The Whitefire Crossing by Courtney Schafer Read Free Book Online Page B

the message charm. And try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a way to arrange an unfortunate accident for Pello that wouldn’t risk killing other, innocent men. Maybe Jylla was right and Sethan had turned me soft, but I didn’t much like the thought of killing innocents for my own gain.
    I sighed as my mare clopped up the final rock-strewn incline leading to the canyon’s mouth. No, there had to be a way to break Pello’s wards. I’d learned in my Tainted days that a little creativity can go a long way. I just had to figure how to apply it right.
    Within the confines of the canyon, sand changed over to jumbled boulders. Great cliffs reared skyward on either side, hiding the high peaks from view. The sight of those familiar awe-inspiring cliffs improved my mood considerably. Even Kiran perked up a bit, staring at the heights rather than his saddle.
    As we wound along the canyon’s north slope, the kreeling shriek of a banehawk echoed off the sheer wall above. I turned to Kiran, wanting to see if he’d flinch or grab for a charm. That faint accent of his...I’d once shadowed a group of Kaithan traders who’d come straight from the southern blight. The liquid slur of their speech was the closest match I’d come up with for Kiran’s oddly inflected vowels. And southerners were all superstitious as hell. Varkevians, Sulanians, Kaithans...even the ones who scoffed at the vast southern pantheon of demons still wore devil-ward charms and turned pale at the sight of a banehawk.
    Curiosity brightened Kiran’s face as he watched the hulking black shape soar past. “What kind of bird is that? I’ve never seen one so large.”
    Ah. Banehawks were rarely seen in the city. I’d spied them on occasion perched near butcher shops and slaughteryards in hopes of snatching up offal, but I’d forgotten a highsider wouldn’t have cause to visit such places, not with servants to buy meat for them.
    “Banehawk,” I said. “They eat carrion. Some say they’ve the souls of devils banished from Shaikar’s hells, and their call’s a death omen. Half the men in this convoy are snatching at devil-ward charms right now.”
    “Devil-ward charm?” Kiran peered at me like he wasn’t sure if I was joking. “But devils are only stories. What would such a charm even do?”
    Well. His accent couldn’t be Kaithan, then. I snorted. “Nothing. They’re just a way for streetside charmsellers to make easy coin. Slap together some loops of copper, etch on some fancy-looking sigils, and sell it to superstitious marks who’ll never know it’s got no magic.”
    Superstitious though they were, southerners did know how to tell a good story. Khalmet’s their god of luck, and they say he has one hand of human flesh and one of skeletal bone. If he taps you with the flesh hand, your luck is good, but if he taps you with the other, no charm will save you from disaster. Any man who spends time in the mountains sees enough people die through no fault of their own for that to make perfect sense. But I’d never seen reason to believe invisible devils lurked about waiting to poison men’s souls. In my experience, men were capable of evil enough on their own.
    Kiran shook his head. “But any mage could tell them the charm was worthless.”
    I cast him a sharp, quelling glance. Thank Khalmet we were riding far enough back from the convoy that no drovers should’ve heard that little comment.
    Confusion mixed with unease on his face. I leaned toward him and muttered, “Ask a mage? Right. Because so many of those live streetside. Besides, devils might be the stuff of campfire tales, but mages can kill you just as nastily. Ganglords and highsiders may think themselves clever enough to deal direct with mages, but ordinary streetside folk know to keep well clear.”
    Kiran winced. “I see,” he said softly. His lips pressed together, his expression turning as stubbornly withdrawn as it had been before we entered the canyon.
    I sighed. I hadn’t