“So. You and Lane deLande,” Greg greeted his oldest brother when David returned.

David frowned at him, clearly confused.

“It’s all the kitchen maids are talking about,“ Greg explained.

“The heir of the family finally finding someone is apparently even more interesting than me bringing home two women,” Andrew added.

“She is pretty,” Nathan chimed in. “Good catch, too.”

David just grunted and handed his coat to the servant standing ready. Kicked off his riding boots. “Let them talk,” he finally said. “At least then nobody will wonder if I go to see her more often now.”

“Did deLande really find a werewolf?” Thoko piped in.

David laughed wryly. “You could say so,” he said. “Crazy woman. Anybody want to guess which werewolf she found?”

“Much more important – did she let it live?”

“That’s quite an interesting story,” David sighed. “DeLande found the freaking Morgulon. The original one.”

“No way.”

“Impossible.”

“I thought she’s just a legend?”

“How can you be sure?” Nathan asked over the others.

“Remember that crazy Leon deLande burned the circus down? Well, afterwards, he handed out these wanted posters he had drawn himself. Including the burn scars on the werewolf’s face. Father kept one. I used to stare at it, as a kid. Well, and yesterday morning I looked at the real thing. Exactly the same scars.”

“And deLande brought her home. Alive.”

Greg wasn’t the only one who seemed to have issues believing this point.

“Tried to kill her first. Fired a shot at her, got a silver bolt wedged in her shoulder. Followed the werewolf across the mountains for three days, straight into a snowstorm. Lost her horse. DeLande said she was sure she was dead. Then the werewolf saved her life.”

“How?” Nathan asked.

“Snuggled up close, kept her warm.”

“No way,” Greg muttered.

“Why?” Nathan asked.

“Guess the werewolf is smarter than deLande,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “Morgulon must have been dying, too, with a silver bolt stuck in her flesh for days.”

“Pretty much, yes,” David said. “I saw the wound, it’s still barely healed. DeLande cut out the bolt, and the Morgulon fought off the Rot drawn in by the dead horse. And this is where the whole story gets really interesting.”

By now their parents had also gathered around to listen.

“DeLande claims that she watched Morgulon kill a Rot creature just like the one Greg fought at Eoforwic, easily, before she had even cut out the bolt.”

“No way,” Greg said again, rubbing his arm. He still couldn’t sleep on his right side.

“DeLande says, Morgulon claims it’s a matter of how long ago a werewolf was bitten,” David continued. “’One hundred full moons’ being apparently an important mark for fighting the Rot.”

Greg frowned. He had just seasoned his eleventh full moon. One hundred were years away.

But why should time matter? Or the number of full moons? A werewolf couldn’t – couldn’t absorb moonlight, that made no sense. Moonlight was just reflected sunlight.

And yet, on full moon, a werewolf turned into a monster.

Greg shook his head in frustration. “I hate magic,” he muttered. “It never makes any scientific sense.”

“But if you ignore the science behind it, it makes perfect sense,” his father said slowly. “It would certainly explain why the Church wants every werewolf killed as fast as possible, long before it becomes clear how they will turn out. And the Morgulon is ancient, if you count the full moons she survived.”

“That’s the other thing,” David said. “Lane said that Morgulon spoke of an “old one”, a werewolf who had apparently seen over a thousand full moons, and lived at the spring area of the White Torrent.”

“Lived. Past tense,” his father noted.

“Died, yes, probably of old age. Morgulon is not exactly precise about dates and times, but at least a year ago, I reckon.”

“About the same time the Rot appeared on the river.”

“Yep,” David said. “Morgulon is very certain that the Torrent will look like the Savre soon.”

“But that’s good,” Greg said.

“Great, yes,” Nathan drawled. “The heartlands are gonna be crawling with Rot, what a beautiful thought.”

“No,” Greg said. “I mean, yes, maybe. But look: All the powerful nobles got their seats in the heartlands, yes? They’ll be really interested in keeping the river clean. And Duke George Louis’s got the Morgulon. So that gives him leverage, doesn’t it?”

“Not really,” Andrew said. “If the duke does send the Morgulon to clean the river, everyone will profit. He can’t blackmail just those who would support the Roi Solei.”

“But Greg’s not completely off the mark,” Nathan said. “The duke can let the White Torrent go to Rot, and just tell everyone about the werewolves. The lords can then hire werewolves to keep their lands clean, which will pitch them directly against the Church, or they stay loyal and risk their peoples’ crops failing.”

“That’s harsh,” Thoko said. “Can you imagine how many people will die that way?”

“Duke George Louis won’t care if it makes him king,” David stated.

“King of what?” Thoko asked. “A land in ruins?”

David shrugged. “Trust me. He won’t care. He’ll say it’s all for a greater good.”

“Him becoming king? That’s not much of a greater good.”

“Getting rid of the Church,” David said. “Thousands will die now, but once the Empire is defeated? No more mass trials, no more Inquisition? No more tithe and other special taxes? No more farmers getting drafted for a pointless crusade somewhere in the south?”

“Only if he’s a better ruler than the Roi Solei,” Thoko pointed out. “Do you think he would be a better ruler?”

David hesitated. “Potentially.”

“Well, that’s a ringing endorsement,” Nathan griped.

“He is our best chance of getting rid of the Valoise,” Greg pointed out.

“Then the question is: will the duke listen to advice?” his father said. “And whose words is he most likely to heed? He used to listen to you, David, did he not?”

“Not really,” David said, sounding tired. “Otherwise Lester and Clarence would still be alive.”

“I don’t think Nathan is entirely right,” Imani said when nobody else spoke for a few seconds. “Duke George Louis can’t let the White Torrent go to Rot. That would cripple the Valoisian nobles here, yes, but they can just demand aid from the Empire. The duke can’t. If he loses the river, he shoots himself in the foot. But Nathan is right in so far that he – we – can use the werewolves as leverage. When is your meeting with Duke Desmarais, darling?”

“Next week,” Bram said.

“Who is going with you, anyway?” David asked.

“You all are,” his father said. “Duke Desmarais sent another message, about a couple of werewolves who appeared after Nathan was back.”

“A most serendipitous coincidence,” Andrew said.

“Let’s hope it’s just that,” David said darkly. “Might be a trap.”

Greg agreed silently.

He was nervous, as they left for Nedor Duchy, the land of the viceroy, Duke Clement Desmarais. It would be new moon when they reached it, and the thought made him feel vulnerable. And he missed Thoko. The only good thing about the timing was that they would stay a few days on the Desmarais estate since the viceroy wanted them to hunt down the werewolves on his lands. So they would have time to make a decision about how much they would tell Desmarais.

Castle Blanc was just that, a proper castle, and like the name suggested, painted all white. Mr. Higgins would have called it a baroque monstrosity in the Imperial style, clonked down on the much smaller, much more elegant earlier building.

Greg didn’t mind the stucco and grandeur so much. Some of the figurines and ornamentations where even a direct flip-off to the Church. Mr. Higgins would probably say they were too ‘on the nose’, but Greg had to admit, viceroy Desmarais had vim to show his disdain so openly.

The great anteroom, where they had to wait for Desmarais to receive them, had a huge mural on the ceiling, the five deadly sins being defeated by the early saints of Mithras. Only on the mural, the sins didn’t look defeated at all. They looked much healthier, prettier, and more radiant than the ascetics that fought them.

Only Cowardice was actually cowering before the saint about to slay her. Probably the only sin the viceroy thought he didn’t indulge in himself.

They were not the only guests: At least a dozen nobles with holdings along the White Torrent were waiting with them. Greg recognized about half of them and felt himself grow even more nervous. Andrew was already mingling. So was Nathan, who possessed none of Andrew’s social grace, but didn’t give a damn. David, like Greg, was more reserved, and they found themselves watching from the sidelines until Duke Desmarais made his entrance.

The viceroy was a large man, tall and heavy-set. In his youth, he was said to have been a renowned fighter, but what muscles he might have once had, had mostly gone to fat now. He looked like somebody’s kind grandfather. His eyes were bright and sharp, though, and underestimating him would be dangerous.

Greg was glad that as a younger son, he was mostly ignored.

“If you will join me for dinner, friends,” Desmarais announced. “I have called you here because we have unpleasant business to discuss, but let us do so with a full stomach.”

“Nothing useful is ever discussed after one of his dinners,” somebody complained close to Greg, and indeed, the table that was presented to them was covered in enough food to feed a small army. And certainly, enough wine to get every single person present roaring drunk.

“Makes you regret it’s new moon, doesn’t it?” Nathan muttered as they dug in. “Otherwise you could show us just how much more it takes to get you drunk now.”

Greg looked at him in alarm.

“What? Nobody gives a damn about us.”

Their father was sitting quite close to Desmarais at the head of the table, closer than Greg would have expected, considering that Bram was just a Baron, and there were several Counts present. Nathan was right, though, he, Nathan, and Andrew had been placed at the very end of the huge table, and nobody even seemed to notice them.

“Waste of time,” Nathan muttered and refilled his wine glass.

His father hardly said a word beyond idle small talk, Greg noticed. David, sitting right next to him, was pestered by the other nobles, who wanted to hear stories of gruesome murders and how the monster responsible had been hunted down and brought to justice.

The viceroy was the last person still eating, but eventually, he too pushed his plate away.

“Now,” he said. “Let us look at the matter at hand. You all must have noticed the increased activity of the Rot on your lands, and the – the things – that are carried on the river even into the cities. It is time, I think, that something is done about that, and as the people most affected, I would like to hear your thoughts.”

“Mithras will protect us,” somebody spoke into the silence after that announcement. It sounded like the speaker was rather drunk. “He has protected the river for two-hundred years, there’s no reason for him to stop now.”

“It is the sin of the common people that is the root of all evil,” another voice disagreed. “Support the Church in the effort to lead the common man onto the right path. We have been too lenient. This is our just punishment.”

Greg rolled his eyes, and he was fairly sure, so did the viceroy.

The other nobles didn’t seem to notice. They quickly divided into two camps, with about half of them denying that there was any problem at all, and the other half insisting that Mithras was angered, and sacrifices had to be made, preferably by somebody else. The discussion got quite heated, but as Nathan had predicted: As a whole, it was a waste of time.

Bram and David never said anything.

Finally, the viceroy interrupted them again. “It appears to me,” he said quietly, “that you are not aware of how precarious our situation is. I suggest you think real hard about what will happen if the White Torrent goes to Rot. There is no diverting it around Deva, or Deggan, or any of the cities it has so far served. If we cannot stop what is happening, where will your wives and daughters give birth in the future? How will you protect them?

Do not tell me that there is no reason for concern: My very own son was once stolen from his crib, never to be seen again. Do not tell me that my faith was too weak, or our vigilance too lenient. I was once a fighter in Mithras’s army, I believed, I prayed, with all my heart. No child was ever better protected, nor could bigger sacrifices be made than those I made at his birth. And yet it was in vain. Do not tell me that Mithras will protect us. On Loegrian soil, he will not. We can only protect ourselves, and to that end, I expect you to make a contribution beyond castigating the peasants.

My family came to this country two hundred years ago, to fight for the Empire. And we are still at war, gentlemen. Today, I consider Loegrion to be my home, and I will fight this foul sickness, that is strangling my home country day by day. You can choose to stand with me in this fight. Or I would strongly advise you to leave these lands behind and never return.”

When he glowered at the men, Greg noticed that most of them were suddenly very interested in their glasses or empty plates.

“We shall resume this discussion tomorrow,” the viceroy announced. “I expect you all to think very hard tonight about what could be done.”