Chapter 12
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.
Creagan’s grin widened when he saw them approach. “Well, look what finally arrived.”
Torden stopped beside the table. “Finally?”
“I've been waiting for you.”
“With great hardship, I see,” Legion said.
Creagan glanced at the woman beside him. “I make the best of difficult circumstances.”
She laughed.
Creagan whispered something to her that earned him a kiss on the cheek before she rose from the bench.
“I'll see you later?” she asked.
“If fortune favors me.”
She smiled and walked away.
Torden watched her go before taking his place on the bench. “Fortune seems to favor you often.”
“I've always considered myself blessed.”
Legion sat opposite them.
For a moment the three men simply looked at one another.
Creagan's amusement softened. “It has been a long time.”
“Aye,” Legion said.
“Too long,” Torden added.
Creagan lifted his tankard. “Then we should drink to finding one another again.”
Torden caught the attention of a serving lass and ordered ale.
Only after three tankards had been set before them and they'd raised them together did Torden look at Creagan.
“So, what did you find out?”
Creagan's brow rose.
Legion leaned back. “You heard the summons. You knew where to meet us. You were already in Morra Mist, yet you weren't there.”
“And neither of you believed a beautiful woman might have detained me?”
“We did,” Torden said.
“Two beautiful women,” Legion corrected.
Creagan looked pleased. “It's good to know you both still think so highly of me.”
“But you weren't late because of a woman,” Legion said.
Creagan's smile faded. “Nay.”
Torden leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “So, what did you find out?”
Creagan took a drink before answering. “Someone wants Queen Eudora off the throne.”
Neither man spoke.
“The question is who,” Creagan continued, “and why.”
“You're certain?” Legion asked.
“Certain enough that respectable men who should know better are beginning to question whether she's the legitimate queen.”
Torden frowned. “On what grounds?”
“That's the interesting part. No one seems to know.”
Legion's eyes narrowed.
“Exactly,” Creagan said. “Rumors are moving through Morra Mist faster than the truth can catch them. I've heard them from farmers, merchants, men in taverns and chieftains. Everyone has heard something. No one knows where it started.”
“Or who started it,” Torden said.
“Not even a hint,” Creagan said.
Legion glanced around the crowded tavern settling on the woman who had just left Creagan’s side. “And the woman?”
Creagan smiled. “She works in the castle kitchens.”
Torden stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.
Legion laughed.
Creagan spread his hands. “What? A man can enjoy his work.”
“What did she tell you?” Legion asked.
“That the castle knows something is coming. Guards have been increased. The queen has been meeting privately with men she appears to trust, and more messages than usual have been coming and going.”
Torden reached for his ale. “So, she didn't summon us because of rumors.”
“Nay,” Creagan said. “Whatever is happening, I think the queen knows more than anyone else does.”
Legion looked toward the tavern door. “Then perhaps it's time we find out what.”
Creagan shook his head. “Not yet.”
Torden's brow rose. “The queen summoned us.”
“And she's waited this long,” Creagan said. “She can wait another day.”
Legion studied him. “You think there's more to learn.”
“I think we're sitting in the town where the rumors appear to be spreading fastest. It would be foolish to walk into the castle before we learn what we can.”
Torden considered that, then nodded. “One day.”
“One day,” Legion agreed.
Creagan lifted his tankard. “Excellent. Now that that's settled, we can finish our ale.”
Torden shook his head. “Some things never change.”
Creagan grinned. “And you should both be grateful for it.”