Lawrence Watt-Evans - Taking Flight

Well, it obviously wasn’t, so he trudged on and on, expecting every minute to cross the border into Angarossa.

“Tell me,” he asked Irith around mid-morning, as she danced on ahead of him, bare feet skipping lightly across the highway’s stones, golden hair flashing in the sun. “What’s the route, exactly?”

She turned and looked back, her hair settling to her shoulders like a flock of doves landing. “You mean where the Great Highway goes?”

He nodded, somewhat out of breath.

Irith pointed eastward. “Through Yondra, and then Angarossa, and Sinodita, and Dhwerra, and then out across the desert to Shan,” she told him.

“And how far is that? To Shan on the Desert, I mean.”

She looked ahead and considered.

“About fifteen leagues, I guess,” she said at last.

“Oh,” he said. He glanced back at empty roadway, and then asked, “How far have we come? I’m not very good with distances.”

“Oh, four or five leagues,” she answered, with a vague wave indicating that her reply was little more than a guess.

He stopped and looked back, and then at the road stretching endlessly on ahead. They had covered no more than a fourth of the journey?

That was a depressing thought.

Of course, he’d come a good distance before even reaching the highway, and Irith wasn’t counting that.

And in stories people journeyed for sixnights on end, or months, or even years.

And he wasn’t really in any hurry to get to Shan, was he? He had no business there; it was just a convenient goal, an excuse for traveling. The real reason he was going to Shan, after all, was to fulfill the prophecy, and that spoke only of the journey itself. A longer journey also meant a chance to spend more time with Irith before proposing marriage, and that was a good thing, too.

So why hurry?

“Hai, slow down!” he called to Irith, who had not stopped when he did. “What’s your rush?”

“I don’t like bandits,” she called back. “Come on!”

He sighed, and hurried to catch up.

They passed an empty, crumbling watchtower just before midday.

“We’re in Angarossa now,” Irith said. “You don’t see too many robbers in Yondra, though they’ll cross the border sometimes to catch people off-guard, but the hills of Angarossa are full of them.” She peered warily to either side, and spoke in a tone far more serious than her usual chirping, cheerful manner.

“Really?” Kelder asked, a little more skeptically than he had intended. For one thing, the gently-rolling countryside hardly qualified as hills, by his standards-in Shulara or Sevmor such terrain would have been considered effectively flat.

“Yes, really,” Irith snapped back.

He looked about, studying their surroundings, then stopped and pointed ahead. “Look!” he called. “What’s that?”

Irith followed his finger, and suddenly spread wings that, a second before, had not been there at all. She flapped, and Kelder was almost bowled over by the wind as she rose into the air.

“What is it?” he called. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m getting a better look,” she called down to him. “I’ll be right back.”

He stood, watching helplessly, as she rose into the air, propelled steadily upward by the great iridescent wings. Then he turned his attention back to the spot on the horizon that had attracted his attention.

He still couldn’t make out details; whatever it was was big, and its color not very different from the color of the highway itself-probably, he supposed, because it was dusty. It was at the top of a rise, and disappearing slowly over that rise even as he watched.

Then Irith was settling back to the earth beside him, her wings folding away into nothingnesss. “It’s a caravan,” she told him. “A big one.”

“That?” he said, pointing at the distant object. “That’s a caravan?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, all you could see from down here, silly, was the very last wagon!”

“Oh,” he replied, feeling foolish.

“Come on,” Irith said, starting to run. “If we can catch up with them, we can all travel together. It’ll be safer.”

“It will?” Kelder asked, breaking into a trot.

“Sure!” Irith said. “They’ll have guards and everything!”

Kelder was still unsure just why, but he ran after Irith. The girl seemed as tireless as ever, but long before they reached the caravan Kelder was panting and stumbling.

“Wait,” he called, “I have to catch my breath!”

With a worried glance at the caravan-its nature now plain, as they had crossed another low ridge-Irith slowed to a walk. She danced impatiently as Kelder trudged along.

When he had stopped gasping and was fully upright again, she called, “Come on!” and started running again.

“You go on,” he said, “I’ll catch up.”

She frowned, and then nodded, and there were wings on her back once again. She spread them and leapt upward, soaring into the air.

Kelder trudged on.

He could see the caravan for what it was, now; he counted five wagons, and others were over the next hill, he was sure. There were people sitting in and on the wagons, and outriders on horses and oxen along either side, and a few people walking along on foot, as well. This was no casual grouping such as they had sometimes seen west of Yondra Keep; this was a serious expedition.

The wagons were big, solid things, brightly painted and almost the size of houses; the last in line was a saffron hue that happened to blend fairly well with the dust of the road, but the others were red and green and blue, with gilded or silvered trim that sparkled in the sun. They didn’t bear much resemblance to the open farm wagons Kelder had seen back in Shulara, or the ox-carts the local merchants had used, or any of the other vehicles he had encountered previously. Each one was drawn by at least four oxen; two of the five he could see had six oxen apiece on their yokes.

With all those people and beasts the caravan, of necessity, moved at a slow walk. Kelder had no trouble in keeping up with it even while catching his breath, and could gain any time he was willing to pick up his pace a little.

He didn’t bother to catch up, however. He was in no hurry.

Irith, on the other hand, flew directly up to the caravan and over it. People looked up as her shadow passed 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.