the Beor Mountains, which was why the eggs and their couriers were near the edge of the great forest when they were ambushed by a Shade.

A Shade- ha! thought Roran. Skeptical as he was, Roran attended with redoubled interest when Jeod began to talk of Eragon finding the eggs and raising the dragon Saphira in the forest by Garrow's farm. Roran had been occupied at the time- preparing to leave for Dempton's mill in Therinsford- but he remembered how distracted Eragon had been, how he spent every moment he could outdoors, doing who knows what...

As Jeod explained how and why Garrow died, rage filled Roran that Eragon had dared keep the dragon secret when it so obviously put everyone in danger.

It's his fault my father died!

"What was he thinking?" burst out Roran.

He hated how Jeod looked at him with calm understanding. "I doubt Eragon knew himself. Riders and their dragons are bound together so closely, it's often hard to differentiate one from the other. Eragon could have no more harmed Saphira than he could have sawed off his own leg."

"He could have," muttered Roran. "Because of him, I've had to do things just as painful, and I know- he could have."

"You've a right to feel as you do," said Jeod, "but don't forget that the reason Eragon left Palancar Valley was to protect you and all who remained. I believe it was an extremely hard choice for him to make. From his point of view, he sacrificed himself to ensure your safety and to avenge your father. And while leaving may not have had the desired effect, things would have certainly turned out far worse if Eragon had stayed."

Roran said nothing more until Jeod mentioned that the reason Brom and Eragon had visited Teirm was to see if they could use the city's shipping manifests to locate the Ra'zac's lair.

"And did they?" cried Roran, bolting upright.

"We did indeed."

"Well, where are they, then? For goodness' sake, man, say it; you know how important this is to me!"

"It seemed apparent from the records- and I later had a message from the Varden that Eragon's own account confirmed this- that the Ra'zac's den is in the formation known as Helgrind, by Dras-Leona."

Roran gripped his hammer with excitement. It's a long way to DrasLeona, but Teirm has access to the only open pass between here and the southern end of the Spine. If I can get everyone safely heading down the coast, then I could go to this Helgrind, rescue Katrina if she's there, and follow the Jiet River down to Surda.

Something of Roran's thoughts much have revealed themselves on his face, because Jeod said, "It can't be done, Roran."

"What?"

"No one man can take Helgrind. It's a solid, bare, black mountain of stone that's impossible to climb. Consider the Ra'zac's foul steeds; it seems likely they would have an eyrie near the top of Helgrind rather than bed near the ground, where they are most vulnerable. How, then, would you reach them? And if you could, do you really believe that you could defeat both Ra'zac and their two steeds, if not more? I have no doubt you are a fearsome warrior- after all, you and Eragon share blood- but these are foes beyond any normal human."

Roran shook his head. "I can't abandon Katrina. It may be futile, but I must try to free her, even if it costs me my life."

"It won't do Katrina any good if you get yourself killed," admonished Jeod. "If I may offer a bit of advice: try to reach Surda as you've planned. Once there, I'm sure you can enlist Eragon's help. Even the Ra'zac cannot match a Rider and dragon in open combat."

In his mind's eye, Roran saw the huge gray-skinned beasts the Ra'zac rode upon. He was loath to acknowledge it, but he knew that such creatures were beyond his ability to kill, no matter the strength of his motivation.

The instant he accepted that truth, Roran finally believed Jeod's tale- for if he did not, Katrina was forever lost to him.

Eragon, he thought. Eragon! By the blood I've spilled and the gore on my hands, I swear upon my father's grave I'll have you atone for what you've done by storming Helgrind with me. If you created this mess, then I'll have you clean it up.

Roran motioned to Jeod. "Continue your account. Let us hear the rest of this sorry play before the day grows much older."

Then Jeod spoke of Brom's death; of Murtagh, son of Morzan, who is also a Rider; of capture and escape in Gil'ead; of a desperate flight to save an elf; of Urgals and dwarves and a great battle in a place called Farthen Dûr, where Eragon defeated a Shade. And Jeod told them how the Varden left the Beor Mountains for Surda and how Eragon was even now deep within Du Weldenvarden, learning the elves' mysterious secrets of magic and warfare, but would soon return.

When the merchant fell silent, Roran gathered at the far end of the study with Loring, Birgit, and Nolfavrell and asked their thoughts.

Lowering his voice, Loring said, "I can't tell whether he's lying or not, but any man who can weave a yarn like that at knifepoint deserves to live. New Riders! And Eragon one of them to boot!" He shook his head.

"Birgit?" asked Roran.

"I don't know. It's so outlandish..." She hesitated. "But it must be true. Another Rider is the only thing that would spur the Empire to pursue us so fiercely."

"Aye," agreed Loring. His eyes were bright with excitement. "We've been entangled in far more momentous events than we realized. New Riders. Just think about it! The old order is about to be washed away, I tell you... You were right all along, Roran."

"Nolfavrell?"

The boy looked solemn at being asked. He bit his lip, then said, "Jeod seems honest enough. I think we can trust him."

"Right, then," said Roran. He strode back to Jeod, planted his knuckles on the edge of the desk, and said, "Two last questions, Longshanks. What do Brom and Eragon look like? And how did you recognize Gertrude's name?"

"I knew of Gertrude because Brom mentioned that he left a letter for you in her care. As for what they looked like: Brom stood a bit shorter than me. He had a thick beard, a hooked nose, and he carried a carved staff with him. And I dare say he was rather irritable at times."

Roran nodded; that was Brom.

"Eragon was... young. Brown hair, brown eyes, with a scar on his wrist, and he never stopped asking questions."

Roran nodded again; that was his cousin. Roran stuck his hammer back under his belt. Birgit, Loring, and Nolfavrell sheathed their blades. Then Roran pulled his chair away from the door, and the four of them resumed their seats like civilized beings. "What now, Jeod?" asked Roran. "Can you help us? I know you're in a difficult situation, but we... we are desperate and have no one else to turn to. As an agent of the Varden, can you guarantee us the Varden's protection? We are willing to serve them if they'll shield us from Galbatorix's wrath."

"The Varden," said Jeod, "would be more than happy to have you. More than happy. I suspect you already guessed that. As for help..." He ran a hand down his long face and stared past Loring at the rows of books on the shelves. "I've been aware for almost a year that my true identity- as well as that of many other merchants here and elsewhere who have assisted the Varden- was betrayed to the Empire. Because of that, I haven't dared flee to Surda. If I tried, the Empire would arrest me, and then who knows what horrors I'd be in for? I've had to watch the gradual destruction of my business without being able to take any action to oppose or escape it. What's worse, now that I cannot ship anything to the Varden and they dare not send envoys to me, I feared that Lord Risthart would have me clapped in irons and dragged off to the dungeons, since I'm of no further interest to the Empire. I've expected it every day since I declared bankruptcy."

"Perhaps," suggested Birgit, "they want you to flee so they can capture whoever else you bring with you."

Jeod smiled. "Perhaps. But now that you are here, I have a means to leave that they never anticipated."

"Then you have a plan?" asked Loring.

Glee crossed Jeod's face. "Oh yes, I have a plan. Did the four of you see the ship Dragon Wing moored at port?"

Roran thought back to the vessel. "Aye."

"The Dragon Wing is owned by the Blackmoor Shipping Company, a front for the Empire. They handle supplies for the army, which has mobilized to an alarming degree recently, conscripting soldiers among the peasants and commandeering horses, asses, and oxen."

Jeod raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure what it indicates, but it's possible Galbatorix means to march on Surda. In any case, the Dragon Wing is to sail for Feinster within the week. She's the finest ship ever built, from a new design by master shipwright Kinnell."

"And you want to pirate her," concluded Roran.

"I do. Not only to spite the Empire or because the Dragon Wing is reputed to be the fastest square-rigged ship of her tonnage, but because she's already fully provisioned for a long voyage. And since her cargo is food, we'd have enough for the whole village."

Loring uttered a strained cackle. "I 'ope you can sail her yourself, Longshanks, 'cause not one of us knows how to handle anything larger than a barge."

"A few men from the crews of my ships are still in Teirm. They're in the same position I am, unable to fight or flee. I'm confident they'll jump at a chance to get to Surda. They can teach you what to do on the Dragon Wing. It won't be easy, but I don't see much choice in the matter."

Roran grinned. The plan was to his liking: swift, decisive, and unexpected.

"You mentioned," said Birgit, "that in the past year none of your ships- nor those from other merchants who serve the Varden- have reached their destination. Why, then, should this mission succeed when so many have failed?"

Jeod was quick to answer: "Because surprise is on our side. The law requires merchant ships to submit their itinerary for approval with the port authority at least two weeks before departure. It takes a great deal of time to prepare a ship for launch, so if we leave without warning, it could be a week or more before Galbatorix can launch intercept vessels. If luck is with us, we won't see so much as the topmast of our pursuers. So," continued Jeod, "if you are willing to attempt this enterprise, this is what we must do..."

After they considered Jeod's proposal from every possible angle and agreed to abide by it- with a few modifications- Roran sent Nolfavrell to fetch Gertrude and Mandel from the Green Chestnut, for Jeod had offered their entire party his hospitality.

"Now, if you will excuse me," said Jeod, rising, "I must go reveal to my wife that which I should never have hidden from her and ask if she'll accompany me to Surda. You may take your pick of rooms on the second floor. Rolf will summon you when supper is ready."

With long, slow steps, he departed the study.

"Is it wise to let him tell that ogress?" asked Loring.

Roran shrugged. "Wise or not, we can't stop him. And I don't think he'll be at peace until he does."

Instead of going to a room, Roran wandered through the mansion, unconsciously evading the servants as he pondered the things Jeod had said. He stopped at a bay window open to the stables at the rear of the house and filled his lungs with the brisk and smoky air, heavy with the familiar smell of manure.

"Do you hate him?" He started and turned to see Birgit silhouetted in the doorway. She pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders as she approached.

"Who?" he asked, knowing full well.

"Eragon. Do you hate him?"

Roran looked at the darkening sky. "I don't know. I hate him for causing the death of my father, but he's still family and for that I love him... I suppose that if I didn't need Eragon to save Katrina, I would have nothing to do with him for a long while yet."

"As I need and hate you, Stronghammer."

He snorted with grim amusement. "Aye, we're joined at the hip, aren't we? You have to help me find Eragon in order to avenge Quimby on the Ra'zac."

"And to have my vengeance on you afterward."

"That too." Roran stared into her unwavering eyes for a moment, acknowledging the bond between them. He found it strangely comforting to know that they shared the same drive, the same angry fire that quickened their steps when others faltered. In her, he recognized a kindred spirit.

Returning through the house, Roran stopped by the dining room as he heard the cadence of Jeod's voice. Curious, he fit his eye to a crack by the middle door hinge.

Jeod stood opposite a slight, blond woman, who Roran assumed was Helen.

"If what you say is true, how can you expect me to trust you?"

"I cannot," answered Jeod.

"Yet you ask me to become a fugitive for you?"

"You once offered to leave your family and wander the land with me. You begged me to spirit you away from Teirm."

"Once. I thought you were terribly dashing then, what with your sword and your scar."

"I still have those," he said softly. "I made many mistakes with you, Helen; I understand that now. But I still love you and want you to be safe. I have no future here. If I stay, I'll only bring grief to your family. You can return to your father or you can come with me. Do what will make you the happiest. However, I beg you to give me a second chance, to have the courage to leave this place and shed the bitter memories of our life here. We can start anew in Surda."

She was quiet for a long time. "That young man who was here, is he really a Rider?"

"He is. The winds of change are blowing, Helen. The Varden are about to attack, the dwarves are gathering, and even the elves stir in their ancient haunts. War approaches, and if we're fortunate, so does Galbatorix's downfall."

"Are you important among the Varden?"

"They owe me some consideration for my part in acquiring Saphira's egg."

"Then you would have a position with them in Surda?"

"I imagine so." He put his hands on her shoulders, and she did not draw away.

She whispered, "Jeod, Jeod, don't press me. I cannot decide yet."

"Will you think about it?"

She shivered. "Oh yes. I'll think about it."

Roran's heart pained him as he left. Katrina.

That night at dinner, Roran noticed Helen's eyes were often upon him, studying and measuring- comparing him, he was sure, to Eragon.

After the meal, Roran beckoned to Mandel and led him out into the courtyard behind the house.

"What is it, sir?" asked Mandel.

"I wished to talk with you in private."

"About what?"

Roran fingered the pitted blade of his hammer and reflected on how much he felt like Garrow when his father gave a lecture on responsibility; Roran could even feel the same phrases rising in his throat.

And so one generation passes to the next, he thought.

"You've become quite friendly with the sailors as of late."

"They're not our enemies," objected Mandel.

"Everyone is an enemy at this point. Clovis and his men could turn on us in an instant. It wouldn't be a problem, though, if being with them hadn't caused you to neglect your duties."

Mandel stiffened and color bloomed in his cheeks, but he did not lower himself in Roran's esteem by denying the charge.

Pleased, Roran asked, "What is the most important thing we can do right now, Mandel?"

"Protect our families."

"Aye. And what else?"

Mandel hesitated, uncertain, then confessed, "I don't know."

"Help one another. It's the only way any of us are going to survive. I was especially disappointed to learn that you've gambled food with the sailors, since that endangers the entire village. Your time would be far better spent hunting than playing games of dice or learning to throw knives. With your father gone, it's fallen upon you to care for your mother and siblings. They rely on you. Am I clear?"

"Very clear, sir," replied Mandel with a choked voice.

"Will this ever happen again?"

"Never again, sir."

"Good. Now I didn't bring you here just to chastise you. You show promise, which is why I'm giving you a task that I would trust to no one else but myself."

"Yes, sir!"

"Tomorrow morning I need you to return to camp and deliver a message to Horst. Jeod believes the Empire has spies watching this house, so it's vital that you make sure you aren't followed. Wait until you're out of the city, then lose whoever is trailing you in the countryside. Kill him if you have to. When you find Horst, tell him to..."

As Roran outlined his instructions, he watched Mandel's expression change from surprise, to shock, and then to awe.

"What if Clovis objects?" asked Mandel.

"That night, break the tillers on the barges so they can't be steered. It's a dirty trick, but it could be disastrous if Clovis or any of his men arrive at Teirm before you."

"I won't let that happen," vowed Mandel.

Roran smiled. "Good."

Satisfied that he had resolved the matter of Mandel's behavior and that the young man would do everything possible to get the message to Horst, Roran went back inside and bade their host good night before heading off to sleep.

With the exception of Mandel, Roran and his companions confined themselves to the mansion throughout the following day, taking advantage of the delay to rest, hone their weapons, and review their stratagems. From dawn till dusk, they saw some of Helen as she bustled from one room to the next, more of Rolf with his teeth like varnished pearls, and none of Jeod, for the gray-pated merchant had left to walk the city and- seemingly by accident- meet with the few men of the sea whom he trusted for their expedition.

Upon his return, he told Roran, "We can count on five more hands. I only hope it's enough."

Jeod remained in his study for the rest of the evening, drawing up various legal documents and otherwise tending to his affairs.

Three hours before dawn, Roran, Loring, Birgit, Gertrude, and Nolfavrell roused themselves and, fighting back prodigious yawns, congregated in the mansion's entryway, where they muffled themselves in long cloaks to obscure their faces.

A rapier hung at Jeod's side when he joined them, and Roran thought the narrow sword somehow completed the rangy man, as if it reminded Jeod who he really was. Jeod lit an oil lantern and held it up before them. "Are we ready?" he asked.

They nodded.

Then Jeod unlatched the door and they filed outside to the empty cobblestone street. Behind them, Jeod lingered in the entryway, casting a longing gaze toward the stairs on the right, but Helen did not appear. With a shudder, Jeod left his home and closed the door.

Roran put a hand on his arm. "What's done is done."

"I know."

They trotted through the dark city, slowing to a quick walk whenever they encountered watchmen or a fellow creature of the night, most of whom darted away at the sight of them. Once they heard footsteps on top of a nearby building.

"The design of the city," explained Jeod, "makes it easy for thieves to climb from one roof to another."

They slowed to a walk again when they arrived at Teirm's eastern gate. Because the gate opened to the harbor, it was closed only four hours each night in order to minimize the disruption to commerce. Indeed, despite the time, several men were already moving through the gate. Even though Jeod had warned them it might happen, Roran still felt a surge of fear when the guards lowered their pikes and asked what their business was. He wet his mouth and tried not to fidget while the elder soldier examined a scroll that Jeod handed to him.

After a long minute, the guard nodded and returned the parchment. "You can pass."

Once they were on the wharf and out of earshot of the city wall, Jeod said, "It's a good thing he couldn't read."

The six of them waited on the damp planking until, one by one, Jeod's men emerged from the gray mist that lay upon the shore. They were grim and silent, with braided hair that hung to the middle of their backs, tar-smeared hands, and an assortment of scars even Roran respected. He liked what he saw, and he could tell they approved of him as well.

They did not, however, take to Birgit. One of the sailors, a large brute of a man, jerked a thumb at her and accused Jeod, "You didn't say there'd be a woman along for the fightin'. How am I supposed to concentrate with some backwoods tramp getting in m' way?"

"Don't talk about her like that," said Nolfavrell between clenched teeth.

"An' her runt too?"

In a calm voice, Jeod said, "Birgit has fought the Ra'zac. And her son has already killed one of Galbatorix's best soldiers. Can you claim as much, Uthar?"

"It's not proper," said another man. "I wouldn't feel safe with a woman at my side; they do naught but bring bad luck. A lady shouldn't- "

Whatever he was going to say was lost, for at that instant, Birgit did a very unladylike thing. Stepping forward, she kicked Uthar between his legs and then grabbed the second man and pressed her knife against his throat. She held him for a moment, so everyone could see what she had done, then released her captive. Uthar rolled on the boards by her feet, holding himself and muttering a stream of curses.

"Does anyone else have an objection?" demanded Birgit. Beside her, Nolfavrell stared with openmouthed amazement at his mother.

Roran pulled his hood lower to conceal his grin. Good thing they haven't noticed Gertrude, he thought.

When no one else challenged Birgit, Jeod asked, "Did you bring what I wanted?" Each sailor reached inside his vest and divulged a weighted club and several lengths of rope. Thus armed, they worked their way down the harbor toward the Dragon Wing, doing their best to escape detection. Jeod kept his lantern shuttered the whole while. Near the dock, they hid behind a warehouse and watched the two lights carried by sentries bob around the deck of the ship. The gangway had been pulled away for the night.

"Remember," whispered Jeod, "the most important thing is to keep the alarm from being sounded until we're ready to leave."

"Two men above, two men below, right?" asked Roran.

Uthar replied, "That be the custom."

Roran and Uthar stripped to their breeches, tied the rope and clubs around their waists- Roran left his hammer behind- and then ran farther down the wharf, out of the sentries' sight, where they lowered themselves into the frigid water.

"Garr, I hate when I have to do this," said Uthar.

"You've done it before?" "Four times now. Don't stop moving or you'll freeze."

Clinging to the slimy piles underneath the wharf, they swam back up the way they had come until they reached the stone pier that led to the Dragon Wing, and then turned right.

Uthar put his lips to Roran's ear. "I'll take the starboard anchor."

Roran nodded his agreement. They both dove under the black water, and there they separated. Uthar swam like a frog under the bow of the ship, while Roran went straight to the port anchor and clung to its thick chain. He untied the club from his waist and fit it between his teeth- as much to stop them from chattering as to free his hands- and prepared to wait. The rough metal sapped the warmth from his arms as fast as ice.

Not three minutes later, Roran heard the scuff of Birgit's boots above him as she walked to the end of the pier, opposite the middle of the Dragon Wing, and then the faint sound of her voice as she engaged the sentries in conversation. Hopefully, she would keep their attention away from the bow.

Now! Roran pulled himself hand over hand along the chain. His right shoulder burned where the Ra'zac had bit him, but he pressed on. From the porthole where the anchor chain entered the ship, he clambered up the ridges that supported the painted figurehead, over the railing, and onto the deck.

Uthar was already there, dripping and panting. Clubs in hand, they padded toward the aft of the ship, using whatever cover they could find. They stopped not ten feet behind the sentries. The two men leaned on the railing, bandying words with Birgit.

In a flash, Roran and Uthar burst into the open and struck the sentries on the head before they could draw their sabers. Below, Birgit waved for Jeod and the rest of their group, and between them they raised the gangway and slid one end across to the ship, where Uthar lashed it to the railing.

As Nolfavrell ran aboard, Roran tossed his rope to the boy and said, "Tie and gag these two."

Then everyone but Gertrude descended belowdecks to hunt for the remaining sentries. They found four additional men- the purser, the bosun, the ship's cook, and the ship's cook's assistant- all of whom were trundled out of bed, knocked on the head if they resisted, and then securely trussed. In this, Birgit again proved her worth, capturing two men herself.

Jeod had the unhappy prisoners placed in a line on the deck so they could be watched at all times, then declared, "We have much to do, and little time. Roran, Uthar is captain on the Dragon Wing. You and the others will take your orders from him."

For the next two hours, the ship was a frenzy of activity. The sailors tended to the rigging and sails, while Roran and those from Carvahall worked to empty the hold of extraneous supplies, such as bales of raw wool. These they lowered overboard to prevent anyone on the wharf from hearing a splash. If the entire village was to fit on the Dragon Wing, they needed to clear as much space as possible.

Roran was in the midst of fitting a cable around a barrel when he heard the hoarse cry, "Someone's coming!"

Everyone on deck, except Jeod and Uthar, dropped to their bellies and reached for their weapons. The two men who remained standing paced the ship as if they were sentries.

Roran's heart pounded while he lay motionless, wondering what was about to happen. He held his breath as Jeod addressed the intruder... then footsteps echoed on the gangway.

It was Helen.

She wore a plain dress, her hair was bound under a kerchief, and she carried a burlap sack over one shoulder. She spoke not a word, but stowed her gear in the main cabin and returned to stand by Jeod. Roran thought he had never seen a happier man.

The sky above the distant mountains of the Spine had just begun to brighten when one of the sailors in the rigging pointed north and whistled to indicate he had spotted the villagers.

Roran moved even faster. What time they had was now gone.

He rushed up on deck and peered at the dark line of people advancing down the coast. This part of their plan depended on the fact that, unlike other coastal cities, Teirm's outer wall had not been left open to the sea, but rather completely enclosed the bulk of the city in order to ward off frequent pirate attacks. This meant that the buildings skirting the harbor were left exposed- and that the villagers could walk right up to the Dragon Wing. "

Hurry now, hurry!" said Jeod.

At Uthar's command, the sailors brought out armfuls of javelins for the great bows on deck, as well as casks of foul-smelling tar, which they knocked open and used to paint the upper half of the javelins. They then drew and loaded the ballistae on the starboard side; it took two men per bow to pull out the sinew cord until it caught on its hook.

The villagers were two-thirds of the way to the ship before the soldiers patrolling the battlements of Teirm spotted them and trumpeted the alarm.

Even before that first note faded, Uthar bellowed, "Light and fire 'em!"

Dashing open Jeod's lantern, Nolfavrell ran from one ballista to the next, holding the flame to the javelins until the tar ignited. The instant a missile caught, the man behind the bow pulled the release line and the javelin vanished with a heavy thunk. In all, twelve blazing bolts shot from the Dragon Wing and pierced the ships and buildings along the bay like roaring, red hot meteors from the heavens above.

"Draw and reload!" shouted Uthar.

The creak of bending wood filled the air as every man hauled back on the twisted cords. Javelins were slotted in place. Once again, Nolfavrell made his run. Roran could feel the vibration in his feet as the ballista in front of him sent its deadly projectile winging on its way. The fire quickly spread along the waterfront, forming an impenetrable barrier that prevented soldiers from reaching the Dragon Wing though Teirm's east gate. Roran had counted on the pillar of smoke to hide the ship from the archers on the battlements, but it was a near thing; a flight of arrows tugged at the rigging, and one dart embedded itself in the deck by Gertrude before the soldiers lost sight of the ship. From the bow, Uthar shouted, "Pick your targets at will!"

The villagers were running pell-mell down the beach now. They reached the north end of the wharf, and a handful of them stumbled and fell as the soldiers in Teirm redirected their aim. Children screamed in terror. Then the villagers regained momentum. They pounded down the planks, past a warehouse engulfed in flame and along the pier. The panting mob charged onto the ship in a confused mass of jostling bodies. Birgit and Gertrude guided the stream of people to the fore and aft hatches.

In a few minutes, the various levels of the ship were packed to their limit, from the cargo hold to the captain's cabin. Those who could not fit below remained huddled on deck, holding Fisk's shields over their heads. As Roran had asked in his message, all able-bodied men from Carvahall clustered around the mainmast, waiting for instructions. Roran saw Mandel among them and tossed him a proud salute.

Then Uthar pointed at a sailor and barked, "You there, Bonden! Get those swabs to the capstans and weigh anchors, then down to the oars. Double time!" To the rest of the men at the ballistae, he ordered, "Half of you leave off and take the port ballistae. Drive away any boarding parties."

Roran was one of those who switched sides. As he prepared the ballistae, a few laggards staggered out of the acrid smoke and onto the ship. Beside him, Jeod and Helen hoisted the six prisoners one by one onto the gangway and rolled them onto the pier. Before Roran quite knew it, anchors had been raised, the gangway was cut loose, and a drum pounded beneath his feet, setting the tempo for the oarsmen. Ever so slowly, the Dragon Wing turned to starboard- toward the open sea- and then, with gathering speed, pulled away from the dock.

Roran accompanied Jeod to the quarterdeck, where they watched the crimson inferno devour everything flammable between Teirm and the ocean. Through the filter of smoke, the sun appeared a flat, bloated, bloody orange disk as it rose over the city.

How many have I killed now? wondered Roran.

Echoing his thoughts, Jeod observed, "This will harm a great many innocent people."

Guilt made Roran respond with more force than he intended: "Would you rather be in Lord Risthart's prisons? I doubt many will be injured in the blaze, and those that aren't won't face death, like we will if the Empire catches us."

"You needn't lecture me, Roran. I know the arguments well enough. We did what we had to. Just don't ask me to take pleasure in the suffering we've caused to ensure our own safety."

By noon the oars had been stowed and the Dragon Wing sailed under her own power, propelled by favorable winds from the north. The gusts of air caused the rigging overhead to emit a low hum.

The ship was miserably overcrowded, but Roran was confident that with some careful planning they could make it to Surda with a minimum of discomfort. The worst inconvenience was that of limited rations; if they were to avoid starvation, food would have to be dispensed in miserly portions. And in such cramped quarters, disease was an all too likely possibility.

After Uthar gave a brief speech about the importance of discipline on a ship, the villagers applied themselves to the tasks that required their immediate attention, such as tending to their wounded, unpacking their meager belongings, and deciding upon the most efficient sleeping arrangement for each deck. They also had to choose people to fill the various positions on the Dragon Wing: who would cook, who would train as sailors under Uthar's men, and so forth.

Roran was helping Elain hang a hammock when he became embroiled in a heated dispute between Odele, her family, and Frewin, who had apparently deserted Torson's crew to stay with Odele. The two of them wanted to marry, which Odele's parents vehemently opposed on the grounds that the young sailor lacked a family of his own, a respectable profession, and the means to provide even a modicum of comfort for their daughter.

Roran thought it best if the enamored couple remained together- it seemed impractical to try and separate them while they remained confined to the same ship- but Odele's parents refused to give his arguments credence.

Frustrated, Roran said, "What would you do, then? You can't lock her away, and I believe Frewin has proved his devotion more than- "

"Ra'zac!"The cry came from the crow's nest.

Without a second thought, Roran yanked his hammer from his belt, whirled about, and scrambled up the ladder through the fore hatchway, barking his shin on the way. He sprinted toward the knot of people on the quarterdeck, coming to a halt beside Horst. The smith pointed.

One of the Ra'zac's dread steeds drifted like a tattered shadow above the edge of the coastline, a Ra'zac on its back. Seeing the two monsters exposed in daylight in no way diminished the creeping horror they inspired in Roran.

He shuddered as the winged creature uttered its terrifying shriek, and then the Ra'zac's insectile voice drifted across the water, faint but distinct: "You shall not essscape!"

Roran looked at the ballistae, but they could not turn far enough to aim at the Ra'zac or its mount. "Does anyone have a bow?"

"I do," said Baldor. He dropped to one knee and began to string his weapon. "Don't let them see me."

Everyone on the quarterdeck gathered in a tight circle around Baldor, shielding him with their bodies from the Ra'zac's malevolent gaze.

"Why don't they attack?" growled Horst.

Puzzled, Roran searched for an explanation but found none. It was Jeod who suggested, "Perhaps it's too bright for them. The Ra'zac hunt at night, and so far as I know they do not willingly venture forth from their lairs while the sun is yet in the sky."

"It's not just that," said Gertrude slowly. "I think they're afraid of the ocean."

"Afraid of the ocean?" scoffed Horst.

"Watch them; they don't fly more than a yard over the water at any given time."

"She's right," said Roran. At last, a weakness I can use against them!

A few seconds later, Baldor said, "Ready!"

At his word, the ranks of people who stood before him jumped aside, clearing the path for his arrow. Baldor sprang to his feet and, in a single motion, pulled the feather to his cheek and loosed the reed shaft.

It was a heroic shot.

The Ra'zac was at the extreme edge of a longbow's range- far beyond any mark Roran had seen an archer hit- and yet Baldor's aim was true. His arrow struck the flying creature on the right flank, and the beast gave a scream of pain so great that the glass on the deck was shattered and the stones on the shore were riven in shards. Roran clapped his hands over his ears to protect them from the hideous blast. Still screaming, the monster veered inland and dropped behind a line of misty hills. "

Did you kill it?" asked Jeod, his face pale.

"I fear not," replied Baldor. "It was naught but a flesh wound."

Loring, who had just arrived, observed with satisfaction, "Aye. But at least you hurt him, and I'd wager they'll think twice about bothering us again."

Gloom settled over Roran. "Save your triumph for later, Loring. This was no victory."

"Why not?" demanded Horst.

"Because now the Empire knows exactly where we are."

The quarterdeck fell silent as they grasped the implications of what he had said.