Yaroslav took the shining silvered longsword from the last Pecheneg lord, nodding gracefully as the man bowed morosely in surrender. Behind him men cheered. "Rus! Rus! Yaroslav and the Rus!" The Crown Prince sheathed the weapon in its scabbard, and slung it across his back, accepting the former petty king's offer of fealty and service to the Grand Prince's rule. It was sensible, the action of a logical lord; perhaps he would remain a noble in this region once it was formally integrated into the dominions of the Rus'. Yaroslav smiled, his clean-shaven face in stark contrast to the haggard appearance of the former Pechenegs.
"May peace reign long in this land once more, Baron Yttres."
The Pecheneg lord started; obviously he hadn't expected to receive a title or even friendly words from the Rus' conqueror, and surprise flared under his beetling brows. In guttural Rus' with a southern accent he responded slowly, obviously bludgeoning his brains for words.
"I wish that as well, Crown Prince Yaroslav. It will be better than the wars of mine kin."
Yaroslav nodded, clasping the man's hand, his face solemn.
"May the Lord watch and keep you and yours from harm."
They parted on amicable terms, and as the Crown Prince rode south with his host messages came telling of the capitulation of the rest of the western tribes, as well as the Uzes and Croats. Grand Duke Imshav Dolgorky was a fine military man indeed, to cow so many barbarians in so little time. Now there only remained the issue of the tyrant of Odessa, busy rallying malcontents in the Crimea to the south. It was nominally Byzantine land, but the Romans clearly cared little for its governance if they allowed such a rogue to plot open rebellion within their borders.
Vyborg, Finnland
The road ahead was blocked with a mass of milling Finns, their weapons crude, but their mein determined. Gustav held up a hand, signaling the column of riders to halt, and an uneasy impasse settled on the highway like the cloak of night. The Rus Horselord thought quickly; his unit was new-formed by the Grand Prince, a light skirmishing battalion meant to fight border wars and against nomads, not a slugfight with infantry. As such, he whistled loud and shrill, giving the order for a retreat with hand signals to his Seconds. With obvious skill and practice the formation of mounted men wheeled, turning back towards the lands of the Rus'. Another hand signal led to arrows being strung on bows, and then released over the shoulders of the riders into the mass of Finns.
Peasant soldiers were obviously not expecting such a maneuver. They fell en masse, screaming and scrambling in the mud to chase after the departing Rus; they were far too slow however, and soon the Rus were out of sight. The Finns began treating their wounded and carrying the dead off to the nearby city, bewildered at the sudden attack of the Rus'. Raiding over the border was common against the Kievans, but Rus' reprisals had never come this far into the Finnish lands.
And then the legions of horsemen returned, firing arrows at a gallop as they swept towards the disorganized levies. It was a rout, as men flung down weapons and shields to flee faster.
Clearly the Rus' were no longer content to be raided every spring. A pity indeed. For the Finns.
Odessa, Kievan Rus'
The steady drumming of mallets on wood filled the coastline of the city of Rus and Slavs, for good reasons. An influx of princely troops and artisans had struck the region by storm, buoyed up by a rather large chunk of funds from the Kievan treasury. Forests were falling to the north, and the rivers south were nearly choked with traffic and floating logs-rafts bound for the sawmills by the Russian Sea. Drydocks had been constructed, beginning only a month after the fall of the great city to Yaroslav. And now the first few ships were already putting to sea, great galleys crewed by well-paid rowers and northern sailors, filled to the brim with soldiers.
To His Holiness the Pope, The Bishop of Rome, Sylvester II
Your request has reached our ears, and the Rus' people respond. We are far afield, and the aid of our good Christian men may be long in coming, but come it shall. We have dispatched ten war-galleys south and west, to come to the aid of your Holiness via the Straits of Bosphorous, bearing five hundreds of our finest troops that march under the banners of our city of Kiev. May the Lord find work for their strong arms and quick minds to do to aid the cause of Christendom.
Vladimir Sviatoslavich, called the Great, Grand Prince of Kiev, Prince of Novgorod, High Lord of the Pecheneg Dominions, Duke of the Crimea, and Tsar of all the Rus'
