The Exile Read Online Free PDF

young Dian is like, and Fionn, and you for that matter. We look at you and we see the future, lad. It behoves us to pay a great deal of attention to your exploits. Believe me, you took the wood right out of his pecker. If he's anything like his father Wide Mouth's going to nurse that grudge. So take care of yourself, boy."
    Sláine saw Brand helping a dazed Cullen to his feet. Wide Mouth had never been particularly easy on the eye but Sláine had left him with a face even his mother would find it difficult to love. Cullen lifted his head and stared straight at Sláine. The animosity in his glare was venomous.
    Sláine knew that Gorian was right. Sláine had humiliated Cullen. He knew Wide Mouth well enough to know that he wouldn't rest until he had returned the favour.
     
    He didn't have to wait long.
    Wide Mouth dragged himself to Sláine's champion's feast. He hadn't cleaned the blood from his face. He walked unsteadily into the roundhouse and pushed his way through to where Sláine sat, beside Grudnew and Gorian, claiming the hero's portion. Thick meaty juices ran between his fingers as he tore at the succulent rack of lamb. He licked his fingers, smacking his lips even as he tore another hunk of meat free from the bone. The meat was cooked to perfection: crisp on the outside and pink and juicy at the core. It peeled away in his fingers and melted in his Mouth.
    "You have no right!" Cullen bellowed, slumping against the side of a table and needing its support to keep from falling. "You cheated! You broke the laws of combat by delivering blows after the white flag. You are a coward and a cheat, Sláine Mac Roth, and I demand my right as winner of the games. I demand the hero's portion."
    Sláine tore another strip of meat from the bone and tossed it onto the floor at Wide Mouth's feet.
    "Your share of the spoils, Wide Mouth. Eat it. Lap it up like a dog. Go on, get down on your knees. Eat the scraps from my plate, loser. It is all you are good for, grubbing around in the dirt, begging."
    Cullen snarled as Fionn, Dian, Cormac, Niall and Núada all moved to stand between their friends.
    "Enough," Cormac said.
    One of the Red Branch warriors caught hold of Wide Mouth's arm and held him firm. "Aye, the lad has the right of it, son. Get yerself away home. No good's gonna come of this here fight."
    "I don't need you to tell me what to do, old man. Get your hands off me!"
    "Calm down, laddie, yer don't want this gettin' any uglier than it already is."
    "Oh just shut up you drunken fool. This is between me and him!" Cullen levelled an accusing finger at Sláine. "Do I need to come up there and get you, coward?"
    "Did I damage your brain with the pounding I gave that thick skull of yours? Do I need to come down there and beat you again? I will if you want me to. I'll beat you to a bloody pulp so you never walk again if it will make you shut the hell up." Sláine laid aside the stripped bone and tore another rib free from the rack.
    "Enough, children," Grudnew said, the calm authority of his voice cutting across theirs easily. He was not amused. "In defeat, you need to learn grace, Cullen Mac Conn; in victory you need to learn humility, Sláine Mac Roth. There is more to being a great warrior than winning your battles. A great man carries himself with dignity. He doesn't stoop to name calling and throwing his fists around. He doesn't humiliate his foe; he befriends him so they need be foes no more. You both have a lot to learn, but that is unsurprising. For all your exploits on the games field today you are still children. You will learn, and I would wager that there are plenty of people willing to beat that learning into you, if needs be. Look at your friends. Right now each one of them is more of a man than either of you. You might have beaten them on the tournament field, but in life they have the measure of you. They have shown great courage in putting themselves between you. You could learn from them. Now, both of you, out of my