But thoughts of the perils of frontier life did not discourage the men and women who journeyed to Skoda. They sought a new life, far removed from the more civilised south and east, and built their homes where land was still free and wild, and where strong men did not need to tug the forelock nor bow when the nobles rode by.
Freedom was the key word, and no talk of raiders could deter them.
Druss hefted his axe, then thundered the blade into the widening notch. Ten times more he struck, deep into the base of the trunk. Then another ten smooth, powerful strokes. Three more axe-blows and the tree would groan and give, wrenching and tearing as she fell.
Stepping back he scanned the ground along the line of the fall. A movement caught his eye, and he saw a small child with golden hair sitting beneath a bush, a rag doll in her hand. ‘Kiris!’ bellowed Druss.’If you are not out of there by the time I count to three I’ll tear off your leg and beat you to death with the wet end! One! Two!’
The child’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening. Dropping her rag doll she scrambled clear of the bush and ran crying from the forest. Druss shook his head and walked forward to retrieve the doll, tucking it into his wide belt. He felt the eyes of the others on him, and guessed what they were thinking: Druss the Brute, Druss the Cruel – that’s how they saw him. And maybe they were right.
Ignoring them, he walked back to the tree and hefted his axe.
Only two weeks before he had been felling a tall beech, and had been called away with the work almost completed. When he returned it was to find Kiris sitting in the topmost branches with her doll, as always, beside her.
‘Come down,’ he had coaxed. The tree is about to fall.’
‘Won’t,’ said Kiris. ‘We like it here. We can see for ever.’
Druss had looked around, for once hoping that some of the village girls were close by. But there was no one. He examined the huge cleft in the trunk, a sudden wind could cause the trunk to topple. ‘Come down, there’s a good girl. You’ll be hurt if the tree falls.’
‘Why should it fall?’
‘Because I’ve been hitting it with my axe. Now come down.’
‘All right,’ she said, then started to climb down. The tree suddenly tilted and Kiris screamed and clung to a branch. Druss’s mouth was dry.
‘Quickly now,’ he said. Kiris said nothing, nor did she move. Druss swore and, setting his foot to a low knot, levered himself up to the first branch. Slowly and with great care he climbed the half-felled tree, higher and higher towards the child.
At last he reached her. ‘Put your arms around my neck,’ he commanded. She did so, and he began the climb down.
Half-way to the ground Druss felt the tree shudder – and snap. Leaping clear he hugged the child to him, then hit the ground, landing awkwardly with his left shoulder slamming into the soft earth. Shielded by his bulk, Kiris was unhurt, but Druss groaned as he rose.
‘Are you hurt?’ asked Kiris.
Druss’s pale eyes swung on the child. ‘If I catch you near my trees again, I shall feed you to the wolves!’ he roared. ‘Now begone!’ She had sprinted away as if her dress was on fire. Chuckling at the memory now, he hefted his axe and thundered the blade into the beech. A great groan came from the tree, a wrenching, tearing sound that drowned out the nearby thudding of hatchets and the sawing of boughs.
The beech toppled, twisting as it fell. Druss turned towards the water-sack hanging from a branch nearby; the felling of the tree signalled the break for the midday meal, and the village youngsters gathered in groups in the sunshine, laughing and joking. But no one approached Druss. His recent fight with the former soldier Alarm had unsettled them, and they viewed him even more warily than before. He sat alone, eating bread and cheese and taking long, cool swallows of water.