The Exile Read Online Free PDF Page A

if he was indeed the warped demon Dian had depicted him as.
    Sláine put his boot on Cullen's chest and pinned him to the dirt, claiming his victory.
    "Crom's balls, that was harsh," someone said, finally.
    Then someone else said, "Was that Roth's boy? He's got a hell of a temper."
    And someone else said, "You bet he has. That lad'll make a hell of a Red Brancher."
    Sláine smiled. He had done it. They had seen him. They knew what he had within him. He walked away, leaving Wide Mouth sprawled in the dirt, with his arms and legs splayed out like some cheap whore begging for business.
    He walked through the crowd, seeking out his king. They people parted around him. A few patted him on the back as he passed. None stood in his way. He could hear woodland sounds, forest sounds, earth sounds, all around him - the crowd was so quiet. These weren't tranquil sounds. He heard nature coming alive. He heard predators stalking and killing succulent prey. He felt empty inside: dead. The thrill of the earth's power had left him a hollow shell of a man. He walked woodenly through the press of people, unwilling to believe what had happened - what he had done. It was as if a dark spirit had found its way into his skin and turned him into a stranger. He didn't know himself. He could see his friends looking at him, although none of them looked at him the way they used to. Now their eyes were clouded with fear. They had seen what he had done to Cullen of the Wide Mouth. He knew what they were thinking. They were thinking that if he could do that to Cullen what was he capable of doing to them?
    The worst thing was that he couldn't find it in himself to blame them.
    He would have been thinking the same thing, in their place.
    It frightened him.
    Sláine found Grudnew standing with Gobhan and Gorian. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
    "Well, Sláine Mac Roth, you are full of surprises," the king said. "You fought well and the honour is yours. Rise."
    "He fought like a dog," Gobhan spat derisively. Sláine didn't rise to the bait. Gobhan was only looking for an excuse to bring him down a peg or two.
    "That may be so," Gorian agreed, "but he walked away victorious. I would trade grace for a butcher's instinct in my warriors every day of the week."
    "Is that what you are, lad? A butcher?" Grudnew asked, studying Sláine.
    "No, sire. I am the mountain. I am the river," Sláine said earnestly.
    The new king smiled. "You'll do well, lad," he said after a moment. "Now come on, stand up. A man doesn't debase himself longer than he must, even before a king. Let the sycophants bow and scrape. Warriors stand tall."
    "Sire."
    Sláine stood. His hands trembled. He wasn't frightened. It was a peculiar thing; with the threat long gone his body finally allowed the fear to catch up. He looked at his hands, fascinated by their treachery.
    "That's an interesting design," Gorian said as Sláine straightened. "Quite elaborate." The warlord pointed at the warped figure emerging from behind the endless knot. "What is it? Some kind of warped demon of the aether?"
    "I don't know, lord. My friend drew it. I wanted him to make me look scary."
    "Oh, he did that, son. You're a sight to drive the fear of the Horned God into a soul, take my word for it." And as he said it Sláine heard the honesty in Gorian's voice. The warlord wasn't mocking him. He felt pride colour his cheeks, and was grateful for Dian's woad taking the sting out of the blush.
    "Thank you," he said.
    The old warlord leaned in close. "You gave young Cullen a sound beating, lad. Today was supposed to be his day. It didn't work out that way and you are the reason for that. He isn't going to thank you and I doubt very much that he will forgive you, either." Sláine nodded and started to say something. Gorian held up a finger. "Don't think we haven't seen him lording it over you boys," Gorian interrupted. "We aren't blind and we aren't fools. We know exactly what he's like, just as we know exactly what