Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (62 page)

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 bow-

string.

Though he too was worried, Roran said, “I do. I’d bet you a barrel of ci-

der 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?”

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“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 or-

dered, 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 de-

pend on it. If we are attacked, your only duty is to see the barges

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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 pleas-

ant 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 Ede-

line. 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 Ro-

ran, the villagers looked at Roran to see if they should obey. He nodded

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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.

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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.”

In short order, the gangplanks were pulled aboard, the mooring ropes

untied, and the sails raised on the three barges. The air rang with shouted

orders and chants of heave-ho as the sailors pulled on ropes.

Behind them, Galina and her mother remained watching as the barges

drew away, still and silent, hooded and grave.

“We’re lucky, Stronghammer,” said Clovis, clapping him on the shoul-

der. “We’ve a bit o’ wind to push us along today. We may not have to

row in order to reach the cove before the tide changes, eh!”

When the Red Boar was in the middle of Narda’s bay and still ten min-

utes from the freedom of the open sea, that which Roran dreaded oc-

curred: the sound of bells and trumpets floated across the water from

among the stone buildings.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I don’t rightly know,” said Clovis. He frowned as he stared at the town,

his hands planted on his hips. “It could be a fire, but no smoke is in the

air. Maybe some Urgals were discovered in the area. . ” Concern grew

upon his face. “Did you perchance spy anyone on the road this morning?”

Roran shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Flint drew alongside them and shouted from the deck of the Edeline,

“Should we turn back, sir?” Roran gripped the gunwale so hard that he

drove splinters under his nails, ready to intercede but afraid to appear too

anxious.

Tearing his gaze from Narda, Clovis bellowed in return, “No. We’d

miss the tide then.”

“Aye, aye, sir! But I’d give a day’s pay to find out what caused that

clamor.”

“So would I,” muttered Clovis.

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As the houses and buildings shrank behind them, Roran crouched at

the rear port of the barge, wrapped his arms around his knees, and leaned

against the cabins. He looked at the sky, struck by its depth, clarity, and

color, then into the Red Boar ’s roiling green wake, where ribbons of sea-

weed fluttered. The pitch of the barge lulled him like the rock of a cra-

dle. What a beautiful day it is, he thought, grateful he was there to ob-

serve it.

After they escaped the cove—to his relief—Roran climbed the ladder

to the poop deck behind the cabins, where Clovis stood with his hand on

the tiller, guiding their course. The captain said, “Ah, there’s something

exhilarating about the first day of a voyage, before you realize how bad

the food is an’ start longing for home.”

Mindful of his need to learn what he could about the barge, Roran

asked Clovis the names and functions of various objects on board, at

which point he was treated to an enthusiastic lecture on the workings of

barges, ships, and the art of sailing in general.

Two hours later, Clovis pointed at a narrow peninsula that lay before

them. “The cove be on the far side of that.” Roran straightened off the

railing and craned his neck, eager to confirm that the villagers were safe.

As the Red Boar rounded the rocky spit of land, a white beach was re-

vealed at the apex of the cove, upon which were assembled the refugees

from Palancar Valley. The crowd cheered and waved as the barges

emerged from behind the rocks.

Roran relaxed.

Beside him, Clovis uttered a dreadful oath. “I knew something were

amiss the moment I clapped eyes upon you, Stronghammer. Livestock

indeed. Bah! You played me like a fool, you did.”

“You wrong me,” replied Roran. “I did not lie; this is my flock and I am

their shepherd. Is it not within my right to call them ‘livestock’ if I

want?”

“Call them what you will, I didn’t agree to haul people to Teirm. Why

you didn’t tell me the true nature of your cargo, I might wonder, an’ the

only answer on the horizon is that whatever venture you’re engaged in

means trouble. . trouble for you an’ trouble for me. I should toss the lot

of you overboard an’ return to Narda.”

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“But you won’t,” said Roran, deadly quiet.

“Oh? An’ why not?”

“Because I need these barges, Clovis, and I’ll do anything to keep them.

Anything. Honor our bargain and you’ll have a peaceful trip and you’ll get

to see Galina again. If not. .” The threat sounded worse than it was; Roran

had no intention of killing Clovis, though if he had to, he would abandon

him somewhere along the coast.

Clovis’s face reddened, but he surprised Roran by grunting and saying,

“Fair enough, Stronghammer.” Pleased with himself, Roran returned his

attention to the beach.

Behind him, he heard a snick.

Acting on instinct, Roran recoiled, crouching, twisting, and covering his

head with his shield. His arm vibrated as a belaying pin broke across the

shield. He lowered the shield and gazed at a dismayed Clovis, who re-

treated across the deck.

Roran shook his head, never taking his eyes off his opponent. “You

can’t defeat me, Clovis. I’ll ask you again: Will you honor our bargain? If

you don’t, I’ll put you ashore, commandeer the barges, and press your

crew into service. I don’t want to ruin your livelihood, but I will if you