Conor Dillon – Beginnings Excerpt 11
‘ What I propose,’ said my Mother, ‘ Is that Michael will stay here and assist Shamus with your training, and on your seventeenth birthday, you will leave to journey to France and present yourself to your real Father, and possibly find the man who ordered the man you knew as your Father’s death.’
‘ If I find him, I will kill him, No matter who he is?’ I stated with conviction. ‘Unless I find him first?’ said Michael, ‘ He owes me a life!’. And so the die was cast, both Michael and Shamus would continue to train me and when I left for France, Michael would go with me as my bodyguard.
Black Michael Fallon at Six foot Four inches tall cut an imposing figure on any battlefield or anywhere else for that matter. He was a very soft – spoken man, with a very quick temper, only a fool would cross him and few lived to tell the tale. Originally quite a handsome man, Michael now had several scars on his face and body, testament to the fact that wherever the fighting was the thickest, you would find Michael in the middle of it, He lived for action.
He had black hair, hence the name, which also suited his calling, he had pale blue eyes and a quiet manner, but never underestimate him, he was a warrior in every sense of the word. Black Michael was a very good man to have as a friend, but a terrible man to have as an enemy. He was a fearless fighter and was proficient in the use and care of a variety of weapons.
He had been a soldier since he was old enough to bear arms, he had fought in many wars, against many opponents, he had scars but he was alive, many of his opponents were not. Michael for all his size and strength was a quiet man, he was known by his compatriots as a man to be feared, but he was not a braggart like others would be, he was aware of his capabilities, he had no need to brag.
(C) Damian Grange 2018