Chapter Five
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Radishes and greens, each have those who love them.
When Wolfe readied for the road at the crack of dawn, he came upon the unlikely trio again.
The shorthairs on the back of his neck tingled with portent.
None of the other travelers had mustered the wherewithal to prepare for a journey so early, and on such a chilly, overcast day. Probably still sleeping off their drink from the night before. When Wolfe and Tristan left the common hall, most of the men had either been deep in their cups or deep in their pockets wagering.
Wolfe wanted to ensure that he arrived at Castle Caerleon with enough time to arrange for his spot in the tournament as well as gather information about the various events and other contenders. He could hold his own in any number of contests, from bare-fisted fighting and wrestling, to archery and blood sports with weapons.
But foreknowledge was power. With it, his odds of winning would increase from quite good to almost guaranteed.
“I’m not riding on Buttercup with you,” the dark-haired man was saying haughtily, looking down his nose at the little elf assassin.
Wolfe grimaced inwardly.
He should probably come up with a better name, even in his own mind. Better yet, he should probably learn the man’s real name.
As they seemed to be setting out on the same road (the only road), this was the perfect opportunity to learn more about these foreigners.
“You named a male horse Buttercup,” the silver fox deadpanned.
“He’s been gelded, poor thing,” the dark one said, patting the horse’s neck soothingly. “With his sunny, amiable disposition, he should have a matching name. Haven’t you watchedPrincess Bride? Classic. His long, wavy, wheat-colored mane reminds me of the princess in the movie.”
The horse rolled his eyes toward the speaker almost ironically, then flicked one ear and continued to slowly munch on a nearby clump of grass.
That seemed to be the best approach to take with the dark-haired man, Wolfe observed—simply ignore him.
“I am the lightest load,” the elf assassin said, getting back on topic. “If we ride two to a horse, I should be one of the riders. If you refuse to ride with me, then I shall ride with Sorin.”
Ah, so Sorin was the name of the silent, golden warrior.
“No one is riding with my man but me,” the dark-haired man retorted. “Besides, I won Buttercup. I decide who rides him.”
His man?
He’d used the same phrase last night. Wolfe hadn’t thought much of it then. It was what more privileged men called their servants or retainers. But this morning, he heard the real meaning behind the words.
They were a couple.
Wolfe looked between him and Sorin.
This explained the closeness between the two tall men that he’d observed last night. It far surpassed the bonds of friendship, though there had been no outwardly demonstrations.
“And I am not walking after even the blisters on my blisters got rubbed raw yesterday. If I damage my feet more today, I’ll likely get gangrene and have to chop them off.”
“Woe is you,” the silver fox said blandly. “I don’t see how this affects me.”
“At the very least we won’t be able to complete our quest…”
The smaller man shrugged.
“So? I’ll simply return home.”
“And Sorin will probably tear your limbs off for making me get gangrene in the first place.”