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- 27 -
Rodin focused. He breathed in the dryness of the dust. He noted a cloud moving high above. He felt the sun on his back, its power dropping fractionally. And he watched the boulders.
His stomach clenched, as it always did when he walked into a trap.
But walking into a trap was not the same as getting caught.
Rodin moved, allowing his feet to find their own route, keeping his senses on alert. His hands hovered over his jacket, ready to draw weapons. He made a mental check of his tools. The two longer blades, one to the left of his jacket, the other against his right thigh. The smaller throwing blades, one damaged, but others closer to hand, around his chest and waist. One in each boot. And the lances, concealed by his chest, one to the left, one to the right.
No. They were no
