Knothole Glade simmered and seethed as news of the dead sentries spread. No adult went unarmed, and those that ventured out of their homes kept their heads on a swivel, now that the walls had proven to be a false comfort. Every guard that wouldn’t be needed come the night was at the walls, eyes peeled as they swept the forest outside from the wooden parapets.

“It’s the treeline,” Kravos told them grimly, moustache twitching. They had gathered in the feasting hall, the large building repurposed into an emergency point. “We’ve kept it from growing near the walls as we always have, but we didn’t think about its height. The beasts must have climbed high and jumped over the walls.”

Whisper was standing across the table, clad in her dress armour of teals and greens. “What is to stop them from climbing the walls?” she asked, crossing her arms. The cool island air was outside her preferred climate, and Jack could see goosebumps on her skin.

“There’s a sap that drives them mad with itch,” Kravos said. “We treat the logs with it.”

Jack had one elbow resting on his other hand and he frowned, tapping at his chin. That wasn’t all there was to it, surely, but no one else seemed to take issue with it, even Klessan.

“We’ll need to bring them down then,” Alain said, the leader of the guards just as grim.

“You can’t send a lumber party outside the walls,” Duran said. He was leaning on the table, staring at the rough map of the town on it. “It’s a death sentence.”

“So is standing watch if we don’t do something about the tree,” Kravos said, but he didn’t disagree.

“We could provide cover while they worked,” Klessan said. Like Duran, she was staring at the map, and her wolfdog, Brute, was leaning into her side. “Duran could knock a tree down right quick.” She didn’t sound convinced of her own words.

A light patter of rain started to fall, heralded by a cold breeze, and Whisper shivered. “The risks are too much,” she said, rubbing at her arms. A flutter of Jack’s fingers sent a wash of warm air towards his friend, and she gave him a grateful nod.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a tree logging Expression that could do the job?” Klessan asked.

Jack began to shake his head, only to pause, thinking.

Klessan straightened, looking at him incredulously. “Don’t tell me you do.”

“Not exactly,” Jack said. He could try to burn the forest down, but the island was very wet, and even if he succeeded the smoke might very well choke them. A blast of force, applied correctly, however… “I might have something,” he said.

“Do you need to leave the walls?” Alain asked.

“I should be able to manage from atop them,” Jack said.

Kravos was already taking up his warhammer from where it leant against the table. “Let’s go then, no wasting time.”

“I’ll go with you,” Duran said, taking up his own heavier hammer. In the shade of the hall, the soft light of its augmentation was a faint shimmer.

“There’s room in the gate tower? I’ll set up there,” Klessan said. Her bow was close to hand, her balverine hide whip already at her hip.

“I will remain here,” Whisper decided. “One of us should at all times, in case of a breach.”

“The men know to find me here,” Alain said. “Get those trees down, and then we’ll need to talk about shift rotations.” He was already poring over papers on the table.

Kravos led the two young men to the wall. Heavy logs had been erected, footings buried deep and lashed tightly together, and a walkway ran along the interior, ladders spaced out along it. It was not so high that one couldn’t jump down from it if they knew how to land well, and there were staircases at each of the five towers that were built to give a higher vantage point around the town.

On the walls, the mood was tense, and no sentry was alone. The Guards were stretched thin, but they had been supplemented by the folk from Breetown, hard experience helping to make up for the gulf in training. It was almost crowded up there, the grisly discovery that morning demanding a response, though few gave the chief and the Heroes so much as a glance as they arrived, their eyes fixed on the treeline.

“Can you do it?” Kravos asked of Jack.

It was not that the trees had been allowed to encroach on the walls, because they hadn’t. There was a good twenty or thirty metres of space, but Jack had seen balverines leap before, and he could see how one might have made it across from a high enough vantage point.

“Yeah,” Jack said. It was further than he tended to use the expression, but he could manage. He flexed his fingers, the leather of his gloves creaking comfortably. “I can knock them down from here.” He began to call on his Will. “The splinters shouldn’t come back this way.”

“Wait,” Duran said. “You’re going to use that airblast?”

“I am,” Jack said, pausing.

“Where do you mean to aim it?”

“About a third of the way up, I thought,” Jack said.

“On this side?”

Jack nodded.

“Don’t do that,” Duran said. “The trunk will buckle and fall back this way. If we’re unlucky it might even land on the wall.”

“Right,” Jack said, seeing it in his mind’s eye. “I should set it off on the far side of the trunk then.”

“If you’re going to blast the trunk apart, yeah,” Duran said. “Though if you’re just going to blow the whole treeline over…”

“I’m not that good,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Yet, anyway. The splinters probably will come back this way then,” he added to Kravos.

Word was passed to hunker down, and the cause of it drew the eye in a way their mere presence had not. Will was the most mysterious of the Heroic abilities, and always quick to draw interest from the denizens of Albion - when they could be sure it wasn’t aimed at them, of course.

Jack focused, feeling the flow of Will through his channels. He let out a breath, and flicked his finger at the treeline. An orb of force detonated, shattering the quiet of the morning and turning a section of trunk into pulp. The overpowered Expression caused the tree to buckle, knocking the lower portion towards the wall, but then it began to drop. It hit the ground, throwing up a furrow of dirt, and began to collapse ponderously into the forest, finally falling to the ground with the cracking of branches and a distant thud.

No one cheered, and there was not a single disturbed bird or beast.

“Good enough,” Kravos said, staring out. “Should be able to do the rest before the afternoon.”

“Do you have the Will for that?” Duran asked.

“I’ll tweak the Expression, and I’ve potions,” Jack said.

“‘Tweak the Expression’ he says,” Duran said, not quite mocking him.

“It’s easy,” Jack said, intentionally riling him up. “You just feed a little more here, twist it a bit there, and squeeze it on the way out.”

Duran gave him a look of put upon disgust, and Jack laughed.

“It’s good practise,” Jack said. “Just keep the balverines off me.”

“You worry about your Will, I’ll worry about the balverines,” Duran said. The blue lines he had painted on his face the day before were still present, if only faintly, and they added a certain fierceness to his eyes as he squinted at the forest.

They weren’t as intimidating as the tattoos on every visible inch of Kravos’ body though. “We’ll keep them off you,” the chief said, the marks pulled by his glower as he looked out. “You just do your business.”

Jack nodded, calling up his Will once more. It wasn’t the most intensive Expression he had, but it wasn’t one he’d care to use all day, either. He would just have to ensure it didn’t take that long. Another tree was felled, falling away from the wall as he intended it to, and then another. Crack-thud-groan-crash went the trees, as giants that had been growing since Jack’s grandfather’s time were felled so that the village might be made safer.

The sun continued to rise as along the wall they walked, more and more trees falling, and Jack began to sweat as he exerted himself. He was reminded of his experiments while he wandered the Darkwood, looking for news of Theresa, when he tried to see how long he could Express his Will for. A faint throbbing started to remind him of the resulting headaches, too. He reached for the pouch at his hip, retrieving a blue potion, and downed it, waiting for it to do its work fortifying his Will.

“Do you need a break?” Duran asked. He was watching in concern. “I don’t know how you can stand to drink those things.”

“I need to improve this Expression,” Jack said. They paused, and a skin of water was passed to him. Jack nodded to the villager in thanks and drank slowly, washing down the tasteless potion. “And I don’t know what you mean. They don’t taste like anything.” His mind was already elsewhere, thinking on how to make the job go faster. He could compress the expression, narrowing and extending the result to topple more trees at once, or he could trim it back, turning it into a more discriminate weapon that he could actually use around allies, but then he might have to use it more than once per tree…

“I always thought you just got the good ones that Maze made,” Duran said, “but you actually can’t taste them, can you?”

“I saw some of the dishes at your welcome home feast,” Jack said. “You’ve got no place to talk about taste.”

“Kel will be sad.”

“Don’t try to tell me she cooked any of them.”

Duran pointedly didn’t reply, choosing instead to inspect the treeline more closely. The wall itself was still crowded, but none of them begrudged the two Heroes their break or banter, nor would any of them step down until the vulnerability that had seen their neighbours eaten at best and taken at worse had been removed. Jack felt the tightness in his Will pathways ease as the potion did its work, and he shook his hands out.

“Let’s try something different,” he said to himself. This time, the force Expression wasn’t just detonated carelessly, power flung in all directions. This time he narrowed it down to an edge, directing and stretching it. With an exhale he released it, and instead of a loud crack there was a whump, and three trees had their legs taken out from under them. A moment later, those on the wall were touched by a faint moment of breeze, hair and clothes ruffled even this far away.

“Wouldn’t want that to go off in my face,” Duran said, tugging at a dreadlock.

“Yes, the trees will fear my might,” Jack said. “You could ignore it easily enough with that hardening Expression you were telling me about.”

“We’re not calling it my hardening Expression,” Duran said flatly.

“I’m telling Klessan that’s what it’s called.”

“Do not.”

They continued to banter as Jack worked, and some of the stiff anxiety leached out of the sentries they passed, leaving them less distracted by nerves and more alert. It helped when they passed the bloodstains that marked all that was left of the sentries that had been taken the night before, the replacements grim and twitchy. Seeing the two Heroes reminded them not only of the frantic evacuation but the lives they had saved during it, there at the corner of the walls.

The perimeter of the town was not anything resembling a perfect square, and Jack could see where old walls must have stood before they were torn down to claim more living space for those residing within. There were no small palisades either; it was all old growth logs, solid pillars that must have taken great effort to put into place. The young Hero found himself considering Kravos’ words from earlier, about why the balverines refused to touch the walls. He didn’t believe the line about itching sap, but he found himself stumped as to what the true defence might be, knocking down the trees almost without thinking.

At some point, a small audience grew inside the walls, and it was one Jack recognised. With the fear pervading the town, of course it was the children without parents to tell them no that would be outside, investigating the source of the racket. He caught Duran’s eyes and jerked his head towards them.

“Kravos,” the big man said. “The children.”

The chieftain turned away from the trees, and grimaced as he saw the half dozen faces peering up at them. “We’ve got to find that girl some help. She’s already run ragged.” He called one of the villagers on the wall over, and spoke quickly with him, gesturing at the kids.

In short order, the man was heading down a nearby ladder and approaching the children, only for them to scatter before him, heading every which way. Cursing, the man ran after them.

“Should’ve bribed them,” Duran said, shaking his head.

The sun was at its peak by the time they made a full circuit of the walls, the cleared area around the walls expanded enough to surely make it impossible for any balverine to make it across from even the tip of the nearest trees. Jack’s headache was looming threateningly, and his Will felt stretched, but he was a ways from tapped out. He accepted another waterskin and a potion from Duran, downing both.

“That’ll ease many a worry,” Kravos said, inspecting the work they had done. “Won’t bring back the lads that were killed, but it’ll stop them doing it again.”

“We should have expected it,” Duran said. One hand was on the woodsman’s axe at his hip, thumb stroking the head. “They hit the sentries at the fishing village we checked on too.”

Kravos shook his head. “The trees were a lot shorter when Scarlet Robe marked out the clearing distance. We should have known better than to think they wouldn’t find a new way to come and go.”

His words sparked a thought in Jack’s mind, and chill fingers crawled down his spine. “You said the balverines probably jumped from the treetops to get over the walls,” he said slowly. “How did they get out?”

For a moment, Kravos didn’t seem to understand. Then, he paled. “Skorm strike me,” he said hoarsely. “They could still be in the town.”

Jack shot a glance at the nearest watchers. They had heard, and their faces were paling to match the chief’s. There would be no stopping the word from spreading.

“No one else has gone missing yet,” Duran said, cautioning.

“Everyone has been keeping their heads down, and half the town is on the walls,” Kravos said.

“The children,” Jack said, a sick feeling in his gut. “If they’re still running around…”

Kravos whirled to the nearest Guard. “Take four men and search, start by the main gate. I’ll organise more to join you. Go.”

Duran was already moving, leaping from the wall, his legs bulging and growing to take the landing easily, and Jack was only a moment behind him, catching up in a flash of blue. They shared a look before heading in opposite directions, Duran for the feasting hall and Whisper, while Jack made for the corner where the watchers had been slain, flitting along in bursts of blue light.

The men on the corner of the wall glanced down at him when he arrived, tension ratcheting up as they saw his caution. One man opened his mouth to question him, but Jack raised a hand, silencing him as he glanced around. There was a space inside the wall where no buildings could be built, providing a pathway around its interior, but something of a small herb garden had been built between the two nearest homes, edging into that space. The houses were the same as any other in the town, sloping roofs with dark eaves, lined with thatch. There was no sign of any balverine, not so much as a low growl or the stench of wet fur.

His sword almost seemed to vibrate at his hip, humming with a suppressed snarl, and gut instinct told him to be on guard. He was reminded of the thought he had had in the empty village, of an Expression to detect nearby living things. Such a thing would be handy in that moment, but contrary to what his friends thought, he couldn’t just create new spells on the spot.

“Trouble, Hero?” a Guard on the wall asked, voice low.

“Maybe,” Jack answered, just as quiet.

If a balverine had hidden itself away in the village after killing the sentries, it could be anywhere. There was no shortage of nooks and crannies to hide, of cavities under raised floors or lips under rooftops -

Jack stilled as he caught the slightest glimpse of mist coming from under the eave of the nearest house, just above a closed window. It was gone the next heartbeat, but he knew what he saw. Slowly, he drew his sword, and controlled panic set in amongst the watchers at the rumbling, warning growl that came as it cleared its sheath. Some spun back to look over the walls, but others raised their crossbows in his general direction. He paid them no mind, blue eyes fixed on the overhanging lip of the house, ears straining.

Softly, almost too softly for human ears to discern, there was an answering growl, and another faint puff of mist.

The young Hero raised a single finger to the sky, and then pointed it at the house. What little conversation there was on the wall ceased, and the air grew still and thick. Not daring to take his eyes off the eave where the balverine lurked, just out of sight, he waited as he heard the groans of crossbows being cocked.

Then, the window shutters creaked open. A young child was revealed, sullen and bored and leaning out the window for some fresh air, and Jack felt his heart stop. The child saw Jack, and their face brightened at the sight of the Hero outside, and they opened their mouth to cry out with excitement.

Something in Jack’s face made them stop, mouth closing with a click. Excitement was replaced by hesitation, and then they flinched as a droplet of something landed on their head. A small hand reached up to investigate, and came away rubbing something between finger and thumb, and flinched again as another droplet fell. Slowly, they looked up.

What looked back down at them struck them dumb with terror, mouth working soundlessly as they began to tremble.

“Jay,” came a voice from inside the house, drifting out thanks to the open shutters. “You better not be by that window again or I’ll tan your hide!”

Jack’s Will was stretching out before he’d consciously thought about it. The tendril of an Expression used to entertain children the night before now saved a life, tethered to the child’s back and pulling them away from the window. It broke as it did, too much asked of such an unpolished Expression, but it was enough - the furred arm and savage claws reaching down from above closed on empty air, and the beast howled its fury.

Clamour erupted on the walls and in the town, but Jack had no time for it. The balverine dropped from its hiding place, reaching through the window for the prone child, whatever cunning that had let it conceal itself for so long exhausted in the face of an easy meal. Blue light marked his passage, and then he was inside the house, standing between predator and prey. He had a bare moment to take it in, larger and heavier than the beasts they had slain so far, its fur shot through with white, and then it was lunging for him, jaws slavering.

He was faster. Bringing his sword back would take a heartbeat too long, so he raised his hand as if warding it off, and a blast of force erupted, sending the creature flying. It tumbled through the herb garden like a ragdoll, scrabbling in the dirt, and collided heavily with the wall.

An agonised howl ripped from the beast’s chest, far greater than the collision warranted, and it hurled itself away from the wall, writhing and twisting. Whatever had caused it, the balverine was vulnerable, and Jack didn’t hesitate. Another flash of blue and he buried his sword through its head, pinning it to the dirt. The corpse bucked once before it realised it was dead, and went still.

A twang was Jack’s only warning, and then a bolt had buried itself in the beast’s chest. He looked up to see a line of faces - and crossbows - looking down at him. One face was more sheepish than the rest, and slowly, they turned towards him.

The man swallowed. “Just making sure?” he tried.

Jack pulled his blade free with a squelch, cleaning it in the white and brown fur of the balverine, and returned it to its sheath. He let out a breath, heartbeat still racing, and glanced back to the open window. A woman was clutching the child close, but they were peeking out from her grasp at him.

“What about the other one?” a Guard called down to him.

“What other one?!” Jack asked, tension coming roaring back, and he glanced around, half expecting to see the other lurking around a corner.

“We heard another howl in the town while you fought,” a man said.

“I was a little busy,” Jack said, easing a bare inch.. There was no commotion now, so surely the beast had been dealt with. Still, best to check. “Stay alert.” He jogged off swiftly, heading into the town.

It did not take long to find what he sought. Across the town, past people peering through cracked windows and doors, there was a cluster of Guards and townsmen in a cul de sac, all busy checking over the children that had been watching him and Duran earlier. Going by the relieved conversation he could hear, none had been bitten by the dead balverine that was laid out in the dirt, chest a pulped mess. He slowed his approach, the small crowd parting for him as he neared.

“Duran,” Jack said. “Any trouble?” The cul de sac was bordered by low warehouses that the town used for storage. There was a hole in the roof of one, and he blinked.

“None worth mentioning,” Duran said, shrugging broad shoulders. He was scraping one boot on the ground.

“Did it try to flee through the roof?” Jack asked.

Duran looked away.

“You kicked it through, didn’t you,” Jack said. The boot he was scraping was suspiciously wet.

“It was dark inside,” Duran said, as if that excused it. “What about you?”

“Found one hiding under the edge of a roof, you know how they angle down past the wall?” Jack asked, and his friend nodded. “It had been hiding right next to the place they killed the sentries.”

“Two victims, two balverines?” Duran asked.

“I hope so,” Jack said. “We’ll have to check, anyway.” His life detection Will idea went up in priority again.

Duran looked down at his vanquished foe, mouth set in a grim line. Like Jack’s own, its fur was as much white as brown. “This could have-” he cut himself off, glancing quickly at the audience they still had. “Good thing we got them.”

No animal could have planned this, no matter how cunning, but like Duran, Jack kept his thoughts to himself. “Come on,” he said. “We should check in with Whisper.”

Two men saw to the corpse, while the Heroes made for the feasting hall once more. The first day of the siege was barely half over.

X x X

“It doesn’t make sense,” Klessan said, kneeling in the dirt.

They were gathered in front of the feasthall, the afternoon sun shining down on the six of them as they stood in a rough circle. Kravos and Alain had set their people to searching the town lane by lane, and made it an order for everyone not on duty to remain indoors. They stood now with the Heroes, inspecting the two balverines that had infiltrated the walls.

“They can’t have matured this quickly,” she continued. She pulled back the lip of the balverine Jack had slain, inspecting its teeth, heavy gloves protecting her hands.

“We sent the quest card in maybe ten days ago,” Kravos said. “The first villagers went missing shortly before then.”

“Some hermits went missing too; they would have been the first victims,” Jack said, remembering what Bess, the matron of the fishing village, had said. “Maybe this was them?”

Klessan was shaking her head. “It’s still too soon. Balverines don’t mature this quickly. These ones are already growing their second row of fangs.” She showed off the toothy maw of the beast so they could see.

“There are legends,” Whisper said, leaning on her staff, “that speak of plagues entirely of white balverines. They say that when the infection spreads far enough, the curse becomes stronger.”

Jack knew the tale she was talking about. “That was in the time of Holdr, if it ever happened,” he said. The Dragon Knight was said to have burnt down an entire forest to scour that plague from the land. “It speaks of thousands of balverines. There aren’t even that many people on Witchwood.”

“Maybe one of these were the alpha?” Alain asked. He didn’t sound like he believed it himself.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Klessan said. “Wouldn’t fit their typical behaviour, for them to leave the pack.”

“Lot of things about this plague aren’t typical,” Duran said.

For a long moment, no one spoke, staring down at the corpses.

“What if it isn’t because it’s a large plague,” Duran said. “What if it’s just old?”

“I think we’d have noticed a White Balverine traipsing around our home these last years,” Kravos said, frowning.

“So, what, it was hibernating all this time?” Jack asked.

“Surely not,” Whisper said.

It went against everything they knew of the beasts. Everything balverines did was in pursuit of feeding their hunger or spreading their curse. There was not even record of them being found sleeping, as far as Jack knew.

“If the White Balverine is that old, it would explain a few things,” Klessan said, turning the idea over in her mind.

“The last time we saw this curse was when Scarlet Robe herself cleaned the island,” Kravos said. He pointed at the statue of the Hero herself, visible over the house rooftops towards the front of the village. “The only way for one to have survived to hibernate would be for her to have missed it, and I won’t hear that about her.” He glared around at them.

“Easy Kravos,” Alain said, pointedly not looking at the Heroes.

“You don’t understand,” Kravos said, snorting. “If things go bad, like last time, maybe you will.”

“Seems plenty bad enough to me,” Klessan said lightly.

Kravos snorted again, but said nothing.

“Does it matter?” Whisper demanded. “Whatever caused their early maturation, neither were the pack leader. So it is still out there, and we must kill it.”

Alain grunted his agreement. “Kill them first, investigate afterwards.”

“It matters if it means we’re going to see more White Balverines the longer this goes on,” Jack said. “Knowing the why could help us avoid being buried in a white tide.”

“No,” Whisper disagreed. “Knowing why will not matter when we are stuck on the defensive like this.”

Jack made a cutting gesture. “We can’t just ignor-”

“We are focusing on-”

“Such a city-”

“Farmboy-”

“Hey!” Klessan said, interrupting the brewing argument. She rose from where she knelt, lips pursed. “Why are you arguing? How does that help?”

Jack and Whisper scowled as one, neither looking at the other. It had been years since they’d had a disagreement on the verge of turning sour like this, but it had been Klessan to box their ears then too.

“Both of you know the other has a point,” she continued, hands on her hips. “And both of you know now isn’t the time.”

Jack grunted, and Whisper gave a superior ‘hmph’. The noise was so typically her that Jack couldn’t help but feel his lips twitch.

Klessan noticed, and smirked. “Good. Now, kiss and make up.”

The blush could not be fought, and Jack glared at Klessan. Of course she knew about that part of the graduation party. He had been sure she was asleep.

“You could ask the Guildmaster, when we contact him,” Whisper said. It had the sound of a peace offering. “If the knowledge is anywhere, it is at the Guild library.”

“The immediate safety of the town is more important,” Jack said, accepting it and making an offer of his own.

“Kiiiiiisssss,” Klessan said, barely audible. “Kiiiiii-” Duran put his hand across her mouth, cutting her off.

If Whisper shared Jack’s embarrassment, she didn’t blush to show it. She poked a corpse with her staff. “We should skin these, and burn the rest.” Her words might have been spoken with practicalities on the mind, but they sparked a suspicion in Jack.

“Kravos,” Jack said, “you said the walls were treated with a sap balverines hate, but I knocked one into them, and it howled like it had been set on fire.” He watched the man. “It wasn’t reacting to an itch.”

The chieftain met his gaze, chewing at his lip. “Witchwood has its secrets.”

Jack’s ears pricked up like a hound’s. He wasn’t the only one.

“If you have better ways to fight the beasts-” Alain started, only to be cut off.

“I don’t have to tell you shit Alain, not when it’ll be going in your next report to the Grey Bitch for her to squeeze a coin out of,” Kravos snapped suddenly. The tattoos on his face lent his glower a fearsome aura.

Alain was taken aback, but only briefly, and he soldiered on. “If they can help us survive, help Albion survive-”

“If what I know can make a difference in the here and now, I’ll share it,” Kravos said. “But it won’t, so I won’t.” His tone was final.

The Heroes exchanged glances, but said nothing. They knew better than most what it was like to have secrets to protect.

“I’ll contact the Guildmaster,” Jack said, putting the matter to bed, for now at least. “See if any aid can be sent.”

Kravos stirred, but said nothing, only sharing a look with Alain. Jack could imagine what was on their minds, but he wasn’t going to raise the issue of payment now.

“Sooner the better,” Klessan said. “Come on. Ferals to flay, walls to watch,” she said to them all.

“You have fun with that,” Whisper said, looking at the corpses with distaste. “I will take a watch on the walls.”

There was much to do, and they began to divide the responsibilities between themselves, and Jack left them to it. He had a job to do.

X

Communicating through his Guild Seal wasn’t difficult, but it was not easy to reach out through it and forge a new connection. It was well for him that the Guildmaster had contacted him in the past, giving him a path to follow. He sat at the table in the house that had been given to the Heroes for their use, sending his Will down the twisted tangled web that connected all Guild Seals.

“Guildmaster?” Jack said. He could feel his words rippling down the connection. “Do you have a moment?”

There was a long pause, and Jack grew concerned he had stepped wrong somewhere, but then the ripple returned.

“Master Jack, a moment,” the Guildmaster’s voice said, before falling silent.

Jack fought the urge to fidget, suddenly feeling like he was back outside the Guildmaster’s office after fighting with another Apprentice. The silence did not last forever, and the Guildmaster’s voice returned.

“Now,” the aged Hero said. “By your contact, I presume your Quest has taken a turn.”

“Yeah, that’s…that’s one way of putting it sir,” Jack said, beginning his tale.

The Guildmaster listened silently as Jack explained the situation, his attention on the seal connection the only sign he was still there. Jack spoke of the first ambush, the vanished town, the standoff at Breetown, the mad dash through the woods, the troubling signs that this was no ordinary plague. He took a waterskin from his pouch at one stage to wet his throat, the report requiring more talking from him than he was used to.

“...and given the situation, we don’t believe an evacuation is feasible at all,” Jack finished, some minutes later.

“I see,” the Guildmaster said. “I shall make the appropriate preparations and spread word of the danger. Should the situation escalate beyond your ability to contain, reinforcements will be sent.”

Relief had settled over Jack’s shoulders as he listened to the Guildmaster’s words, only to be swept away at the end. “Sir?” he asked, not quite incredulous. “There could be as many as-”

“I have faith that the four of you will be sufficient to deal with the plague,” the Guildmaster said. “You are all talented Heroes.”

“If we fail, everyone on the island is dead,” Jack said, more bluntly than he had dared to speak to the Guildmaster ever before. Even if they could handle it, why take the risk?

“Then do not fail,” the Guildmaster said dryly. “Maze has always had a high opinion of your potential. Now is the time to prove him right.”

The connection ran dry, the old Hero pulling his Will from it and leaving it to wither. Jack stared down at his Guild Seal, feeling somewhat adrift. Of all the responses he had expected, that had not been one of them. He knew the Guild of Heroes under Maze and Weaver did not enforce a moral position or presume to shoulder a mantle of protection, but he had thought-

The door of the house opened, and Klessan stepped through. “Jack,” she said. Her expression grew worried when she saw his face. “Bad news?”

“They’re not sending anyone,” Jack said.

Klessan bit her lip, grimacing as she closed the door. “We know Heroes don’t grow on trees.”

“No,” Jack said. “Guildmaster said he’d send people if we couldn’t handle it.”

A confused frown crossed her face. “Did you tell him-”

“I told him about the plague and its behaviour,” Jack said, tone short.

“If we fail, the residents will be dead,” Klessan said, unknowingly repeating his words. “We’ll be dead.”

“Then we better not fail,” Jack said, mimicking the Guildmaster’s voice.

Klessan’s lips thinned. “My aunt told me stories - I thought she was exaggerating. About how the Guild had changed.”

Jack nodded slowly, not speaking. He had known academically that there was ill-feeling towards the Guild in some parts of Albion, but to him it had always been a beacon of safety and security - those who felt so did due to Heroes Questing against them, not because of the action or inaction of the Guild itself.

“What will we tell the townspeople?” Klessan asked as she leant against the door, folding her arms. Unsaid was that they would of course tell their friends the truth.

“We tell them we’re on our own,” Jack said, “that there’s no help to be had.”

Klessan’s grimace deeped, but she nodded. It would not help morale, but nor would it hurt it in the way that the full truth would.

“Let’s go,” Jack said, taking up his Guild Seal and pushing off from the table. “There’s balverines to kill.”

“No time like present,” Klessan said, injecting cheer into her voice.

They would not fail. They could not.

X

Word spread that Knothole stood alone, but even so, a cautious optimism filtered through the town. Their defences were bolstered by the crossbows from Breetown, the issue of the treeline had been dealt with, and the balverines that had killed the sentries had been slain without further casualties. With four Heroes there to protect them, they would surely overcome this plague, just as they had the generation before. The whispers of something different about these beasts were ignored, put aside. They had hope.

Sentries were pulled from the walls, and a more structured watch rotation was established between the townspeople and the Guards. The Heroes did the same for themselves, ensuring that never fewer than two of them would be on duty at a time as they worked out a rolling sleep schedule.

Duran was to be the first to sleep, the big man having the enviable ability to fall into slumber on command - Jack was sure it was a Will expression - and Whisper would follow him in a few hours. For now, as the afternoon wore on under a patchwork sky, the staff-wielding Hero was patrolling the walls, while Klessan kept watch by the main gates.

Jack had claimed a small patch of calm for himself near the centre of the town, waiting to relieve Klessan. A small park where youngsters could play amongst trees without leaving the safety of the walls, today it was deserted, parents keeping their children close. It was not overly large, and he sat on a bench near its middle, eyes half closed as he partook in one of his most favoured pastimes - Will experimentation.

He was not refining his puppeteering expression as he might have wished; as much as it had let him save the child’s life earlier, it was not something that would make a difference in the here and now. Instead, he was working on another idea he’d had: an Expression to detect living things. He had started an hour or so ago, and progress had been…middling.

A bird cawed nearby, but he ignored it. Jack knew he was talented in matters of Will. It had been drummed into him at every ranking with every envious whisper from his peers, by the attention Maze gave him, by the ease he grasped and manipulated it. Whisper had ensured that his ego didn’t get too swollen, even as he developed and refined abilities that graduation Heroes were only researching. He knew he was leaps and bounds ahead of most his age. He knew this, but still he could not help but grow frustrated at how the Expression he sought to create eluded him.

Maze’s journal had helped immensely, training him to pick apart a spell for flaws and dangerous drawbacks, but still he struggled now. It was likely not aided by his first misstep, failing to properly constrain the limits of the spell and earning a pulsing headache for his trouble as his mind tried to process far too much information at once.

He had swiftly abandoned the idea of constructing a mental map of his surroundings after that one.

More failures had followed, and he began to realise that the goal he had set himself might be almost as complex an Expression as his very first ability, the one that had given him his Name. Still he had pressed on, gathering more failures, until he had heard the chirping of a bat hanging nearby. It had reminded him of something Klessan had told him years ago, and with the memory came an idea. He did not need to see his surroundings in his mind, only sense living creatures, and every living creature, no matter how small, had one thing in common. They all possessed a mote of Will, and like always called to like.

His experience with the Guild Seal and the Cullis Gates helped him, as he gathered and released his will. It felt a lot like gathering water in his hands, and then dropping it to listen to how it would splatter over the ground, only not at all. From his centre a fragment of his Will rippled outward, but he kept a grasp on it, and when it reached its limit it bounced back, carrying an impression of what it had touched with it. He frowned. There was no nuance to it, only a solid wave of ‘noise’. Perhaps he had tried to send it too far, and the details were buried by the life that surrounded him?

Twenty minutes he spent trying to refine the spell, pruning it back in an attempt to gain clarity. It was only when he was approaching the smallest exertion of Will he could possibly summon that he realised his error. He had not pushed his Will too far - he had not pushed it nearly far enough. The feedback he was receiving was that of his own self.

Fighting the urge to groan and deciding never to share that mistake with the others, he pushed in the opposite direction, throwing more of his Will out into the world. He quickly found that such a thing required exponentially more Will; it wasn’t a case of doubling his output for double the range. Still he soldiered on, and before long, he was rewarded with a sense of emptiness where once there had been presence. He could now successfully sense the Will of living things within a few centimetres of his body. Truly, he was a spellweaver beyond compare.

More and more he refined this new expression, each failure and setback bringing him closer to his goal. A raven fluttered down to sit on the bench beside him, eyeing him curiously, though perhaps it was drawn in more by the way the sunlight glinted against his armour. His stillness gave it courage, and it loitered by him as he worked.

The first time his pulse of Will came back with the bird imprinted on it, he couldn’t help but make a noise of triumph. The bird hopped back in alarm, but he ignored it, examining the latest problem. He could sense its presence, but not anything behind it, the Will within it casting a shadow. Still, he was growing closer.

More experimentation, more refinement. His range continued to expand, but more precision only saw him detecting every mouse and insect and the very plants around him, and more strength only added to the shadows cast by that which he detected. There was a middle ground, there had to be, and he would find it. Time passed, enough for his headache to fade and a new one to threaten, but he kept working. He was so close he could - hah - sense it.

Jack scowled as his latest effort came back. The spell could ripple out almost ten metres now and carry information back with it, but it was still not perfect. He had been sure - but no, now it was telling him that there was something huge above and behind him. He would think it a beehive, but it was much too cold for such things. His raven friend took off abruptly, leaving him alone.

Ever so faintly, below shifting boughs and rustling leaves, Jack heard the scrape of something across bark.

Instinct and his fleeing raven friend saved him, his body flaring blue, and the enormous clawed hand that would have ripped his guts out through his back found only empty air. Two more swipes followed before he could blink, passing through his head and chest. A panicked flex of Will saw him rushed to safety, returning to solidity a short distance away and facing his attacker. His breath caught in his throat as he beheld it.

The balverines he had slain were as puppies compared to the beast he faced now. Bone-white fur covered an impossibly huge body, larger even than Duran in his enlarged form. Claws the size of daggers adorned its hands, darker even than Jack’s obsidian bracers, and they carved chunks from the bench as the creature leaned over it, toothy maw slavering. Its eyes though - those were the worst. Piercing yellow and shining with a fell inner light, they regarded the young Hero with far more than simple animal cunning. It inhaled deeply, slit nostrils breathing in his scent. He had to crane his neck just to look up at it.

Jack mastered himself, and pointed his off hand to the sky. A ball of fire erupted from it, shooting upwards, and then it exploded loudly above the canopy, setting birds to screeching flight. “Now all of Knothold knows you’re here,” he told it.

The beast only bared its teeth in a mockery of a grin, exposing crowded fangs growing every which way. A low rumble sounded in its chest, and if Jack didn’t know better, he would say it was laughing.

The young Hero drew his sword, and it rumbled in turn. The white balverine went silent, hackles rising, furious at the challenge. Its head dipped, betraying the intent to charge, and power began to crackle in Jack’s palm. The beast was fast, but lightning was faster.

It did not matter.

Lightning flickered impotently over the balverine’s shoulders as it charged, closing the distance in a blink of an eye. Terror took rook in Jack’s chest as death brushed close, and he heard his shirt tear as he dropped into his wraith form faster than he ever had in his life. Again fearsome claws failed to find his flesh, and Jack blurred through and past it, stumbling as his glow faded. He kept his eyes on the foe, white knuckled grip around his sword.

The beast was fast, faster than Twinblade, and he barely had a moment to breathe as it spun to rush him again. A single bound took it to and through him, as well as the tree behind him. If not for his wraith expression, the very first he had ever created, he would be dead to it three times over.

He didn’t dare breathe fire at it, even with how his control had improved, not when he had so scantly escaped being gutted. Lightning seemed ineffective, for all that it was his favoured element, but he had other tricks up his sleeve, honed over a long winter in the Darkwood. He had scarcely had cause or chance to use them, but his racing heart and controlled fear told him he soon would.

The white balverine snarled in frustration, denied its prey, but it would not be deterred. Jack could hear alarm spreading through the village, raised by his fireball. The beast began to circle, and he suddenly realised that he might have made a mistake - if townspeople or even Guards tried to fight this thing, it would be a slaughter.

Claws flashed, the beast lunging again, and Jack glowed blue and untouchable once more, but this time he did not try to gain distance afterwards. He dropped the expression the instant the creature passed through him, turned and positioned at its back, left hand reaching out to touch it - but its ears were keen and it was fast, must too fast.

Instead of seizing its neck or head, his grasping hand found its arm as it spun. Utter cold burst from his hand, latching onto the furred arm and sweeping along it to encase it in ice. It burned to touch, and that was through his glove.

Pain, sudden pain, and he was flying through the air. The beast had not let him freeze it idly, and its other arm had smote him across the chest as it finished turning. He landed in the dirt, skidding until he hit the base of a tree, where he stopped. He tried to suck in a breath, but there was only pain. His right hand was empty, and he glimpsed his sword laying in the dirt between him and the beast. He tried to reach for it with muscle and mind, but the puppet expression was hardly made, let alone refined, and the balverine was prowling towards him, eyes fixed on the blood spilling from his chest. Jack looked down at his chest and wished he hadn’t, and looked back up. Its gaze was hungry.

Trees splintered and fell as something enormous burst through the park, and then Duran was there, bare chested and almost as huge as the white balverine. He gave a wordless bellow full of fury, hammer in one hand and woodsman’s axe in the other, and the beast turned to face him just in time for a spinning blow of the mountain man’s hammer to catch it in the stomach and lift it from its feet.

Jack managed a grin as he watched Duran follow up with a straight boot to the beast’s chest, launching it away. A small round object sailed towards its landing point, and a heartbeat later it exploded in a burst of fire and shrapnel. An enraged howl filled the air as he tried to focus on his brute force healing expression. He was still not nearly so skilled as Duran so as to heal without leaving a scar, but that was unimportant in the face of leaving his friends to fight this thing without him.

The balverine leapt to its feet, ignoring the shrapnel in its fur, and shattered the ice encasing one arm with a single flex. An arrow sprouted from its throat but barely penetrated, though it did earn Klessan the beast’s ire, and it leapt for the tree she was perched in. Whisper appeared between them, her staff swinging from well outside striking range, but there was a ripple in the air and a blow cracked across the balverine’s head all the same. A laugh tried to bubble up in his chest, though it was cut off by the pain. Someone had been copying his notes.

Whisper flipped back, dodging as the balvering turned its focus and its claws on her, but then Duran stepped up from behind, taking his axe to its knee. The iron head failed to so much as scratch it, and he was forced to propel himself backwards with his oversized legs to keep his head. Another arrow came, for its eye this time, but it ducked and the shaft skittered harmlessly off its skull.

Jack forced himself to his feet. His chest was still bleeding freely, but no longer could it be described as a gaping wound, and that was enough for him. He reminded the balverine of his presence with a deep breath and a roar of flame. He had drawn deeply of his Will that day, but in the moment he could not bring himself to care. Orange flames tinted red bathed the beast, and the scent of burning flesh filled the air as its fur was set alight.

Even this hardly seemed to slow it. It turned for him, cloaked in flame, and its yellow eyes glowed brighter than the burning. Jack cut the expression with a frantic haste, dragging his Will into shape to evade it, but no attack was coming. Instead, it raised its head and howled, a hellish sound that rose about the trees and left the Heroes clutching at their heads. The howl seemed to go on forever, echoing back even after the white balverine ceased. It was with a dawning horror that Jack realised why as he heard a clamour coming from the walls. It wasn’t an echo they were hearing - it was answering howls from countless balverines outside the town. The plague was here.

Fur smouldering, the white balverine stood as a man would, as if waiting for an attack. It was surrounded by four Heroes, and it feared them not at all. Like a snake waiting to pounce upon a mouse, it watched to see which of them would move first. It was a scene that should have taken place in the dark of a stormy night, not a cool afternoon, but not even the light of the sun could soften the nightmarish sight before them.

Grimly, Jack extended a tendril of Will towards his sword, connecting to its hilt, and pulled it towards himself. Like an angler he reeled it in, and with a wet smack it came to his hand. Blood had flowed down his arm, and now it began to drip along his blade too.

The beast tired of waiting. In a blur of movement it was before Jack, lashing out, but its claws were turned aside by his blade. He staggered under the effort, and turned into a wraith to avoid a second blow, but only for a moment, drawing his sword across its belly for the bare instant it was vulnerable. A line of red was carved, and Jack felt a moment of shock that his sword had wounded it, but then he was forced to blur away again, and when he stilled he could see the wound already healing.

“We can’t injure it!” Jack shouted, pressing a hand to his chest, the other using his sword as a cane. His hand came away wet, and he was beginning to feel faint, his Will stretched and shallow.

“We need silver!” Whisper shouted back, throwing another bomb, unbalancing the beast enough for Duran to get away from the thing.

“Let me get my coin pouch then!” Klessan hollered, loosing arrow after arrow at its eyes, but all were avoided with a bare twitch of its head.

Whisper let loose with a flurry of staff blows, raining them down from afar, and Jack admired the way she had turned his simple force Expression into something complex, each strike building on the impact of the last. The power behind the blows was enough to knock it around as if it had been hammered by Duran, but he could see the sweat building on her face, and the look of strain she wore. He flicked his finger at it, a scythe of force that had toppled trees focused at its ankle, and there was a great crack of bone. The beast howled in pain.

Duran stepped in with another heavy blow, holding his hammer in both hands now, the axe abandoned, and the balverine was spiked into the dirt. His dreadlocks whipped through the air as he brought his hammer down again and again, aiming to reduce the beast to nothing but pulp. Savage exultation began to rise in their hearts as victory neared, but then a white furred limb reached up and seized Duran by the throat.

Someone screamed a denial, and Jack’s heart leapt into his throat as claws ripped out Duran’s own, the mountain man falling down on one knee, choking as gore and viscera spilled down his chest. Bloody claws were raised high in preparation for a swipe that would cleave his head from his shoulders.

Jack rushed forward without thinking, bright enough to illuminate the ruined clearing even in the sun. His sword preceded him, and it drove deep into the white balverine’s flank above its hip, coming out its belly. The beast spun as if it had been expecting him, ignoring the way the sword ripped out its side, and it reached for him. He reached for his Will, but the well was almost dry, and it responded sluggishly, not nearly fast enough to avoid the coming blow. All Jack could do was put his bloody hand against it in a futile attempt to push it away.

The balverine screamed, pure agony bursting from its throat, and it threw itself away in an effort to escape the pain, crawling backwards up a tree. An arrow pierced its left eye, but even this was ignored, its remaining yellow orb fixed on Jack, an absolute pit of fury and fear. On its chest was a black imprint of a hand, and it sizzled and smoked. Fur shrivelled and flesh dripped even as the stab wound in its side visibly healed as it continued to climb, staring down at them - at Jack - with nothing but hate.

An eternity later, the moment ended, and the beast leapt away through the canopy, heading for the wall. Jack took a step after it, but his strength failed him, and he fell. The energy that had coursed through him during the fight was gone, and the world felt grey. Someone flipped him onto his back and he found himself staring up at the sky. It was Kravos, the chieftain saying something to him, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“Duran, where’s Duran,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t tell if he had managed to speak or not.

Hands were rummaging through the pouch at his hip, and then a blue potion was poured down his throat. He choked as he tried to swallow, and someone tilted his head up.

“Whisper is with him, you need to drink this Jack,” Klessan told him, pale faced and eyes bright with unshed tears. “He’s going to be ok but you need to drink this-”

A rushing sound filled his ears, and that was the last he remembered for a time.

X

When Jack woke, he was alone. The room he had slept in was dark, but not the one that had been given to them when they had arrived, and he felt a moment of confusion. Then he shifted, trying to stretch, and furrows of pain shot across his chest. Memories came rushing back, and he kicked at the covers as he tried to rush out of bed.

Tried, and fell to the floor with a gasp and a thud. He heard movement outside the room he found himself in, and the door opened as he managed to sit up, letting in scattered morning light.

“Easy there,” a woman said, strong hands lifting him by the shoulders and seating him on the edge of the bed.

He blinked up at the one helping him. She had the same light brown skin as many of the locals, and her black hair was in a simple ponytail. “My friend, Duran-”

“He’s alive, though he hasn’t woken,” she said, stepping away from him now that she was sure he wasn’t going to overbalance and fall from the bed again. “Don’t move; I’ll bring you something.”

Jack let out a breath as she bustled away, and he was left alone to take stock. His torso was wrapped in bandages, anchored around his right shoulder, and it hurt to move, wounds stretching under the coarse linen. He looked inward to his Will, and decided that he would wait to help them heal. The woman returned, carrying a mug and a bowl, and she set them on a table beside the bed. The room itself was without decoration, and there was a window, though it was closed and barred. A heavenly scent wafted from the bowl, and Jack’s nose twitched.

“It’s the day after, almost lunchtime,” the woman said. “I’m Elona. Kravos is my husband.” She handed him the mug, making sure he could hold its weight before releasing it.

It wasn’t water, but he was thirsty, and he drank it down, taking slow gulps of the cool liquid. It had a thick texture and an earthy taste.

“Something to help with the blood loss,” Elona told him. “Old local recipe.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, finishing the mug. The bowl was handed to him; some kind of stew thick with meat and potatoes, and he began to eat. “What happened?”

“You chased the White Balverine off, and thank Avo for that,” Elona said. “It killed two of ours and tore Alain’s arm off as it went. We lost ten, all told.”

“How?” Jack demanded.

“When the White Balverine howled, its pack rushed the walls,” Elona said, mouth pressed in thin line. “If not for the crossbows, I think we would have been overrun.”

Jack swallowed down a spoonful of stew, ravenous. “How? I saw what the wall did to that balverine I slew.”

“We’ll need to talk about that, you and me,” a man said from the door. Kravos stood there, leaning against the frame. He had a bandage wrapped around one arm, but was otherwise uninjured.

“What about?” Jack asked, half suspicious. His sword was leaning against the bedside table, but he didn’t feel that he needed it.

“Do you know who your parents were?” Kravos asked. He was staring at Jack from under his brows, unblinkingly.

“Why wouldn’t I,” Jack said, voice going flat.

“Because you don’t know,” Kravos said. His stare was still fixed on him.

The bowl in his hands was forgotten as Jack felt a cold anger rising, choking in his chest. “I know exactly who my parents were,” he said quietly.

“But do you know what they were?” Kravos said, still pressing.

“My mother was a weaver. My father was a woodsman.” His anger continued to build. No one had so much as dared to mention his parents in all his years at the Guild, and now this stranger wanted to ques-

Kravos made a dismissive sound, and the spoon in Jack’s hand snapped.

“Kravos!” Elona said, voice sharp. She took the broken spoon and the half empty bowl from Jack’s hands, putting them to the side.

The chieftain’s brow furrowed, and he leaned back. “They’ve passed, then.”

Jack glowered at him, and did not answer.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Kravos said. He sagged back, intensity fading as he rubbed at his eyes. “Then you really don’t - they weren’t able to pass anything down to you.”

“Pass what?” Jack demanded, patience strained.

“Secrets,” Kravos said. “Secrets like why your blood burns when it touches a balverine.”

Jack blinked, anger diverted. The events of the fight, touching the White Balverine, the bloody handprint, the details became clear in his mind. “I don’t…no.”

“Your parents were balverine hunters. Good ones too, by the strength of the gift they passed down to you,” Kravos said.

A laugh surprised him as it escaped his throat. Memories still too painful to think about even after all these years rose up, Da always there to listen with a kind word, and Ma constantly coming up with games for him and Theresa to play. “My mother was a weaver. My father was a woodsman,” he repeated.

Kravos sighed. “You think they didn’t have lives before you came along, boy?”

The young Hero glanced between Kravos and Elona. “And you think they were hunters because my blood burnt the White Balverine?”

“How many of the beasts have you slain?” Elona asked. She pressed the mug back into his hands. “Two hundred? Three hundred?”

“Maybe two dozen,” Jack said, mumbling into the mug as he drank. He hadn’t quite been keeping count.

“Not nearly enough,” Kravos said. “Not unless you got something from your parents.”

“What ‘something’?” Jack demanded. “And what does this have to do with anything? With the walls?”

Kravos sighed again, and looked to his wife.

“Nobody knows how the Balvorn’s Curse came to be,” Elona said, “but for as long as it has been, there have been those who fought it.” Her voice fell into the rhythm of a storyteller, and Jack found himself drawn in. “By blood the curse spreads, and by blood it is fought.” She paused, looking out through the door of the room as if to check no one was listening.

“People think that means the blood shed in the killing, and we let them,” Kravos said. “But it doesn’t. Hunting balverines, really hunting them, not just killing them for a Quest, it changes you. And it can be passed on.”

“Why is this a secret,” Jack said, frowning. His wounds throbbed, and he pressed a hand against his chest gently. “Why are you worried?”

“There once were many such bloodlines,” Elona said. “The strength in their blood would wax and wane as a child took up the hunt or put it aside, but never fade entirely. But then they started to disappear. In my grandfather’s time there were maybe half a dozen. Now, we know none. Knew none,” she corrected herself.

“The Guild has been purging balverines for decades,” Jack said. “These bloodlines probably faded for lack of prey.”

“They didn’t fade,” Kravos said. “Not the ones we knew of. They disappeared. Like they were hunted.”

Jack shook his head slowly, looking between the two of them. “How do you even know this? The Guild library doesn’t mention anything like it.”

“Knothole Glade was founded by a balverine hunter, three hundred years ago,” Elona said. “My ancestor.”

“So, you have this power?” Jack asked, voice sceptical.

She was already shaking her head. “An island is easy to purge when you put your mind to it. They were too successful, and the power in the blood died.”

“Knothole would have fallen during the last plague if another hunter hadn’t come,” Kravos said.

“Scarlet Robe,” Jack realised.

“She confirmed what we feared, before she left,” Elona said. “Helped us water the - well.”

“You’re not answering my questions,” Jack said. The anger had faded, but in its place was thorny irritation. His stomach was an empty pit, and his mug was drained. He set it aside. “What does this story have to do with the walls, with me?”

“Listen to what we’re saying, boy,” Kravos said. “Your blood burned when it touched the White Balverine. It’s only the blood of a powerful hunter that does that, and you say you’ve only killed two dozen of them. The power must have been in your blood already.”

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “You couldn’t hide something like that in Oakvale. My father grew up there!”

“What about your mother?” Kravos asked.

“She - I don’t know,” Jack said, slowing. He couldn’t remember her ever saying anything about where she grew up. It just wasn’t mentioned. He wanted to say Oakvale, but she never had the same stories that his father did.

“What was her name?” Elona asked gently.

“Charlotte,” Jack said. “Her name was Charlotte.”

There was a silence for a time, as Jack was drawn into faded memories that he often tried to push away.

“It’s not sap,” Kravos said, breaking the silence. “Why the beasts can’t touch the walls.” He crossed his arms, letting his head rest against the wall he leant on. “The walls are made from trees that have been watered with the blood of a balverine hunter. It doesn’t take much, just enough to soak the seed when they’re planted, but the power stays with them.”

“How did they attack the walls then?” Jack asked.

“We don’t know,” Kravos said, a grim set to his mouth.

“It must have been the White Balverine,” Elona said. “It is more powerful than any Scarlet Robe slew last time. Powerful enough to overwhelm the protections.”

“That’s why you wanted to know if my parents were balverine hunters? So you could get their help?” Jack asked. “You’ve got four Heroes here.”

“Beside your blood, did anything even hurt the beast?” Kravos asked.

Jack opened his mouth to argue, but the memory of flashing claws and blows ignored made him pause. “We didn’t have silvered weapons then,” he said instead. “We’ll be ready next time.”

A look of pure fury crossed Kravos’ face, a snarl pulling at the lines of his tattoos, but then he mastered it. “The silver is gone.”

“What.”

“Every last ingot,” the chieftain said. “It’s a very small list that knew where and how to get at it.”

“They’ll be dealt with,” Elona said. The words were spoken calmly, but there was a coldness to them at odds with her manner so far.

“We - we needed that,” Jack said, understating the problem. “Wait. My blood burnt the White Balverine - we can use that in its place.” Duran could heal him, increasing the amount of blood they could draw. It should be enough.

Kravos and Elona shared a look. “We could,” he said, reluctant. “But there’d be no hiding it.”

“Why would- the bloodlines disappearing,” Jack said. “You think someone killed them off.”

Elona nodded. “The plague is a problem now, but we also look to the future. The blood orchard is nearly spent. If we wish to expand in the future, or if we have another fire, we need to plant more.”

“I can help with that, at least,” Jack said, focusing on a problem he knew he could solve.

“Maybe,” Kravos said. “The more powerful the blood, the greater the effect. If you’ve only slain a few balverines…”

“My blood burnt the White Balverine,” Jack said. “That has to count for something.”

The couple shared another look. “Maybe,” Kravos said again. “There’s something off- your parents must have been great hunters to have passed it down to you so strongly.” He broke off, frowning in thought.

“The first problem first,” Elona said. “We can garden when there’s a chance our grandchildren will live to harvest them.”

“Right,” Jack said. He couldn’t help but turn it all over in his head, mind a thousand miles away.

There was a rap on the front door of the house, and then the sound of it opening. “Hello? Is he awake yet?” Whisper asked, voice floating into the room.

“There’s more you need to know, but it can wait,” Kravos said, voice low, before raising his voice again. “Aye, he just woke. Come in.”

Elona grabbed the broken spoon halves and tucked them away, rising from the chair and stepping away just as Whisper entered the room.

“Of course you wake up the moment I leave,” Whisper said. Despite the scolding tone, she couldn’t hide the relief in her voice.

Jack focused on the here and now, and managed a small smirk. “You should know I like to sleep in by now,” he said.

Kravos and Elona left the room, giving them space. Jack and Whisper stared at each other for a long moment, a murmured conversation between the husband and wife filling the background.

“How’s Duran?” Jack blurted.

“He healed himself,” Whisper said, “but it was not pretty.” She took the seat that Elona had vacated, at ease in it. “The scars will be worse than yours.”

Jack shifted on the edge of the bed as his wounds chose that moment to throb. “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” Whisper said. “I think he had to rebuild his throat. His Will was weaker than yours, by the end.”

A chill crept down his spine to nestle in his gut. Duran didn’t have his skill, but healing was tiring, and he was strong. To be worse off than he was, after how free he had been with his Will all day…

“Hey,” Whisper said. Her knee bumped against his, startling him from his thoughts. “Duran will recover. When he wakes, he will finish healing himself, and you.” She looked at him critically. “You keep picking up scars.”

“Not that many,” Jack said, arguing for the sake of it. “Anyway, girls love scars.”

Whisper got a glint in her eye as she looked him over. “You think so, do you farmboy?”

Jack’s wit chose that moment to desert him, the faint curl of Whisper’s smile catching his eye. She noticed, and her smile turned catlike. He was saved by a hammering on the front door, and then it opening.

“The Hero woke up!” a woman’s voice announced, carrying into the room. “He’s asking for the others.”

Jack shot to his feet, only to sway dangerously, the edges of his vision darkening. A hand on his shoulder steadied him.

“Easy, Jack,” Whisper said. Chocolate eyes watched him with concern. “Slowly.”

He blinked rapidly as his sight slowly returned. He still felt light headed. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Beyond saving,” Whisper said, tapping his shoulder where the bandages wrapped around, away from the injury.

“I’ve got more in my pouch, wherever it is,” he said. He shook his head, but stopped immediately when it made him dizzy. “Let’s go see Duran.”

“Wait,” Elona said, returning to the room. She held a sleeveless vest, in the same style that her husband wore. “My elder son’s, before he left. Best not put your injuries on display for all to see.”

Whisper took it and turned to him. “Arms,” she instructed.

Jack stuck his tongue out at her, and she narrowed her eyes at it, but he did as she said and raised them. He winced as the motion pulled at his wounds, but the vest was soon on, and he dropped them, letting out a pained breath.

“He is across the village,” Whisper said. “Are you up to the walk?”

“I am,” Jack said, stubborn even in the face of evidence otherwise. He reached for his sword, intent on using it as a cane if he must. The moment his hand came into contact with its hilt, he gasped.

“What is it?” Whisper asked, quick to steady him once more, but it was not needed.

“I’m fine,” Jack said, holding his sword tightly. Ever since he had first grasped it, since he had first given of himself to it, he had felt a connection to his blade. He had fed it his Will in the forging, and it had been almost a part of him ever since, always sipping at the trickle of Will that flowed from him to it. The connection was only ever broken in his visits to the Will null zone of Bowerstone. Now though, now it came rushing back, like a river suddenly reversed as power flowed to fill a void. He could feel it coursing through his Will channels, and he took a breath, revitalised.

“You are sure?” Whisper asked, doubt clear.

He wasn’t in any shape to fight, or even help his healing along, but if power kept flowing from his sword, he soon would be. A nod answered Whisper’s question. “Let’s go.”

She looked from him to his sword suspiciously, but kept her thoughts to herself, not quite hovering at his elbow as he left the room. He gave the bowl of half eaten stew a yearning look as they left, but food could wait until after they were sure their friend was ok.

X

While Jack had been ensconced in a spare room of the chieftain’s house, Duran had been given a room in a house set aside for the wounded in general. A man and a woman stirring a boiling cauldron full of bandages looked up at their entrance, but didn’t break from their task, only nodding a welcome. Given the lack of personal effects, it didn’t seem to be a case of someone opening their house to those in need, but whether it was vacant before the plague or as a result of it, he couldn’t tell. For a moment Jack wondered why only a small house had been put aside, before the obvious answer occurred to him. It was a lucky victim that escaped a balverine with mere wounds.

When Jack and Whisper entered the bedroom the big man was in, they found Klessan already there. It was a simple room, full of the same dark wood furniture that was characteristic of the village. Duran was propped up against pillows, neatly tucked into bed at the waist, and she was holding a vial of blue liquid to his mouth, slowly trickling it in for him to drink.

“What’s wrong with your arms?” Jack asked, distracted from what he was going to say by the sight.

Duran gestured angrily, but didn’t speak, settling for giving Klessan a glare. He still sipped at the potion, though.

“Maybe if someone hadn’t tried to speak before his throat had been healed, I’d trust that person to drink their medicine,” Klessan said. She was sat on the side of the bed, dark bags beneath her eyes.

There were no chairs in the small room, so Jack took a seat on the other side of the bed, and Whisper stood at its foot.

“How’s your throat?” Jack asked. It was bandaged at the moment, but all he could picture was the moment it was shredded by black claws.

Duran held out a hand and tilted it this way and that, before holding it to his throat and concentrating. “Better,” he said, voice soft and hoarse.

Klessan thumped him in the arm. “No speaking until you’ve healed it properly!”

“Nag,” Duran said, riling her up.

“See if I care if you never talk again,” Klessan said. Despite her words, the hand that held the vial was steady as she fed him more. “Why do we have to use glass for these? I’m always paranoid that they’ll break in my pack.”

“Skins are too porous,” Jack said.

“So use metal,” Klessan said. The vial was drained, and Duran held his hand to his throat again, exercising his Will.

“Metal reacts to the potion and makes it taste weird,” Jack said.

Duran pulled a face of disgust.

“They already taste strange,” Whisper said, and Duran pointed at her.

“They have no taste,” Jack said. “I’ve had water with stronger taste to it.”

“You spent the winter in the Darkwood,” Klessan said. “I wouldn’t drink from the rivers there if I was dying of thirst.” She bent down to retrieve another vial of Will fortifying potion, and popped the cork.

Jack itched to reach out with his own returning Will and speed on the healing, but he just didn’t have the same fine skill with the Expression that Duran did. “Do you want your hammer?” he asked.

Duran shook his head, then glanced at the sword across Jack’s lap and made a questioning look.

“It’s helping restore my Will reserves,” Jack said. “Your hammer doesn’t do that?”

Another instance of healing, and Duran shook his head. “All different.” His voice was starting to regain some of its strength.

“I can see why Duellist was so eager to get his grimy mitts on one,” Klessan said. “Between that and how you cut right through that White Balverine when - at the end, there.”

Duran let out a breath. “Thought we had it.”

“I also,” Whisper admitted. “When you had it down…”

Jack swallowed, remembering the moment, triumph turning to horror so quickly.

“That thing was so far beyond any normal balverine,” Klessan said, holding back a shudder. She passed the potion off to Duran, apparently feeling she’d taunted him enough. “I was - I couldn’t do anything.”

“None of us could,” Jack said.

“You about cut it in half,” Klessan said.

“It healed almost before my sword was out of it,” Jack said. “You took out its eye at least.”

“Like that won’t have grown back too,” Klessan said, gloomy.

“Silver will help,” Whisper said, hands clasped behind her back. “When it cannot heal, it will fall to us.”

Jack grimaced, and got to his feet. He glanced through the door, seeing only the healers working to clean bandages and a man with a bandaged face eating carefully, and he closed it before returning to his seat on the bed. Almost immediately he changed his mind, rising again to lean against a dresser so he could face the room.

“What,” Whisper said, eyes fixed on him.

“There’s no silver.”

“What do you mean there’s no silver,” Klessan hissed. “You’re telling me the place that was wiped out by balverines didn’t lay in stores??”

“They did,” Jack said. “When they went to get it, it wasn’t there.”

“How?” Duran demanded, only to wince as outrage made him incautious. He tried to hold back a cough.

“Kravos said only a few people knew where to get at it,” Jack said. “That they’d worry about punishing the one responsible after the plague was dealt with.”

“Skorm knows how we’re going to deal with a fucking plague without any fucking silver,” Klessan said, fury crossing her face. She caught a lock of her brown hair between her fingers and began to twist and tug at it.

“Well…” Jack said, hesitating only a moment. He had asked his friends to help him stand against Jack of Blades; he could trust them with this.

“Farmboy,” Whisper said, tone warning. She knew him too well.

“We can use my blood for a similar effect,” Jack said.

“Your blood,” Whisper said flatly.

“Have you made another fucking magic spell?” Duran demanded. His voice went hoarse halfway though, even with his continued healing, and he couldn’t fight the coughing fit this time. He pushed his Will, saturating his neck and throat with it, patience running out.

Jack’s face screwed up in disgust. “First of all, they’re called expressions, secondly, no - ok yes I have, but not this -” Whisper and Klessan jeered at him, and he gave them the finger. “-it’s something else. My blood hurts balverines.”

“When you touched the White Balverine, you left a burn mark on it,” Klessan said. “That wasn’t a magic spell?” She ignored the glare she received.

“No,” Jack said, fighting the urge to grind his teeth. “It’s - apparently there are bloodlines that have gained power through generations of hunting balverines. Mine is supposedly one of them.”

“I have never heard of this in my entire life, farmboy,” Whisper said.

“Neither have I, but Kravos and Elona were pretty sure about it,” Jack said.

“I have,” Duran said. He took his hand away from his neck, swallowing cautiously before clearing his throat.

Three heads swivelled to him. “What?”

“Wolf clan used to roam the mountains, welcomed by all,” he said. “Their warriors would hunt balverines while the local clan would shelter their people. The stories say they could smell and hear as well as their prey, and that their gifts grew stronger with each kill.”

“Where are they now?” Klessan asked.

“Dead,” Duran said. “Lowlanders…and Heroes.”

“An entire clan?” Klessan asked, voice low. “That’s…the Guild wouldn’t.” Her protest was weak.

“Rumour spread that Wolf were balverines that could hide their nature. They were caught out on a hunt in the foothills and wiped out,” Duran said. “It was a long time ago. The clans started trying to get children into the Guild after.”

There was a moment of quiet, as they considered their home. Since venturing out into the world, each had seen something to tarnish some of the shine.

“Kravos said that the bloodlines had vanished,” Jack said. “Like they were being hunted. I thought they meant balverines, but…”

“But a balverine couldn’t bait a trap like that,” Klessan said.

“We will not arm the guards,” Whisper said, tone final. “You court danger enough already, Jack.”

Jack grimaced, but didn’t argue. Jack of Blades was enough trouble already, without drawing the eye of whatever person or group had wiped out entire families of balverine hunters.

“Maybe I’ll be useful next time, with arrows dipped in your blood,” Klessan said, trying to be cheerful.

Now it was Duran’s turn to thump her on the arm. “Time spent dodging arrows is time it wasn’t trying to tear my guts out.”

“‘Dodging’,” Klessan said mockingly, though her shoulders did straighten.

“We’ll have to think of a way to get my blood on our weapons,” Jack said, already grimacing at the thought.

“That can wait until both of you are healed,” Whisper said.

“The White Balverine-” Jack tried to argue.

“Has not been seen since it fled,” Whisper said. “Even a beast as smart as it knows not to return its snout where it was burnt.”

“You’ve both been on guard since yesterday?” Duran asked.

“We swapped off,” Klessan said. “Whisper got a nap in. I’m due for one soon.” As if summoned by the thought, she cracked an enormous yawn.

“We’ll take over soon,” Jack said.

“You will take over when you are healed,” Whisper corrected him.

“Yeah, soon,” Jack said. He gauged his Will, and channelled his healing expression across his chest.

Whisper narrowed her eyes at him, but the effect was lessened by the bags under her eyes.

Quietness fell over the room, as they each considered what they had learnt. They had a task ahead of them, but they had already known that. The defence of Knothole was never going to be easy.

“I will return to the walls,” Whisper said. “Klessan, you will sleep.”

Klessan looked like she wanted to argue, but knew it would take more energy than she had to spare.

“The White Balverine will return, hurt or not,” Jack warned.

“If it comes, we will fight it,” Whisper said. “Until then, rest and heal.”

Jack sagged against the dresser, but nodded. “I’ll stay here for a bit, make sure Duran doesn’t try to get out of bed.”

“You mean like you did?” the big man asked.

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

The girls shook their heads at them, and Klessan got to her feet, swaying only slightly.

Whisper eyed them all critically. “Food,” she said, tone decisive. “I will stop at the feast hall on my way.”

“You’re a gem, Whisper,” Klessan said, patting her on the shoulder as she went. She opened the door and went on her way.

Whisper followed her after a final nod to the two of them, leaving them alone. Jack stepped over to the bed and sat on it again, sword tip resting on the ground. He put his hands over the hilt, and rested his head on his hands. Duran gave a sympathetic grunt, still fiddling with his healing expression. There was silence, but then:

“I’m pretty sure my sword snarls at people,” Jack said out of nowhere, speaking to the ground.

“That’s normal,” Duran said.

Jack tilted his head so you could give his friend a dead look.

“You know what I mean,” Duran said.

“I really don’t.”

Duran pulled a face, though whether it was due to Jack’s words or the sticky blood he had just found in one of his dreadlocks couldn’t be said. “Learning weapons,” he said. “They’re called that for a reason.”

“Because they grow with the wielder, I know,” Jack said. He pulled his head away from his sword, straightening.

“They also grow depending on what you use them for,” Duran said. “How many things have you killed with your sword since you got it?”

“More than a few,” Jack said, thinking back.

“What did you kill the most of?”

“...people, probably,” Jack said.

“Really?” Duran said. “You found that many bandits?”

“No, some were the raiders that attacked the Guild.”

“Ah. That matters. You see them differently to bandits, right?”

“I guess,” Jack said, slightly dubious.

“If your sword snarls, I bet you’ve killed more balverines than anything else,” Duran said. “They’d definitely be stronger foes.”

Jack nodded slowly, not entirely convinced by the logic. “So, because I’ve killed balverines with it, it snarls like a balverine?”

“It gets better at killing balverines,” Duran said. “You cut the White Balverine even before your blood got on your blade, didn’t you?”

“I think so. The fight was a bit of a mess.”

Duran snorted, only to wince. “Yeah. Just like my throat.”

“Duran,” Jack said, half shocked, half grinning.

“You know I actually thought that if nothing else, I could at least pin Blades in place for you?” Duran said, looking down the bed, eyes distant. “Avo, what an idiot I was.”

Jack’s amusement fell away. “Then get better. Work on your hardening expression like we talked about. Can’t get your throat torn out if your skin is as hard as steel.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Duran said.

“Once you’ve finished healing, why not?” Jack asked. He had never understood why some of his peers had only tried to experiment with their Will in the Guild cells specifically put aside for it, no matter the expression they were pursuing.

Duran shook his head at him, and Jack opened his mouth to continue, only for his friend to raise his hand at him. “Once I’m healed,” he promised.

There was a knock at the door, distracting them, and they looked up to see a young kid, a Guard at his shoulder, holding a pair of bowls with steam rising from them. As one, their stomachs rumbled. Heavy talk could wait. They had food to eat.

X

A stillness seemed to descend upon the town and the forest around it, somehow worse than when they knew there were balverines watching them from the trees. The siege had started with bloodshed and combat, but now new dangers came to the fore: boredom and an insidious, gnawing fear. The balverines had proven that the walls were no deterrent, not with a White Balverine leading them, only to fade away like the morning mist. Sentries strained their eyes atop the walls, searching in vain for the enemy, and in their failure they only grew more paranoid. Some took to glancing over their shoulders as much as they watched the forest, sure that their town had been infiltrated and that one of the beasts was stalking up behind them at that very moment.

Healing took time, and the days ticked over as the state of affairs continued. Alain survived the loss of his arm, though he would never fight as a Guard again. Duran was a talented healer, but some things were beyond his skill, even if he had been present in the moment, and not choking on his own blood through the shredded remains of his throat. Shiny skin covered it in patches now, marking where the claws of the great beast had torn through it.

Cabin fever set in, and allowances had to be made, the town no longer able to remain inside, every door and window shut and barred. Guards escorted several households at a time to gather water and dispose of waste, knowing that they could do little but delay for the Heroes to avenge them should the dreaded White Balverine return. The stress built ever onward, the plague taking from them even the certainty of how such a thing should have progressed. Veterans of the last plague worried, wondering what the strangeness might mean. Every day the beasts did not appear was a day without losses, but it was also a day for the newly turned to grow stronger.

They waited, and they worried. The balverines would come, though they knew not when, and even in their absence the siege continued.

They waited, and they worried.