𝔻𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥: 𝕆𝕗 𝕄𝕚𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕤, 𝕄𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔾𝕠𝕕𝕤

Chapter Five: Liaham

Chapter Five:

LIAHAM

Night had eaten away at the skies, breathing life into the birch sentinels, whispering amongst themselves in a long-forgotten tongue. Watching over a procession of torches and oil lamps marched below them, mirroring the stars that shun brilliantly above. Though they did little for lighting the way forward, he could still hear the strength of their numbers. Incredible for a simple hunting party even if half of them were made for fighting wars. Among those fighting men, Liam rode with, nervous at the sound of savage barking.

Waving the glow of his torch, Liam could feel the warmth graze his cheek. The hunting dogs were riling up at the scent of prey. Liam knew, signalling the ones behind him. Riding towards the sound like the rest, he could feel their hooves shake the earth beneath their horses.

Fortunately, there was little that could be called a chase when they spotted the hounds. They had as fierce as ever, surrounding a thicket of bushes where the prey had hidden. They growled and barked but dared not approach. This was strange, Liam had noted. Normally they would be tearing into it, teeth and all. He thought before sighting the crimson that spilt from the thicket. Whatever it is, it's alive. Wounded but alive.

The hunt was mostly fruitless, what prey they caught was laughable or fled.

The cloaked one will be most displeased with our hunt. The commander as well. Liam thought to himself.

Steering the head of the hunt was Commander Rostom Edgar, trampling the earth beneath the gallop of his horse. He was an unruly force of nature, towering over any man on horseback, it was clear why he was given his position. Commander Rostom had always been the light of these hunts even if his roar wards away half the prey they catch. But on those days, they would still manage enough game to last them months.

This was not the commander's doing. Liam recalled how Rostom would announce the prey, chasing after the hunting dogs like he was one himself. Yet this was the first of few barkings today. Counting this as their third. Even the commander must be worn from today's hunt. Noticing the dull in his eyes when he rode up to it.

The commander sat spiritless on his saddle, no chase, no thrill. "Nothing..." He muttered through the wildness that was his beard, wheeling in his horse.

The snarling mutts yielded him when he made his descent, swinging off his horse. Even the thought of captured prey seemed to sicken him. The commander has his limits, Liam pondered, like any other man. Watching how his fellow huntsmen slumped and slouched and laid on their steeds when they arrived behind them. Commander Rostom drew the hunting steel that hung from his saddle, the blade narrow but sharp. When he made his move, a row of mounted archers had their arrows notched behind him.

During these hunts, the kill was the most crucial to the commander. He was almost like a beast himself, the stealth and ferocity of a creature of the wild. He was lethal with the many hunting knives he would bring, they were like claws to him. The pelts he would collect and don over his hunting garbs acted like furs. But his instincts, those were the most prevalent. What made him more beast than man, more predator than prey, what made him: Rostom the Silence. That name, earned from stalking, prowling and taking down his prey in one fell swoop.

That name soon switched to prey upon the mingled fright of both beast and man. Commander Rostom even seemed to flinch at the darkness of its shadow. The figure of the animal almost growing in the glow of their torches.

"BEAR!" Rostom was the first to bellow, bracing the lunge of the massive animal. Ramming the commander with the full force of itself like it was nothing. The moment the impact struck, it was like lightning followed by thunder. By the guttural cries that crawled from the commander's throat, Liam could feel every bit suffering breeding throughout his body. The taste of blood, the rattling of broken bones, the air cramped in his lungs. All his agony embodied in a single scream.