The group of werewolves reached Breachpoint an hour before noon. Greg wanted to keep going right away, but when they got there, the city gates were closed, and guards in silver helmets barred their way.

“It’s not safe to leave the city,” one of them said. “You were damn lucky your train made it, nothing else has been getting through, the Rot is out in force! Even in broad daylight!”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Ragna said before Greg could answer. “Which is why we need to get out there right now.”

“But it’s new moon!”

“Heartwarming, their concern,” Neville griped.

It took some arguing, but they were allowed to pass in the end. Greg was about to ask Ragna what they were supposed to do now that they had left the city, but before he could say anything, the elder had started taking off her clothes. While Greg was still staring, she crouched down onto the earth and closed her eyes. Greg stared and didn’t realize what she was doing until he noticed the fur sprouting all over her body.

“This is something she mastered recently,” Rust said, grinning at his surprise.

Her transformation took a couple of minutes, and Greg didn’t even want to think about how much it had to hurt, but finally, Ragna stood in front of them as a wolf.

“It’s much easier when Pierre is around,” Rust said. “Another mile or two, and we’ll be close enough to the Morgulon that I’ll be able to transform, too.”

“You could have mentioned that when we argued with the guards,” Thoko said.

Rust shook his head. “Not gonna tell something like that to a human who’s wearing so much silver. Let’s get moving.”

Rust turned maybe half an hour later, and it wasn’t a minute too soon: He had barely gotten back to his feet when a small army of Rot creatures came straight at them.

Neville, to Greg’s surprised, laughed at the sight. “The old man was right after all! They’re running like headless chickens! Your friends did it!”

“Great,” Lenny grumbled. “Running where? Breachpoint might have walls and cannons to withstand this onslaught, but there’re villages in the area, too.”

Greg shuddered. If his brothers were all right, certainly they would have made sure that the surviving Rot creatures posed no danger for the area?

“It’ll be okay,” Thoko said quietly. “The werewolves who fought at the battle must be tired. I’m sure this group just slipped past.”

Tired, or dead, Greg wondered. But he nodded, wishing with all his might that Thoko was right. Between Ragna and Rust, even the huge moving puddle of mud stood no chance, for all that it took more than an hour to die.

Greg wanted nothing more than to get to 'Oldstone Castle' and find his family. Lenny was right, though. There were too many people in danger as long as the Rot ran rampant in the area. Lenny’s family had no protection beyond the wooden palisades of their village.

Ragna and Rust were wary to visit an unknown village, but Lenny was insistent that he needed to make sure his children and grandchildren were safe.

“I’m sure there’ll be no reason to actually go into the village,” the old man said wistfully. “We just need to make sure none of these giants went their way.”

Ragna and Rust turned to stare at Greg. He shrugged, and took a deep breath, but finally nodded. “I guess Lenny’s right,” he said. “We shouldn’t just let the Rot run wild around here. These monsters weren’t even scared by the daylight.”

So they followed Lenny. They did come across several more groups of larger and smaller monsters. Greg felt terribly useless while Ragna and Rust fought. All he had were makeshift torches, to keep the smaller creepers away from Thoko. Admittedly, Lenny and Neville only had sticks, since they didn’t want to get that close to a flame.

“Looks like they’re having fun,” Lenny said, disbelief colouring his voice, while they watched Ragna and Rust dance with another one of the giant Rot monsters. This one looked like a huge heap of compost that could move.

“I’m sure Ragna is.” Neville smiled wryly. “She’s been waiting twenty years to find a way to get back at the Valoise in some form. Crazy woman probably can’t wait for the war to begin in earnest.”

“Isn’t it strange that she was part of Pierre’s pack?” Thoko asked.

Neville shrugged. “It’s not like he’s still an actual priest. And besides, he’s the most powerful werewolf in the Argentum Formation. She could’ve started her own pack, of course, if she had wanted to, find a territory somewhere else.”

Neville glanced at Lenny, and then at Greg. “You’re really sure we won’t get in trouble if we get seen by some villagers?”

“Pretty sure, yes,” Greg said. “Especially with these giant Rot creatures around.”

They still didn’t try to enter the village where Lenny had once lived, even though it was obvious that Lenny really wanted to. He did stare hard at the walls from the shade of a tree, to make sure that the Rot hadn’t entered, but finally, he just shook his head.

“You’ll come with me, right, Greg?” Lenny asked. “Once we’ve made sure that the area is safe?”

Greg nodded quickly, and they moved on.

Cleanup at the castle started as soon as the cavalry left with the duke and David. All around the walls, the Rot was set afire. Those not too injured were throwing more of the dead husks from the battlements into the flames. The mood was cheerful and subdued at the same time. The final fight against the giants had seen too many men dead or injured, and there was no telling how – if – the wounds caused by the Rot would heal.

Lane helped carry the last of the wounded inside. Many of the deeper cuts she saw were already turning black, festering, the injured men feverish with infection. There was a special room in the keep reserved for those who could hope for no more help, even from a healer, where Morgulon was going around and gently licking wounds and biting soldiers, in the hopes that one curse might just be enough to defeat another kind of dark magic.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Lane was no doctor, but she reckoned that many of them would likely die anyway. And she wondered: Had they been asked, before the battle, if they would prefer becoming a werewolf over dying? Or had the duke made that decision for them?

And why Morgulon? Shouldn’t she be with her cubs?

In the next room, the regular infirmary, Fenn, too, was busy licking wounds.

“Does that help?” Lane asked softly when she reached the point where Andrew was crouched next to Nathan.

Andrew gently lifted the piece of white cloth that was only loosely lying on top of Nathan’s worst injury. It had already been stitched up, so at least the ribs weren’t visibly anymore, but the raw flesh had turned black – not the healthy dark brown of Nathan’s natural skin, rather a sickly, greenish dark grey where red should be.

“Fenn seems to have stopped the worst,” Andrew said glumly. “At least it’s no longer spreading.” He reached for Nathan’s forehead and grimaced. “He’s still blazing.”

Lane looked around the infirmary again. All the men in here had wounds like Nathan’s, with blackened edges that were often spreading. The deeper the injury and the weaker the soldier, the faster the Rot was taking hold, as if it wanted to eat them alive. If the elders couldn’t stop it, they would lose at least two-thirds of the soldiers who had fought in this battle. And Nathan would be one of them.

Lane shuddered. All they could do was hope for the best and pray that those Rot giants that had run earlier didn’t come back. Bernadette and Dale were both out. Fenn could just barely walk, one of his front legs broken. Calder and Morgulon were mostly fine, but Calder had gone to help find the High Inquisitor.

A cheer on the corridor outside made Lane look up. “Feed his bones to the fish!” someone yelled, followed by “Feleke! David Feleke! Hail the hero of Oldstone Castle!”

“Sounds like they were successful,” Andrew said dryly. He gave Lane a meaningful look. “Go on, congratulate you fiancé. I’ll sit with Nathan.”

It looked like every able man in the castle wanted to congratulate David, who was bringing in the body of d’Evier, but they did part when Lane hurried down the stairs into the courtyard. Suddenly, a hundred pairs of eyes were staring at her expectantly, and Lane slowed down in embarrassment. Too late, she realized just what they were waiting for: here was, after all, a victorious knight, not necessary in shining armour, but still the man who, it could be argued, had saved all their lives.

And she was supposed to be in love with him.

She pretty much had to kiss him, didn’t she?

When she stepped into the open, she could see it on not just David’s face, but on the duke’s, too, how they came to the same realization a few seconds later. David looked wearily amused at the whole situation, but George Louis was glaring daggers at her.

It made her pause, if just for a second. Then she rushed forwards, with all the grace she could muster in her heavy woollen skirts, bloodied and dirty, clutching at her chest dramatically. When David climbed out of the saddle, she threw both arms around him. He made a startled sound, and Lane winked at him, hesitating just long enough to make sure he wouldn’t push her away, before she pressed her lips to his.

It was by far not the worst kiss she had ever shared, and she drew it out much longer than she would have if it hadn’t been for the duke, glaring daggers. From the way David was digging his fingers into her hair, she guessed that he had caught on.

While the men whistled and cheered, David pulled away just a little, to whisper into her ear: “Let me guess: George Louis is watching?”

“About ready to kill me,” Lane breathed back. She couldn’t help but grin. But that was fine. The men watching them were probably expecting her to smile.

And George Louis could glare all he wanted. If he tried to hurt her, Morgulon would leave his campaign, and he couldn’t afford to lose her any more than he could afford to further antagonize David – not after he had made such an effort to turn the Feleke into a hero.

What a weird thought, that she had friends like that suddenly.

David took half a step back, keeping one arm wrapped around her. George Louis had caught himself by the time they turned around to him, but his smile never reached the eyes.

“Thank you,” David called, raising one arm and looking at the cheering soldiers. “But I really need to see my brother now.”

“This way,” Lane said, before George Louis could disagree.

Nobody wanted to get in their way as they hurried up the stairs, but the cheering didn’t stop entirely.

“Have you seen Nathan?” David asked. “How is he?”

“Same as all the others that got hurt by the Rot,” Lane said quietly. “I mean – Nathan was lucky. One of the doctors stitched the flesh back together before it could – while there was still flesh to stitch together, I mean. Fenn has washed the wound.”

“What do you mean, while there was still flesh to stitch together?” David asked.

Lane shook her head. “I – just see for yourself.”

They had reached the room, and David stopped at the first bed. The soldier there had lost his hand, an injury that would have been terrible enough without the Rot. But the sickness of it had eaten the flesh away almost all the way to the elbow, leaving only a piece of bone sticking out, with an uneven surface, as if some acid had dissolved it.

David pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He stepped to the next bed, a deep cut in the leg, not as bad as the first man, but still, with blackened edges. The third man they came to was dead.

David looked around until he spotted Andrew, who had raised a hand to wave them over, and in long strides ran to Nathan’s side, pulling the cloth away that covered the wound.

“It’s – it could be a lot worse,” Andrew said quietly. “It has stopped spreading. Keep’s captain said they’ll have all the healers from Breachpoint here as soon as they can get them here safely.”

“Whenever that’ll be,” David whispered, and looked over to Fenn, still limping around the room, licking wounds. “How’re they not all screaming?”

“The few doctors we do have were very liberal with the opium.”

David grimaced, and ran a hand over Nathan’s forehead, then his own face. “God damn it,” he whispered.

“Are there any healers here?” Lane asked softly.

“One,” Andrew said, grimacing.

Lane groaned.

How many healers might there be in Breachpoint? How fast could they get them here?

But they’d need Calder to go out, clean a path, and Calder alone probably wouldn’t even be enough. Not while the giants were still out there.

Lane didn’t know how long they sat in silence next to Nathan’s cot. The only interruptions were the few doctors of the keep who made their rounds, and Fenn, doing the same. Morgulon only poked her head in once, before she returned to her young.

George Louis showed up at some point, but David just glared at him until he went away again. Eventually, people started cheering outside again.

“Now what?” Andrew asked.

“Suppose they’re tossing the High Inquisitor into the ocean,” David said. “That’s probably why George wanted me earlier.”

But just a few minutes after the cheering died down, Greg came storming in.

David and Andrew both stared at him dumbfounded.

Greg opened his mouth, saw Nathan, and closed it again. “I’m sorry we were too late,” he finally said.

“Who’s we?” David asked, sounding exhausted.

“Oh, uh – Ragna, Rust, and Neville, and Lenny. Thoko is with them, they’re already talking to the Captain and the duke, about bringing healers here? We’ve been walking all day around the area, killing all the Rot we came across. Well, Ragna and Rust did. I think one of them’ll go with a messenger to Breachpoint, let people there know it’s safe.”

“You guys – fought the Rot?” Andrew asked.

“Ragna has been a werewolf for twenty years,” Greg said. “She transformed as soon as we were out of Breachpoint.”

“Oh thank – thank goodness.” David rubbed his face. “Maybe we’ll have some more healers here in the morning.”

“Hopefully,” Andrew said.

“What happened here?” Greg asked. “How – how is Nathan?”

“Lucky to be alive,” Andrew sighed. “He’ll be even luckier if – if he survives the night.”

Greg stared at his motionless brother for a long moment. “I’ll go talk to Ragna,” he said after a moment and pushed himself off the ground.

Lane got up, too, to give Fenn room to sniff at the injury and lick the ugly wound.

Greg wasn’t gone long when another werewolf came in, a big guy with reddish fur and just a little bit of silver around the muzzle.

He took one look at the room, spotted Lane, David, and Andrew, and walked out again.

“I suppose that was Rust,” Andrew sighed.