Paolini, Christopher - [Inheritance 02] - Eldest

by Dajala

  Once through the gate, Horst pulled Roran to the side of the street and growled in his ear, “That was a fool thing to do, making up something as ridiculous as that. Cracking the glaze! Do youwant a fight? We can’t—” He stopped as Gertrude plucked at his sleeve.

  “Look,” murmured the healer.

  To the left of the entrance stood a six-foot-wide message board with a narrow shingle roof to protect the yellowing parchment underneath. Half the board was devoted to official notices and proclamations. On the other half hung a block of posters displaying sketches of various criminals. Foremost among them was a drawing of Roran without a beard.

  Startled, Roran glanced around to make sure that no one in the street was close enough to compare his face to the illustration, then devoted his attention to the poster. He had expected the Empire to pursue them, but it was still a shock to encounter proof of it. Galbatorix must be expending an enormous amount of resources trying to catch us. When they were in the Spine, it was easy to forget that the outside world existed. I bet posters of me are nailed up throughout the Empire. He grinned, glad that he had stopped shaving and that he and the others had agreed to use false names while in Narda.

  A reward was inked at the bottom of the poster. Garrow never taught Roran and Eragon to read, but he did teach them their figures because, as he said, “You have to know how much you own, what it’s worth, and what you’re paid for it so you don’t get rooked by some two-faced knave.” Thus, Roran could see that the Empire had offered ten thousand crowns for him, enough to live in comfort for several decades. In a perverse way, the size of the reward pleased him, giving him a sense of importance.

  Then his gaze drifted to the next poster in line.

  It was Eragon.

  Roran’s gut clenched as if he had been struck, and for a few seconds he forgot to breathe.

  He’s alive!

  After his initial relief subsided, Roran felt his old anger about Eragon’s role in Garrow’s death and the destruction of their farm take its place, accompanied by a burning desire to know why the Empire was hunting Eragon. It must have something to do with that blue stone and the Ra’zac’s first visit to Carvahall. Once again, Roran wondered what kind of fiendish machinations he and the rest of Carvahall had become entangled in.

  Instead of a reward, Eragon’s poster bore two lines of runes. “What crime is he accused of?” Roran asked Gertrude.

  The skin around Gertrude’s eyes wrinkled as she squinted at the board. “Treason, the both of you. It says Galbatorix will bestow an earldom on whoever captures Eragon, but that those who try should take care because he’s extremely dangerous.”

  Roran blinked with astonishment. Eragon? It seemed inconceivable until Roran considered how he himself had changed in the past few weeks. The same blood runs in our veins. Who knows, Eragon may have accomplished as much or more than I have since he left.

  In a low voice, Baldor said, “If killing Galbatorix’s men and defying the Ra’zac only earns you ten thousand crowns—large as that is—what makes you worth an earldom?”

  “Buggering the king himself,” suggested Larne.

  “That’s enough of that,” said Horst. “Guard your tongue better, Baldor, or we’ll end up in irons. And, Roran, don’t draw attention to yourself again. With a reward like that, people are bound to be watching strangers for anyone who matches your description.” Running a hand through his hair, Horst pulled up his belt and said, “Right. We all have jobs to do. Return here at noon to report on your progress.”

  With that their party split into three. Darmmen, Larne, and Hamund set out together to purchase food for the villagers, both to meet present needs and to sustain them through the next stage of their journey. Gertrude—as she had told the guard—went to replenish her stock of herbs, unguents, and tinctures. And Roran, Horst, and Baldor headed down the sloping streets to the docks, where they hoped to charter a ship that could transport the villagers to Surda or, at the very least, Teirm.

  When they reached the weathered boardwalk that covered the beach, Roran halted and stared out at the ocean, which was gray from low clouds and dotted with whitecaps from erratic wind. He had never imagined that the horizon could be so perfectly flat. The hollow boom of water knocking against the piles beneath his feet made it feel as if he stood upon the surface of a huge drum. The odor of fish—fresh, gutted, and rotting—overwhelmed every other smell.

  Glancing from Roran to Baldor, who was likewise entranced, Horst said, “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

  “Aye,” said Roran.

  “Makes you feel rather small, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye,” said Baldor.

  Horst nodded. “I remember when I first saw the ocean, it had a similar effect on me.”

  “When was that?” asked Roran. In addition to the flocks of seagulls whirling over the cove, he noticed an odd type of bird perched upon the piers. The animal had an ungainly body with a striped beak that it kept tucked against its breast like a pompous old man, a white head and neck, and a sooty torso. One of the birds lifted its beak, revealing a leathery pouch underneath.

  “Bartram, the smith who came before me,” said Horst, “died when I was fifteen, a year before the end of my apprenticeship. I had to find a smith who was willing to finish another man’s work, so I traveled to Ceunon, which is built along the North Sea. There I met Kelton, a vile old man but good at what he did. He agreed to teach me.” Horst laughed. “By the time we were done, I wasn’t sure if I should thank him or curse him.”

  “Thank him, I should think,” said Baldor. “You never would have married Mother otherwise.”

  Roran scowled as he studied the waterfront. “There aren’t many ships,” he observed. Two craft were berthed at the south end of the port and a third at the opposite side with nothing but fishing boats and dinghies in between. Of the southern pair, one had a broken mast. Roran had no experience with ships but, to him, none of the vessels appeared large enough to carry almost three hundred passengers.

  Going from one ship to the next, Roran, Horst, and Baldor soon discovered that they were all otherwise engaged. It would take a month or more to repair the ship with the broken mast. The vessel beside it, theWaverunner, was rigged with leather sails and was about to venture north to the treacherous islands where the Seithr plant grew. And theAlbatross, the last ship, had just arrived from distant Feinster and was getting its seams recaulked before departing with its cargo of wool.

  A dockworker laughed at Horst’s questions. “You’re too late and too early at the same time. Most of the spring ships came and left two, three weeks ago. An‘ another month, the nor’westers will start gusting, an’ then the seal and walrus hunters will return and we’ll get ships from Teirm and the rest of the Empire to take the hides, meat, and oil. Then you might have a chance of hiring a captain with an empty hold. Meanwhile, we don’t see much more traffic than this.”

  Desperate, Roran asked, “Is there no other way to get goods from here to Teirm? It doesn’t have to be fast or comfortable.”

  “Well,” said the man, hefting the box on his shoulder, “if it doesn’t have to be fast an‘ you’re only going to Teirm, then you might try Clovis over there.” He pointed to a line of sheds that floated between two piers where boats could be stored. “He owns some barges that he ships grain on in the fall. The rest of the year, Clovis fishes for a living, like most everybody in Narda.” Then he frowned. “What kind of goods do you have? The sheep have already been shorn, an’ no crops are in as of yet.”

  “This and that,” said Horst. He tossed the man a copper.

  The dockworker pocketed it with a wink and a nudge. “Right you are, sir. This an‘ that. I know a dodge when I see one. But no need to fear old Ulric; mum’s th’ word, it is. Be seeing you, then, sir.” He strolled off, whistling.

  As it turned out, Clovis was absent from the docks. After getting directions, it took them a half hour to walk to his house on the other side of Narda, where they found Clovis planting iris
bulbs along the path to his front door. He was a stout man with sunburned cheeks and a salt-and-pepper beard. An additional hour passed before they could convince the mariner that they really were interested in his barges, despite the season, and then troop back to the sheds, which he unlocked to reveal three identical barges, theMerrybell, Edeline, andRed Boar.

  Each barge was seventy-five feet long, twenty feet wide, and painted rust red. They had open holds that could be covered with tarpaulins, a mast that could be erected in the center for a single square sail, and a block of above-decks cabins at the rear—or aft, as Clovis called it—of the craft.

  “Their draft be deeper than that of an inland scow,” explained Clovis, “so you needn’t fear them capsizing in rough weather, though you’d do well to avoid being caught in a real tempest. These barges aren’t meant for the open sea. They’re meant to stay within sight of land. And now be the worst time to launch them. By my honor, we’ve had nothing but thunderstorms every afternoon for a month.”

  “Do you have crews for all three?” asked Roran.

  “Well now… see, there’s a problem. Most of the men I employ left weeks ago to hunt seals, as they’re wont to do. Since I need them only after the harvest, they’re free to come and go as they please for the rest of the year… I’m sure you fine gentlemen understand my position.” Clovis tried to smile, then glanced between Roran, Horst, and Baldor as if uncertain whom to address.

  Roran walked the length of theEdeline, examining it for damage. The barge looked old, but the wood was sound and the paint was fresh. “If we replace the missing men in your crews, how much would it cost to go to Teirm with all three barges?”

  “That depends,” said Clovis. “The sailors earn fifteen coppers per day, plus as much good food as they can eat and a dram of whisky besides. What your men earn be your own business. I won’t put them on my payroll. Normally, we also hire guards for each barge, but they’re—”

  “They’re off hunting, yes,” said Roran. “We’ll provide guards as well.”

  The knob in Clovis’s tanned throat jumped as he swallowed. “That’d be more than reasonable… so it would. In addition to the crew’s wages, I charge a fee of two hundred crowns, plus recompense for any damage to the barges on account of your men, plus—as both owner and captain—twelve percent of the total profit from sale of the cargo.”

  “Our trip will have no profit.”

  That, more than anything, seemed to unnerve Clovis. He rubbed the dimple in his chin with his left thumb, began to talk twice, stopped, then finally said, “If that be the case, another four hundred crowns upon completion of the voyage. What—if I may make so bold as to inquire—do you wish to transport?”

  We frighten him, thought Roran. “Livestock.”

  “Be it sheep, cattle, horses, goats, oxen… ?”

  “Our herds contain an assortment of animals.”

  “And why do you want to take them to Teirm?”

  “We have our reasons.” Roran almost smiled at Clovis’s confusion. “Would you consider sailing past Teirm?”

  “No! Teirm’s my limit, it is. I don’t know the waters beyond, nor would I want to be gone any longer from my wife and daughter.”

  “When could you be ready?”

  Clovis hesitated and executed two little steps. “Mayhap five or six days. No… no, you’d better make it a week; I have affairs that I must attend to before departing.”

  “We’d pay an additional ten crowns to leave day after tomorrow.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Twelve crowns.”

  “Day after tomorrow it is,” vowed Clovis. “One way or another, I’ll be ready by then.”

  Trailing his hand along the barge’s gunwale, Roran nodded without looking back at Clovis and said, “May I have a minute alone to confer with my associates?”

  “As you wish, sir. I’ll just go for a turn about the docks until you’re done.” Clovis hurried to the door. Just as he exited the shed, he asked, “I’m sorry, but what’d be your name again? I fear I missed it earlier, an‘ my memory can be something dreadful.”

  “Stronghammer. My name is Stronghammer.”

  “Ah, of course. A good name, that.”

  When the door closed, Horst and Baldor converged on Roran. Baldor said, “We can’t afford to hire him.”

  “We can’t affordnot to,” replied Roran. “We don’t have the gold to buy the barges, nor do I fancy teaching myself to handle them when everyone’s lives depend on it. It’ll be faster and safer to pay for a crew.”

  “It’s still too expensive,” said Horst.

  Roran drummed his fingers against the gunwale. “We can pay Clovis’s initial fee of two hundred crowns. Once we reach Teirm, though, I suggest that we either steal the barges using the skills we learn during the trip or incapacitate Clovis and his men until we can escape through other means. That way, we avoid paying the extra four hundred crowns, as well as the sailors’ wages.”

  “I don’t like cheating a man out of honest work,” said Horst. “It goes against my fiber.”

  “I don’t like it either, but can you think of an alternative?”

  “How would you get everyone onto the barges?”

  “Have them meet Clovis a league or so down the coast, out of sight of Narda.”

  Horst sighed. “Very well, we’ll do it, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Call Clovis back in, Baldor, and we’ll seal this pact.”

  That evening, the villagers gathered around a small banked fire in order to hear what had transpired in Narda. From where he knelt on the ground, Roran stared at the pulsing coals while he listened to Gertrude and the three brothers describe their separate adventures. The news about Roran’s and Eragon’s posters caused murmurs of unease among the audience.

  When Darmmen finished, Horst took his place and, with short, brisk sentences, related the lack of proper ships in Narda, how the dockworker recommended Clovis, and the deal that was brokered thereafter. However, the moment Horst mentioned the wordbarges, the villagers’ cries of ire and discontent blotted out his voice.

  Marching to the forefront of the group, Loring raised his arms for attention. “Barges?” said the cobbler. “Barges? We don’t want nostinking barges!” He spat by his foot as people clamored with agreement.

  “Everyone, be quiet!” said Delwin. “We’ll be heard if we keep this up.” When the crackling fire was the loudest noise, he continued at a slower pace: “I agree with Loring. Barges are unacceptable. They’re slow and vulnerable. 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 infirm 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 concern.” 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 wholeventure 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 arrives 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, breathless, hoping for another of his visionary speeches.

  “It’s this or walk,” he said.

  Then he went to bed.

  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, examining 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 intrusive 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 arrow.