"David Gemmell - Druss 01 - Druss the Legend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

mountains.

Chapter One
The axe was four feet long, with a ten-pound head, the blade flared, and sharp
as any sword. The haft was of elm, beautifully curved, and more than forty
years old. For most men it was a heavy tool, unwieldy and imprecise. But in
the hands of the dark-haired young man who stood before the towering beech it
sang through the air, seemingly as light as a sabre. Every long swing saw the
head bite exactly where the woodsman intended, deeper and deeper into the meat
of the trunk.
Druss stepped back, then glanced up. There were
several heavy branches jutting towards the north. He moved around the tree,
gauging the line where it would fall, then returned to his work. This was the
third tree he had tackled today and his muscles ached, sweat gleaming on his
naked back. His short-cropped black hair was soaked with perspiration that
trickled over his brow, stinging his ice-blue eyes. His mouth was dry, but he
was determined to finish the task before allowing himself the reward of a
cooling drink.
Some way to his left the brothers Pilan and Yorath
were sitting on a fallen tree, laughing and talking, their hatchets beside
them. Theirs was the task of stripping the trunks, hacking away smaller
branches and limbs that could be used for winter firewood. But they stopped
often and Druss could hear them discussing the merits and alleged vices of the
village girls. They were handsome youths, blond and tall, sons of the
blacksmith, Tetrin. Both were witty and intelligent, and popular among the
girls.
Druss disliked them. To his right several of the older
boys were sawing through the larger branches of the first tree Druss had
felled, while elsewhere young girls were gathering deadwood, kindling for
winter fires, and loading them to wheelbarrows to be pushed downhill to the
village.
At the edge of the new clearing stood the four
workhorses, hobbled now and grazing, waiting for the trees to be cleaned so
that chain traces could be attached to the trunks for the long haul into the
valley. Autumn was fading fast, and the village elders were determined that
the new perimeter wall would be finished before winter. The frontier mountains
of Skoda boasted only one troop of Drenai cavalry, patrolling an area of a
thousand square miles. Raiders, cattle thieves, slavers, robbers and outlaws
roamed the mountains, and the ruling council in Drenai made it clear they
would accept no responsibility for the new settlements on the Vagrian borders.
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