Two years ago, with Druss now fifteen, they had come to Skoda. But even here the ghost remained -born again, it seemed, into the boy.
‘What can I do, Alithae?’ he asked.
Patica entered the cabin, holding three fresh loaves in her arms. She was a large woman with a round pleasant face framed by auburn hair. She saw the glove and tried to mask the hurt she felt. ‘Did you see Druss?’ she asked.
‘Aye, I did. He says he’ll try to curb his temper.’
‘Give him time. Rowena will calm him.’
Hearing the thunder of hooves outside, Bress placed the glove on the table and moved to the door. Armed men were riding into the village, swords in their hands.
Bress saw Rowena running into the settlement, her dress hitched up around her thighs. She saw the raiders and tried to turn away but a horseman bore down on her. Bress ran into the open and leapt at the man, pulling him from the saddle. The rider hit the ground hard, losing his grip on his sword. Bress snatched it up, but a lance pierced his shoulder and with a roar of anger he twisted round and the lance snapped. Bress lashed out with the sword. The rider fell back, and the horse reared.
Riders surrounded him, with lances levelled.
In that instant Bress knew he was about to die. Time froze for him. He saw the sky, filled with lowering clouds, and smelled the new-mown grass of the meadows. Other raiders were galloping through the settlement, and he heard the screams of the dying villagers. Everything they had built was for nothing. A terrible anger raged inside him. Gripping the sword, he let out the battle-cry of Bardan.
‘Blood and death!’ he bellowed.
And charged.
*
Deep within the woods Druss leaned on his axe, a rare smile on his normally grim face. Above him the sun shone through a break in the clouds, and he saw an eagle soaring, golden wings seemingly aflame. Druss removed his sweat-drenched linen headband, laying it on a stone to dry. Lifting a waterskin, he took a long drink. Nearby Pilan and Yorath laid aside their hatchets.
Soon Tailia and Berys would arrive with the haul-horses and the work would begin again, attaching the chains and dragging the timbers down to the village. But for now there was little to do but sit and wait. Druss opened the linen-wrapped package Rowena had given him that morning; within was a wedge of meat pie, and a large slice of honey cake.
‘Ah, the joys of married life!’ said Pilan.
Druss laughed. ‘You should have tried harder to woo her. Too late to be jealous now.’
‘She wouldn’t have me, Druss. She said she was waiting for a man whose face would curdle milk and that if she married me she would spend the rest of her life wondering which of her pretty friends would steal me from her. It seems her dream was to find the world’s ugliest man.’
His smile faded as he saw the expression on the woodsman’s face, and the cold gleam that appeared in his pale eyes. ‘Only jesting,’ said Pilan swiftly, the colour ebbing from his face.
Druss took a deep breath and, remembering his father’s warning, fought down his anger. ‘I am not. . . good with jests,’ he said, the words tasting like bile in his mouth.
‘No harm done,’ said Pilan’s brother, moving to sit alongside the giant. ‘But if you don’t mind my saying so, Druss, you need to develop a sense of humour. We all make jests at the expense of our . . . friends. It means nothing.’
Druss merely nodded and turned his attention to the pie. Yorath was right. Rowena had said exactly the same words, but from her it was easy to take criticism. With her he felt calm and the world had colour and joy. He finished the food and stood. ‘The girls should have been here by now,’ he said.
‘I can hear horses,’ said Pilan, rising.
‘They’re coming fast,’ Yorath added.
Tailia and Berys came running into the clearing, their faces showing fear, their heads turning towards the unseen horsemen. Druss snatched his axe from the stump and ran towards them as Tailia, looking back, stumbled and fell.