Kultin strutted up to Gareth, stood over him, and Gareth waved his hand at an empty seat.
“Sit,” Gareth said.
“I will stand,” Kultin said back curtly.
Kultin scowled down at Gareth, and Gareth could hear the strength in his voice, and knew that this Lord was unlike the others. He was fierce, filled with bloodlust, ready to kill anyone and anything at the drop of a dime. He was exactly the type of man that Gareth wanted around.
Gareth smiled, pleased for the first time this day.
“You know why I have summoned you?” Gareth asked.
“I could guess,” Kultin answered, terse.
“I have decided to elevate you,” Gareth said. “You will be elevated beyond even the King’s Men, beyond even The Silver. From now on, you will be my personal guard. The King’s Elite. You and your five hundred warriors will be given the choicest meat, the choicest lodging and the venerable Silver Hall. The very best of everything.”
Kultin rubbed his beard.
“And what if I don’t wish to serve you?” he scowled back, challenging him, tightening his grip on his sword.
“You served my father.”
“You are not your father,” he replied.
“True,” Gareth said. “But I am far richer than he, and I pay far more handsomely. Ten times what he paid you. You and your men will live in King’s Court. You will answer to me personally—there will be no one above you. You will bring riches back to your province beyond what you’d ever imagine.”
Kultin stood there, rubbing his beard, and finally reached down and pounded a fist on the table.
“Twenty times,” he replied. “And we will kill anyone you like upon your command. We will guard you with our lives, whether you deserve it or not. And we will kill anyone who comes near you.”
“Anyone,” Gareth insisted. “King’s soldiers or not. The Silver or not. If I tell you to kill them, you will do so.”
For the first time, Kultin smiled.
“I don’t care who I kill. As long as the price is high enough.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thor sat at the long banquet table in the Hall of Arms, surrounded by his Legion brothers, his close friends, by scores of the Silver, Kendrick across from him, Kolk and Brom nearby, and he felt more at home than he ever had in his life. The day had been a whirlwind. Before today, they had still looked at him as something of an outsider, or at best, as just another Legion member. But after today, he could see from their every glance, from the way they addressed him, that they looked at him as one of theirs. As an equal. These men, whom he had always admired, were giving him the respect he had strived for his entire life. There was nothing he’d ever wanted more than just to be here, to sit with these men, to fight by their side, and to be accepted by them.
Thor felt more weary than he’d ever had, having been awake for nearly two straight days, his body covered in bruises and cuts and scrapes, having not stopped for he did not know how long; physically, a part of him just wanted to collapse, to go to sleep and not wake for a week. But he caught a second wind, and these men and boys were more festive than he’d ever seen them. A great tension had broken, and relief filled the room. It was more than relief: it was joy. The joy of victory. The joy of saving their homeland. And it all had to do with Thor.
One after the other, members of the Silver came by, draped an arm around Thor, patted him on the back, shook him roughly, clasped forearms, and called him “Thorgrinson.” It was a title of respect, one usually reserved for adults, implying that Thor was a famed warrior. It was a title usually reserved for an elite warrior. If ever the Legion boys had used that title amongst themselves, it had been in jest; but now, these men used it with Thor with seriousness.
As another mug of frothing ale was put into Thor’s hand, he took a long drink, feeling it go to his head; then he reached out and took a huge chunk of the venison laid out before him. He was starving, but first he bent over and handed this chunk to Krohn, who happily snatched it from his hand. Thor took another piece for himself, and he chewed and chewed, starving. The food was delicious.
Serving girls, barely clothed, passed by the rows of