At dusk, the werewolves gathered for the final attack. They were down to just around five hundred men and women still able to fight, but the defenders had suffered worse—not just in manpower, but morale, too. The last of them were surrendering just now, having apparently been turned away when they had tried to seek refuge at the harbour garrison.

And still, the garrison kept resisting. The Castle did, too, but the Castle was depending on the harbour for supplies. So David was happy to let them starve behind their walls all the way until next spring, if necessary.

He watched his troops line up. Rust and Ragna were riding up and down in front of the formation. Alvin fidgeted with the reins nervously , making his horse prance, too. When he noticed David’s gaze, he managed a forced smile.

“You’ll see your mother tomorrow, Sir,” he said.

It was his first acknowledgement of the news Clermont had broken in the morning. Ages ago, it seemed.

“Let’s hope so,” David said. He couldn’t think of Imani right now, of some scumbag at the palace poisoning food, or he’d go madder than a werewolf on full moon.

Just take the garrison. Secure the harbour. Force the Valoise to land their troops at some wide-open beach. And then leave the rest of the war to Clermont.

David rubbed his neck. He was tired from all the time spent doing nothing. And he was glad. Glad that it was about to be over.

He stared down the road cut into the ground, curving towards the garrison. The cannons were staring back at the assembling werewolves, just waiting for them to come into range, and sometimes a helmet glittered in the last light of day. Out of sight, hidden by the bend, was the gate of the garrison, blocking the road into the harbour. They needed to break through that.

Luckily, they had black powder for that job. David didn’t doubt that the elders could do it, too, given enough time. But explosives would do it faster.

They just needed to get past the cannons to place them.

He stood back again, riding a few yards behind the final line when Rust moved the formation: ten werewolves next to each other, filling the street from side to side, row after row of them, spaced out so that a cannon wouldn’t take out multiple ranks at once. They still carried the muskets, which David thought was fairly pointless, given that they were about to assault a building. But Rust was the veteran and David hadn’t wanted to question him.

It wasn’t like the werewolves could carry the explosives and light the fuses in their wolf-shape, so maybe it made sense to hand each of them a musket to hold onto.

Ragna walked in the first rank. She had handed her horse to a helper, so she was on foot, the epaulettes on her uniform bouncing with each step as she carried the flag. David envied the energy. The bravery, too. Could he do that? Step in front of the cannons that started roaring as soon as the werewolves got close?

Not that they were very effective. The garrison hadn’t been built to defend the harbour from land. The angle of the road towards the gate was too steep, and made even more awkward by the fact the cannons were mounted up on the walls. It took much of the efficiency out of the batteries. Which didn’t stop the artillerists from trying.

The first cannonballs missed Ragna and the flag just barely, taking out the men jogging left and right of her before grounding themself into the cobblestones. But Rust needn't even have spread out the lines: with the steep angle, there was no way the cannons could hit more than one rank at a time.

Ragna yelled something at the soldiers behind her, her voice getting lost in the fury of the cannons. David couldn’t tell if the werewolves heard her, but they jogged onwards, line after line stepping over the gouges in the street.

Then the next volley was ready.

It wouldn’t be enough. It couldn’t be enough. The bloodshed, at this point, was entirely pointless. Nothing would stop the fall of the garrison and the harbour now.

So why did the defenders keep fighting? Because they hated the werewolves so much?

David’s and Alvin’s horses were the last ones to cross the line of cannonballs gouged into the ground. Down at the bend of the road, where the cliff and the garrison seamlessly joined up, the first rank had reached the gate. Musket and pistol fired spluttered, and wolves howled in pain—

And then they broke ranks, jumping away from the gate. The explosion shook the ground, drowning out the gunfire. David’s gelding reared.

By the time David had reigned him in, driving the horse forwards to catch up with his troops, a second explosion echoed out from the garrison's entry.

That meant they had broken through to the harbour, right?

“Charge!” David yelled. “Werewolves, charge!”

He was still slightly surprised that they obeyed, that they charged into the darkness of the tunnel the garrison formed over the path just because he said so. Defenders tried to stab and shoot the werewolves streaming through. A blade from above missed David’s ear by inches. Behind him, Alvin yelped, but there was no time to look. Then they were through, werewolves flooding into the harbour.

Staring in horror at the warship lying in the middle of the bay, a first-rate ship-of-the-line that was just opening the shutters of its three gundecks. Rows and rows of cannons stared back at the werewolves. Smaller boats packed full of soldiers rowed like mad for the outermost piers, staying out of the line of fire.

David whirled around only to see the turncoats stream out of side doors, carrying wood and sacks full of sand, furniture and stones. He had to duck in the saddle and retreat deeper into the harbour when bullets came whistling out of the dark. At the same moment, the warship opened fire.

David instinctively raised his hands in front of his face—pointless as the gesture was against twenty-four pounds of iron screaming through the air. He and Alvin were close enough to the entrance of the harbour not to be in the direct line of fire, but the shrapnel of destroyed wooden buildings and berths enveloped everything. His gelding bucked under him and reared with a scream, then went down. David rolled away from the fallen horse, but couldn’t see what had hit him because of all the werewolves running in panic towards the garrison.

David cursed and grabbed Calder, slapping him across the face.

“Get a grip!” he screamed at the elder. His voice sounded wrong in his own ears, so he took a deep breath, forcing himself to pitch it lower, to make himself heard without sounding like he was out of his mind with fear. “Werewolves! Rally to the flag!”

The warship had given them a full broadside, so they had a minute or two until the crews finished reloading.

But where was the flag? Ragna had carried it, and if she was down…

No, there it was, just barely visible in the smoke and dust. It listed to the side, but it was there.

He started moving in that direction, even if it led him further into danger, dragging Calder along, Alvin following hard on his heels, his own horse abandoned.

“Rally to the flag!” David hollered again. Alvin picked up the call, and to David’s relief, at least the youngest werewolves, the newly bitten disabled veterans, were streaming to where Rust stood, just handing the flag back to Ragna. She was stark naked. Lenny was there, too, and Boris. Calder finally stopped struggling. A shiver went through the werewolves as Rust reasserted control. They began forming a single line, more spaced out than they usually would stand, picking up their guns and wrapping themselves in uniform parts.

“Your orders, Major?” Rust asked.

If he was scared, he didn’t show it. The elder looked at David as if he expected an actual answer, as if David knew any better how to get out of here—

He stared at the water. A second tallship was entering the harbour, and he thought there were more sails out there. Behind his back, the sheer cliff rose two hundred feet above the ocean.

There was really only one direction to go.

“Back the way we came,” he ordered. “And if anyone has any useful magic tricks left, now would be the time. Otherwise, chew your way through whatever barrier the defenders put up.”

As soon as he finished, the warship fired the second broadside. Bodies went flying everywhere, some twisting and turning wolf in the air. Others just crumpled, too injured to change shape. Ragna landed on all fours right in front of David, shielding him from worse. Alvin ducked forwards and grabbed the flag she had dropped, raising it high, waving it like a challenge and screaming at the ship.

“Two minutes to reload,” David growled at himself. And louder: “Move, Alvin! Back to the garrison!”

He tried to count the seconds in his head, but lost the rhythm after less than ten, stumbling with the rest of them, injured and hale, human and wolf, dressed and naked. The first boat of navy-infantry was just reaching a pier.

David ignored them. There were far too few of them to pressure the werewolves. They had to get out of here before the number of yellow jackets swelled.

Within just a few minutes, the garrison’s entry had been blocked nearly completely with stones and furniture. Hammers rang on wood as the defenders tried to finish the job. David was half tempted to dig with his bare hands, but the werewolves were far more effective. Wood went flying everywhere. David ducked back to avoid getting hit. Alvin stayed at his side, the flag still raised high.

The defenders tried to stab the werewolves through the barrier, to slow them—David thought he even saw a silver candelabra being pushed through, uselessly battering the werewolves who weren’t going to slow down while the cannons might still reach them. The warship was being turned to get them back into range.

A pistol went off, right behind the barricade. David thought he could feel the bullet go by.

But it was Alvin who screamed, his uniform torn and blood welling up. He was thrown backwards, letting go of the flagpole, reaching for his chest. His face was working and for a second, David thought he would transform. But he didn’t.

David grabbed him by the arms, pulling him away from the opening. “Hold on,” David whispered. “Come on, turn!”

But Alvin’s eyes were wide and terrified as he stared at David. The muscles at his neck bulged, but no change came over him.

“No,” David whispered, at the same time as Alvin managed: “It’s cold. So cold.”

“No,” David repeated. He felt the boy crumble in his grip, and guided him down to the ground, pressing his hand onto the wound, right in the middle of Alvin’s chest. The cut in David’s palm burned as his blood mixed with Alvin’s, but he ignored that. He focused on the magic, on what Pierre had told him—he didn’t actually know how to heal, but he still reached out, trying to push what little power he possessed at Alvin, willing the bleeding to stop.

The silver pulled at the magic, pulled it away from the wound, stealing it, preventing a connection. Alvin gripped his wrist. The boy’s lips moved. David bowed his head lower, trying to catch the words over the turmoil all around. All he heard was Alvin’s laboured breathing.

“Hold on,” David begged. “Hold on, Alvin.”

Alvin’s grip tightened, his nails digging into David’s skin, drawing blood. David tried again to push with his magic, but all he got was the sense of cold from the silver.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered. Finally, there was a connection. But it went the wrong way. David felt magic flow up his arm—

“Thank you for the chance,” Alvin rasped, still gripping David’s wrist like a vice. But the pressure was fading fast, and so was the magic. So was Alvin, until all that was left was the silver, twisting his own powers around.

“No,” David whispered. “No, no, no, no, no…”

But he knew it was too late.

“Major,” Rust’s voice broke through his concentration.

Ragna grabbed the flagpole, the flag that had been bathed in blood. David blinked at her as she gently pulled the fabric out from under Alvin’s too still body. Her eyes glowed with an unnatural blue. Lenny kneeled down next to him, closing Alvin’s unseeing eyes.

“Give me that, girl,” he gruffly said, holding a hand out for the flag. “They’ll need you before the end.”

To David’s surprise, Ragna did hand it over. Lenny used the pole to push himself up again. “Tell Dorothy and the boys I love them,” he said, both hands closing around the staff. Sparks danced over his hands and the wood, sparks of the same unnatural blue as Ragna’s eyes had glowed a moment ago.

The oldest soldier of the whole battalion turned towards the garrison, his shoulders squared. Blue flames reached the actual flag, until it burned like a giant torch. The same fire crept up Lenny’s arms, setting his uniform ablaze.

Two bullets hit him before he had taken more than two steps. He didn’t even flinch.

“What’s he doing?” David asked nobody in particular as Lenny reached the barrier. The furniture and timber caught the blue fire at once, and burned to ash within moments.

More bullets hit him, but Lenny didn’t slow down.

“Burning eight years worth of full moons,” Ragna said, her voice rough. “He’s not going to make it to the other end at this rate.”

All that David could see was the blue light of the flame. He unsheathed his sabre. “Maybe we shouldn’t just stand around then.”

He didn’t wait to see what Ragna would do, following Lenny instead. A moment later he was overtaken by the giant she-wolf. Rust turned wolf, too, and then all the rest of them followed.

David couldn’t help but envy Lenny. He wished he could burn his own pain the same way, with his own life as cinder, if necessary. He walked between the growling wolves as if in a nightmare, the fading blue the only light in the whole world. Smoke and dust filled the air, but he never saw a single defender until he reached the other side.

He never saw Lenny’s body, either.

There was chaos on the other side of the tunnel. Free of the walls, the werewolves were passing him easily, running up the street. Back towards the breaches in the Old Wall, most likely. David heard cannon fire still. He lengthened his strides, jogging up the street,

When he reached the top, there was no sign of deVale’s men who had been supposed to hold the Old City. Instead, he thought he saw the siege camps burning in the distance.

Rubble crunched behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, David saw something swinging at him, then the world went dark.