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
475
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.
476
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,
477
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.
478
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
479
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!”
480
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