Taking Flight

over them, stared and pointed and called to one another.

Kelder smiled. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they probably all knew her by name. Maybe he and Irith would be able to ride on one of the wagons, or share a meal with the merchants.

Then someone walking alongside the third wagon from the end picked up a stone from the roadside and threw it at the winged girl. Someone else had drawn a sword; a third rummaged under the seat of the rearmost wagon and brought up a bow and arrow.

“Hai!” Kelder screamed, and broke into a run.

Irith veered off, away from the caravan, away from the highway. The stone had missed her completely. She flapped, turned, hovered for a second, and then turned again and came sailing back toward Kelder.

He slowed, and she landed before him, and he embraced her, hugging her tightly to him, relieved that she was unhurt.

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.”

“Taxes?” This conversation was, in Kelder’s opinion, becoming very strange indeed. He wondered if Irith were teasing him somehow, but that didn’t seem likely. He didn’t think she could lie that well. “Do bandits pay taxes?” he asked.

“In Angarossa, they do,” Irith explained, “if they don’t want the king’s men to hunt them down and kill them.”

“They pay taxes?” The concept still didn’t seem to make sense.

“One-eighth of everything they steal,” Irith assured him.

“But...” He groped for an intelligent response, and found none.

“Pretty rotten, isn’t it?” Irith said, with a grin.

“It’s... it’s...” It was plain that there were wonders in the World that had nothing to do with mysteries or magic, and were nothing he’d care to brag about seeing when he got home. He struggled for something to say.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Irith said, smiling.

Kelder stopped trying to find words to express his appalled amazement, and Irith explained.

“King Caren’s greedy,” she said. “I guess most kings are. Anyway, when he came to the throne, the