“His Highness should have more hunters on staff to avoid stuff like this,” General Clermont noted when the door closed behind Fletcher.

“He should,” David agreed. “But it’s not that easy to find reliable people who first made it their life to hunt werewolves and are now willing to work with them. Most hunters did it as a side-job, sticking only to the areas surrounding their homes. Few of those were particularly professional about it. Half of those that did make it their profession are religious fanatics, and the other half – you generally don’t start hunting if you have any other skills that are valued by society.”

David studied the papers Fletcher had given him. The lieutenant's list was alphabetized and included which werewolves were injured, something Boris hadn’t written down. so David put it next to the list with the packs, and then turned to the map that showed where George Louis wanted werewolves stationed along the coast.

He shook his head, thinking over what else George Louis wanted. With Morgulon out, Rust staying at the coast, and Fenn going back to the White Torrent, they didn’t even have enough healthy elders to properly protect the railway navvies, let alone to form up a team to cleanse the Stour. Bernadette and Dale wouldn’t be able to fight for a while.

“What’s the problem?” Clermont asked.

David eyed the old general, wondering how much he should even tell the man. Was he really trustworthy? The pamphlet hadn’t included how werewolves grew stronger with age, because Mr. Higgins had pointed out that it wouldn’t comfort people to know that. Now he was incredibly glad for that. Keeping that information as secret as possible would be vital.

“We need another elder for the railway,” he said after a moment.

“What about that Neville guy, here? He’s marked down as nine years old and not injured.”

David hesitated. Neville was supposed to go back and tell his old pack that everything was fine. But maybe someone else could do that?

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I suppose we can send Lee into the mountains instead.”

“Why would you do that?” Clermont asked, frowning, looking at the name David marked.

“That was the deal.”

“You’re humouring them too much,” Clermont grumbled. “If you have to send someone, make it one that’s expendable. How about this one? Marc, eight months old.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because Marc is a seven-year-old child in his human form, with a bad leg.”

“Sounds like one you won’t miss then.” Lord Clermont turned his nose up at David’s shocked face. “You do realize that we’re at war with the bloody Empire, don’t you?”

“Yes, I am aware,” David growled back.

“Then you should know that this is not the time for kindness. Can you imagine what the Valoise will do to us if we lose? Have you ever heard of what happened when the Ferees rebelled?”

David returned his gaze coolly. “Lord Clermont, have you ever heard of the concept of propaganda?” He didn’t give the old man a chance to answer before he pressed on: “On his way to the Argentum Formation and back, my brother came across more than twenty elders. Only three of them came back with him. Can you imagine what a force of twenty elders could do to our odds of winning this war? There’s one who’s more than sixty years old somewhere in the Central Ranges. He probably could have fought the battle here all on his own. Do you really think that having one four-year-old werewolf more or less is worth ruining our chances at getting allies like that?”

Clermont still frowned. “Why don’t you go after them yourself then? Catch some alive?”

“And how would we force them to fight?” David asked. “Will you stand behind them with a loaded crossbow while they fight the Rot? If you do shoot them, how will you survive the Rot?”

Lord Clermont didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded slowly. “So you’re trying to win them over instead.”

“Yes. That’s why Lee is a good choice – he knows me, we worked together before.”

“They all do, don’t they?”

David sighed. “They all know me a little, yes. But the youngest ones only know me as a guy who helps them – provided they don’t turn savage. Lee remembers me as “the Relentless,” too. As the werewolf-equivalent of the Inquisition. He’ll understand their fears much better than, for example, Alvin.”

Clermont ran a finger down the list until he found Alvin’s name. “I see,” he said softly, and stared at David again with his one dark eye. “But still – His Highness just declared that money is no object. Shouldn’t it be easy to win over a group of people who own so little?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Most of them won’t touch silver,” David said. “And I’m sure you can imagine what kind of trouble it would earn the duke with his human followers if he were to hand out gold or land or titles to them.”

Lord Clermont grimaced and nodded.

“So all we have to hand out right now is the promise of some copper, free food and clothes, a tent – sometimes a bed – and hopes of a better future,” David added. “Which is not a whole lot, considering what we’re asking of them.”

Clermont stared down at the list of names again and didn’t say anything more. They both looked up when Fletcher returned.

“Any troubles?” David asked.

“Two of them didn’t want to get locked up,” Fletcher said. “Lord Andrew is watching them now. But the rest came quite willingly. Surprisingly so, really.”

“They know what’s at stake,” David shrugged, and turned back to the task at hand.

He didn’t like the gamble George Louis was proposing – leaving the coast nearly unguarded, beyond those werewolves currently too injured to fight. They would be fully dependent on their spies in Rambouillet.

But they had no hope in hell of holding the coastline anyway, did they, if the Valoise really managed a surprise attack. Or if they attacked not just at one or two, but several places at once. So there was really no point in wasting resources trying, was there?

Right then.

Rust would have to lead the group that was to cleanse the Stour, and all their youngest werewolves would get placed along the northern coast in small groupings. They wouldn’t be able to fight off more than a couple of Rot-brutes, but to a Valoisian spy, it should look as if they had werewolves everywhere. And really, without a priest or powerful magic, a brute should be the biggest thing even sabotage should create, anyway.

David could only pray that it would be enough to deter a second attack, at least until Bernadette was recovered. As soon as she was, he’d suggest to George Louis to have Bernadette and pack replace Ragna, place the woman from Fylke near the coast instead...

As long as they got enough of a warning, they’d be fine, David told himself again. But he still shuddered every now and then.

“Will you tell me by what criteria you are grouping them, Sir?” Fletcher asked after David noted down the first names, one group for King’s Haven, and one group for a small fishing town a little further south.

“This is an established pairing,” David said, pointing at the two names next to King’s Haven. “They’re both four years old, which makes them fairly powerful. I’m placing them here because King’s Haven is both an important city and close to the northern wilds.”

“But you put down four names for Grothmouth, which really isn’t important at all.”

“Three names and a maybe,” David corrected. “These three are only four months old each, and this one isn’t even proven stable yet. Together, these four will still be weaker than either one of the two I placed at King’s Haven. I also made it a group of men only, because I happen to remember that this guy here was charged with beating his wife in the past.”

Fletcher’s face fell. “I’ll have to take stuff like that into account, too?”

“I would advise you to,” David said. “Provided you can even find information like that. Remember that these are specialist workers rather than ordinary soldiers. You can’t always discipline them like soldiers, so you’ll have to find workarounds for that.” He paused and added: “To a point, I mean. Use your best judgement.”

He placed Porter and Ruadh as far apart as possible, too.

“You shouldn’t humour them so much,” Clermont complained, again, when David explained about the enmity between them.

“I wouldn’t, if we had more werewolves,” David said. “But we don’t. These two have been known to attack each other. A soldier can be locked up until he sees sense, but if you do that with your only two werewolves, you’re without protection. So until we have more of them, we need to give them leeway we wouldn’t otherwise.”

“What if my best judgement says that I gave enough leeway and a line has been crossed?” Fletcher wanted to know.

“Then you find a judge authorized to sit trial over the werewolf in question or petition His Highness for a crown warrant. Ideally, you also have the offender locked up. That way you’ll only need to find an executioner rather than a hunter.”

“And what if they escape?” Clermont asked.

“Then they’ll be hunted down,” David said.

“By whom?”

“By me, if necessary.”

Clermont sniffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

David shrugged. “You’re welcome to witness it. I reckon I’ll be taking down the two who refused to enter their cages, tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

Clermont stared at him with that one dark eye. David blinked back, too tired of this whole conversation to make it a contest.

After a second, the old general looked away, and David returned to the map, telling Fletcher everything he thought might be useful to the young man. Unfortunately, he only knew a third of the werewolves on the roster.

“Can I request the records of the convicts?” Fletcher asked. “So I’ll know what their crimes were?”

“Absolutely,” David said. To his surprise, Fletcher jumped from his stool at that and rummaged through one of the bookcases full of papers. He opened one binder, pulled out a sheet, and returned to the table. He filled in some blanks and then pushed it over to David.

“I’ll need a signature,” he said. “And a seal.”

David paused. He wanted to laugh, or maybe hit himself that he hadn’t seen this coming. He had no idea what authority he even had to sign official documents, but Fletcher seemed certain that his signature and seal would do.

He did not, actually, have a seal. Not even a fancy ring with a nice engraving. Instead, after signing and dropping a blob of the wax Fletcher helpfully provided onto the document, he reached for the quiver – which he wore because he felt naked without it – and pulled out a bolt with a slightly deformed point. He pushed the silvertip into the hot wax, which made Clermont grin. With all the scars, David couldn’t tell if it was mocking or not.

George Louis showed up just as they had finally finished the deployments. He wanted to look them over, but didn’t say much. Instead, he patted David’s shoulder and frowned at the document with David’s “seal” that was still lying next to the maps.

David followed him outside.

“Am I correct in assuming you will want to go to Courtenay with your brothers for a few days?”

“Brines,” David said. “Morgulon will come, too.”

George Louis’s face lit up. “Splendid,” he said. “I was going to return to Eoforwic, too, to check on the Company. We can travel together. I hope you will join us for the ceremony at Breachpoint tomorrow?”

“What ceremony?”

“I promised the fish a feast, didn’t I?”

“Right.” David yawned. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

Sun – or moon, or whatever – he was tired.

And the war had only just begun.