In the house of Hevding, a hearth burned. The winter was fierce, but in the house it was warm. The old Viking was sitting at the fire in a chair. Right there in the living room, a beautiful blond girl played with wooden, bright toys and jewelry.
The door opened as if it brought within a miracle or a festival. It began to smell frost and something insufferably exciting, fresh. A fair-haired warrior led round all with a frosty look, brightly smiled and passed to the fire, throwing off clothes, and falling in a chair, he threw on the floor in front of Hevding a blood-stained head. The warrior wasn’t alone, he was followed by a boy. Happy and similar to the father. It was the warrior's son, Ayvaz.
“We cut out the cattle by the root. Nobody left. This is their voivode,” Frey rigidly, beastly grinned, “He regretted that he’d been born. Before death.”
“By the root!” drunk and happily Ayvaz repeated. Frey took the eldest son with himself to the fights. Despite the objections of his mother. If you were born a man, be a man. Or be a slave.
The man looked around the room.
“What are you dissatisfied with, Hevding? We cut out a bestial group of the sultan in one day. Or the others fight insufficiently brave?”
The girl shy crept up to the father's legs, timidly threw up her eyes, animal, of the color of melted gold, on Frey. She didn’t even dare to tell that she’d been dressing up the whole evening for him and that she wasn’t afraid of the dead head of larabavian at all. Frey saw that Lima was looking at him, and lifted her from floor kissed on eyes, he always kissed her on eyes, Lima then froze, trying to prolong the moment. Often, it was the only caress from the father she could get.
She wanted to go with him to fights so much, let her would be killed better there than to see the contempt in the eyes of the magnificent father. She even tried not to approach her mother. He would compare them exactly then. Lima was proud of her eyes, exactly them loved the father in her, exactly for them for some reason he didn’t love the mother. Lima didn’t understand, she just wanted to be near.
“Hey, are you afraid? Such a slave nature,” hemmed Frey, “It’s just a dead head of a beast.”
Lima choked with the offense. Why, why she didn’t dare to tell that she wasn’t afraid at all?
A beauty entered the room. She was a pregnant woman. Tristakinniya. The daughter of Hevding and the wife of Frey. Frey ran an eye over her, she remained still young and beautiful, though became pregnant as a cat. Childbirth didn’t spoil her body, feeding didn’t spoil her breast.
“Ayvaz, is it all right with you?” the woman jumped up to the son.
“Yes! We cut them out!” the boy was briskly waving his hands, representing the fight.
Frey clapped on the knee, calling up the wife. Tristakinniya frowned and approached. The man released the daughter, and seated the wife on the knees, scratching her nape as a cat.
The Hevding all this time was silent, he didn’t know how this handsome animal would react to the news.
“We’ve made peace with the sultan Osnan,” told Hevding.
Frey burst into laughing. But Hevding was silent, seriously looking at the son-in-law. The warrior frowned.
“Don’t you joke?”
“No. I am old, and I want my daughter not to shudder in dream and grandsons to live, but not to hide in the mountains. A bad peace is better than a good war. We’re now the sultanate.”
“What? You’ve lost your mind!” Frey dumped Tristakinniya off his knees, jumping, “What a contract may be with cattle?!”
‘Frey, you are young and hot …” began Hevding.
But the man didn’t listen, the authority of Hevding right there fell in his eyes below the ground.
“What did the sultan give you that you’ve sold to him the children and grandchildren?! To submit to cattle? You betrayed Hovn!”
“Frey!” hysterically began Tristakinniya, standing up for the father.
“Stay away from me,” quietly hissed Frey, almost calm, and left the house.
Ayvaz looked at scandal without understanding what was going on.
“Grandfather, where the father goes?”
“He needs to calm down,” the mother interfered, trying to embrace the son.
“I’m with the father,” Ayvaz muttered, escaping and leaving the house.
Tristakinniya closed the eyes with her hands. Hevding rubbed a nose bridge. Frey would understand later. The old experienced warrior understood him, Hevding also would act so in youth.
Lima quietly slipped out of the house. She couldn’t tell it like Ayvaz, she wouldn’t be let go. The girl saw where Ayvaz went and ran after him.
Frey was sitting in a tent of warriors and drinking, he celebrated the victory. Though the sultanate won, nobody would be able to accuse him of defeat.
“To make friends cattle …, just think of it, a peace contract with slaves!” warriors were boiling over.
Ayvaz entered the tent.
“Father!” the boy passed to the warriors.
“Why are you here?”
“I won too, I am a warrior too,” the boy told gloomily.
“Ah, pour to the warrior,” Frey laughed, lifting the boy high.
To the warrior they poured berry juice.
“For the victory, and let slaves remain slaves!” warriors, including Ayvaz clinked their mugs.
In the tent, one more warrior fell in. The one who’d left to the toilet. He brought in Lima to the tent.
“Frey, here’s your beauty.”
“Ah,” Frey grinned, “Why did you come? Did the mother send you? I’ll come. Later, she should go to bed, no need to think any nonsense. I won’t begin to reproach her.”
“I …” Lima was shaken with adrenaline and fear. It was so terrible to tell at least one thought. Everybody would laugh at her, “I don’t want to submit to slaves too …”
The warriors burst out laughing, but it wasn’t clear, approving or derisive.
Frey lifted the girl on his hands, kissed her eyes. Lima as usual froze.
“I have good children, you are great. And now go home. There is nothing for a woman to do among warriors. You are not a slave.”
Lima understood that she’d got in a trap. It was impossible to stay, and she didn’t want to leave.
“Ayvaz, see your sister off home. Also, wait for me. At home should stay at least one man.”
Ayvaz discontentedly twisted, he wanted to listen to the warriors’ stories about love affairs, he wanted to look at beautiful naked slaves, one could even have been given to appease him … and now he should go home, to listen to mother's clucking, severe silence of the grandfather – even do not ask anything! And questioning of the sister – even try not to answer! But it very much flattered to him that the father considered him a decent warrior, and sent to keep order.
“All right, I’ll go,” discontentedly mature stretched Ayvaz, “So why would you come, you’d better stay at home with your dolls.”
With disappointment, he told the sister.
“I want to be a warrior too,” Lima told with insult on the way.
“You are a girl. A beautiful woman who will give to the husband hmmm … herself” Ayvaz led the sister home.
Lima was one year younger than her brother. She frowned, it came to her mind, as it seemed to her, a good thought – why not to become a beautiful woman for the father? As she couldn’t be a warrior.
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