Eldest [en]

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 HAMMER FALLS

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