Eldest [en]

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.