“Aye, Stronghammer,” they answered.
“Then follow me.”
As he strode through Narda, Roran felt so tense, he feared he might snap and explode into a thousand pieces. What have I made of myself? he wondered. He glanced from man to woman, child to man, man to dog in an effort to identify potential enemies. Everything around him appeared unnaturally bright and filled with detail; it seemed as if he could see the individual threads in people’s clothing.
They reached the docks without incident, whereupon Clovis said, “You be early, Stronghammer. I like that in a man. It’ll give us the opportunity to put things nice an’ shipshape before we head out.”
“Can we leave now?” asked Roran.
“You should know better’n that. Have to wait till the tide’s finished coming in, so we do.” Clovis paused then, taking his first good look at the thirteen of them, and said, “Why, what’d be the matter, Stronghammer? The lot of you look as if you saw the ghost of old Galbatorix himself.”
“Nothing a few hours of sea air won’t cure,” said Roran. In his current state, he could not smile, but he did let his features assume a more pleasant expression in order to reassure the captain.
With a whistle, Clovis summoned two sailors from the boats. Both men were tanned the color of hazelnuts. “This’d be Torson, my first mate,” said Clovis, indicating the man to his right. Torson’s bare shoulder was decorated with a coiled tattoo of a flying dragon. “He’ll be skipper of the Merrybell. And this black dog is Flint. He’s in command of the Edeline. While you are on board, their word is law, as is mine on the Red Boar. You’ll answer to them and me, not Stronghammer... Well, give me a proper aye, aye if you heard me.”
“Aye, aye,” said the men.
“Now, which of you be my hands and which be my men-at-arms? For the life of me, I can’t tell you apart.”
Ignoring Clovis’s admonishment that he was their commander, not Roran, the villagers looked at Roran to see if they should obey. He nodded his approval, and they divided into two factions, which Clovis proceeded to partition into even smaller groups as he assigned a certain number of villagers to each barge.
For the next half hour, Roran worked alongside the sailors to finish preparing the Red Boar for departure, ears open for the first hint of alarm. We’re going to be captured or killed if we stay much longer, he thought, checking the height of the water against the piers. He mopped sweat from his brow.
Roran started as Clovis gripped his forearm.
Before he could stop himself, Roran pulled his hammer halfway out of his belt. The thick air clogged his throat.
Clovis raised an eyebrow at his reaction. “I’ve been watching you, Stronghammer, and I’d be interested to know how you won such loyalty from your men. I’ve served with more captains than I care to recall, an’ not one commanded the level of obedience you do without raising his pipes.”
Roran could not help it; he laughed. “I’ll tell you how I did it; I saved them from slavery and from being eaten.”
Clovis’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Did you now? There’s a story I’d like to hear.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
After a minute, Clovis said, “No, maybe I wouldn’t at that.” He glanced overboard. “Why, I’ll be hanged. I do believe we can be on our way. Ah, and here’s my little Galina, punctual as ever.”
The burly man sprang onto the gangplank and, from there, onto the docks, where he embraced a dark-haired girl of perhaps thirteen and a woman who Roran guessed was her mother. Clovis ruffled the girl’s hair and said, “Now, you’ll be good while I’m gone, won’t you, Galina?”
“Yes, Father.”
As he watched Clovis bid his family farewell, Roran thought of the two soldiers dead by the gate. They might have had families as well. Wives and children who loved them and a home they returned to each day... He tasted bile and had to wrench his thoughts back to the pier to avoid being sick.
On the barges, the men appeared anxious. Afraid that they might lose their nerve, Roran made a show of walking about the deck, stretching, and doing whatever he could to seem relaxed. At last Clovis jumped back onto the Red Boar and cried, “Cast off, me lads! It’s the briny deep for us.”
In short order, the gangplanks were pulled aboard, the mooring ropes untied, and the sails raised on the three barges. The air rang with shouted orders and chants of heave-ho as the sailors pulled on ropes.
Behind them, Galina and her mother remained watching as the barges drew away, still and silent, hooded and grave.
“We’re lucky, Stronghammer,” said Clovis, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve a bit o’ wind to push us along today. We may not have to row in order to reach the cove before the tide changes, eh!”
When the Red Boar was in the middle of Narda’s bay and still ten minutes from the freedom of the open sea, that which Roran dreaded occurred: the sound of bells and trumpets floated across the water from among the stone buildings.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” said Clovis. He frowned as he stared at the town, his hands planted on his hips. “It could be a fire, but no smoke is in the air. Maybe some Urgals were discovered in the area... ” Concern grew upon his face. “Did you perchance spy anyone on the road this morning?”
Roran shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
Flint drew alongside them and shouted from the deck of the Edeline, “Should we turn back, sir?” Roran gripped the gunwale so hard that he drove splinters under his nails, ready to intercede but afraid to appear too anxious.
Tearing his gaze from Narda, Clovis bellowed in return, “No. We’d miss the tide then.”
“Aye, aye, sir! But I’d give a day’s pay to find out what caused that clamor.”
“So would I,” muttered Clovis.
As the houses and buildings shrank behind them, Roran crouched at the rear port of the barge, wrapped his arms around his knees, and leaned against the cabins. He looked at the sky, struck by its depth, clarity, and color, then into the Red Boar’s roiling green wake, where ribbons of seaweed fluttered. The pitch of the barge lulled him like the rock of a cradle. What a beautiful day it is, he thought, grateful he was there to observe it.
After they escaped the cove — to his relief — Roran climbed the ladder to the poop deck behind the cabins, where Clovis stood with his hand on the tiller, guiding their course. The captain said, “Ah, there’s something exhilarating about the first day of a voyage, before you realize how bad the food is an’ start longing for home.”
Mindful of his need to learn what he could about the barge, Roran asked Clovis the names and functions of various objects on board, at which point he was treated to an enthusiastic lecture on the workings of barges, ships, and the art of sailing in general.
Two hours later, Clovis pointed at a narrow peninsula that lay before them. “The cove be on the far side of that.” Roran straightened off the railing and craned his neck, eager to confirm that the villagers were safe.
As the Red Boar rounded the rocky spit of land, a white beach was revealed at the apex of the cove, upon which were assembled the refugees from Palancar Valley. The crowd cheered and waved as the barges emerged from behind the rocks.