a chance to snatch it.
I should ditch her, he thought. Go on alone.
Go where?
Into hiding? He could make his way into the mountains, alone, live off the land . . . only, he had never learned how to do something like that. Beyond that, what good would it do to hide with the Infinity Blade? Potentially the only weapon humankind had for fighting back against the Deathless?
I need to find people who are fighting back. Give the sword to them.
The Worker of Secrets, if he existed, would be a place to start. If not him, then some other rebellious group. Surely something like that existed.
“You realize that this looks odd,” Isa noted.
He looked up at her, frowning.
“Me riding,” she explained, “and you walking like that. It looks unusual. I assume you want to be . . . what is the word in your language? Inconspicuous?”
Was she going to invite him to ride with her? The prospect of being that close to her made him wary, and he glanced at the knives on her belt. He also found himself intrigued by the prospect of being that close to her, however, and he tried to quash the emotion.
She tried to kill you, he reminded himself. And will probably try again.
Still, it would be nice to try riding a horse.
“Yes, this is not very inconspicuous,” she said, looking at him appraisingly, “not with a weapon like that. You could be my guard, but anyone we pass is going to wonder why a woman in simple leathers can afford a guard. I don’t look like a merchant—and there are no wares besides—but I’m certainly not going to pass as one of the Devoted or the Favored.”
“I don’t suppose you have a fancy dress tucked away in your saddlebags?” Siris asked.
She raised an eyebrow at him, looking highly amused.
“I guess not,” he said.
“Assuming you want to travel incognizant,” she said, “we need to do something about the sword.”
“Wait, incognizant?”
“Wrong word? In . . . I swear there was one.”
“Incognito?”
“Yes, that’s it. What a stupid language. Anyway, if you want to travel incognito , we need to do something about that sword.” She made a great show of thinking it over, then sighed loudly. “Guess you’ll just have to let me tie the sword to the saddle up here, where I can cover it with a blanket.”
“You really think I’m that stupid?”
She just chuckled, reaching into her saddlebags. “Merely trying to measure your stupidity, whiskers. You soldier types get knocked upside the head frequently. Who knows how forgetful you might become?” She pulled something out and tossed it to him. A cloak, nicer than the one he’d used to pack up his armor. “Tie that on, let it drape over your left side. Maybe it will hide the weapon well enough to turn aside questioning eyes.”
He lifted up the cloak, looking at it carefully, wary of some kind of trap.
“I sewed deathfang spiders into the collar,” she said dryly.
“Just being cautious,” Siris said, throwing on the cloak, letting it fall as she’d described. It did an acceptable job of hiding the sword. “Thanks.”
They walked a little farther along the dusty trail. It wasn’t really a road. In another part of the countryside, it would have become overgrown long ago. Here, where the weather was hot and the terrain was stony, there wasn’t enough life to overgrow anything.
Siris trudged along beside the horse, his armor feeling like bricks on his back, trails of sweat making their way leisurely down the sides of his cheeks.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Isa asked.
“Beautiful?”
“The rock formations,” she said, nodding to the side. The ground there fell away into a series of gullies, then rose sharply in a ripple that exposed lines of strata shaded red, yellow, brown, orange. “I’ve always loved this part of the island.”
“Island?” Siris said. “We live on an island?”
“A big one,” Isa said, sounding amused. “But yes, Lantimor certainly isn’t a continent. You could ride from one end
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