Oleksandr rode his horse through the rugged terrain of Montenegro, the tall, snow-peaked mountains and dense, forested landscape passing by him in a blur as he hurried on his journey toward the northeastern regions. The cold wind whipped against his face, stinging his cheeks and bringing with it the sharp, invigorating scent of pine and ice. Each breath he took filled his lungs with the crispness of winter, a reminder of the bitter chill that awaited him further north.

Deago, his sturdy black stallion, moved with the grace and power of a creature accustomed to the harshness of the wild, followed in tow by the second horse. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against the frozen ground echoed in Oleksandr’s ears, a steady beat that matched the pulse of his determination. He glanced around, taking in the jagged silhouettes of the mountains towering above him, their peaks glistening like crowns of ice against the pale sky. The dense coniferous trees swayed gently in the wind, their needles whispering secrets of the forest as he passed.

Despite the beauty surrounding him, Oleksandr’s mind was consumed with thoughts of the mission ahead. As the sun began to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted ground, Oleksandr pressed on, feeling the urgency of his purpose. The twilight deepened, transforming the landscape into a realm of muted colors, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath Deago's hooves and the soft rustle of the trees. He adjusted the reins, setting his jaw against the chill, determination igniting a fire within him.

As he journeyed, he reached into his pack and pulled out an old, worn map, creased and weathered with age. The parchment felt fragile beneath his fingers, each line and marking a testament to the countless times he had studied it before. He spread it across his lap, squinting in the fading light to make out the details etched in thick, dark ink. The mountains loomed ominously in jagged peaks, their fierce outlines a stark reminder of the treacherous terrain he would soon navigate, while the forests sprawled across the land like a vast, uncharted ocean. With the map laid out before him, Oleksandr traced the routes with his finger, plotting a course through the rugged landscape. Before heading north, however, he had to make an important pit stop just a week east from his current location—a small village. With his destination in mind, he tightened his grip on the reins, urging Deago into a steady canter.

Oleksandr’s journey brought him to the small, isolated town in Serbia that he had spotted on the map. As he rode through the town, he took note of the surrounding area: simple stone houses nestled amongst the wooded hills, their rustic facades blending harmoniously with the landscape. The town exuded an air of quiet charm, but it was clear that life here was shaped by the rugged environment that encircled it.

As he navigated the narrow streets, Oleksandr felt the weight of the townspeople’s curious gazes upon him. Their eyes widened as they took in his tall stature and imposing presence, a stark contrast to the modest figures of the locals. He sensed their uncertainty, perhaps questioning whether he was friend or foe, a wanderer or a threat. With every step his horse took, he left behind a lingering impression, the kind that would echo in whispers long after he had passed.

Continuing through the town, Oleksandr pressed on toward the outskirts, where the rough road led him toward the local village. The path was uneven, the stones worn and jagged beneath Deago's hooves, jostling him slightly with each step. He maneuvered the horse with practiced ease, his focus unwavering as he scanned the horizon for any signs of life beyond the town. The air was still and quiet, a serene contrast to the vibrant energy of the town he had just left behind. Soon, the village came into view, emerging from the embrace of the forest like a hidden gem. The buildings were modest yet sturdy, constructed from timber and stone, with smoke curling lazily from chimneys, hinting at the warmth within.

As he approached a small house, he swung off Deago, and led both horses towards a sturdy fence post, securing the reins. Attached to the house was a blacksmith’s shop, the rhythmic sound of a hammer striking metal resonating through the air, accompanied by the comforting scent of smoke and hot iron.

Pushing open the door to the blacksmith’s shop, Oleksandr stepped inside the dimly lit space, where the heat enveloped him like a warm embrace. The forge glowed with a fierce orange light, illuminating the myriad of tools lining the walls and casting flickering shadows that danced across the rough-hewn surfaces. The air was thick with the smell of burning coal and the sharp tang of metal.

For a moment, Oleksandr leaned against the doorframe, a sly grin creeping across his face as he watched the blacksmith at work.

"What's the crack, ye ol' codger?" Oleksandr finally calls out. The man spun around, alarmed, and brandished his hammer as if he was prepared to attack whoever it was who had snuck up on him. But as he saw the tall, blond man standing in the doorway, his face immediately brightened with recognition.

"By God is that you, Oleksandr?" He exclaimed, lowering his hammer.

"It sure is, Samorix."

"Well, well, look who’s struttin’ in! Didn't recognize ye lurkin’ in the doorway like some kinda bogle! It’s been a fair while, lad!" Samorix, the red-haired, red-bearded former captain of the Varangian Guard, lowered his hammer, his single green eye studying Oleksandr with a mixture of amusement and affection. Oleksandr smiled wryly at Samorix's colorful greeting, his gaze taking in the veteran warrior's familiar features. Samorix was just as he remembered him, still stocky and muscular, his arms coated in sweat and soot, his long, red hair and beard braided with several gold rings woven through them. A thick, jagged scar ran diagonally across his face, from his forehead, over his missing eye, to his cheek.

"Good to see you too, you old dog. You look good for your age.” Samorix laughed, his scarred face breaking into a grin.

"Good for my age? Lad, I'm the picture of bloomin' vitality!" He leaned on the anvil, slinging the hammer through his belt loop. "Come 'ere and let me take a look at ye." Oleksandr chuckled and stepped further into the shop, approaching his old captain. He let the man study him, allowing himself to be scrutinized by the Scotsman's shrewd eye. "Aye, ye’ve not changed a bit, have ye? Still the same strappin’ young barbarian ye were when ye first joined the guard, lookin’ as fierce as a lion! Ye still got that fire in yer belly, eh?" Oleksandr grinned, his blue eyes glinting with amusement at Samorix's appraisal.

"And you're still the same old Scots bastard, aren't you? Still spitting as many words as a waterfall." Samorix guffawed, the sound booming through the forge.

"Aye, there's some things that never change, lad! And my gift of gab is one of 'em." He gestured towards a stool near the counter, taking a seat himself. "Sit down, laddie. What brings ye here? On yer way to make trouble elsewhere?" Oleksandr nods, taking out his pipe and stuffing it with tobacco and hash.

"Aye."

"Well, what've ye been up to? Still a merc?" Oleksandr nods lightly, thinking it over.

"Yeah, since I last saw you... What, four years ago? Aye, I was still running around following the sword. But I've settled, just a bit." Samorix raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Settled, eh? Don't see ye as the settlin' type. What, have ye found yerself some poor maid to drag back to yer cave?" Oleksandr grins, lighting up his pipe.

"You could say that. I've actually been working in Montenegro, under the king. Captain of the castle guard. Same as you. And I got knighted." Samorix's single green eye widened with surprise, and he let out a low whistle.

"A knight, eh? Well, ye never cease to surprise me, lad. Never thought I'd see ye wearin' a shiny piece of metal on yer breast. Sounds like ye've landed yerself in a bit of comfort." Oleksandr chuckled, taking a deep lungful of smoke, the sweet, earthy taste of hash hitting his tongue.

"Comfort's not my style, you know that." He blew out a ring of smoke, watching it float up towards the ceiling. "But the work's been steady and the pay's good. Can't complain about that. The king's been treating me well." Samorix studied Oleksandr curiously, his lone green eye narrowing slightly.

"Aye, I bet he's been. Knighted and given a fine position in the castle, no less. Yer like a tamed savage, ya are. What's next, ye gonna lose that long hair of yers and start wearin' a silk surcoat?" Oleksandr chuckled, running a hand through his long blonde hair.

"Don't think this lion will ever part with his mane." He took another puff from his pipe, his gaze turning introspective. "And comfort's not the only reason I decided to stay." Samorix picked up on the shift in Oleksandr's tone, his curiosity piqued.

"Oh? And what other reason is that? Found yerself a wench, did ye?" Oleksandr's lips curled into a sly grin, his blue eyes sparkling.

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"Not just any wench. But yeah, I have a woman. Who would've thought?" Samorix hollered, slapping his thigh.

"Ah, I knew it! A woman to turn yer head, is that it? And what does this lucky wench look like?" Oleksandr leaned back on the stool, his pipe still smoldering in his hand.

"She's beautiful, with the grace and elegance of a swan. Long, silken hair like obsidian, eyes like gold, lips like petals... and a spirit gentle enough to tame mine." Samorix chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Now I know ye're exaggeratin'. A gentle spirit that can tame a savage like ye? I think ye've been struck on the head a few too many times, laddie." Oleksandr laughed.

"I know it sounds crazy. But it's real, I've never been more serious about anything. She's unlike any woman I've ever met. And for the first time in my life, I'm thinking of things I never thought I'd think about. Things like... settling down. Starting a family." Samorix's green eye widened in surprise once more.

"Starting a family? Ye? The mad wolf of Europe thinkin' of settlin' down and raisin' nippers? I never thought I'd see the day." Oleksandr chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

"Me neither. But this woman... She's making me think of things I never thought were possible for me. I never thought I'd want a family, or a home. But now all I can think about is building something solid, something real. Something worth fighting for.”

"Oh, brother. I’ve seen this before. Another Samson with a Delilah who's found his weakness and stripped ‘em of his strength. She's gots to be something, taking a wild dog like ye and taming him. Aye, it happened to me with my ol'lass, it did!" Oleksandr let out a rumbling laugh, shaking his head.

"Aye, I felt the same way first. Like a lamb to the slaughter. But it's not like that, Samorix. This woman is no Delilah. She's the beat of my heart, and the reason I wake up in the morning. Gave me a reason to fight, for something more than pure hatred.”

"Laddie, ye sound like a man smitten," he said with a wry grin. "Yer not just head over heels. Yer arse over teakettle."

Oleksandr laughs. "Ass over tea kettle? Where do you come up with this shit, man?" Samorix grins, his lone eye shining with mischief.

"It's just a wee bit of Scotch folk wisdom, lad. We have a way with words, we do. And ye look like you've fallen into some very deep water indeed."

"Yeah, an ocean. You'd understand." Samorix laughs heartily, slapping his knee once more.

"Aye, I do. Been there meself, laddie. Nothing shakes up a man's world like a good, strong lass. And she sounds like a rare one, to turn the Mad Wolf into a tame pup."

"How's your boy? He's growing up?"

"Ah, me wee lad?" Samorix's expression softens, a hint of paternal pride in his voice when he speaks of his child. "Aye, he's growin' like a weed, he is. Already six years old and running around like a little devil, gettin' into all sorts of mischief. Reminds me of meself at that age, always looking for some trouble to get into."

Oleksandr grins, imagining a miniature version of the Scotsman, running around and causing havoc. "He's got your wild blood in him, then. Has he given you any gray hairs yet?" Samorix removes his wool cap, showing off the stark gray hairs at the sides of his head that contrast with the rest of the fiery red of his unruly locks. Oleksandr laughs heartily, raising an eyebrow at the sight.

"Looks like the kid's given you a few," he says, gesturing to the smattering of grays among the red. "I see you've turned half iron already." Samorix rolls his eye, replacing his cap.

"Aye, the lad's a little hellion. But a good-natured one. He warms our hearts, he does." He takes a long pull from the leather flask, and the whiskey sloshes around inside. "So, why'd ye come here, anyway?"

Oleksandr leans back on his chair, taking a deep breath. "I'm afraid it's not a social call. The king has given me a mission. One that I could really use your help with."

"A mission, ye say? What sorta mission has the king got for ye?" Oleksandr's expression turns serious as he explains the task.

"I'm to travel north, to Norway. There's a slaver who has cheated the king and possibly killed the trade ambassadors. I'm to find him, and bring him back if possible. Dead or alive."

"Norway, eh? That's no easy task. Norwegian coast is riddled with hostile tribes. And slavers are as slippery as eels. You'll have the devil's own time finding that bastard."

Oleksandr nods in agreement. "Aye, I know. That's why I need you. I could use someone with your skills backing me up." Samorix lets out a rumbling chuckle, his one eye narrowing with a hint of excitement.

"Ye want me to tag along, eh? Can't say I've had a good fight in a while. Norwegian tribes are a bunch of tough bastards. I might give 'em a run for their money." He pauses, stroking his mustache, thinking it over. "But... I’m afraid I can't, mate. I’ve got the missus and the wee lad to look after. I can't be gettin’ mixed up in any daft exploits anymore. It’s far too dodgy, ye hear?"

"Aye, I get it, Samorix. You've got your family to think about. Can't be traipsing off across the world on some wild goose chase. I respect that." Samorix nods, a grateful smile creeping onto his face.

"Aye, ye do. Aye, I’d give me left ball to go on one last laddie's adventure like the old days, but... well, life has a funny way of catchin’ up to you, doesn’t it? I have me responsibilities now, and a family to watch." Oleksandr glances around the blacksmithing workshop. It's quite humble.

"What if I told you... There was some long term coin involved?" Samorix raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Coin, eh? How much we talkin' about, boy?"

"A lordship." Samorix's eye nearly pops out of his head.

"A lordship?? Yer pullin’ me leg! As in a full-fledged lordship? With land and property and the whole shabang?"

"Yep." Samorix slams the table with his open palm, a look of excitement and disbelief on his face.

"Damn, boy! A lordship? That's one hell of a reward! Makes a man's mouth water just thinking about it. Ye sure the king ain't jokin'?" Oleksandr nods.

"Well, here's the deal. The king has a fief he has no time to look after, and he's offering it to me if I complete the mission."

Samorix's eye narrows suspiciously. "Is it a good fief? Good land? Good folk? Not a cursed castle, is it?"

"Fertile fields, some quarries too."

"And the castles in good shape, without some banshee screamin’ or the ghost of a tortured prince moanin’ every damn night?"

Oleksandr smirks. "You sure those smithing fumes haven't gotten you?"

Samorix grunts with gruff laughter. "Laugh if ye like, boy. But I've seen my share of haunted battlegrounds and cursed castles. I ain't takin' no chances. I ain't no fool."

"Well, as far as I'm aware... No, no banshees." Samorix relaxes, a hint of relief on his face.

"Alright, that's a relief to hear. Hate them wailin’ banshees, I do. Always givin' me a fright when I was little. But no banshees, no tortured princes..." He considers for a moment. "How much land we talkin' about, laddie? Acres?"

Oleksandr shrugs nonchalantly. "The exact amount hasn't been fully negotiated yet. But I’d say a solid few thousand acres. And a big castle, fortified, of course. And a village too." Samorix's eye widened with excitement.

"Thousands of acres?! And the king is giving it all to ye if you catch this bastard??"

"Well, here's the thing." Oleksandr leans in, conspiratorially. "You know me. I never gave a shit about land or coin."

"Aye, that I do, boy. Ye was always a wild one, the best fighter we had in the Guard. Never one for all the fancy titles or riches. Always out for a good ol' bloody scrap and nothing more."

"That’s right. But, now, I'm after something. And to acquire it, I need to become a lord. But I can't damn myself to worry about managing a bunch of peasants. I just need the title. That's where you come in. If, say, you come on this mission with me, I'll leave the land to you, along with all the profits. You told me you came to Constantinople for the riches, and you lost it all when it fell. Now, you could have something to leave your son." Samorix's eye flickered with interest.

"You'd give me the land? The profits? Everything?" He lets the idea sink in, his mind calculating the potential. "That's a mighty generous offer, boy. Aye, a mighty generous one indeed. I have to admit, it has my attention, it does." Samorix looks at Oleksandr with a serious expression. "But, laddie, before I agree to this deal, I want to know something: what exactly is in it for you? What are you after that ye need this lordship so badly?" Oleksandr looks at his friend with a steady gaze.

"The woman I told you about," he says simply. "I need to become a Lord to have her hand."

Samorix's eye widens with surprise. "Oh, ye cheeky devil! A woman? You're going all the way to Norway for just some lass?"

"She's not just any woman, Samorix." Oleksandr says, leaning in. "My woman. She's a princess."

Samorix's eye nearly bulges out of his skull. "A princess??? You're going to Norway to bag a princess?? Damn, boy, ye aiming high, aren't ye? I didn't know ye had that kind of ambition in ye."

"I don't care about her title or this lordship or whatever. I just want her. So, there it is. That's my truth. If I don't do this, the king will marry her off to someone else. Can't have that. I've never wanted something more. I'll have her, or I'll die trying."

Samorix chuckles with amusement. "Damn, boy, ye really do got it bad. And here I always thought ye were a cold bastard with no feelings, eh? Who woulda thought that you'd go all gooey over a pretty little princess, huh?" Oleksandr can't even muster a retort. The truth is, Samorix is absolutely right, and he knows it. He never would have thought he’d ever fall so hard and fast for another person, and yet here he is. Savka has a hold over him that he can't even begin to understand. "So," Samorix continues, "that's the deal then, eh? I help you take down this bastard, and I get riches and land, and you get a title to marry yer princess. Pretty damn generous on yer part, boy."

“Aye. That’s the deal.” Samorix scratches his beard thoughtfully, then looks at Oleksandr with a grin.

"Alright, laddie, ye got yerself a deal. No take backs now. I'm with ye till the end. I'll help you hunt down this bastard Oddvarr, and I'll watch yer back. And in return, I get meself a fief, a bunch of gold, and a castle to pass to my boy. Sounds mighty damn good to me." Oleksandr grins widely.

"That's exactly the answer I wanted to hear. I’m glad to have you on this mission, Samorix. I have a feeling that having a fighter like you by my side will come in extremely useful."

(My illustration: Samorix)

image [https://i.imgur.com/VjuUQkY.jpeg]