Lawrence Watt-Evans: Taking Flight

Kelder stared, and saw a line of smoke rising gently into the vast polychrome sky-but that by itself would have meant nothing, as many of the farmhouses had cookfires and chimneys.

“That’s the inn?” he asked, pointing.

“That’s it,” Irith confirmed.

By the time they came within sight of the bridge full night was upon them; the gods had washed the World in darkness and lit the stars anew. The lesser moon gleamed pink in the west, while the greater was nowhere to be seen. The fields to either side were black in the gloom, as was the road they walked upon.

And in truth, they could see almost nothing of the bridge itself, but the torches set along its rails blazed warm and inviting, beacons in the night. The sight gave Kelder and Asha renewed strength, and they hurried ahead.

Irith held back slightly, and Kelder turned, wondering.

Before he could speak, she said, “There’s a toll.”

“What?”

“They charge a fee to let you cross the bridge, just the way Caren wanted to charge tolls on the highway through Angarossa.”

Kelder stopped. “How much?” he asked.

“A copper piece, it used to be-that was for each adult, no charge for children or livestock.”

That meant three pieces-Irith, Ezdral, and himself. Asha would be free.

“I’ll fly across,” Irith said, “or maybe swim-I haven’t been a fish in ages. And I’ll meet you on the far side.”

Two pieces, then; Kelder considered the contents of his purse and decided that was manageable, but he was not happy about it. “Maybe I should swim, too,” he suggested.

“Are you a good swimmer?” Irith asked. “It’s a long way to swim for a human, especially in the dark.”

“I’ve never tried swimming at all,” Kelder admitted. “There wasn’t anywhere to swim, in the hills of Shulara.”

“Then you can’t swim, silly!” Irith told him. “It’s something you need to learn! You’d just sink and probably drown!”

“Oh,” Kelder replied, embarrassed.

“Come on!” Asha called; she had ignored the discussion and was waiting halfway down the slope.

Kelder came.

There were no guards on the bridge, so far as he could see, and he wondered if Irith’s information might be out of date. He said as much as they stepped onto the first stones.

“I don’t think so,” Irith said. “I think they’re at the other end. And even if they aren’t, I’m going to swim, anyway-I haven’t been a fish in years!” She leaned over, kissed Kelder on the cheek, then slipped away into the darkness beyond the bridge’s torchlit rail.

He tried to watch her go, but outside the glow of the torches he could see nothing but the night. He sighed, and led Asha and Ezdral onward.

Irith’s information proved correct in every particular; by the time they were halfway across, Kelder could see and hear that four soldiers lounged at the far end of the bridge, chatting in Ethsharitic spoken in accents just like Azraya’s, telling each other obscene anecdotes. When they spotted the travelers they broke off the conversation long enough to collect two coppers, and then ignored the threesome thereafter.

Once aground again, Kelder hesitated; Irith was nowhere in sight, and although she had told him the inn was just the other side of the low ridge ahead he could see nothing of it. It might be farther than he had hoped, and Ezdral was in a stupor and on the verge of total collapse. “You two go on ahead,” he said, despite misgivings about sending a sick old drunkard and a child alone in the dark. “I’ll wait here for Irith.”

“I could wait,” Asha offered.

Kelder considered; leaving a child alone in the dark wasn’t any better, and might be worse.

Before he could answer, though, Irith called, “Here I am!”

Kelder turned to see her walking up a narrow path that descended from the bridge’s entrance to the river. Even in the dim glow of the torches he could see that she was soaked, her long hair hanging in ropes down her back, her white tunic drenched and clinging heavily to her body.

That was very interesting to look at, from Kelder’s point of view, as the garment was almost transparent when wet, but he saw that it was also obviously cold and uncomfortable, and he helped her up the stone step that linked the path to the highway.

“What happened?” he asked. “I thought your clothes changed with you.”

“They do,” she said. “I feel dumb.”

“Why?” Asha asked.

Irith snorted in annoyance, and Kelder felt her shivering.

“We can talk about it later,” he said. “Let’s get to the inn. Irith can dry off there, and we can all warm up.”

Nobody argued, and the four of them trudged up the hill, drops of water pattering from Irith’s clothes and hair. Kelder’s sleeve was saturated as well, where he had put his arm around her.

The hill was longer than it had initially appeared-Kelder had assumed that it was covered with sprouting grain, as the other bank of the river was, though he could not see any in the dark; he had figured that into his estimates. In fact, the ridge was covered with meadows, which meant it was higher than Kelder had estimated. Furthermore, the inn was not at the top but at the foot of the other side.

They did reach it eventually, and found their way around to the entrance, which was on the opposite side. Ezdral was more alert on the way than he had been in hours, obviously seriously concerned about Irith. It was clearly all he could do to keep from wrapping protective arms about her.

“Don’t you have a blanket, Kelder?” he asked, about halfway up the first slope.

Kelder cursed himself for his own stupidity and, without stopping, dug a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around the Flyer’s shoulders.

When they reached the door it was closed; a torch blazed in a bracket above it, but there was no signboard or other indication that the place was open for business. Light spilled out through cracks in the shutters, so it was obviously not deserted, but Kelder hesitated.

“Are you sure it’s an inn?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” Irith said. Without bothering to knock, she opened the door and stepped in.

Sound and light and warmth washed over Kelder as he followed Irith into the inn. He found himself in a large, comfortable room, standing on well-worn planking and facing several tables of assorted shapes and sizes. Half a dozen patrons were clustered about one of the larger tables, shouting encouragement to two burly men who sat facing each other, hands locked in an arm-wrestling match. The faces of the two competitors were red and strained with effort. Nobody seemed to be eating, but some of the spectators had mugs in their hands.

The walls were stone, but pierced with numerous doors and shuttered windows. At one end of the room a cheery blaze failed to come anywhere near filling a huge fireplace; a row of mugs stood on the mantle, and above them a scabbarded sword hung from wires set into the stonework.

Most of those present ignored the new arrivals, but a tall brown-haired man in an apron, apparently in his thirties or so, looked up and exclaimed, “Irith!”

“Valder!” Irith called back in Trader’s Tongue, “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” the man said in the same language, hurrying over. “What about you?”

“I’m freezing cold and dripping wet,” Irith replied irritably, “but other than that I’m the same as ever.”

“Well, come on over by the fire,” Valder said, beckoning. “I’ll get you something warm to drink. Thetta!”

A serving wench appeared through one of the doors and looked at the innkeeper questioningly. “Build up the fire a little, would you?” Valder told her. “And tell someone to bring some tea-the kettle’s hot, isn’t it?” Nor was he idle himself; as he spoke, he was shoving a table out of the way and setting a half-circle of chairs around the hearth.