21
Time had flown by while they were busy thriving. Before Erik truly had the chance to pause and take stock of all they had accomplished, six months had already passed in near-constant motion as the foundations of their new city were laid.
The people had chosen to name their growing settlement Weirstad: Weir for the colossal Weir tree that stood at its heart, and stad for the city rising around it. Thanks largely to Jacob and the tireless work of the scouts, word spread quickly among wandering nomads and scattered tribes that there now stood a safe sanctuary, one where people were welcomed, fed, and protected.
The Children of the Forest took upon themselves a monumental task: the shaping of a true heart tree from the weirwood that Erik had grown.
They began at the base, where a vast natural hollow opened at the trunk's roots. With careful carving and ancient craft, they transformed the opening into the likeness of a mouth, as though one entered the heart tree by passing through its open maw. Around the hollow they sculpted a fierce and ancient face, its expression both watchful and terrible, befitting a guardian of the Old Gods. The opening was immense, wide enough that even a mammoth or a giant could pass through it with ease.
Above, the eyes of the visage wept red sap that flowed down like frozen tears, lending the face an unsettling, sacred presence. Beyond the mouth lay a colossal interior chamber, from which tunnels and living corridors branched outward. These passages led deeper into the tree, opening into residential halls, communal spaces, and the palace and government chambers Erik had planned each grown and carved in a spiral structure that rose upwards into the tree, the living wood shaped to purpose without killing it. It was similar to an ant hill with large rooms connected by smaller stairs or corridors that spiralled upwards.
Word spread swiftly that the greatest heart tree in existence now stood in the north in a valley where food was abundant and safety was promised. Add to that there was a champion of the Old Gods who was a healer and their valley became quite attractive to all the nomadic tribes.
When the people of the North and the Free Folk of the valley heard of it, many came simply to witness the marvel with their own eyes. They were astonished not only by the tree itself, but by the facilities and shelter it provided. A great number chose to remain, swelling the city's population yet again.
Many of the Children of the Forest also migrated into Weirstad, settling among the massive roots of the heart tree at its center. There, the roots formed natural sanctuaries, warm, protected spaces where they could live and thrive. In return, they aided the city in numerous ways like magically boosting crops, calming and domesticating wild animals and ensuring that every living system functioned in balance. When people saw the legendary children of the forest , they were further enchanted by the place and it affirmed Erik's position in their minds as a true champion and chosen of the Old Gods
Above all else, they devoted themselves to the care of the hybrid heart tree, now both their home and their sacred center. Through the spores it produced, they joined with it telepathically. Unlike the others, the Children could answer back—communicating with the tree and, through it, with one another. A living network of shared thought and sensation spread through roots and wood, a communion they cherished deeply.
For the first time in countless centuries, they could truly speak to a tree again and it spoke back.
Outside their little peaceful valley, the rumors of their exitance spread further until they reached the far corners of the north. They spoke of a champion of the Old Gods, who watched over the city. A great healer, a guardian who ensured justice and balance. They said that Weirstad was a place of warmth and safety, of abundant food and shared labor, where all that had long been lacking could be found, so long as one came in peace and was willing to join the community and accept the champion as their leader.
And so, they came. Peaceful nomads and honest folk arrived in steady streams, swelling Weirstad's numbers until its population nearly doubled. Most were non-combatant women and children along with few warriors. A few came to steal and cause trouble but the diligent telepathic senses of the giant Weirwood/Thorian hybrid sensed their ill intent and alerted Erik and the children of the forest who took care of them swiftly. Some tried to challenge Erik in combat for leadership. They were soundly defeated by Erik to make sure they didn't question his authority and then Erik would give the defeated warriors a chance to flourish and be happy after he'd planted some subtle suggestions in their brain not to betray him.
But fortune casts a long shadow. The same tales that drew the weary and the hopeful also reached darker ears. Not all who heard of Weirstad came seeking sanctuary.
-----
Erik woke with a sharp gasp, lungs dragging air as if he had surfaced from deep water.
Beside him, Runa jolted upright, instantly alert. "Erik?" she asked, voice tight with worry. "What is it? What's wrong?"
He sat there for a moment, staring into the darkness, heart hammering against his ribs. The image still burned behind his eyes, blood, gore and shadows moving through endless trees. Feasting on human flesh.
"I've had a vision," he said at last. His voice was low, unsteady. "The gods showed it to me."
Luna's breath caught. She reached for his arm. "What did you see?"
Erik swallowed. "A great clan from the Ice River. Cannibals. More than we've ever faced." He ran a hand through his hair. "They've heard the rumors of our valley, of its bounty and of the great weirwood heart tree."
Runa's eyes widened.
"They come from lands frozen to the stone in the far east," Erik continued. "They're already moving. Toward us. Toward Weirstad. Not to raid but to take it. To destroy it. To make this place theirs and kill everyone who stands in the way."
For a moment, only the wind answered them, whispering through the night beyond the walls.
Then Runa said quietly, "Who needs to know?"
"Everyone," Erik replied at once. "The council. Now. This can't wait for dawn."
He turned to Runa, already rising from her bedding. "Wake them. All of them. Call a council—now, in the heart tree hall."
Runa nodded, her face pale but resolute. She dressed quickly and moved swiftly into the night.
As Erik stood, the weight of the vision settled fully upon him. Outside, Weirstad slept unaware that far beyond the forests and frozen passes, something was already coming.
And they were hungry for their flesh.
They gathered in the great hall within the heart tree, It was partially open to the side as it was on top of one of the massive main branch of the tree. Its vast interior shaped like an auditorium carved from living wood. The walls curved upward in smooth tiers, veins of red sap glowing faintly beneath pale bark. High above, the canopy stirred, and red leaves whispered softly as the night wind slipped through hidden vents, carrying with it the distant scent of salt.
At the center stood a long table grown directly from the tree itself.
Gonir dropped into his seat with a crooked grin, rubbing his hands together as if amused by the whole affair.
Skaldi sat with an irritated look on his tired face. Yrsa stood instead of sitting, alert even now. Eldri and Halldis muttered to one another. Turik stifled a yawn. Sigrun sat straight-backed but her eyes were closed. Hjalti leaned back, arms crossed. Korb stood near the shadows, eyes half-lidded, watching rather than listening. Bloom sat quietly, fingers brushing the wood as if feeling for something beneath it.
Gonir let out a soft laugh. "Ahhh, look at us," he said lightly. "All dragged from our warm little dreams into the belly of a talking tree." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "Did the tree whisper secrets? Or did someone simply miss us terribly?"
Halldis scowled. "This better be important."
Before tempers could rise, Runa spoke.
"Enough."
Her voice was calm, smooth, and carried effortlessly through the hall. Everyone turned toward her.
"Erik called this meeting," she said coolly. "He will be here shortly. If you were woken, then it is because sleep was no longer an option."
The room quieted, irritation giving way to unease.
Gonir chuckled again, softer this time, rubbing at his beard.
"Ohhh, that doesn't sound comforting at all," he murmured. "Sleeping should always be an option. I like sleep. Sleep keeps the madness away."
Yrsa yawned openly, stretching her shoulders.
"Me too," she said. "We work our backs raw all day for our mighty and wise leader." A faint smirk tugged at her mouth. "We deserve our beauty sleep."
A few quiet snorts rippled around the table, the tension easing for a heartbeat before the whispering leaves above reminded them that something must be very wrong.
Helga shifted in her seat. "He has reason."
Yrsa turned sharply. "You sound certain."
Helga nodded once. "I was woken too."
A beat passed.
Bloom looked up, eyes bright with concern rather than fear. "So was I," she said gently. "And… it wasn't pleasant."
The hall fell silent.
Eldri leaned forward. "Then tell us what you saw."
Helga shook her head. "No."
Korb spoke then, voice low and gravel-rough. "Means it's bad."
All eyes turned to him.
Bloom nodded, hugging her arms lightly. "This kind of silence usually means something is already moving."
Gonir's grin faded just a little. "Ah," he said softly. "That kind of night."
Helga met their gazes one by one. "It isn't mine to explain."
Bloom added, quietly but firmly, "Erik needs to be the one to say it."
Runa's eyes flicked toward the entrance. "And he will."
The heart tree's leaves rustled overhead, longer this time, the sound rippling through the hall like a held breath.
Footsteps echoed from the far passage.
Korb straightened slightly. "He's here."
Every voice died away as Erik entered carrying a large map and sat down close to them. He spread the map on the table.
"We've got a big problem heading our way, One of the Ice River clans" Erik said without preamble. "They come far from the east, leaving their desolate lands to take ours. Two thousand cannibals, maybe more."
"Definitely more, I too had visions" Helga replied recalling her own vision "Very fierce and half feral. They bring families when they intend to settle and feast on us"
Runa swallowed. "They know this land is new. They think we are weak and weakness draws predators."
Erik's jaw tightened. "Then they will learn that Weirstad is not prey."
Below them, the settlement still looked young—half-raised timber halls, earthworks not yet hardened, canals still being shaped by hand. But beyond that youth lay preparation. The cliffs, the tunnels, the tree itself, and people who had already learned to build, to adapt, to fight.
Erik stood at the center, a stick in hand, pointing on the large leather skin map spread on the table
"They are passing through the Skirling pass now" he said, dragging a long curve. "At their current speed, they will come down it and reach the fist of the first men in two weeks. They have scouts moving ahead of the bulk moving on foot. Once they have cleared the pass, it's just the vast forests between them and us"
Jacob leaned forward, eyes sharp. "They won't rush blindly. Cannibals they may be but they're not stupid. They constantly fight the eastern shore bone sled nomads to feed on them. They will probe first."
Yrsa crossed her arms, her axe resting against her shoulder. "Which means we strike and kill the scouts. Break their confidence before the main force arrives."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the circle.
Helga, seated near the fire, shook her head slowly. "Or we let them see us retreat."
Several heads turned.
"Retreat?" Skaldi scoffed. "After all we have trained and built?"
"Not retreat," Helga corrected calmly. "Lure."
"That is a good idea Helga" Erik agreed " We can lure them into traps. It can be s part of our overall strategy. Any other idea?"
"We have speed," Yrsa said. "Cavalry archers trained to fire at full gallop. Once they cross the fist of the first men and enter the forests , We bleed them there, turn their advance into chaos."
She gestured sharply. "And when they try to regroup, the rhinos charge. Nothing breaks morale like two tons of fur and horn smashing through shield walls."
A young warrior's eyes lit up. "The Ice River Clan has never faced beasts like ours."
"They will run," Helga continued. "And they will scatter. Easy pickings for our riders"
"Our riders will also have a difficult time in the dense forests. I suggest we attack only when they are in the open areas or when they are camped for the night" Jacob nodded slowly. "A forward strike could cut their numbers and morale in half before they even see the gates."
"How many do have?" Erik asked
"If we take everyone that can ride and shoot? Around two hundred cavalry archers. All fully kitted with scale armor,sheild , bone sword and a compound bow" Skladi replied " and fifteen Wooly rhino chargers"
Erik remained silent, eyes fixed on the map. Then he drew another line—this one jagged.
"This," he said, "is the caldera rim and this our western tunnel entrance. We must prepare it as a fall back if the cavalry can't stop them before they reach our valley tunnel gates" He tapped the drawing
"If we fight them in the valley," Jakob cautioned, "we gamble everything on one battle. Win, yes, but if something goes wrong, there is nowhere to fall back."
Skaldi nodded. "The tunnels turn numbers into a liability."
He leaned forward, voice steady. "Smoke. Collapsing gates. False retreats. Kill zones where five of ours fight fifty of theirs."
Sigrun scowled. "And let them get that close to the city?"
"They won't see the city," Korb stated with certainty. "Only stone, darkness, fear and death."
Bloom spoke up. "The tunnels can be sealed behind them using magic. If they push too far in, we can trap them in sections of the tunnel where they will starve underground."
Another added, "The caldera walls echo. We can make them think they're surrounded. Traps can also be used to cause panic and fear"
Halldis snorted. "You want to turn this into a siege underground? Cannibals don't fear starvation, they'll just eat their own"
"I agree" Erik replied "Starving and trapping them in won't work in this situation"
"Then we strike first," Erik nodded. "Take their momentum and kill as many as we can before they reach us and try to lure them away if possible"
"Forward harassment," Jacob said. "Not a full engagement. Cavalry archers hit them randomly specially when they want to rest at night. Never stop. Never commit."
Korb's eyes narrowed. "And when they grow angry or desperate?"
"They'll chase after us" Yrsa replied. "That's when we vanish either into the forests or later into the caldera."
Runa's lips curved slightly. "Bleed them at the tunnel gates and when the gates fall, draw them into the tunnels exhausted and angry. With all the traps inside they'll surely loose what little morale they have"
Helga considered this, then nodded once. "And if they try to pull back?"
Erik tapped the map again, this time drawing a thunderous arc. "Then the cavalry hit their rear and grind them down between our two forces. The cavalry and the tunnel defenders"
Silence followed as the idea settled.
"Force them forward," Bloom said softly. "Or break them from behind."
Hjalti exhaled through his nose. "Hjalti don't like waiting."
Erik met her gaze. "This isn't waiting. This is us making the odd swing in our favor. "
"Is is decided then "Erik announced loudly as he stood up "Make preparations to welcome our unwelcome guest. Make good use of this warning given to us Ramp up arrow production. Increase drill time specially for the newer recruits. Arm everyone man woman and older children with bone swords or daggers. Fortify both ends of the tunnels gates and lay traps in the tunnels"
Above them, the heart tree's leaves rustled though the air was still.
"The Ice River Clan believes only in strength," Erik said. "So, we show them something worse. Something they can't understand"
He closed his fist over the map.
"We show them guile and cunning strategy. We don't fight head on. We don't let them rest. We make them angry. We make them panic. We whittle them down and destroy them piece by piece."
The council rose one by one, the plan taking shape in their minds—arrows, shadows, tunnels, thunderous beasts waiting in the dark.
Outside the caldera, danger crept closer.
Inside Weirstad, war was being prepared for.
------
The scouts of the Ice River Clan never heard the hooves.
They moved along the riverbanks where the river widened, spreading out in loose lines, bone charms clacking softly against seal-hide armor. Their breath steamed in the pale morning light as they searched for signs of settlement, tracks or general activity.
They found arrows instead.
A sharp whistle cut the air, followed by a wet impact. One scout spun and collapsed with a gurgling sound, an arrow buried deep in his throat. Another screamed as a shaft punched through his thigh, pinning him down.
Then the ground itself began to move.
Riders burst from behind low ridges and the forest riding Giant Elks that were massive yet swift and sure-footed. They did not slow. They did not shout.
They circled.
"Shields!" one of the cannibals roared, yanking a crude shield from his back.
Too late.
The riders loosed in volleys while at full gallop, arrows striking from different angles, throats, knees, hands clutching weapons. An Elk veered close enough that a rider reached down and buried a short blade into a man's collarbone before pulling away, already turning for another pass. Another was gorged by a pair of massive antlers and thrown aside casually.
The rest of the Ice River scouts tried to flee but they were slaughtered when arrows struck them from behind ending them.
A horn sounded from farther ahead that was deep and furious.
More cannibals poured down the riverbank, some dragging sleds, others running with axes raised high. They howled when they saw their dead, pounding weapons against shields, blood painting their faces as if daring the riders to come closer.
The riders obliged.
They closed in just long enough to loose another volley of arrows again, then peeled away, arrows sprouting from fur and flesh. When the cannibals charged, the cavalry archers simply outran them, leading them across uneven ground, toward the denser forest that slowed pursuit.
A rider laughed breathlessly as she loosed backward, her arrow striking a charging man square in the eye.
"Too slow!" she shouted.
The laughter stopped when a thrown spear lodged itself into her Elk's flank.
The animal screamed and went down hard, throwing its rider. Before the cannibals could reach her, two riders veered back, arrows slamming into faces and throats, dragging the fallen woman up between them and riding off at full speed.
No one was left behind.
---
From a distant rise, Skaldi watched through narrowed eyes.
"Enough," he said. "Sound the retreat"
A rider nearby blow into their horn twice telling the cavalry archers know to retreat
The riders vanished as quickly as they had appeared, breaking into small groups, disappearing into gullies and rock breaks. The cannibals surged forward—then slowed, confused, wounded, angry.
Their cannibals lay dead or dying. Their wounded screamed on the ice.
They had gained nothing.
Attacks continued for the next few days. The cavalry archers had split in smaller groups of forty as the forest was unsuited for a large cavalry to move quickly and silently. Under their leader's guidance they took turns attacking at different times of the day and night.
The next few days was spent harassing and killing the enemy randomly.
Then when the enemy was properly panicking and huddling closer together, sitting ,sleeping in tighter clusters. They unleased the rhino cavalry.
One evening, out of the forest surged shapes massive woolly rhinoceroses wearing armor, their breath blasting from flared nostrils in steaming clouds. Each beast wore layered plating along its shoulders and neck, reinforced where arrows and spears might strike.
On their backs rode warriors of Weirstad.
They did not carry bows.
They carried glaives.
The rhinos did not slow.
They hit the Ice River warriors like a collapsing cliff.
Men were flung aside like broken dolls, shields shattering under horn and mass. One cannibal tried to brace, planting his feet and raising an axe and he vanished beneath a rhino's chest, trampled into the snow without a sound.
A rider leaned low, glaive sweeping in a brutal arc, severing a man's head clean off the neck. Another thrust downward, the long blade punching clean through fur, bone, and spine before being wrenched free as the rhino surged onward.
The Ice River Clan screamed in fear and in shock. They had never seen anything like this.
"TURN—TURN!" someone shouted.
Too late.
The stampede rolled through them, not stopping, not turning, crushing sleds, bodies, and courage alike. Those who survived the first impact scattered, some diving into the river's edge, others tripping over the dead as they fled.
A spear glanced off a rhino's plated shoulder. The beast barely noticed.
One rider stood in his stirrups, roaring as he swung, glaive biting deep again and again, throat, gut, neck. Each strike timed with the beast's unstoppable forward motion.
Then, just as suddenly another horn blast. Short. Sharp.
The rhinos veered as one, angling away, their riders pulling them out of the broken mass before the cannibals could regroup. Bones crunched, people squished and then they were gone, disappearing behind ridges and into the forest. Some of the cannibals tried to follow only to become victims of arrows,
Silence followed, broken only by moans and the crackle of settling ice.
The Ice River war leader staggered to his feet, staring at the carnage.
Flattened bodies.
Split shields.
Destroyed supplies.
He knelt, touching a crushed helm, his hand shaking, not from fear, but from rage.
"They have monsters," he growled.
Far away, atop a ridge hidden by wind and stone, a rider lowered the signal horn.
"Good," Skaldi said beside him, eyes burning as he watched the distant chaos. "Now they're angry."
Bloom closed her eyes, listening to the echoes fade into the caldera's vastness. "And tired. And bleeding."
Below them, the Ice River Clan gathered their wounded and dead, howling oaths into the cold sky.
They would advance.
But it would be Weirstad that would decide how many of them arrived alive.
-------
Ice River Clan — POV
Hunger had always been their guide.
It had led them across frozen rivers where the ice sang beneath their feet, across the mountain pass littered with the bones of weaker clans, across forests that resisted them but always fell in the end. Hunger had never lied. They were the apex predators and everything that breathes was their prey.
Until now.
The first arrows came at dusk.
Not from a charge. Not from a challenge cry. No drums. No horns. Just a whisper through the trees. Then a man screamed as an arrow punched through his throat, clean and silent. He fell clutching at blood that steamed in the cold air.
The scouts vanished first.
Those sent ahead did not return. At first, this was not alarming. The wilds swallowed men sometimes. But when three did not return… then five… the murmurs began.
That night, the arrows came again.
They fell into the camp like rain, hissing from the dark beyond the firelight. One struck a child. Another buried itself in a woman's spine as she ran screaming. Fires were kicked over in panic, embers scattering as shapes moved just beyond sight, fast, mounted, gone before a shout could become a charge.
They tried to pursue but they were on foot and the enemy rode massive beasts
Never had the Ice River Clan heard such beasts.
Huge. Furred. Snorting clouds of steam. Arrows struck from their backs while they moved, while they ran. Men died with eyes wide in disbelief, shields raised too late, feet tangled in roots as the forest itself seemed to grab them. They tried to respond with spears and arrows and apart from one of the beasts falling none were successful as they all had armor.
An Ice River war leader knelt beside a corpse, pulling an arrow free and examining the fletching.
Not bone.
Not flint.
Something that looked like metal.
He bared his teeth in a grin that showed filed points.
"They bleed us from afar," he said. "Cowards"
He stood and howled toward the south.
"Let them run. We will eat them when we reach their homes. They'll have to stand their ground then" He said before looking at his dead and injured fellow clansmen "Take care of the lightly wounded. Kill the rest and put them along with the rest of these worthless idiots in the stew pot."
Far away, unseen, the riders of Weirstad were already turning back, arrows counted, paths memorized, waiting for the enemy to lower their guard.
By dawn, twenty were dead.
By dusk, thirty more.
The clan began to argue.
"They are spirits," one elder snarled. "Forest demons."
"They are people just like us" One of them argued
"Then why do they bleed none?" another shouted back. "Why do they never fall?"
No one had a good enough answer
They marched harder the next day, anger replacing fear. Families were pulled closer to the center. Warriors ringed the column. Scouts were doubled.
It did not help.
Arrows struck when they stopped to drink.
Arrows struck when they slept.
Arrows struck when they relieved themselves in the brush.
sometimes from behind.
Sometimes from the flanks.
Never close enough to touch.
One man swore he heard laughter carried on the wind, mocking, distant, gone.
Another claimed the forest paths shifted when he looked away.
Cannibal courage fed on dominance, on visible strength, on crushed enemies and shared meat.
This enemy did not feed them that.
It starved them of certainty.
By the sixth night, fires burned low and close together. Warriors slept with weapons in hand. No one strayed from the light. Even the bravest watched the trees.
When the thunder came, they broke.
The ground shook.
Trees cracked.
Out of the fog burst beasts of horn and fur. Wooly Rhinos smashed through the outer ring, its rider swinging a blade with such a fine edge that cut men apart easily. Shields shattered. Bones broke. Screams drowned beneath the roar.
They ran.
Not forward.
Not together.
They ran in pieces.
And as they fled, the arrows found them again, relentlessly and mercilessly.
From the shadows, unseen eyes watched.
The Ice River Clan had believed the people of Weirstad were weak, that they were prey.
Now the predators had become prey. For the first time someone now hunted them and they didn't simply didn't know what to do.