Knights of Dark Renown Read Free Page B

another... and another. The flight was ungainly now.
    ‘No!’ screamed Lug, raising a slender hand to point at the struggling bird. Ruad watched in amazement as two fragile bronze feathers which had dropped from the bird reversed their flight and pinned themselves to the wings once more. For a few seconds the hawk steadied. Then the wings snapped shut and it plummeted to the ground, lifeless and ruined. Lug ran to it, gathering the feathers and cradling the twisted body.
    Ruad Ro-fhessa came up silently, laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Do not let this dismay you, Lug. My first bird did not even make the window. It was a great achievement.’
    ‘But I wanted it to live,’ he protested.
    ‘I know. And it did; it found the sky. Next time we will check the neck joints more thoroughly.’
    ‘Next time?’ repeated Lug sadly. ‘I reach the Age next week. There is no place for me in the House and I shall be sold.’
    ‘That is next week. Many things can happen,’ said Ruad. ‘Bring the bird back to the forge and we will see what can be saved.’
    ‘I think I will run away. I will join Llaw Gyffes.’
    ‘Stronghand may not be an easy man to follow - but we will talk about this on another day. Trust me, Lug. And now let us see to the bird.’
    Ruad watched as the youth wandered the hillside gathering the fragments of metal. The feathers had fallen away - and then reversed their flight - albeit for only a few seconds. Yet Lug had only reached the Yellow, the least of the Colours.
    Back at the workshop, they left the bronze fragments and sat by the fireside. Lug was silent and sorrowful.
    ‘Tell me,’ said Ruad softly. ‘What did you feel when you shouted to the sky?’
    The youth looked up. ‘Despair,’ he answered simply.
    ‘No, I mean at the moment when you screamed.’
    Lug shrugged. ‘I do not know what you mean, sir. I... wanted it to fly.’
    ‘Did you notice what happened when you called out to it?’
    ‘No. It fell.’
    ‘Not immediately,’ said Ruad. ‘It tried to gather itself; in some way you were still linked with it. But you say you felt nothing. What Colour did you feel? Was it the Blue?’
    Lug sat for a moment, trying to remember. ‘No, it was the Yellow. I can only reach the other Colours through you, sir.’
    ‘No matter, Lug. I will think on it. It is almost time for you to be going; your free time ends at dusk, does it not?’
    ‘I have a little while,’ said the youth. ‘Marshin says the family will not return from Furbolg until tomorrow. They are bringing guests for the auction.’
    ‘It may not be as bad as you think,’ offered Ruad. ‘There are many good Houses. The Lady Dianu may need a house servant - or the Lord Errin. Both have good names for their treatment of slaves.’
    ‘Why should I be a slave?’ Lug snapped. ‘Why? The empire has gone. All the lands are now being ruled by peoples who were once slaves. Why should I remain? It isn’t fair!’
    ‘Life has a habit of not being fair, boy. The Fomorian War was the last, and you were a victim of it. But you will have an opportunity to buy your freedom; it is not so bad a life.’
    ‘Have you ever been a slave, sir?’
    ‘Only to my Craft,’ admitted Ruad. ‘But that does not count, does it? You were taken... what, five years ago? How old were you? Ten, eleven? It is the way of things, Lug. Wars cost money and that is recouped by plunder and slavery. The Gabala fought that war for national pride, for the right to give away their empire and not have it taken from them. You were one of the last victims. I know it is not fair, but a man who goes through life complaining about fairness will make nothing of himself. Trust me on this, boy. There are three kinds of men: winners, losers and fighters; The winners are blessed by the Colours; no matter what they do, life treats them like gods. The losers waste their energies whining like scolded children; they will amount to nothing. The fighters keep their swords sharp