“Cellmate?” the elf asked, grudgingly interested now. “There wasn’t meant to be a cellmate.”
“He only arrived last night. This,” he said with a nod, “is Grub. He likes to have sex with horses, so I’d keep him away from yours. Although...” Loth made a show of looking around. “He doesn’t appear to have brought his fuckery stool, so you may be safe.”
“I don’t... do that with horses,” Grub ground out, hands clenched into fists.
“Not without your stool, you don’t,” Loth agreed airily, and patted him on the shoulder. “Now then, shall we put some distance between ourselves and this place, before the guards actually come and investigate the commotion?”
“Yes, my prince,” the human with the beard said, stars in his eyes as he gazed at Loth.
“He’s not my prince,” the elf grumbled.
“Isn’t he?” the orc asked.
“Elves don’t have princes,” the elf said and rolled his eyes. “We’re collectivist anarchists.”
“Is he my prince?” the orc asked curiously.
The elf rolled his eyes again. “No, Dave! He’s a human! Orcs hate humans!”
“Oh, yeah,” Dave agreed, nodding. His tooth-tusks gleamed. “I forgot.”
As distracting as this was, Loth had always found it was much easier to talk people into doing what you wanted if you knew something about them, so he interrupted to say, “Who exactly are you people?”
The human drew himself up tall as if he’d been waiting for this moment. “We’re your rescue party, m’lord! Come to save you from the clutches of tyranny!”
“And I’m exceedingly grateful. But I meant what are your names? I can’t keep calling you Orc and Elf and Dwarf and Human. It makes this whole enterprise sound particularly dubious. Which I’m sure it’s not,” he hastened to add at the human’s offended look.
“You’re dubious,” Grub muttered under his breath.
“Shh, my little farmyard fornicator, the adults are talking,” Loth told him, despite probably being five years older than the mouthy urchin at best.
“Shall we talk while we ride, Prince?” the dwarf asked, hands on hips. Loth wondered if the emphasis on his fake title was because she knew he was lying through his teeth, or because she really didn’t want to hang around here and get arrested. Loth couldn’t blame her.
“Let’s do that,” he agreed. Really, it was nice to know at least one of them had a brain.
The rescue party, having only expected to rescue one redheaded prisoner from the nominated cell, had only brought one spare horse, which left Loth sharing with Grub. Grub rode pillion, much to his grumbling disgust. Loth wasn’t sure what he was complaining about. A fellow should count himself lucky to sit rubbing up against Loth’s arse like this, with his arms around his waist. Thousands would pay for the privilege! More than one had.
As they worked their way out of the streets of Delacourt, casting back occasional glances to be certain they weren’t being pursued, Loth learned the names of his rescuers.
The human was called Scott. He called himself a humble former farmhand, but Loth wasn’t sure he knew what ‘humble’ meant, since he appeared convinced he was only a peasant by accident of birth, and that he was supposed to be a nobleman instead. He spent quite a bit of time speculating about just how many bards would sing about his heroic deeds in the near future, and just how many hearts, and titles, his exploits would win him.
Still, despite Scott’s enthusiasm for talking about himself, Loth did manage to learn the names of the others. Ada was the dwarf, which he’d picked up in the cells, and Dave was the orc. The teenage elf was called Calarian. Ada had joined the quest because Scott had promised to pay her. Dave didn’t seem exactly sure of why he was there and what he was supposed to be doing. Calarian’s mum had thrown him out of home, telling him to stop sitting around playing Houses and Humans and get out and find a job.
“What happened to the collectivist part of collectivist anarchists?” Grub muttered.
“I heard that!” Calarian sneered. “I have exceptional hearing!”
“Of course you do. You have ears shaped like a bat’s,” Loth muttered.
“I quit!” Calarian said. “I’m going home!”
“You can’t leave! An elf adds class, it’ll sound good in the ballads,” Scott insisted. “The fearless leader and his brave band of merry men.” He flinched as Ada cleared her throat loudly. “Persons.”
Personally, Loth thought brave was a stretch. Merry was pushing it as well. Calarian was whining about the sun ruining his complexion, Ada looked ready to murder Scott at any given moment, (although that seemed to be the effect Scott had on people generally), and Dave vacillated between confusion as to why he was here and elation that there were two of them and he’d got it right.
And Grub? He was downright sulking.
“Listen,” Loth said, turning his head so that only Grub could hear his words, “I know you wanted to play the prince, but let me do it, alright? I’ve got the better look for it.”
Grub simmered at a low boil behind him. “You seem awfully sure I’m not the prince!” he hissed in Loth’s ear.
Loth snorted. “Of course I’m sure.” He gestured to the empty street behind them. “If you were the prince, my dear Grub, then why the hell is there nobody chasing us?”
He had the reward of Grub’s silence for the rest of the ride out of town.
Chapter Two
The rescue party had arrived shortly after dawn, which struck Loth as odd. Odd, and inconvenient, because for all the accommodations were terrible in dungeons, the breakfasts were usually decent, and now he’d missed his. “I’m hungry,” he muttered.
Grub made a noncommittal sound, probably still brooding.
Loth let him sulk, more interested in the matter at hand—that was to say, his lack of breakfast. “Tell me, Scott, where are we stopping?”
Scott startled at being addressed. “Stopping?”
They were about an hour’s ride from town now, and there was no sign of pursuit, so Loth didn’t think his request was particularly egregious.
“For a meal. My royal disposition is quite delicate. If I don’t eat soon I may faint, and that will definitely slow us down.”
“Or we could roll you into the reeds and leave you behind,” Grub muttered, and my, wasn’t he an annoying little tick of a thing? Speaking of ticks…
“Also, I believe my young saddle mate is infested with something,” Loth announced. “He’s done nothing but scratch and squirm since we started riding. Probably caught something while making time with his barnyard friends.”
“I have not! I’m just itchy from the straw!”
“Hmmm. Regardless, I think we should stop somewhere with fresh water and rinse the lad off. And maybe eat?” Loth wasn’t silly, and knew who was really in charge despite Scott’s posturing, so he addressed this last to Ada.
She gave a curt nod. “There’s food in the cart. We left it near the river.”