The Whitefire Crossing Read Online Free PDF Page A

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.
    Pello’s gaze hadn’t left us. I clapped Kiran on the back, and said loudly, “Don’t worry, they don’t buck. They’re sturdy, patient sorts who don’t mind a novice rider, and they’ll carry you safe over rocky trails and through mountain storms.” As opposed to the graceful, highstrung animals highsiders rode.
    Kiran’s abashed glance said he’d guessed my meaning well enough. The horsemaster turned, chuckling.
    “New to convoy work, eh? Never fear, boy, I’ve the perfect mount for you.” He urged Kiran toward a stocky bay gelding with a graying muzzle and a phlegmatic air.
    I leaned against the wagon, met Pello’s eyes, and nodded, deliberately casual. Pello returned the nod, a sly little grin creasing his coppery face.
    I resisted the urge to grit my teeth. Damn it, I needed to talk to Kiran about Pello, and fast. But I couldn’t do it in a crowded staging yard where anyone might overhear, and the convoy was about to leave. I’d have to wait until I could arrange a moment alone with Kiran on the trail.
    The horsemaster returned with Kiran and the