The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,8
the preparations that had stunned me. Ganglords could only wish their crews were that fast and disciplined. When later I’d described my amazement to Jylla, a wry gleam had lit her slanted black eyes. The toughest ganglord’s not more than a sandmite in the eye of a highside merchant house, she’d said.
Jylla. Gods all damn it, how long before every memory of her wasn’t like a fucking knife to the gut?
I made sure my face was blank before I turned to Kiran, but I needn’t have bothered. He was so busy goggling at all the commotion in the staging yard that I could have been wailing curses like a Varkevian demon singer and he wouldn’t have noticed a thing. I checked him over one last time in the pale dawn light. His newly brown hair hung just below his collar instead of halfway down his back, grit lined his nails, and his clothes were old and ill-fitting but good tough leather. Yeah, he’d pass for a streetsider. So long as he remembered to keep his mouth shut, anyway.
The westgate staging yard lay right inside the bulwark of the city’s towering sandstorm wall, and the noise echoing off the smooth stones was deafening. Men were yelling to each other, mules braying, horses whinnying, all mixed in with the crash of crates being stacked and secured on wagons. I had to grab Kiran’s arm to get his attention.
“Come on. We’ll check in with the head outrider at our supply wagon, then pick up mounts from the horsemaster.” I dodged my way through a trampling herd of burly packers hefting crates.
Kiran trailed after me. “You don’t have your own horse?”
“Are you kidding? Do you know how much a horse eats? It’d be stupid to own one when I only use ’em on outrider jobs. Pack mules are better if you’re going solo.”
We’d nearly reached the sturdy, weathered wagon painted with the outrider mark, indistinct black shapes resembling crossed ice axes. I recognized the tall, lean woman in sun-faded leathers who waited there. So, Cara had made head outrider? I’d never admit it to her, but I was impressed. Though Cara was a good six years my senior, she was young for the top spot on such a large convoy.
Kiran’s face said he was dying to ask another question, but he shut his mouth as Cara strode forward. Good boy.
“Dev! I heard you were on for this job!” She caught me up in a spinecracking hug.
“Ease up, huh? I might need my ribs later.” I pretended to gasp for air. Cara laughed and let go, her teeth flashing white in her deeply tanned face. Her blonde hair was bleached to the color of old bone, and with that tan, she must’ve spent her winter on the desert routes. I thumped her shoulder. “You’ve been working eastbound? Did you sign up when you were drunk? Those aren’t mountains, they’re sandhills.”
“The climbing’s no good, but the sandcat hunting makes up for it. At least I didn’t sit on my ass in the city all winter. How do you stand it?”
“There are compensations,” I said. She rolled her eyes.
“That’s right, your she-viper of a business partner, I forgot. She still got you by the piton straps?”
Cara must be the one person in the entire city who hadn’t heard, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. She’d never understood my bond with Jylla. If I had to listen to a chorus of “I told you so” all the way to Kost, I’d end up shoving Cara off a cliff. Fortunately, I had the perfect distraction.
“Cara, meet my apprentice, Kellan na Erinta.” I gestured with a flourish to Kiran. I’d chosen his false name carefully. The first name was common as sand in Ninavel, yet close enough to Kiran’s own to help him remember to respond. The last name used the old-fashioned Arkennlandish mode still popular among northern immigrants, to match his odd coloring.
Cara’s pale brows shot up. “You? An apprentice? It’s been, what, four whole years since your own apprentice days—you getting bored already?”
“His family’s having trouble paying for their water rations. Bad times with their business, you know how that goes. I’m taking him off their hands as a favor.” I put on my best virtuous expression.
“Hmm.” Cara squinted at Kiran. I held my breath. The look-away charm would keep him forgettable and easy to overlook by the casual observer, but it wouldn’t prevent direct scrutiny, and Cara had a keen eye.