“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 Teirm.”

“Yes, sir!” With an enthusiastic grin, Mandel dove into the tent and began 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 accompany 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.

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 toward the ocean until they found the southern road in.

During his time on theRed 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 ingredients 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.

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 impregnable 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 javelins. 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.