It almost felt like summer, Greg thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he followed Andrew through the forest to the little hut to which Marc and Henry had been exiled. Their mother and older brother had gone with them, but everybody else kept their distance. The change in them had been too drastic.

It had been David, to Greg’s slight surprise, who had argued that the boy’s altered behaviour, mainly their preference for their wolf-shape, was not necessarily a sign that they were dangerous. “The Morgulon is the same,” he had pointed out.

And so far, there had been no violence from either of them.

Today was Greg’s last visit to the hut. The spring equinox lay behind them, and he had promised Eyal to return to the crew as soon as winter was over. In fact, it was getting late, but he hadn’t been able to make himself move before the Spring Festival. Not that they had observed any of the Mithran rituals – but Duke Desmarais had thrown a huge party, and it was likely the last such event Greg would ever be able to attend. Sooner or later word about him would spread.

Now, Nathan and Thoko would go with him. Andrew, as promised, would stay at Castle Blanc, while Bram, now that the duke’s daughter had had her child, would return to Heron Hall.

After nearly a month, David and Lane deLande had brought the two sheepkillers in – their real names were Lee and Marianne. Lee used to be a hunter who had been bitten four years ago, Marianne had been a werewolf for two. Now Lee, who could pass as human, travelled with David and deLande to help them find others like him, while Marianne had agreed to stay around Castle Blanc to babysit Marc and Henry, and fight the Rot. All she asked in return was a safe and warm place to sleep and “proper food.”

Marianne smiled tiredly when Greg and Andrew arrived. Greg felt with her. Full moon was just over – the second one for Marc and Henry. Her smile widened, though, when she saw the supplies Andrew and Greg had brought.

“You have no idea how tired I was of raw meat,” she said, grabbing an apple from the cart.

“I bet,” Greg said. “How are the boys?”

“Same as three days ago, as far as I can tell,” Marianne said and ran a hand through her black and brown hair. “But step into the castle, have a look for yourself.”

Lea, the boy's mother, eyed them worriedly when Greg and Andrew did just that. The “castle” had only two rooms and the basement. Lea and the boys, or rather puppies, were in the fairly generous kitchen. When Greg and Andrew entered, Marc and Henry jumped up to greet them, tails wagging. There was no malice in them as they came to sniff out the food. Not much humanity, either.

“They’re good boys,” Lea said, by way of greeting.

“Looks that way,” Andrew answered, when Marc took his bag into his mouth and dragged it over to the bench. “Thank you, Marc.”

“You’ll tell the duke? You’ll tell him that they are no danger? They can help Marianne keep the forest safe.”

“I’ll tell him that all is looking well here,” Andrew said. “But we need to wait a little longer, Lea. It’ll be better for them, too. In fact, I’m thinking we should maybe wait longer than four months before we tell the duke that they are safe for sure. The older they are, the less the Rot will be able to harm them. Let them be kids a little longer before they have to become guards. Soldiers.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship,” Lea said. “Thank you.”

Greg looked away. It had been Bram’s suggestion to wait longer. Four months, that was the latest a werewolf had turned bad, as far as they had been able to verify. But there was so much they didn’t know, and Marc and Henry were the first two they took responsibility for in this way. They needed to be absolutely certain.

“They’ll be ready to start work for lambing season next year, at the very latest,” Andrew said. “The Rot won’t scare them, then.”

“It doesn’t scare them now,” Lea said proudly. “They tear it to pieces when it comes too close to the house.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Andrew sat down with Lea, keeping up the conversation while keeping an eye on the two young werewolves and his crossbow at hand.

Marc’s leg hadn’t healed right and never would. The flesh wound had finally closed shortly after his first full moon transformation, though it had bled for a long time. But the bone hadn’t set correctly. As a wolf, it was hardly noticeable, but when he was a boy, he had difficulties running. It wasn’t a big issue, but Greg took note of it anyway. Here was another thing, that could permanently hurt or even cripple a werewolf: The bite of another one.

Something else to watch out for.

The next morning, Greg, Thoko, and Nathan set out for Eoforwic at the first light of dawn. Andrew saw them off, and Duke Desmarais had another letter for Duke George Louis.

“Do not, under any circumstances, let this fall into the hands of the clergy,” Desmarais had warned them. As if they needed warning.

Greg still wondered how much longer they could keep this secret. There were just too many people involved now, too many people who knew that a werewolf could fight the Rot. The Church would have to find out soon if they didn’t know already.

Yet the three of them reached Eoforwic unchallenged. They weren’t even checked as they boarded a train of the Imperial Line.

The yard in front of the Lackland Railway Company was crawling with people, when Greg, Thoko, and Nathan rode up the street. There were three or maybe four times as many people as when Greg had first hired up with Eyal and his crew.

“Busy,” Nathan noted.

“Hard to believe they are all here to build a railway to Mannin,” Thoko said.

They would need a dozen werewolves to protect these many people, Greg thought, even with the Morgulon, who deLande had sent here before even riding out with David.

Eyal and crew were gathered at the same inn as a year ago, and it was just as dirty and dark as Greg remembered. The only difference was that there were four more like it now, and still people were camping out in the street. Thoko relaxed as soon as they were inside.

Nathan raised his eyebrows. “This is where you stayed?”

“One night,” Greg replied. “And I didn’t miss it.”

“The roof doesn’t leak, and we’re amongst friends,” Isaac said and hugged Greg in greeting.

Greg was so surprised, he barely managed not to pull back.

“Still not a hugger, huh? It’s less than half-moon.”

“He’s just grouchy about the sleeping arrangements,” Nathan said and hugged Isaac back.

More of Isaac’s relatives were already gathering around to greet Thoko. Oli almost ran her over in his enthusiasm. He looked human today, and chatted away excitedly, to tell Thoko all she had missed over the last few months.

“What’s with all the people outside?” Greg asked Eyal, once everybody quietened down a little.

“They all want their piece of the cake,” Eyal said. “Don’t they?”

“They’ll never make it,” Greg said, shocked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Eyal replied. “Word got around, you see. Rhuad left us for a different crew, couldn’t stand being around Porter, I guess. And Duke George Louis, well, he had a shakedown around the beggars, both here in Eoforwic and up around Mannin. Had four more werewolves brought down here.”

“What about the Church?” Greg asked.

Eyal laughed. “Oh, the clergy? The brave defenders of all that’s rotten? They aren’t welcome round here anymore. Just a couple of weeks ago, Bishop-something-or-other came riding up here, you see, with his bloody guard, ordered the duke to hand over his werewolves or suffer the consequences. Duke laughed in his face. So the bishop, he raised the Rot, small and large, sent it against the new walls they finally pulled up. Oh, let me tell you, we were all about to wet our pants. But the duke, he just sent forth this one werewolf, one. Gangly creature, too. But the moment that wolf is between us and the Rot? We couldn’t even feel the ugly things anymore. They just got ripped to pieces.

And the most beautiful part of the story? Half the city watched the bishop turn tail. And people started thinking, you see. This close to the Savre, lots of people get killed by the Rot, and livestock, too. By werewolves, not so much. By sane werewolves? Nobody at all.”

“So they drove out what Mithrans remained in the city,” Isaac added. “All except for the nuns in the hospital.”

Greg shuddered and looked at Nathan. His brother just grinned gleefully.

“Why are ye looking like that?” Isaac asked. “I’d have thought ye’d be happy.”

“This is going to get really ugly,” Greg said. “We can fight the Rot, yes, but not an army. And that’s what the High Inquisitor will send to Eoforwic.”

“No, he won’t,” Nathan disagreed. “Can’t, in fact. Only the viceroy can command the Imperial troops.”

“What about the Uronian Guard?” Greg asked.

“Okay, d’Evier got those,” Nathan admitted. “But there’s not that many of them. And I bet Duke George Louis has a few regiments of his own.”

“And what if the viceroy throws in with the Church?” Isaac’s cousin Gavrel asked.

“He won’t,” Nathan said. “Duke Desmarais hates the Rot more than anyone else here. He was really angry when he found out the Church had been keeping secrets about how werewolves can fight it.”

Greg nodded slowly. He still felt worried, but there was nothing more to do.

“Let’s go find George Louis,” Nathan said. “I still need to deliver a message.”

Thoko preferred to stay with the crew, to catch up about what happened in the past three months. Greg went with Nathan. They had to push their way through the mass of people in front of the company’s headquarters, and then argue with the guard at the door. They had clear orders not to let any more people inside. Only the seal of the viceroy finally convinced them to let them pass.

Inside, there were almost as many people as outside. Men stood lined up in long queues in front of the heavy counters in the main hall, to get their names registered onto the endless lists. Only one clerk had nothing to do at all: A poster was pinned to his table. “Werewolves wanted ALIVE” it said, and instead of guards with shiny breastplates and the colours of George Louis, this clerk was flanked by a couple of men in sturdy leather, crossbows at the ready.

Nathan swayed over to greet them. “Ronon, Lafayette, how did you land yourself in this?” he called the two hunters, who turned and grinned, and held out their hands when they saw him.

“Nathan bloody Feleke,” one of them greeted. “Good to see you, man. How’s your family? The Valoise haven’t got them yet, I hope?”

“This is Greg, my little brother,” Nathan said. “And the rest of them are fine, too. But how did you end up in this mess?”

“Volunteered,” the other man said, who hadn’t spoken yet. He, too, shook hands with Nathan and Greg. “Been getting tired of the killing for a while,” he continued. “Bringing them in alive sounded like a nice change.”

“Not much to do here, though,” Nathan noted.

“Today is boring, yeah,” said the first man. “Yesterday we had a couple.”

“How many have been here, total?” Nathan asked.

“We’ve been here eight days, we’ve seen three who actually walked in here. Werewolf’s got to have balls to just walk up like everyone else. More show up at night, or get stopped at the gates.”

“In the past month, eleven werewolves have joined the company,” the clerk piped up. “Not including the four who were already registered last fall, but including the werewolf sent here by Countess deLande.”

“That’s a special one, all right,” the two hunters nodded. “Trust deLande to go above and beyond everyone else. Rumour has it, she caught the bloody Morgulon, alive.”

“David reckons it’s true,” Nathan said. “But we better get moving, and see for ourselves.”

They had to dissuade an overexcited clerk who had pegged them as werewolf hunters and wanted to lead them somewhere to get “read in”, but eventually, they reached the office of Duke George Louis. Inside, they could hear a heated argument. Greg was a little surprised when he realized that the topic was mathematics and the yelling contenders were engineers.

After several minutes, the duke had the two kicked out and warned them that he’d have them stand underneath their bridge while the first train went over and that they better be sure about their numbers. Greg couldn’t help but grin when the two elderly gentlemen walked by, their sombre suits in disarray. They were still arguing and didn’t seem to notice either him or Nathan.

Nathan simply walked in, before the door closed again. “Message from Duke Desmarais,” he called when a guard tried to stop him.

“The Honourable Nathan Feleke, very good,” Duke George Louis said, and held out his hand.

Greg followed Nathan quickly, who strode up to the duke’s table as if he owned the place, to hand over the letter.

“Any word from your oldest brother and Countess deLande?” Duke George Louis asked.

“They were inquiring on a rumour, Your Highness, about another elder werewolf. I don’t think they had much hope, though, of actually finding anything useful when we last got word of them,” Nathan replied. “They planned to continue on to Northwold, to see if they can find anyone in the surrounding forests.”

“Very good,” Duke George Louis said absentmindedly, scanning the letter. “Yes, very good indeed. I’ll need you to stay close, Sir Nathan.”

He never looked at Greg when he added: “Werewolves may stay at the workers’ accommodations provided Mr. Levi will vouch and take responsibility for them. All other werewolves may choose between staying downstairs in the basement cells or staying in the forest. Food is delivered to them once a day, so they can focus on clearing the swamp alongside the river. They are not allowed inside the city without a hunter.”

“Noted,” Nathan said.

Greg decided it was probably safer not to speak at all