Saddle and Silk

III.

The princess rode slowly on a large white horse, which happily tossed its head and snorted contentedly. Next to him, a beautiful pony, with a neat mane that any other horse could envy. On it sat a horseman who looked like a prince from the Far East, in a splendid suit, of blue color with a red red belt, and a saber in a green scabbard, on a pearl-studded saddle he had a bow and arrows, all of good quality wood, from the Hikora tree, that is, the walnut tree . His short hairstyle, with hair short on the sides and incredibly curly in the middle, in the Rhodonian manner of steppe riders, and so a young horseman who had the eyes of a falcon rode by the princess's side. Along with him is his faithful friend, Wígláf, a Nord who claimed to have seen a dragon with his own eyes in his childhood. The Nords loved to exaggerate about such things, and even more loved to brag about their heroic deeds, and their ability to tell heroic sagas. They often told many stories on such occasions. "Princess, would you like to listen to one of our sagas?" Wiglaf was a nice person, and it was clear that he liked the princess, but as one of the few attendants he did not fall in love with her, he said that his Síf was waiting for him at their house. They rode beside her. "Why not. I hear you Nords are great skalds." "Then I'll sing you a lady about Grendel!" And he began to sing:

And King Hrodgar lived!

And he built a great hall!

And Hrodgar's people and the king himself danced there!

But the noise awoke a dark demon summoned from the depths of hell!

Let him perish, let him perish!

It was Grendel! It was Grendel!

And so Wigláf, the yinoch of the north, and Baheshtur's adjutant sang, the song of songs. They rode along the steppe and Wiglaf sang to them. Baheštur knew the story about the mighty warrior who defeats the troll and becomes king, but he never heard the sequel. So he listened attentively to the hero's fight with the dragon, while paying attention to the tap dance. That probably saved their lives. Baheštur carefully observed what was happening and noticed a slight movement in the steppe. It was indeed a tiny movement in a great distance, but Baheshtur had seen it many times in his childhood, so he knew it. The Khergit chambul, who rode under a large banner and with hulans at the head. It was clear to them that they knew about them, because they started immediately in their direction. "And damn it, those bastard sons know about us!" Wiglaf threw off his suaveness like an unnecessary cloak, and it was the old Wiglaf again, tearing, killing and crushing bones with a mere squeeze. "Run, lady, we must go back to camp! " They quickly set off towards the camp, only to see clouds of dust and other riders in the distance. "The bastards split!" He wheeled his horse to the right as a khergita came flying at him from across the road, saber in hand. Suddenly it fell from his hands and he fell to the ground with a terrible roar.Wigláf, however, did not slow down. While Baheštur kept the horsemen at a respectful distance with his arrows, Wiglaf was destroying everything in front of them. It was a terrifying sight for the hellish ride the steppe had that day. The first rode a silver demon from blood, the second a colorful archer and the third a beautiful girl. Baheshtur cleaned his bow and took in his hands the beautiful saber that Tiberius had given him in his childhood and turned around. Behind him rode an old gray-haired Khergita who was somehow familiar to him. Suddenly a memory flashed through his mind, how he saved a bloodied man from death in his childhood, he didn't know who he was then. But now he recognized him, he just couldn't remember his name. One of the flying arrows hit his horse, and he fell down. Wígláf, struck by the Berserkwangr, had meanwhile slain all the riders in front of him, so he turned and with a quick leap was at Baheštur, hiding the princess under a tree. He felt incredible rage, rage at those fucking half-apes of the steppe. He cut his way to his master with his long ulfgung. He wasn't sure they would make it out alive, but he ran there, driven by the urge to kill, ulfgung in hand, and he slashed the jaw of the nearest man. He was running, driven by absolute fury, the enemies around him were turning into pieces of dead flesh, and then suddenly, at the top of his throat, with all his might, he shouted:"Jeg, Wígláf, sønn av Wígláf, tippoldebarn til Wígláf, nevø av Beowulf, sverger! Jeg vil turkde deg av jordens onfrynne!" Baheštur smiled, knowing that a Nord who bellowed those words in berserkvangr would usually survive, unlike those around him. He grabbed his saber and fended off the old man, who was surprisingly strong enough, however. The latter struck him with his saber, but Baheshtur deflected the blow, dropped the saber, seized the ax of one of the dead assailants, and with one mighty blow killed the horse on which the old man was sitting, and saw him fall from the horse. But before he could turn and run at him , he had to deal with a brat who came running at him, mace in hand. An axe, which he only now realized was the long, beautiful ax of Huskarl. He smiled as he realized they weren't going to get to him easily. He spread out and smashed another steppe horseman's head. But at the same time he was retreating because he needed to get to the princess. Suddenly a storm and a mess of flesh and blood reached him. The absolute magor who was willing to die just to attack an entire army by himself. Once he had to dissuade him from it.He should have supported him in it and gone there with him. "Chlo, I can't choose what orders to give him either." He said to himself. The bodies of the enemies quickly began to be cut, their armor was covered in blood, but they didn't deal with it, because they didn't have any time to deal with it. The enemies charged back to back and at the same time retreated towards the Princess until they finally reached her.

So they thought so, but when they turned they saw the old Khergit holding a dagger to her throat. "Then gentlemen, I think you might as well lay down your arms." However, the old man's eyes were no longer as sure as when he was chasing them. In the few moments they were on the ground, he calculated that he had lost a good thirty in all the fighting and chasing, perhaps forty men. He looked intently at the two bloodied apparitions, who were looking at him with such a mixture of hatred and rage that even he himself would have wondered. They radiated such strength and will that even if he had to face just one, he would have great difficulty in keeping his will steady and straight. Now he had to struggle beyond belief to look them straight in the eye, but he succeeded. He was aware that he had two beasts before him, a bear and a lion, and the two they would attack as soon as they had the opportunity. Only the one with the ax in his hand instead of giving up said. "Once I saved your life when I found you bloodied and half dead in the barn, in the burnt out yard, my father pulled you from the clutches of death, and then you shed your swords, and I with you as a sign of friendship for saving life." The older man paused as he began to recognize the young man but had forgotten his name over the years. He smiled crookedly and answered him. "I recognize you, but tell me, what difference does it make that we, her people, killed my son, raped my wife and daughters, and suffocated my first grandchild? What will give me back my lost manhood? No one. Please tell me who you are.

"Baheshtur, friend and standard-bearer of Hetman Tiberius Sanjar Bejich, Commander-in-Chief of the Kingsguard, and second cousin to the youngest successor to the Khan." "Noble names...but tell me, what does that have to do with me killing her?" "I only ask of you what my father would do. Release us for me and him saving your life. You know you only have to do it once. Then it would be your kindness, not your duty, according to the customs of our people..." Suddenly, as if from afar, a bugle could be heard, and at that moment Wiglaf joined the discussion. "Strike, kill!" The old man laughed, even though the Nord's bear force threw him back and away. Baheštur, like Wiglaf, saw how the old man removed the knife from the princess's throat and waved it at him, so before he could react, Wiglaf knocked it out of his hand, but an arrow hit him in the shoulder. "You Nords are truly mad!" He jumped on his horse and signaled for them to start firing bows and arrows at them, but his archers were already shooting at a much more formidable enemy. The Khergits came flying like Devil Knights, Steppe Riders, and Vaegir Knights. , who had come here together with their king, who had come here as an arranger for his daughter's marriage. The cavalry literally drove the chambul all over the devils, and the commander of this patrol bowed in Swadija fashion. "My lady and gentlemen, I am very glad that we have come in time." He looked at Wiglaf's hand. " Medicus! Somebody call Medicus!" "Baheshtur." Baheštur turned. "Thank you for your help, I really do." In that moment he saw her for what she was, not what she tried to be, but what she was. A sweet, intelligent, but quiet girl. He wanted to bow, but his body it said it was finally time for a dramatic fainting spell from exhaustion and lack of blood, as he was bleeding from about a dozen smaller wounds, one of which was long on his back. "Baheshtur?!" He heard nothing more because he fell into a black reverie.
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