The cursed beasts attacked without thought or cunning, whatever was left of their minds consumed by hunger and bloodlust. Blood and guts clung to the fur around their jaws.

Jack pointed his sword at the leading balverine, blade sparking. Lightning cracked and thunder boomed, and the creature was blasted across the clearing to land in a twitching heap, corpse steaming. The next was almost upon him, only to be pounded into the ground by Duran's hammer, skull flattened with a wet squelch. Whisper met the third, staff springing out to jab it in the throat. A small curved dagger sprouted from its eye, killing it.

The final balverine abandoned its attack, base instincts taking over in the face of greater predators. It turned tail and fled, sprinting on all fours for the treeline – but it did not get far. Klessan's whip lashed out, grasping its neck with prehensile dexterity. With a heave, she slammed it into the ground, legs flying out from under it. There was a flicker of Will from the tanned Hero, channeled through her weapon, the balverine scrambling in the dirt as it choked. It seemed paralysed, making no move to grab at the whip or claw at Brute as the dog lunged forward to tear at its hamstrings. Its prey safely crippled, the shaggy dog circled around to take its skull in his jaws. A moment later there was a wet crack, and the balverine's weak struggles ceased entirely.

“Who's a good boy Brute? You are!” Klessan said as her companion bounded around her. “The goodest boy! Yes you are!”

Brute wagged his tail enthusiastically, brain matter and other viscera clinging to his chops.

“I told you he had wolf in him,” Duran said, cleaning his hammer on the fur of his kill.

“He's not a wolf, he's a great big puppy,” Klessan said, scratching Brute behind the ears, his tail beating a tattoo on the ground.

“I won't be getting between him and his dinner,” Jack said with a snort.

“At last, you know how the rest of us feel about you,” Whisper said, securing her staff. She flicked wet hair from her eyes as she retrieved her throwing dagger.

Despite their banter, they were on guard, eyes on the treeline and the leafy canopy that balverines loved to ambush unwary travelers from.

The bell that had been tolling from Knothole Glade stopped abruptly, and a moment later the small postern gate set within the main log gates creaked open. A Guard wearing a blue cap peered out cautiously. He beckoned urgently to the Heroes when he saw them, and they jogged over as a group, one of them facing the treeline at all times.

They took care not to tread on the half eaten corpses the balverines had been feasting on. There would be time to dispose of them respectfully later.

“Inside, quickly,” the Guard said as they drew near, voice hoarse.

They filed through the gate, Duran leading the way; he had to duck to fit through. Jack entered last, with a final distrustful sweep of the trees.

“Thank Avo you're here,” the Guard said as he and a red-uniformed fellow wrestled a locking bar back into place. “We didn't think anyone would answer the Quest Card for another week.”

Jack took in Knothole Glade with a glance. A path that led uphill, snaking past homes and a tavern, was still firm despite the weather. Tall walls marked the edge of the town, but the forest pressed in on them. A height difference in the canopy clearly marked where the forest had once been sensibly razed. The main gates led to an open area bordered by shops, most notably an open air blacksmith. The houses were built solidly of logs, their roofs covered with sod in protection against the rain. At the centre of the clearing a statue stood proud and tall, a hooded woman holding an enormous great axe. Strong shoulders were pinned back and she seemed to survey all before her like a queen would her kingdom. Jack had a flash of memory, of his mother berating him and Theresa for fighting, and he turned away.

“We came by Cullis Gate,” Whisper was saying. “What is the situation?”

“Bloody balverines, that's the situation,” a new voice, old and rough, announced itself. A man approached, barechested, barefoot, and covered in tattoos from scalp to heel. A warhammer with a wicked hook on it rested easily on his shoulder. He was heavyset, but without an ounce of fat on his frame. At his back was a cluster of hard men, unsmiling and armed. “We were about to step out to deal with them, but it seems ye beat us to the punch. My thanks.”

“No you bloody well weren't Kravos.” A guard, black uniformed and barrel chested, clattered down the stairs from one of the watchtowers that rose beside the gate. He jerked his head at the red guard, and the man moved swiftly for the tower. “When there are balverines at the gates, the gates stay closed.”

“I am the chief of this village Alain, not you,” Kravos growled. The tattoos around his eyes gave his expression a positively ghoulish look.

“And according to the contract you signed with the Lady Grey, I am in charge of its defence-”

“I wipe my arse with your poxy contract,” Kravos said, “and your precious Lady can-”

“Enough!” Duran said, stamping his foot. The ground trembled, ever so slightly, and the big man had the attention of all present. “The balverines are dead, and the village is safe.”

The chief and guard captain glared at each other, but dropped their argument.

“What happened?” Klessan asked, stepping forward, tone calm. “Are there any more of the beasts?”

Alain shook his head. “My men only sighted the four.”

“It's rare for a pack to split willingly,” Kravos added. “If we're lucky that'll be all of them.”

“We came about the missing villagers,” Klessan said. “Do you suppose...?”

“Aye,” the chief sighed. “Avo knows where the first one came from. Scarlet purged the island last time.”

“Scarlet? Scarlet Robe?” Jack asked, interest piqued.

“The same,” Kravos said. He pointed his hammer easily at the larger-than-life statue in the centre of the open area. “That's her. A White Balverine appeared, and we were nearly driven from the island, but then she came.” He shook his head. “She saved us all.”

Jack squinted at the statue. If he tilted his head, its features vaguely resembled the artists' rendering he had come across back at the Guild Library.

“Pass the word to stand down from full alert, but make plans to double the guard tonight, just in case,” Alain was telling his subordinate.

“Let your families know that the beasts have been dealt with,” Kravos said to his men. He tugged at his braided moustache, grimacing. “I'll need volunteers for a burial crew.”

Villagers were already leaving the safety of their loghouses however, perhaps having seen the unhurried discussion between their protectors and thought it safe to emerge. They grouped in small clusters, watching the armed newcomers, eager for news.

“Who were the victims?” Klessan asked.

“None of mine, small mercy,” Kravos said. “Trading family with rotten luck. There was one surviv-”

A small boy, no more than ten summers, pushed through the adults, grin dazzling. “I told you Heroes would come! I told you!” he was missing a tooth, and he looked around excitedly, as if searching for someone. A cold pit settled in Jack's gut.

“A curse on your shrivelled heart Skorm,” Kravos said softly, voice tired. He approached the boy and knelt before him, nearby villagers looking away to give them what privacy they could.

“His sister pushed him through the postern gate before one of the beasts dragged her off,” Alain said.

“I would have thought the gate would be locked to all comers with balverines at the door,” Whisper observed, moving to stand next to Jack.

“It should have been, and the guard responsible for it would have been flogged regardless of the life he saved,” Alain said.

“'Would have'?” Duran asked, frowning.

“Bit pointless whipping a dead man,” the captain said. He spat to the side and left to give further orders to his men.

“No no no! You're lying! Stop lying!” the boy screamed, lashing out with small fists.

Kravos ignored the blows, reaching out to take the boy in his arms, but the child pushed him away and ran, up the hill and deeper into the village, out of sight.

“If we'd left half an hour earlier...” Klessan said.

“We had no way of knowing,” Whisper said sharply.

Klessan startled, taken aback. “Of course not,” she said. Her eyes flicked from Whisper to Jack.

“We're a week early as it is,” Jack said. His gaze hadn't left the path the boy had disappeared up. Without another word, he stalked off.

Behind him, Whisper made to follow, only for Duran to lay a hand on her shoulder. The big man shook his head, and she hesitated.

“Later,” he said.

Whisper pursed her lips, but held her peace, and looked to Kravos where the man was speaking with some of his people. She approached him, Duran and Klessan at her back.

X

Jack followed the child up the hill, past solidly built homes with brightly coloured curtains. The dirt path was hardpacked and firm despite the rain, more a mist than anything. A tree, nestled between two buildings, caught his eye. In its low branches sat the child, huddled and cold.

The boy's chest heaved with held back sobs, red rimmed eyes watching Jack approach, not accusing, but lost. He had likely grown up believing that Heroes always arrived in the nick of time, and now his family was dead. It was a hard lesson, one Jack knew intimately.

Sobs dissolved into hiccups, but the boy showed no sign of giving up his refuge. With a gesture and a soft exhale, Jack breathed forth a blanket of warmth, his Will shaping it to linger around the boy for a short while.

“It will never get better,” Jack said. “But it does fade, eventually.”

Hurried footsteps caught his ear; a woman was taking the path towards them, worry worn openly. He caught her attention and jerked his head towards the tree. Her face eased as she saw the boy, and Jack took his leave. He wasn't the one to be consoling orphans.

X

Jack found his friends at the town meeting hall, a large structure that apparently doubled as the tavern. Rather than a front door serving as an entrance, there was simply no front wall, and the roof sloped low to deter the elements.

A raised rock firepit ran the length of the building, but was only partly lit. Coals smouldered at either end, throwing off enough warmth for the few present. A teen boy was sweeping behind the bar, glancing over at the three Heroes who sat with his Chief at one of the round tables that dotted the floor.

Jack took a seat at the table, nodding at Kravos when the man raised a tankard to him.

“Can I tempt you, Wraith?” Kravos asked.

“No,” Jack said. “Thank you.” None of his friends had taken a tankard, and it looked to be ale.

“Jack,” Whisper said. “We were just discussing the Quest contract in light of the situation.”

“The situation has obviously changed,” Kravos said, continuing an earlier debate, “but I don't see that we need to redraw the contract entirely.”

“A balverine infestation is very different to finding some missing villagers,” Duran said.

“Hardly an infestation,” Kravos said. “We've only had six people go missing, and four are already slain by your hands.”

“Hunting balverines in unknown country is different to coming across them in the open,” Klessan said, finger idly tapping the scar on her right cheek. Her tone was at odds with the reluctance of her words, however.

“You know as well as I that the soonest we could expect aid from Heroes beside yourselves is at least a full week, possibly two,” Kravos said, opening his arms in supplication. “You wouldn't hold us over the barrel like that would ye?”

“We'll kill the balverines for you,” Jack said, cutting off Whisper who had been about to respond, earning a frown. “And you'll pay us fairly for our services.”

“The existing contract is fair, surely,” Kravos said. He was answered with the unimpressed stares of four Heroes, and sighed. “Very well. You will make safe the island, and upon completion of the task, we will fairly compensate you. Agreed?”

Jack glanced at Whisper, who raised an eyebrow at him. Duran was no help, only giving him a slight nod, and Klessan chewed her lip before shrugging. He was slightly wary of accepting such a vague contract after his last experience defending people from balverines, but Kravos was a different breed of man to that skinflint Trader. Finally, he answered for his friends.

“Agreed.”

They shook on it, Hero and Chief, and Kravos drained his tankard with an air of satisfaction. “If you don't mind, I'd ask that you carry a warning to the three smaller villages on the island before you get down to business.”

“I thought Knothole Glade was the only village on Witchwood,” Klessan said.

“We're more of a town these days,” Kravos said. “Scarlet Robe's actions gave us room to grow, and it's been safe enough to build outside these walls.”

“We can do that,” Whisper said. “Do you have a map?”

Kravos glanced to the boy behind the bar who had been pretending to sweep and pretending not to eavesdrop, and jerked his head. The boy nodded and left the building. “If you leave soon and set a good pace, you should make it to one village or another before nightfall.”

Duran nodded, hand on the haft of his hammer. “We may as well; we're dressed for travel.”

“Thank you, Heroes. My people and I appreciate your aid.”

The boy returned, red faced and panting. He bore a roll of oiled canvas that he handed to Whisper when she held out her hand for it, and returned to pretending to sweep. Whisper rolled the map out over the table and began to study it.

“We've dealt with packs of balverines, or worse, before,” Klessan said. “Three won't be an issue. Your people are safe.”

Kravos nodded and rose from the table, taking his leave without further comment.

“How does it look, Whisper?” Jack asked.

“Simple. There are few paths on the island,” Whisper said. “We can complete the Quest swiftly and be shortchanged even faster.”

“It was obvious we would take the Quest either way,” Jack said. “Negotiations were just going to go in circles.”

“I thought you would have known better after your last job killing balverines,” Whisper retorted. “He will pay us as little as he can get away with.”

Jack glanced at Klessan, who was frowning but not disagreeing with Whisper's words. She must have told her the story of the Trader escort, Jack thought. “We'll be paid fairly. An isolated community like Knothole can't afford a reputation for shortchanging Heroes,” he said.

“We will see, farmboy,” Whisper said. She rolled up the canvas map. “Are we prepared?”

They rose, Duran, Klessan and Whisper settling their travel packs securely and ensuring their weapons were close to hand. Jack brushed the expanded pouch at his hip and ran a thumb along the hilt of his sword. A rumble, almost a purr, echoed through his connection with it. Reassured, he led his friend from the tavern and through the town.

The rain had abated, and the sun had begun to peak through the clouds, illuminating the statue of Scarlet Robe as they passed. In no time at all, they were passing through the gates and entering the wilderness beyond.

X

The island was quiet that day. No birdsong filtered through the trees, no game ventured from their dens. A pall of fear seemed to press down on the animals of Witchwood. A predator was about, and the animals knew it.

X

It was not yet dusk when the four Heroes reached the first village they had been tasked to check on. A fishing community by the sea, it greeted them with the wariness of small villages the world over.

“Ahoy the village!” Duran called as they neared. Their approach along the one path leading to the settlement had been noted, but none had come forward to greet them.

There was movement from within the huts that made up the village, and a gnarled old woman emerged. “Heroes. What brings you here?”

“Balverines,” Duran said.

“Skorm spit. I knew sommat was out there,” the old woman said.

Several other villagers emerged from the huts. “Avo hold us,” one said.

“Have you had any disappearances?” Klessan asked.

“None from my village,” the apparently headwoman said. “There's a hermit or two out in the woods, and some mad grey hair was traipsing hither and yon like a troll in treetops only a week ago, but they're not my charge.”

Jack bit the inside of his cheek in sudden amusement at who he suspected the 'mad grey hair' to be.

Whisper nodded, frowning. “We slew four yesterday, and now we hunt any that remain.”

“Is it a plague?” the headwoman asked, fear worn plainly.

“No. There should be scant few left, at most,” Klessan said. “We're to warn two more villages before we hunt them down.”

Relief lined the woman's shoulders. “M'names Bess. Please, join us for the night. We cannot offer much beyond food and a warm hearth, but they're yours.”

“We appreciate your offer of hospitality, and accept,” Whisper said.

“Sentries,” Jack said abruptly. He had been inspecting the village, truly little more than a cluster of huts and perhaps two score people, and thinking back to the silence of their journey. “We'll split the night between us too.”

“As you say, Hero. I'll set some men to it,” Bess said.

They were led into the village along muddy paths, and then to what looked to be a dimly lit communal hall, a hut taller and longer than the others. The few onlookers trailed away to spread the news, and they entered with the headwoman alone.

“For your use tonight, Heroes. I'll send a child along shortly with food.” She departed, leaving them alone.

“I will take first watch,” Whisper said.

“Last,” Jack said instantly.

“Second,” Duran said.

“Sec—shit,” Klessan said.

“Too slow,” Duran said, grinning.

Klessan grumbled, and they started to lay out their bedding, shifting a long wooden bench for more space. A young boy arrived with fish, scaled and gutted, and several roots and tubers. Normally they would have declined the offer and made do with their own supplies, but the villagers looked to be well fed.

They ate quickly and simply, and in short order Whisper was departing for her watch, while the rest bedded down for the night. Sleep came swiftly for Jack, and brought with it a feeling of satisfaction that their Quest was proceeding well.

X x X

Jack woke, surging to his feet as the crack of a whip and a pained howl faded into the night. The embers in the fire pit did little to illuminate the hall, and he conjured a fae light.

Whisper and Duran had likewise been startled awake and stood blinking in the sudden light, weapons already in hand. They were all three clad only in their undergarments.

Klessan's whip cracked again, but was drowned out by the howls of one, two, three balverines, and the Heroes wasted no more time. Jack took up his sword as they rushed out to join the fight.

The village was sunk in darkness, the moon hidden by clouds. Not a glimmer of light peeked out from the huts, the villagers doing their best to hide from notice. To fight a balverine in such conditions was, at best, foolish.

With a flick of his wrist, Jack directed his fae light up into the sky, feeding his Will into it. A miniature star burst into being above the village, throwing the streets into sharp relief. They hastened to Klessan's aid.

Duran led the way as they rounded a corner, and came face to face with a balverine. Hammer out of position, he kicked it in the chest, barefoot. The beast stumbled back, and Whisper was inside its guard with a pair of knives, one in its throat and the other through its eye into its brain. Jack phased through her as she slowed to pull the blades free. He spied a balverine fleeing over the rooftops of the huts, an arrow in its shoulder. Ahead in the mud, another lay still, arrow in its heart.

Jack startled as a figure dropped from the rooftops to land beside him.

“Nice duds guys” Klessan said, grinning as she coiled her whip. Half her face was caked with mud.

Tension eased from Jack's frame. If Klessan was joking around, the threat had likely passed. “The balverines?” he asked.

“They fled when you threw the light up,” Klessan said. Brute padded out from between two huts, jaws flecked with blood and hackles raised, to stand beside his master.

“What happened?” Whisper asked, flicking gore from her knives.

“Ambush,” Klessan said. She frowned, eyes flicking about. “They were on me almost before we noticed them.” She scratched Brute behind his ears.

“How many?” Duran asked.

“Five got away, that I saw,” Klessan said.

“Shit,” Jack said. “Seven?”

“Kravos was wrong about how many were left,” Duran said. “This could be a plague.”

A plague of balverines. Such an outbreak was feared by settlements across Albion, and for good reason. Within weeks, a single balverine could turn enough people to overcome any militia forces the locals could muster. The advent of Lady Grey's Guards had helped, but there was a reason Heroes would drop what they were doing to hunt the beasts wherever they found them.

“Seven balverines is not a plague,” Whisper said.

“Seven that we didn't know about,” Klessan said. “Who's to say there aren't more?”

“Better we treat it like a plague and be proven wrong,” Jack said. He glanced around at his friends. “We need to rouse the village...and get dressed.”

Duran held his hammer in front of...his hammer, and Klessan snorted.

“I'll find the headwoman and bring her to the hall,” Klessan said. She left, attempting to smear some of the mud off her face.

The trio jogged back to their bedrolls, and dressed in a hurry, lit by another fae light. Jack tied his gorget around his throat, bracers in place, and pulled on his gloves as Whisper checked the fine chainmail woven through her battle outfit and Duran pulled on his hard leather jerkin. Klessan arrived as they finished securing their packs, headwoman in tow. Their faces were grim.

“Six sentries are gone,” Klessan said.

“There were only three on watch with me,” Duran said, frowning.

“They were taken after they were relieved,” Klessan said. “And my watch is almost over.”

“They waited for you to tire,” Jack said. “What of the first watch?”

“They made it home safely,” the headwoman confirmed, clutching a shawl over bony shoulders.

“The beasts were watching even then,” Whisper said.

“Balverines don't plan like that,” Duran said. “They're animals.”

“They were once men,” Klessan said.

“Scarlet Robe's journals talked about planning against them like they were more than dumb animals,” Jack said.

“Does it matter?” Whisper asked. “We cannot defend the villagers indefinitely against five balverines without casualties.”

Jack held his tongue, keeping his suspicions about the taken sentries to himself. He would tell his friends later, the villagers would be panicked enough already. There was no record of balverines deliberately turning people anyway.

“We need to get your people to Knothole Glade,” Duran said to the headwoman. “Can you gather everyone with what they can carry?”

“We still have two more villages to warn,” Klessan said.

“Splitting up is foolish,” Whisper said.

“Your people will have to come with us,” Jack told the headwoman.

“If we leave soon, we could reach them both by sundown, even with my people in tow,” the headwoman said.

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“We'll have to gather your people then,” Duran said. He glanced outside. “Jack, your light is fading.”

“Keep it up,” Klessan said. “The beasts fled at it.”

Jack grasped his link to the fae light and fed his Will into it, strengthening it once more.

“How long can you maintain that?” Whisper asked.

“As long as is needed,” Jack said. It took more than a nightlight to strain his Will.

Duran hefted his hammer, his pack already on his back. “Split up, gather everyone, meet at the path out of the village.”

They left the hall and broke apart, banging on doors and giving orders. Families trickled out, bringing with them only the clothes on their backs and what food they could easily carry. A family that Jack escorted, two children and their parents, clung to the father, one of the sentries from the first watch. Word had already spread as to the cause of their hasty exodus. He led them and several others to the one road leading away from the village, where Duran was waiting beside a two wheeled cart. The big man was hyper alert, eyes moving constantly.

“Is this everyone?” Duran asked Bess where she was perched atop the plough house fastened to the cart.

Klessan arrived with one more group, and Jack helped an old man up into the cart, before handing a small child up to him. The headwoman nodded.

“Aye, that's all of us,” she said, looking over the small crowd. She shivered. “Let's get moving.”

Jack called his conjured light and warmed those in the cart with a flick of Will, hardly focusing. He led the way down the road, his gaze sweeping the shadowed treeline. He could feel eyes on him, and they didn't belong to the score and some souls following him.

Their evacuation was a quiet one, sound dampened by fear. Every bough shifting in the wind was a balverine moving through the trees, every shadow cast by the fae light hid one of the beasts from sight. Even the toddler in the cart was silent, huddling against a grandparent. Mist coiled through the trees, tricking the eye and constantly drawing the attention of the four Heroes protecting the villagers. The path, unremarkable the day before, now seemed as treacherous as the sinister road to the Chapel of Skorm.

The hours crept by, bringing them closer to the false relief of dawn. The sky threatened rain, settling for a gloomy drizzle. Off the path, there was the faintest sound of a branch snapping.

Klessan nocked and loosed an arrow in one motion, aiming by instinct. There was no yelp of pain, nor sound of arrow hitting wood. The caravan stalled, paralysed by fear.

“Keep moving,” Duran said, low and clear.

The trees remained ominous and quiet, and the villagers began moving again, fearful glances thrown over shoulders.

Dawn came and went, banishing the mists. Jack dismissed his fae light; his Will still felt full to the brim. The forest thinned as they went, the towering giants giving way to much newer growth. Here and there fields had been maintained, the islanders taking advantage of whatever disaster had cleared the trees to add to their arable land. They stood empty today, however.

The next village was close, and so they ate what food they could without stopping and providing too tempting a target for whatever stalked them.

It was still a few short hours to noon when they beheld the next village, looking down from a nearby hill. It was perhaps twice the size of the fishing village they had left, and boasted more than just solidly built huts. A relieved murmur rippled through the villagers.

“Hold,” Jack aid, raising an arm from the front of the group. He looked down on the village, frowning.

“What is it?” Klessan asked, leaving the side of the cart to join him. Brute trailed faithfully behind her.

“No movement in the village and no smoke from any of the chimneys,” he said.

“Balverines could have attacked here too,” Klessan said. “Think they're hunkered down?”

“Trouble?” Duran called from the rear.

“Maybe,” Jack said. He scanned the path ahead. They stood on open ground on the hill, but they would have to pass through a copse of trees to reach the village.

“The village is still, no activity,” Whisper relayed to Duran. She had moved up to cover the gap Klessan had left.

“If the people are hiding, there may still be balverines about,” Klessan said.

“Scout ahead, or stick together?” Jack said.

“We must stay together,” Whisper said. “Two of us cannot defend so many.”

“Alright. How do we want to do this?” Klessan asked.

The villagers shifted nervously, and their headwoman barked at them as the Heroes conferred.

“I'll lead us in. Give me twenty metres or so lead,” Jack said. “Whisper, take the front?”

Whisper and Klessan traded positions, and Jack shook his hands out, stoking his Will.

“Watch yourself in there,” Whisper said.

“Don't worry about the guy who can turn intangible, worry about yourself,” he said, flashing a quick grin.

Whisper gave a hmph and spun her staff, loosening travel stiff muscles. “Get going, farmboy.”

Jack led, and the others followed. He tensed as he approached the copse of trees, waiting for an ambush, but the trees remained silent. Shuffling footsteps and the creak of the cart at his back were his only company as he reached the edge of the village.

The village was quiet and still; no dogs barked, no birds sang. There was not a soul to be seen as he made his way down a side lane, making for the centre of town. He turned a corner and knew why.

The beaten path had been watered by the lifeblood of a man, leaving a small mire of dark red mud. There was no corpse, but the blood sprayed up a house wall removed any hope of the victim's survival.

Jack crouched, one hand hovering over the gore and one eye on the rooftops around him, and channelled his Will. Frost and ice crept forth, ensuring an easy path for the cart. He rose, and ventured deeper into the village, senses straining. The stillness was beginning to unnerve him, and he caught himself hoping to be ambushed.

The further he went, the more carnage he found. Pools of blood, splintered doors and blinds, a body part here and there – but never anything approaching a full corpse. A terrible suspicion began to take root in his mind. It was a shell of a town they had found, not even populated by the dead, for not a man had been left behind.

He reached the town square, and finally found evidence of a fight. An old woodsman's axe was buried in the skull of a balverine, the corpse sprawled under the tree in the middle of the square. Of the axe's wielder there was no sign, but its handle was stained by dried blood. As he waited for the others to catch up, he scanned for lurking balverines, taking in the surrounds. There were no stalls set up, no tables in front of the nearby tavern. The town had been hit in the early hours of the morning...just like the village they had just evacuated.

A noisy clatter, wood falling on wood, came from a house looking onto the square. Lightning crackled in his palm before he had fully turned to face it, but he was greeted by an empty porch. He released the lighting and slipped into his wraith form, waiting for the ambush from behind – only it never came. He glanced around the still empty square as he allowed his Will to fade, feeling sheepish. A slat had fallen from a set of shattered blinds. There was no lurking balverine – that he could see, at least. Perhaps a new Expression to detect living creatures was worth looking into...

The villagers and his fellows arrived, eyes wary and footsteps hushed. Klessan was nowhere to be seen, nor was Brute.

“This is not good,” Whisper said.

Jack nodded, watching as Duran shepherded the villagers into a somewhat defensible cluster under the tree. “Where's Klessan?”

“Scouting,” Duran said. He looked down on the balverine corpse with a grimace. “It wasn't one or two beasts that did this.”

Plague. The unspoken word hung heavy between the Heroes. Even some of the villagers picked up on the tension between them, their own nervousness fed in turn.

Whisper crouched by the corpse. “This one has been dead for more than a night.”

“You think they hit here one night, then the village the night after?” Duran asked.

“That's awfully calculated,” Jack said, not disagreeing.

Klessan rejoined them, jogging into the square from the side opposite their arrival, Brute with her. “Not a single corpse. Plenty of blood though.” Her face was grim.

“Skorm shit.” The headwoman, listening from the side, broke in. “No use pretending. It's a plague.”

“So it would seem,” Whisper said.

“No seem about it girlie,” Bess said. The scowl lines on her brow grew more pronounced. “We need shelter at Knothole.”

Duran scratched his jaw, considering. “We're not more than half a day's quick march away. Once we hit the last village-”

“Last village? We have to make for Knothole now!” A burly fisherman, child on one hip, interrupted. A chorus of muttered agreement rose around them.

“If you leave our protection you'll be taken before you make it halfway there,” Klessan said bluntly.

Doubt flickered in the man's eyes. “Your Quest is to protect us.”

“Our Quest is to warn three villages about the balverine threat,” Whisper corrected. “The only reason you and yours are still alive is because your village was closest.”

Unhappy muttering surrounded the Heroes, and they shared a look. Of them, only Whisper had dealt with anything but grateful clients before, and fear was different to discontent.

“We're not going to abandon you,” Jack said to Bess, voice raised to the group. “But we won't be abandoning the people we have to warn either.”

The old headwoman hawked and spat, nailing the dead balverine between the eyes. “Aye, we'll follow your lead Heroes. Some of us had friends here. Some of us have friends in Breetown.” Stubborn eyes took in her people. “The sooner we get going the sooner we get there.”

“How far away is Breetown?” Duran asked.

“We can make it before dusk for sure,” a woman said from the cart. “How long before depends on the pace.”

“We need to rest the horse if nothing else,” Klessan said.

“The people too,” someone grumbled.

“Break out what food we have then,” Klessan said.

“We'll keep watch,” Duran added.

“Does anyone know where they kept their food stores?” Whisper asked the headwoman.

“Aye,” Bess said. “Come with me, I'll show you...” They left earshot, two villagers with them.

Duran wrenched the axe from the skull of the balverine, hefting it consideringly and Brute sniffed at the corpse with a low growl. He cocked a leg, pissing on it.

“You said it Brute,” Jack said. He had a feeling they were almost in over their heads.

X

Breetown boasted palisade walls, crossbows wielded by twitchy villagers with twitchier trigger fingers, and the occasional stinking balverine corpse filled with quarrels. The afternoon sun was in their eyes as they approached across the clear swathe of land between wall and treeline.

“It’s a wonder those walls have been enough to keep the balverines out,” Klessan said, flicking her fringe from her eyes.

“Crossbows won’t have hurt,” Duran said, squinting at the walls, as high as two men. “I think every man up there has one.”

“Breetown suffered terribly last time a plague swept the island,” Bess said form the cart. “After, they took what steps they could.”

“Any idiot can swing a hammer, but crossbows take at least a little training,” Jack said, smirking at the face Duran pulled.

“These balverine are young, newly turned,” Whisper said as they neared the gates. “That one hardly has claws.” The beast she pointed out was hardly more than a thickly furred human with strange joints.

The convoy came to a stop at the gates. The villagers atop the wall glanced amongst themselves, seemingly unsure of what to do.

“Well?” Klessan snapped at them. “Are you going to open the gates or not?”

“There are balverines roaming the woods, you know,” Duran added, unable to help himself.

“Gates are to stay closed to all short of Avo himself,” one man said. He had the sound of parroting the words of another.

“We are not balverines,” Whisper said slowly, as if the village guards were incapable of discerning this themselves.

Jack glanced at the villagers they were escorting. Many were swaying on their feet after marching since before dawn, while the very young and elderly were varying states of passed out in the cart.

“Could be infected,” another guard offered his unwanted opinion.

With a scowl, Jack conjured a ring of lightning around one fist, and a tongue of flame in his other palm. “You can open your gates to us, or we can open them ourselves,” he said. “Your choice.”

There was a commotion atop the wall, and a new head appeared. “No need for that!” the man shouted. His cheeks boasted thick mutton chops. “Heroes are always welcome here!”

“Morgan!” Bess’ voice rang out. “You’ll open these gates or so help me--”

“Auntie Bess!” Morgan said, startled. “Open the gates you daft sods or I‘ll let her at you,” he said to the men who had tried to bar them entry.

After several long moments, the gates of Breetown swung ponderously open. The Heroes faced the treeline as their charges hurried to safety, half expecting a maddened swarm of balverines to descend upon them at the last moment, but the forest remained silent. Over twelve hours on the road fraught with tension, and not a scrap of balverine fur sighted. Jack was last through the gate, and even the sound of it swinging closed and the bar falling into place did nothing to ease the knot in his gut.

“Bess,” Moran said, descending the stairs from the wall. His clothes were of finer make than his fellows. “We had feared the worst.” He reached up to hug his aunt.

“We lost people, but the Heroes saw us here safely,” Bess said.

“Have you word of--?” Morgan asked.

Bess shook her head. “Empty. Balverines took them all.”

Morgan pales, and some of the villagers listening in swore. “That’s more than three score people.”

“Have you lost anyone?” Jack asked.

“Thirteen,” Morgan said with a grimace. He paused, looking over the newcomers. “Aunt, if you want to take everyone to Father's Hall?”

“Aye.” Bess flicked the reins and led her people down the main street of Breetown, towards a building taller than the rest.

Whisper let out a sharp whistle, startling those who remained. “Eyes on the fields,” she shouted at the guards on the wall.

There was some quick shuffling as the villagers returned to their duty, abandoning their gawking.

Morgan shook his head. “I’m glad you’re here, Heroes. We can’t afford the price Lady Grey charges for her Guards.”

“Not all can,” Klessan said. “We’ll join the watch tonight.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said. “I’ll show you what we’ve got in the way of defences.”

“You said you’ve lost thirteen?” Duran asked, as they began to walk the perimeter of the town.

“Some from the fields before we realised what was happening, some from the town when we were less familiar with the crossbows.”

“How did you come to have such an armoury?” Whisper asked.

“We lost many in the last plague, so many there was talk of leaving the town and settling in Knothole,” Morgan said. “But then Scarlet Robe bought them for us. We were still repaying her when she died.”

Jack had always admired Scarlet Robe. The woman had purged more balverines than any other three Heroes combined. “How many crossbows do you have?”

“Touch more than one for every two able bodies,” Morgan said, “and enough bolts that we won’t run out in a hurry.”

Duran rapped on the wall in places as they walked, and tugged on the supports of the walkway. “Your wall is strong, but not strong enough,” the big man said. “Not against four score or more balverines.”

Morgan came to a stop, glancing at the closest pairs of sentries on the wall. They were all out of hearing range. “Aye. Most believed we could ride it out behind them and them that didn’t made a break for Knothole yesterday, after we hadn’t been attacked for a few nights. When news spreads that an entire village was lost...if it weren’t for you four I’d have a panic on my hands.”

“We’ll do what we can to raise your people’s spirits tonight,” Klessan said. “Tomorrow we have to make for Knothole Glade.”

“It won’t be an easy journey,” Morgan said, uneasy.

“It will be a hard day,” Jack said, “but if we stay here there will only be blood.”

Morgan exhaled slowly, and nodded. “We’ll prepare tonight.”

They resumed their way around the town once more, each considering the task ahead of them.

X

The sun had all but set, orange glow disappearing over the trees, and a bonfire roared in the centre square of Breetown. Children cavorted around it, happy for a reprieve from the grim tenseness of recent days, while their elders watched over them with only partially forced cheer. Every able bodied villager old enough to work a field was elsewhere, preparing a caravan of wagons and carts and readying what weapons they had.

Klessan sat by the fire, having pulled a pan flute from her bag to entertain the children with. Brute was curled up at her feet, and an old man plucked at a weathered old lute beside her, keeping in tune. Whisper had disappeared to get what sleep she could, preparing for a shift on the walls.

Jack watched the gathering from the edge of the fire light, half cast in shadow. His sword was a comforting weight at his hip as he waited for his friend. Not a moment later, Duran - Durandal, Jack thought, still amused - stepped into the square, hammer on his shoulder and heading for the main gate. Jack pushed off the wall he had leaned against and joined him, falling into step.

“Jack,” Duran said. “Thought you were taking a later watch.”

“I am,” Jack said. “Wanted to talk first though. I can Quicken myself later if need be.”

Duran gave a considering hmm as they climbed the stairs to the walkway over the main gate. There were four villagers already up there, watching the dark fields, crossbows cocked but not loaded. “Go help with the caravan,” Duran told them. “We will keep watch here.”

They were quiet as the sentries left earshot, and then Jack spoke quietly. “Have you given any thought to what I told you in the Chamber?”

Duran huffed, shaking his head. “I had a bugger of a time getting to sleep afterwards, but since then...balverines have a way of focusing the mind.”

Jack was quiet as his friend gathered his thoughts.

“Blades doesn’t go after people close to those he has killed. The stories always paint him as a random killer, but after what Whisper told us…” Duran shook his head. “I’m not worried about walking down a garden path and finding him waiting for me. I’m worried about finding him waiting for you, because none of us would think twice about having your back and the idea of fighting him makes me want to puke.”

“I’m the one who will face him, in the end,” Jack said. “Theresa has seen it.”

“Maybe that means you shank him when he’s not looking, or maybe it means you’re the last one standing and you beat him while he’s weak,” Duran said. “Who knows. But you’re an idiot if you think we’re all going to just stand aside.”

“Avo, you’re bullheaded,” Jack grumbled. The concern about his friends that had been dogging him eased, even if it could never be dismissed. There would be no protecting them through distance, and he’d be a fool to try.

Duran snorted. “I’m not the one asking the same stupid question again.”

Jack flicked a barely there spark at Duran’s dreadlocks. The big man jolted, but his hair hardly reacted, and he knocked Jack with his shoulder, almost sending him off balance. Another night the horseplay might have escalated, but after a few moments they calmed down, eyes on the treeline. An owl hooted in the night.

“How’s Keladry?” Jack asked at length.

“Good,” Duran said, reflexively. He glanced at Jack. “Somehow, she got her hands on a learning weapon, a dagger. Some of the clan weren’t happy.”

“Trouble?”

“Nothing Kel couldn’t handle,” Duran said. “And then she turned around and asked how to throw lightning like ‘that library-loving lowlander lad.”

Jack shook his head, thinking about how she had almost had him tied in knots. With the benefit of post-Lily hindsight, he had looked back at his time with the Badger clan in new light. “Pity you can’t teach her any,” he said lightly. The Guild frowned on its members teaching its ways to those outside it, but unofficial policy was nothing against generations of clan tradition and Kel had a learning weapon, so he asked no further. “What ended up happening with the Fox clan? And Duellist? I heard he went on to compete in the group events at the Arena.”

“Duellist paid a ransom and gave us the name of the Fox who told him about the learning weapons once we explained how they could only be made from the body of a platinum troll,” Duran said.

“He didn’t try to bargain for an existing weapon?”

“Told him there were no swords, he lost interest. The Fox clan ended up retreating to where it’d be folly to follow, so we took most of their land and penned them in.”

“A problem for another day then,” Jack said. “Did you make any headway on your Will expressions?”

Duran rolled his eyes. “I know you consider it a day wasted if you don’t invent a new expression before lunch, but some of us aren’t prodigies.”

“We can’t afford to coast along like most Heroes do,” Jack said, frowning. He ignored the prodigy rubbish. “Not like we have been.”

Duran turned to stare at him. “Jack, you killed Twinblade. If any of us are ‘coasting’, it isn’t you.” He looked uncomfortable.

“Thunder, Scarlet Robe, Solcius, Holdr, Delfe, Huw, Maze, Scythe, Weaver,” Jack said flatly. “We have to be as good as or better than them, and that has little to do with what Names we’ve killed or how long we spent away from Questing.”

The big man sighed, leaning onto his hammer. “You’re barking, but...I had an idea for an expression that would harden my skin and prevent injury, or at least stab wounds, but without people to bounce ideas off…”

“Let’s talk it through then,” Jack said. “What have you got?”

They spoke through their shift, watchful for beasts stalking the forests, but none appeared. It was quiet for those who relieved them, as well as those who came after. On that night there was not so much as a howl to be heard, and the defenders were not reassured in the slightest.

X x X

Dawn’s early light saw the villagers assembled, nigh on five score of them. The main square was eerily quiet for such a gathering, as children and the elderly were helped into four wagons. Men and women had worked through the night to fashion cages over the transports to provide what extra protection they could for their most vulnerable. Crossbows were handed out to those most reliable with them and then some, while others wielded everything from heirloom swords to pitchforks. There was little to be seen in the way of armour.

Jack surveyed the caravan alongside his companions, working to keep a frown from his face. If they stumbled across eighty balverines in the forest, they would need Avo at their side to prevent casualties. Despite himself, the thought of battle heightened his pulse, and his sword shivered with anticipation at his hip, in tune with his Will. His gorget and bracers were fastened securely, and his gloves hid the glow of the runes on his palms. He was ready for whatever came.

“This will be rough,” Duran said. He wore his studded leather jerkin and breeches, hammer sheathed in a special harness on his back. At his hip was the woodsman’s axe he had ripped from a balverine’s corpse. His dreadlocks were tied back, and a line of blue ochre was smeared from under each eye to his jaw. “We’re going to lose people.”

“We will save many who would have been killed or turned,” Whisper said. She was clad in her dress armour, blues and greens complimenting her figure and hiding the durability it provided. Her spring loaded staff was at the small of her back, and she wore a belt of her fire and shrapnel blast globes.

“We’ll get them there safe,” Klessan said. Her balverine hide whip hung from her waist, coiled, and she was rubbing wax along the string of her bow. “Balverines aren’t so tough.” She smirked, and it pulled at the scar that stretched across her cheek.

Of all of them, she was the only one to make allowances for the cold and wet; an oiled canvas cloak that left her arms free, its hood lined with fur. It covered breeches and tunic much like the ones Jack wore. Brute sat at her side, head taller than her waist.

“You’ll change your mind if we run into a White Balverine,” Duran said dryly.

Jack rapped his knuckles on the wood of a bench in front of them, earning an eye roll from Whisper.

“Your superstitions will not ward off the beast leading the pack, farmboy,” she said.

“It would be a bit much to hope that there isn’t one, wouldn’t it,” Jack said.

“If only,” Whisper said.

“Plagues kill more than they turn,” Klessan said by way of agreement. “A whole village taken though? This thing is old.”

“Think Scarlet Robe missed one last time round?” Duran asked.

“Unlikely,” Jack said, frowning.

“No Hero is infallible,” Whisper said. “And you know the tale of how she fell, in the end.”

Jack grunted.

“If we could not bring up the story of a powerful Hero overwhelmed and brought down by a swarm of balverines,” Duran said. “They have a weakness to...silver weapons, was it?” He glanced at Klessan.

Klessan shook her head, braid tossing behind her. “Weapons augmented with essence of silver, but this village won’t have any. Knothole might, if we’re lucky.” The last-minute rush of preparation was beginning to slow in the square.

“We’ll want to save it for the White Balverine,” Jack said.

“Your sword, maybe some of Klessan’s arrows,” Duran said. “Little point using it on blunt weapons,” he said with a grimace.

“Here is to hoping,” Whisper said. She let out a long breath. “All seem to be ready. Shall we speak with them?”

Jack looked over the exodus, taking it all in. The villagers were nervous, and they had yet to leave the safety of the walls. “Yeah. We should.” He still disliked being put up before a crowd, despite his heroics. “Morgan!” he called.

“They look like they’ll break at the first howl,” Klessan muttered. Duran poked her in the ribs.

“Heroes,” Morgan said, approaching from the head of the caravan. “All is ready.”

“No one overslept?” Duran asked.

Morgan shook his head, scratching at his mutton chops. “Bess counted her people, I counted mine. Everyone is here, and what food we can bring is stowed.”

“We will speak to your people, give them their tasks, then be on our way,” Whisper said.

“Who is…?” Morgan asked, trailing off.

“Wraith is the most Renowned,” Klessan said with a smirk. “He slew Twinblade the Bandit King.”

“Yeah, Wraith is great at giving speeches,” Duran said. “Top of the class for Inspirational Rhetoric back at the Guild.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at his so-called friends. Whisper was rolling her eyes, but her veil hid a smile.

“I’ll remember this,” Jack muttered to them. Morgan stepped aside and he leapt up onto the backrest of the bench, balancing easily. He conjured a fae light in his palm, throwing back the last of the darkness.

Quiet conversations and last-minute checks stilled, as the village turned to face him. Bess was atop a wagon, reigns slack in her hands. Children protected by wooden cages clambered over each other to get a better view. A young couple leaned into each other, armed with only a crossbow between them. They were hardly older than he, and he was struck by the knowledge that their lives were in the palm of his hand. He took a breath and spoke, surely and clearly.

“There are balverines outside these walls, and they are going to do their best to kill us.”

There was a pregnant pause, and a few unsure looks amongst the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw Duran and Klessan exchange a glance.

“We are going to kill them first,” he ploughed on. The fae light in his hand brightened into a crackling ring of lightning. “Whisper can put a dagger in their eyes at twenty paces. Duran can crush their skulls with his bare hands. Klessan -” he cursed inwardly, remembering her Name a moment too late “- got those scars strangling a balverine with a whip made from the flesh of its kind. Killing balverines is what we do.”

The villagers took in the sight of the Heroes standing strong, and began to take heart. They stood a little taller, gripped their weapons more surely.

“Four balverines aren’t worth mentioning. Ten might be a challenge. Fifteen, we could manage. But twenty? Thirty? For that, we need your help. You see a balverine, you call it out. You see the person next to you stumble, you help them up. You get bitten...you take as many of them with you as you can.”

A sober mien descended on the crowd, but they stood resolute. They had been apprehensive, and Jack would not have put coin on their nerve staying strong...but now they wanted to fight. Not expecting that they could strike down a balverine on their own, but so their neighbour might. They were almost ready, he just needed to end on a high note.

“Some of you may fall, but your children will not be amongst them,” Jack said. “No matter what comes, not one child will die today. That we promise you.”

Duran began to beat the end of his axe haft on the ground, and Whisper followed with her staff. It spread swiftly, the whole caravan beating or drumming. Wraith soaked it all in, allowing it to continue for several long moments.

He pulsed the lightning in his hand before dousing it and the beat stopped with it. He stepped back off the bench, giving a nod to Morgan.

“Not too shabby,” Duran said.

“Didn’t you know? I was top of the class at Inspirational Rhetoric,” Jack said dryly.

Klessan snorted, shaking her head.

“How do we wish to escort the caravan?” Whisper asked.

“You or Klessan at the front, you’ve got the better eyes,” Duran said. “I’ll take the rear.”

“Klessan at the third and fourth wagons, she’ll be able to cover more people,” Jack said. “I’ll range between the first and third wagons. Sound good?”

Klessan nodded. “I’ll perch atop the fourth wagon.”

“It is a good plan,” Whisper said. She hesitated for a moment. “I will see you all in Knothole Glade.”

“Ale is on whoever kills the least balverines,” Duran said.

“I’m not drinking that horse swill,” Jack said, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turned to leave. “But you can buy me something else.”

Duran scoffed loudly, but left with Klessan for his own post by the fifth and last wagon.

“You better watch your back, Jack,” Whisper said before they broke apart.

“I always do,” Jack said. “But if I can’t, I’ve got you guys to back me up.”

“Farmboy,” she said.

“Citygirl,” he replied.

Jack stood next to the second wagon in the convoy, outside the villagers defending it. He gave a nod to the young couple that had caught his eye earlier; beyond the crossbow they only had a dagger each between them. He suspected the blades had started life as kitchen knives.

At the front of the convoy, Whisper was speaking to Morgan. He nodded, and gestured to a pair of burly men at the gates. They heaved, and the gates creaked open. The caravan set forth for the forbidding forests beyond.

X

The mists eased quickly that morning, and the sun shone unhindered. Insects buzzed and birds sang in the woods around them, as if a plague of man eating beasts weren’t loose on the island.

They moved at a fast pace, those travelling on foot almost jogging to keep up. It was not sustainable, but Knothole Glade was only a few short hours away, and the fear of the balverines lent the villagers strength. The first hour passed without incident, and so did the second. Amongst the villagers, taut nerves and high tension began to relax as they listened to the sounds of the forest and convinced themselves that surely all would be quiet if the balverines were truly watching them from the shadows. Fear began to wane, and in its place, hope grew.

In contrast, the Heroes grew more wary with every passing mile. They knew the beasts were out there, but had yet to see so much as week old tracks. Jack began to torment himself with Skorm touched imaginings; perhaps the entire plague had already struck at Knothole while the defenders thought there to be less than a handful on the entire island. Maybe they were all clinging to the trees above the path further ahead, waiting to drop down and catch them unawares. He banished the thoughts from his mind and glanced around at his friends. Klessan was perched on the edge of the cage covered wagon holding most of the children, one foot hooked inside for balance. She had an arrow nocked, but not drawn, and her eyes were constantly shifting. Beyond her was Duran, at the very rear of the convoy. His hammer was resting on his shoulder, and his free hand was on the woodsman’s axe he had picked up. Most of his focus was on the path behind them. At the front, Whisper had her staff extended and ready, and a small dagger glinted in her off hand. They were all as ready as they could be, and still Jack felt that they would be ambushed any minute now.

They passed an old tree, almost on the path itself. Its bark was worn smooth at chest height, and Jack saw most villagers on that side of the convoy brush it with one hand as they passed. One could almost feel the false sense of security descending as they did so.

Jack jogged over to the cart driven by Bess. “How much farther?” he asked quietly.

“Less than an hour, at this pace,” the old woman said. “There’s a solid wood bridge across a river a short ways ahead, and then we’re only a few bends from Knothole.”

“Alright,” he said. “Keep you-” he broke off as cold fingers seemed to seize his heart, and his Will boiled to the surface unasked for. He looked around wildly. Danger was near.

A bloodcurdling shriek broke the morning and the earlier panic in the air came rushing back. A balverine had dropped from the tree that villagers had been brushing against, crushing a young woman beneath its bulk. Terror grasped the conoy as a hundred different mouths whispered ‘balverine’ in fear, and the beast lashed out at another villager with wicked claws.

Wraith was there to meet it. Lightning flashed, blasting it away into the trees. It staggered to its feet, smoking and charred, and began to howl. An arrow cut it short, sticking straight through its neck.

Near every eye in the convoy turned down the path and to the distant safety it promised, threatening to turn their march into a panicked rout.

“Hold!” Duran’s voice boomed through the forest, impossibly loud. “Stay together!” His voice clamped down on the panic.

Whisper let out a piercing whistle with two fingers. “On me! Double time!”

Klessan’s bow snapped, and a balverine fell from the canopy. The convoy began to move again, and Jack bent down to grab the woman the balverine had struck. She was twitching feebly, and he had no idea of her chances, but he wasn’t going to leave her behind. Crossbows twanged and horses shrieked as he picked her up as gently as he could. The woods seemed to be filled with balverines rushing back and forth, drawing attention so another could strike. He handed the woman to a pair of strong arms in a wagon, just in time to see a balverine leaping towards him. Lightning flashed, and the beast died. He drew his sword and stepped out to defend the convoy.

Chaos descended. Draught animals panicked and ran, those guiding them doing their best to keep them under control. Those on foot were shrinking back against the wagons, trying to make themselves small as they ran. Here and there someone would loose a quarrel at a balverine rushing through the forest, only to miss. The beasts howled all around, giving the impression of a horde, just out of sight.

A balverine dropped from above, on a course her Bess and her uncovered cart. Jack smote it with another bolt of lightning, and blasted its corpse off into the trees with a wave of force. Those Expressions came naturally these days, with little need for thought, and he hardly even noticed their drain on his reserves, not since Theresa’s birthday gift. The beasts shied away from his position to harry elsewhere, like wolves attacking a bear.

They ran, and the fell creatures pursued them, but they were not overwhelmed. Whisper warded off five at once, her staff a blur, as they tried to kill the horses of the lead wagon. Klessan was covering the entire convoy, putting arrows in eyes and hearts whenever a balverine came too close to a villager. Duran’s hammer dripped blood, his jerkin covered with the brains and fur of a foe unwise enough to close with him. Between the four of them, they were holding - and yet, Jack couldn’t help but think something was wrong.

There was no time to think. A villager stumbled, and a balverine burst from the undergrowth to take advantage. Jack pointed, hand crackling with lightning, only for the creature to break off, juking away. Another beast latched on to the side of the cage protecting the children, jaws snapping. Klessan had no shot and no time to get one, loosing two arrows in half a second to save someone from being dragged off. Jack knocked it off the wagon with a pulse of directed force, and it collided with a tree. It fell to the ground and scrambled to its feet, only to sprout two quarrels from its chest.

They ran and ran, draught animals foaming at the mouth in their panic. Children cowered in the wagons, their elders laying their bodies across them. Jack’s Will began to burn in his channels, like muscles during a good run. He began to rein in his casting of lightning, passing up possible kills on beasts in the underbrush. They snarled as they passed, as if baiting him, but Jack knew they couldn’t possibly be cunning enough to try to tire him deliberately, surely…

“Bridge ahead!” Whisper’s cry pierced the chaos.

Seconds later they hit the bridge over the river, hooves and feet thundering across the wooden beams - and then it all went wrong.

Balverines exploded from the coursing water on both sides of the bridge, leaping over the rails to land amongst them. The beasts that had harassed them from the trees rushed them from behind all at once, boiling around Duran. A man was seized, jaws latching around his shoulder and biting, before being thrown aside. Another villager screamed as they were savaged and discarded, bleeding and wounded but hardly crippled.

They were infecting them deliberately, Jack realised with horror. There was nothing he could do to help those already bitten. Nothing but protect the rest, and take vengeance in their names. He stopped in place, sheathing his sword, and brought the depths of his Will roaring to the surface.

The river froze. The beasts still in the water were stuck there, head above the surface if they were lucky, trapped and suffocating in the ice if they weren’t. Lightning coursed from one hand, latching on to the knot of balverines surrounding Duran and chaining between them. They jerked and spasmed, and Duran took advantage, crushing them with his hammer.

The fell creatures were beginning to turn to Jack now, primal instincts warning them of the greatest threat. Crushing force drove the closest to their knees, easy targets for the last of Klessan’s arrows or an impaling spike of ice conjured from below.

They were almost across the bridge, almost through the ambush. Jack trembled with the rush of so many Expressions cast simultaneously, but he revelled in it. He cut the lightning and the force, centring himself and his Will as he reached for another --

A balverine climbed up from the underside of the bridge and reached through the rails to grab his arm with one clawed hand. Flesh was shredded as the beast’s maw stretched wide, ready to bite and infect, and Jack opened his mouth in a rictus of pain.

It was not a scream that emerged, but flame. Dragon breath bathed his foe head to toe, prying a pained howl from its scorched throat. In one motion he drew his sword and removed the hand digging into his arm at the wrist, sheathing it on the backswing. He tore the appendage loose as the charred remains of the balverine fell to the ice below, and blood splattered across the bridge. More dripped swiftly from his arm.

Rippling outwards from the wounded Hero, the balverines stopped, heads turning towards him. Nostrils flared as they breathed deep, taking in his scent. The scent of his blood. Ears flattened against skulls, and they began to back away.

The villagers ran on, clearing the bridge and ignoring the sudden hesitance of their attackers. Klessan’s whip cracked in warning, but was ignored, the beasts not taking their eyes off Jack as they disappeared into the trees.

Adrenaline waned and pain waxed as they ran, no one willing to slow after their narrow escape. Jack winced as he jarred his shredded arm with every step, feeding his brute healing expression just enough Will to stop the bleeding. That balverine had come out of nowhere, and he was lucky to escape as unscathed as he had. Deeper thought on it all could wait until they were safely behind Knothole’s walls.

At least his shirt hadn’t been caught up in its claws. He didn’t fancy peeling threads from his flesh, even with Duran there to heal.

They covered the last of the journey in record time, exhaustion overpowered by fear. The gates of Knothole Glade opened as they approached, revealing two rows of Guards, naked steel in hand. The caravan poured through the gates to safety. The gates began to close before the last of them were in, and Duran stepped quickly to beat them. He carried a blood-soaked man under one oversized arm.

The Guards relaxed by a hair as the gates were locked once more, and villagers flocked out to help the refugees. Many had dropped to their knees the moment they could, gasping for breath. One of the draught horses had collapsed, and Morgan was fighting to free it from its hitch. Jack could hear someone retching.

“What in Skorm’s name happened?” Kravos, the Chieftain, said. Agitation coloured his bulky frame as he strode towards Jack.

“Balverines,” Jack said. “More than we thought. It’s a - we’ll need to talk.” He cut himself short. Word would spread, but there was no point in spreading a panic of a Plague or an overrun village.

Kravos spat to the side, nodding with a grimace. “Aye.”

The Guards who had been ready to hold the gate dispersed, and their Captain joined Kravos and Jack.

“We heard the howls,” Alain said grimly. “How many are there?”

“Enough,” Jack said. “More than enough. I thought you didn’t open the gates when the beasts were close?”

“Different scenario, different response,” the Black Guard said. “What is the situation?”

A woman’s keening cry rose over the hustle, quieting all briefly. The three men looked to the source.

Duran had lowered the injured man he carried, revealing the unmistakable bite wound over the man’s shoulder. It was the villager Jack had seen bitten and discarded. Duran must have grabbed him as they broke the ambush, and now his partner was weeping beside him.

“I’ll have my men vet them for infections,” Alain said. He looked like he had aged a decade in a moment.

“I’ll prepare an area for goodbyes,” Kravos said. His face was stone.

A face appeared in Jack’s mind, that of a young sellsword. His name had been Scarborough, and Jack had never spoken a word to him, but he remembered his face twisted in pain as a balverine bit him, and he remembered Klessan telling him the man had gone home to say his farewells before the curse took him. Funny what you forgot when it wasn’t right before you. “We’ll find you once this has been dealt with,” he said shortly. He left them, heading for Duran. Maybe they couldn’t heal the curse, but they could ease the man’s suffering as he said his goodbyes.

X x X

There was a feast that night, meant to celebrate their survival just as much as take their minds off the situation. Torches threw back the darkness, and winter stores were opened, fine ales and meads shared freely. The feasting hall they occupied had but three sides to it and a sloping roof, the front open and festooned with banners. Near on every person in the town was there, save for those who had volunteered to be on watch duty.

In one corner of the hall were those poor souls who had been bitten, given one last evening with their loved ones and kept under close watch by the chieftain and several guards. The couple Jack had noticed were there, the young man pale with blood loss and his partner with fear. They held each other, eating sparingly, unwilling to do anything that would distract them from each other. He was not the only victim; some five had been infected for certain and another seven injured in some way. As Jack observed, Kravos tapped a Guard on the shoulder and whispered something to him. A moment later, the man approached one of the infected, laying a hand on his shoulder and distracting him from the steak he had been tearing into with uncommon ferocity.

The man blinked, as if roused from a reverie, and stared at his plate for a long moment. He rose, pausing only long enough to hug an older woman tightly. The woman, likely his mother, had to be pried off of him by a young woman, before he followed the Guard out of the hall. Those they passed did their best to ignore them. The young couple clutched each other all the more closely.

The evening was not entirely bittersweet. Across the hall, Duran was entertaining a group of teenagers with feats of strength, seeing how many could squeeze themselves onto a long bench before he lifted it on his shoulders. Whisper and Klessan were competing as they showed off their aim, aiming for targets down a table with increasingly unusual projectiles, from spoons to chicken bones.

Jack found himself less willing to engage, his mind pulled in a dozen different directions as he pored over the day’s events. Had he made the right choices, could he have protected the convoy better, why did he have no Expressions built to defend others, he was supposed to be some sort of spellweaver, Maze would have - he cut his thoughts off, breaking from the spiral. He needed a distraction.

A table nearby caught his eye; it was almost entirely children save for one young woman, and even she was borderline. He was puzzled for a moment, before he saw a familiar boy and realised - these were the orphans, those whose parents had been taken by the balverines. Their table lacked even the quietly desperate cheer of those spending their last evening with their infected loved ones, and the young woman was fighting to stay awake, a babe in her lap. One little girl was playing half-heartedly with a doll, chin supported with her free hand as she slumped on the table. The doll was Scarlet Robe, but then what else would it be, belonging to a child on Witchwood?

The young Hero watched as the girl stopped playing with the doll, letting it go limp as she stared at it. An irrational anger took hold of him. Not at the girl, but at the doll – how dare it fail the child when she needed it most? His failure to protect everyone, the walking infected, the danger yet to come, the people surrounding him, all of it fell away as his gaze narrowed to the doll. His Will stirred to life, and he reached out with it.

His friends and peers had often told him that his explanations on crafting new expressions were lacking, but he didn’t know how to be clearer. There was Will and intent, and everything after that was refinement.

Unseen tendrils, more delicate than silk, reached out towards the doll after sprouting from his hand. He guided them gingerly, directing the five of them to latch onto the head and each limb. It was difficult, each line demanding his attention, and whenever he focused too much on one, the others would falter and flicker, threatening to break. At length, the last made contact, sinking into the cloth, and he tugged on each gently, testing.

The girl blinked and straightened as her doll twitched, before clumsily rising to its feet. Her mouth dropped open and she stared with wide brown eyes as Scarlet walked unsteadily across the table, drawing the attention of the other children too. It was not walking in truth; no weight was supported by the legs of the doll and a keen eye would see how the weight was hanging from its head, but for the child it seemed like it had come to life.

Jack smiled as cries of wonderment rose from the table of orphans, stirring their guardian from her stupor, but his focus was demanded by the spell. Scarlet’s axe was stitched to her back, but he was able to make the doll raise its fists, punching at the air. He controlled the expression with the hand it had sprouted from, motioning like a puppeteer he had once seen. It was far from easy, and he thought it might be one of the more challenging expressions he had ever crafted. He could feel the mark on his palm glowing, and suspected that without it and its twin he never would have managed.

After a few loops around the table, he guided the doll to march up the arm of the girl, before tucking it into the crook of her neck and allowing his Will to fade. The doll stilled, but something, coincidence or instinct, made the girl look up and across the hall at Jack, where he sat off to the side, hand still outstretched. He winked, her face lighting up in response, and for a moment at least, all was well.

X

Later, when the fires had burnt low and most were abed, doors bolted and blankets pulled tight, the Heroes met with Kravos and Alain, the village chief and the commander of the Guards.

“…and I’m telling you, that’s not normal balverine behaviour!” Kravos said. He jabbed a meaty finger into the table they gathered around in his home, hides and tapestries covering the walls. Jack had set a soft fae light on the timber ceiling, illuminating the room.

“If there was a White Balverine, it would have been leading the attack,” Alain said, firm in his response. He stood across the table from the chief.

“Or it was fat and happy after feasting on a village worth of poor folk,” Kravos said.

“White Balverines lead,” Alain said, deep voice beginning to turn irritable. “It is what they do.”

“I’ll thank you not to tell a man born and raised on Witchwood how balverines behave,” Kravos retorted.

Alain held back a grimace, nodding to acknowledge the point. “White Balverine or no, the longer we leave the beasts the stronger they will grow. We should hunt them down.”

Jack and his friends were arrayed on either side of the two men, watching them argue. He had not expected Kravos to be the one demanding caution while Alain championed action, not after their reception upon their first arrival.

“You’d have to strip Knothole of damn near every man,” Kravos said. “That’s only ending in two ways: they either hit the town while you’re gone and kill or turn everyone here before sweeping over you, or they ambush you out there and then sweep over the town.”

“Every hour we give them is an hour the newly turned have to grow into their strength,” Alain said. “A force led by the Heroes could track them to their lair, and –”

“That is not our Quest,” Whisper interrupted. Beside her, Duran was nodding.

Both men stopped, sudden dismay crossing their faces. Kravos swiftly looked to Jack, perhaps remembering the last time they had negotiated.

“We don’t plan on leaving you to your fates,” Jack said, “but Whisper is right. This was not the Quest we accepted.” Even if he was inclined to accept another sudden expansion of the Quest, Whisper would throttle him.

“Tracking the balverines to their lair is more than we can handle,” Klessan added, running her thumb over the whip coiled at her waist.

Alain made to protest.

“Oh, we could track them,” Klessan said, “they’d love that. Make it easier for them to eat us.” She pursed her lips, pulling at the scar on her right cheek that her first close encounter with a hungry balverine had earned her.

“We’ll help you,” Duran said, “but we’ll not be beholden to you.”

“You do not want to seek the beasts,” Alain said, giving a quiet sigh as he realised he was overruled.

“We do not,” Whisper said.

“Kravos is right,” Jack said. “Their behaviour is not normal.” He thought back to the way they had suddenly retreated the moment they had caught scent of his blood. What it meant he didn’t know, and he couldn’t help but rub at the arm that Duran had healed. There was something more than a Plague afoot, and not knowing irked him.

“Then we bunker down, and keep a sharp eye on the trees,” Kravos said. For having won the argument, he wore a grim look. “Can we expect aid from the mainland?”

“Can you?” Klessan asked.

Kravos grimaced, knowing what she really asked. “Not if it’s coin that draws them.”

“We can contact the Guildmaster in the morning,” Jack said. “There might be some Heroes who seek renown.”

Unsaid was that those capable of standing against a Plague were already renowned, or dead.

“We place our hopes in you then, Heroes,” Kravos said.

“We should make plans,” Alain said. He rubbed at his eyes. “If it is to be a siege, we must be ready.”

“Tomorrow,” Whisper said. “The day has been long, and nothing that can be done now will suffer for waiting.”

“Aye,” Alain said. “You are right.” He shared a look with Kravos. “In the morning then.”

Jack called his fae light back down, dimming it and allowing shadows to reclaim the room, a sliver of moonlight shining in from outside. They left Kravos to his home, Alain making for the Guard barracks and the Heroes for the house that had been made open to them, all trudging tiredly. It was late, and they were weary. They would sleep like the dead and face the new day as it came.

When it did, it brought with it two missing sentries and pools of blood at their posts. The siege of Knothole Glade had begun.