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 HAMMER FALLS
he 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.
Stagge
ring 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 res
t 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.”
Inheritance Cycle Omnibus Page 91
