161. Hunter and Prey (3).
161. Hunter and Prey (3).
"Depart-!"
[Buuuung-!]
A fierce voice and horn.
The horses that knew exactly what they had to do in this space surrounded by countless people kicked off the ground all at once.
[Iyaaaa-!]
[duguduk- duguduk-]
From the start, without a thought for pacing, amidst rough snorting and the riders' urging voices, one man and horse lagging farthest behind caught my eye.
[Pururuk-! Pururuk-!]
"Chu! Chu!"
Unlike the Norse riders and horses that gathered their strength by force, the brown horse moved smoothly, as a car gradually accelerates, as an airplane slowly gains altitude.
Even wild horses living on the plains ran in herds, with the foremost one as the leader, so the competitive spirit of these racehorses was beyond imagination, yet.
Without any hint of haste. The horse and rider who did not rush at all stayed at the tail of the pack until two laps of the long course with an uphill were done, then starting the third lap, they gradually began to push forward.
[Pururuk! Pururuk! Pururuk!]
"Hya! Hya! Hiya!"
The rhythm of their breathing quickened, and the space covered by their outstretched legs grew wider.
A competition never seen before in their lives, a sight never witnessed since they were born, excitement, thrill.
The breathing of the people quickened in unison, and the drinks or secretly brought food in their hands dropped here and there.
"Go! Go!"
"Run! Run!"
Even the VIP seats were no different; all the people pressed against the railing shouted and cheered until their throats seemed ready to burst.
The brown horse, which seemed to enjoy all that atmosphere, now became a single gust of wind.
[Dagudak! Dagudak! Dagudak! Dagudak!]
It dashed up the slope as if on flat ground, and down the hill faster than a bird in flight. Its strides were unhindered, and though it ran in a much wider arc than the others, as if mocking them, it fought only against its own shadow, snorting roughly.
Finally.
No opponent remained in front of it, and only the high-risen sun was left, making that brown mane appear like gold.
[Pururuk! Pururuk! Puruk-]
The horse and rider who dashed past so fast that the wind was felt on the faces of those standing nearby crossed the finish line, and the venue erupted again in cheers and excitement.
Waaaaah-!
A massive ovation that poured down until it vibrated on the skin.
Even after crossing the finish line, it ran one more lap, and then it shook its head as if throwing a tantrum at the rider, seeming to ask why they had stopped.
As I looked at Inga beside me, who was equally excited and delighted, I carefully harbored a question no one else seemed to have.
'... Strictly speaking, isn't that jockey an illegal entry...?'
The horse and rider who just displayed a tremendous late charge and received praise like "Golden horse!" "Dragon ship cast in gold!" were actually friends from our friendly neighbors, the Magyars.
They were the secret weapon brought by Jarl Haskuld, who was standing nearby, instantly becoming the center of attention and shouting "Thank you! Thank you!" again and again.
Kiev was far in distance and strong in independence, so I had given them autonomy to break away if needed, but Jarl Haskuld and even the city's Thing had shown no intention of doing so.
To have come struggling hard with five large merchant ships loaded with all sorts of people and supplies...
Anyway.
Since Magyar riders and horses had inserted themselves into the North Sea festival, the win might have been a foregone conclusion. No matter how much I raised a cavalry force, there were many constraints compared to the steppe.
'Oh dear.'
Seeing people so delighted... I supposed disqualification for illegal entry wouldn't do...
"Hrólfr. See to it that the jockey and all winners can meet me at the appropriate place. It would be good to make a golden horse statue and present it to Jarl Haskuld. After all, is this not the city that produced the winner of the first horse race?"
"As you command, my Fylkir."
Even for this seasoned warrior who had been through all kinds of hardships, the shocking sight of the race seemed quite entertaining, and Hrólfr, who had been expressionless (annoyed) throughout the race, was smiling for once.
'No, maybe it was a smile from relief that the event (work) was over.'
"Ah, and—"
I briefly stopped Hrólfr, who was turning to carry out my order.
"Let us inscribe on that golden statue 'Gullskip' (Gold Ship). After all, all this acclaim is the honor being showered upon that horse, is it not?"
[Golden ship! Golden horse!]
The brown horse, holding its head high and proudly circling the track amid the pouring praise.
Behind it, the horses that had run together followed, forming a column and circling the track arrogantly like a triumphant general, like a herd of wild horses.
"As you command, Fylkir."
*****
[Swaaa- splash! Swaaa- splash!]
The Eastern Sea.
Riding over the sea of Fylkir, the longships of Rurik and Oleg advanced forward.
[Swaaa- splash!]
"Today it welcomes us roughly."
Though it was enough to be startled by the rising and falling waves, compared to a stormy sea it was nothing, so the warriors gripping the oars of the longship showed no particular agitation.
"Oleg! Do you remember? Come to think of it, it has been a long time since we pulled oars side by side like this. The day we left Visby, I thought we would fall into the sea and die right away."
Unchanged. My brother, still strong.
Rather, after fighting fiercely in the lands of Rus with me, and traveling as far as Britain under Fylkir's command, Helgi—no, Oleg—who should now be called the greatest warrior in Rus, was smiling faintly, as if old memories had surfaced.
"Yes! That was a horrible memory!"
Now that image was slowly fading, but in the past, crossing the Eastern Sea meant facing a wild and treacherous sea, and even more dangerous, facing the men of Rus.
The warriors all had to swear an oath to guard each other's backs (Var-).
Thus, everyone who rowed together became a sort of shield-brother, sometimes showing a bond thicker than blood.
As their power gradually grew, Dir and Haskuld, who had been together, broke away. Around the time old oaths crumbled before the wall of reality, the superhuman appeared like a comet.
Fylkir's emergence changed everything in the lands of Rus beyond the Eastern Sea, and more was to change.
One proof of that was the people of the Eistr tribe that they had seen on the way.
Surprisingly many Norsemen had crossed over, and the Eistr, who had established themselves as a sort of middle trading post and source of iron, were originally wary and somewhat passive, so when Norse longships passed, they usually chose to hold their breath...
This time, though Rurik himself passed with as many as twenty longships, the Eistr seemed to observe them intently rather.
Neither Oleg nor I could feel hostility in their gazes.
The shadow of Fylkir, crouched in Árós, had finally reached them as well.
'We no longer seek iron and food from the Eistr. The slave trade too is gradually disappearing, so the Eistr will eventually have to choose.'
Fylkir was currently focusing on the war of the Finns occurring north of Novgorod, but...
In Rurik's eyes, all the tribes touched by Árós's influence would eventually have to choose.
Whether to quietly wither before the great storm, or to acknowledge and accept that power.
'It might be fortunate, but Fylkir never forces anything.'
However, his presence was so enormous that just by breathing in place, he would eventually crush everything.
Then, in that situation, what stance should the people of Novgorod and Rus take?
How could they protect the honor of having been granted a meteoric sword by Fylkir before anyone else?
"Oleg. As you can see, the movements of the Eistr—"
"I know well, my brother. Didn't something come to mind seeing those faces?"
Oleg's ugly face smiled playfully without even hearing him out.
Though infuriating, the voice of this younger brother, who now fought better than me, was full of a confidence he hadn't had before.
"It's exactly the same face we had before we asked Fylkir for help! Blocked in all directions, suffocating, nothing to eat so dying, and some horsemen barking at us to hand everything over!"
"Still direct and simple, but correct. Your insight has certainly improved."
"Under Fylkir, if you don't use your head, you can't survive, brother. Unless you're mindlessly strong like Jarl Stórolf, you have no choice but to struggle."
"Haha."
Jarl Stórolf was a warrior amusing just by name. It was visible that Fylkir supported him along with Jarl Leif, but he seemed utterly oblivious.
Unlike Jarl Leif, who was so tight that no needle could pass through and resembled Jarl Björn exactly, he was a warrior who pursued only straight lines to a degree that made one wonder how a person could be like that.
And yet, he had an exceptional ability to win the hearts of his warriors, so Fylkir must be deeply considering his usefulness.
Feeling that Fylkir certainly had many talented people under him, Rurik turned his gaze to the purple wooden box firmly secured in the center of the ship.
'Thus, I could not fall behind all the more.'
"Think about it, my struggling little brother. The Eistr, us Rus, and Polotsk. If these three unite, who in this area could possibly stop us?"
"Hmm—many, right? The Liv, Veps, the horsemen, the tribes below Polotsk. And—"
"But there is no Fylkir behind them."
"-That is true."
Oleg, who had leaned back slightly without realizing it, soon hardened his expression and asked again.
"What is it, Hrorek. What are you thinking?"
"Jarl Ivar and Hrólfr spoke of the eastern waterways, but there, you can't even launch a ship without permission from the horsemen, and trade with the turban-wearers was practically half slave, wasn't it? That differs somewhat from the intention Fylkir spoke of."
For some reason, Fylkir did not favor slaves... perhaps thinking of the office in Árós where the fire never went out, he might want to gather all the slaves of others and use them only himself.
"But what about the west? If we move this power westward? If we go west?"
The tribes of various names situated along the lower coastline of the Eastern Sea. People of lands that could never be free from Árós's influence.
"If we embrace them all?"
"Then... the Eastern Sea would truly become a sea ruled by Fylkir."
Unlike the joking and laughing, Oleg's eyes, shining coldly, seemed to burn red.
"Wouldn't it be fun? A sailor must look to the waterway after all. Since we row, better on the sea than a river. Playing in bigger water is more fitting, isn't it?"
In Rurik's voice there was a fragment of ambition and excitement that he could not finally hide, and Oleg's eyes glowed similarly.
"To present the sea to Fylkir—."
[Swaaa- splash!]
Just then, a nasty wave struck the ship of Rurik and Oleg, but the two brothers, looking like drowned rats, were both laughing.
*****
[Kkiiik- kkiiik- clunk!]
"Damn...! To think I, the most trusted Jarl of Fylkir, would end up rowing!"
At the same time.
The western coast of the land of Suomi (Finland).
Ships of a size similar to but a bit smaller than those of the Norsemen had gathered and were anchored in the muddy ground.
The sea not yet frozen.
Clad heavily in furs, with chainmail similar to the Norsemen's here and there, spears and shields, even bows and arrows.
Anyone could see the intent to fight was evident, and at the head of this group was the self-styled "most trusted Jarl of Fylkir," Miroslav.
"Now—let's move quickly! Even at this moment, our kin are suffering!"
Just when a Rus man like Miroslav became kin to the Sámi and Suomi was unclear, but the warriors who had disembarked moved in unison.
Their movement was so swift that it could not be seen as moving in a swamp at all.