The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,14
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.