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.
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
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
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:
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.
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.
CHILD’S PLAY
“And this,” said Trianna, “is the latest pattern we’ve invented.”
Nasuada took the black veil from the sorceress and ran it through her hands, marveling at its quality. No human could throw lace that fine. She gazed with satisfaction at the rows of boxes on her desk, which contained samples of the many designs Du Vrangr Gata now produced. “You’ve done well,” she said. “Far better than I had hoped. Tell your spellcasters how pleased I am with their work. It means much to the Varden.”
Trianna inclined her head at the praise. “I will convey your message to them, Lady Nasuada.”
“Have they yet—”
A disturbance at the doors to her quarters interrupted Nasuada. She heard her guards swear and raise their voices, then a yelp of pain. The sound of metal clashing on metal rang in the hallway. Nasuada backed away from the door in alarm, drawing her dagger from its sheath.
“Run, Lady!” said Trianna. The sorceress placed herself in front of Nasuada and pushed back her sleeves, baring her white arms in preparation to work magic. “Take the servants’ entrance.”
Before Nasuada could move, the doors burst open and a small figure tackled her legs, knocking her to the floor. Even as Nasuada fell, a silvery object flashed through the space she had just occupied, burying itself in the far wall with a dull
Then the four guards entered, and all was confusion as Nasuada felt them drag her assailant off her. When Nasuada managed to stand, she saw Elva hanging in their grip.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Nasuada.
The black-haired girl smiled, then doubled over and retched on the braided rug. Afterward, she fixed her violet eyes on Nasuada and — in her terrible, knowing voice — she said, “Have your magician examine the wall, O Daughter of Ajihad, and see if I have not fulfilled my promise to you.”
Nasuada nodded to Trianna, who glided to the splintered hole in the wall and muttered a spell. She returned holding a metal dart. “This was buried in the wood.”
“But where did it come from?” asked Nasuada, bewildered.
Trianna gestured toward the open window overlooking the city of Aberon. “Somewhere out there, I
