Rurik's Arc

Chapter 2 of 22

The proprietor's directions ended at a wall of thornvine. Rurik stood before it with the wyrm at his back and the dwarf beside him. The glade lay somewhere past this tangle, and the desperate folk in it were the only army he might raise. But the vines rose twice his height. Thorns as long as his fingers curved from every stem. Blue and pink fungi glowed between them. Deeper in, huge trees leaned together, their branches lit with strange light. No gap showed. A man who forced through would leave his blood on every barb. Rurik drew his hatchet and cut at the nearest vine. The stem snapped back and raked his forearm open. He cut again. The vines closed tighter, coiling where he had cleared. Behind him the wyrm hissed and lowered its head, ready to burn a path. Rurik lifted a hand to stop it. Fire would reach the trees. He would arrive at the glade having torched the home of the folk he meant to beg. A voice came from the trees to his left. "You'll bleed out before you're halfway." Rurik turned. A dark-haired man stepped from the pines, thick braids over layered furs, a weathered beard, one hand resting on an empty scabbard. He looked at the wyrm without flinching. He looked at Rurik's height and did not smile. "Who are you," Rurik said. It was not a question. It was a demand. "Bjorn. Six days I've watched three men die on those thorns." He nodded at the wall. "The vines answer to what's inside. Cut them, they cut back. Burn them, the trolls come." "You know a way through." "There's a beast that dens under the roots." Bjorn's voice stayed flat. "It carves tunnels beneath the thorns. I've watched it come and go. The wild folk let it pass. Follow its trail, the vines don't touch you." Rurik studied him. "Why tell me." "A blade of mine went into that glade on a thief's belt." Bjorn's jaw set. "I want it back. You want bodies for your wall. I'll take you through. You back my claim inside." Rurik weighed it a breath. His arm dripped onto the snow. "Show me the trail." Bjorn led him along the wall to a hollow at the base of an old trunk. The ground fell away into a low tunnel, smooth-walled, packed hard by something large that had passed many times. The thornvine hung above it, unbroken and quiet. Rurik knelt at the mouth and felt cold air breathe up from below. "It's in there now," Bjorn said. "We go when it leaves, or we go with it." Rurik sent the wyrm to guard the mouth. Then he crawled into the dark, Bjorn behind him. The thorns closed over the hollow. The way to the glade was open at last, and it ran straight beneath the den of the thing that had dug it.