Lawrence Watt-Evans: Taking Flight

“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.

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.