The Whitefire Crossing (5 page)

“We need to talk,” I told Kiran, grimly.

“So I gathered.” His shoulders had tightened up again. “What’s wrong? Is this about that man who spoke to you?”

At least he wasn’t totally oblivious. “Got any ideas why a shadow man’s interested in you?”

He blinked at me. “A what?”

“Freelance spy. Sells information to the highest bidder, with a ganglord as middle man.” Though in Pello’s case, if he’d gone to all the trouble of joining the convoy, he must be on retainer for a specific job. “Pello’s here for a reason, and I need to know if it’s you. If there’s anything you failed to mention back in Ninavel, now would be the fucking time.”

Kiran looked honestly taken aback. “He can’t be here because of me. I told you, no one knew I was leaving Ninavel.”

Oh, for Khalmet’s sake. He couldn’t be that dumb. Right? “No one, huh? What about that banking house of yours? You know for a fact nobody let something slip by accident?”

His eyes had flickered at my sarcastic emphasis on “banking house,” but he raised his chin and met my gaze straight on. “He doesn’t know who I am. Unless
your
employer was indiscreet.”

I snorted. Bren hadn’t run a successful smuggling business all these years by being sloppy. “Fine, let’s say Pello’s here on another job. That won’t stop him from seeking a little profit on the side. The minute he figures out you’re no streetsider, he’ll sell you out in a flash to Suns-Eye or Koliman, long before we reach the border.”

Kiran jumped as if I’d stabbed him with the business end of a piton. “You mean, Pello can send messages back to Ninavel? How? I thought convoy workers didn’t have access to such powerful charms!”

Interesting. Back in the city, Kiran had claimed he was most concerned about the Alathians at the border. The horror on his face now told a different story. “Ordinary convoy men don’t. But Pello spies on merchant houses for a living. He’ll have something, all right. Maybe not powerful enough to send more than a few words, but with the right codes, that’s all you need.”

“Oh.” Kiran swallowed, hard. “That would be...unfortunate.” He fiddled with his reins, then burst out with, “Once we cross the border, I don’t care what messages Pello sends. But if news of me reaches Ninavel before then, it’ll...it’ll ruin everything!”

I glared at him. “If you’d told me how
unfortunate
back when I asked, I would’ve done a hell of a lot more to hide you.” A disguise charm powerful enough to wholly alter a man’s appearance cost the moon, especially on such short notice, but I could have demanded Bren produce a second advance.

Kiran flushed and looked down. “I’m sorry. I thought if I stayed anonymous leaving the city, I wouldn’t have to worry about word getting back...” One hand rubbed his chest, over his heart, in an odd, nervous gesture. “What do we do?”

I sighed. “For now, you act your part, and stay clear of Pello. His charm’s likely only strong enough to send one message, maybe two. He won’t use it unless he’s sure he’ll profit.” Meanwhile, I’d have to come up with a plan to cover that scenario. Great. Pello was no fool, and as a shadow man, his experience dwarfed mine in fighting dirty. I scowled all the harder at Kiran. “Anything else you’d like to share,
before
it bites us in the ass?”

He shook his head, still staring at his saddle horn. Not exactly a response to inspire confidence. I leaned over and grabbed his reins. The gelding cast a reproachful eye at me as I yanked him to a stop. Kiran jerked his head up, blue eyes gone wide.

“You want to reach Alathia safe and sound, with no one the wiser? I can make that happen, but only if you tell me what I need to do my fucking job. Understand?”

“Yes.” He had the solemn, earnest look of a Tainter being chided by his minder. I flung his reins back in his lap.

“Remember: lay low. Don’t do anything to draw attention, from Pello or anyone else. And stick close to me—don’t give him a chance to get you alone.” If Pello forced Kiran into conversation, I gave Kiran five minutes tops before Pello sniffed out his highside origins.

He nodded, still all serious and intent. I aimed my horse straight at the gully’s steep side. Time to play out the role of off-trail riding lesson, in case any curious eyes were watching. In the meantime, I could ponder what I’d learned from our little conversation. So far I’d mostly gained a whole new set of questions. Chief among them: who or what back in Ninavel had Kiran jumping like a frightened snaprat?

***

(Kiran)

“Here. Have some breakfast.” Dev tossed Kiran a lump of bread.

Kiran nearly fumbled the catch in the dim predawn light. He’d never seen a more unappetizing meal. The bread was dense as rock and studded with unidentifiable dark chunks he could only hope signified dates or nuts. A far cry from his usual fare of cinnamon spice cakes drizzled with peachflower honey, or perhaps savory rolls with diced kelnar nuts...his stomach rumbled.

Dev wore the little one-sided grin suggesting he knew exactly what Kiran was thinking. “Eat up, Kellan. You’ll need your strength.” He jerked a thumb at the horses they’d just finished saddling.

Kiran smothered a groan. His groin and legs already protested every time he moved. The memory of his blithe certainty the day before about the ease of physical labor was a bitter one.

Dev chuckled heartlessly. “Hurts, does it? Don’t worry, you’ll feel better after a few days. Just remember to stretch your muscles out like I showed you, any time we take a break.” He stuffed a chunk of bread in his mouth and heaved a supply sack onto the wagon.

Despite the deceptively gradual ascent out of the Painted Valley, the convoy had climbed higher than the tallest towers of the city before stopping for the night. Ninavel glimmered on the vast emptiness of the desert plain below, magelights fading with approaching dawn. Kiran shut his eyes. Even with his mental barriers up at full strength, the roiling confluence of earth forces beneath the city blazed like a lake of fire in his inner sight. He’d never before seen the confluence from the outside, in all its wild, turbulent glory. Within the city, the bone-deep pulse of its shifting currents had been as much a part of life as the air he breathed. Only now could Kiran fully appreciate why only the strongest of mages could harness its forces, and even then, only at a remove.

The earth beneath his feet already felt dead in comparison. As for the mountains...Kiran turned. The Whitefires stretched skyward before him, their snowy peaks burning crimson. Beautiful enough, but completely inert, from a magical standpoint. From all he had read, Alathia would be little different. Kiran denied the longing ache deep within. He had no intention of casting any spells in Alathia and risking discovery by their Council. The Alathians weren’t known for their mercy toward foreigners caught working illegal magic.

Crimson changed to gold as the sun slipped over the eastern rim of the valley. Kiran’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. If Lizaveta’s note was accurate, any moment now Ruslan would return to Ninavel. And when he found Kiran gone...

The bread was ashes in Kiran’s mouth. He stood, abruptly. Too late, he noticed Cara watching him as she secured straps on the supply wagon.

“Hey, kid, you look a little rough today. You being mean to him already, Dev?”

“Mean? Me? You know I’m the soul of kindness.” Dev assumed an expression of injured innocence. He darted a glance at Kiran. “He’ll be fine. He’s just not used to sleeping on hard ground yet, right, Kellan?”

Kiran nodded, trying to imitate Dev’s relaxed posture.

Dev swung up on his horse with easy, thoughtless grace. “His family was in the bookbinding business, you know. City folk, nice and soft,” he said to Cara.

Kiran clambered onto his horse, with considerably less grace than Dev. Abused muscles screamed as he settled into the saddle, and he nearly bit through his cheek in his effort not to cry out. Dev and Cara exchanged an amused glance, and Cara shook her head.

“Dev, only you would take a city boy on as an apprentice.”

Dev shrugged. “Sethan did it for me, back in the day. And hey, we can’t all have outrider parents.”

To Kiran’s surprise, Cara looked away, as if made uncomfortable by Dev’s words. But when she spoke, her voice remained teasing. “You were a tough little brat, as I recall, and you could already climb like a whiptail. Soft, my ass.”

“Couldn’t ride for shit, though. I thought I was gonna kill Sethan when he made me get back on a horse our second day out.” Dev directed a knowing grin at Kiran. “Bet you’re cursing me to Shaikar’s seventh hell and back right now.”

“It’s not so bad,” Kiran lied. A thread of curiosity surfaced through his nerves. He tried to picture Dev as an awkward young outrider apprentice, and failed. Even though Dev couldn’t be that much older than Kiran—five years at the most—Kiran couldn’t imagine him without his air of casual competence. He’d assumed Dev had learned all his skills since earliest childhood, raised in some kind of outriding family, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Perhaps he could find a way to ask Dev about it, without inviting any unfortunate questions in return. The last thing Kiran wanted to discuss was his own childhood.

“Aw, listen to him,” Cara said. “Still all polite. Now there’s a nice change from your foul mouth, Dev.”

Before Dev could reply, a bell clanged out from the head of the convoy. The level of commotion rose a notch as wagons began creaking their way back onto the trail. Cara tossed her long blonde braid over her shoulder and vaulted into her saddle, the mockery gone from her tanned face. “You and the kid get the rear station today. Jerik’s on point scouting the lower canyon, and I’m with the wagon.”

Dev flicked a hand in acknowledgement. He turned to Kiran. “You ready?”

“Yes. Should I—”

Raw, unadulterated power slammed outward from the city. Invisible and inaudible, yet Ruslan’s magic blazed forth with the screaming intensity of a sandstorm. Kiran’s senses reeled as Lizaveta’s amulet seared fire into his skin. Dimly, he was aware of falling; then an impact knocked him breathless. The surge of magic washed over him, seeking onward through the valley. Kiran was left sprawled in the sand with one foot still caught in a stirrup.

“I hate to think what’s gonna happen when your horse actually starts moving.” Dev leaned down from his saddle and freed Kiran’s foot, his face full of amused disgust. Beyond, men continued to bustle around the convoy wagons, hitching mules and securing gear, as if nothing had happened. Kiran shook his head in amazement. He’d known the untalented couldn’t sense magic, but this...how could they be so blind? His ears still buzzed with the sheer force of Ruslan’s fury.

“Muscle cramp,” Kiran mumbled to Dev. He waved Dev’s offered hand away and staggered to his feet. “Sorry. Caught me by surprise.” Awe and terror tightened his throat. That blast of magic had been Ruslan’s alone, with no help from the great forces of the confluence. Kiran had always known Ruslan was powerful, but he’d never had quite so vivid a demonstration of Ruslan’s strength.

“Told you, you should stretch.” Dev’s expression was bland, though his green eyes were sharp as ever. Kiran wanted to inspect the amulet for any damage, but under that gaze he didn’t dare. Dev was already suspicious enough of Kiran’s cover story. If Dev realized a mage hunted them, he’d plead with Pello to send a message to Ruslan, in hopes of saving himself. Kiran bit his tongue in frustration. Finding and destroying Pello’s charm would be child’s play, if he used magic. But the instant he did, he might as well shout his location straight into Ruslan’s ear.

Kiran remounted his horse. This time the ache in his muscles faded to insignificance under the weight of his nerves. Ruslan’s initial salvo had been a matter of impulse, the equivalent of a single, visceral shout of anger. Now Ruslan would plan his spellwork in earnest. Mindful of Dev’s eyes on him, Kiran suppressed a shiver.

CHAPTER THREE

(Dev)

“Y
ou sure you didn’t crack your skull in that little tumble this morning?” I asked Kiran, as our horses followed the tail wagon of the convoy around yet another dusty switchback. “You’ve barely said two words all day.”

“I’m fine.” Kiran’s head was bowed, his shoulders stiff. “It’s just so hot.”

True enough that the midday sun blazed fiercely enough to turn a man’s brains to sludge. But yesterday’s equally blistering heat hadn’t kept him from a steady stream of questions.

“Well, good news: we’ve reached Silverlode Canyon.” I pointed ahead, where the trail left the sagebrush to disappear into a narrow gash in the pale cliffs. “In Silverlode, the heat’ll ease some. And we’ll be done with this gods-damned sand.”

“Oh. Good.” Kiran’s gaze stayed locked on his saddle.

So long as he hadn’t thumped his head badly enough to get brain sickness, he could stay silent as a sand lump if he liked. Though after long hours spent wrestling with the problem of Pello and his charm, I could’ve used a nice distracting conversation.

Red Dal had taught me a whole host of dirty tricks for disabling charms, and the more inspired ones even worked without the Taint. Problem was, they all depended on direct access to the charm in question. A clever man like Pello was sure to use serious protective wards to hide his charm stash from prying eyes. I might search his wagon a thousand times and never find the message charm. And try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a way to arrange an unfortunate accident for Pello that wouldn’t risk killing other, innocent men. Maybe Jylla was right and Sethan had turned me soft, but I didn’t much like the thought of killing innocents for my own gain.

I sighed as my mare clopped up the final rock-strewn incline leading to the canyon’s mouth. No, there had to be a way to break Pello’s wards. I’d learned in my Tainted days that a little creativity can go a long way. I just had to figure how to apply it right.

Within the confines of the canyon, sand changed over to jumbled boulders. Great cliffs reared skyward on either side, hiding the high peaks from view. The sight of those familiar awe-inspiring cliffs improved my mood considerably. Even Kiran perked up a bit, staring at the heights rather than his saddle.