Taking Flight loe-5

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  A snore sounded, and Kelder uncurled enough to peer over his shoulder.

  Darkness was descending, the sun down and the lesser moon still low in the east, the greater moon not due up for an hour or more; the little party had not bothered to build a fire. All Kelder could see of Ezdral was a shadowy lump.

  He could hear him plainly enough, though; the old drunkard was snoring steadily and loudly.

  “He’s asleep,” Asha said, in a conversational tone.

  “Hush!” Kelder called in a hoarse whisper. “You’ll wake him!”

  “No, I won’t,” Asha said, speaking normally. “He’s too drunk. Nothing’s going to wake him up for hours. He got that whole bottle of oushka down in about five minutes; even my father couldn’t do that!”

  Kelder watched Ezdral uneasily. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m positive,” Asha replied. She sat up, a vague shape in the gloom. Kelder watched as she crept over and prodded Ezdral with a finger; the drunkard snored on without stirring. “See?”

  Kelder nodded. “I see,” he said.

  “So are we going to stay here with him, or are we going to get away and lose him?”

  Kelder considered. “I’m not sure,” he said. “He’s not so bad, really.”

  “He stinks, and he’s dirty.”

  “That’s true,” Kelder admitted. “But if he were cleaned up... He knows a lot, he’s done a lot of traveling. He might be useful. Having an adult along could be helpful.” Having someone along who had money could be helpful, for one thing, he thought, but he didn’t say that aloud. Nor did he mention that he wondered what else the old drunk might know about Irith.

  “You’re an adult.”

  Kelder shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I’m only sixteen; if I were an apprentice — well, in most trades I’d still be an apprentice. It’ll be another two years before I really count as an adult.”

  “Oh,” Asha said, “I didn’t know.”

  “There’s no reason you should have,” Kelder said.

  The two of them sat for a moment, on opposite sides of the sleeping Ezdral, not saying anything.

  “Is he asleep?” a voice called from somewhere overhead.

  Kelder looked up, startled, and found Irith hovering above them, wings gleaming rose in the light of the lesser moon.

  “Yes!” Asha shouted up to her. “Come on down!”

  The winged girl descended slowly and cautiously, and settled to the ground a few yards away. Asha jumped and ran to her, and gave her a long, enthusiastic hug.

  Kelder was a little more controlled about it, but he, too, came over and embraced her.

  When they had exchanged greetings, Irith said, “Come on then, let’s get away from him while we can!” She gestured for the others to follow, and started down the slope toward the highway.

  Kelder noticed that her wings did not vanish, as they usually did when she walked anywhere; she was keeping them ready, in case Ezdral woke and she had to flee again.

  Of course, that would mean leaving Asha and himself behind again...

  “Wait a minute,” he said.

  “What?” Irith asked, startled. She turned back to face him.

  “I’m not sure this is right,” he said. He glanced down at Ezdral. Drunk and snoring, the old man looked lost and forlorn, and Kelder was the prophesied champion of the lost and forlorn, wasn’t he?

  And it was time to settle a few things. If he was going to marry Irith — well, marriage was a partnership, and he intended to be an equal partner, at the very least, not giving in to Irith on everything. Her magic gave her an advantage; he had to make up for that by stubbornness.

  “What do you mean?” Irith asked. “Of course it is! Why would we want to be anywhere near a dirty old drunk? Come on, let’s get away while we can! He’ll be fine where he is, he doesn’t need us.”

  “How do you know that?” Kelder countered.

  “Well, he got along just fine all those years in Shan by himself, didn’t he?” the Flyer demanded, hands on her hips.

  “It’s not the same, and you know it,” Kelder told her. “Besides, there are things we need to settle.”

  “Such as what?” Irith demanded. “Has he been telling you lies?”

  “I don’t know,” Kelder said. “Maybe they were lies, maybe they weren’t. Did you hear any of what he told us?”

  “Only a little.”

  Asha was standing at Irith’s side; now she looked up, startled. “You did hear a little?”

  “Maybe,” Irith admitted. “I’m not sure.”

  Asha asked, “How could you have heard?”

  “She has ways of not being seen if she doesn’t want to be, Asha,” Kelder said. “I don’t know just what they are — but I’d like to.”

  Irith glared at him; even in the darkness he could see that.

  “You want to talk about all this, Kelder?” she asked.

  “Yes, I think I do,” Kelder replied.

  “Do we have to do it out here, in the cold and the dark, with that old drunk snoring like a pig?”

  “No,” Kelder said, “but I’m not going any farther than the nearest inn without him, until you’ve explained a few things.”

  Irith stamped her foot in annoyance. She looked down at Asha, then back at Kelder.

  “Well, all right, then,” she said. “We probably couldn’t get very far tonight anyway, in the dark. We’ll talk at the inn over there, all right?”

  “All right,” Kelder agreed.

  Chapter Twenty

  By the time they reached the inn Irith’s wings were gone, and some of her annoyance was gone as well. She didn’t so much as grimace when she realized that she would be paying for everything.

  “At least we’ll be comfortable in here,” she said.

  The inn was arranged with tables along the walls and high backs to the benches that accompanied them, forming booths and providing an unusual degree of privacy. The three of them took one of these booths and ordered two ales and a lemonade from a young man with an apron and a tray.

  As soon as the young man had departed, Asha asked Irith, “How could you watch us without us seeing you?”

  Irith sighed. “Do I really have to tell you?”

  “I think so,” Kelder said. “At least, if you want us to travel with you.”

  “All right, then,” she said. “Mostly I was either a cat or a bird; sometimes I was invisible, but I have trouble with that.”

  “What’s ‘invisible’?” Asha asked.

  “It means I’m still there, but nobody can see me. Except it’s not comfortable and I can’t see very well when I do it, and it only lasts a few minutes, so mostly I didn’t get very close or anything, I just stayed a bird and flew overhead, or a cat and watched you from a distance. Except cats and birds... well, cats can’t hear low noises very well, so I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying when I was a cat. Birds can hear low noises, but they don’t hear very well sometimes. So when you were coming up the cliff I snuck up close as a cat and then turned invisible and listened, and you were talking to that old man and he was talking about going to Shan with me years ago, but he didn’t, I never went there with him!”

  “You’re sure of that?” Kelder asked.

  “Of course I’m sure! I never traveled with that scruffy old drunk!”

  “Well, he wasn’t a scruffy old drunk, back then,” Kelder pointed out.

  “When?” Irith demanded.

  “Forty years ago — forty-three, I think it was, actually.” Kelder watched her reaction closely. Would she be surprised, declare the whole idea of her doing anything forty years ago to be ridiculous?

  “Forty years ago?” Irith stopped and stared.

  That was ambiguous, Kelder thought; she hadn’t dismissed it as ridiculous, but she hadn’t accepted it, either. “Were you around forty-three years ago?” he asked.

  “Well, of course I was, but I wasn’t associating with dirty old men!”

  There it was. She h
ad been around back then; it wasn’t her mother or grandmother. Asha stared. Kelder swallowed, and said, “He was nineteen, maybe twenty.

  “Oh,” Irith said, taken aback. “Oh, I guess he would have been, wouldn’t he?”

  Kelder nodded.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said.

  “Did you know him?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know,” she said. “What’s his name?”

  “Ezdral.”

  Irith stared. Her eyes grew wider than Kelder would have thought possible.

  “Ezdral?” she said. “That’s Ezdral of Mezgalon? It really is?”

  “That’s what he says,” Kelder told her.

  “I was sort of afraid it might be somebody I knew once, you know,” Irith said, the words spilling out in a rush. “And I really hated to think about anyone I know getting old and icky like that, and drinking so much and lying around, so I didn’t like it when he said he knew me and I wanted to get away from him — but I never thought it might be Ezdral!” She blinked. “That’s awful!”

  “He says you traveled with him when he was young, and then one day he woke up and you weren’t there.”

  “Well, that’s sort of true,” Irith admitted. “I mean, I was there, at first, but he didn’t see me. And I’ll bet he didn’t mention that we’d had a fight the night before, did he? Or that he’d been being a real pest, talking about all this stupid stuff about settling down and raising kids.”

  “What’s stupid about it?” Asha asked, before Kelder could react.

  “I’m too young, that’s what!” Irith said quickly.

  Asha and Kelder looked at each other. Kelder’s visions of a life of domestic bliss with Irith suddenly seemed much less attainable.

  “Oh, it was all a long time ago, anyway,” Irith said.

  “Irith,” Kelder said, “it was a long time ago, more than forty years ago, but you keep saying you’re only fifteen.”

  “I am only fifteen!” she retorted angrily.

  “How are you only fifteen?” Kelder asked. “Where were you between then and now? Were you under a spell or something?”

  “A spell?” Irith stared at him.

  “Turned to stone, maybe?”

  “Silly,” she said, almost laughing, “of course not! I’ve been traveling, enjoying the World.”

  “For forty years?”

  “Longer, really.”

  “How long?”

  “Oh, well...”

  “How long?” Kelder demanded.

  “I don’t know,” she said defensively. “I haven’t kept track.”

  Kelder found himself momentarily baffled by this response. How could anyone not know something like that?

  Irith stared at him in mild irritation. “Why are you asking so many questions? What difference does it make?”

  “When were you born?” Kelder asked. “What year?”

  “Oh, well, if you put it like that,” Irith said, “I was born in 4978.”

  “That’s more than two hundred years ago!” Kelder said, shocked.

  “Yes, I guess it is,” Irith admitted.

  “So you’re more than two hundred years old?” Asha asked, fascinated.

  “No,” Irith insisted, “I’m fifteen! I’ve been fifteen for two hundred years, and I’ll always be fifteen!”

  “Always?” Kelder asked.

  Irith nodded. “It’s part of the spell,” she said.

  Asha and Kelder exchanged glances. “So you are under a spell?” Asha asked.

  “No, not like that,” Irith said.

  Kelder asked, “Then like what? What spell are you talking about?”

  “Well, the one that made me what I am, of course,” Irith said. “The one that made me a shapeshifter and everything.”

  Just then the young man in the apron returned with their drinks; they accepted them, and waited until the young man had departed again.

  Kelder sipped his ale, then turned back to Irith. “I think,” he said, “that you’re going to have to tell us all about it.”

  Irith looked at him, at the unsmiling expression on his face, and then down at Asha, sitting beside him, her own little mouth set firmly.

  Irith sighed.

  “Oh, all right,” she said, “I’ll tell you the whole story.” She shifted on the bench, and then remarked by way of preamble, “You know, you two aren’t being any fun at all!”

  The others just sat, and Irith began. “It’s called Javan’s Second Augmentation of Magical Memory,” she said. “The spell, I mean.”

  “Tell us about it,” Kelder said.

  “How did you learn it?” Asha asked. “Were you a magician?”

  Irith frowned. “I guess I’d better start all the way back at the beginning,” she said.

  She took a deep breath and began, “I was born in the Third Military District of Old Ethshar, which was already being called Dria — it was run by someone we called a Colonel, but he declared himself king when I was five. It was a lot bigger then than Dria is now — the Colonel ruled everything as far east as Thuth.”

  She saw the rather blank expressions on both Kelder’s and Asha’s faces, and explained, “That’s all on the eastern plains, between the mountains and the desert — south of here.”

  “But that’s not Ethshar,” Asha protested, “Ethshar’s way off to the west.”

  “That’s the new Ethshar,” Irith said. “The Hegemony of Ethshar, it’s called. That was originally all conquered territory, and Old Ethshar was where the Small Kingdoms are now. It sort of fell apart, though.”

  “Go on,” Kelder said.

  “Well, anyway,” Irith said, “I grew up in Dria, and it was still part of Old Ethshar, sort of, but only because of the Great War. You know about that, right? How we were all fighting against the Northern Empire? And they had demons and sorcerers fighting for them?”

  Kelder said, “We know about the War.”

  “Well, because we were all scared of the Northerners, none of the Small Kingdoms fought each other much, and a lot of people just kept breaking off little pieces and setting up their own kingdoms, and nobody could do anything about it because we couldn’t afford to fight amongst ourselves, you see? But it made it harder and harder for the four generals to raise armies and protect us. So the war had been going on for hundreds of years, maybe a thousand years, but it was beginning to look like we might lose, or at least that’s what my parents thought. The news from the generals was good, mostly — General Gor was doing well in the west, and General Anaran was raiding the Empire’s borders, and everything — but Old Ethshar was coming apart.”

  “What does this have to do with your spells?” Kelder asked.

  “I’m getting to that!” Irith glared at him.

  “Get to it, then!”

  She glowered for a moment longer, then continued, “So everybody was very worried when I was growing up, and I heard a lot of stories about how terrible the Northerners were, and my parents were always talking about how everybody had to do everything they could for the war effort, and the king was always issuing proclamations about how Dria would fight to the last inch of ground and the last drop of blood, and all this stuff, and it was all exciting, and really scary, and I think it was a pretty bad way to grow up, but I didn’t have any choice, you know? So I was scared all the time, but I wanted to do my part, so I went and got tested at Dria Castle when I turned twelve, and they said I would make a good wizard, and the war effort always needed good wizards — we had much better wizards and theurgists than the Northerners did, which is why they didn’t win, even though they had much better sorcerers and demonologists.”

  Kelder, seeing that this might actually lead somewhere, nodded encouragingly.

  “So they signed me up as apprentice to a wizard who had retired from combat duty to train new wizards,” Irith went on. “Not in Dria Castle, up in the hills to the west. And he was a nice enough master, I guess, but he was older than anything, hundreds of years old, and he’d never married
or had any kids or anything, so even though he knew just about all the wizardry there was, he wasn’t very easy to get along with, and he didn’t understand anything about what it was like for me, being a girl growing up like that.”

  Kelder made a vaguely sympathetic noise.

  “And I never really wanted to be a wizard anyway, and old Kalirin wanted to send me out to General Terrek on combat duty when I’d finished my apprenticeship, and he talked about my maybe doing research, but I knew that research wizards all get killed — I mean, they’re lucky if they last a month! And I hated it, all that fussing around with weird, icky stuff like lizard brains and spider guts and teardrops from unborn babies, and I mean, yuck! Who wants to be a wizard?”

  Asha started to say something, and Irith cut her off. “Oh, all right, so it’s really great when a spell works the way it’s supposed to and everything, but there’s all that preparation and set-up and ritual first, and everything has to be just perfect — it isn’t all fun, you know. And they wanted me to learn all these awful spells for fighting with, that weren’t going to be any use for anything else, like blowing people into bits, and they didn’t care about any of the good stuff, like flying or shape-changing or anything. So I hated it. And by the time I was fifteen and was getting the hang of it all, the war was going badly in the east, and General Terrek was falling back, and how was I supposed to know he was luring the northern army into a trap? I thought we were going to lose the war, and the Northerners were going to come in and rape everybody and then kill us all, or torture us forever, or something. So one day when he was out somewhere I borrowed Kalirin’s book of spells and looked through it for some way to get myself out of it all, and I found Javan’s Second Augmentation.”

  “Kalirin was your master?” Kelder asked.

  “That’s right,” Irith agreed, “Kalirin the Clever. He’d been training wizards forever, practically — I must have been about his two hundredth apprentice.”

  Kelder nodded. “So what is Javan’s Second Augmentation of whatever it is?”

  “Well,” Irith said, “do you know anything about wizardry?”

  Kelder considered for a second or two, then admitted, “Not really.”