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)
He lay there, staring into the darkness. He'd heard drunken men complain about Eudora. Farmers wondering what would happen if the rumors proved true. A merchant who'd heard whispers at the port. Now a respected chieftain was questioning whether the woman sitting on Morra Mist's throne belonged there.
Someone was stirring trouble. Creagan was certain of it now, yet still no summons.
He folded his hands behind his head. “What are you waiting for, Eudora?”
He had barely finished the thought when everything around him seemed to fall away.
Then the words came.
“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.
Creagan sat up and for several moments he said nothing.
Then a slow grin spread across his face. “About time.”
Chapter Twelve
Legion, Torden, & Creagan
Legion saw the three oaks through the trees long before he reached them.
They had stood there longer than anyone could remember, their massive trunks scarred by centuries of wind and weather, their roots twisting through the earth and tangling together until it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began. High above, their branches stretched toward one another, forming a canopy so thick that little sunlight reached the ground beneath them.
Legion stopped beneath the largest oak and waited.
He didn't wait long.
A figure appeared between the trees.
Legion recognized Torden before he could make out his face. Few men possessed his size, and fewer still carried a claymore of that length across their back as though it weighed no more than a walking stick.
Torden spotted him and stopped.
For a moment neither man moved.
Years had passed since they'd last stood face-to-face, yet Legion had no trouble recognizing the man he'd fought beside more times than he cared to remember.
Then Torden grinned.
Legion did the same.
They closed the distance between them, clasped forearms, and Torden pulled him into a hard embrace, Legion returning it with equal force.
Torden stepped back and looked him over. “You're getting old.”
“So are you.”
“Nay. I'm as handsome as ever.”
Legion laughed, something he hadn't expected to do when he'd begun this journey. “You were never handsome.”
“Women disagree.”
“They're being kind.”
Torden shook his head. “Years apart and your disposition hasn't improved.”
“Neither has yours.”
But Legion was glad to see him, more than glad. There were few men in this world he trusted without question. Fewer still who knew him for what he truly was and had stood beside him when death seemed certain.
Torden was one of them.
Torden's amusement faded as his gaze settled more carefully on Legion. “Did you expect it?”
“Nay,” Legion said, shaking his head. “You?”
“Nay, though I should have. It was only a matter of time.”
Legion understood.
Torden looked around the grove again, and this time Legion knew exactly who he was searching for.
“Where is he?”
Legion shrugged. “I don't know.”
Torden frowned.
They both looked toward the path.
“Creagan should have been the first of us here,” Legion said.
Of the three of them, he was the only one who had remained in Morra Mist. Wherever his wandering had taken him, he could not have been farther from the meeting place than either Legion or Torden had been when the summons reached them.
Torden shook his head. “A woman.”
Legion glanced at him. “Possibly two.”
“Knowing Creagan, probably two.”
Legion could not help but smile. “He'll claim they wouldn't let him leave.”
“And expect us to believe him,” Torden said, fighting his own smile.
They waited a while longer.
Still no Creagan.
The humor gradually faded.
Whatever woman—or women—Creagan had found along the way, he knew the summons had come. And Creagan might enjoy life's pleasures more than either of them, but he knew when something mattered.
Torden finally looked at Legion. “We find him.”
“Aye. We find him as usual.”
They found Creagan in Dunsire.
Legion should have known.
The tavern was crowded, every table occupied and the benches packed with men and women sharing ale and conversation. A fire burned in the broad hearth despite the mild early-fall evening, and candles set in iron holders along the walls added their flickering light to the room. Serving lasses wove skillfully between tables carrying tankards and bowls while voices rose and fell around them, occasionally drowned out by a burst of laughter.
Near the hearth, four men crowded around a table throwing dice, their cheers and curses drawing spectators, while in one corner a fiddler played a lively tune that few seemed to be listening to, but several patrons tapped their feet to anyway.
Legion and Torden paused inside the door, searching through the crowded room.
Torden spotted him first.
“There.”
Legion followed his gaze.
Creagan sat at a table near the rear of the room with a pretty, dark-haired woman pressed close against his side. She was whispering something in his ear, her hand resting comfortably on his thigh.
Creagan laughed at whatever she'd said.
Torden looked at Legion. “One.”
Legion laughed. “Give him time.”
They made their way through the crowded room.