The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,11

and worn into folds by dry gullies. The only rain that ever fell in the Painted Valley came from rare but vicious summer thunderstorms that sent flash floods scouring over the parched soil, eroding it faster than a man could run.

It was hot already, the air shimmering and dancing above the alkali flats, making the city’s shining white walls and pale spires seem to float above the ground. Ninavel always looks beautiful from the outside, and unreal. A mirage-city, completely out of place in the harsh heat of the deep desert valley. Behind the city towers, in the distance loomed the brown outlines of the dry, barren Bolthole Mountains that formed the eastern side of the valley, much lower and less rugged than the Whitefires. The haunt of sandcats with claws longer than a man’s hand and the strength to crunch a man’s skull into jelly; Cara was crazy for hunting them with nothing more than a crossbow fortified with a longsight charm.

I turned frontways again. Kiran’s gaze had fixed on the city. His blue eyes darkened with something that reminded me of Red Dal sighing over a highsider house warded too well to risk sending Tainters inside. His fingers clenched around the half-finished knot, so tight his knuckles showed white.

So. Not as relaxed as he’d seemed, then. “Sometimes it’s a hard thing, leaving the city,” I said.

Kiran started. “What? Oh. Yes, I...I suppose.” He fumbled at the knot again, his eyes darting to mine and then away. “Though it’s...well, it’s exciting, too. Traveling the mountains, like adventurers from a tale...I hadn’t imagined I’d ever get to make a journey like this.” A hint of wistful amazement touched his face.

“Oh, the excitement’s just starting,” I said, more curious than ever. Maybe he was only playing his streetside role, but I didn’t think he was so good an actor. Highsiders had the coin to travel if they liked—but then, he’d implied he worked for a banking house, and certainly they were said to have rigid notions of a man’s duties. A banking house even fit with Bren’s covert instructions; they never trusted anyone. Hell if I could come up with any good reason for a banking house to try and sneak a person across the Alathian border, though. Banking houses loved their secrets same as all the other merchant houses, but I could think of a hundred less risky ways to pass private information or materials between Ninavel and Kost.

A jingle of straps and clomping of hooves filled the air, and our section of the convoy moved over to the side, allowing room for a Ninavel-bound mule train. This low down the trail was wide enough for two groups to pass easily, although the cloud of dust and sand kicked up by the passing mules sent Kiran into a coughing fit.

“Here.” I tossed him my waterskin. “Remember, we’re on strict water rations until we ascend out of the Painted Valley—so don’t guzzle it all.” Merchant houses hated to waste their weight allowances on water. Part of the convoy boss’s job was to figure out the minimum amount of stores necessary to keep us all from collapsing of thirst before we reached the first high mountain stream.

Kiran took a careful few swallows. He capped the waterskin and handed it back, not without a last longing look at it.

“Where were those mules coming from? I thought we would be the first group coming through the pass?”

“From the mines.” I pointed higher up on the valley slopes, where the sagebrush scrub changed over to broken cliffs. The rock there was scarred and dotted with the dark holes of mineshafts. Tailings piles streaked vivid colors across the dull tan slopes below. “Most of the mines are low enough they can be worked year round.”

“What kind of mines?” he asked, and I stared. What kind of highsider wouldn’t know the answer to that, let alone someone supposedly involved with a banking house? Most families who’d made it big in Ninavel had done so through the mines or the selling of their products. Banking house, my ass. Unless...maybe Kiran was newly come to Ninavel? But no, from the way he’d gaped around at the desert beyond the city gate like a Tainter on his first job highside, I’d swear he’d never set foot outside Ninavel in his life.

“Gold, silver, copper, iron, you name it, these mountains have got it.” I kept my tone casual, but watched his face. “Why else do you think old Sechaveh went to