Paolini, Christopher - Inheritance Trilogy, Book 2 - Eldest (v1.5) (70 page)

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.

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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,