Dev looked skeptical, his eyes going to Kiran’s hands, then back up to his face.
“If...I mean, if you’ll show me what to do. I’m not familiar with...” Kiran eyed the tools on the table. He couldn’t even guess at their purpose. “What does an outrider do, exactly?”
“What do you know about the route from Ninavel to Kost?” Dev sounded like he didn’t expect Kiran to know anything at all. Kiran stiffened on his crate. He might not know much about untalented professions, but surely his knowledge of world geography far surpassed Dev’s.
“It leaves the city to the west and crosses two high passes in the Whitefire Mountains before it reaches the border with Alathia. It’s impassable in the winter from all the snow. The first group across is always a large one, because the merchant houses are anxious to sell.”
Dev’s one-sided little grin said he hadn’t missed Kiran’s indignation. “True, but that’s not the only reason the first convoy is big. The route through the mountains isn’t like some nice smooth city street. It’s rocky, steep, rough, and winter avalanches and spring snowmelt mess it up pretty bad. Without repairs to the trail, wagons would never make it. So the merchant houses all chip in, money and supplies and labor, and the first convoy fixes the trail as they go. Anyone who doesn’t contribute has to pay a toll, if they use the trail later in the season.”
“An outrider helps with the repairs, then?”
“Nah. The convoy brings carpenters and stonemasons and their hired labor for that. Outriders work as a kind of scout. While the laborers work on one repair, we check out the terrain ahead and let the convoy boss know how badly the trail is damaged so he can plan properly for what’s coming. Sometimes that just means riding up the trail a ways, but other times we need to climb up snow slopes or onto pinnacles to get a good view of the terrain. But checking trail damage isn’t the big reason we’re there. Our main job is the safety of the group.” Dev’s face had turned serious.
“You mean from bandits?” As a child, Kiran had spent hours reading adventure tales where brave soldiers fought off bandit hordes sweeping down from the mountains to prey upon wagons full of precious cargo.
Dev made a dismissive noise. “Too early in the season, and the convoy is way too big. Gangs’ll wait ’til it’s warmer, and you get single wagons going through. No, I mean safety from the mountains. Avalanches, rockfall, storms, the like. We look at the snow and weather conditions and tell the boss if we think it’s safe enough for the teams.”
“But how can you know for sure?” Did outriders use charms of some kind? Weather magic was chancy at best, and required careful control. Kiran had never heard of a charm detailed and flexible enough to allow an untalented man that kind of power.
“You can’t.” Dev spread his hands. “You know the mountains well, you can make a pretty good guess. It’s still a guess, though. Sometimes we’re wrong, and people get hurt. Or die.”
“Have you ever...?”
“Been wrong? Not yet. I’ve seen it happen, though, when I was an apprentice. Twice. The first time, only one wagon was lost, along with two men and a team of mules. The second time was...” Dev inhaled, looked as if he were searching for a word. “Worse,” he finally said, his voice studiously calm in a way that Kiran recognized.
“Oh,” was all Kiran could think of to say. Dev sighed and leaned forward on his crate.
“Before we get to talking about gear for the trip, I need to know something.”
“What is it?” Sweat sprang out on Kiran’s palms. He’d always been better at lying by omission.
Dev hesitated, frowning slightly. “Look, I’m just the courier, and whatever your reasons for this, they’re none of my business. But one thing is my business, because it affects how I do my job. You want to keep this little trip of yours quiet, that’s fine. But what kind of attention are we talking about hiding from, here?”
Kiran took a careful breath. “Primarily the Alathian authorities at the border. But I also need to avoid drawing the attention of anyone in the employ of Suns-eye or Koliman House.” Both were among the largest of the banking houses in Ninavel. With luck, Dev would assume his journey to Alathia was merely part of one the clandestine power maneuvers the great houses were famous for making. Should he tell Dev that he’d already taken precautions against magical methods of tracing? No, Dev would want to know what sort of precautions, and that would raise too many dangerous questions. Better to keep it simple.
“Exactly how intently will they be watching for you?”
“You needn’t worry about any concerted effort on their part. They don’t know I’m traveling to Kost. I only need to keep it that way.”
“And that’s all.” Dev’s eyes had narrowed. “You sure?”
Kiran met Dev’s searching gaze. One heartbeat’s worth of power, and Dev would believe anything he said. He throttled the urge. “Of course I’m sure.”
Dev studied him a moment longer, then shrugged. “Fine. We’ll only do some easy stuff, then.” He tossed a small wax-sealed lacquer box to Kiran. “Hair dye. Rub that through your hair, and then I’ll use a binding charm to set it. It’ll turn your hair brown instead of black, make your coloring a little more like a northern Arkennlander’s.” The corner of his mouth lifted again. “Right now you stand out like a raven among sage hens. Oh, and we’ll cut your hair some, so you look less highside.”
Dev slid a small silver disc from his pocket, the size of a decet coin. “You’ll need to wear this, either next to your skin or tied in your hair.” At Kiran’s questioning glance, he held it up in the light. “It’s a look-away charm. Subtle, not flashy. Lots of us wear charms of one kind or another, nobody’ll notice it.” He indicated the silver bracelets on his own wrists, which Kiran recognized from the rune tracings as simple protective charms.
Dev held out the look-away charm. Kiran took it, gingerly. To his relief, the charm lay quiet in his hand, with no sparking or flaring coming from either it or Lizaveta’s amulet, safely hidden under his clothes. Good. That meant Dev’s charm was small and simple enough in purpose not to cause any pattern interference with the magic of the amulet. Kiran set down the charm and opened the box of dye. The pasty muck within smelled absolutely terrible.
Kiran forced himself to scoop up a handful. “Please tell me the stink goes away after using the binding charm.”
For the first time since Kiran had met him, Dev laughed. “Think of it as practice for the trip, city boy. Have you ever smelled the shit from an entire convoy’s worth of mules?” He laughed even harder at Kiran’s reflexive grimace.
CHAPTER TWO
(Dev)
F
irst time I’d seen a mountain convoy preparing to head out, only my fierce determination to impress Sethan kept me from slack-jawed gaping. The sheer number of men, beasts and wagons crammed into the staging yard was incredible enough, but it was the swarming efficiency of 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.
After a moment’s study, a wicked smile spread over her face. “You know, kid, if Dev throws you out, you can come to me. I’m sure we could work something out.” She looked him up and down again, slowly and deliberately, and winked.
Well. First test passed, anyway. I glanced at Kiran, and didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. His cheeks flamed and he looked about a heartbeat away from bolting. At least he didn’t get all snooty and offended, highsider style. As it was, I gripped the back of his arm where Cara couldn’t see, and squeezed. Hard. If he wanted to pass as a streetsider, acting like a sheltered sulaikh-maiden wasn’t the way to do it.
“Need a bucket for that drool?” I asked Cara. “Must have been a long eastbound run. I hear those outriders turn into dried up old sticks, out there in all that heat and sun.”
“This dried up old stick wants you to get your ass on a horse already. Meldon’s about to order us to form up.” Cara pointed at the convoy boss on his high platform overlooking the yard. As Kiran turned to see, she leaned over to me and spoke quietly. “Seriously, Dev, you’ll have to keep an eye on him. Kid is too pretty for his own good, and it’s clear he’s got no clue how to handle it. Teach him how to say no nicely. I don’t want any trouble, hear?”
I sighed. Cara’s reaction to Kiran only confirmed what I’d suspected. Those high cheekbones and all that fine highsider skin and hair threatened to attract unwanted attention, no matter how many look-away charms I hung on him. No help for it but for me to keep him out of the way as much as possible.
“I’ve got it handled,” I assured Cara. The horsemaster and his little group of spare mounts stood only a few wagons away. As Kiran and I headed over, I called back to Cara, “Who’s our third rider, then?”
“Jerik.” She pointed to a sinewy man with night-black skin who stood talking to an elderly drover. I hadn’t recognized him from the back, but once Cara said the name, I knew him. Last I’d seen him, he didn’t have the threads of gray streaking his braided hair. I’d worked with him once or twice back when I’d been Sethan’s apprentice. Jerik was a good climber. Better yet, he was quiet and kept to himself. Perfect.
As we neared the horsemaster, my satisfaction disappeared in a hurry. Three wagons over, a thin-faced drover with a wild mop of curls was watching me as he checked the buckles of his mule team’s traces. Khalmet’s hand, what was Pello doing here? He worked for one of Bren’s competitors in a different ganglord’s district, but as a shadow man, not a courier. Merchant houses were always eager for privileged information on their competitors’ shipments, and men like Pello made good coin sniffing out secrets. But shadow men stayed local, as a rule, haunting warehouses, stableyards, and taverns. It wasn’t unheard of for one to work a convoy route, but the timing sure as hell made me suspicious. If he’d gotten wind somehow of this gods-damned little stunt, I’d have real trouble keeping Kiran’s trip to Kost quiet. Not to mention the potential disaster at the border if Pello decided to sell me out to the Alathians.
“We’ll be riding those?” Kiran was eyeing the shaggy ponies beside the horsemaster’s wagon with a distinctly dubious expression.