Chapter 110


    The Shadow of the Hunter


    The search for the rak camp had dragged on far longer than Tanlor had patience for, dragging on like a bad wound, festering in the cold. Five days now they’d been skimming across the frozen wastes on their ice rafts. Five days trudging through the gods-forsaken wilderness, five days since they''d left Twin Garde behind, and still nothing to show for it. The air hung thick with a creeping dread, the kind that gnawed at the edges of a man''s sanity. Five days of bitter silence. Five days too many.


    Each night they’d make camp on the edge of the dark forest, while Baroc would disappear into the trees, hunting for a trace of the raks. Tanlor trusted the rafts more than he did the beastman. The ice was predictable, solid. Baroc? Not so much. So Tanlor scouted too, prowling the woods on his own. Daegan sometimes accompanied him but he wasn’t much of a tracker, but the man wanted to help and Tanlor didn’t have the heart to tell him he was more of hindrance than a help at this.


    On the third day, they stumbled upon a small party of rakmen scouts—three of them, and not a white mask among them, meaning no runewielders in this lot. They hit the scouts’ camp hard and fast, with Tanlor and Baroc leading the charge, vanguard blades flashing in the cold light, while Puck, Tar, and Daegan rained death from a distance. The fight was quick, brutal, over before it truly began. The blue blood of the rakmen spilled freely, soaking into the earth and turning the dirt to blackened mud.


    The victory put steel in their spines, and they pushed deeper into the woods, hungrier now for blood. Two more rakmen scouting parties crossed their path, and both met the same fate—cut down with the same swift, ruthless tactic. Tanlor couldn’t help but notice Daegan’s growing confidence. The lad wasn’t hanging back anymore, wasn’t flinching from the fight. He wielded his revolver with a steady hand, dropping rakmen before they could even close the distance, not needing to dirty his blade. Tanlor had to admit, the man was starting to come into his own.


    They followed Baroc’s nose deeper into the woods until they came upon a larger camp. The flickers of hope for finding their comrades, ignited into a flame. Tanlor himself began to feel jittery. There was a sense of burning anticipation coursing in his veins that reminded him of pulling on the heat of a topaz.


    Tanlor had fought in many battles before being accepted into the Arch-duke’s guard. He had been on recovery missions, escorts, and outright assaults. He’d had acquaintances die before his eyes. But he’d never had a close personal link to a mission before, not like this. His own brother was a captive and that truth weighed heavy on him. He could feel that from Daegan too.


    Despite not knowing Rowan very long, the Reldoni Prince and Tanlor’s brother had somehow become close friends. Tanlor could admit that it surprised him. Rowan had an even stronger distaste for highborn fools than Tanlor did. And Daegan had been one of the most foolish and most highborn men Tanlor had ever met.


    Had been. Tanlor reminded himself. The man that stood beside Tanlor now was reborn. He was still selfish, still entitled, still annoying. But there was a determination in him and a strength that Tanlor had not seen before. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t noticed it, his own biases about Daegan clouding his opinion. Either way, he was glad to have Daegan at his side for this. He was happy that he had someone to share this feeling with.


    The realisation that the camp was still too small to likely contain any captives was a disappointment. They were huddled in a group not far from the camp, close enough in fact that Tanlor could smell their cookfires. Baroc had just returned from scouting around the perimeter of the camp and was relaying his findings to Daegan.


    “No prisoners in the camp,” Daegan revealed to the group, “ten rakmen with only two sentries at the north and south ends.” The knowledge hit them like a bucket of ice water, dashing their hopes at rescuing their comrades today. Another camp with no prisoners.


    “Do you reckon we should attack them anyway?” Puck asked Daegan. Tanlor found it funny how Daegan had somehow become the decision-maker in the group. Tanlor didn’t mind this as Daegan often ran all decisions past Tanlor first. Daegan was looking at him now, expecting Tanlor’s input.


    “We could probably take them,” Tanlor admitted, “but we might risk losing one of us. Was there any runewielders?” Tanlor waited as Daegan asked the question to Baroc.


    “None,” Daegan replied.


    “Is he sure? they don’t always wear those masks,” Puck put in.


    “He’s sure,” Daegan determined, “he says he can smell it off them.” Puck and Tar exchanged confused looks at that but didn’t press further. Tanlor could admit that he also found it strange that the beastman could smell if someone was a runewielder or not.


    “That gives us good chances then,” Tanlor went on. “If Baroc and I circle around and take those sentries down, we could launch a surprise attack before any of them know what’s happening.”


    “What does it gain us though?” Daegan asked, “we’ve been following the wrong trail. If we lose one of us, then it will make getting Rowan and the others back a lot harder.”


    “It’ll reduce the numbers of the bastards,” Puck chimed in. He wasn’t wrong there. But Daegan also had a point. Taking this camp wouldn’t help them, it only meant less rakmen to potentially be a problem later.


    “Good practice,” Tanlor shrugged, though it wasn’t him, Puck, or Tar that needed it. They’d all had their share of rakmen—more than their share, truth be told. Baroc too, the beastman handled himself well enough, even if he was an unsettling thing to fight alongside. But Daegan? He was the green one, wet behind the ears and still getting the feel of his sword and his revolver. Truth was, it took more than experience to fight as a unit. Trust was earned in blood, and a few smaller skirmishes would do them all good. Forge them into something sharper, deadlier.


    “There’s a chance this lot might regroup with the camp that’s holding our friends,” Tar said, his voice flat, but his eyes sharp. Daegan nodded, not really arguing, just turning the options over in his head. Tanlor could see the lad wasn’t looking to back down, if anything, there was a spark in him—something eager, maybe a bit reckless. Finally, Daegan flashed a nervous grin, the kind that said he knew the odds and didn’t care much.


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    “Alright then,” he said, taking a breath, “let’s do it.”


    ***


    Tanlor moved with the grace of a shadow, his grey cloak merging seamlessly with the forest''s gloom. His footsteps pressed into the damp earth and patches of snow without a sound, each step swallowed by the forest''s hush. The woods had their own rhythm, and Tanlor moved in time with it, part of the shadows.


    Rakmen had excellent vision at night, however it was hindered during the day. This obviously meant that attacking during the day was preferable and Tanlor could rely on the sounds of the birds and the wind in the trees to mask his approach. With each measured stride, Tanlor closed the distance between himself and the rak sentry, heart beating heavily, the thrill of a battle looming.


    Rak weren’t much different to men when it came to sentry duty and after some careful observation, Tanlor was confident he’d studied this rak enough, recognising the flickers of weariness that infiltrated his seemingly vigilant demeanour. There was an ebb and flow to a sentry’s attentiveness, and Tanlor knew that even the most steadfast guardian was still easily swayed by the monotony of the duty.


    Baroc would be waiting for Tanlor’s signal before taking out the sentry on the north side, though Tanlor wasn’t betting on the beastman’s patience holding. The bloodthirsty bastard had a habit of letting his instincts get the better of him. Tanlor took his time, moving with deliberate care. This was the crucial moment of the assault. He inched up on the rak from the side, staying out of its line of sight. The sentry’s shoulders drooped, a telltale sign of boredom. His rough hide armour was scuffed and worn, with glaring weak spots under the arms, just waiting to be exploited.


    Tanlor’s greatsword was already drawn and he gripped it tightly. With the practised grace of a predator Tanlor sprung forward, his sword flashing. The rak jumped but it was too late, the blade slid into his ribs from the side. Tanlor carried forward with his momentum, reaching up to clasp his hand around the rak’s mouth and muffling his cry of pain. The rak tipped forward onto its knees and Tanlor went with him, keeping his hand gripped around his mouth until the body went limp.


    He immediately withdrew back into the cover of the trees, his eyes scanning the rakmen in the camp. Some sat around a campfire, others were resting. None had noticed that one of their sentries had been taken down. Tanlor whistled, mimicking a birdsong that he’d already demonstrated to Baroc earlier.


    Baroc wasn’t built for subtlety. He might be able to slink through the forest like a shadow, but taking down the rak would be anything but quiet. There was no way he’d avoid alerting the rest of the camp with the racket he’d make. Tanlor had a view of the other sentry’s back from his hiding spot.


    It had happened so quickly that Tanlor had to blink. Baroc had been like a phantom unleashed. There was a flash of black fur. The beastman’s movements were a blur of raw power and primal finesse that mocked the limits of Tanlor’s meagre human ability. Tanlor hadn’t even heard a sound. Well… that proved me wrong. He was man enough to admit when misjudged someone. It was still hard for him to think of the beastman—the ocelix—as a person and not a wild beast, but so far he’d proven to be a surprisingly dependable ally. I hate it when Daegan is right.


    Tanlor whistled sharply again, signaling the others to take their places around the camp. This was always the most nerve-wracking part, holding his breath and hoping none of the enemies would spot their downed sentries. Tanlor waited with bated breath, counting the seconds in his head. A moment later he heard another birdsong in the woods. They were in position.


    Five against eight. But they had the element of surprise. Two of the rak were even sleeping, and the others were distracted—


    —One of the rak shouted.


    All six around the fire were on their feet in an instant, hands reaching for weapons. Shit.


    Baroc barked, loud and fierce. The ocelix bounded straight into the camp, pouncing onto one of the rak in a frenzy. Tanlor rushed forward. The six were distracted by Baroc and Tanlor seized the opportunity to take out the two that were rising—confused and groggy—from their sleeping mats.


    His sword arced, cutting the neck of one, then moved quickly to the other. He stabbed down, sinking the blade into the rak’s chest. with a sickening thud. The crack of gunfire split the air, and Tanlor’s head snapped around. He saw a rak that had been approaching him crumple forward. The remaining four had blades drawn, two were advancing on Baroc, the others on Tanlor. There was a blur as a spear of stone hurtled from the trees striking one of them in the chest. There was another gunshot fired and the other was brought to its knees.


    Baroc dispatched his first victim with brutal efficiency, then lunged at the next rak charging him. With a savage leap, his claws tore through the rak’s hide armour and flesh, ripping and rending with the ferocity of an uncaged animal. Blue blood splattered in a wide arc, painting the snow and the beastman’s fur.


    It all happened so quickly, Tanlor rushed to the remaining rak but before Tanlor even reached him, the creature’s hide armour caught alight in flame. They’d decided that Puck shouldn’t waste any of his grenadier pouches in this fight unless he absolutely had to, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t set their enemies’ clothes aflame. The rak howled in pain and surprise as the flames suddenly erupted. Tanlor easily managed to drive his sword into the burning rak, flailing about as he was.


    Within minutes, the group had regrouped and was rifling through the rak camp, scavenging for anything useful. They picked up some bits of supplies and weapons, there was even a pouch of gold and silver coins of unknown origin, although some were Rubanian minted.


    “Look at this!” Puck said, holding up a shining gemstone.


    “Aradium,” Tar acknowledged, “pretty big ‘un too.”


    “You want it?” Puck offered, the stone glinting in the weak light. Given Taran’s knack for stonebreaking, it seemed only fair he’d get first pick.


    “I’m good with the one I’ve got, the only benefit that will give me is more capacity, but this one’s fine. Tanlor mentioned that we could increase Lord Daegan’s revolver capacity with a bigger aradium though, right Tanlor?”


    “Potentially,” Tanlor nodded.


    “Would be handy to have a hundred bullets in this,” Daegan brandished his weapon with a grin.


    “Aradium that big could hold enough metal for at least three hundred bullets, I’d wager,” Tar mused. Daegan whistled low and appreciative. “Can’t say I’d mind that. What do you think, Tanlor?”


    “Aye,” Tanlor said, accepting the runestone from Puck. “We’ll give it a go tonight by the fire.”


    Despite not finding their comrades, there was an undeniable surge in the group’s morale over the victories for the day. It left them with a sense of inexorability in their search. They simply needed to find the camp where Rowan and the others being kept, once they did that, they were becoming certain they had the skills and ability to actually free them.