Staggering from tree to tree, Roran returned to the camp, whispering, “The Ra’zac are here. Be quiet and stay where you are,” to everyone he encountered. He saw the other sentries moving among the frightened villagers, spreading the same message.

Fisk emerged from his tent with a spear in hand and roared, “Are we under attack? What’s set off those blasted—” Roran tackled the carpenter to silence him, uttering a muffled bellow as he landed on his right shoulder and pained his old injury.

“Ra’zac,” Roran groaned to Fisk.

Fisk went still and in an undertone asked, “What should I do?”

“Help me to calm the animals.”

Together they picked their way through the camp to the adjacent meadow where the goats, sheep, donkeys, and horses were bedded. The farmers who owned the bulk of the herds slept with their charges and were already awake and working to soothe the beasts. Roran thanked his paranoia that he had insisted on having the animals scattered along the edge of the meadow, where the trees and brush helped to camouflage them from unfriendly eyes.

As he tried to pacify a clump of sheep, Roran glanced up at the terrible black shadow that still obscured the moon, like a giant bat. To his horror, it began to move toward their hiding place.If that creature screams again, we’re doomed.

By the time the Ra’zac circled overhead, most of the animals had quieted, except for one donkey, who insisted upon loosing a gratinghee-haw. Without hesitation, Roran dropped to one knee, fit arrow to string, and shot the ass between the ribs. His aim was true, and the animal dropped without a sound.

He was too late, though; the braying had already alerted the Ra’zac. The monster swung its head in the direction of the clearing and descended toward it with outstretched claws, preceded by its fetid stench.

Now the time has come to see if we can slay a nightmare,thought Roran. Fisk, who was crouched beside him in the grass, hefted his spear, preparing to hurl it once the brute was in range.

Just as Roran drew his bow—in an attempt to begin and end the battle with a well-placed shaft—he was distracted by a commotion in the forest.

A mass of deer burst through the underbrush and stampeded across the meadow, ignoring villagers and livestock alike in their frantic desire to escape the Ra’zac. For almost a minute, the deer bounded past Roran, mincing the loam with their sharp hooves and catching the moonlight with their white-rimmed eyes. They came so close, he heard the soft gasps of their labored breathing.

The multitude of deer must have hidden the villagers because, after one last circuit over the meadow, the winged monster turned to the south and glided farther down the Spine, melding into the night.

Roran and his companions remained frozen in place, like hunted rabbits, afraid that the Ra’zac’s departure might be a ruse to flush them into the open or that the creature’s twin might be close behind. They waited for hours, tense and anxious, barely moving except to string a bow.

When the moon was about to set, the Ra’zac’s bone-chilling shriek echoed far in the distance . . . then nothing.

We were lucky,decided Roran when he woke the next morning.And we can’t count on luck to save us the next time.

After the Ra’zac’s appearance, none of the villagers objected to traveling by barge. On the contrary, they were so eager to be off, many of them asked Roran if it was possible to set sail that day instead of the next.

“I wish we could,” he said, “but too much has to be done.”

Forgoing breakfast, he, Horst, and a group of other men hiked into Narda. Roran knew that he risked being recognized by accompanying them, but their mission was too important for him to neglect. Besides, he was confident that his current appearance was different enough from his portrait on the Empire’s poster that no one would equate one with the other.

They had no difficulty gaining entrance, as a different set of soldiers guarded the town gate, whereupon they went to the docks and delivered the two hundred crowns to Clovis, who was busy overseeing a gang of men as they readied the barges for sea.

“Thank’ee, Stronghammer,” he said, tying the bag of coins to his belt. “There be nothing like yellow gold to brighten a man’s day.” He led them to a worktable and unrolled a chart of the waters surrounding Narda, complete with notations on the strength of various currents; locations of rocks, sandbars, and other hazards; and decades’ worth of sounding measurements. Drawing a line with his finger from Narda to a small cove directly south of it, Clovis said, “Here’s where we’ll meet your livestock. The tides are gentle this time o’ year, but we still don’t want to fight them an’ no bones about it, so we’ll have to be on our way directly after the high tide.”

“High tide?” said Roran. “Wouldn’t it be easier to wait until low tide and let it carry us out?”

Clovis tapped his nose with a twinkle in his eye. “Aye, it would, an’ so I’ve begun many a cruise. What I don’t want, though, is to be slung up on the beach, loading your animals, when the tide comes a-rushing back in and pushes us farther inland. There be no danger of that this way, but we’ll have to move smart so as we’re not left high an’ dry when the waters recede. Assuming we do, the sea’ll work for us, eh?”

Roran nodded. He trusted Clovis’s experience. “And how many men will you need to fill out your crews?”

“Well, I managed to dig up seven lads—strong, true, an’ good seamen all—who have agreed to this venture, odd as it is. Mind you, most of the boys were at the bottom of their tankards when I cornered them last night, drinking off the pay from their last voyage, but they’ll be sober as spinsters come morn; that I promise you. Seeing as seven were all I could find, I’d like four more.”