Mazin white wolf read in full. Viking: White Wolf. The cherished dream of King Ragnar

Alexander Mazin

WHITE WOLF

The cherished dream of King Ragnar

Rome! - proclaimed the king and belched loudly. - That's what I want! That's where we'll get real loot and real glory!

Over the long table, at which the kings, jarls, hevdings and other gentlemen of the Norman squads, who had gathered in Roskilde for a joint wick, were freely seated, silence hung for a moment. Muffled sounds of the camp penetrated through the doors hung with bullskins: loud voices, clanging, knocking, squealing of a piglet and the no less shrill voice of a woman scolding a negligent trill ...

The rest were silent. Sigurd the Serpent in the Eye frowned. Silently moving his lips, urging his thoughts, Bjorn Ironsides, who got his nickname for never being seriously injured. Looking askance at his brother, Ivar the Boneless, the most intelligent and cunning of the sons of Lothbrok, twisted his mouth with a smile. The brothers Ubbe and Harald were silent ... Not because they were afraid. Father's words had to be considered.

The other leaders were also silent: all were relatives and trusted people of King Ragnar. The greatest of the Vikings of Denmark again struck them with audacity of design.

Odin will like it,” Sigurd finally said. - But I think: it would be better to feel the Franks, as we intended.

Sigurd said "we" with every right. He who has a dozen warships under his command is entitled to make recommendations to his father. Even someone like Ragnar Lothbrok.

Franks ... - Ragnar rumbled. An expression appeared on his face that made the king look like a cat who found a jug of sour cream forgotten on the table. - Charles the Bald. It's not the first time he tucks his tail. That's right, son. That's where we'll start! But each of you ... - a heavy look from under frowning eyebrows walked through the meeting, briefly stopping at each of the leaders, - each of you must remember: Rome! Here is the city that will bring us glory! However ... - the king's gaze again went over the stern faces of relatives and comrades-in-arms, - one should not talk about this.

So I learned about the strategic goal of the king under a great secret from my commander-hold Truvor-Varangian. And he - from the helmsman Olbard Sineus, also a Varangian and a cousin of Truvor. Olbard himself received first-hand information - from our leader Hrerek-Jarl, nicknamed the Falcon, who, being Yngling, that is, a man of an ancient royal family, to which Ragnar Lothbrok himself belonged, was rightfully present at the strategic meeting.

This information did not go further than me, but a week later absolutely everyone in our hird knew about the grandiose plans of King Ragnar. It must be assumed that other hird squads of the united Norman army were also aware of the future spring campaign. They say correctly: "Three know, and the pig knows."

But it wasn't a big deal. After all, these were our Norman pigs. The shipping season has ended. The rare foreign merchants who dared to visit Sölund had long gone home, and there were no Frankish spies among the fighting teams. That is, for good, or rather, for very good money, many of the Vikings would share information with interested parties. But no one offered this money to my colleagues, and they themselves were not eager to sell secret information.

So there was no leakage to the south. But in the north - all the time. The leaders of the Scandinavians, recruiting supporters, did not hide the fact that a grandiose task lay ahead. And they hinted transparently: they say, we will feel the descendants of Charlemagne to the very liver, and the bishops sitting on silver and gold - to the very top of the pyramid. The smart ones got the hints right. The smart ones explained to the stupid.

But that autumn, I, Ulf the Blackhead (who at other times bore the proud name of Nikolai Grigorievich Perelyak), a housecarl from the squad of Hrerek Falcon, had more interesting things to do than fulfill the dreams of Ragnar Hairy Pants.

A much more relevant topic for me was valiant games, which my brothers in the profession, the glorious Scandinavian Vikings, selflessly indulged in in their free time from their main work. Sports have always been my weakness. Weakness in the best sense of the word.

Chapter first,

In which I have a hunch as to why Ivar Ragnarson is called Boneless

Northerners love two types of games. Powerful and extreme. And better - both options at once. For example, arrange a swim through the fjord - who is faster. And in order not to freeze in the cold water, trying to warm each other to drown.

The ball game is also popular here. A sort of cross between bast shoes and hockey, in which they beat each other with sticks almost with more intensity than a ball rolled from wool. Trauma - the sea. There are even deaths. True, my good friend Dane Svarthevdi Bear cub explained that most of these deaths are veiled duels. Unofficial holmgangs. “Pure” fights from blood feud. For those who died during the game, revenge is not allowed. And you don't have to pay for it. The main thing is that witnesses confirm that death is an accident. I think this is a coincidence. To solve with a simple Viking stick is a lot of effort. Or get very lucky.

I didn't play ball. But he took part in the tug of war, where, due to his natural size (a palm lower and a pood lighter than the average Viking), he did not bring his team's victory closer. Then, plucking up his courage, he rode a log down a steep slope. As part of a gang led by Treska, who is experienced in these matters. Did not fall, although, believe me, it was not easy.

Wrestling attracted me the most. Regular, no weapons. At first, I thought that I wouldn’t be able to compete against broad-shouldered giants with trap-hands. But it turned out that during our voyage, my hands also pumped up be healthy. And most importantly, a fight without weapons has never been a priority sport among the Viking masters. Not to mention the real art of hand-to-hand combat. And I, after all, came from a time when a man's only allowed weapons were his fists and boots. Well, elbows and knees, of course.

I won’t say that I became a champion (that’s what I didn’t aspire to), but I rolled in the dust at least half of the local wrestlers. I was rolled much less often: unlike the others, I did not give into hands. With my ridiculous weight by local standards, any capture immediately turned into a flight along an unpredictable trajectory. Since I fought "incorrectly", no one really wanted to see me as an opponent. It is also clear: to defeat such a kid is not much glory. And to lose to something that sticks its nose into your beard is a shame.

The next competition began traditionally. Wanting to cuddle each other lined up

Alexander Mazin

WHITE WOLF

The cherished dream of King Ragnar

Rome! - proclaimed the king and belched loudly. - That's what I want! That's where we'll get real loot and real glory!

Over the long table, at which the kings, jarls, hevdings and other gentlemen of the Norman squads, who had gathered in Roskilde for a joint wick, were freely seated, silence hung for a moment. Muffled sounds of the camp penetrated through the doors hung with bullskins: loud voices, clanging, knocking, squealing of a piglet and the no less shrill voice of a woman scolding a negligent trill ...

The rest were silent. Sigurd the Serpent in the Eye frowned. Silently moving his lips, urging his thoughts, Bjorn Ironsides, who got his nickname for never being seriously injured. Looking askance at his brother, Ivar the Boneless, the most intelligent and cunning of the sons of Lothbrok, twisted his mouth with a smile. The brothers Ubbe and Harald were silent ... Not because they were afraid. Father's words had to be considered.

The other leaders were also silent: all were relatives and trusted people of King Ragnar. The greatest of the Vikings of Denmark again struck them with audacity of design.

Odin will like it,” Sigurd finally said. - But I think: it would be better to feel the Franks, as we intended.

Sigurd said "we" with every right. He who has a dozen warships under his command is entitled to make recommendations to his father. Even someone like Ragnar Lothbrok.

Franks ... - Ragnar rumbled. An expression appeared on his face that made the king look like a cat who found a jug of sour cream forgotten on the table. - Charles the Bald. It's not the first time he tucks his tail. That's right, son. That's where we'll start! But each of you ... - a heavy look from under frowning eyebrows walked through the meeting, briefly stopping at each of the leaders, - each of you must remember: Rome! Here is the city that will bring us glory! However ... - the king's gaze again went over the stern faces of relatives and comrades-in-arms, - one should not talk about this.

So I learned about the strategic goal of the king under a great secret from my commander-hold Truvor-Varangian. And he - from the helmsman Olbard Sineus, also a Varangian and a cousin of Truvor. Olbard himself received first-hand information - from our leader Hrerek-Jarl, nicknamed the Falcon, who, being Yngling, that is, a man of an ancient royal family, to which Ragnar Lothbrok himself belonged, was rightfully present at the strategic meeting.

This information did not go further than me, but a week later absolutely everyone in our hird knew about the grandiose plans of King Ragnar. It must be assumed that other hird squads of the united Norman army were also aware of the future spring campaign. They say correctly: "Three know, and the pig knows."

But it wasn't a big deal. After all, these were our Norman pigs. The shipping season has ended. The rare foreign merchants who dared to visit Sölund had long gone home, and there were no Frankish spies among the fighting teams. That is, for good, or rather, for very good money, many of the Vikings would share information with interested parties. But no one offered this money to my colleagues, and they themselves were not eager to sell secret information.

So there was no leakage to the south. But in the north - all the time. The leaders of the Scandinavians, recruiting supporters, did not hide the fact that a grandiose task lay ahead. And they hinted transparently: they say, we will feel the descendants of Charlemagne to the very liver, and the bishops sitting on silver and gold - to the very top of the pyramid. The smart ones got the hints right. The smart ones explained to the stupid.

But that autumn, I, Ulf the Blackhead (who at other times bore the proud name of Nikolai Grigorievich Perelyak), a housecarl from the squad of Hrerek Falcon, had more interesting things to do than fulfill the dreams of Ragnar Hairy Pants.

A much more relevant topic for me was valiant games, which my brothers in the profession, the glorious Scandinavian Vikings, selflessly indulged in in their free time from their main work. Sports have always been my weakness. Weakness in the best sense of the word.

Chapter first,

in which I have a hunch as to why Ivar Ragnarson is called the Boneless

Northerners love two types of games. Powerful and extreme. And better - both options at once. For example, arrange a swim through the fjord - who is faster. And in order not to freeze in the cold water, trying to warm each other to drown.

The ball game is also popular here. A sort of cross between bast shoes and hockey, in which they beat each other with sticks almost with more intensity than a ball rolled from wool. Trauma - the sea. There are even deaths. True, my good friend Dane Svarthevdi Bear cub explained that most of these deaths are veiled duels. Unofficial holmgangs. “Pure” fights from blood feud. For those who died during the game, revenge is not allowed. And you don't have to pay for it. The main thing is that witnesses confirm that death is an accident. I think this is a coincidence. To solve with a simple Viking stick is a lot of effort. Or get very lucky.

I didn't play ball. But he took part in the tug of war, where, due to his natural size (a palm lower and a pood lighter than the average Viking), he did not bring his team's victory closer. Then, plucking up his courage, he rode a log down a steep slope. As part of a gang led by Treska, who is experienced in these matters. Did not fall, although, believe me, it was not easy.

Wrestling attracted me the most. Regular, no weapons. At first, I thought that I wouldn’t be able to compete against broad-shouldered giants with trap-hands. But it turned out that during our voyage, my hands also pumped up be healthy. And most importantly, a fight without weapons has never been a priority sport among the Viking masters. Not to mention the real art of hand-to-hand combat. And I, after all, came from a time when a man's only allowed weapons were his fists and boots. Well, elbows and knees, of course.

I won’t say that I became a champion (that’s what I didn’t aspire to), but I rolled in the dust at least half of the local wrestlers. I was rolled much less often: unlike the others, I did not give into hands. With my ridiculous weight by local standards, any capture immediately turned into a flight along an unpredictable trajectory. Since I fought "incorrectly", no one really wanted to see me as an opponent. It is also clear: to defeat such a kid is not much glory. And to lose to something that sticks its nose into your beard is a shame.

The next competition began traditionally. Those who wanted to cuddle each other lined up in front. And they took turns throwing each other to the ground.

At first - those who are weaker. Then the middle ones. And finally - the local wrestling steepness: two-meter giants as wide as a sofa and a half.

That is, everything went on as usual, until the crowd suddenly parted, letting in another wrestler.

More precisely, it didn’t even move apart - it leaned to the sides, forming a corridor along which a new applicant entered the circle.

I recognized him immediately and immediately understood why the reckless Vikings were even afraid to hurt this man. Ivar the Boneless.

None of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok inspired more respect than the Boneless. Ivar's cruelty was legendary. He could kill a man just because he looked at him disrespectfully. And not just to kill, but to release the guts and watch with interest how the dying man writhes at his feet from unbearable pain. And there was no case that Ivar paid Vir for such a murder. He feared neither the vengeance of his kinsmen nor the judgment of the Thing.

- Rome! the king proclaimed, and belched loudly. - That's what I want! That's where we'll get real loot and real glory!

Over the long table, at which the kings, jarls, hevdings and other gentlemen of the Norman squads, who had gathered in Roskilde for a joint wick, were freely seated, silence hung for a moment. Muffled sounds of the camp penetrated through the doors hung with bullskins: loud voices, clanging, knocking, squealing of a piglet and the no less shrill voice of a woman scolding a negligent trill ...

The rest were silent. Sigurd the Serpent in the Eye frowned. Silently moving his lips, urging his thoughts, Bjorn Ironsides, who got his nickname for never being seriously injured. Looking askance at his brother, Ivar the Boneless, the most intelligent and cunning of the sons of Lothbrok, twisted his mouth with a smile. The brothers Ubbe and Harald were silent ... Not because they were afraid. Father's words had to be considered.

The rest of the leaders were also silent: all of them were relatives and trusted people of King Ragnar. The greatest of the Vikings of Denmark again struck them with audacity of design.

“Odin will like it,” Sigurd finally said. “But I think it would be better to feel the Franks, as we intended.

Sigurd said "we" with every right. He who has a dozen warships under his command is entitled to make recommendations to his father. Even someone like Ragnar Lothbrok.

- Franks. Ragnar rumbled. An expression appeared on his face that made the king look like a cat who found a jug of sour cream forgotten on the table. - Charles the Bald. It's not the first time he tucks his tail. That's right, son. That's where we'll start! But each of you. – a heavy look from under frowning brows passed through the meeting, briefly stopping at each of the leaders, – each of you must remember: Rome! Here is the city that will bring us glory! However. - the king's gaze again went over the stern faces of relatives and comrades-in-arms - one should not talk about this.

So I learned about the strategic goal of the king under a great secret from my commander-hold Truvor-Varangian. And he - from the helmsman Olbard Sineus, also a Varangian and a cousin of Truvor. Olbard himself received first-hand information - from our leader Hrerek-Jarl, nicknamed the Falcon, who, being Yngling, that is, a man of an ancient royal family, to which Ragnar Lothbrok himself belonged, was rightfully present at the strategic meeting.

This information did not go further than me, but a week later absolutely everyone in our hird knew about the grandiose plans of King Ragnar. It must be assumed that other hird squads of the united Norman army were also aware of the future spring campaign. They say correctly: "Three know, and the pig knows."

But it wasn't a big deal. After all, these were our Norman pigs. The shipping season has ended. The rare foreign merchants who dared to visit Sölund had long gone home, and there were no Frankish spies among the fighting teams. That is, for good, or rather, for very good money, many of the Vikings would share information with interested parties. But no one offered this money to my colleagues, and they themselves were not eager to sell secret information.

So there was no leakage to the south. But in the north - all the time. The leaders of the Scandinavians, recruiting supporters, did not hide the fact that a grandiose task lay ahead. And they hinted transparently: they say, we will feel the descendants of Charlemagne to the very liver, and the bishops sitting on silver and gold - to the very top of the pyramid. The smart ones got the hints right. The smart ones explained to the stupid.

But that autumn, I, Ulf the Blackhead (who at other times bore the proud name of Nikolai Grigorievich Perelyak), a housecarl from the squad of Hrerek Falcon, had more interesting things to do than fulfill the dreams of Ragnar Hairy Pants.

A much more relevant topic for me was valiant games, which my brothers in the profession, the glorious Scandinavian Vikings, selflessly indulged in in their free time from their main work. Sports have always been my weakness. Weakness in the best sense of the word.

Northerners love two types of games. Powerful and extreme. And better - both options at once. For example, arrange a swim through the fjord - who is faster. And in order not to freeze in the cold water, trying to warm each other to drown.

The ball game is also popular here. A sort of cross between bast shoes and hockey, in which they beat each other with sticks almost with more intensity than a ball rolled from wool. Trauma is the sea. There are even deaths. True, my good friend Dane Svarthevdi Bear cub explained that most of these deaths are veiled duels. Unofficial holmgangs. “Pure” fights from blood feud. For those who died during the game, revenge is not allowed. And you don't have to pay for it. The main thing is that witnesses confirm that death is an accident. I think this is a coincidence. To solve with a simple Viking stick is a lot of effort. Or get very lucky.

I didn't play ball. But he took part in the tug of war, where, due to his natural size (a palm lower and a pood lighter than the average Viking), he did not bring his team's victory closer. Then, plucking up his courage, he rode a log down a steep slope. As part of a gang led by Treska, who is experienced in these matters. Did not fall, although, believe me, it was not easy.

Wrestling attracted me the most. Regular, no weapons. At first, I thought that I wouldn’t be able to compete against broad-shouldered giants with trap-hands. But it turned out that during our voyage, my hands also pumped up be healthy. And most importantly, a fight without weapons has never been a priority sport among the Viking masters. Not to mention the real art of hand-to-hand combat. And I, after all, came from a time when a man's only allowed weapons were his fists and boots. Well, elbows and knees, of course.

I won’t say that I became a champion (that’s what I didn’t aspire to), but I rolled in the dust at least half of the local wrestlers. I was rolled much less often: unlike the others, I did not give into hands. With my ridiculous weight by local standards, any capture immediately turned into a flight along an unpredictable trajectory. Since I fought "incorrectly", no one really wanted to see me as an opponent. It is also clear: to defeat such a kid is not much glory. And to lose to something that sticks its nose into your beard is a shame.

The next competition began traditionally. Those who wanted to cuddle each other lined up in front. And they took turns throwing each other to the ground.

At first - those who are weaker. Then the middle ones. And finally - the local wrestling steepness: two-meter giants as wide as a sofa and a half.

That is, everything went on as usual, until the crowd suddenly parted, letting in another wrestler.

More precisely, it did not even move apart - it leaned to the sides, forming a corridor along which a new applicant entered the circle.

I recognized him immediately and immediately understood why the reckless Vikings were even afraid to hurt this man. Ivar the Boneless.

None of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok inspired more respect than the Boneless. Ivar's cruelty was legendary. He could kill a man just because he looked at him disrespectfully. And not just to kill, but to release the guts and watch with interest how the dying man writhes at his feet from unbearable pain. And there was no case that Ivar paid Vir for such a murder. He feared neither the vengeance of his kinsmen nor the judgment of the Thing.