Read Sword Mountain for Free Online

light.
    â€œToday we are painting,” the tutor explained. “Class, we have a new pupil.” He nodded to the eaglets, who were still staring, transfixed.
    â€œWho’s she?” a short, pudgy male eaglet in the front row shouted, pointing at her with a dripping paintbrush.
    â€œMy name is Dandelion,” she answered.
    â€œI can’t hear you, what title is that? Speak up!” the eaglet taunted her.
    â€œOh, don’t be silly, Pudding.” Olga spoke from the back row. “She has no title.”
    During the awkward silence, Simplicio shut his classroom door. “If you’d like to know, Master Pouldington, Dandelion is from the valley. She has just recovered from terrible injuries; that is why she is here at all. I hope you will treat her accordingly.” Simplicio turned around. “Do you know how to paint, child? Laws of perspective, ratios, the balance of light and shadow?” Dandelion shook her head. “I thought not!” Simplicio clucked his tongue in satisfaction. “You will hardly be able to catch up.”
    Dandelion was rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do and feeling hopelessly awkward. She did not spy any empty seat in the rows of painting eaglets. There was no extra easel. Olga made a face at her and Pudding still stared at her.
    â€œShe can be the model!” Pudding called. Olga screeched in agreement. “We can paint her today, and she’ll just sit there!” He pointed to the brightly lit, lonely stool in front of everybird.
    â€œExcellent. That will do. Come, child.” Simplicio clapped his wings, pushing Dandelion to the seat. “It’s quite an honor for you. To my knowledge, most valley birds never get a portrait of themselves painted in their lifetimes.” Tittering came from the class. Dandelion perched on the stool, the wood hard and cold in her talons. Simplicio fussed over the position of her wings, the tilt of her head, and then arranged the lantern till the light beamed to his satisfaction. For once, Dandelion yearned to have the bandages back to hide her body.
    â€œYes, class, this is a fine specimen of a valley bird. I expect your paintings will fully reflect the differences between the appearance of the golden eagles on the mountaintop and those in the valley. Pay attention to the darker coloring of her plumage. Anything else, do you see? Yes, Master Pouldington.”
    â€œThey have a hulky, bulky body but a tiny head.” Pudding said. Olga whooped out loud. Giggles came from other birds hiding their faces behind their easels. “They have squarish beaks and swollen feet.” Pudding lifted a talon and wiggled his toes to demonstrate. Half the class again suppressed their laughter, while the other half waited for the tutor’s reaction, though he rarely scolded the young noble, since Pudding’s father, the treasurer, was the one who paid the tutor his wages.
    Simplicio merely bleated, “Very observant, Master Pouldington. And Dandelion, please don’t move.”
    Dandelion felt tears sting her eyes. “Why don’t you look in a mirror!” she lashed back.
    â€œOh!” The breaths of the young nobility were one swift, hostile wind, flickering the lantern.
    Simplicio stumbled toward her, a willow rod in his claws, his raspy voice rising in a screech like chalk on a blackboard. “I advise you, miss, to wash your beak of that mud of the uneducated. Speak properly to the son of the treasurer.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œEnough!” Simplicio cried. “Life is not fair, and teachers are here to enforce that.” The venerable tutor, so rickety in his movements, hit with startling deftness. Whack! Whack! Whack! Thrice, hard, across her talons. Her toes now really swelled.
    She held back the burning tears. If they thought they could gloat over her tears, they would be disappointed. She sat painfully straight, faced off to one direction, the lantern