“Go find Ere and Sorin,” Wolfe commanded. “Tell them exactly what you just told me. Make haste.”
“What—” Tristan began, brow furrowed.
“Do it now.”
Tristan didn’t question more. He took off at a run, ostensibly to carry out Wolfe’s orders.
Wolfe trusted very few people in his life. In truth, he trusted only Tristan up to this point. Even his own mother never revealed the truth to him. But he knew that the boy would follow his instructions. He prayed he was right. He couldn’t protect Rui alone. Not when so many forces were against her.
He quickened his strides in search of her silvery head amongst the gathering contestants and crowds. If Tristan found her friends first, they might have a chance of getting the information to her.
That Ere fellow was a sharp one. Sorin was quiet, but he was also insightful. Between the two of them, they would know to warn Rui.
Wolfe wanted to find her himself and tell her in person. But first, he didn’t have the luxury of time. He would forfeit the race if he didn’t take his spot. And second, he didn’t know for certain whether she’d believe him. Despite everything they shared, everything he promised, they were still opponents for the same prize. She might heed her friends better than him.
He only prayed they would get to her in time.
When he stood at the starting line at the edge of the lake on the far east side, he scanned the bank for the other seven contestants. Given his height, he could see above the crowds. But they were spaced far apart, so it took him a while to locate her.
Rui.
She was starting the race with Modred on her left and Lancelot on her right. Gawain was the closest to Wolfe, and he was on the far east side, with five people between him and Rui, too far away to help her if anything should happen.
And it would. He knew it.
This was why Guinevere told him to be on the east side of the lake. She was planning something for Rui, whom she’d undoubtedly noticed as a leading contestant. Not one of her own.
Wolfe knew Modred to be a strong swimmer, but more than that, he was underhanded and vicious. Lancelot was a clear favorite for this contest as well. His moniker was well deserved, though no one knew its origins—Lancelot du Lac.
There were legends that he’d been raised by water nymphs. That his sword was enchanted by a sorceress of the lake. This was why he never lost in battle, in any fight. And was never wounded, not even a scratch.
Between the two of them, Rui was in critical danger. Wolfe had to go to her.
“Stay where you are, dragon-slayer,” Gawain said a few feet to his left, getting in his face when Wolfe tried to move toward the far line of contestants.
“Out. Of. My. Way,” he gritted low, bearing down on the shorter, stockier man.
“Keep your eyes on the prize,” Gawain growled, shoving him with both hands in the chest.
Wolfe was ready. He didn’t budge, and he didn’t waste breath.
He pretended to turn back, then swung on the other warrior in a sudden move, knocking him flat out with a fist to the temple. He didn’t check whether Gawain got up or not. He simply ran for the west side of the lake.
But the race had already started.
Rui, Modred and Lancelot had already dived into the water. Wolfe hastily shucked his tunic and dove in as well.
Instead of swimming in a straight line to the opposite side, he used all of his strength and power to plow through the water toward Rui.
But half way there, he realized that it was futile. He’d never catch up to them. They were too far ahead of and away from him. At this rate, if he didn’t correct his path and head toward the opposite shore, he’d lose the race himself.
He couldn’t afford to lose. He couldn’t help Rui either.
With a muted roar of frustration and fear, Wolfe turned his sights to the opposite bank. There was nothing he could do now but focus on passing this test and praying for Rui’s safety.
If anything happened to her…
He dove beneath the water and swam as if the demons of Hell were on his heels.