Taking Flight

wonders.

That might be worth trying.

He couldn’t sign onto a ship here on the river, though — at least, not so far as he knew. From here, he had two routes he could take.

Ethshar lay one long day’s march to the south — Ethshar of the Spices, the largest city in the World, which the bolder storytellers claimed was home to a million people; Ethshar, the greatest port in the World, whence ships sailed to the farthest lands of north, south, and west; Ethshar, home to the invincible army of the city’s overlord, to all the greatest magicians, the wisest scholars; Ethshar, where it was said that absolutely anything could be had for a price.

He could be there in a day, once Irith’s spells were all broken. And he could find work there, even if it was just soldiering in the city guard.

Or he could go back home to Shulara, to the farm and family.

There wasn’t really anywhere else he wanted to go in the Small Kingdoms; none of the towns he had passed through stood out as a good place to settle. If not back to Shulara, then on to Ethshar.

But should he go home? That was what the prophecy had said.

But it had not said when, and it had implied he would see Ethshar first. If Iridith could break the spells on Ezdral and Irith right here, there was no more need to go to Ethshar — but there was no reason he couldn’t. He could always change his mind and go back later.

And if he went home, he could leave again, couldn’t he?

Well, perhaps not, not if he had crops and children to worry about. Better, then, to see Ethshar first, then go home.

And then there was Irith to consider. He did not think she would accept a marriage proposal just yet; maybe she would, but he wasn’t ready to try it.

But would she be more likely to accept if he were going on to Ethshar, or if he were going home to Shulara?

He tried to imagine Irith living with him in the hills of Shulara, tending the house and crops, trading at the market. The image wouldn’t come; every time he thought of her he saw her spreading her wings and soaring upward, away from anything so mundane as farm and family.

If her spells were broken, though, she would have no wings.

He remembered once, as a boy, he had watched the princess ants emerging from their nest, swarming upward into the sky on their transparent, shining wings. His father had explained how each one would find a new place, a new nest, where she would settle in. Her wings would fall off, and she would become a queen, staying safe underground and laying her eggs while her offspring tended to her.

Irith was like that; she had fled her old home, where there was no safe place for her, and had flittered about the World.

Sooner or later, though, came a time to shed the wings and settle in.

Kelder had been away from home less than a month, and he felt he was ready to settle — if it was with Irith.

But somehow, he knew she would never settle while she had her magic. She might try, but he would age, and she would not; he would mature, and she would not; and one day she would get bored and fly away.

But he was sure she would agree to give up her magic. After all, after two hundred years, she must be tired of it all, must be ready to grow up and settle down.

It might take her awhile to realize it, but surely, she would.

He rolled over and went to sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Iridith returned to the Inn At The Bridge some three days after Irith and her companions had arrived; she flew up to the door around midafternoon of the third day, startling Kelder considerably. He had never seen anyone fly without wings before.

That three days had been pleasant enough; Asha had been delighted at the suggestion that she might stay at the inn permanently, and had immediately set out to learn her way around the kitchen, yard, and stable. Ezdral had remained much the same, drinking surreptitiously, staring at Irith, following her and muttering incoherently when awake, and spending most of his time asleep, or at any rate unconscious.

Kelder and Irith had wandered about the area, admiring the broad river, the vast open sky of the plain, the impressive engineering of Azrad’s Bridge — and each other.

Kelder was surprised, the morning of the first day, to see that the inn was built at a fork; the Great Highway split here, running in three directions, rather than two.

The northern route led back across the bridge to the Small Kingdoms; the southern to Ethshar of the Spices; and the third road went westward, to Ethshar of the Sands and all the northern lands.

When Iridith arrived Asha was washing plates, Ezdral was snoring by the hearth, and Irith was off somewhere fluttering about in the shape of a rainbow-hued bird, while Kelder sat out front and contemplated the three roads, thinking about nothing in particular. Thus only Kelder saw the wizard descend gracefully out of the sky and land gently on her feet.

“You must be Iridith,” he said in Trader’s Tongue, as she stepped up to the door.

“I suppose I must,” she said in Ethsharitic.

Kelder switched languages, apologized for his rudeness, and introduced himself as he opened the door for her and then followed her inside.

He stood quietly not watching as she and Valder greeted each other enthusiastically. When the two were no longer touching, he broached the subject of countercharms.

“The love spell is easy,” the wizard said, once the situation had been explained. “A drop of the spell- caster’s blood in each of the victim’s eyes will clear that right up.”

“The spell-caster?” Kelder asked.

“In this case,” Iridith said, “that would be Irith.”

“We need her blood?”

“Certainly. Just two drops; a pin-prick will do fine.”

Kelder was unsure just how willing Irith would be — but after all, it was just two drops, and it would cure Ezdral.

On the more serious question of how Javan’s Second Augmentation could be ended, Iridith hesitated. “You know,” she said, “I’ve had ideas of how to do it before, and Irith has always refused.”

“I don’t think she will this time,” Kelder said. “I think she’s finally growing up.”

Valder and Iridith looked at one another silently, then back at Kelder.

“Kelder,” Iridith said gently, “she can’t grow up. Ever. At all. Not until the spell is broken.”

“I think she has,” he insisted. “Just a little.”

“Well,” Iridith said reluctantly, “we can ask her.”

They did ask her, an hour later, in the main room of the inn.

“Kelder,” she said, staring at him, “are you crazy? Give up my magic? Let myself grow old and ugly, and die someday? Spend all my time in one shape, so I can’t get away if someone bothers me? Give up flying?”

“But, Irith...” he began.

“Are you crazy?” she repeated. “Of course I won’t give it up!”

“I was thinking you could come back to Shulara with me...” Kelder began.

“To Shulara? What, and be a farmer? Just sit in one place until I rot?” She stared at him in disbelief. “You are crazy! Kelder, why would I want to live like that? I’m famous, and free! I’m special