Path of the Stonebreaker

Chapter 122

Whining Without Whiskey

Daegan squinted at the northern shoreline, his eyes narrowed to slits against the biting wind. “It’s out there again,” he muttered to Tanlor, his voice low, so as to not alert the others in their group.

“Aye,” Tanlor nodded, “I spotted it.”

“That’s every day since we got here,” Daegan continued, a frown deepening the lines on his face. “You reckon it’s hunting us?”

Tanlor shrugged, his eyes never leaving the distant shape on the horizon. “Never heard of a ferrax hunting a group of people before,” he said, voice edged with doubt. “They usually steer clear of our kind.”

Daegan’s gaze flicked back to where he’d spotted the flash of red and gold along the shoreline. “You think it might try crossing the ice to get at us out here?”

‘Here’ was a small island that jutted out of the frozen lake like a broken tooth, sharp and jagged against the pale sky. Windswept trees clung stubbornly to the rocky outcrop, their branches twisted and gnarled by years of relentless wind and cold. The ice around the island creaked and groaned. They were exposed on the island, but for now, the island was a sanctuary, a place to catch their breath after the bloody chaos of the rak camp.

The group huddled in the meagre shelter the rocks provided. Yaref meticulously caring for the wounded prisoners they’d freed. They were safe for the moment, but the feeling hung in the air like a knife ready to drop—temporary, fleeting.

“If it was going to come at us, it would’ve done so already,” Tanlor admitted, though the uncertainty in his voice was plain. “We could ask our friend over there,” he added, nodding towards Baroc, who sat a little distance from the rest of the camp, his hulking form brooding in the dim light. He’d joined them, as they carried the prisoners back to the ice-rafts and as they travelled further west.

“He seems to know a fair bit about these creatures,” Tanlor continued, “and we need to figure out what he’s planning anyway. We’ll be heading south soon, and he doesn’t belong down there.”

“You’d abandon him up here, with the rak?”

“He’ll be in more danger down south,” Tanlor shot back, turning to face Daegan. “You really think the towns and villages between here and Rubastre will welcome one of his kind with open arms? Besides, what’s for him in Rubastre?”

“The same could be said for me,” Daegan replied pointedly, his eyes locking onto Tanlor’s, challenging him.

Tanlor paused. They hadn’t actually discussed what came next, now that they’d rescued Rowan. The last time they’d broached the subject, it had ended in a heated argument—Daegan insisting on returning to Reldon, while Tanlor wanted to bring him back to Rubastre, to face Arch-Duke Edmund and let him decide Daegan’s fate. Now, with Rowan saved, the question loomed larger than ever, an unspoken tension hanging between them.

Tanlor wished he’d found the signal stone that the Arch-Duke had given him. The small, unassuming thing was supposed to turn red when Edmund sent word for him and Daegan to return, a simple, clear sign. But without it, Tanlor was left in the dark, wrestling with the decision of whether to head back on his own accord. It gnawed at him, the uncertainty of it all.

Besides that, the rak camps were indicative of a major movement for the rakmen. They weren’t just isolated camps—Daegan’s map made it clear that it was a strategic movement. It was a sign, a harbinger of something far worse. The rakmen were coming south, claiming the outposts north of the Nortara, but who knew where they would eventually stop. It had been barely a decade since their last push which brought them as far as the Balfold, before the Dukes had finally rallied to crush them. They could be on the brink of something just as terrible and the Arch-Duke needed to be made aware of this threat.

But how in the hells am I going to convince Daegan of that? Tanlor had long since abandoned any illusions that he could strong-arm Daegan into following his lead. The days of Daegan being easily swayed were behind them, left in the dust along with the old, uncertain version of him. Every day, Tanlor watched as Daegan stepped more confidently into the role of the prince he was. And it wasn’t just Tanlor who noticed it—everyone did.

Even now, the rest of the group looked to Daegan for guidance, for decisions on what to do next. It was almost instinctual, the way they turned to him. Even Cru—the last remaining captain from Twin Garde—with all his experience and authority, seemed to defer to Daegan without question. The shift was palpable, and Tanlor knew that if he was going to convince Daegan to go south, it wasn’t going to be through force or bluster. He’d have to find another way.

“So,” Ardy called out from his position by the fire, his tone more a growl than a question, “how long are you going to keep me enslaved here on this frozen shit of rock?” The Aeth man glared at the icy wasteland around them, his irritation growing in direct correlation with his emptying whitewhiskey flask. The stockpile of supplies from Twin Garde was ample enough to sustain them for months, but whitewhiskey hadn’t made the cut—much to Ardy’s growing displeasure.

“You’re not a slave,” Daegan pointed out as he and Tanlor walked back towards the fire to join the rest.

“Not paid, not free to go,” Ardy retorted, “sounds like slavery to me.”

“You’re not paid, yet,” Daegan winked.

“And when exactly will that be?” Ardy snapped, his patience thinning.

Tanlor watched as Daegan turned his attention to Yaref, who was seated nearby, methodically tending to the wounded. “Yaref,” Daegan said, calling the healer’s attention, “do you think they’ll be fit to travel tomorrow? If we were to head south?”

Four of the Twin Garde men were badly injured. Although Tar was the only one missing limbs. Cru had his missing eye and Puck was burnt half to crisp. Rowan, along with a few other soldiers, were yet to wake from when they collapsed after battle at the rak camp.

“They’ll be ready when they’re ready,” Yaref answered, his tone practical but weary.

Daegan’s eyes met Ardy’s. “So, it looks like your impatience will have to wait a bit longer,” he said, the glint in his eye a clear message that there were more pressing concerns at hand than Ardy’s discomfort.

Tanlor didn’t like Ardy. From their first encounter with the Aeth in Urundock, there had been something about him that grated on Tanlor's nerves. He didn’t like him when he and Daegan were drinking the town dry of ale. He didn’t like him when Ardy had grudgingly brought them to Twin Garde—as they’d paid him to do—and he especially didn’t like him when Ardy had ferried a group of Reldoni soldiers hunting Daegan right to them.

He didn’t trust Ardy, and he was eager to be rid of the Aeth. But that didn’t mean Tanlor disagreed with him, Tanlor wanted to get moving. He wanted off this island where they were exposed. And travelling south.

“We should carry on west,” Cru chimed in, his voice gruff, “Aryle Outpost isn’t far.”

“We’d not heard any word from Aryle in weeks before Twin Garde fell,” Puck croaked, his voice weak and raspy, from where he lay. He was the furthest from the campfire, claiming his burns kept him warm, Yaref wasn’t pleased with that, and insisted he stay close.

“With the layout of the rak camps between here and Twin Garde,” Tanlor pointed to Daegan’s journal which contained the map that they’d all seen. “We can’t rule out the rakmen having taken Aryle. Otherwise they’d have been exposed from the west as they pressed east.”

“The safer choice is go south,” Daegan agreed, but then glanced at Tanlor, “but not Urundock, it’s too far across the ice for the injured. If we can reach Westmark, we can at least alert the Commander of that outpost what’s happening up here.”

“If we got to Urundock,” Tanlor pointed out, “we can send word ahead to Rubastre. The Arch-Duke will not ignore this. He can bring the full might of Rubane down on these rakmen.”

Daegan’s eyes narrowed and Tanlor felt his own frustration rising. “The wounded need time to recover, Tanlor,” Daegan said, Tanlor didn’t miss the clipped tone. “We can be in Westmark in two days. Urundock will be what? Two weeks across the ice?” He looked to Cru and Yaref who were nodding agreement.

“If we don’t get word to Rubastre, the Arch-Duke will be blind to the threat,” Tanlor said through gritted teeth. “This isn’t just about saving ourselves; it’s about getting critical information to the right people.”

“Commander Crann sent word to Rubastre weeks ago warning about this. The Arch-Duke already knows. Urundock is a gamble, Westmark will give us a chance to regroup.”

“That was before Twin Garde had fallen, Edmund needs to know that the outposts are falling like flies. He will not wave it off if I’m the one to warn him.” Tanlor wasn’t too confident on that particular piece. He liked to believe that the Arch-Duke would listen to Tanlor if he came with warning.

“We could split up,” Daegan offered, “we’ve got two icerafts. You and Ardy could travel to Urundock, myself and—”

“—absolutely not,” Tanlor cut him off, his voice firm. “Rubastre is where the real power lies. If we can reach there, we can get the reinforcements and strategic response we need. We can’t afford to split our efforts.” Tanlor was not going to admit that he needed Daegan to return to Rubastre.

Tanlor hadn’t let his thoughts stray to Danielle much the past few weeks. He’d been hyper-focused on finding and rescuing Rowan. But now, with his brother—if not entirely safe, at least recovering—Tanlor felt the thoughts of her tugging at his mind. The prospect of returning to her seemed almost tangible. He yearned for home, for the day he could stand before the Arch-Duke to receive his commendation. For Edmund to send the letter to Hardhelm, the key to persuading Danielle’s father to accept Tanlor’s offer of marriage. He was so close.

“We need to get back to Rubastre,” Tanlor held Daegan’s gaze as he spoke. He couldn’t return without Daegan. Doing so would completely undermine the whole purpose of this mission.

“This is about more than just us now, Tanlor,” Daegan looked to others. Tar, still unconscious, missing both arms. Puck with his bandaged burns, showing dots of blood.

Tanlor felt an uncharacteristic pang of guilt at that. A rare moment of acknowledgement of his own selfishness. Only a few days before, Tanlor’s only thoughts had been about getting these men to safety. Getting them away from the rak. How quickly he’d slipped back from that.

“Westmark,” Tanlor nodded, “we’ll go to Westmark.”

“Westmark don’t help me much,” Ardy muttered, his tone as sour as ever.

“If you want your coin, you’ll endure it,” Daegan shot at the Aeth.

“I liked you better before you started acting like a lordling,” Ardy grumbled, loud enough for the whole camp to hear.

Daegan was over the Aeth faster than Tanlor thought the man could move. The bloodstone dagger was drawn and raised. “Enough, Ardy!” Daegan’s voice was a snarl, sharp and dangerous. “The men of Twin Garde have bled and died fighting the rak the past few days. Fighting them so wretches like you can stay safe. You don’t hear any of them whining, do you? So keep your worthless opinions to yourself.”

Tanlor watched as Ardy’s defiance crumbled like dead leaves, his eyes flitting nervously to the bloodstone dagger in Daegan’s hand. He shrank back. “All right, no need to get hasty,” he stammered, his voice losing all its edge. “I was just talking, wasn’t I? No harm meant.”

Tanlor felt himself go tense. He knew that Daegan wouldn’t really attack Ardy. He knew it was all just bluster and, in truth, the Aeth man’s constant complaining had been grating on his own nerves for days. But he didn’t like that it was the dagger that Daegan used.

The others in the camp looked appreciative. They’d all had to suffer Ardy the past few days too, his refusal to lift a hand in battle, and his selfish guzzling of the whitewhiskey meant for cleaning wounds. The Aeth man needed a sharp lesson in humility, and Daegan delivering it only solidified his place as the group’s leader. But Tanlor couldn’t shake the unease he felt. There was something about the way Daegan had changed, something that felt… off.