Taking Flight

Her wings had not vanished, which made the embrace somewhat awkward, so he released her quickly.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, then looked up. He had intended to ask why the caravan’s people were so hostile to her, but the words died on his lips-a horseman was approaching them. The caravan itself was moving steadily onward as if nothing had happened, but one of the outriders had peeled away and was trotting toward them. Irith saw Kelder’s face, and turned to face the horseman.

They stood and waited as the man rode up.

“What do you want?” Kelder called in Trader’s Tongue, in an angry attempt at bravado.

“To give you an apology, and a warning,” the horseman replied, in the same language.

Irith and Kelder glanced at each other, and then back at the horseman. “Go on,” Kelder said.

The horseman bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “First,” he said, “the apology. If you are no more than the innocent travelers you appear to be, then we regret our actions toward you.”

He paused, but neither Irith nor Kelder answered.

“And the warning,” the horseman said. “There are bandits in these hills…”

“We know that,” Irith interrupted. “That’s why we wanted to join your caravan!”

The stranger nodded, and continued, unperturbed. “There are bandits in these hills, and they have been known to use several tricks and ruses. Accordingly, we cannot trust anyone we meet here-and most particularly, not a person like yourself, who clearly has great magic at her command. So while we mean no harm to anyone, if you approach again the guards will do their best to kill you.”

“Kill me?” Irith squeaked. “But I’m Irith the Flyer! Everyone on the Great Highway knows me! And this is Kelder, and he’s harmless!”

The horseman shrugged, palm up. “Perhaps you are what you say,” he said, “but we will not risk it. I’m sorry.”

Before Irith could say anything more, he turned and snapped the reins, sending his horse cantering back toward the departing wagons.

Irith blinked, then turned to Kelder, furious.

“They can’t treat us like that!” she said.

Kelder shrugged. “Why not?” he asked. Almost immediately, however, he regretted the words-a reaction like that was not going to impress anyone. He didn’t want Irith to consider him a coward.

“They don’t own the highway!” Irith shouted. “We can pass them if we like!”

Kelder reluctantly shook his head-appearances or no, and even if it meant an accusation of cowardice, common sense was on the side of caution. “It’s not right,” he said, “nor fair, but I wouldn’t try it. There are an awful lot of them.”

Irith looked at the wagons for a moment, considering, and then stuck out her tongue. “Who needs them, anyway?” she said. “And did you notice that weird smell?”

“What smell?” Kelder asked, startled. The only odors he had detected were those of dust and horses.

“That sour smell,” Irith said. “When the horseman rode up just now. The whole caravan smells like that. Didn’t you notice?”

“I didn’t smell anything,” Kelder said, puzzled. “Except horse,” he added, for the sake of accuracy, “and maybe sweaty leather.”

“Well, then your nose doesn’t work,” Irith retorted, “because the whole caravan stinks.”

“I didn’t smell anything,” Kelder repeated.

Irith considered for a moment, then announced, “They stink, anyway. Who needs them?”

Relieved, Kelder smiled, and she smiled back, and the two of them walked on, following the caravan at a safe distance of roughly two hundred yards.

Chapter Five

“How is it there are so many bandits in Angarossa?” Kelder asked, as they trudged onward. They had been following the caravan for hours; it was still ahead of them, and in fact moving a little more slowly than they ordinarily did, but leaving the highway to pass it did not strike the pair as worth the effort. Instead, they had slowed down, giving Kelder more time to think. “Why here, and not other kingdoms?”

“Because of King Caren, silly,” Irith replied.

Kelder blinked. “Who?” he asked.

“King Caren,” Irith repeated. “The king of Angarossa.”

“Oh,” Kelder said, trying to see if he was missing some obvious explanation. He didn’t see that he was. “What does he have to do with it?” he asked. “Is he a bad king, or something?”

“Not as far as the bandits are concerned,” Irith said with a grin.

“I mean,” Kelder said, slightly annoyed at the girl’s attitude, “is he particularly bad at running the country?”

“And I mean,” Irith replied, still grinning mockingly, “that it depends on whether you look at it from the point of view of a caravan master or a bandit.”

“You’re the one being silly, then,” Kelder retorted. “It’s part of a king’s duties to stop banditry.” He might not know as much of the World as Irith did, but he knew that much.

“Well, in that case,” Irith answered, turning more or less serious, “King Caren’s an absolutely rotten king, because he doesn’t see it that way.”

“He doesn’t?” Kelder said, startled.

“No, he doesn’t. As long as the bandits pay their taxes, King Caren doesn’t bother them.”