Path of the Stonebreaker

Chapter 114

A Sword with No Name

Tanlor’s felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was Rowan, he was alive! And he was less than thirty paces away. A deep, fearful part of Tanlor had longed and simultaneously dreaded finding the captives. He feared that Rowan would not be amongst the survivors. But there he was, huddled together with the rest.

All Tanlor’s life, Rowan had been bigger and stronger than him. But now he looked small and weak. His face looked gaunt and pale, the dark stains on the bandages on his chest making the severity of his injuries clear.

“Gods above and below,” Yaref breathed from next to Tanlor, “they’re alive.”

They crouched side-by-side inside one of the rak camp’s trenches. Quite convenient for Tanlor’s party that the rakmen had built these really. Against a larger attacking force they would be critical for the defenders, but for a smaller stealthier group like Tanlor’s it was a benefit.

Tanlor and Baroc had taken out the scouts and then made their way into the trenches, quietly and efficiently killing the sentries posted in them. The rak obviously didn’t anticipate small groups to attack their camp, the trenches implied the rak intended to make this a somewhat-permanent encampment to hold off any larger companies.

They had good visibility of half the camp from this trench. Baroc and Daegan were a feet up, also surveying. Puck and Tar were both on their own in flanking positions, awaiting Tanlor’s signal. He’d have to give that signal soon. They’d already taken out a half dozen of the rak. It wouldn’t take long before the rest noticed that their sentries were missing.

He’d been just about to whistle the signal for Puck and Tar to start attacking when he heard a sharp and hateful growl. His head spun to the noise, Baroc’s back was a knot of twisted, sinuous muscle twitching with tension, his claws sunken into the earth. Tanlor couldn’t hear him, but he could see that Daegan was trying to urge the beastman to restrain himself.

“What’s gotten him riled up?” Tanlor asked.

“Might have something to do with that,” Yaref pointed at something at the otherside of the camp. There was a group of rakmen around what looked to be some creature they’d hunted. Tanlor couldn’t see it properly, but it looked like a large red stag perhaps. He could see what looked to be an antler behind one of the rak.

Tanlor squinted into the gloom, trying to make sense of what lay beyond the rakmen. Something about the creature didn’t add up. It wasn’t just a stag—it was something more.

“Wait,” Tanlor whispered. “That’s no stag… it’s a ferrax!”

Yaref’s breath caught. “A ferrax?” He strained to see, his voice tinged with awe. “Gods, a true Guardian of the Wood, yes? The rangers at Twin Garde often spoke of sightings, but I never thought I’d live to see one myself. What in the hells are the rakmen doing with a ferrax?”

Tanlor felt a pang of guilt twist in his gut. The ferrax was a revered creature, a symbol of life and protection in the wild. The sight of it chained and surrounded by rakmen was a sacrilege, something that would enrage most. And judging by Baroc’s low, throaty growl, the beastman was already on the edge of losing control.

But as much as the scene disturbed him, Tanlor pushed the guilt down. They were here for the captives, not this creature. The mission was about Rowan, about saving the people they’d come for. The ferrax was just a distraction—an unfortunate casualty in a world where sacrifices had to be made.

“We need to stay focused,” Tanlor muttered, more to himself than to Yaref. He then—as stealthily as he could manage—made his way over to Daegan and Baroc.

“Baroc,” Tanlor said, keeping his voice steady, “I know what this means to you, but we can’t lose sight of why we’re here. Rowan and the others are our priority. We save them first, then we’ll figure out what to do about the ferrax.” Daegan was hurriedly translating for the beastman, his voice full of urgency.

Baroc’s growl deepened, his muscles were taut as if every fibre of his being fought the urge to spring forward and free the creature.

“If you rush in now, the entire strategy goes out the door,” Tanlor continued, trying to keep his voice calm and rational. “Then it won’t just be the ferrax in danger—it’ll be Rowan and every other captive here. We can’t afford to make mistakes.” This aspect of their strategy was always a key risk point. The coordinated attack began with both Puck and Tanlor firing projectiles from the flanks, drawing the camp’s attention, Tanlor and Baroc then pushed forward, pushing the advantage of surprise and taking down as many of the rakmen as they could before they rallied a defensive line. It had worked well against the smaller camps, but there were more than two dozen rakmen in this camp. Tanlor and Yaref needed to reach the captives as priority, free and rush heal as many as they could to get the extra swords into the fight. Baroc was crucial for this, as he needed to keep the main focus of the defenders on him while Tanlor and Yaref did their task.

Baroc snarled something at Tanlor, Daegan grimaced and looked reluctant to translate.

“What is it? What did he say?”

“He says that the life of the ferrax outweighs that of all of us. That the rak will seek to… corrupt it? That we can’t allow that to happen.”

“Tell him we won’t. Once Rowan and the others are free. We’re going to put down each and every one of these rak. And we’ll free the beast.”

Baroc’s golden eyes held Tanlor’s gaze as Daegan translated the words for him. Eventually, the beastman gave a reluctant but affirming nod, his fangs still bared. It was strange to see such a human-like gesture from a creature that looked so utterly nonhuman.

“It’s time?” Daegan asked, a hint of fear in his voice, it gave Tanlor a flash of who the man had been only weeks beforehand.

“Aye, it’s time,” Tanlor nodded, drawing out his great sword from where it was strapped across his back. The blade gleamed silver but it would soon be stained black and blue with the foul alien blood of the rak. He’d felt no particular attachment to the weapon. It was a good blade, and he’d trained with it for so many years that it’s weight worked perfectly in his forms. These past few days he’d slain more rakmen with it than in his entire career as a knight of Rubane.

He’d kept count, of course. Eighty-seven. He’d fought the rak years before at the Balfold, but had only killed three. Even the other veterans only boasted numbers no greater than twenty. Many of the other members of the Duke’s personal guard had never even faced a rakmen. Tanlor had held his experience as a badge of honour among them. But now… Once again, Tanlor felt resentment he often felt towards his father. His father who had been so famous for his adventures. So renowned for his tenacity and skill. His father who was a liar. His father who’d never even seen a rak, let alone fought one. And here was Tanlor. With a kill count approaching a hundred, and he was still only known as Taran the Hunter’s son.

He looked at the blade in his hand. Before the sun sets sword will have had the taste of a hundred rak. It deserved a name he realised. All swords of great renown deserve a name.

He’d never thought to name it. It wasn’t even truly his, it belonged to the garrison in Rubastre, requisitioned by Tanlor as a member of the Duke’s guard. But Tanlor had made this weapon his own. Had tempered it. You’ll have a name… and so shall I.