Neoloth called to Aros, who rode a half length ahead. “You have passed this way?” he asked. Aros nodded. Both wizard and barbarian rode brown stallions more spirited than the four packhorses following them, or the tiny, sure-footed mule carrying Fandy. “I was with the desert peoples south of here for half a year.” “Thieving, no doubt.” Neoloth regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. He just couldn’t seem to stop himself from digging at his sun-bronzed companion. He noted the easy way Aros rode his horse, more centaur than soldier. The barbarian filled his leather tunic to perfection, arms swelling out of the diagonally cut sleeves. Neoloth realized that some of what he felt was anger … but another bit was pure jealousy. Neoloth’s elf Fandy rescued him from his thoughts. As he had for the last three days, the elf continued to drill Aros on his new assumed identity. “What is your name?” he asked. “Elio.” “What is your mother’s name?” he asked.
