“Here,” she said.
While Iridith watched silently, Kelder used the point of his own knife to draw blood from Irith's left little finger. He dabbed up a drop on his own little finger, then peeled back one of Ezdral's eyelids with his other hand and carefully pressed the drop onto the eye beneath.
Ezdral snorted, but did not stir.
Kelder repeated the operation with the other eye, then sat back on his haunches and waited.
Nothing happened, except that Irith said, "Hai, that hurts! Has someone got a bandage, or some water? Iridith, do you know healing spells?”
The two of them ate their supper that night in resentful silence. At the next table, where Valder and Iridith were bringing each other up to date, Asha made a point of bringing Iridith her meal, to impress her new mistress with her enthusiasm and ability. Whenever the girl looked away Iridith grinned with delight. When Asha was watching, of course, the wizard kept her face serious, accepting the over-attentive service in the spirit in which it was meant.
Afterward, Kelder decided that something had to be done. He suspected that Irith, in terror of being coerced out of her magic, was on the verge of fleeing. That would not do. If she fled this time, somehow, he was less certain than ever before that he would ever see her again. Zindre's predictions seemed a tenuous thread to bind her with; he could no longer trust only in the prophecy. He wanted to speak to Irith in private, to explain, to tell her he loved her and ask her to marry him.
After all, why should he keep the prophecy secret any longer? If she was to be his wife they had to trust each other.
And even with her magic, even with her refusal to consider a life in Shulara, he still wanted her. They could live in Ethshar, if she wanted, or somewhere else; there was no hurry about going back to Shulara, and he didn't really care if he ever went back—except that Zindre had said he would, and it was her promise that made him dare to ask Irith for her hand.
After all, how could an ordinary farmboy have the audacity to try to wed a legendary creature like Irith, without some magical support of his own?
He needed to tell her all that. He needed to talk to her alone, but with the inn full of customers, with servants hurrying hither and yon, finding a suitable place was a challenge.
Finally, in a moment of inspiration, he borrowed a lantern from Valder and suggested to Irith, “Come out to the hilltop with me, and let's look at the river in the moonslight. Both moons are up; it should be especially pretty.”
She considered him for a long moment before saying, “All right.”
Together they walked up to the top of the ridge behind the inn, not speaking yet, and together they settled onto the grass of the meadow. The night air was cool, but not cold—certainly warmer than it had been on previous evenings. The river was a constantly-changing band of rose and gold sparkles in the light of the two moons, and for a long moment they watched it in silence.
“Thank you,” Kelder said at last, “for curing Ezdral.”
“Well, it wasn't his fault,” Irith said.
Kelder was still trying to puzzle out exactly what she meant by that when a blood-curdling shriek split the night. Both of them started; the crickets fell silent for a moment before resuming their interrupted chirping.
“What was that?" Irith asked.
“I don't know,” Kelder said. “I think it came from the inn.” He turned to look.
"Where is she?" screamed the voice. "Where is that bitch?"
“That's Ezdral,” Irith whispered. Kelder turned in surprise, and she added, “He's really mad at me.”
Kelder had not thought about how Ezdral might react, once the spell was removed. Now that it was thrust under his nose, though, he realized that naturally, the man would be furious. The love spell had protected itself, in a way, by making it impossible for Ezdral to think ill of Irith; now that the spell was gone, forty-four years of frustration and anger could pour out all at once.
And Irith was its obvious target.
Kelder stood and looked back toward the inn.
He could see a shadowy figure, barely visible in the distant light of the torch over the door—a man, standing unsteadily in the road. The figure shook a fist in the air. "Irith!" Ezdral bellowed, “I'll hunt you down and kill you, you stupid little monster!”
“What should we do?” Irith asked, holding Kelder's leg.
“I don't know,” Kelder said, frozen with indecision.
The figure by the inn was turning, turning and scanning the dark landscape, and now his gaze climbed the ridge, and Kelder suddenly realized that he must be silhouetted in the moonlight, and that Ezdral might well blame him, as well as Irith, for all his misfortunes—however unfair that might be.
Ezdral spotted him.
"Irith!" the old man bellowed again.
Kelder had not even considered the possibility of mistaken identity.
“Come on,” he said, “let's get out of here.” He pulled Irith up and began running down the slope toward the river—not with any particular goal in mind, but simply because it was away from the raging Ezdral.
Ezdral, his mind still fogged with drink and fury, saw the figure atop the ridge fleeing, and knew unthinkingly and beyond question that it was Irith, that his vengeance was at hand if he could catch up with her. He charged up the slope, yelling.
“I wasted my entire life hunting for you, you stinking little idiot,” he shouted, “and by all the gods, I'm going to catch you, finally!”
Kelder and Irith stumbled down the northern slope, toward the bridge and the river, in a panic; Kelder kept a firm grip on Irith's arm. The four soldiers, the toll collectors, turned to see what the commotion was, and in response Kelder instinctively steered away from the bridge, not realizing that that left nothing but the steep bank of the river.
“Kelder,” Irith gasped, “Kelder, let go of me!”
Kelder stumbled on dew-moistened grass, and Irith pulled free. She turned, and saw Ezdral, with incredible speed for a man in his battered condition, charging down at her.
She squealed in terror, and froze for a few seconds. Then, as Ezdral neared, she vanished, and a frightened bird fluttered upward into the night.
An instant later the enraged Ezdral, unable to stop on the steep, slippery slope, lunged through the spot where Irith had stood and went tumbling over the verge and into the river.
He struck with a tremendous splash; a few drops spattered Kelder's breeches. And then, to Kelder's horror, the waters closed over the old man and began to calm.
Ezdral did not reappear.
“Irith!” Kelder screamed. “Save him!”
Irith transformed herself in mid-air, from bird to winged girl, and called back, “Are you joking? He tried to kill me! Besides, I'd get soaked.”
“But he'll drown!”
“He's an icky old drunkard,” Irith replied. "Let him drown!”
Words failed him, and Kelder, desperate, dove over the bank and into the river.
He struck the water unevenly, arms and legs flailing, and was astonished at how much the impact hurt—he hadn't thought water was that solid. Then he was in the water—and under it, as he quickly discovered that Irith was right, swimming is something one needs to learn, it does not happen by instinct.
He thrashed wildly, trying to get his head above water, but to no avail; the air rushed from his lungs, and the water closed over his head. He floundered, reaching for the bottom with his feet and not finding it. He tried to call for help, and the water flooded his mouth and nose, choking him. His chest felt as though it were about to burst.
Everything went black, and he waited to die—but death did not come.
Instead, strong arms took hold of him, twisted him around until his face was out of the water. He couldn't see his rescuer as he felt himself dragged through the current, as firm hands clasped his arms and hauled him up onto the bank.
The pressure on Kelder's chest became unbearable; his mouth opened, and he vomited what felt like the entire riv
er out onto the grass.
And with that out of the way, he fainted.
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* * *
Chapter Thirty-Five
When he awoke Kelder needed a long moment to figure out where he was. The ceiling was whitewashed and featureless, with morning sun streaked across it, and at first that was all he could see. He was in a bed, he knew that by the feel of the mattress and bedclothes, but which bed he could not tell.
It gradually sank in that he was in his bed at Valder's inn.
He turned his head and found Valder's serving maid, Thetta, sitting beside him, reading something from a small stack of papers. He tried to speak, to ask her what was happening, but all that came out was a croak.
That was enough; she looked up from the papers and said, surprised, “You're awake!”
Kelder was unsure just how to respond to so obvious a statement, but since his voice didn't seem to be working yet, that didn't matter much. He croaked again in confirmation of her observation.
“Just a minute,” Thetta said, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I'll go get Valder.” She rose, and hurried out the door.
Kelder used the time until her return to see if he could get his voice working, and when Valder and Thetta entered he was able to ask, still in a croak but intelligibly, “What happened?”
“The soldiers pulled you out,” Valder said. “Ezdral, too. They heard the splashing, and Irith yelling, and they came and got you.”
That made sense, Kelder saw. “Is Ezdral all right?” he asked.
Valder grimaced. “More or less,” he said. “He didn't drown, if that's what you mean, and he didn't swallow as much water as you did, or breathe any in—Kelder, don't you know anything about being in the water?”
Kelder shook his head.
“Well,” Valder told him, “you did just about everything wrong it's possible to do.”
Kelder shrugged and smiled wryly. That much he could do; it was only things involving breathing or his throat that were painful.
“Anyway,” Valder went on, “Ezdral didn't drown, but he came out of the river still screaming at Irith, and mad at you, and me, and Asha, and just about everybody else. Not that I blame him.” He sighed. “I had the soldiers keep him, and they took him back to Ethshar when their relief arrived—they're well on the way by now; that was hours ago.”
Kelder blinked. “What...” he began, and found he didn't have the breath to continue. He tried again. “What will happen to...” Again, his wind gave out.
“What will happen to him there?” Valder guessed, and Kelder nodded. “I don't know,” Valder admitted. “I asked them to try to find him a job, maybe clerking for one of the guard captains, but I don't know if that'll work. If not, I suppose he'll wind up in the Hundred-Foot Field—but that's better than the back market in Shan, I'm sure.”
Kelder swallowed carefully, readying his throat, and asked, “What is the Hundred-Foot Field?” He had wondered that ever since Azraya had first mentioned it.
“Oh, don't you know?” Valder smiled. “Well, Ethshar is a walled city,” he explained, “and it was built during the Great War, when the walls and defenses were serious business, so it has what is probably the biggest, fanciest city wall ever built. It goes around three sides of the city, and the fourth side is the waterfront. There's an entire army camp built into it on the east side—they call the area near there Camptown, as a result. Even so, though, if there was a real war, and the city was under assault, or siege, the wall isn't big enough to move all the troops and equipment you might need from one spot to another, and it's too big to man and equip the whole thing constantly. So there's a strip of land just inside the wall that Azrad the Great declared had to always be kept clear to allow troop movements, a strip extending one hundred feet in from the inner side of the wall. The inner edge is a street, naturally—Wall Street—but nobody needs a hundred-foot-wide street, especially when you can only build on one side of it, so the rest is an open field. That's the Hundred-Foot Field. The penalty for building anything permanent there, even just a few bricks stacked up, is death.”
Kelder still looked puzzled, and Valder added, “And since it's the only place inside the wall where nothing can be built, including fences, and since it goes all the way around the city, it's where all the beggars and thieves live. It's a sort of labor pool, too—anyone who hasn't got a place will wind up there, and some of them aren't thieves, just down on their luck, so when someone needs workers and isn't too particular, he can just go to the Field and give a shout, and usually get half a dozen. I used men from the Hundred-Foot Field when I built this inn, two hundred years ago.” He smiled reassuringly. “Ezdral could do worse than winding up in the Field, believe me.”
Azraya had not been so sanguine about it, and she had actually lived there, while Valder presumably had not. “It doesn't sound any better than Shan,” Kelder said bitterly.
Valder shrugged. “Well, you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved,” he said, “and at least you got the spell off him, so he has a chance now, once he calms down. Besides, Shan on the Desert is dying, it's been declining for a century—nobody wants to go all the way out to the end of the World, and now there are other places to get most of what Shan sells. The Great Highway isn't all that great any more; it used to carry three times the traffic it does now. Most of my customers here are bound to Sardiron or one of the Ethshars; those are all healthy and growing.”
Kelder was mollified, but not entirely convinced. He had wanted to do better in his role as champion of the downtrodden. He had found Asha a place, here at the inn; he had wanted to do the same for everyone he had traveled with.
Of course, Azraya had gone on ahead, and he had no way of knowing what had become of her. And now Ezdral was gone, as well.
That left Irith—and himself, of course.
“Where's Irith?” he asked.
“Downstairs,” Valder said. “Would you like to see her?”
Kelder nodded, and Valder left.
A moment later Irith peeked around the door, a worried expression on her face. “Kelder?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” he said. His voice cracked.
The shapeshifter slipped into the room and took the chair Thetta had used. “You're really all right?” she asked.
Kelder nodded.
“Oh, good!" Irith said, smiling. “You were so silly, jumping in after Ezdral, when you know you can't swim! I mean, I didn't realize it was that important, that you were going to try to save him yourself if I didn't. I mean, really, Kelder, that was dumb!" She giggled nervously, a laugh like a bird's song.
Kelder stared at her.
Not that important? A man's life, not that important?
“Well, he's all taken care of now, of course,” Irith went on, “The soldiers took him to Ethshar, and good riddance, I say. And Asha's happy here with Valder, so that just leaves the two of us, and of course we don't want to go to Ethshar now, because it's a big city and all that, but we might run into Ezdral there, and besides, there isn't any reason to go, now that we aren't looking for a good wizard.” She giggled again. “And I told you we might meet Iridith! She travels a lot, and once she and Valder had a spat that lasted almost two years and she stayed away the entire time, so I wasn't sure she would be here, and besides, she doesn't usually like people to know that Iridith the wizard and Iridith the innkeeper's wife are the same person, I mean, you can see how that would be inconvenient, can't you?”
Kelder looked at her blankly.
“Oh, of course you can, I'm being foolish,” Irith said, waving a hand airily. “I don't know how she stands it sometimes, a great wizard living with an ordinary person, I really don't know why she does it, but then, Valder's an old dear, and she keeps him young with her magic anyway, I wish I could do that!”
She looked anxiously at Kelder for a second, then resumed her good humor and her babbling.
"Anyway," she said, “I t
hought that we could head east again, along the highway, because after all, you didn't really get to see much of Shan on the Desert, I mean, did you ever even see it by daylight at all, really? And if you want, we could make a side-trip to Shulara, and I could meet your family, but of course I wouldn't stay, I mean, what would I do on a farm? Turn into a cat and catch the mice in your barn? I hate mice—I mean, they taste good, but I think you have to grow up a cat to really like catching the little things and eating them, especially raw.”
Kelder stared at her. She was beautiful, very beautiful indeed; her hair caught the light spilling in through the window and blazed golden, and every curve of her face was soft and perfect, but somehow that didn't matter as much as Kelder had thought.
"You wouldn't stay there either, would you?” she asked worriedly. “I mean, just go back to your farm to live?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. Zindre had never said he would stay, merely that he would return safely, and he supposed that someday he might.
Just now, though, he did not particularly care whether he ever saw Shulara again—and what's more, he didn't care whether Zindre had been absolutely omniscient, or a lying old thief.
“Good!” she said. “Well, then, we'll go on to Shan, and you can see it properly, without worrying about nasty old drunks or stealing severed heads or troublesome little children, and we'll have a wonderful time, won't we?”
“No,” he said again.
She stared at him. “But Kelder, why not?" she asked, baffled.
“I'm going to Ethshar,” he said. “To stay, I think.”
“You're still confused,” she said, patting his arm. “I'll talk to you again when you're feeling better, and we'll decide what to do.” She stood. “Goodbye, Kelder,” she said.
Then she turned and left the room.
He watched her go, her white and gold tunic draping splendidly over her curves, and he realized that she hadn't changed at all; she was just as she had been the day they met.
And after all, why shouldn't she be? That was less than a month ago, a month out of more than two centuries, for her. Brief as the time was, though, he knew he had changed. So had Asha. So had Ezdral.
Taking Flight (Ethshar) Page 26