But they stopped often and Druss could hear them discussing the merits and alleged vices of the village girls. Theirs was the task of stripping the trunks, hacking away smaller branches and limbs that could be used for winter firewood. Some way to his left the brothers Pilan and Yorath were sitting on a fallen tree, laughing and talking, their hatchets beside them. His mouth was dry, but he was determined to finish the task before allowing himself the reward of a cooling drink. His short-cropped black hair was soaked with perspiration that trickled over his brow, stinging his ice-blue eyes. This was the third tree he had tackled today and his muscles ached, sweat gleaming on his naked back. He moved around the tree, gauging the line where it would fall, then returned to his work. There were several heavy branches jutting towards the north. Every long swing saw the head bite exactly where the woodsman intended, deeper and deeper into the meat of the trunk.ĭruss stepped back, then glanced up. 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. For most men it was a heavy tool, unwieldy and imprecise. The haft was of elm, beautifully curved, and more than forty years old. The axe was four feet long, with a ten-pound head, the blade flared and sharp as any sword.
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