Ch 17
The sky was only a shade lighter than the blackness before it, soft grey spreading thin along the horizon. The fires in the raider camp had burned down to embers, glowing faintly through the mist. A few silhouettes lounged near them, heads nodding, legs stretched out, weapons lying forgotten at their sides. A few sentries stood leaning on their spears, nodding in sleep
It was the hour Erik had predicted, the dead space between vigilance and waking.
He moved silently among his people, tapping shoulders, murmuring:
"Mount up."
The elks rose with quiet snorts, massive shapes in the gloom, antlers silvered by the coming dawn. Leather creaked softly as riders climbed into saddles. Bowstrings thrummed once as they were checked. Ketil hefted his sling, grinning at the smell of the ammunition pouch. acrid, pungent, vile enough to make even him wince.
Runa tightened the straps on her quiver and eased her elk closer to Erik's. "Ready."
Erik touched two fingers to her wrist in acknowledgement, a quick silent gesture. Then he looked to the rest.
"Formation Echo. Follow the figure-eight path exactly. Do not stop. Do not let them gather and plan a counter offensive."
His band lowered their heads in grim unity.
Erik drew a deep breath. Felt the cold morning air fill his lungs. Felt the old gods stir faintly inside his bones.
Then he raised his arm and swung it down.
"Ride."
'Phase One: Confusion' Erik thought
The elks surged forward in near-silence, hooves gripping the slope, descending like ghosts. No battle cry. No clatter of metal. Only the rush of cold air and the whisper of grass.
Ketil's and his team's elk sprinted ahead for the first few meters and when he got in range, he whipped his sling back.
Whrrr—THWACK—CRACK!
The first skunk-stench/smoke grenade hit a firepit and exploded as its clay shell shattered. Others hit the surrounding clusters of raiders.
A thick, oily plume surged upward, then spread low and fast like a living thing crawling through the tents.
Crack—CRACK—WHUMP!
More bombs exploded into the drying hides, under cooking racks, inside tent flaps left partly open. Raiders bolted upright coughing violently, eyes streaming, throats seizing.
"What—hurk—what is—!?"
"My eyes—gods—my eyes—!"
A man stumbled out half-naked, tripped over a crate, and crashed into another who was vomiting into his own hands.
Within seconds, the entire valley floor was coated in rolling, choking grey-green smoke.
Erik's elk burst through the outer edge of the camp. He rose in the saddle, bow already drawn. The first arrow streaked outward and buried itself in a raider's thigh.
The man screamed, clutched at the shaft, then sagged to one knee as the paralyzing venom began its slow, creeping conquest of his limbs.
Runa rode at Erik's right flank and fired twice.
Both arrows thunked into non-lethal targets—one shoulder, one calf. Two more raiders dropped their weapons from weakened hand, arms flopping uselessly.
All around the camp, the riders split, weaving along the looping figure-eight route Erik had drawn. They fired as they rode, never stopping, silhouettes half-hidden by the drifting smoke.
Yrsa laughed through the haze. "This is too easy—!"
She fired. A pain filled scream and in several seconds a man collapsed like his bones had melted.
Crossing paths with her, Gonir sent a shot through a tent wall, pegging someone who had just started crawling toward a spear. The spear dropped. The man slumped groaning in pain
Ketil and the slingers were already preparing more bombs, launching them deeper into the camp.
Black smoke. Green fumes. A stench so strong the air itself seemed to flinch. Sounds of puking, retching , crying , screaming filled the smoke filled camp
Inside the camp it was pure chaos
"Arm yourselves! ARM YOUR—" He collapsed mid-sentence, arrow in his hip.
"Help! I can't—I can't move my—"
"My legs—my legs—what's happening!?"
The venom worked fast. The smoke worked faster. And the riders worked fastest of all.
Raiders tripped over half-paralyzed comrades. Men stumbled blind into firepits. One fell backward into a drying rack, tangling himself in hide straps as if being swallowed alive.
Erik fired again and again, arrows hissing like angry insects. Each hit was precise. No hearts, no lungs, no headshots. Just limbs.
He circled back and shouted
"Keep moving! No gaps! Ride the lanes!"
The riders roared their understanding.
By the time the first rays of dawn pierced the valley, the raider camp was undone.
Dozens lay sprawled across the ground, writhing, twitching, or frozen in paralyzed fear. Eyes wide. Limbs numb. Smoke curling around them as if the earth itself were swallowing them.
A few stronger ones tried to organize a defense, but the fumes clogged their lungs and the team's archers immediately disabled them with shots to the arms or thighs.
One bulky raider, clearly their "leader" charged out swinging a rusted axe, eyes streaming.
"COME ON, THEN! FACE ME—!"
Erik didn't even break stride.
He shot a single arrow. The shaft buried itself in the man's shoulder. He roared and tried to lift his axe again…but his arm refused. Then his knees buckled and he toppled forward in slow motion, hitting the ground with a thud.
Erik rode past without looking back.
When the last pockets of resistance were crushed and the raiders lay neutralized, Erik signaled.
"Dismount!"
Hooves slowed. Saddles thumped as riders hit the ground. They formed a shield wall and started moving in slowly
They stepped into the clearing smoke, bow slung, serated bone sword and shield in hand.
Erik surveyed the helpless raiders, coughing, whimpering, twitching and cursing.
"Split into groups of four. Bind everyone. Check their pulses. If it's too weak call me immediately. Anyone still able to fight gets knocked out and bound. Once the whole camp's bound drag them here to the central clearing"
His warriors moved forward. Erik walked up to the raider chief
Erik looked down at the collapsed raider chief, the one who had tried to make a stand. The man's eyes still held defiance, even if his body no longer obeyed him.
Erik knelt next to him and pulled out the arrow and healed the wound
"You lost" he said quietly. "Surrender"
"Ne…ver.." The man snarled weakly. "Kill… me…"
Erik shook his head. "That choice is yours. Not mine."
He stood and waited as his team subdued then gathered them in front of him.
"Report "Erik asked Korb who he'd chosen as his second in command.
"Four dead. One from an arrow in the throat, one from poison overdose and two by their own blinded tribe members" Korb replied. Around ten or so got away. Should we go after them?"
"No let them go" Erik asked "We need our full force here. And our people?"
"A few cuts and bruises. Nothing serious" Korb replied
Erik nodded in satisfaction
"Alright hen. Let's get on with it" Erik muttered
Erik raised his voice to the entire broken camp.
"All who can hear me—listen!"
Dozens of eyes, fearful, stunned, some furious turned to him.
"I am Erik the Life weaver! I am the old god's chosen champion! It is they who sent me stop your raiding and destroying! You are defeated but still alive for now." He spoke loudly before pausing dramatically "That can change"
"You have two paths," Erik said, voice calm, cutting through the last swirls of smoke.
"Serve me. Work for me. Pay your penance under my command as I do what the old god's command me" He stated loudly
He paused.
"Or refuse… and die."
Silence hung over the valley.
Erik walked through the kneeling raiders until he stood before their leader—a broad, scarred man still bound at the wrists, but with enough pride left to raise his chin.
Erik looked him in the eye.
"Like I said. Serve me… or die."
The chief spat blood. "I bow to no man."
Erik clicked his tongue softly. "A pity. I was offering you redemption."
He placed a hand on the man's chest and healed him. The man gasped as wounds closed, skin knitting, bruises fading.
The raiders murmured in confusion.
Erik straightened.
"Now you are healed. Let the gods decide your fate. There will be a trail by combat"
He stepped back and raised his voice.
"You will fight my man, Hjalti. If you kill him, you walk free. But if you fall…" He said coldly "…you will bleed at the roots of a weirwood as penance and your life force will be sacrificed for its growth"
A ripple of fear passed through the defeated warriors.
"Hjalti!" Erik called.
The muscular man stepped forward from the group, his hand on the hilt of the jagged bone sword strapped to his side, His armor and demonic faceplate making him look even more larger, menacing and fearsome. He gave Erik a questioning look.
Erik reached out and took Hjalti's hand. The moment skin touched skin; Erik loudly said a fake prayer reverent and convincing. In truth, he simply severed Hjalti's pain receptors, turning every nerve silent and dull.
Hjalti blinked, feeling the sudden clarity, the sudden weightlessness of painlessness.
"You need not fear pain, Hjalti" he murmured quietly "For this fight you are immune to it. Just make sure you win, Don't kill him"
Erik let go and stepped aside.
"Fight. Let them witness." He said before turning to the raider chief "Pick up your weapons and armor"
As the raider chief collected his bronze headed bearded axe and put on his fur armor, the bound and paralyzed raiders were propped up to watch, rage and fear mixed in their eyes .Erik quickly healed the raider of their wounds and venom. Erik's own tribe formed a rough circle around them. In the centre near the smoldering hearth the two combatants stood in front of each other
The raider chief who was taller and more muscular than Hjalti cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "You don't look like much," he growled.
Hjalti chuckled "Good. Makes it easier when Hjalti break you."
The fight erupted fast.
The raider chief lunged first, all brute strength and fury, his bearded axe cleaving downward like he meant to split Hjalti in half.
Hjalti didn't bother dodging, he stepped into the strike, bone sword rising to deflect the blow. The axe deflected to the left and into Hjalti shoulder plate scales, bending and scattering some of the armor and sinking into Hjalti… and Hjalti didn't even flinch.
A murmur rippled through the watching warriors.
The chief's eyes widened. He tried to wrench the axe free and Hjalti laughing menacingly, grabbed the haft with one hand, and yanked the man forward.
The bone sword punched into the raider's ribs with a sickening crack. Not deep enough to kill.Hjalti had aimed low, so as not to kill him but enough to hurt him. The chief roared and slammed his forehead into Hjalti's faceplate only to yell in pain himself as the metal rang. Hjalti barely blinked.
"Idiot" he said. "Hjalti happily end idiot"
The chief snarled and attacked in a frenzy, broad, sweeping cuts meant to overpower and break.. Hjalti parried each blow with unnerving calm uncaring for the occasional cuts and wounds. Without pain to slow him, without hesitation, he fought like a man possessed. Every strike from the raider that should have bruised, cracked, or disabled him simply… didn't.
Erik watched with cold confidence, arms folded. His tribe whispered among themselves, awe creeping in. Even the bound raiders stared, unable to hide their terror.
Finally, the raider chief overextended, one wide, desperate swing meant to be the final blow. Hjalti stepped inside the arc, slammed his elbow into the chief's jaw, and hooked his ankle behind the man's heel.
The big man toppled.
Hjalti tried to press his advantage but the big brute proved surprisingly fast for his size..
The chief scrambled up, spitting sand. "What are you?" he hissed.
Hjalti spat blood. "Your end."
He charged with the recklessness of a true berserker,no defense, no hesitation. The chief slashed a hidden knife across Hjalti's ribs. Flesh opened. Blood poured.
Hjalti didn't react.
The chief's eyes widened. "You should be screaming—"
Hjalti slammed his forehead into the man's face. A crack. Blood from the chief's nose. He staggered.
Hjalti punched him in the gut, grabbed his hair, kneed him in the face, threw him down, lifted him up again, and drove him to the earth with a roar that echoed off the valley walls.
The chief lay on his back, chest heaving, ribs broken, knife fallen from his hand. Alive—but barely.
Hjalti planted a foot on his chest and looked to Erik.
"Done," he growled.
The subdued camp watched in utter silence—fear dawning in every set of eyes.
The raider chief lay gasping on the ground, blood seeping between his broken ribs. Hjalti stayed still a foot on the raider chest and sword pointed at his throat, chest heaving, waiting for Erik's judgment.
"You have lost. The trail ends" Erik walked forward, calm, deliberate. "Now we sacrifice you in the name of the old gods to their symbol. Their weirwood tree"
There was some murmur of confusion among the raiders as there was no weirwood tree in sight. Erik's tribe kept silent , knowing Erik's habit of planting weirwoods whenever they camped.
He knelt and placed a tiny white-barked sapling beside the defeated chief, its slender roots wrapped in a small bundle of earth, its unborn red leaves trembling in the breeze.
A murmur rippled through both tribes. A weirwood. A new one.
Erik rose to his full height and raised his voice so all could hear.
"He rejected mercy. He chose death," Erik declared, his voice echoing against the valley walls. "But even in death he will serve. His life-force will feed the old gods. His sins will become soil for their roots."
Some raiders spat curses. Others trembled. Some simply stared, horrified and unable to look away.
Erik crouched beside the chief.
The man wheezed, "…curse you… sorcerer…"
Erik's expression didn't change. "Your gods will judge you now, not I."
In one swift, practiced motion, Erik drew his knife across the chief's throat.
A final gurgling breath escaped the man. Blood poured, dark and heavy, soaking into the dry earth. Erik guided the flow toward the pale sapling. The roots drank eagerly.
Then Erik placed one hand on the dying man's chest… and one on the weirwood.
The air seemed to thicken, heavy, humming, charged with an unseen pull. Everyone felt their madeleine rising as they felt some powerful being was among them.
The raiders and Erik's warriors alike felt the hair on their arms rise.
"The old gods bear witness" Whispered Helga her voice full of awe and reverence.
The chief's skin tightened as if drained from within. His limbs thinned, his body sinking into itself as Erik drew out the remaining life-force—a faint red glow that pulsed under his hands like a heartbeat being stolen.
The sapling shuddered.
Its bark brightened from dull white to bone-pale. Tiny red buds burst open into leaves, each the color of fresh-spilled blood. The trunk thickened, stretching upward. Branches unfolded like waking limbs.
Within moments the small sapling had grown into a slender young tree, four, then five feet tall with its leaves whispering in a wind that hadn't been there before.
The chief's body finally fell still, withered and dry as old leather.
Erik stepped back from the tree, breathing hard, face pale but resolute.
The new weirwood stood behind him,vibrant, alive, its bark carved by nature into lines that almost resembled ancient, watching eyes.
Erik turned toward the stunned raiders and spoke quietly, but every soul heard him:
"Let this be your reminder. Serve the old gods… or feed them."
"Now who's next?" Erik asked loudly
Erik's eyes swept across the kneeling raiders.Some glared in defiance while others trembled. Some stared at the withered husk of their chief and in fear
Erk locked eyes with a younger raider with a scar down his cheek and fear written in every line of his face.
Erik pointed at him.
"You," he said.
The young man froze.
Two of Erik's warriors seized him under the arms and dragged him forward. He didn't resist, his legs barely worked.
They dropped him at Erik's feet.
The raider swallowed, voice thin. "P-please… I don't want to die."
"You won't," Erik said calmly. "But you will serve."
The man nodded violently, desperate, ready to agree to anything.
"I will! I swear it! I'll serve you, the old gods, anyone you want, just don't kill me."
Erik reached into a small bone-and-hide pouch hanging from his belt.
From within, he withdrew something that made even his own warriors fall silent:
A seed.
It was the size of a walnut, pale white and shot through with tiny red veins.
It twitched in his palm like something alive.
"This," Erik said, holding it up for all to see, "is a mutated weirwood seed. A creation of mine blessed by the old gods. A sacred parasite."
The raider's eyes widened in pure horror.
Erik knelt so the man had to look directly into his cold, steady gaze.
"It will take root inside you," Erik said loudly. "Not as a tree to be seen… but as one that grows beneath your skin. Through your flesh. Around your heart and brain"
The man whimpered.
Gasps rippled through the watching raiders.
"It will stay dormant unless you disobey me," Erik continued. "If you disobey or betray me or my people, even in thought…..its roots will writhe. And the pain it brings will feel like your bones are splitting."
He let the words hang in the air. Then he added:
"But it will not only punish. Its sap will heal your wounds quickly. It will strengthen you. Extend your life. Guide your body to serve the old gods faithfully."
He stood.
"For twenty years, it will live within you. Twenty years of service and penance. Then it dies… and you are free."
The raider shook uncontrollably. "Please… not inside me…"
"You have chosen" Erik nodded once to his warriors. "Open his mouth."
The raider struggled weakly, but two men held his arms while a third forced his jaw open.
Erik placed the writhing seed on the man's tongue.
It moved.
The raider gagged and tried to spit it out but Erik clamped a hand over his mouth and tilted his head back.
"Swallow."
The man choked once and the seed slid down his throat.
Erik stepped behind him, placing one hand on the raider's spine and one on his sternum. He used his powers to activate the parasite seed.
The raider's scream grew raw as the seed awakened.
Under his skin, faint red lines spread like veins of molten metal, first across his chest, then curling over his ribs. The lines pulsed, synchronizing with his racing heartbeat.
The raider collapsed onto all fours, trembling violently, gasping for air.
Erik guided the parasite's growth with meticulous precision, shaping it as much with will as with power. The red-veined roots slithered along the raider's nervous system, threading beside every major nerve bundle until they merged seamlessly with the spine. From there, Erik directed the smallest filaments upward, winding them around the base of the skull, then into the brain itself.
He did not let the parasite choose its home.
He assigned it one.
It coiled around the limbic centers, the places where fear was born, tying itself into the primal animal instincts that governed survival. Then he threaded finer tendrils into the frontal lobes, anchoring them near the pathways responsible for decisions, impulses, and intent.
A perfect leash.
Now, even the thought of betrayal would trigger the parasite.
If the host merely considered disobedience, even for a heartbeat, the roots would twitch. A warning: sharp, unbearable pain shooting through every major nerve, dropping a man to his knees.
If the thought persisted, the parasite writhed more violently.
The suffering became blinding, so intense the host lost control of his limbs, mind drowning in agony, vision white with terror.
And if a host remained stubborn and defiant, if he clung to defiance through the pain, Erik had shaped the parasite's final response:
Permanent damage.
Roots would constrict around nerves and delicate brain tissue, crippling or killing the host rather than allowing betrayal to exist.
In this way, Erik ensured absolute loyalty, not through fear alone, but through the biological impossibility of rebellion itself.
Erik finally withdrew his hands.
The young raider coughed, shuddered and then froze, as if suddenly aware of something growing inside him.
Erik crouched, lifting the man's chin so they met eye to eye.
"It is done," he said loudly. "The seed has taken root."
The raider nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face.
"I…I will serve," he whispered hoarsely. "I swear… I swear…"
Erik rose, turning to the remaining raiders.
"The choice is yours," he said.
"Serve me as living…" he pointed to the trembling man.
"Or serve me as dead." He pointed to the withered husk of the dead chief.
After Erik's brutal trial by combat system is announced, fear spreads among the 120 captured raiders. Many choose to fight, while others beg to serve.
Over 40 raiders tried their luck and demanded trial-by-combat. Erik's warriors defeated all of them as their superior amro , training and temporary pain immunity made it impossible to loose. Those who fall got sacrificed: Erik drained their life-force into specially planted weirwood saplings, causing each sapling to grow rapidly into a young tree.
The remaining raiders choose the second option: becoming hosts to Erik's mutated weirwood parasite seeds. One by one, Erik forces the writhing seeds down their throats and activated them, causing the raiders to convulse as glowing red roots take hold inside their bodies. The parasite gave them healing and longevity but would torture or kill them if they disobeyed him or tried to betray him.
Halfway through the ceremony, Erik ran out of seeds and had to stop for the day. By then, over twenty young weirwoods already stood in the valley, grown from the sacrificed trail by combat losers.
The next morning, after collecting and making more seeds and saplings, he resumed, implanting seeds into the remaining volunteers and sacrificing the rest. By the end of the second day Erik's forces more than double with over seventy parasite-bound servants. Only the half a dozen children of varying age remained unaffected.
Over 40 weirwood trees now grow in the valley, each born from a raider's life-force and the valley was transformed into a sacred, eerie grove of the old gods.
Erik stood over the transformed valley, calm and cold, his power, army, and influence vastly expanded.