Irith had said a spell had backfired, though. Where could that have happened? Vond?
Just where was she from? He still hadn’t asked her directly; he suspected she wouldn’t answer, would avoid the issue somehow. It was all very mysterious, and he wondered about it, but looking at Irith, who was waiting for him a hundred yards up the road, he decided not to ask her about it.
Not yet, at any rate.
And maybe, he admitted, never. She didn’t look as if she wanted to talk about wars she had seen, and he wasn’t sure that he did, either. He was interested in Irith’s past, all right — but he was much more interested in her future. Forgetting about the dead bandits would probably be the best solution all around.
He trudged onward, intently not looking back — but then his steps slowed.
Had he heard something move? Did he feel someone watching him?
Irith had turned back and was watching him, waiting for him, tapping a foot impatiently, but even so he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.
Nothing was on the road behind him but dust and blood; nothing moved among the dead but flies. He glanced to either side, and saw nothing but rolling grassland. He looked harder.
Was that someone, on the northern horizon, crouched in the tall grass?
No, it wasn’t, he decided. He was just spooked. He turned east again and marched ahead, calling unnecessarily to Irith, telling her to wait.
Chapter Seven
Castle Angarossa was low and broad, spreading out across the land; most of the market and town were actually inside the gates, making the community something midway between an ordinary castle and a walled city.
Kelder had had his first glimpse of it only minutes after leaving the battlefield where the slaughtered bandits lay. He had stopped to stare at its beauty as the setting sun lit the walls a warm gold and the rooftops a deep, rich red, the lengthening shadows highlighting every graceful line. The caravan that had destroyed the bandits was at the castle gates, inching in; he could see a pike on each wagon, a severed ahead atop each pike.
“Come on,” Irith had urged, and he had hurried on, eager to reach the place. Irith was clearly not too annoyed with him, Kelder thought, or she would have flown on ahead; wanting to keep it that way, he was careful not to offend her, and the easiest way to do that was to say nothing, so they did not speak again until they arrived at the gates an hour later.
By then the sun was down, the sky dimming, and most of the light came from lanterns and torches. The shadows had grown, spread, and turned ominous, their edges blurred and their hearts impenetrable. Kelder hesitated, wondering if it was safe to enter the castle of a king who openly permitted bandits to roam his lands, but Irith told him he was being foolish.
“This is the one place in Angarossa where you don’t have to worry about bandits, silly!” she explained. “They know better than to cause any trouble here, where they might get the king angry!”
“Oh,” Kelder said. He was annoyed at himself; his ignorance and excessive caution were both showing far more than he liked. He was looking like a fool in front of Irith. Resolving to do better hereafter, he followed her meekly into the marketplace. “Do you know a good inn here?” he asked.
“Of course,” Irith answered. “But I want to look around the market first.”
Kelder acquiesced, and trailed along as Irith looked over displays of fabrics and jewelry.
Most of the merchants were packing up for the night; people were reluctant to buy anything by torchlight, when flaws were so much harder to spot. Kelder was glad of that, as his feet were tired and sore. Irith would not be able to look much longer.
The caravan they had followed for most of the day was in town; he saw the wagons down a side-alley, pulled into a yard, recognizable both by the bright designs painted on them and by the gory trophies adorning them.
He considered pointing this out to Irith, or going to talk to the people there, but decided against it. He saw no one near the wagons, and besides, he didn’t really want anything to do with that demonologist. At the thought of the black-garbed magician he shuddered slightly.
“Is demonology legal?” he asked, interrupting Irith’s perusal of a bolt of black brocade.
“Where?” she asked, startled.
“Anywhere,” he said.
“Sure,” she said. “Lots of places. All of Ethshar.”
Hesitantly, Kelder said, “I don’t think it is in Shulara.”
“Probably it isn’t,” Irith agreed. “Most of the Small Kingdoms aren’t big on demons. I’m not.”
“What about here?” He gestured at the castle market about them.
She turned up an empty palm. “Who knows?” she said.
“If it isn’t legal, how could that caravan use it?”
“Banditry isn’t exactly legal, either, Kelder,” she said, with exaggerated patience. “Even if the king doesn’t stop it. Lots of people break laws.”
That was hardly news, even to Kelder, but he persisted, his curiosity momentarily overcoming his desire to please Irith. “I thought that the gates to Hell were closed off at the end of the Great War, so how can demonology still work?”
Irith sighed and let the brocade drop. “Kelder,” she said, “do I look like an expert on demonology to you?”
“No,” Kelder admitted.
“Then don’t ask me all these questions about it, all right?” She glared at him, and then added, “But anyway, that just means demons can’t enter the World unless they’re properly summoned. Demonologists can still call them.” She turned back to the display of fabrics.
“Oh,” Kelder said, embarrassed.
He stood silently for a moment as Irith held the cloth up to the light, trying to see it properly; the merchant had already packed away most of her goods, but was waiting to see if this last customer might buy something.
As he stood, he felt, as he had on the battlefield, as if someone were watching him. He looked around the market.
He saw a handful of late customers, a score or so of merchants and farmers who had not yet departed, and a great deal of empty space. The castle wall curved along the far side of the square, and a bored soldier stood on the ramparts, leaning on a merlon and yawning as he gazed out over the countryside. Three or four children were chasing each other back and forth through the open gates; another child, a thin barefoot girl in a ragged blue tunic, was standing to one side.
She was staring at him, Kelder thought, or at Irith, or at the cloth merchant whose wares Irith was fondling. Was that what he had sensed?
Well, there was nothing to be feared from a little girl. He wondered, though, why she was staring like that. It was hard to tell in the evening gloom, but she appeared to have been crying.
Maybe her mother had beaten her, Kelder thought to himself. Maybe she was out here wishing she didn’t have to go home, envying Irith her age and beauty.
Maybe she even recognized Irith; after all, as Kelder had discovered, the Flyer was well-known along the Great Highway. At the moment she had no wings, but how many white-clad blondes were there in Angarossa?
How many blondes were there in all the Small Kingdoms, for that matter?
It suddenly occurred to Kelder for the first time that Irith might not be from the Small Kingdoms at all. Perhaps she was from one of the distant, barbaric realms far to the northwest, beyond the Hegemony of Ethshar — Tintallion, or Kerroa, maybe. It was said blondes were slightly more common in the north.