“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 to another in about a month.”
“Lantimor,” he said, working the word over in his mouth. Someone else’s name for where he lived. Names like that belonged to the Deathless. Everyone he knew just called it the land or the area.
“So naive,” Isa said, mostly under her breath. She probably didn’t realize he’d heard.
He kept his eyes forward, trying not to let her words dig at him. He didn’t care if he was naive. He didn’t. Really.
I’ll show her naive. I’ll show her what it’s like to know truths. Pain like the world crumbling, shame like it might consume you, guilt like a sky of lead . . .
He stilled himself, hand shaking on the hilt of the Infinity Blade. The sweat beads on the sides of his face grew larger.
“Did you really best him?” Isa asked. “In a duel?”
“The God King? Yes. For all the good it did. He isn’t dead.”
Isa pursed her lips.
“What?” Siris asked.
“Raidriar-you call him the God King-is said to be among the greatest duelists of the Deathless.”
“It was part luck,” Siris said. “Any duel is. A dodge at the last moment, an attack in the right opening. He was good; better than any I’d faced.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Raidriar is thousands of years old, whiskers. Thousands upon thousands. You think he hasn’t faced skilled opponents before? He has. Hundreds of them-many of them Deathless who have lived, and trained, as long as he has. And you say that you beat him.”
“What? You think I found this sword sitting in the midden heap or something?”
“No. But a shot with the crossbow to the back could work. It wouldn’t kill him, but it might knock him out for a little while, let you steal the blade. Hell, hit a Deathless with enough destruction, and they’ll need to grow a new body. Cut off his head while he sleeps, then take his sword, get out before he comes back . . .”
“I fight with the Aegis Forms,” Siris snapped, hand growing tight on the sword hilt. “I follow the ancient ideal. If a man faces me with honor, I will return it.”
“Might as well have thrown that in the midden heap,” Isa muttered. “That’s where it belongs.”
Siris said nothing. You couldn’t explain the Aegis Forms to someone who didn’t understand, who didn’t want to understand. When he and the God King had fought, they’d shared something. They’d set out to kill one another, and on one level, they had hated one another. But there had been respect too. As warriors who followed the ancient ideal.
Of course . . . as he considered it, the God King had known that he wasn’t fighting for his life. Immortality would make it a whole lot easier to follow the Aegis Forms.
Before talking to the minions in the castle, he hadn’t even known that Deathless could restore themselves to life. He’d known the God King had lived a long time, but had figured a sword in the gut would end any man, no matter how old he was.
Naive. Yes, she was probably right.
“You didn’t seem surprised to find that he wasn’t truly dead,” Siris said. “You seem to know a lot about them.”
“I stumbled upon one of their rebirthing chambers once,” she said absently. “It was an . . . educational experience. So, where’d you get that healing ring?”
Siris snorted. “You acted so surprised at my beard. You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“I’m good at connecting facts,” she said. Which wasn’t really an answer to his question. “Where did you find it?”
“It belonged to the God King,” Siris said. “I found others, though. On the bodies of the guards I fought. I’ve got a few of them in my pouch.”
“Huh,” she said, thoughtful.
“What?”
“Did the guards ever use the rings against you?” she asked. “To heal themselves?”
“No,” he said. “Actually, they didn’t.” He considered for a moment. “Usually when I found one, it was hung by a strap around their neck, or kept in their pouch. That makes sense for the trolls, who couldn’t fit them on their fingers. But a few of the guards I fought were ordinary men, knights or Devoted who served the God King.”
“Maybe they didn’t know how to work them.”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Siris said, holding up a hand, looking at the ring. “I just kind of . . . did it, naturally. Most of the rings stopped working after I killed the God King, though.”
Isa frowned.
“You know something, don’t you?” Siris said.
“No.”
He eyed her.
“I know many things,” she said, haughtily sitting atop her saddle. “I know how to get anywhere. I know that you walk like a soldier-with a gait I’ve seen from men who have trained in the military for decades-yet you can’t possibly have that kind of experience yet. I know a really incredible recipe for cinnamon-baked sweetbread. But I don’t know anything more about those rings. Honestly.”
He said nothing.
“What?” she demanded.
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” he said, looking ahead.
“I’m telling you,” she said, “it’s really good cinnamon bread.”
He found himself smiling. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, people do usually assume I’m lying when I speak of baking. I’ve been told I don’t look like the baking type.”
“You did glare at me when I suggested you might have a frilly dress in those packs.”
“That was not a glare. That was a dignified look of measured contempt.”
“I’m sure,” Siris said. “So, you can really bake?” Cinnamon sweetbread. That sounded delicious. Exactly the sort of thing he’d never have let himself taste during his years training.
“I like to be able to do things for myself,” she said. “Unfortunately, I also like to eat meals that don’t taste of moldy rat leather. This sort of conundrum necessitates a woman taking a few liberties with her chosen persona. And if this entire line of reasoning is intended to get me to prove myself with an outpouring of cinnamon sweetbread, then I’ll relent.”
“You . . . will? So you’ll fix me the bread?”
“As much as you can eat, whiskers. Price is one sword. Oh, look. You happen to have one. What a fortunate turn of events!”
“Well, you certainly are determined.”
She smiled. “Actually, I’m persistent. You are so fond of using the wrong words. Are you not the one who speaks this language natively?”
“Natively,” he said. “But apparently not that fluently.”
“I’ll trade you my very nice dictionary-”
“-for this sword, I assume?” he asked, taking a drink from his canteen.
“Nonsense. The sword is worth far more than that. I’ll throw in a pair of penis.”
Siris nearly choked, sputtering through the water.
Isa looked at him, frowning.
“A pair of them, eh?” Siris asked, wiping his chin. “Wow. Must have cost you a lot.”
Isa, looking confused, pulled two pens out of her saddlebags. “They were quite pricey, but are very nice. You are still laughing. I see. One pen, two penis? No?”
“I think you, uh, may want to work on your pronunciation there, Isa. You say pen in a way that does not sound at all like-”
Isa suddenly froze, turning forward, coming alert.
Siris cut himself off, loosening the Infinity Blade in its sheath. What was that? Voices, he thought.
Isa pointed. “Ahead, I think.”
“I agree.”
“Hide the sword! Remember what I said!”
“I’m not a fool,” Siris said, moving the cloak to cover his arm. Isa checked her crossbow, making certain it was covered. It wouldn’t be much good if there were a tussle, at least not immediately-he doubted she could get the leverage to cock it from horseback. It was of the ‘step and pull’ variety.
A small group of people appeared atop a hill on the road ahead of them. Isa slowed her horse and inspected the ragged group. They didn’t seem dangerous. There were three of them, men in caps and workers’ smocks. No trousers, just knee-length tunics and sandals.