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“You’re ridiculous.”
Wolfe was inclined to agree from this exchange alone.
“Anyway, I’m riding with Sorin,” the dark-haired man persisted stubbornly. “You’re walking. End of story.”
“That is our slowest option,” the fox argued. “I have the shortest legs, and the horse will tire more easily carrying both of you. And while we stand here arguing, we’re losing precious time. Do youwantto fail?”
“You’re the one who’s eager to return home, with or without the jewel,” the dark-haired man said, grabbing the horn and cantle and hefting himself awkwardly onto the horse’s back.
He was obviously not used to riding, was Wolfe’s first reaction. His second was—
Jewel.
Were they after the same prize Wolfe had come for?
Even more reason to get close to them. Knowing one’s foe was half the battle.
“I don’t see why you have issues riding with me,” the fox muttered. “I smell like fresh rain compared to the lot of you sewer rats.”
“Not to me,” the other man insisted. “No matter how odiferous, Sorin will always be my salty caramel fudge, and I will always be his dreamy creamy Bon-o-Bon.”
“I don’t understand you.”
The fox took the words right out of Wolfe’s head. But he suspected that the man meant “understand” in the general sense, not just for the strange references the dark-haired man had made.
“Ride with me,” were the first words to emerge from Wolfe’s mouth as he walked toward the trio.
All three foreigners’ heads swiveled in his direction with clear surprise and a good dose of wariness.
He was rather surprised at himself. The words hadn’t exactly passed through the filter of his brain when he uttered them, but now that they were out there, he decided to simply go with it.
“My war stallion is trained to carry far heavier loads. We’ve traveled light on this journey, my companion and I. His horse can also carry two people if we need to let another rest.”
“And you are?” the dark-haired man asked, recovering first.
“Wolfe.”
“Wolfe…?”
“Just Wolfe. I am not a landed lord, and I do not hail from a noble lineage.”
“Oh,” the dark-haired man blinked, “but of course. Few people during the Dark Ages have last names. They were more titles or roles than anything else.”
“Dark Ages?”
Wolfe frowned at the description.
It was rather accurate for these lawless, war-embroiled lands, but still. This was his home. It was difficult not to take offense.
“Sorry. Don’t mind me,” the dark-haired man waved his earlier words aside. “I’m Ere. These are my companions, Sorin and Rui.”
Ray.
It was not a common name. But what did Wolfe expect for such an uncommon man?
His eyes automatically flicked to the elfin assassin. Who diligently avoided his gaze, busying himself with the cinch strap on the gelding’s saddle.
“I am Tristan,” Wolfe’s young companion said as he stepped forth as well, leading his own horse.
