Rust and his pack arrived at Deva’s Western Gate at daybreak. In the front came two carts dragged by werewolves and piled high with the carcasses of destroyed Rot-creatures. Behind that display followed the rest of the pack looking human. They even had put on the uniforms, though David was sure that Lord Clermont would have had a comment on their “grooming standards.”

David silently thanked the stars that he had suggested bringing in the destroyed Rot-monsters a while ago. It somewhat quieted the people protesting at the city gates against the large pack entering the city.

He wished he could have stopped the protestors, or even better, thrown them all in jail. He didn’t want Alvin and the rest of the pack to see the signs demanding their death—or leashes for all of them. But George Louis was probably right that suppressing the protest would only lead to riots later.

Not everyone was clamouring to have the werewolves locked up, luckily. Inside the gates, everyone who could take the time off work had turned out to line the streets. To see. To have a look at the creatures that had dominated the news for so long. To cheer them, too. Or at the very least, to cheer the destruction of the Rot.

It was a good thing George Louis was for once not offering free beer to all the citizens; alcohol would only have made the situation more volatile.

There were still plenty of vendors selling mostly non-alcoholic drinks to the crowd. Though the selection left a lot to be desired, in David’s mind.

“Beechnut-brew!” a peddler called. “Get it hot! Fresh beechnut-brew, better than coffee!”

“Want me to send a servant to get you one?” George Louis asked.

“No,” David growled.

He didn’t like the whole situation, though he had to admit that there had been no way to prevent this. And who knew, maybe this would alleviate some fears. Make people see that the monsters they feared so much could be regimented. Under control. Useful.

Between the refugees fleeing the war and the massacre just outside Deeshire, they could certainly use some good news-

Now that the Stour valley was safe, at least there was room for all these people to go.

George Louis made a big speech about all the arable soil they had recovered and the many types of wine he wanted grown in the valley, and nobody threw anything at him while he did. He even remembered to thank the werewolves and promise them some paper money, then left it to David to pin the medals to each werewolf’s chest.

The duke did spring for a rather lavish breakfast at the palace—in the officers’ mess hall—but stayed absent from the feast.

Not that Rust and his pack particularly cared for his presence.

***

Alvin joined David at his table as soon as he had a plate full of food. While most of the werewolves were still wary of him, the youth chattered away excitedly, telling him about all the battles the pack had fought against the Rot. It was good to see him unharmed and chipper. David wouldn’t have sent him in the first place, had he known about the Rot-queen of the river.

Unlike George Louis, Picot did make a short showing, and so did Desmarais. Lord Clermont on the other hand had travelled back from the front just for this occasion. As a result, there were quite a few junior officers present, too, who probably hoped to impress the general by bravely intermingling with the werewolves.

If that was their plan, it didn’t work: Clermont was focused on Rust. The general was still talking to the elder by the time David decided to take the risk and left the little gathering to check on the werewolves in the cells.

It was the first time that there were any unchained werewolves in the palace without a hunter standing guard over them. If anyone noticed, they didn’t come looking for David to complain about the situation. There was no sign of anything being amiss when he returned a couple of hours later to escort them to Windish.

David didn’t understand what a mistake it had been to leave Lord Clermont unsupervised with the pack until a fine morning a few days later. When he had fought his way past the protestors outside the gates, there was another commotion on the parade-ground. On the spot where d’Evier had called forth the Rot last summer, a group of werewolves were training. With guns. A fairly large group, too. Rust stood in the first line, but it wasn’t just his pack.

Men only, though. They were all in the uniforms they’d been issued, and a human drill sergeant was yelling at them, even if he didn’t insult them as he likely would have regular recruits.

“It’s just a test.”

David spun around when Lord Clermont appeared at his side. “A lot of officers don’t think it can work, either. They don’t trust that the werewolves can submit to the discipline of the army. If nothing else, I hope you will agree that disproving that notion is a worthwhile goal.”

David wished that “lack of discipline” was the worst thing people thought and said of the werewolves.

“I suppose,” he grumbled. He still didn’t like this, but it didn’t look like the werewolves were here against their will. Quite the contrary, the ones David could see were more focused and eager than the troops that usually trained here.

And half the palace appeared to be watching them.

“If you deploy them anywhere, I will go with them.”

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George Louis would kill him, if Imani didn’t get to him first. But there, he’d said it. Out loud in front of half the court. There was a susurration all around, and some werewolves turned to stare at him. Especially Rust and—wait, was that Alvin?

Yes it was.

The kid was what, sixteen? How dare they—All the regular soldiers were eighteen at least!

“The boy volunteered,” Clermont said as soon as David rounded on him. “They all did when I broached the idea. Quite gratifying, really. I understand their potential is mixed, but they have caused quite a stir. Again.”

“I see that,” David groused.

“Are you serious about fighting with them?”

“Yes.”

A moment ago, it had been just a way to escape the bloody bureaucracy, but now that he had spotted Alvin—yes.

“Hm. I’d have thought that would interfere with your responsibilities here.”

“I’ll leave Nathan in charge.”

“Your brother who was injured at Oldstone Castle? Well, I suppose that would work.”

David grinned wryly at that. Nathan would kill him. But he asked: “So do you have plans to field the werewolves as soldiers?”

Clermont shrugged. “I’ll have to talk to the officers in charge first, ask their opinion. Why don’t we leave the men to it and go to my office to discuss the matter?”

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. “Lead the way,” David said.

It was a bit of a walk, climbing the many stairs and crossing the endless hallways. David greeted the servants he knew and a handful of nobles they came across, but Clermont walked in deep silence. He unlocked his office door and waved for David to take a seat, taking place behind his desk himself. There was a pistol lying on top of it, which he gripped, examining it briefly. Some new design, as far as David could tell.

“Breech loaded revolver,” Clermont explained. “Six shots, combustible paper cartridges. No more fiddling around with caps and powder, and the paper burns without a trace. Cuts your reload time in half, at least. The question is if they can produce these cartridges in big enough numbers. Still, quite ingenious.”

He fiddled with the weapon some more, before he went on, more softly: “Quite ingenious indeed. Just not good enough.”

The general stared at David for a long moment, then got up again, checked the connecting door to his secretaries’ office, as if he was worried one of them might listen at the keyhole.

“How many werewolves could we field?” he finally asked. “If we wagered it all. How many are there?”

David frowned. “A couple of hundreds, I suppose. But what’s the point?”

“Soldiers that won’t fall to bullets? Just think of the psychological effect!” The general rubbed his neck. “I had hoped for a thousand, at least,” he muttered. “What if you ignored that five months precaution?”

“I thought you don’t want monsters in your army. What’s all this about?”

The old general stared at the door again. “We are going to lose,” he finally said, softly.

David frowned. “I thought the war had barely started.”

Clermont sighed. “We can’t take back Port Neath, Lord Feleke. Not fast enough, at least. The loyalists picked the place well; it’s been fortified with mighty walls and they have plenty of cannons. I can take the city, don’t get me wrong. But I’d have to sacrifice half the soldiers of Loegrion to do it before the Imperial fleet gets here, and then who’s going to fight the Sun King’s armies when they land? But if I had a battalion of soldiers that can take a direct cannon hit and still keep going… Well, that would change any battle.”

“How do you know they can take a hit like that?” David asked, suspicious.

“I haven’t done any tests,” Clermont said, waving his concerns away. “But I did speak to Rust after their arrival. And I heard the one called Morgulon shrugged off a direct shot to the chest just the other week at your home in Brines? Or was that rumour exaggerated? Your mother herself mentioned it.”

“No, that’s true,” David said softly.

“And on new moon night, too,” Clermont added. “I understand that most other werewolves will be more vulnerable that night. But it is an advantage we will have to use.”

“Right.” David considered that. He hated it. And he hated that Alvin had somehow gotten himself mixed up in this. But he did understand the importance.

“I don’t think a werewolf will survive a direct cannon hit,” he added. “Cut off the head, and they’re dead any night of the month. That’s why hunters used to deliver heads at the very least as proof of kill. I reckon a smashed head would work, too.”

Clermont shrugged. “But they can survive bullets.”

“Yes. Lead bullets at least. I don’t know about their human shape, but I’ve had one come at me in its wolf shape with six shots in its flank, once.”

“I thought hunters don’t use bullets.”

“Professionals generally don’t,” David shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Back during the last plague, I don’t know if you were around for that. There were a lot of desperate people trying their hands at it who had very little clue what they got themselves into.”

Clermont frowned at him. “There hasn’t been a plague on Loegrion soil in ages.”

“Seventeen years,” David shrugged.

“That’s what I said. How old are you?”

“I’ll turn thirty-one in a couple of months. I had just turned fourteen when I started hunting,” he added, since Clermont was clearly wondering.

The old man shook his head. “I wish I had soldiers with that kind of experience. At least a few officers.” Clermont sighed. “Veterans still fit to fight. That’s the problem. The only people in our army who have experience are old. Oh, we have a lot of recruits, even volunteers, of all ages. But we have few veterans.”

“I’m no soldier, either,” David said. “Still, I have a hard time believing the werewolves are best used as musketmen?”

“Rust said the same thing,” Clermont leaned back in his chair. “And seeing how he’s got all the experience I could ask for, fighting as both human and werewolf, I would be following his advice on this, believe me. In fact, I’m considering making him an aide on my command staff. Problem is, according to what he told me, werewolves would be best used as irregulars, harassing the enemies supply trains, targeting their communication lines, maybe some hit and runs on command posts. And I’m absolutely going to keep that in mind, but there is no way to harass a city wall. If we fail to take that damn port, I’m going to have them form packs and make them run off every horse and donkey the Valoise try to bring over, but if we fail to take that damn port, I’m not sure it’s going to make much of a difference. You see my problem?”

David nodded slowly. “So you want them to break the walls? How?”

“First I need to see how they follow orders, if this idea is even feasible at all. If it should turn out to be workable, well, I’m working on a plan for them to take out one of the garrisons. I can let you in on the details, once I have them.”

“I would appreciate that,” David replied. “Will you be staying here until they are ready to deploy?”

The old general shook his head. “I need to keep an eye on the situation in the south. Thank the Sun for the railway.”

His one eye bore into David’s. “If you are serious about accompanying the troops, I would advise you to start training a replacement for yourself right away. And then perhaps present yourself to Major Bourne. He’s in charge of the training regiments here at the palace.”

“Right,” David sighed, pushing out of his seat. “I’ll prepare Grooch for the worst.”