The Whitefire Crossing (13 page)

“How’d the snow layers look?” I asked Jerik. I might be the fastest climber, but Jerik’s years of experience made him the uncontested expert in avalanche behavior.

“Nice and bonded,” Jerik said. “Only one layer I didn’t like. Must’ve had a warm spell after that snowfall. But the layer’s well packed, and deep. It won’t slide easy. Though if it did, we’d get a devil’s lash.”

Kiran turned. “A what?”

“A monster avalanche,” I said. “Most avalanches happen when the top layer of snow breaks. The slide’s maybe a few hundred feet wide. Enough to take out plenty of wagons. But if a deep layer breaks, the force can set the whole slope moving, maybe even all the way to bare ground. Avalanches that large can wipe out entire convoys.”

“They’re rare,” Jerik added. “Last one was before my time.”

Kiran’s expression hovered somewhere between worried and fascinated. “But if you saw a dangerous snow layer...how do you know it won’t slide?”

Cara laughed, not happily. “No guarantees in the mountains, kid. But don’t you worry, we don’t leave it entirely up to Khalmet. Layer bonding is only one of the telltales we check. Speaking of...” She slid her spyglass out of her pack and handed it to Jerik. “Let’s take a look at those chutes, boys.”

Jerik held the glass up to one dark eye and scanned slowly across the rugged terrain. “Shaikar’s Tongue slid maybe a few days ago,” he said.

I squinted at the chute he meant, a wide couloir dropping down from the upper slopes of a mountain with a distinctive double summit. Avalanche debris lay scattered at the bottom, but the slide hadn’t reached as far as the trail.

Jerik lowered the glass. “Nothing more recent, and the Gate of Amaris looks good.” He handed the spyglass to me, and I repeated the survey. I paused as I passed over a peak whose upper ridges were marked with streaks of darker rock.

“More snow on Iblanis than usual,” I said.

“Didn’t spot any big cornices, though,” Jerik said. I studied the peak through the glass, carefully following the ridgelines above the chutes.

“Me neither.” I finished my survey and handed the glass back to Cara. While she took her turn, I moved to Kiran’s side. I nudged him and pointed down at a steep-walled semicircular bowl of rock just north of the pass. “Ice Lake’s there, at the bottom of that cirque.”

The lake in question was small and still choked with ice, but the pale green of melted water showed in patches near the edges. The convoy would have plenty of water without needing to melt snow. When the drovers all rushed off to fill their barrels before dark, I’d have the perfect opportunity to revisit Pello’s wagon unobserved by any of his neighbors.

Perfect, so long as Pello didn’t rattle Kiran into talking. If he did, the time for veiled warnings would be over. I’d have to confront Pello straight on. And if direct threats didn’t work, I’d need to swallow my scruples and play a darker game, no matter the cost to others. Not a pleasant thought.

“The high mountains seem so...so stark. There’s no life up here,” Kiran said. His gaze tracked across the basin, a frown appearing on his face.

“You’d be surprised,” I told him. “Birds, hopmice, all kinds of creatures live here. Later in the season after the snow melts, there’ll even be flowers everywhere.” A wistful pang shot through me as I remembered summer afternoons spent lazing beside cliffs amidst a riot of wildflowers. If I finished this damn job and at long last fulfilled my debt to Sethan...then I planned on disappearing into the Whitefires and letting clean stone and sunlight scour these last few Shaikar-cursed weeks from my head.

Kiran’s face said he didn’t believe me about the flowers. “Why are all the peaks named after southern demons?” he asked.

“Because they’re beautiful, unforgiving, and can kill you on a whim,” Cara said, grinning at him.

“They’re not all named after demons,” Jerik said. “But before Arkennland claimed this territory, the only people who came up here were southerners. Sulanians, Varkevians, even a few of the Kaitha. They named most of the peaks on the eastern side of the range, and their names stuck. Our name for the mountains, Whitefire, is actually a translation of an old Varkevian word for lightning. They saw the summer storms and thought it must be demons fighting.”

It was the longest speech I’d ever heard from him. Cara gave a small, surprised snort. “History lessons aside, I think the convoy’s safe as far as Ice Lake. We’ll do some fracture testing and another layer check on the lakeside slopes, but so far the risk past the lake looks low. Agreed?”

Jerik nodded. “If deep layers go, it’s usually earlier in the season.”

I nodded my own assent. The risk was small enough that Meldon was sure to choose to continue. Thank Khalmet, we’d have no delays in reaching Kost. Every day brought Melly closer to her Change. The faster I finished this job and got back to Ninavel, the better.

“What would happen if you thought it was dangerous?” Kiran asked me.

“Depends on how dangerous,” I said. “Medium risk, Meldon might send wagons through with much wider spacing. That way if a slide happens, hopefully you only lose one. High risk, we might wait at the lake a couple extra days, try and give things time to settle.”

Cara handed Kiran the spyglass. “Here, Kellan, take a look.” She looked at me. “Go on, tell the kid the signs to watch for.”

It was the first thing she’d said direct to me in hours. At least she was meeting my eyes now. Progress, of a kind.

I did my best to repeat what Sethan had told me on my first trip out, while Kiran surveyed the couloirs with studious precision. Sethan had been a patient and careful teacher, with a real gift for explaining things in ways that made sense and were easy to remember. I knew I was way too impatient to match his skill in that area. Fortunately, I didn’t really need it for this little charade Kiran and I were playing out, though Kiran was an excellent listener. He never twitched or fidgeted or sighed, and his attention never wandered. The intensity of his focus actually unsettled me. It didn’t seem natural for a highsider. Though in truth the only other highsiders I’d met were drunken idiots who’d stumbled down streetside for gambling and cheap jennies.

Kiran, on the other hand...after I’d seen his fine clothes and smooth hands in Bren’s office, I’d dreaded the idea of dragging him across the Whitefires. I’d figured either I’d be stuck listening to an endless stream of complaints, or he’d collapse under the demands of real work. Instead, so far I had to admit he’d done a decent imitation of a real apprentice. Hell, sometimes I even caught myself having fun showing him the ropes, and anticipating his moments of bright-eyed wonder. I scowled, reminding myself that it didn’t matter. So he was better company than I’d imagined—so what? In the end, this was a job like any other, and I’d better keep it straight in my head that he was only another package to deliver.

***

(Kiran)

Kiran clambered over the enormous boulders that choked the approach to Ice Lake. He darted a glance back toward the cirque’s mouth, but the ragged sea of rocks blocked his view of the convoy’s camp beside the trail. Traversing talus this large was more difficult than he’d anticipated; he might as well be crawling rather than walking. If Pello possessed any of Dev’s easy agility, he’d surely catch up at any moment.

A thread of unease wormed through his chest. Kiran suppressed it, firmly. Pello was untalented, blind to the distinctive blaze of a mage’s
ikilhia
. He couldn’t possibly identify Kiran as a mage from a few short minutes of conversation, no matter how observant he was. The rest of what he might learn was trivial by comparison.

Kiran heaved himself onto the gently angled top of another giant boulder. He started to his feet, thoughts of Pello momentarily banished by wonder. He’d reached the lake.

So much water! And so different from the illustrations he’d seen. Books portrayed lake water as blue, or perhaps clear. But this water was a strange, milky green, like sunlit jade. High peaks surrounded the lake on three sides, their snowfields stretching down unbroken to the ice that still covered much of its surface. The ice was smooth and snow covered on the far end of the lake, but buckled and broken and fluted into strange shapes where it turned to open water.

Though the sun still stood a handspan above the western peaks, the air was already cooling fast, and a chill breeze wafted off the lake. Kiran shivered and pulled his overjacket tighter. He scrambled forward to the boulder’s edge. The water rippling against the rock below was too far down to reach, but perhaps from the next boulder he could—

“An amazing sight, isn’t it?”

Kiran froze. He’d had no warning of Pello’s approach—curse the man, how could he move so quietly over such difficult terrain? He turned, careful not to lose his balance. Pello stood only a few feet away on the boulder’s broad top. A water jug dangled from one hand, and a patchwork wool cap contained most of his curls. Though his grin was friendly, his dark eyes were fixed on Kiran with an intensity that prickled Kiran’s skin.

Pello gestured with his jug at the lake. “Not even the hanging gardens of Reytani can compare to such a wonder...or so I’m told.”

Kiran shrugged, carefully. His face felt rigid as stone. Of the thirteen highside districts, Reytani was the one Ruslan called home. Had Pello mentioned it at random? Kiran’s unease swelled.

“Shy of me, are you? Never fear, I carry no scorpion’s sting.” Pello sauntered closer. Kiran couldn’t help a glance over his shoulder. No retreat that way; only the lake. The long drop off the boulder’s top to the fanged rocks on either side was more than he dared attempt. Pello blocked the only route off the boulder. He’d trapped Kiran as neatly as a thrice-spiraled ward.

Out of the roil of his emotions, power uncoiled, silent and seductive as a courtesan’s dance.
No.
Kiran smothered the flame deep within. He focused grimly on the scuffed leather of Pello’s boots.

“I once saw a man with skin and eyes as pale as yours,” Pello said, in a musing tone. “In Prosul Varkevia, when I was a child. But he had hair black as Shaikar’s heart, not brown, and spoke no civilized tongue—the shuka dancers whispered he hailed from far over the eastern sea.”

Kiran raised his eyes before he could stop himself. He’d long known that his looks were unusual in the city. He’d once spent precious stolen hours searching without success through the contents of Ruslan’s library for any mention of a people that might hold his heritage.

“Ah, that caught your attention.” Satisfaction shaded Pello’s smile. “Were you a talented boy, then? Sold off by the mother you never knew, as Dev was?”

Talented.
Kiran’s stomach curdled. Deliberate word choice, or not? Regardless, Pello now skirted terribly close to the truth. Silence was no longer an option—Kiran had to quash this line of thought. He recalled the cover story Dev had insisted he memorize, and lifted his chin.

“My parents are bookbinders, in Kulori district.” A sliver of curiosity pricked through his anxiety. Had Dev truly been sold as a child? And if so, to whom, and why? Dev’s
ikilhia
was dim as that of any untalented man.

Pello clapped his hands. “He speaks!” He cocked his head. “Bookbinders, you say...and what distant city left such a unique stamp on your family’s tongue?”

Kiran knew his speech bore the influence of Ruslan’s gliding vowels and harsh-edged consonants. Remnants of Ruslan and Lizaveta’s native language, from a city Lizaveta had told him was no longer remembered except in tale and song.

He
jerked his shoulders in another shrug. “I should get back,” he mumbled. Even if he hadn’t bought Dev enough time, he dared not linger. Had he really been so arrogant as to think his identity safe because Pello lacked mage talent? He truly was as prejudiced as Ruslan.

“Of course,” Pello said genially. “Forgive my curiosity. Dev rarely keeps such interesting company.” He took a single step to the side.

Kiran squeezed past, doing his best to ignore Pello’s proximity. He sat down in preparation for sliding down the steep rock slope to the top of the next boulder.

A hand skimmed through Kiran’s hair to settle on his shoulder. In a flash, Kiran was back in Ruslan’s workroom, fear and fury clouding his vision. With a shout he tore himself away, raising one hand to strike even as he thumped painfully down onto rock.

“Hey!” Dev’s yell slashed through his panic, dispelling the fog of memory. Kiran yanked his hand down, his heart pounding. Dev stopped short a few rocks away, staring at Pello, who pushed to hands and knees from his awkward sprawl on top of the lakeside boulder. “What in Khalmet’s name is going on here?”

Kiran clenched his hands to still their trembling. His barriers still stood firm. He’d used no magic outside them, nothing Ruslan could detect. But Pello had been touching him when Kiran’s power had flared, and the shock of unbridled magic had knocked him flat. Would he know a mage had felled him?

Pello staggered to his feet. His eyes met Kiran’s, full of stunned realization. Kiran’s heart stuttered in his chest.

He knows.

CHAPTER SEVEN

(Kiran)

T
he magnitude of Kiran’s error paralyzed him. Time seemed to slow as Pello raised a hand to point straight at him, anger twisting his face.

“Keep a Shaikar-cursed leash on him, can’t you?” Pello snapped to Dev. “Sparking a bane charm when I only offered him a helping hand...in Varkevia, a man might claim blood-right for that.”

Kiran’s thoughts wheeled like startled birds. The recognition in Pello’s eyes, quickly as he’d masked it, had been unmistakable. Pello knew how close to death he’d come, and not from any defensive charm. Did he conceal the truth out of pure fear, or had he realized Dev’s ignorance and held his tongue for reasons of his own?

Dev gave a contemptuous snort. “Yeah? We’re not in Varkevia. You don’t want to get charm-stung, how about you keep your gods-damned hands to yourself?” He turned a ferocious glare on Kiran. “And you—who said you could run gape at the lake when there’s work yet to do? Get your lazy ass over here.”