- XV -

The Elders had come to an agreement on the strategy: Marcus would lead them to the lands most infested by William's breed. They would scout the terrain, find their lairs, then burn them down and kill them one by one.

It had sounded easy, but the march to Hungary was long and exhausting. Most of the time, the weather was cold and wet, and the carts and horses got stuck in the muddy snow. Amelia was not used to wearing heavy armour, although it was not uncomfortable – when she had tried it on, the armourer had made an insinuating comment about the good fit of her breastplate, and she had threatened to test the sharpness of her new sword on him.

While they had traveled the country roads, the Elders and knights had stayed at inns during the days. Now that they were entering the Hungarian backwoods, they would need to pitch the tents just like the foot soldiers. They had stopped in a forest Marcus had described as part of the werewolves' terrain, although safe enough for them to rest.

The men searched for a sheltered area beneath large pine trees and set up the camp of black leather covers. Amelia took off her chainmail shirt and threw it into the corner of her tent. The beds in the inns hadn't been cosy, but at least they had been beds. Now she would have to rest on the ground.

The sounds of the camp woke her. She heard the clattering of steel and silver, while orders were shouted from tent to tent. Amelia put on her armour and took a look at her reflection in a small pocket mirror. Without any make-up, her face was still beautiful beyond comparison. Her braided hair, however, was a complete mess, and no maid servant was with her to fix it. With knitted brows she put on her greek style silver helmet and stepped out of her tent.

As soon as he spotted her in the crowd, Thomas approached her and bowed. "My lady, the Lords would like to go on a reconnaissance trip," he informed her.

"I'm going with them. Getting to know the terrain will certainly be useful." With an elegant movement, Amelia mounted her horse.

Marcus and Viktor were waiting at the entrance to the camp. "Good evening, my dear. Did you sleep well?" Viktor greeted her.

"To my surprise, I did. It seems to be only a matter of time until one gets used to those..." she let her gaze wander across the half frozen muddy ground. "...circumstances."

"Tonight you may get a chance to demonstrate your abilities, Amelia," Marcus said without greeting. There was a mocking undertone in his voice, but at least he now called her by name instead of addressing her as woman.

She didn't bother answering and just spurred her horse, riding ahead into the woods.

The area was very difficult to survey. There were too many hills and hollows, fallen trees and boulders. The map they possessed was nearly useless, and the cartographer had needed hours to draw a new, more exact one.

Although Marcus claimed that one of the villages his wolfish brother had devastated was not far, they saw and heard nothing of the beasts. An eerie silence hung upon the forest, disturbed only by their horses' snorting and the footsteps of the soldiers muffled by the snow. Amelia looked into the sky. A milky shine framed the waxing moon, glistening through the bald branches of the oak trees. Rain would be coming soon. Amelia thought about how sleeping in a tent soaked with mud would be like, when the heavy thundering of hoofs startled her out of her thoughts.

One of the soldiers dashed through the underwood and agitatedly cried out to them. "Milords, Milady! The wolves! They are in the camp!"

Viktor pulled his horse around.

"What?!" he exclaimed furiously. "How could that happen? Has no one of those fools kept watch?"

"I don't know, Milord. General Thomas said they came out of the underground," the soldier tried to explain.

"Return to the camp! Immediately!" Viktor roared.

He put spurs on his horse, making it gallop ahead to the camp – or to the remainders of what once had been their camp.

Despite the sheltered position and guards armed to the teeth, two werewolves had managed to enter the area. Amelia bit her lip, when she saw some soldiers lying on the ground bleeding heavily, their throats ripped out. They were still alive. The huge beasts didn't seem to enjoy cold immortal flesh. Maybe that fact was also the explanation for why they were now tearing the tents apart in search for something edible. Their razor-sharp claws slashed the black hide, and slobber oozed from their hungry, tusked jaws. Ferocious black eyes stared at her, and one of them let out a bloodcurdling howl.

Amelia swallowed. So these were the legendary werewolves. Bloodthirsty, mindless animals, only determined to tear apart and devour mortal beings. A hot flash of hatred towards those beasts welled up in her body. Thoughts of slashing them to pieces just like they had butchered her soldiers shot through her head. When she looked at Viktor, she could almost see him thinking the same.

"The war has begun!" he shouted, exposing his elongated fangs. Then he dashed forward, towards the werewolves.