Taking Flight (Ethshar)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Irith seemed unaffected.

  At either end of the town were inns, standing close by the roadside and marking the ends of what was, in effect, a long, narrow open-air market. Four inns stood at the west end, where Kelder and Irith entered; Irith told him there were three more at the far eastern end.

  Kelder, now ravenous, didn't care to walk that far for his breakfast. He strolled perhaps a hundred feet along the market, weaving through the crowd and looking over the merchandise. He bought himself a slightly underripe orange—obviously imported, as the Amramionic climate was clearly unsuitable for oranges—and headed for the nearest inn, hoping that the fantasies he had had about life along the highway might yet come true, at least in part.

  Irith stopped him.

  “Not that one,” she said. “It's second-rate. This one!”

  She pointed to one of the others. The signboard depicted a robed man sitting cross-legged, holding a staff and hanging his head heavily. “It's called the Weary Wanderer,” Irith told Kelder. “They make the best biscuits on the entire Great Highway here.”

  Kelder followed her inside.

  Ten minutes later he was glad he had, because if the biscuits were not the best on the Great Highway, then Kelder had spent his life with some very wrong ideas about biscuits. He had never encountered any so tasty. In fact, his entire breakfast was phenomenally good.

  Of course, hunger makes the best sauce; he knew that. Even so, the food at the Weary Wanderer was exceptional.

  Although Irith had insisted she wasn't hungry, she, too, ate and drank eagerly. Besides the famous biscuits, the specialty of the house was a thick, frothy lemonade which obviously contained more than just the usual water and lemons and honey, and Irith and Kelder each downed several mugs of the stuff.

  Somehow, Kelder was not particularly surprised when the innkeeper greeted Irith by name. She didn't intrude on the meal, however; once she had delivered their breakfast she returned to the kitchen and left the travelers in peace.

  The only drawback to the meal came at the end, when Kelder, who had offered to pay the bill, discovered that he owed about twice what he had expected. He had made the offer partly because to do so was the traditional male role when courting, and partly because he had seen no sign that Irith had any money. Now, though, he almost regretted it.

  “That's a lot,” he said.

  Irith shrugged. “Only a fool sells the best for less,” she quoted. “Besides, prices are always higher along the highway.”

  Kelder grimaced, but he paid.

  Thus fortified, the two of them continued on their way, strolling onward through the town of Amramion and out into open farm country again. Traffic was heavier now; they encountered an occasional wagon, and entire parties of travelers. One red-dressed woman had a dulcimer slung on her back, and Kelder brightened at this sight—a minstrel, surely, the first he had ever seen.

  It was about noon when they passed another isolated guard tower. Irith identified this one as marking the border between Amramion and Yondra, and this time the guard let them pass without comment.

  “They're Amramionic,” Irith explained when Kelder asked why the guard had ignored them. “They monitor the traffic into Amramion, but not out. If it were a Yondran guard he'd have asked us questions, but Yondra doesn't post guards at the borders.”

  They walked on.

  Irith seemed tireless, and after a time Kelder found himself trudging wearily along while she scampered ahead, looking at flowers and butterflies. Stones and dust didn't trouble her at all, even though she was barefoot, and he marveled at that. His feet ached, and his own half-boots, new a sixnight before, were visibly worn, yet she was scampering about like a squirrel, her feet in nothing but her own skin.

  Kelder wondered again just who she was—and what she was. Her story about being a wizard's apprentice made sense enough on the surface, but no matter how he figured it, the times were all wrong. She was only fifteen; how could she possibly have done and seen everything she claimed?

  There was a mystery here, and if Kelder was going to fulfill his destiny and marry Irith, he would have to unravel it.

  How could a girl younger than himself have traveled so widely? Why was she roaming about by herself, with no family or friends, yet apparently known everywhere she went? How did she keep from tiring? Was that more magic, perhaps?

  She was a marvel in many ways, certainly—her wings and her beauty were merely the most obvious. When he brought back to Shulara as his bride, when his family and his friends saw her, that would surely put an end to any teasing about his desire to see more of the World and his belief in Zindre's predictions. If there were creatures like Irith to be found, then obviously the World was worth seeing.

  He was tempted to simply ask her, right now, to turn back and go to Shulara with him and marry him, but he didn't dare.

  For one thing, she would almost certainly say no; while she was friendly enough, he didn't think she was so carefree, or so fond of him, that she would abandon her own plans—whatever they might be—to accompany him. And surely, she would have more sense than to marry a stranger she had just met. She had no reason to do so save to please him, and she had no reason to care that much about pleasing him.

  Better to wait and let their relationship grow naturally.

  And he didn't really want to go back home yet, anyway—not while there were more wonders to be found and the rest of his destiny to find. Great cities, vast plains, strange beasts, more magic—they were all out there, still waiting for him.

  And now he had a guide to show him the way. He would never have found the Weary Wanderer and its almost miraculous food without Irith, and she might show him other marvels, as well. He wasn't sure whether those biscuits qualified as a wonder, but they certainly came close.

  So for now he resolved to carry on, to try and impress Irith in any way he could, and to learn whatever he could about the World.

  Another hour or so brought them to Yondra Keep, a small, old, vine-grown and weather-battered castle atop a hill, with a quiet little village clustered about its walls. Irith looked up at it, and a faintly worried expression crossed her face.

  “Kelder,” she said suddenly, “maybe we should stop here for the night.”

  “But it's scarcely mid-afternoon,” he said, puzzled. “Why stop so early?”

  “Well, it's a good four or five leagues yet to Angarossa Castle, that's why,” she explained. “We couldn't possibly get there before dark, or at least you couldn't, and I don't want to fly on ahead without you, that wouldn't be any fun. And Angarossa isn't ... well, there are other places I'd rather be after dark than on the road in Angarossa, let's just put it that way.”

  “Oh,” Kelder said. “Ah ... why? Are there dragons or something?”

  “Dragons?” Irith asked, startled, turning to stare at him. “On the Great Highway?” she smiled, then giggled. “Oh, Kelder, you're so silly! No, of course there aren't any dragons.” Her smile vanished, and she said, quite seriously, “But there are bandits.”

  “Oh,” Kelder said again. While the prospect of meeting bandits might have seemed exciting once, right now, footsore as he was, it didn't have any appeal at all. He looked up at Yondra Keep and its surrounding village. “All right, let's stop here.”

  “Good!” Irith said, clapping her hands gleefully. “I know just the place!”

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  * * *

  Chapter Four

  The inn was not on the Great Highway itself, but tucked back in a corner of the village, behind a row of houses that was itself behind a row of shops. It was a very small inn, with only four rooms upstairs and one of those occupied by the innkeeper himself, and a dining room that held only a single large table, with seating for a dozen or so.

  The food and accommodations were excellent, though. Kelder shuddered to think what the bill would be.

  And of course, as he had half-expected, everyone knew Irith by name—not just the innkeeper, but the stewar
d and the scullery boy and the other guests, as well. Irith introduced Kelder to them all. He bowed and nodded politely, quite sure he wouldn't remember all the names and faces.

  The other guests, half a dozen in all, were traveling merchants, which was, when one thought about it, hardly surprising. Kelder sat and listened to them swap stories about remarkable deals they had made; the merchants found this endlessly amusing, but Irith politely excused herself and spent the remainder of the afternoon playing with the kittens in the kitchen, instead.

  Kelder thought that Irith had probably made the better choice; half the time he didn't even know what the merchants were talking about, with their mark-ups and discounts and percentages.

  At least everyone along the Great Highway seemed to speak Trader's Tongue. Kelder had heard other languages spoken, but only in the background; travelers and strangers always seemed to be addressed first in Trader's Tongue.

  Which, of course, was why it was called Trader's Tongue, and why it was such an easy language to learn—this was what it was for.

  It was after dinner that night—a good but unremarkable dinner—that Kelder discovered one great advantage of staying in so small an inn. With only three rooms, he and Irith had to share.

  And with just the two of them, they were given the smallest room, with only one bed.

  Kelder thought about making some noble gesture like sleeping out in the stable, or at least on the floor, but then he looked at Irith's smile and realized that she must have known, when she led him to this out-of-the-way inn, exactly what the situation was and what she was getting into.

  It would seem that he had, indeed, been courting, and more successfully than he thought. He had not seriously anticipated so quick a conquest—if conquest it was. The question arose in Kelder's mind, and was immediately suppressed, as to just who had conquered whom.

  It didn't really matter; they were, he knew, fated for each other.

  They talked for a long time about nothing in particular—Kelder learned a great many new words in Trader's Tongue, and felt himself becoming more comfortable with the language—and in the end they did more than just talk.

  It was wonderful.

  It was very late indeed when Kelder finally fell asleep.

  By the time they were up and dressed in the morning the other guests had eaten their breakfasts and departed. Kelder was in no hurry, but for once Irith seemed a little impatient, so they ate quickly and set out without dawdling.

  At first he found himself wondering about little things he had noticed about Irith. She never removed the bloodstone choker, for example, not even when sleeping—but maybe the clasp was hard to work. He hadn't really gotten a good look at it, in the dimness of their shared room.

  She also always wore six or seven narrow bands of some sort tight around her right ankle, none of them particularly attractive, and from what little he had seen Kelder was unsure if they were bangles, or bracelets, or possibly even tattoos. Three had designs involving feathers, and one gleamed like mother-of-pearl. He was determined to get a better look at them sometime.

  There was no hurry, though.

  After they had been walking for awhile, Kelder's attention turned to the journey itself. They were meeting far fewer travelers now; traffic east of Yondra Keep was apparently less than traffic farther west. Also, the distance from the Keep to the Angarossan border was roughly three times as far as to the Keep from the Amramionic border, which seemed odd to him. Shouldn't the Keep be in the center of the kingdom?

  Well, it obviously wasn't, so he trudged on and on, expecting every minute to cross the border into Angarossa.

  “Tell me,” he asked Irith around mid-morning, as she danced on ahead of him, bare feet skipping lightly across the highway's stones, golden hair flashing in the sun. “What's the route, exactly?”

  She turned and looked back, her hair settling to her shoulders like a flock of doves landing. “You mean where the Great Highway goes?”

  He nodded, somewhat out of breath.

  Irith pointed eastward. “Through Yondra, and then Angarossa, and Sinodita, and Dhwerra, and then out across the desert to Shan,” she told him.

  “And how far is that? To Shan on the Desert, I mean.”

  She looked ahead and considered.

  “About fifteen leagues, I guess,” she said at last.

  “Oh,” he said. He glanced back at empty roadway, and then asked, “How far have we come? I'm not very good with distances.”

  “Oh, four or five leagues,” she answered, with a vague wave indicating that her reply was little more than a guess.

  He stopped and looked back, and then at the road stretching endlessly on ahead. They had covered no more than a fourth of the journey?

  That was a depressing thought.

  Of course, he'd come a good distance before even reaching the highway, and Irith wasn't counting that.

  And in stories people journeyed for sixnights on end, or months, or even years.

  And he wasn't really in any hurry to get to Shan, was he? He had no business there; it was just a convenient goal, an excuse for traveling. The real reason he was going to Shan, after all, was to fulfill the prophecy, and that spoke only of the journey itself. A longer journey also meant a chance to spend more time with Irith before proposing marriage, and that was a good thing, too.

  So why hurry?

  "Hai, slow down!” he called to Irith, who had not stopped when he did. “What's your rush?”

  “I don't like bandits,” she called back. “Come on!”

  He sighed, and hurried to catch up.

  They passed an empty, crumbling watchtower just before midday.

  “We're in Angarossa now,” Irith said. “You don't see too many robbers in Yondra, though they'll cross the border sometimes to catch people off-guard, but the hills of Angarossa are full of them.” She peered warily to either side, and spoke in a tone far more serious than her usual chirping, cheerful manner.

  “Really?” Kelder asked, a little more skeptically than he had intended. For one thing, the gently-rolling countryside hardly qualified as hills, by his standards—in Shulara or Sevmor such terrain would have been considered effectively flat.

  “Yes, really,” Irith snapped back.

  He looked about, studying their surroundings, then stopped and pointed ahead. “Look!” he called. “What's that?”

  Irith followed his finger, and suddenly spread wings that, a second before, had not been there at all. She flapped, and Kelder was almost bowled over by the wind as she rose into the air.

  “What is it?” he called. “What's the matter?”

  “I'm getting a better look,” she called down to him. “I'll be right back.”

  He stood, watching helplessly, as she rose into the air, propelled steadily upward by the great iridescent wings. Then he turned his attention back to the spot on the horizon that had attracted his attention.

  He still couldn't make out details; whatever it was was big, and its color not very different from the color of the highway itself—probably, he supposed, because it was dusty. It was at the top of a rise, and disappearing slowly over that rise even as he watched.

  Then Irith was settling back to the earth beside him, her wings folding away into nothingnesss. “It's a caravan,” she told him. “A big one.”

  “That?” he said, pointing at the distant object. “That's a caravan?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Well, all you could see from down here, silly, was the very last wagon!”

  “Oh,” he replied, feeling foolish.

  “Come on,” Irith said, starting to run. “If we can catch up with them, we can all travel together. It'll be safer.”

  “It will?” Kelder asked, breaking into a trot.

  “Sure!” Irith said. “They'll have guards and everything!”

  Kelder was still unsure just why, but he ran after Irith. The girl seemed as tireless as ever, but long before they reached the caravan Kelder was panting and stumbling.
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br />   “Wait,” he called, “I have to catch my breath!”

  With a worried glance at the caravan—its nature now plain, as they had crossed another low ridge—Irith slowed to a walk. She danced impatiently as Kelder trudged along.

  When he had stopped gasping and was fully upright again, she called, “Come on!” and started running again.

  “You go on,” he said, “I'll catch up.”

  She frowned, and then nodded, and there were wings on her back once again. She spread them and leapt upward, soaring into the air.

  Kelder trudged on.

  He could see the caravan for what it was, now; he counted five wagons, and others were over the next hill, he was sure. There were people sitting in and on the wagons, and outriders on horses and oxen along either side, and a few people walking along on foot, as well. This was no casual grouping such as they had sometimes seen west of Yondra Keep; this was a serious expedition.

  The wagons were big, solid things, brightly painted and almost the size of houses; the last in line was a saffron hue that happened to blend fairly well with the dust of the road, but the others were red and green and blue, with gilded or silvered trim that sparkled in the sun. They didn't bear much resemblance to the open farm wagons Kelder had seen back in Shulara, or the ox-carts the local merchants had used, or any of the other vehicles he had encountered previously. Each one was drawn by at least four oxen; two of the five he could see had six oxen apiece on their yokes.

  With all those people and beasts the caravan, of necessity, moved at a slow walk. Kelder had no trouble in keeping up with it even while catching his breath, and could gain any time he was willing to pick up his pace a little.

  He didn't bother to catch up, however. He was in no hurry.

  Irith, on the other hand, flew directly up to the caravan and over it. People looked up as her shadow passed over them, stared and pointed and called to one another.

  Kelder smiled. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but they probably all knew her by name. Maybe he and Irith would be able to ride on one of the wagons, or share a meal with the merchants.