Fort Brunich was a drab place. It was meant to be, probably. Once, it had been the head quarters of the Imperial army, as in: the place where they quartered most of their army. Not the cushy place where their officers rested their heads or made big plans, but the place from whence a suppression force would have marched out whenever the uppity Loegrians needed a boot up the arse.

As a result, it was economical more than anything else. A place to store gear, guns, supplies and living bodies in large quantities. And an open courtyard in the middle to march around on, with practise targets along the walls. So men could learn to be soldiers.

Or in this case, cheat at it.

General Clermont grunted as he watched the men and few women march up in a column and then quickly line up, three ranks deep, in front of the targets. The first row fired and kneeled to reload, the second followed, then the third.

They made it look as if they had never done anything else. Each movement was in rhythm, each step of the reloading process in the right order. No hesitation, as if they all had the muscle memory of doing it a million times rather than two weeks of training.

And then the spell broke. The soldiers blinked and paused, staring at what their hands were doing. Rust groaned and grabbed his head with both hands.

The soldiers were nearly done reloading though, and they caught themselves, rising, if not quite as smoothly as before. The first rank took aim just a bit more shakily and fired their muskets again.

General Clermont spit at the ground. “Twenty-two seconds to reload,” he snarled. “Better than our regular troops. Nearly as good as our best veterans.”

“You’re still wasting magic, though,” Pierre commented on David’s other side.

“I know, I know,” Rust grumbled.

He’d been a soldier for twenty years. Longer than he’d been a werewolf. It was his experience the other werewolves were drawing from. His will, guiding them. It was the limit of his strength that meant he could only do it for a few minutes at a time.

If Morgulon were a soldier, or Monroe…

David tried no to think about it too hard, tried to focus on the here and now, the battles to come. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the terror off. Rust, as amazingly spry as he was at sixty years of age, had been a soldier first and only later in life been bitten. He wouldn’t become a true “elder” until he was as old as Pierre was today. But what about someone like Alvin? What power would he wield, forty years from now? If he stayed a soldier, what armies might he command? If every raw conscript under his command fought like a veteran—provided it was a werewolf…

He hadn’t meant to give men like George Louis or the Roi Solei new reasons to use the werewolves. He didn’t want to see Loegrion form an Empire of its own.

Alvin came running over, beaming, when the formation dissolved after the demonstration.

“Did you see us, Lord Feleke?” he crowed. “We didn’t freeze this time!”

“I did see, and it looked very good.” David had to suppress the urge to muss up Alvin’s hair like he might have done with Nathan ten years ago after a successful lesson. Instead, he waved for Alvin to stick around as the next company of werewolves marched up, to demonstrate their skills under General Clermont’s watchful eyes.

Rust, too, just watched as the column spread out into a crooked firing line. The first rank volleyed, and began to reload—more slowly than the first group—when the drum gave the signal for the company to square up, simulating a cavalry charge. It wasn’t an easy manoeuvre for a well-trained company, let alone one with as wildly disparate levels of experience as the werewolves. Their instructors hadn’t even considered drilling them in this until Rust’s ability to share his experience had become apparent.

His dark eyes glowed blue, and David tasted copper on his tongue, felt a tingle on his skin—a feeling he had learned to recognize as Rust squandering his magic—but the company moved like one being, drawing together in a tight packet, back to back, bayonets fixed and pointing outwards against the imaginary cavalry charge.

The soldiers managed it just fast enough—as soon as they pointed their weapons outwards, there was the tell-tale slump in the bayonets of Rust’s power breaking. But as Alvin had proudly noted, the werewolves were starting to get used to the drills, too, even if it took them far too long to return to their firing lines when the next signal came.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” General Clermont said softly, turning and walking towards the main building of the fort. David followed, one hand resting on Alvin’s shoulder to drag him along. The kid stared up at him in shock, but David just winked.

“You’re giving an old man hope, Lord Feleke,” Clermont added louder, clearly for the benefit of the soldiers bustling around them. Then he raised his eyebrows at Alvin’s presence, which revealed some of the scarring behind his eyepatch.

“He’s with me,” David said.

Clermont didn’t protest, but he didn’t say anything more until they were behind the closed door to David’s small office. “We might just be able to pull this off,” he muttered. “I hope you’ve got another magic trick—or three—to pull out of your hat.”

“It’s not going to work equally well with all werewolves,” David warned, pulling back a chair for his guest and one for Alvin, too, who was nervously stepping from one foot to the other. He took the chair across from Clermont.

“Explain.”

“There’re some—not a lot of them, but a small number who are less—susceptible to an elder’s influence and as a result, Rust’s experience. I have no idea how often this occurs. So far, the most notable example is my brother, Greg. I would suggest not to include any werewolf like that into the battalion, not unless they bring something more than a pair of hands to hold a gun.”

Clermont stared at him from his good eye. “You don’t think it’s a waste of our already limited volunteers? Surely, two or three can’t mess up the line that badly.”

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David shook his head. “That’s not the point, General. But they won’t run. If he learns to use his magic better—and he’s learning fast—then the ones under his influence, their morale won’t break unless Rust breaks first. And he doesn’t break easily. I don’t think watering down that influence is worth a handful of additional soldiers. Unless the books you gave me overstate the importance of morale?”

“It’s hard to overstate the importance of morale,” the general muttered.

“Rust can force them forwards,” David said. “Ragna will back him.”

“What’s her experience? She’s from Fylke, yes? She one of their shield maidens?”

“Something like that. A guard on one of their trading vessels. She’s seen fighting against pirates. Nothing like a battlefield, but Rust is positive she’ll be helpful. She’s a couple of years more powerful than he, and the oldest volunteer we’ve got.”

“And what about him?” Clermont jerked his head at Alvin. “He an elder, too?”

“No. But I want to make him my squire.”

“You mean your orderly.”

“Whichever allows me to promote him to ensign.”

“He’s noble?”

“Let’s say he is.”

“Yes, but is he? Which family?”

David rolled his eyes. “Does it matter, really? DeCauchy, if anyone asks.”

Alvin opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“They’re traitors, aren’t they?” Clermont asked.

“Does it matter?” David repeated. “The oldest daughter stayed behind, I’m optimistic that she’d be willing to claim Alvin is her illicit half-brother. Asides, nobody protested against promoting Rust or Ragna to the rank of captain, either.”

“Nobody here is protesting, because I have placed those officers elsewhere.”

“Really. That’s just silly.”

“It may be silly, but it’s been hard enough to make the Loegrian nobility swallow the werewolf-officers we absolutely need. I don’t see the need to push that issue right now? You’ll need an orderly, sure. But he doesn’t need to be an ensign for that, does he?”

“General, if that’s what it takes, I’ll adopt Alvin myself.” David leaned forwards, ignoring Alvin’s surprised gasp. “Let’s not lie to each other. We’re not getting a better chance to push this issue. Just tell me what it’ll cost me.”

“Major, the werewolves were expelled from the city no three days ago. I’m telling you, this is not the time.”

David rolled his eyes. “Fine then. I’ll bring it up when the citizens of Deva are begging us to bring the werewolves back.”

“Don’t hold your breath on that.”

“The first creepers came down the river yesterday, General.” David’s grip on the table tightened, but he managed to look unbothered as he added: “I’ll give it another week until one slips past the guards and the first newborn dies. We both know that it’s the rich and powerful who live closest to the river.”

“If you’re right, I’ll consider his promotion,” Clermont said. “Does he have any special abilities yet?”

When the General looked at him, Alvin managed a “No, Sir.”

“If he doesn’t turn out to be some kind of prodigy, then not for another decade,” David added.

“Why him then?”

“Because I say so.”

General Clermont shook his head at him. “You and your bleeding heart. Funny how that’s the thing that brings the starch out in you. How did you ever make it as a hunter?”

“Someone has to do what’s necessary,” David said. It was a rote answer. What he had done had been far from necessary. But Clermont nodded, as if that made perfect sense. He changed the topic, too, to David’s relief.

“I read a report that one of the elders who didn’t volunteer can magically spook horses. Would it be enough to break a cavalry charge? And if so, is there a chance he’ll reconsider?”

“I believe it might be enough, but no, I don’t think we should take Monroe into battle,” David said. “He’s never fought, and he’s old enough to overrule both Ragna and Rust. If he panics… Anyway, he’s going to try his best to teach those elders who are going.”

“Let’s hope they learn fast.” Clermont pulled out his pocket watch. “Well, it’s been a relief,” he claimed, rising. “As usual, really.”

“We do our best,” David replied, rising himself. Alvin hurried to follow suit.

“I’ll find the way out myself,” the general claimed. David followed him to the gate anyway, his crossbow loaded and ready. The absolute last thing they needed was that one of the far too many unsettled werewolves running around the Fort caught the general alone. Even with Nathan, Lafayette and Ronon all on duty, it was difficult enough to keep the instructors safe—each one of them had a literal bodyguard assigned, from the younger but settled werewolves.

In fact, that was a large part of the reason why David had wanted to assign Alvin as his orderly. As they returned to the office , the young werewolf asked: “What you said, Lord Feleke—”

“I mean every word of it.”

“But what would it mean? If I became—your orderly. It’s not going to take me out of the fight, is it?”

“Since I’ll be in the fight, no. It would mean you help with maintaining my gear, take care of my horse, and relay messages for me.” David looked around watchfully, but there was nobody in earshot, so he added: “Watch my back in case one of the unstable ones tries to take a bite out of me.”

“And what’s an ensign?”

“It’s the lowest rank of officer.”

“So that’s why the general asked if I was noble.” Alvin nodded, then ducked his head. “I don’t like the idea of telling people my mom was some nobleman’s concubine. ‘Specially not if it’s one of them traitorous bastards who went and joined the enemy. Would you really…”

“Yes.”

“What about your fiancée? Don’t you think the lady will mind?”

The thought made David smile to himself. “No, Alvin. I don’t think she’ll mind.”

Alvin looked up at him, then down at his own hand. “I guess—it’s not like I’d be able to inherit anything, is it?”

“We’ll see about that,” David said. “If a werewolf can be an officer in the Loegrian army, why shouldn’t he be allowed to inherit a title, too? Let’s find the quartermaster. I want you to take the room attached to mine.”

“Aren’t you going to wait until the general agrees to promote me?”

David stopped, glanced around again. “I’ll still need someone to watch my back in the meantime,” he said softly. “I’ve had someone try to break into my room last night.”

“But you got him,” Alvin said. “I mean, obviously.”

“I did, but it’s a stupid risk to take, with so many unsettled ones around. On the other hand, I still have to keep up appearances.”

And beyond that, they were surrounded by the few officers and instructors willing to work with the werewolves. Why should he care about the sensibilities of those idiots in Deva who had exposed the city to the Rot?

“What appearance?” Alvin asked.

“You don’t think the other werewolves will talk if I pick a bodyguard?”

Alvin frowned in reply. “I think they’d agree that it’s a stupid risk to take,” he said slowly. “It’s not like we can replace you.”

David could only hope that Alvin wasn’t too optimistic there. “Still, let’s pretend I hired you for different reasons. The humans still need to believe I’ve got some kind of magic trick to keep you all in line.”

“Oh," Alvin said. “Gotcha.”

David did warn Lane in a letter later that night, about the offer he had made to Alvin. As he had expected, she didn’t mind, but he thought she had been laughing when she penned her answer.