Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (74 page)

sailors, since that endangers the entire village. Your time would be far

better spent hunting than playing games of dice or learning to throw

knives. With your father gone, it’s fallen upon you to care for your

mother and siblings. They rely on you. Am I clear?”

“Very clear, sir,” replied Mandel with a choked voice.

“Will this ever happen again?”

“Never again, sir.”

“Good. Now I didn’t bring you here just to chastise you. You show

promise, which is why I’m giving you a task that I would trust to no one

else but myself.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Tomorrow morning I need you to return to camp and deliver a mes-

sage to Horst. Jeod believes the Empire has spies watching this house, so

it’s vital that you make sure you aren’t followed. Wait until you’re out of

the city, then lose whoever is trailing you in the countryside. Kill him if

you have to. When you find Horst, tell him to. .” As Roran outlined his

instructions, he watched Mandel’s expression change from surprise, to

shock, and then to awe.

“What if Clovis objects?” asked Mandel.

“That night, break the tillers on the barges so they can’t be steered. It’s a

dirty trick, but it could be disastrous if Clovis or any of his men arrive at

Teirm before you.”

“I won’t let that happen,” vowed Mandel.

Roran smiled. “Good.” Satisfied that he had resolved the matter of

Mandel’s behavior and that the young man would do everything possible

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to get the message to Horst, Roran went back inside and bade their host

good night before heading off to sleep.

With the exception of Mandel, Roran and his companions confined

themselves to the mansion throughout the following day, taking advan-

tage of the delay to rest, hone their weapons, and review their stratagems.

From dawn till dusk, they saw some of Helen as she bustled from one

room to the next, more of Rolf with his teeth like varnished pearls, and

none of Jeod, for the gray-pated merchant had left to walk the city and—

seemingly by accident—meet with the few men of the sea whom he

trusted for their expedition.

Upon his return, he told Roran, “We can count on five more hands. I

only hope it’s enough.” Jeod remained in his study for the rest of the eve-

ning, drawing up various legal documents and otherwise tending to his

affairs.

Three hours before dawn, Roran, Loring, Birgit, Gertrude, and Nol-

favrell roused themselves and, fighting back prodigious yawns, congre-

gated in the mansion’s entryway, where they muffled themselves in long

cloaks to obscure their faces. A rapier hung at Jeod’s side when he joined

them, and Roran thought the narrow sword somehow completed the

rangy man, as if it reminded Jeod who he really was.

Jeod lit an oil lantern and held it up before them. “Are we ready?” he

asked. They nodded. Then Jeod unlatched the door and they filed outside

to the empty cobblestone street. Behind them, Jeod lingered in the en-

tryway, casting a longing gaze toward the stairs on the right, but Helen

did not appear. With a shudder, Jeod left his home and closed the door.

Roran put a hand on his arm. “What’s done is done.”

“I know.”

They trotted through the dark city, slowing to a quick walk whenever

they encountered watchmen or a fellow creature of the night, most of

whom darted away at the sight of them. Once they heard footsteps on

top of a nearby building. “The design of the city,” explained Jeod, “makes

it easy for thieves to climb from one roof to another.”

They slowed to a walk again when they arrived at Teirm’s eastern gate.

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Because the gate opened to the harbor, it was closed only four hours each

night in order to minimize the disruption to commerce. Indeed, despite

the time, several men were already moving through the gate.

Even though Jeod had warned them it might happen, Roran still felt a

surge of fear when the guards lowered their pikes and asked what their

business was. He wet his mouth and tried not to fidget while the elder

soldier examined a scroll that Jeod handed to him. After a long minute,

the guard nodded and returned the parchment. “You can pass.”

Once they were on the wharf and out of earshot of the city wall, Jeod

said, “It’s a good thing he couldn’t read.”

The six of them waited on the damp planking until, one by one, Jeod’s

men emerged from the gray mist that lay upon the shore. They were

grim and silent, with braided hair that hung to the middle of their backs,

tar-smeared hands, and an assortment of scars even Roran respected. He

liked what he saw, and he could tell they approved of him as well. They

did not, however, take to Birgit.

One of the sailors, a large brute of a man, jerked a thumb at her and ac-

cused Jeod, “You didn’t say there’d be a woman along for the fightin’.

How am I supposed to concentrate with some backwoods tramp getting

in m’ way?”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” said Nolfavrell between clenched teeth.

“An’ her runt too?”

In a calm voice, Jeod said, “Birgit has fought the Ra’zac. And her son has

already killed one of Galbatorix’s best soldiers. Can you claim as much,

Uthar?”

“It’s not proper,” said another man. “I wouldn’t feel safe with a woman

at my side; they do naught but bring bad luck. A lady shouldn’t—”

Whatever he was going to say was lost, for at that instant, Birgit did a

very unladylike thing. Stepping forward, she kicked Uthar between his

legs and then grabbed the second man and pressed her knife against his

throat. She held him for a moment, so everyone could see what she had

done, then released her captive. Uthar rolled on the boards by her feet,

holding himself and muttering a stream of curses.

“Does anyone else have an objection?” demanded Birgit. Beside her,

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Nolfavrell stared with openmouthed amazement at his mother.

Roran pulled his hood lower to conceal his grin. Good thing they haven’t

noticed Gertrude, he thought.

When no one else challenged Birgit, Jeod asked, “Did you bring what I

wanted?” Each sailor reached inside his vest and divulged a weighted club

and several lengths of rope.

Thus armed, they worked their way down the harbor toward the

Dragon Wing, doing their best to escape detection. Jeod kept his lantern

shuttered the whole while. Near the dock, they hid 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 far-

ther 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.

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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 shoul-

der 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 gang-

way and slid one end across to the ship, where Uthar lashed it to the rail-

ing.

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 bo-

sun, 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 se-

curely 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

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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. Ro-

ran’s heart pounded while he lay motionless, wondering what was about

to happen. He held his breath as Jeod addressed the intruder. . then foot-

steps 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 whis-

tled 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 fre-

quent 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!”

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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