Besides, her very presence proved that Zindre the Seer had not lied.
He had traveled far, beyond the hills and into strange lands; he had seen the road stretching before him; he had found the girl he was to marry — but he had not yet seen great cities or vast plains or strange beasts, he had not seen beautiful women in the plural. Irith’s magic might qualify as “mighty,” or it might not, but the prophecy had said “much mighty magic.” And he had not yet championed anyone lost or forlorn. It was not yet time to return safely home with his bride.
And he wasn’t about to let Irith think he was a coward or a fool; if she spurned him, his entire destiny would be jeopardized.
“Where are you going, then?” Irith asked.
“Where are you going?” he countered.
“Oh, I haven’t decided — and besides, I asked first!” She smiled brightly. “So where are you going?”
“That way,” he said, choosing a direction more or less at random and pointing east along the highway.
“Oh, good!” She clapped her hands together in delight. “All the way to Shan on the Desert?”
He nodded. Why not? Why shouldn’t he actually do it, go all the way to Shan on the Desert? It was a great city, wasn’t it? The prophecy had said he would see great cities. And the Bazaar there was said to be full of wonders and magic.
“I haven’t been there in the longest time,” Irith said. “Could I come with you? We could get to know each other better — I get lonely sometimes, living by myself.”
“Sure,” Kelder said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’d be glad of some company myself.”
That, of course, was an understatement. Kelder thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and given half a chance, he’d have followed her wherever she wanted to go. To have her following him was even better, since she couldn’t very well consider him a nuisance in that case.
The prospects for a short courtship and swift marriage were looking better every moment.
There were obstacles, of course, like his limited funds, but he tried not to think about those.
“Let’s go, then, shall we?” She got to her feet, and he caught another glimpse of the curious colored rings on her ankle as her breeches fell back into place. She started down the hillside.
He started to follow, then stopped. “Wait a minute,” he said, flustered, “I need to pack up my things here!” He turned, and quickly gathered up his belongings, stuffing them into his pack as fast as he could.
When he was sure he wasn’t leaving anything important he got up, slung the pack on his shoulder, and trotted down the hill to where Irith waited, smiling. It was only as he came up beside her that he realized her wings were gone.
“Hai!” he said, startled.
“What is it?” she asked, looking about.
“Your wings,” he said, feeling very foolish. “Where’d they go?”
The thought occured to him that maybe she had never really had wings at all, maybe they’d been an illusion of some kind — but hadn’t she said she had wings?
“Oh!” she said with a giggle, “didn’t I tell you that? It’s part of the spell. I don’t have wings all the time, only when I want to. And they’re kind of a nuisance when I’m walking, so I got rid of them.”
“But...” Kelder began, then stopped. He really didn’t know how to express his puzzlement, especially not in Trader’s Tongue.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, silly!” Irith said. “Come on!”
She started walking, and he hurried to catch up. A moment later, he asked, “But where do they go?”
She shrugged, a gesture he found wonderfully winsome. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s magic, of course.”
“But when you want them back, where do you... I mean...”
She sighed. “Don’t worry about it, all right? I’m a shapeshifter, that’s all. That’s what the spell really was. I can shift back and forth between being me with wings, and me without wings, just the way some wizards can turn themselves into cats or birds or other things. That’s all!”
“Oh,” he said, trying to absorb this. Shape-changing or not, that something could exist sometimes, and not at other times, did not seem to make very much sense.
Then he decided not to worry about it. It was magic, and as far as he knew, magic didn’t have to make sense, it just was. If she could shift her shape, she could do it, and there wasn’t any point in trying to figure out how, any more than in trying to figure out how that wizard had made a tree whistle.
Figuring out more about Irith herself was far more interesting, anyway.
And at least it meant that he needn’t worry that the wings would be in the way.
They walked on, chatting occasionally and simply enjoying each other’s company the rest of the time, strolling on at a comfortable pace, eastward toward the rising sun and Shan on the Desert.
The question of just what Kelder was going to do in Shan, or anywhere else, of just how the rest of the prophecy would fulfill itself — or could be made to fulfill itself — lurked unheeded in the back of his mind.
Chapter Three
As they walked, a handful of people passed them eastbound, riding horses or heavily-loaded mules; one brown-clad man on foot ran past, panting. In the other direction they had as yet encountered only a single traveler, an old woman in a green robe who strode past at a pace belying her age. The two youths spoke to none of them, but Kelder was relieved to see that there actually were people using the Great Highway. They met no caravans, no marching armies, no minstrels or magicians — at least, not so far as Kelder could see — but at least the road was not deserted.
They had been walking for slightly less than an hour when they first came in sight of the forest. Kelder stared.
He had seen trees before, and groves, but the forest seemed to extend forever, all along the south side of the highway, while to the north there were only the familiar farms, a patchwork of cornfields and pastures, with occasional sheep and cattle scattered in the pastures.
“That’s called the Forest of Amramion,” Irith told him, “even though most of it’s actually in Uramor, and this corner here is in Hlimora.”
“It is?”
“Sure. It means we’re getting close to the border between Hlimora and Amramion, but we haven’t reached it yet.”
“Oh,” Kelder said. He stared at the forest for a moment more and then said, “It certainly is big.”
“Oh, it’s nothing special,” Irith said offhandedly. “The forests in Derua are a lot more impressive — the trees are at least twice as tall.”
“They are?” Kelder asked, turning to look at her face. It was more attractive than the forest anyway. For all the time they had been walking he had hoped she would speak, that she would say something that would give him an excuse to talk to her, a chance to develop a little more of a relationship. He wanted to get to know his future wife better.
He had thought that perhaps a traveler would greet them, or Irith would remark on something, or simply that some opportunity would occur to him to speak up — but now that he had that opportunity, he feared he was sounding like an idiot.
“Yes, they are,” Irith said. “I’ve seen them. And I’ve heard that the woods in Lumeth of the Forest are even better, but I haven’t been there, and some people say that way up north in Aldagmor and Sardiron there are forests that make anything anywhere in the Small Kingdoms look like nothing much.”
“”Really?” Kelder asked.
“I don’t know,” Irith said. “But that’s what I’ve heard.”
They walked on silently for a moment after that, Kelder trying to think of something to say to continue the conversation. Finally, prompted by an emptiness in his belly, he asked, “Have you had any breakfast?”
Irith glanced at him. “No,” she said, “but that’s okay, I’m not hungry.”
“I am,” Kelder said. “Do you think we can find something to eat around here?”
“Well,”
Irith said, a trifle reluctantly, “there are inns in the village of Amramion, where the king’s castle is.”
“How far is that?”
Irith looked up the highway, then back the way they had come. “Oh,” she said, “about three leagues. Hlimora Castle’s a lot closer, of course.”
“It is?” Kelder asked, startled.
“Sure,” Irith said. “That’s where I stayed last night. Where did you think I came from?”
“I don’t know,” Kelder said. “I guess I thought you’d camped out somewhere, same as I did.”
She looked at him as if convinced he was insane. “Why would I do that?” she asked. “It’s cold and wet and uncomfortable, sleeping outdoors.”
“But...” Kelder was flustered, unsure what question most needed asking now. It didn’t help any that he still had some difficulty thinking in Trader’s Tongue. Finally, he managed, “How far is Hlimora Castle?”
“About a league, maybe a little more — just out of sight of where we met. But it’s in the wrong direction, if you’re going to Shan. And besides, it’s boring.”
“Oh.” Kelder struggled to decide which was more important, going to Shan and not being boring, or getting something to eat. The three leagues to Amramion seemed like an awfully long distance to travel without his breakfast.
There were no other travelers in sight just now. Had there been, Kelder might have attempted to beg some food, but as it was he didn’t have that option. He looked down the road ahead, where he could see nothing but cornfields and pasture and forest, and then he looked back toward Hlimora, where he could see nothing but hills and cornfields and pasture, and he thought about the difference between the hour or so it would take to reach Hlimora Castle, and the three hours — more, really, as he’d need to stop and rest somewhere — it would take to reach the village of Amramion, and he thought about the emptiness in his stomach.
Then, when he thought he’d decided, he looked at Irith’s face and forgot about food.
“Oh,” he said, “I’ll be fine.” He glanced around, and added, “But if you see anything to eat anywhere, tell me.” He eyed the corn growing in the fields, but as yet there were only green stalks, not even unripe ears to eat.
“All right,” she said.
They marched on, and the forest stretched on alongside. They met no other travelers on this stretch.
About twenty minutes later Irith pointed to a low plant growing by the roadside, almost in the shade of the forest. “Those are strawberries,” she said, “but I don’t know if any of them are ripe.”
Kelder wasn’t sure he cared if they were ripe, and picked a handful. After his first taste, however, he decided that ripening was important after all; he tossed the rest away. He and his stomach grumbled on.
An hour or so later, after silent encounters with two more horsemen and twice that number westbound afoot, they came to the border between Hlimora and Amramion, a border marked by a small tower of reddish stone. It looked deserted, but as they approached a man in a steel helmet leaned over a merlon atop the tower and shouted at them.
Neither could make out the words, but Irith waved cheerfully.
The two of them strolled on, Kelder growing nervous, Irith quite calm as they approached the watchtower.
The man shouted again, and this time Kelder understood him; he was speaking Trader’s Tongue.
“Who goes there?” he called.
Kelder looked at Irith, unsure what to say. She just waved gaily and called, “Hello!”
The guard squinted down at her.
“Irith?” he called.
She nodded.
“Walking this time, are you?” the guard called. “What happened to your wings?”
She grinned and stepped back away from Kelder for a moment.
When she stepped away she was just a girl — a very beautiful one, but a girl. Then, suddenly, she had wings that unfolded behind her, those great glistening white wings he had seen before. Kelder revised his earlier estimate; her wingspan was more than fifteen feet, and might be a full twenty.
She folded her wings, and then they were gone again. Kelder started to ask something, then didn’t bother.
“Magic,” he muttered to himself. “Wonders and magic.”
“What about him?” the guard called, pointing at Kelder.
“I met him up the road,” Irith called. “His name’s Kelder.”
“That right, boy?” the guard called.
“Yes, sir,” Kelder replied, “Kelder of Shulara.”
“You a trader?”
“No, sir.”
“You of noble birth?”
“No.”
“You armed?”
“No, just a belt knife.”
“Doesn’t count. You a magician?”
“No.”
“You swear that you’ve told me the truth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Irith?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I just met him,” Irith replied, a bit flustered. “But I think it’s all true. It’s the same thing he told me!”
“All right, go on, then,” the guard said. “And you, Kelder, you be careful of Irith.”
Kelder blinked, and nodded. The soldier waved them on, and they walked on.
Kelder puzzled over the guard’s last sentence. His knowledge of Trader’s Tongue was still far from perfect, and he wasn’t sure whether the guard had meant that he should defend Irith, or beware of Irith.
The latter didn’t seem to make much sense. She might be a shapeshifter, but she was still just a girl. And the guard himself certainly didn’t seem very worried about her; he’d greeted her as an old friend.
So he must have been asking him to look after her.
Well, that sounded fine to Kelder. He was very interested indeed in looking after Irith indefinitely.
And the guard knew who and what Irith was, and had greeted her by name. He had seemed willing to take her word for Kelder’s identity. That implied, at the very least, that she really had traveled the Great Highway before, probably more than once. Kelder looked at his companion again, wondering how she had managed it. She must have started traveling awfully young!
Impressing her was going to be very difficult, he realized, if she had traveled so far and seen so much. He wished he knew more about her, and more about women in general. All the other girls he had associated with much were people he had known since childhood; he had had no practice in getting to know females, in attracting their interest — and he needed Irith to be interested in him. She was so beautiful, so endearing, that just walking beside her was a constant blend of agony and delight — delight at her presence, and agony at the frustration of doing nothing but walking beside her. He wanted to touch her, hold her — but he didn’t have the nerve, yet.
The mere fact that she was there meant she liked him, since after all, she could fly away at any second — but he had no way to judge how much she liked him, or what she wanted from him.
Boiling with indecision, he walked on, watching her.
They reached the town of Amramion a little over two hours after crossing the border.
It was quite a pleasant and interesting town, as far as Kelder was concerned — the largest he had ever seen, though the village surrounding Elankora Castle had come close. The castle that stood at its center, atop a low hill just south of the Great Highway, was rather larger and more sprawling — and less fortified — than the ones he had seen back in Shulara and Elankora. It had four small towers and no keep that Kelder could spot; it had a dozen half-timbered gables, and no curtain wall.
Around it were scattered scores and scores of houses and shops — the shops of wheelwrights, wainwrights, blacksmiths, poultrymen, and more. And all along the highway there were carts and stalls where the locals offered for sale all their best produce — fine dyed wool, and smoky-scented hams, and early vegetables of half a hundred varieties, most of which Kelder had never seen before. The earthy smell of fresh produce and the tang of the
hams reached his nose and set his mouth watering.
Irith seemed unaffected.
At either end of the town were inns, standing close by the roadside and marking the ends of what was, in effect, a long, narrow open-air market. Four inns stood at the west end, where Kelder and Irith entered; Irith told him there were three more at the far eastern end.
Kelder, now ravenous, didn’t care to walk that far for his breakfast. He strolled perhaps a hundred feet along the market, weaving through the crowd and looking over the merchandise. He bought himself a slightly underripe orange — obviously imported, as the Amramionic climate was clearly unsuitable for oranges — and headed for the nearest inn, hoping that the fantasies he had had about life along the highway might yet come true, at least in part.
Irith stopped him.
“Not that one,” she said. “It’s second-rate. This one!”
She pointed to one of the others. The signboard depicted a robed man sitting cross-legged, holding a staff and hanging his head heavily. “It’s called the Weary Wanderer,” Irith told Kelder. “They make the best biscuits on the entire Great Highway here.”
Kelder followed her inside.
Ten minutes later he was glad he had, because if the biscuits were not the best on the Great Highway, then Kelder had spent his life with some very wrong ideas about biscuits. He had never encountered any so tasty. In fact, his entire breakfast was phenomenally good.
Of course, hunger makes the best sauce; he knew that. Even so, the food at the Weary Wanderer was exceptional.
Although Irith had insisted she wasn’t hungry, she, too, ate and drank eagerly. Besides the famous biscuits, the specialty of the house was a thick, frothy lemonade which obviously contained more than just the usual water and lemons and honey, and Irith and Kelder each downed several mugs of the stuff.
Somehow, Kelder was not particularly surprised when the innkeeper greeted Irith by name. She didn’t intrude on the meal, however; once she had delivered their breakfast she returned to the kitchen and left the travelers in peace.
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