Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Thunder.
Torden slowly lifted his head. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Another rumble rolled across the darkness, deeper this time, and something old and long buried stirred inside him.
Torden went still. “Nay.”
The word disappeared into the night. Then a woman's voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
“War that conquers, thunder that roars,
The final strike when kingdoms fall.
By debt unbroken, by promise bound,
Hear my voice and heed my call.
I summon thee to me… Queen Eudora of Morra Mist.”
Silence returned.
Torden remained where he was, staring into the darkness.
It had been years since he heard those words.
His gaze moved to his house, then the forge, and finally toward the stable where Sorcha slept.
His peace.
Torden released a slow breath.
And now he wondered what the summons would demand of him.
Chapter Seven
Legion
The last of daylight was fading when Legion came upon the castle. It was smaller than most he had encountered during his travels, built atop a low rise with a squat stone tower at its center and a wall enclosing the buildings around it. The gate remained open, though two, armed guards stepped forward as he approached.
Legion stopped before them. “I seek a meal and a place to rest for the night.”
One guard looked him over, his attention settling briefly on Legion's sword. “You a warrior?”
“I've fought.”
The man's gaze returned to Legion's face. “Chieftain Shamus might have use for you.”
“I didn't come looking for work.”
“You want a bed beneath his roof, then you'll speak with him.”
Legion considered continuing on. He'd slept beneath trees and open skies more nights than he could count. One more would make little difference. But he'd been traveling since shortly after dawn with little to eat.
“Take me to him.”
The guard led him through the busy bailey and into the castle. Rather than taking him directly to the Great Hall, he brought Legion to a small chamber where an older man sat behind a table studying several pieces of parchment.
The guard went to the chieftain and leaned down to whisper in his ear. The chieftain looked up, his gaze lingering on Legion.
The guard stepped aside but waited not far from the chieftain.
“You've the look of a man who's seen his share of fighting,” the chieftain said.
“I have.”
More than his share but he would not admit that to the chieftain or to anyone.
Something in the answer appeared to interest the chieftain.
“I've a problem with one of my warriors.”
Legion shrugged. “Then deal with him.”
The chieftain leaned back in his chair. “I've tried.”
Legion waited, though it was easy to know what the chieftain was thinking.
“He's a good fighter. Strong. Fearless when there's a blade coming at him. I'd rather not lose him…”
Legion filled in the pause. “But?”
“He's decided being useful gives him leave to do whatever he pleases. He drinks too much, starts fights with the other men, frightens the servants, and challenges anyone who objects. He's large enough that most think twice before crossing him.”
“And you allow it?”
The chieftain's expression hardened. “Not anymore.”
Legion understood. “You want me to kill him?”
“Nay,” the chieftain said, shaking his head. ”I told you I’d rather not lose him. I want you to teach him something my men haven't managed to.”
“And what is that?” Legion asked, though he knew.
“That being the strongest man in the room doesn't give him the right to torment everyone else in it.”
An easy task for Legion, though he asked, “What do I get in exchange?”
“A good meal, as much ale as you want, and a bed for the night.”
“A private chamber,” Legion said, having no intention of spending the night surrounded by snoring warriors.
The chieftain's brow rose and he thought briefly before answering, “Done.”
The Great Hall was crowded when Legion entered with the chieftain. Men filled the tables, ale flowed freely, and servants moved quickly among them.
Legion didn't need the chieftain to point out his problem. The man was easy enough to find. He stood beside one of the tables, broad through the shoulders and thick with muscle, laughing while another warrior wiped blood from his mouth.
The injured man didn't appear amused. Neither did the men around him.
Legion took an empty place at a nearby table.
A servant lass approached carrying a pitcher.
She was plainly dressed, skirt, blouse, apron, her dark hair pulled away from her face, a pretty one, in a braid, and she moved with the practiced efficiency of someone accustomed to serving a crowded hall.
She filled Legion's cup. “Your meal will be brought shortly.”
Legion nodded. “My thanks.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
Only briefly. But long enough for Legion to catch the surprise there before she lowered them again. Perhaps men didn't often thank her.
“Senna!”
The lass cringed before turning and hurrying off.
Legion watched her approach the large warrior.
“More ale.”
She reached for his cup, and he quickly seized her wrist instead. She went still.
“You've been avoiding my table.”
“Nay,” she said hastily.
“Are you calling me a liar?” he snapped close to her face.