“Oh…oh no,” Adelmar murmured.

Clatter!

Haldrych’s knife dropped into his plate, splashing the meat’s juices upon his face and shirt. “M-Marctinus?”

Milos watched him. “We have a belief among the followers of Lycundar: that the fallen allies we consume grant us strength. In this, take comfort that your steed may no longer bear you, but he will now live as your strength forevermore. As all of our strengths.”

Haldrych looked at his plate in horror. “Argh! Aaaaargh!” he wailed as a mother over her slain son. “Marctinus! No!”

The patriarch of House Ameldan pounded the oak with his fists, his screams echoing out through the window and into the mountains.

Wurhi’s only regret was that she proved too frightened to laugh.

“I shall allow you to keep your bauble,” Milos glanced to the Eye of Radiin. “I thought to take it from you, but you already suffer, my child. May its sight serve as a reminder of your folly and the loss it has inflicted.”

The Sacred Alpha looked to the stricken hunt-leader. “And so, we come to the crux of it, Jairus. Punishment. How many brothers did you allow to be slain by your bungling? I know what excuses you may use to balm your guilt, my child, but see them for what they are: falsities. And Lycundar can smell even the lies we speak to ourselves.”

“But…” Jairus choked. “But there were warriors we were unprepared for!”

“Indeed there were. And you were unprepared.” Milos agreed. “But by mere accident? No. Lying as such would be a disservice to our fallen brothers. Haldrych Ameldan is punished due to having brought this request without proper warning. You have been punished because you have not behaved as one of Lycundar’s chosen: easy prey in Laexondael has left you lax and foolish.”

“They took us by surprise!”

Milos’ lips tightened. “And how is that? Did you stalk your prey? Scent out their allies and hideaways? Search their weaknesses and strengths?” He gestured to Adelmar and Haldrych. The first was pale while the second sobbed into his platter of Marctinus. “You had two members of the domicile where your quarry resided and you used none of their connections. Instead, you revelled in your own power and charged in blindly. That is the way of a rabid boar, not a cunning wolf.”

“I…” Jairus muttered. “I…” His will crumbled by the heartbeat. “I apologize, Sacred Alpha. I see your wisdom now.” He seemed sick.

“Sacred Alpha!” Berard suddenly stood. His chair teetered on the carpets. “I wish to account for myself!” he bowed his head. “Let me cleanse my shame!”

Milos watched him evenly. “That will be what happens…” His eyes appraised the hulk of a man. “…but I shall allow you to wield the instrument of your punishment.”

He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Whish!

The curtain wrenched aside over the chamber’s second entrance, drawn by a large, ruddy hand.

Wurhi gasped.

A hulking monstrosity filled the passage - so broad and towering that it needed to fold itself to stalk into the dining chamber. Ruddy tones filled pale skin covered by a coat of grey fur, save for upon its hands and loathsome countenance. Its face was that of an ape, but with a cruel cast to its features that told of a brutish cunning.

Yellow-green eyes sparked with the beginnings of sapience, as one might witness in a child first awakening to thought, but with none of the accompanying innocence. Powerful limbs extended from its lumbering torso, each of an uncanny length: as though caught between those of a human and a loping ape.

A girdle of studded leather hammered into bronze chain protected its body, and it clutched a club of bronze studded in silver - longer than Crixus was tall. The weapon looked like a battering ram whose end had been twisted into a rough handle.

The other weapon it clutched suited it far less: a beautiful sword with jewels pressed into its hilt. Wurhi’s eyes widened as she recognized her blade. With lengthy strides, the beast-man came to stand by Milos’ seat, eyeing the table’s occupants with a challenging, flinty gaze.

Milos watched the gaping Merrick and transfixed Wurhi. “Impressive, is he not?” He patted the giant’s arm. The beast-man gave a low rumble of approval. “His kind multiply in the wild places where the cave folk used to rule, but while that elder race withers, his ilk grow strong. They are at the crossroads of animal and man: just awoken to sentience. Do you see? Do you see the power of flesh? What blood and training can hone?”

He gestured to the beast’s club and girdle. “I raised him from infancy: building his body and mind into what you now behold. Of my many pets, he is one of three of my most prized. Pray you do not upset him.” He pointed to Berard. “Give him the sword, my pet.”

“Mrmmm,” the beast-man grumbled, stepping past the table. Wurhi’s gaze crawled up its long, powerful form in trepidation. Its movements flowed with the ease of water, bespeaking of a terrible speed and grace were it roused. Yet, its size rivalled that of the ogres dwelling in Gergorix’s ruined city. Even in the grip of his hulking transformation, Berard would only have risen to the top of its monstrously powerful chest.

As a man, his towering height only amounted to its breast bone

“Mrrrm,” the beast-man rumbled, extending the sword to the big man. “Here.”

Its voice was terrible - deeper than any man’s and coated in the sandy rasp of an animal.

Berard took the blade without meeting its eyes.

“Good, my pet,” Milos smiled. “You remembered the word and to hand it by the hilt first. I shall ensure you have a treat later.” He turned now to Berard, gripping his toga and shifting it aside.

Jairus gasped. “Sacred Alpha!”

An ugly cut ran from the side of Milos’ breast and down over his ribs. Choleric red framed the jagged wound and the scabbing upon it looked to be fresh. “This was my penance.” Milos pronounced. “My carelessness allowed the pack to suffer such a loss. I engraved that into my flesh with the silver of that sword. …what will you do, Berard?”

Without a single word, the large man brought Wurhi’s sword to his face.

Schrrrp!

“Aaaaargh!”

The blade fell silently to the carpets. Berard clutched his countenance as crimson poured between his fingers from a deep slash.

His penance would mark his face for the rest of his days.

“Excellently done.” Milos rose from his seat to gently clasp the larger man’s shoulder. “See that you have that attended to, Brother Berard.”

The large man nodded through clenched teeth and quickly fled the chamber, his heavy steps disappearing in the outer passage.

“All of you, take into account what you have seen today.” The cult leader turned on all present. “Adelmar, witness how a member of the pack conducts themselves. Mark how one must hold themselves accountable lest they once more become a mere lamb.”

His tone indicated his dismissal.

Adelmar rose and bowed. “Er, yes, Sacred Alpha.”

He quickly grabbed the weeping Haldrych by the shoulder and dragged him from the chamber.

Milos looked next to Jairus. “What will you do now, Hunt Leader?

The small man’s face had washed bright red. His eyes shone fervently in the firelight. “I will find those who slew our brethren and capture them. I will see their souls fed to Lycundar by way of the arena. This will be my penance.”

“Very good,” Milos nodded in approval. “Stalk them properly.”

“Yes, Lord Milos.” Jairus bowed, but his eyes turned a hateful gaze upon the thieves across the table. “But why, Lord? Why are they not punished?”

Wurhi and Merrick stiffened.

Milos sighed. “They proved themselves in the arena once. They will have to again. Punishment will come in time, but for now, they have pleased Lycundar. They are safe.”

Relief washed through Wurhi’s body. For an instant, she let her guard down.

She missed the signal passing between Milos and his beast-man.

If she had not, she might have reacted in time.

A ruddy paw cracked out.

Its lanky, steel-thewed arm reached across the table to seize the Zabyallan by surprise.

Bang!

It pressed her into the oak with all the weight of an avalanche.

Her breath tightened and her eyes rolled every which way. Her heart hammered in her ears, and she thrashed violently in its hold.

Crash!

Plates and chalices were dashed to the floor. Merrick leapt from the table with a strangled cry. He looked to the window.

“I would not.” Milos warned him as he rounded the table with slow, deliberate steps. “It opens onto a sheer drop: you would be a red smear before your screams stopped echoing through the mountains. Of course, that would only be if you made it to the window. …which you would not.”

The cult leader appraised the thief. “Not whole.”

“Ach! Aaargh! Let me go!” Wurhi shrieked. “Let me go!”

“Not until penance is paid,” Milos leaned down until his grave expression was level with hers. His inhuman scent stung her nostrils and his breath washed over her face. “You survived Lycundar’s trial, but it was you and your companions who slew my pack-brothers.” His eyes burned like frost. “You may have passed the arena’s trial but to see you unscathed…sits ill with me.”

He glanced up to the beast-man. “Only the hand, my pet.”

Milos seized the Zabyallan’s arm and extended it across the table, pressing down.

“No! No!” Wurhi’s eyes widened in horror as the hulking creature laid down its club and reached out with evil purpose.

The ruddy ape’s hand closed over her own, fitting it neatly within its palm.

Simian lips pulled back from well-kept, glistening fangs. She could not be sure if it was a man’s smile or beast’s snarl.

Its fingers constricted.

Crunch!

Wurhi’s scream echoed through the mountains.