The Whitefire Crossing (44 page)

Ninavel fireworks were specially made mage lights, but Sulanians used mixed powders that exploded when exposed to open flame, with different mixtures giving different colors. Alathians loved them, since they held no potentially illegal magic. The Sulanian traders I’d seen on the day I brought Kiran through the gate had carried a crate of fireworks as part of their cargo to sell, and I’d managed to find the Alathian importer who’d bought their wares. I’d had to pay twice what the fireworks were worth, since the old crone had seen I was in such a gods-damned hurry, but a good dozen hand-sized bags of powder and a set of pre-made fuses now sat in my pack. I was hoping that if magic could look like fireworks, the reverse was true as well.

I slithered down a gully between cliffs, heading for the valley floor. Even in the gathering gloom, each pine twig and pebble stood out sharp in my vision, the slightest noises loud in my ears. Fear fell away, leaving only the stark clarity I remembered from countless dangerous climbs and Tainter jobs. My blood sang and I grinned, tight and fierce.

The darkness was deeper amidst the valley pines. I slipped through the forest, placing powder sacks in a widely spaced arc leading toward the cabin. Beside each sack, I laid one of my precious store of Ninavel-made defensive charms, primed and ready; and before I moved on, I lit the twisted cord of the sack’s fuse. The Alathian merchant had assured me that once lit, the fuses were both slow burning and difficult to put out.

With the last firework in place, I eased up to the edge of the meadow. Flickering firelight lit the cabin windows, and a sharper, steadier silver glow spilled onto the grass from beyond a bulwark of rock at the meadow’s head. The angle was wrong for me to see the source, but no question it was magelight—and far too bright to be cast by something simple as a lightglobe.

I slid off my pack and drew out one last woven cloth sack, smaller than the others, with a fuse cut down to almost nothing. The merchant had said I’d have an hour’s grace with the length of fuses she’d cut for the fireworks I’d set in the forest. That time had to be almost up, now.

A great rose-colored flash speared toward the sky, with a violent bang that sent birds squawking from trees. Close on its heels, a startled shout rang out from the cabin. The gray-haired guardsman charged out the door with a long-barreled Sulanian hackbut in his hands.

Simon’s dark silhouette appeared against the magelight. The guardsman stopped, hackbut raised, and glanced Simon’s way.

Come on, you bastard
, I urged Simon silently.
Go investigate.
As the fireworks exploded, the charms I’d laid next to them would spark, in a mimicry of mages fighting. Simon would sense the magic, but if the amulet worked as Kiran said, he’d be unable to sense any people within the valley’s confines. Kiran had implied that proximity to a strong source of magic—like whatever threw off all that magelight—could mess with a mage’s senses, like a night sentry standing too close to a bonfire; and everything I’d seen of Simon said he was the careful, controlling sort who’d be driven crazy by uncertainty. Surely he’d be tempted to move away from his spellwork, in hopes of figuring out what the hell was going on. He wouldn’t be so dumb as to go far, or leave for long—but I meant to seize even the slightest opportunity.

A second Sulanian firework exploded with a deafening bang. Golden sparks shot up over the tops of the trees. Simon raised his hands. A sickly yellow halo of light shimmered over his body.

“Stay here. Shoot anyone you see,” Simon snapped at the guardsman. He stalked toward the trees. I held my breath.

Another explosion, this one closer. Simon picked up his pace and disappeared into the forest. The moment his yellow glow faded from sight, I sparked the fuse on the sack in my hand and tossed it straight at the guardsman.

He saw it flying toward him and jumped back, but not far enough. The little firework exploded right in front of him. Small as it was, it popped rather than banged, but the flash was blinding. The guardsman howled as burning powder spattered his clothes and face. He dropped the hackbut and clawed frantically at his eyes.

I raced forward and kicked him hard as I could in the groin. A strangled, high-pitched sound escaped him, and he doubled over. I brought my knee up into his face as he did, and heard the crunch of bone. He crashed to the ground, his face a ruined mess of blood and burns. I kicked him twice more, first in the throat and then the head.

His body jerked limply with the impacts. Yeah, he’d not get up anytime soon.

The find-me’s power had faded during the wait for nightfall, but I figured I’d find Kiran at the source of the magelight. I bolted across the meadow to the cliff band, glancing at the woods. No sign of Simon. Five more fireworks remained in the forest. I could only pray they’d keep him busy long enough.

I rounded a boulder and skidded to a stop. Silver-green magelight flooded from a wide-mouthed hollow at the base of the cliff. Brightly glowing lines spiraled inward on the hollow’s floor to surround Kiran, spreadeagled on his back in the center, his wrists and ankles bound with silver manacles sunk in the stone. More silver marked his forearms, in the twisted pattern of some type of charm. His shirt had been cut open, exposing his chest and stomach. His chest moved in rapid breaths, but his eyes were closed. I couldn’t tell if he was conscious.

“Suliyya, mother of maidens,” I breathed. This must be what Kiran had meant by channeled magic. Fear twisted my stomach, but I couldn’t afford to delay. I stepped gingerly over the first line. No magefire struck me down. I took a deep breath and kept going.

“Kiran?” My voice came out a little higher pitched than usual.

His eyes flew open, and his jaw dropped.

“You!” The shock on his face turned to fury. If he could have killed with a look, I would’ve collapsed dead on the stone. He strained against the manacles and spat out, “You work for Simon, too? I should have known.”

I yanked a piton hammer and pick from my pack. “For Khalmet’s sake, shut up and save the yelling for
after
I’ve rescued you.”

I tapped a manacle with the hammer, and grimaced as the silver flashed blue. They were warded. Well, I’d come prepared.

Kiran had that pole-axed look on his face again. “Rescue?”

I broke the seal on a stoppered glass vial and poured a trickle of dark liquid in a circle about the base of the manacle attachment. The liquid foamed and smoked on the rock, leaving a pitted crack. I jammed my pick into the crack and whacked it with the hammer. The rock split wider, partially freeing the manacle.

“Rock’s not as hard as most people think,” I told Kiran, and reset the pick on the manacle’s other side. Another solid whack, and the manacle came free.

Kiran bent his arm to stare at his wrist, the manacle still locked tight around it. Stunned disbelief glazed his eyes. I hurried to his ankles, throwing a quick glance out at the meadow. All I saw was a dark void. Thanks to all the damn magelight, I’d lost my night vision.

The skin between my shoulder blades crawled as I hacked away at stone. “Can you tell where Simon is?”

“No—he’s blocked my magic...” Kiran’s breath quickened as I got his right leg free. His stunned look had changed to one of wariness, his dark brows lowered in a distrustful frown.

“Dev...why?”

I wasn’t sure if he was asking why I’d come back, or why I’d sold him out in the first place. Unable to meet his gaze, I shrugged and focused on his left ankle. Metal shivered under my hand as I struck repeated blows. Khalmet’s hand, this manacle was taking way too long—

“Dev—!
”
The sheer panic in Kiran’s voice jerked me to my feet. His eyes were white-rimmed, focused behind me.

Shit! I tried to run, but an invisible force locked my muscles.

A hand clamped my shoulder. If my throat hadn’t been frozen like everything else, I’d likely have embarrassed myself by screaming. I half expected to feel skeletal bones, but the hand was human.

“What foolishness is this?” The hand on my shoulder turned me around. Though Simon’s voice held only smooth inquiry, fury lurked in his eyes. Dread washed through me.

Simon took the pick and hammer from my hands and tossed them aside. He studied me, his head cocked to one side, and reached out to catch the chain around my neck. He drew out the amulet, held it up, then let it fall back against my chest.

“Ah,” he said. “That explains much.”

A scuffling from below drew my eyes downward. Kiran was throwing his weight against the two remaining manacles, his face despairing.

“None of that,” Simon said softly, and knelt. His body blocked my view, but when he stood again, Kiran was once more outstretched, his manacles embedded in the rock as if I’d never freed them.

Simon turned his attention back on me. My silent litany of curses faltered at the cold anticipation in his eyes. He flicked his fingers in a twisting gesture. “Did Ruslan send you?”

Gods, I could feel him in my head, an icy pressure forcing words to my tongue. “N-no.” I thought fast, and added, “But the Alathians know. About you. And the border. They’re coming.”

His eyes narrowed, holding mine. Then he laughed. “But not, I think, before I finish here. And afterward, it won’t matter. I know them well. They will not cross the mountains.” He gripped my arm and drew me away from Kiran, to the edge of the glowing lines.

“I’d thought to use only stored
ikilhia
to control this spell, but fresh blood is always better.” He took up an ornate silver knife.

Oh, fuck. I set my jaw and shut my eyes. I’d gambled with my life and lost, but no matter what agonies I endured at Simon’s hands, the end result was no different than a fall from a climb, or the rockfall that had killed Sethan. Cara was safe in Alathia, and gods willing, she’d give Melly the life I couldn’t. I’d sentenced Steffol and Joreal to this fate; only fair I should join them.

“Simon, wait!” Kiran’s voice was ragged but urgent. I squinted one eye open. To my surprise, Simon lowered the knife.

“Would you prefer a better view?” he asked Kiran, mockingly.

“He’s strongly Tainted. Or was,” Kiran said.

Simon looked back at me, with a thoughtful malice that made my skin crawl. “Was he, now?”

I couldn’t see what that had to do with anything. But Simon asked, “Is this true?” His fingers flicked again, the invisible force returning to squeeze an answer from me.

“Yes.”

Simon raised his brows. “Very well, I’ll not waste a potentially useful subject.” He glanced at Kiran. “He’ll not be grateful to you. The agony of a mind destroyed piece by piece over long days far outstrips any I’d planned here.”

My stomach rolled over. People in Ninavel always said in dire tones that dealing with mages got you killed or worse. Looked like I’d get the chance to find out about the “or worse” part.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

(Kiran)

K
iran twisted to watch as Simon led an unresisting Dev out of the channels. Stacked crates stood against the cave wall, the remains of Simon’s spellcasting supplies. Simon pushed Dev down onto a crate.

“Remain here.” Simon sketched a quick
voshanoi
sigil in the air, meant to reinforce the bone-binding he’d surely cast the first moment he touched Dev.

Dev’s face was blank, but anger glittered deep in his green eyes. Kiran sent a silent apology Dev’s way. Anger was better than the terrible look of resignation Dev had worn when Simon raised the knife.

“Your friend was surprisingly clever,” Simon said to Kiran, as he took a bulging cloth sack from one of the crates. “But even if he had freed you, believe me, I never would have permitted you to escape. I’ve waited too long for this.”

“Ruslan said the same thing,” Kiran said in a low and bitter voice, remembering his first, fraught conversation with Ruslan after the
akhelashva
ritual.

Simon unwrapped a set of dark, faceted crystals. Deep within each crystal, a crimson glow pulsed. Kiran pulled against the manacles. “Those are—”

“
Zhivnoi
crystals, yes.” Simon paced around the the pattern, setting crystals at the anchor points. As each crystal touched the pattern, the bright greenish-silver of the lines coiling inward from that point turned to sullen red.

“But...so many...” Seven crystals, and from the size, capable of holding the
ikilhia
of ten or more lives each...he felt sick.

“It took me years to store this much.” Simon sounded disgusted. “Kost is nowhere near as enlightened as Ninavel. No slaves, no selling off of condemned criminals...it can be so difficult in Alathia to find people none will miss. Fortunately the authorities expect a certain attrition rate for prospectors and hunters. The mountains are so dangerous, after all.”

Kiran shut his eyes, blocking out Simon’s poisonous smile. Instead of throwing himself against his physical bonds, he strained at the bonds on his magic. Simon’s charms might weaken, this close to so much channeled power.

But the wall still stood about his mind, smooth and unbroken. The sparse tracery of Simon’s snare-binding lay underneath. Deeper yet lurked Lizaveta’s heart-binding, the result of his blood promise to her, a complex lacework so skillfully interwoven with his own
ikilhia
it was nearly undetectable. Regret flooded him. Why had he ever agreed to her terms? Death would be preferable by far to a twilight existence as Simon’s mind-burned slave. And if Simon succeeded against Ruslan, Mikail and scores of innocent
nathahlen
would die in Kiran’s place.

Pain stung his bare chest. Kiran swallowed a cry, breathing through clenched teeth as Simon sliced sigils into his skin. All the channel lines glowed red now, power ready and waiting. Fear set his heart hammering. Yet how could Simon cast, without both focus and channeler?

The sigils burning his skin—not just Simon’s personal sigil to anchor a new mark-binding, but a twisted spiral of
dobravyi
that would enhance the connection Ruslan had created between Kiran’s body and magic. Kiran’s panic surged.

Simon didn’t need a focus, not if he were to gut Kiran with the knife and simultaneously release the binding on Kiran’s power. A mortal wound combined with the
dobravyi
would mean a power draw completely out of Kiran’s control, his magic reaching blindly for what his body needed to survive. In response, Simon would channel a veritable cataract of power straight into him, immeasurably greater than needed to repair Kiran’s injury, all of it tuned and harmonized to Kiran’s link to Ruslan. And the moment Ruslan’s death shattered the mark-binding, Simon would burn out Kiran’s will and force a new bond.