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 thought 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. Zindré 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 Zindré 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. "Good-bye, 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.
And Irith hadn't.
And she never would.
And really, destined or not, how could he marry a child like that?
Chapter 36
Kelder hefted the pack onto his shoulder and looked up.
Irith waved a final farewell, then swooped eastward, her wings gleaming brightly in the morning sun. She dwindled in the distance.
He wondered if he would ever see her again. If he did, he suspected she wouldn't recognize him, or would pretend not to. And he would not presume on old friendship, he promised himself.
Valder and Asha were busy inside, he knew, but he waved a farewell to them, as well, just in case they happened to be looking out the window. Then he set his foot firmly on the highway and set out toward Ethshar.
He was looking forward to seeing it, to finding himself a place in the city—and perhaps even finding Azraya there.
He had never heard Azraya laugh; perhaps she, too, had a laugh like birdsong. Any number of women might have such a laugh.
And Zindré might have been just a charlatan; it really didn't matter anymore whether the prophecy was absolute truth or nothing but lies. He would live out his life as he saw fit, taking it one step at a time, and not worrying about whether it fit any predictions.
He rather hoped he would meet Azraya again, when he got to Ethshar. Maybe, he thought, they could find a place together.
He smiled at his own eagerness and shook his head. Maybe they could. Or maybe not.
Author's Note:
Linguistics
Some scholars may wonder how the people of the Small Kingdoms are able to learn foreign languages as quickly as they do.
It must be remembered that all of the two hundred languages spoken in the World in the fifty-third century of human speech diverged from a single mother tongue within the last five hundred years—and that that mother tongue, Ethsharitic, is still alive and flourishing.
For a Dwomorite to learn Quorulian is not equivalent to an American learning Japanese, but to an Italian learning Spanish. Many of the so-called languages are in fact merely different dialects. The difference between, say, Krithimionese and Ethsharitic is no greater than the difference between English as spoken in York and New York—perhaps less.
Trader's Tongue is a simplified version of Ethsharitic with various borrowings, an altered accent, and a certain bantering tone suited to haggling added in.
The greatest linguistic disparity in all the World, between Semmat and the island dialect of Tintallionese, is roughly the same as the difference between English and German.
About The Author
Lawrence Watt-Evans was bom and raised in eastern Massachusetts, the fourth of six children in a house full of books. Both parents were inveterate readers, and both enjoyed science fiction; he grew up reading anything handy, including a wide variety of speculative fiction. His first attempts at writing SF were made at the age of seven.
Being qualified for no other enjoyable work—he had discovered selling door-to-door and working in ladder factories, supermarkets, or fast-food restaurants to be something less than enjoyable—he took to writing, with no great success until the completion of a fantasy novel, The Lure of the Basilisk, which sold to Del Rey Books and began his career as a full-time writer.
Taking Flight is fifth in the Ethshar fantasy series, following The Misenchanted Sword, With a Single Spell, The Unwilling Warlord, and The Blood of a Dragon.
He has also authored science fiction and horror novels, and has written more than thirty published short stories, includ
ing the Hugo-winning "Why I Left Harry's All-Night Hamburgers."
He married in 1977, has two children, and lives in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C.
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