guards. Mandel had performed admirably then, as well as in the weeks
since while he crewed the Edeline and learned what he could about pilot-
ing the barges. “He’s become quite friendly with the sailors on our barge
and he’s started playing dice with those lawless men. Not for money—we
have none—but for small things. Things we need.”
“Have you asked him to stop?”
Felda twisted the tassels. “I fear that, since his father died, he no longer
respects me as he once did. He has grown wild and willful.”
We have all grown wild, thought Roran. “And what would you have me
do about it?” he asked gently.
“You have ever dealt generously with Mandel. He admires you. If you
talk with him, he will listen.”
Roran considered the request, then said, “Very well, I will do what I
can.” Felda sagged with relief. “Tell me, though, what has he lost at dice?”
“Food mostly.” Felda hesitated and then added, “But I know he once
risked my grandmother’s bracelet for a rabbit those men snared.”
Roran frowned. “Put your heart at ease, Felda. I will tend to the matter
as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.” Felda curtsied again, then slipped away between the
makeshift tents, leaving Roran to mull over what she had said.
447
Roran absently scratched his beard as he walked. The problem with
Mandel and the sailors was a problem that cut both ways; Roran had no-
ticed that during the trip from Narda, one of Torson’s men, Frewin, had
become close to Odele—a young friend of Katrina. They could cause
trouble when we leave Clovis.
Taking care not to attract undue attention, Roran went through the
camp and gathered the villagers he trusted the most and had them ac-
company him to Horst’s tent, where he said, “The five we agreed upon
will leave now, before it gets much later. Horst will take my place while
I’m gone. Remember that your most important task is to ensure Clovis
doesn’t leave with the barges or damage them in any way. They may be
our only means to reach Surda.”
“That, and make sure we aren’t discovered,” commented Orval.
“Exactly. If none of us have returned by nightfall day after tomorrow,
assume we were captured. Take the barges and set sail for Surda, but
don’t stop in Kuasta to buy provisions; the Empire will probably be lying
in wait there. You’ll have to find food elsewhere.”
While his companions readied themselves, Roran went to Clovis’s
cabin on the Red Boar. “Just the five of you be going?” demanded Clovis
after Roran explained their plan.
“That’s right.” Roran let his iron gaze bore into Clovis until the man
fidgeted with unease. “And when I get back, I expect you, these barges,
and every one of your men to still be here.”
“You dare impugn my honor after how I’ve kept our bargain?”
“I impugn nothing, only tell you what I expect. Too much is at stake. If
you commit treachery now, you condemn our entire village to death.”
“That I know,” muttered Clovis, avoiding his eyes.
“My people will defend themselves during my absence. So long as
breath remains in their lungs, they’ll not be taken, tricked, or abandoned.
And if misfortune were to befall them, I’d avenge them even if I had to
walk a thousand leagues and fight Galbatorix himself. Heed my words,
Master Clovis, for I speak the truth.”
“We’re not so fond of the Empire as you seem to believe,” protested
Clovis. “I wouldn’t do them a favor more than the next man.”
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Roran smiled with grim amusement. “Men will do anything to protect
their families and homes.”
As Roran lifted the door latch, Clovis asked, “And what will you do
once you reach Surda?”
“We will—”
“Not we: you. What will you do? I’ve watched you, Roran. I’ve listened
to you. An’ you seem a good enough sort, even if I don’t care for how you
dealt with me. But I cannot fit it in my head, you dropping that hammer
of yours and taking up the plow again, just because you’ve arrived in
Surda.”
Roran gripped the latch until his knuckles turned white. “When I have
delivered the village to Surda,” he said in a voice as empty as a blackened
desert, “then I shall go hunting.”
“Ah. After that redheaded lass of yours? I heard some talk of that, but I
didn’t put—”
The door slammed behind Roran as he left the cabin. He let his anger
burn hot and fast for a moment—enjoying the freedom of the emotion—
before he began to subdue his unruly passions. He marched to Felda’s
tent, where Mandel was throwing a hunting knife at a stump.
Felda’s right; someone has to talk some sense into him.“ You’re wasting
your time,” said Roran.
Mandel whirled around with surprise. “Why do you say that?”
“In a real fight, you’re more likely to put out your own eye than injure
your enemy. If you don’t know the exact distance between you and your
target. .” Roran shrugged. “You might as well throw rocks.”
He watched with detached interest as the younger man bristled with
pride. “Gunnar told me about a man he knew in Cithrí who could hit a
flying crow with his knife eight times out of ten.”
“And the other two times you get killed. It’s usually a bad idea to throw
away your weapon in battle.” Roran waved a hand, forestalling Mandel’s
objections. “Get your kit together and meet me on the hill past the
stream in fifteen minutes. I’ve decided you should come with us to
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Teirm.”
“Yes, sir!” With an enthusiastic grin, Mandel dove into the tent and be-
gan packing.
As Roran left, he encountered Felda, her youngest daughter balanced
on one hip. Felda glanced between him and Mandel’s activity in the tent,
and her expression tightened. “Keep him safe, Stronghammer.” She set
her daughter on the ground and then bustled about, helping to gather the
items Mandel would need.
Roran was the first to arrive at the designated hill. He squatted on a
white boulder and watched the sea while he readied himself for the task
ahead. When Loring, Gertrude, Birgit, and Nolfavrell, Birgit’s son, arrived,
Roran jumped off the boulder and said, “We have to wait for Mandel;
he’ll be joining us.”
“What for?” demanded Loring.
Birgit frowned as well. “I thought we agreed no one else should accom-
pany us. Especially not Mandel, since he was seen in Narda. It’s dangerous
enough having you and Gertrude along, and Mandel only increases the
odds that someone will recognize us.”
“I’ll risk it.” Roran met each of their eyes in turn. “He needs to come.” In
the end, they listened to him, and, with Mandel, the six of them headed
south, toward Teirm.
450
TEIRM
In that area, the coastline was composed of low, rolling hills verdant
with lush grass and occasional briars, willows, and poplars. The soft,
muddy ground gave under their feet and made walking difficult. To their
right lay the glittering sea. To their left ran the purple outline of the
Spine. The ranks of snowcapped mountains were laced with clouds and
mist.
As Roran’s company wended past the properties surrounding Teirm—
some freehold farms, others massive estates—they made every effort to
go undetected. When they encountered the road that connected Narda to
Teirm, they darted across it and continued farther east, toward the
mountains, for several more miles before turning south again. Once they
were confident they had circumnavigated the city, they angled back to-
ward the ocean until they found the southern road in.
During his time on the Red Boar, it had occurred to Roran that officials
in Narda might have deduced that whoever killed the two guards was
among the men who left upon Clovis’s barges. If so, messengers would
have warned Teirm’s soldiers to watch for anyone matching the villagers’
descriptions. And if the Ra’zac had visited Narda, then the soldiers would
also know that they were looking not just for a handful of murderers but
Roran Stronghammer and the refugees from Carvahall. Teirm could be
one huge trap. Yet they could not bypass the city, for the villagers needed
supplies and a new mode of transportation.
Roran had decided that their best precaution against capture was to
send no one into Teirm who had been seen in Narda, except for
Gertrude and himself—Gertrude because only she understood the ingre-
dients for her medicines, and Roran because, though he was the most
likely to be recognized, he trusted no one else to do what was required.
He knew he possessed the will to act when others hesitated, like the
time he slew the guards. The rest of the group was chosen to minimize
suspicion. Loring was old but a tough fighter and an excellent liar. Birgit
had proven herself canny and strong, and her son, Nolfavrell, had already
killed a soldier in combat, despite his tender age. Hopefully, they would
appear as nothing more than an extended family traveling together. That
is, if Mandel doesn’t throw the scheme awry, thought Roran.
It was also Roran’s idea to enter Teirm from the south, and thus make
it seem even more unlikely that they had come from Narda.
451
Evening was nigh when Teirm came into view, white and ghostly in the
gloaming. Roran stopped to inspect what lay before them. The walled
city stood alone upon the edge of a large bay, self-contained and impreg-
nable to any conceivable attack. Torches glowed between the merlons on
the battlements, where soldiers with bows patrolled their endless circuits.
Above the walls rose a citadel, and then a faceted lighthouse, which
swept its hazy beam across the dark waters.
“It’s so big,” said Nolfavrell.
Loring bobbed his head without taking his eyes off Teirm. “Aye, that it
is.”
Roran’s attention was caught by a ship moored at one of the stone piers
jutting from the city. The three-masted vessel was larger than any he had
seen in Narda, with a high forecastle, two banks of oarlocks, and twelve
powerful ballistae mounted along each side of the deck for shooting jave-
lins. The magnificent craft appeared equally suited for either commerce
or war. Even more importantly, Roran thought that it might—might—be
able to hold the entire village.
“That’s what we need,” he said, pointing.
Birgit uttered a sour grunt. “We’d have to sell ourselves into slavery to
afford passage on that monster.”
Clovis had warned them that Teirm’s portcullis closed at sunset, so
they quickened their pace to avoid spending the night in the countryside.
As they neared the pale walls, the road filled with a double stream of
people hurrying to and from Teirm.
Roran had not anticipated so much traffic, but he soon realized that it
could help shield his party from unwanted attention. Beckoning to
Mandel, Roran said, “Drop back a ways and follow someone else through
the gate, so the guards don’t think you’re with us. We’ll wait for you on
the other side. If they ask, you’ve come here seeking employment as a
seaman.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Mandel fell behind, Roran hunched one shoulder, allowed a limp to
creep into his walk, and began to rehearse the story Loring had concocted
to explain their presence at Teirm. He stepped off the road and ducked
his head as a man drove a pair of lumbering oxen past, grateful for the
452
shadows that concealed his features.
The gate loomed ahead, washed in uncertain orange from the torches
placed in sconces on each side of the entrance. Underneath stood a pair
of soldiers with Galbatorix’s twisting flame stitched onto the front of
their crimson tunics. Neither of the armed men so much as glanced at
Roran and his companions as they shuffled underneath the spiked port-
cullis and through the short tunnel beyond.
Roran squared his shoulders and felt some of his tension ease. He and
the others clustered by the corner of a house, where Loring murmured,
“So far, so good.”
When Mandel rejoined them, they set out to find an inexpensive hostel
where they could let a room. As they walked, Roran studied the layout of
the city with its fortified houses—which grew progressively higher to-
ward the citadel—and the gridlike arrangement of streets. Those north to
south radiated from the citadel like a starburst, while those east to west
curved gently across and formed a spiderweb pattern, creating numerous
places where barriers could be erected and soldiers stationed.
If Carvahall had been built like this, he thought, no one could have de-
feated us but the king himself.
By dusk they had acquired lodging at the Green Chestnut, an exceed-
ingly vile tavern with atrocious ale and flea-infested beds. Its sole advan-
tage was that it cost next to nothing. They went to sleep without dinner
to save their precious coin, and huddled together to prevent their purses
from being filched by one of the tavern’s other guests.
The next day, Roran and his companions left the Green Chestnut be-
fore dawn to search for provisions and transportation.
Gertrude said, “I have heard tell of a remarkable herbalist, Angela by
name, who lives here and is supposed to work the most amazing cures,