Taking Flight

And Ezdral, decrepit as he was, could keep up with Asha’s best pace.

If Kelder left Asha behind, he could easily get away from Ezdral — but what sort of champion of the lost and forlorn would he be then? Reluctantly, he gave in and slowed down again, and the three of them proceeded, two in front, and the old man a few paces behind.

By the time they reached the escarpment that marked the end of the Great Eastern Desert and the beginning of the Small Kingdoms, Kelder had yielded to the inevitable — the three were walking side by side, chatting companionably.

Ezdral was sadly unaware of recent events — he hadn’t heard about the Angarossan king’s support of banditry, or the use of demonologists as caravan guards, or the rumors about someone named Vond the Warlock building an empire in the south. He didn’t even know what a warlock was, though he did remember all the disturbances on the Night of Madness, twenty years ago.

“That was when the Crystal Skull got wrecked,” he said.

Kelder was not pleased to hear that. It might be that the old drunk was running two different memories together, or simply fantasizing, but it did seem to make sense, and if it were true it would completely destroy any possibility that Irith was really only fifteen.

Unless she had somehow acquired the memories of someone older? She seemed too certain of things to have simply been told about the Crystal Skull, but what if those memories had been magically transferred to her, somehow? Kelder had heard of witches doing that sort of thing, so maybe wizards could, too.

Or what if she had been simply gone somewhere for forty-odd years? Suppose that wizard she’d duelled with had turned her to stone, and then she had finally been turned back just recently — wouldn’t that account for everything?

Kelder thought it would; he rather liked the theory, in fact. It still meant that his Irith had once wandered the Small Kingdoms with someone else, with the young Ezdral who had deteriorated into this drunken wreck in the intervening years, but at least she really would have only lived fifteen years or so, not sixty or more. Somehow, the thought of her being an unchanging fifteen for all that time was far more discomfiting than any knowledge of a previous boyfriend.

He didn’t mention the theory to Asha or Ezdral, though. He told himself that he wanted to work out the details a little more, first, but the truth was he was afraid they would find enough flaws in the idea to unravel it completely.

Of course, if that was what had happened, then Irith might not have deserted Ezdral at all, she might have been kidnapped from his side — and while knowing that might comfort the old man, Kelder decided that he didn’t want to discuss that possibility.

What if it were wrong, he asked himself, why get the old man’s hopes up?

Even as he thought that, though, he knew he wasn’t really as concerned with Ezdral’s feelings as his own.

When they reached the escarpment they had missed the road completely; studying the sky and the landscape, Kelder finally decided they had arrived somewhere to the east of their intended destination, so with a shrug he turned right and led the party along the foot of the cliff.

It was midafternoon when they finally found the road again, and by the time they reached the top and were back on the relatively level ground of Dwerra the sun was almost on the western horizon.

Ezdral looked about at the patchy grass and weeds and remarked, “Been a long time since I was up here, and saw things growing out of the ground like that.”

Asha gazed around, and then up at Ezdral, wonderingly. The idea of going for years without seeing greenery was very strange to her, indeed.

Kelder remarked, “Maybe you should go on to Amramion, then, and see the forests.”

“Maybe I will,” Ezdral agreed, “if my feet hold out. I’m getting tired, though. Isn’t it about time we found an inn, or at least something to eat?”

Kelder grimaced. “If you want anything to eat,” he said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to beg for it. That’s what we’ll be doing. And I guess we’ll just have to sleep by the roadside. We don’t have any money.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Kelder snarled, “we don’t. I spent all mine, and Asha never had any, and Irith was paying our way back in Shan, before you frightened her off. I’m just glad we had full canteens when we left!” A thought struck him. “Do you have any money?”

“A little,” Ezdral admitted. “A few bits. Not enough for an inn, but I can get us all some bread.”

“You can?” Asha looked up at him, surprised and grateful.

He nodded. He looked at the road ahead, curving gracefully around the Castle of Dhwerra, and at the scattered buildings along its length. “Which inn is best?”

Asha looked at Kelder, and Kelder looked at Asha.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Just pick one.”

With a shrug, Ezdral picked one.

Chapter Nineteen

The bread was rough and a bit stale, but it was filling, and the innkeeper had had leftover cabbage that she had thrown in free; the three had hardly dined well, but at least their bellies were relatively full when they settled onto a hillock at the roadside for the night.

Kelder had two blankets, one for himself and one for Asha; Ezdral claimed he was fine without one.

“I’ve got this to keep me warm,” he said, pulling a squat black bottle out of his belt-pouch. “Been saving it.”

“What is it?” Asha asked.

“Oushka,” Ezdral replied, grinning. “The very best oushka, Adrean’s Pure Barley Liquor, from Sardiron of the Waters. It fell off a caravan wagon last month, and I picked it out of the mud.” He displayed the label.

Asha turned away; Kelder nodded politely, but showed no further interest.

“Been saving it,” Ezdral repeated to himself as he pried the cork out.

As he huddled under his blanket Kelder wondered whether he should have asked for a drink. Something warming might be nice, and he had no philosophical objection to oushka. He had tasted it on occasion, back home in Shulara, for various special events.

Asha, though, with her drunken, malevolent father, wanted nothing to do with any sort of alcohol, and Ezdral, even after he had cleaned himself up a little for dinner, was scarcely an advertisement in favor of strong drink.

“Are you sure you don’t want some, Kelder?” Ezdral said, his voice already starting to slur. “It’s good stuff, and one hates to drink alone.”

Kelder curled himself up more tightly, pretending to be asleep, and decided that he would never drink oushka again.

“It’s your loss, if you don’t,” Ezdral said, shrugging. He gulped noisily, pouring the liquor down his throat, and Kelder shuddered.

A moment later the bottle clinked against a stone as Ezdral dropped it; a heavy thud followed as the old man fell back against the ground. Kelder lay still, huddled and waiting, finding now that he was not really all that sleepy yet.

A snore sounded, and Kelder uncurled enough to peer over his shoulder.

Darkness was descending, the sun down and the lesser moon still low in the east, the greater moon not due up for an hour or more; the little party had not bothered to build a fire. All Kelder could see of Ezdral was a shadowy lump.

He could hear him plainly enough, though; the old drunkard was snoring steadily and loudly.

“He’s asleep,” Asha said, in a conversational tone.

“Hush!” Kelder called in a hoarse whisper. “You’ll wake him!”