Eldest [en]

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.”