Taking Flight

Startled, Irith turned and looked as the little girl panted into the dooryard. The waif turned pleading eyes up toward the Flyer, and Irith corrected herself.

“Two friends,” she said.

Kelder smiled with relief. Irith could be compassionate toward the living, however callous she might have appeared toward the dead bandits, and Kelder was very pleased to see it. Maybe he could use this miserable creature to draw himself and Irith closer, as well as fulfilling the prophecy.

“Well, come in then, both of you,” Larsi said, beckoning. Kelder hastened to obey, and the girl scrambled after him.

They found themselves in a great stone-floored kitchen, surrounded by blackened oak, and black iron, and stone in a dozen shades of gray. A wooden cistern stood on an iron frame over a stone sink; stone-topped tables lined stone walls between wooden doors. Pale tallow candles shone from black iron sconces. The only touches of color in the entire place were the fire on the great hearth, and the vegetables spread on a counter-orange carrots and pale green leeks and fresh red-skinned potatoes.

“Go on, then, out with you,” Larsi said, waving them toward one of the doors. “You’ve no business in my kitchen, and Irith, I wish I’d never shown you that back way!”

“I’d have found it anyway,” Irith retorted, grinning. “You can see it from the air.”

Larsi huffed, and herded the three of them through the door into the main room.

This was brighter than the kitchen, but not much more colorful; here the dominant hues were black and brown, rather than black and gray. Brown wood tables and chairs, wood-paneled walls, a black slate hearth, and a wooden floor were illuminated by a dozen lanterns and in use by a dozen patrons.

“You’ll have the stew,” Larsi said, as she showed them to chairs at the near end of one of the two long tables that took up most of the space.

Irith nodded. “And that beer you make,” she said.

Larsi threw a significant glance at the blue-clad girl, and Kelder said, “She’ll drink water.”

The girl nodded eagerly.

Larsi snorted, then turned back to the kitchen.

When the door was shut again Kelder commented, “Doesn’t look like much.” He looked around himself at the complete absence of paint, brass, or brightwork of any kind.

Irith shrugged. “It isn’t,” she admitted, “but it’s the best food in Angarossa.” Then she turned to stare at the girl.

Kelder turned his attention to her, as well. Here was his chance to show Irith that he could be kind and understanding and firm, all at once. “Now,” he said, “who are you, and why were you following us?”

The girl blinked, hesitated, and then said, “My name is Asha of Amramion-and I think you killed my brother.”

Kelder and Irith stared at the girl. That was not an answer they had expected.

She stared defiantly back.

“I’ve never killed anyone,” Kelder informed her.

“I don’t think I killed your brother,” Irith said.

Something in the back of Kelder’s mind took note of the fact that Irith hadn’t said, “Neither have I.” He was not happy about the implications of that, and fought down the entire subject, preferring to concentrate on Asha.

At least for the moment.

“Well, somebody killed him,” Asha said, “and you were there.”

“We were?” Kelder asked, startled.

Asha nodded.

“Where?” he inquired.

“On the road this afternoon, a league west of here,” she replied.

“You mean your brother was one of those bandits?” Irith asked.

Asha, somewhat reluctantly, nodded.

For a moment nobody spoke. Then Kelder said, “We didn’t kill anybody; some demons did.”

Asha looked openly skeptical.

“No, really,” Irith told her. “It was really gross, I mean, all these little goblin creatures popped up out of nowhere and started hacking away at everybody. It was really disgusting.”

“Where did they come from?” Asha demanded, clearly not convinced.

“Just pop, right up out of the ground!” Irith said, gesturing broadly.

“A demonologist summoned them,” Kelder explained.

“What demonologist?” Asha asked. “I didn’t see any demonologist. Not unless it was one of you two.”

Kelder grimaced, put a hand to his chest, and raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like a demonologist?” he asked.

Asha glared at him without answering, then pointed at Irith and said, “She was flying, I saw it.”

“Sure,” Irith said with a nod, “I was flying. I can have wings if I want to; I’m a shapeshifter. But that’s wizardry, not demonology. I don’t know anything about demons.”

“Well, how do I know that it wasn’t wizardry that killed my brother and all his friends?” Asha demanded. “All I have for it is your word!”

Kelder looked at Irith and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess you’ll just have to trust us.”

“Why should I?”

Up until this point, Asha had spoken in a rational and fairly adult manner, despite her diminutive size and voice, but now her voice cracked, and she was obviously on the verge of tears.

“Because we didn’t do it,” Kelder told her. “Honestly, we didn’t.”