The Whitefire Crossing (27 page)

Many of the buildings I passed were dark, but Gerran’s office windows glowed warmly with candlelight. I’d figured the old bastard would still be there, working on his accounts in preparation for the Ninavel convoy’s arrival. I tethered my horse to the rail outside and clattered up the wooden steps. When I pounded on the door, a burly man in gray workman’s clothing answered, clearly Gerran’s hired muscle. Gerran had new men every season, but the general type never changed. Big, bulky, and too dumb to get any dangerous ideas.

“Devan, out of Ninavel, to see Gerran,” I told him. He disappeared inside and I heard a muted exhange of voices. When he returned, he opened the door for me without a word. I went through the front room full of boards with prices and exchange rates written on them and into Gerran’s back office. Like Bren’s, the outwardly plain room contained only a table, a few chairs and some boxes in stacks, but Gerran did all his real business here.

Gerran eyed me over his spectacles from his seat at the table. He was of an age with Bren. Gray haired and balding, his walnut-brown skin creased deep as saddle leather, but still with the powerful build of an athletic man. I’d heard he’d been a convoy boss for many years until he and Bren went into business together.

I had to hand it to him. A visit from me so far in advance of the convoy’s arrival could only mean trouble, but no hint of dismay showed on his broad face, and his gravelly voice was calm as ever. “Dev. Did you run into trouble with your consignment?”

He was playing it careful, not sure how much I knew, not wanting to give anything away. I let the anger that had been lurking inside ever since I’d seen Kiran’s blood mage sigil boil to the surface. “You’d better believe there’s trouble.” I planted my hands on his desk. “Let’s discuss the special consignment, shall we?”

Gerran signaled with a twitch of his fingers. The hired muscle left the room, closing the door behind him. “Fine,” Gerran said. “What’s the problem?”

“How about the minor fact you forgot to inform me I was smuggling a mage? Not just any mage, but a fucking blood mage? And on top of that, a blood mage who’s got another blood mage after him?” I kept my voice low, but the venom came through clear as if I’d shouted.

His eyes didn’t even flicker, the bastard. That meant he’d known Kiran’s full identity from the beginning, and so had Bren. The desk creaked protestingly under my hands. “What the hell are you and Bren thinking, playing against a blood mage?” I growled.

“Couriers don’t need to know details.” Not a shred of remorse showed in those dispassionate eyes.

“Details?” My voice rose, and I stopped, taking a moment to get it back under control. “You asshole. Thanks to your missing details, first the entire convoy almost died in an avalanche, and then a blood mage descends like Shaikar himself, looking for your gods-damned
consignment
. Who knows how many convoy members he killed?”

For the first time, he looked concerned. “You did bring our goods? All of them?”

Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand, I should’ve known that’s all he cared about. I bared my teeth at him. “Oh yes. Yes, I did. Left the convoy and ran flat out through the mountains in spite of a spellcast snowstorm to do it, no less. So you know what, Gerran? You won’t see a single gods-damned charm until we renegotiate some terms.”

Gerran leaned back in his chair and crossed his thick-muscled arms. “You know Bren and I don’t work that way. You agreed to our terms back in Ninavel.”

“Yeah, I took Bren’s terms. That was before I had to abandon the convoy—you know what that means, damn your eyes. I’ll never work as an outrider again, so by Khalmet, I want compensation for the lost income,” I snarled.

“Bren and I have plenty of work for a man of your skills. You don’t need to sign on with a convoy to handle our more special items,” he said mildly.

“Yeah? What about the part where I’ve made an enemy of a blood mage? How are you gonna make that up to me?” My voice was rising again, and he frowned, glancing at the door.

“A mage won’t concern himself with a mere courier, once the job’s done. But if you want to play it safe, I’ll gladly arrange work for you within Alathia’s borders.” He still used the calm, reasonable voice that made me want to grab one of his chairs and throw it at him.

“You think I’d take another job from you, after this? I meant what I said. You won’t see a fucking thing unless I get ten spell-grade—not charm-grade!—gemstones per item.
All
of the items.” I had all the leverage now, and I meant to use it. Spell-grade gems were near flawless in cut and purity. Sold to a highside supplier in Ninavel, the profit from so many would be a sum large enough to replace every kenet Jylla had stolen from me three times over. I might even be able to buy Melly straight out instead of working a scheme to spirit her away.

He considered me in stone-faced silence. “Seven spell-grade stones per item,” he offered.

“Ten,” I said flatly. “And I want the rest of my payment from you, immediately upon delivery, no waiting upon a return to Ninavel. If I need to lie low in Alathia for a while, I want all my money beforehand.”

His eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to protest. I slammed a hand down on his desk.

“Don’t fuck with me, Gerran. My terms, or no deal. I’ll fucking give away the packages instead.”

A muscle under his eye twitched. Yeah, he didn’t like that idea. He crossed his arms over his chest again.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Payment immediately upon delivery. Anything else you’d like? A musical fanfare, dancing girls?”

“Just an answer to one question.” I removed my hands from his desk. “How in Khalmet’s name did you expect me to sneak a blood mage across the border without triggering the wards?” Suliyya grant I’d guessed right that Gerran had a solution. I didn’t relish the thought of wasting precious hours tromping around asking dangerous questions of apothecaries.

Gerran’s expression was still sour as spoiled goat milk. “My scout’s about to leave for the Sondran Valley to watch for the convoy. He’d have met with you and given you this.” He reached into a drawer and tossed me a sealed glass vial. I held it next to the candles on his desk. The vial was full of a paste the sickly green of moldy bread.

I gave Gerran a dark look. I’d bet good coin his man wouldn’t have told me Kiran was a mage, just ordered me to dose him. “What is this stuff?”

“I’m sure you’ve realized the only way to get a mage across the border undetected is to suppress his magic.” Gerran pointed a finger at the vial. “This will do that. Give the dose two to three hours before you pass the gate. I assume you’re capable of handling the rest.”

One problem solved. But Gerran’s words had brought an unpleasant possibility to mind. I didn’t fully understand Kiran’s talk of barriers and blocks, but I gathered he was holding Ruslan at bay somehow, in addition to the amulet’s protection. If the drug suppressed his magic, would it leave him wide open to Ruslan’s control? I had a nasty feeling only Kiran could answer that, and by then, we’d be out of time for other options. If any other option even existed.

“How’s it work?” I asked Gerran.

Gerran snorted. “What do I look like, an apothecary?”

“Fine, then. What’s it called?” At Gerran’s scowl, I sighed in irritation. “I have to know, because I’ll need to find out if it reacts badly with other drugs.”

“Hennanwort,” Gerran said shortly. “Very rare, and very expensive, so don’t lose it, and watch who you discuss it with.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Thank Khalmet, I already knew of an herbalist with a reputation for discretion, who kept a shop near the taverns that catered to traders and convoy men. I’d simply have to find out as much as I could about the drug, and gamble that Kiran could figure a way to take it safely.

“Remember, you earn not a kenet unless you bring the full consignment straight here after passing the gate.” Gerran’s voice had gained a hard edge.

I slipped the vial into an inner chest pocket. “Nothing wrong with my memory.” Unfortunately. The mixed fear and hope blazoned on Kiran’s face back at the cabin wouldn’t leave me. I hesitated, eyeing Gerran. My suspicion he meant to sell Kiran out was stronger than ever, but to whom? It couldn’t be Ruslan. Gerran wasn’t so big a fool as to think Ruslan wouldn’t learn he and Bren had arranged Kiran’s escape in the first place. Maybe if I came at it sidewise...

“Must be something wrong with yours, for you to risk a mage’s game. Shaikar’s hells, has it been so long since you’ve lived in Ninavel that you’ve forgotten what they’re like?”

Gerran speared me with a look sharp as a piton spike. “You want to survive this? Then stick to the part of a token, and keep that gods-cursed nosiness of yours in check.”

I should’ve known he was too canny for an easy slip, though I’d figured we’d get to threats in the end.

“I’ll be clear, then: whatever you’re playing at with this delivery, leave me the fuck out of it. You pay me fair without any double crosses—because if I meet with an unfortunate accident, a charm-sealed missive spilling every detail of your illegal trade will land in the laps of the Alathian Council.” A protection I’d arranged years ago on Jylla’s advice and renewed every season since, though I’d never needed it until now.

Not that it’d buy me more than a few days of safety before Gerran tracked down the arrangement I’d made at Korris House. But a day’s grace was all I needed to sneak out of Kost and lose myself in trackless Alathian forest. Soon as I got paid, I meant to run for one of the far southern border gates, in case Ruslan was lurking outside Kost’s. I’d cross back into Arkennland, wear Kiran’s amulet, and loop back cross-country through the Whitefires to Ninavel and Melly.

Gerran’s mouth pulled into a grim smile. “No need to get twitchy. You keep to my delivery instructions, and you’ll walk away a live and wealthy man, exactly as agreed. Bren and I have always been men of our word.”

True enough, in a twisted sort of way. One of the reasons I worked for Bren was his reputation for honesty in payment, if in nothing else. Gerran was angry over the change in terms, not a reaction I’d expect if he meant to kill me or sell me out. But I didn’t like not knowing his intentions for Kiran, and I didn’t trust him.

No profit in leaving him angry, though. “One thing you should know,” I said. “I wasn’t kidding about that avalanche. Five wagons were lost, all from Horavin House. I’d estimate two days delay to dig the route out, not including interference from a pissed off blood mage, or his gods-damned snowstorm. I’d say the convoy’s a week out. Maybe more.”

Gerran raised his brows, and nodded to me. By knowing the rough arrival date of the convoy and the news of Horavin’s loss, he’d gain a certain advantage over the other brokers.

If the convoy arrived at all. I still carried the dark fear that Ruslan wouldn’t limit himself to killing a few to fuel his spells. Though even a few was too many. I sent up yet another prayer to Suliyya for Cara’s safety.

Gerran’s muscle man showed me out, still without speaking. Only the brightest stars glimmered through the smoky murk overhead. Ugh. Though no doubt Kiran would’ve happily traded clear mountain air for the safety from blood magic I currently enjoyed.

I pictured him huddled in the cabin with his hands clamped white-knuckled on his knees—and banished the image with a muttered curse, as guilt pricked me. Damn it, Melly’s fate was what mattered, not Kiran’s. I’d warned him he was on his own after the border. Better to heed Gerran’s warning and stay clear of his game. I faced enough risks already.
     

***

(Kiran)

Kiran had never endured a more endless night. Once darkness fell, the cabin’s interior was black as onyx, even without the blindfold. Scuttlings and scratchings emanated from the cabin walls, sounding far too loud to be produced by innocuous rodents, and he kept imagining he heard the crunch of stealthy footsteps outside amidst the moan of wind through the pines.

But far worse were the occasions when the black void dissolved into the cool glow of magelight, and he glimpsed shadowed forest under a starlit sky. The sneaking, questing tug in his mind grew stronger with each vision, to the point where he felt a constant, shadowy itch even when his sight was his own. He wove layer upon layer of frustratingly gossamer defenses from his own
ikilhia,
praying all the while
Dev would return in time.

Once, he saw more than night-darkened forest. Beside a tree, a gray form turned, and a wash of silver magelight revealed Mikail’s stolid face. Mikail’s mouth moved in silent words Kiran couldn’t read, and he gestured with fingers that glimmered an eldritch green. The image vanished as suddenly and completely as all the rest, leaving Kiran to stare into blackness with his heart pounding.

Ruslan must have directed Mikail to speed their travel, while he focused all his attention on exploiting the flaw in Kiran’s protection. Mikail, always so reliable, so obedient...Kiran buried his face in his hands. Why had he been so blind as to believe Mikail his ally? Dark memories rose to gnaw at him.

“Brother,” Mikail whispered. “Are you awake?”

Kiran raised his head from the cold flagstones, slowly. His eyes felt hot and sticky, his throat raw. Mikail stood just beyond the sullen red glow of the wards spiraling around him.

Mikail’s breath hissed through his teeth. “You look terrible.” He bent and slid a silk-wrapped packet across the ward lines on the floor. The lines flared, then settled. “I brought you some food.”

The warm, buttery scent of kallas bread made his empty stomach cramp. “I don’t want it,” Kiran said, in a hoarse croak.

Mikail sighed. “I should have brought water, I see. But you should eat—you’ll need your strength. Especially if you keep fighting Ruslan this way. Why do you do it? You know you can’t win.”

“You know why.” Anger drove Kiran to his feet. “You were there. You helped him! How could you channel for him, knowing what he meant to cast?”

“Do you imagine I could have refused?” Mikail said evenly. “I was marked and bound years before you.”

Kiran slumped back to the ground. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Alisa screaming, begging me to help her...” He pressed his hands against his face. “I can’t bear this. I can’t. I keep thinking, if only I make him angry enough—”