pace: “I agree with Loring. Barges are unacceptable. They’re slow and vul-
nerable. 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 in-
firm 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 con-
cern.” 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 ar-
rives 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, breath-
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less, hoping for another of his visionary speeches.
“It’s this or walk,” he said.
Then he went to bed.
388
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, examin-
ing 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 intru-
sive 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 ar-
row.
To the east, a shadow detached itself from the horizon. Visible only as
a void among the stars, it drifted like a torn veil across the sky until it
covered the moon, where it remained, hovering. Illuminated from be-
hind, Roran could see the translucent wings of one of the Ra’zac’s
mounts.
The black creature opened its beak and uttered a long, piercing shriek.
Roran grimaced with pain at the cry’s pitch and frequency. It stabbed at
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his eardrums, turned his blood to ice, and replaced hope and joy with de-
spair. The ululation woke the entire forest. Birds and beasts for miles
around exploded into a yammering chorus of panic, including, to Roran’s
alarm, what remained of the villagers’ herds.
Staggering from tree to tree, Roran returned to the camp, whispering,
“The Ra’zac are here. Be quiet and stay where you are,” to everyone he
encountered. He saw the other sentries moving among the frightened vil-
lagers, spreading the same message.
Fisk emerged from his tent with a spear in hand and roared, “Are we
under attack? What’s set off those blasted—” Roran tackled the carpenter
to silence him, uttering a muffled bellow as he landed on his right shoul-
der and pained his old injury.
“Ra’zac,” Roran groaned to Fisk.
Fisk went still and in an undertone asked, “What should I do?”
“Help me to calm the animals.”
Together they picked their way through the camp to the adjacent
meadow where the goats, sheep, donkeys, and horses were bedded. The
farmers who owned the bulk of the herds slept with their charges and
were already awake and working to soothe the beasts. Roran thanked his
paranoia that he had insisted on having the animals scattered along the
edge of the meadow, where the trees and brush helped to camouflage
them from unfriendly eyes.
As he tried to pacify a clump of sheep, Roran glanced up at the terrible
black shadow that still obscured the moon, like a giant bat. To his horror,
it began to move toward their hiding place. If that creature screams again,
we’re doomed.
By the time the Ra’zac circled overhead, most of the animals had qui-
eted, except for one donkey, who insisted upon loosing a grating hee-haw.
Without hesitation, Roran dropped to one knee, fit arrow to string, and
shot the ass between the ribs. His aim was true, and the animal dropped
without a sound.
He was too late, though; the braying had already alerted the Ra’zac. The
monster swung its head in the direction of the clearing and descended
toward it with outstretched claws, preceded by its fetid stench.
390
Now the time has come to see if we can slay a nightmare, thought Roran.
Fisk, who was crouched beside him in the grass, hefted his spear, prepar-
ing to hurl it once the brute was in range.
Just as Roran drew his bow—in an attempt to begin and end the battle
with a well-placed shaft—he was distracted by a commotion in the for-
est.
A mass of deer burst through the underbrush and stampeded across the
meadow, ignoring villagers and livestock alike in their frantic desire to
escape the Ra’zac. For almost a minute, the deer bounded past Roran,
mincing the loam with their sharp hooves and catching the moonlight
with their white-rimmed eyes. They came so close, he heard the soft
gasps of their labored breathing.
The multitude of deer must have hidden the villagers because, after
one last circuit over the meadow, the winged monster turned to the
south and glided farther down the Spine, melding into the night.
Roran and his companions remained frozen in place, like hunted rab-
bits, afraid that the Ra’zac’s departure might be a ruse to flush them into
the open or that the creature’s twin might be close behind. They waited
for hours, tense and anxious, barely moving except to string a bow.
When the moon was about to set, the Ra’zac’s bone-chilling shriek
echoed far in the distance. . then nothing.
We were lucky, decided Roran when he woke the next morning. And
we can’t count on luck to save us the next time.
After the Ra’zac’s appearance, none of the villagers objected to travel-
ing by barge. On the contrary, they were so eager to be off, many of them
asked Roran if it was possible to set sail that day instead of the next.
“I wish we could,” he said, “but too much has to be done.”
Forgoing breakfast, he, Horst, and a group of other men hiked into
Narda. Roran knew that he risked being recognized by accompanying
them, but their mission was too important for him to neglect. Besides, he
was confident that his current appearance was different enough from his
portrait on the Empire’s poster that no one would equate one with the
391
other.
They had no difficulty gaining entrance, as a different set of soldiers
guarded the town gate, whereupon they went to the docks and delivered
the two hundred crowns to Clovis, who was busy overseeing a gang of
men as they readied the barges for sea.
“Thank’ee, Stronghammer,” he said, tying the bag of coins to his belt.
“There be nothing like yellow gold to brighten a man’s day.” He led them
to a worktable and unrolled a chart of the waters surrounding Narda,
complete with notations on the strength of various currents; locations of
rocks, sandbars, and other hazards; and decades’ worth of sounding meas-
urements. Drawing a line with his finger from Narda to a small cove di-
rectly south of it, Clovis said, “Here’s where we’ll meet your livestock.
The tides are gentle this time o’ year, but we still don’t want to fight
them an’ no bones about it, so we’ll have to be on our way directly after
the high tide.”
“High tide?” said Roran. “Wouldn’t it be easier to wait until low tide
and let it carry us out?”
Clovis tapped his nose with a twinkle in his eye. “Aye, it would, an’ so
I’ve begun many a cruise. What I don’t want, though, is to be slung up on
the beach, loading your animals, when the tide comes a-rushing back in
and pushes us farther inland. There be no danger of that this way, but
we’ll have to move smart so as we’re not left high an’ dry when the wa-
ters recede. Assuming we do, the sea’ll work for us, eh?”
Roran nodded. He trusted Clovis’s experience. “And how many men
will you need to fill out your crews?”
“Well, I managed to dig up seven lads—strong, true, an’ good seamen
all—who have agreed to this venture, odd as it is. Mind you, most of the
boys were at the bottom of their tankards when I cornered them last
night, drinking off the pay from their last voyage, but they’ll be sober as
spinsters come morn; that I promise you. Seeing as seven were all I could
find, I’d like four more.”
“Four it is,” said Roran. “My men don’t know much about sailing, but
they’re able-bodied and willing to learn.”
Clovis grunted. “I usually take on a brace of new lads each trip anyway.
So long as they follow orders, they’ll do fine; otherwise, they’ll get a be-
laying pin upsides the head, mark my words. As for guards, I’d like to
392
have nine—three per boat. An’ they’d better not be as green as your sail-
ors, or I won’t budge from the dock, not for all the whisky in the world.”
Roran allowed himself a grim smile. “Every man who rides with me has
proved himself in battle many times over.”
“An’ they all answer to you, eh, young Stronghammer?” said Clovis. He
scratched his chin, eyeing Gedric, Delwin, and the others who were new
to Narda. “How many are with you?”
“Enough.”
“Enough, you say. I wonder.” He waved a hand. “Never you mind me;
my tongue runs a league before my own common sense, or so my father
used to tell me. My first mate, Torson, is at the chandler’s now, oversee-
ing the purchase of goods and equipment. I understand you have feed for
your livestock?”
“Among other things.”
“Then you’d best fetch them. We can load them into the holds once
the masts are up.”
Throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, Roran and the vil-
lagers with him labored to ferry the supplies—which Loring’s sons had
procured—from the warehouse where it was stored into the sheds with
the barges.
As Roran trudged across the gangplank to the Edeline and lowered his
bag of flour to the sailor waiting in the hold, Clovis observed, “Most of
this t’aint feed, Stronghammer.”
“No,” said Roran. “But it’s needed.” He was pleased that Clovis had the
sense not to inquire further.
When the last item had been stored away, Clovis beckoned to Roran.
“You might as well go. Me and the boys will handle the rest. Just you
remember to be at the docks three hours after dawn with every man jack
you promised me, or we’ll lose the tide.”
“We’ll be there.”
393
Back in the foothills, Roran helped Elain and the others prepare for de-
parture. It did not take long, as they 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