"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
Amidst the shouts of the soldiers, the makeshift battering ram struck the iron-clad main gate of the stronghold, emitting a tremendous sound. The gate trembled violently but remained standing.
The gate wasn't breached this time, which was expected. Another impact would soon come; it was only a matter of time before it fell.
From time to time, men were struck down by arrows falling from above, but they were immediately dragged to the rear, and new replacements promptly took their vacated positions.
As for the arrow-shooting embrasure, it was immediately subjected to a volley of dozens of arrows, suppressing the archer who dared not show his head.
Rostislav, with his personal guards, formed a line behind the battering ram, awaiting the moment the gate would break. Further back were the subordinates of other Norse nobles and Norse warriors. Everyone knew that the Grand Prince and the King had given the first credit to Rostislav, and no one would contend with him for it.
Of course, their presence was also to clean up the mess in the worst-case scenario.
Outside the range of the Mountain Stronghold, Yaroslav and Harald pulled up two chairs from somewhere, discussing as if they were chatting about family matters, and the subject of their discussion was none other than Rostislav.
"I think highly of this child. His appearance reminds me of the heavy cavalry archers of the Great Monarch (referring to the Byzantine Emperor), and what's most rare is that he is so young yet skilled in battle formations and adept at fighting."
Harald took the mead handed to him by his subordinate and poured it into his mouth with gusto, the liquor spilling all over his beard, but the Norwegian King merely wiped it with his sleeve, uncaring.
"And his… what was it? Oh, 'Companions' cavalry' is also good. If only I had such cavalry when I was in the South, I wouldn't have had to just watch those mounted bastards ride ahead of me to collect spoils."
Harald had worked for the Great Monarch in the imperial capital for many years and had witnessed all sorts of battlefields. What he hated most was having spoils of war snatched by the Great Monarch's horsemen; he was always depressed whenever that happened.
"This child is indeed good; he has given my grandsons a good start."
Compared to Harald's approval, Yaroslav's words were more placid, as if he were talking about something unrelated to himself.
Facing his father-in-law's demeanor, Harald curled his lips in disdain. Really, they were so close, why pretend? You're clearly very happy; others might not notice, but how could I not?
"Alright, tell me, how do you plan to arrange this child?"
The Ruthless One was too lazy to play along with the Wise One and cut straight to the chase, so as to avoid beating around the bush.
"And there's Vladimir's death; I feel something's off about that. Have you found anything?"
"My son's death… I think I'll get useful information soon. As for Rostislav, this child, I think the Behind-the-Forest Land is a good place. The tribes there are becoming increasingly restless, and the Bulgars are also stirring… That land needs a Rurik Prince to guard it."
Yaroslav glanced at his son-in-law with some dissatisfaction. This fellow was still the same, never changed. Even as a King, he didn't understand the "rhetoric" of rulers; he was always so reckless. He would suffer for it sooner or later.
"Behind-the-Forest Land? You're really generous, sending someone to a place like that."
Harald clicked his tongue. He knew the reputation of the Behind-the-Forest Land. That area was full of river bends and dense forests, teeming with countless villages and tribes that acted on their own accord and didn't obey orders. Even by Norse standards, it was a proper wilderness.
"This is to keep him away from the turmoil in Kiev. This child is not yet qualified to participate in the struggles for Kiev after my death. The Behind-the-Forest Land is secluded and distant. There, he can observe the situation, retreat to be a peaceful Prince for a lifetime, or advance to participate in Kiev's politics."
Yaroslav's words were full of an elder's concern for his descendant. He was well aware that he had only a few years left to live, and this child would definitely not be able to handle the struggles after his death. So, it was better to send him to a remote place like the Behind-the-Forest Land, far from the center of the vortex.
"Oh, my father-in-law, how can you even say things like you'll die in a few years? That's too inauspicious."
Although Harald complained verbally, he actually agreed with it. The Wise One's physical condition was already common knowledge; everyone knew that the Norse Grand Prince had only a few years left to live.
"Let's put those aside for now and talk about the present. Although you've made such arrangements, can that child truly understand your intentions? He's a child who grew up in the city; can he endure the hardship of staying in such a poor, remote place?"
Harald's question hit the core, sending a child who grew up in a wealthy city to a poor, remote place. The result would either be that the child would resent the one who ordered it, or he would try every means to escape the impoverished fief.
"What I need to do is certainly more than this, but no matter what I do, where things go still depends on him."
Yaroslav said slowly. After speaking, the Wise One closed his eyes to rest, adopting a posture of not wishing to discuss further.
Seeing that Yaroslav was unwilling to say more, Harald also wisely remained silent, merely asking his attendant for mead and drinking it while enjoying the battle before him.
Sigh, I can only help you so much, my grand-nephew.
As the golden liquid entered his mouth, the Norwegian King thought this.
He thought highly of this child, but his political future was truly grim. He could only help as much as he could.
——————
The battering ram, made from an Estonian sacred tree, heavily struck the gate, each impact making the gate tremble. Many Chud people behind the gate braced against it, attempting to absorb some of the impact with their bodies.
But each time, they staggered and were pushed back by the force. The gate was becoming increasingly overwhelmed; it was only a matter of time before it was breached.
Everyone understood that their fate was imminent. All of them consciously lined up behind the gate, awaiting the moment it would break.
Some picked up spears and sword-axes, some drew their bows, everyone tensely awaiting the final moment.
At this moment, Alar, having changed into his armor, descended the stairs. People automatically made way for him, allowing him to reach the front of the line.
The Chud warlord waved the long sword in his hand at the crowd; the hilt of the long sword was inlaid with uncarved amber.
"May the gods bless us."
Looking at the gate trembling under the battering ram's impacts, Alar said this.
No sooner had he spoken than the gate burst open. The tribesmen who had been bracing it, along with the previously placed reinforcements, were directly flung back. Sunlight then streamed into the somewhat dim hall.
"Charge!"
The former Chud leader roared, charging towards the gate, which had been breached by the battering ram, rushing towards the sunlight, rushing towards the shields and swords.