“Very ready.” He was still frustrated after his meeting with Tatyana the night before, and he was more than eager to hit something very hard.
A leather ball on a snowy field would have to do.
Of all the pastimes that had amused their sire—wrestling, boxing, sword fights, bear fights, hunting humans—there was really only one that Oleg and his brothers continued on as a tradition in the Kievan Rus.
Chaugan.
Evolved from ancient Persian cavalry training, the precursor to modern polo was rougher, played on a larger field, and in the case of the Kievan Rus, generally held in the winter on snow.
“Did Rudov pick horses yet?”
“I think so. He said it was a draw but…”
Oleg grinned. “It’s never truly a draw.”
His brother Rudov spent a large amount of his time breeding a unique line of Karabair horses he’d originally acquired in Central Asia several centuries before. He’d crossbred his herd with European Thoroughbreds and other breeds to create an extensive herd of chaugan horses capable of carrying large riders but retaining the innate athleticism of the Karabair breed.
Mika was dressed for the game, as was Oleg, wearing loose-cut sharovary pants made of heavy wool, a long tunic, and a fur-lined kaftan. They both wore tall riding boots that crunched in the snow as they started toward Rudov’s stables on the side of his mansion.
Oleg glanced at the gathering of riders and horses surrounded by large torches in the distance. “Did Rudov pick teams?”
“Yes, and from what I can tell, he’s done a good job of balancing the riders.”
Oleg nodded. “It’s no fun if it’s not even.”
Truvor’s sons could not all be on the same team. They had been playing vicious games of chaugan among themselves for centuries. He knew each of his brothers’ weaknesses and strengths. The game was only fun if there was some uncertainty.
“Tatyana will be captain of one team, and you will be captain of the other.”
Oleg smiled. “Good.”
His wife might be a novice at chaugan, but he knew she would catch on quickly. “How does the field look? I am assuming you sent someone out to spy last night.”
Unlike a normal polo field, which was groomed and carefully leveled, chaugan in the Kievan Rus was played on a massivefield that had obstacles put in place by the host, who was almost always Rudov.
None of the obstacles were designed to hurt his precious horses, of course, but there were haystacks and log barriers, water obstacles to be avoided and fences to jump over or go around. On such a large and varied field, six riders and mounts had room to maneuver but had to work together to score goals.
“Of course I sent out one of my spies.” Mika smiled and took a step back. “But as Rudov has placed me on Tatyana’s team” —he placed a hand over his heart in a loyal gesture— “I will be saving my keen observations for her.”
“Are you joking?” Oleg growled. “You bastard. I will not forget this betrayal.”
“May the best team win.” Mika revealed his bright blue sash and waved it with a flourish before he proceeded to tie it around his head. He tossed a red sash toward Oleg and ran off to join the others with a whoop.
Oleg couldn’t be angry because chaugan was one of the few pastimes that he still enjoyed with his clan. They usually tried to meet at least two or three times each winter to play a match or two at Rudov’s estate.
And they had mostly stopped cutting off a finger from the losing captain after Truvor was dead. Mostly.
There was no elemental power allowed to be used at all in chaugan, though other than that, very few rules were followed. The matches ran for roughly an hour with warm-up teams of humans playing first before the vampire riders took the field.
Immortal players didn’t wear helmets because head injuries were not a real threat. Even a broken spine could heal within a day.
And because of that, the heavy chaugan mallets were often used as much on opposing players as they were on the leather-covered ball—the pul—used to score points.
Oleg walked into the hubbub of the prematch stable yard, looking for his assigned groom. “If anyone even thinks about using their hammer on my bride,” he shouted, “I’ll take their head off myself.”
The only response was a scattering of amused chuckles.
“Do you have so little faith in me, Lord Oleg?”
