James Albrecht lowered his head and moved down the hill. Albrecht fought to keep from stepping forward, from calling out to his father to give the man some sort of word or sign that his son cared. His anger — no, his pride — was too great for that. He could forgive Morningkill, who had banished him from home, but he could not go to his father. The pain of that broken pride was greater than exile. He looked away from the gathering, trying to hide his self-loathing at his failure to forgive.
After the Rothchilds and the Batells and the other families had passed, the King's Own Pack came forward again. They carried shovels and began to throw heaps of dirt into the grave, onto Morningkill. Albrecht wanted to leave. He had to get out of there. But tradition demanded he stay. He was the closest family; he had to stay until the end.
He must have begun fidgeting or something, because Greyfist looked over at him and gave him a frown. He looked back at the seneschal and shrugged his shoulders. Man, he thought, what I would do for a cigarette now.
The pack worked quickly, though, and soon enough the grave was covered and the dirt packed. Albrecht noticed that some of them had shifted into Glabro form — the near-human form — to work faster with the added strength. Shining Outward and Regina stepped forward, carrying a marble headstone between them. It was sheer vanity to use such a thing, and it would do nothing to hide the graveyard from humans, but Morningkill had insisted on a headstone for his grave.
They placed it on the ground and drove it in with their bare hands, shifting to Crinos form for the brute strength required. When it was solidly placed, they shifted back to Homid and stepped away, looking at Albrecht. He sighed and walked forward. Stopping at the foot of the grave, he looked down.
Well, he thought, this is for you, Granddad. I hope you like it, wherever you are.
He shifted into Crinos form, his bulk and height increasing greatly. He drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let out a long, mournful howl. He was joined by the others, who had shifted to Crinos or Lupus, and they all hung their heads back to the sky, crying out their sorrow to Gaia. Albrecht carried the howl for minutes and minutes as others dropped out, unable to continue. Finally, only one other was left howling with him: Arkady.
Albrecht frowned and a note of anger crept into the howl. Arkady was trying to make a contest out of this, when he knew that it was Albrecht's right to begin and end the Dirge for the Fallen. He felt his anger rise as Arkady also matched the growling note Albrecht had introduced. Now he was mocking him. Albrecht turned to look at Arkady, and saw that the wolf had been watching him all along, a smirk in his eyes. Albrecht's howl became a growl which choked off out of anger and frustration. But Arkady carried the original howl on for a few more seconds.
This was too much! That Arkady would dare such an insult here, at the funeral rites of his grandfather! Albrecht couldn't have cared less about Arkady's aspirations to the throne before, but this was personal now!
He marched forward on all fours in Crinos form. Arkady was already in Lupus. He matched the wolf's gaze and stared, growling deep and low, waiting for Arkady to back down. But the wolf stepped forward, staring up intently into Albrecht's eyes. It was now a contest to see who would break first, who would look away or who would lose control to rage.
Albrecht's vision narrowed. Only Arkady existed for him now. His vision grew red as his anger rose, a roiling furnace of molten bile in his gut. He longed to leap forward and throat the damned bastard before him, the wolf who met his gaze and did not flinch. Indeed, whose eyes bore deeply into Albrecht's, searching for some sign of weakness, some breaking point.
And then Arkady said one thing, all the while his gaze never wavering. One word spoken in the Garou tongue: "Charach."
Albrecht roared and leapt forward, faster than even Arkady had anticipated. The wolf tried to step aside, but Albrecht's fangs snapped shut on his right rear leg, causing him to howl in pain. He lunged at Albrecht, burying his snout into Albrecht's shoulder. But Albrecht was consumed with rage and ignored it, savagely chewing Arkady's leg. The wolf shifted into Hispo form — the prehistoric dire-wolf form — and then straight to Homid. In the second in which Albrecht's fangs opened wide to accomodate the larger leg and, before they could crash down again on the smaller human leg, Arkady pulled free.
Albrecht howled in anger and ran at Arkady, but was hit from the side and thrown a few feet away. This confused him for a moment. He smelled someone other than Arkady standing over him — Regina, the Caern Warder. Her face hovered over his, growling low and threateningly. Albrecht didn't know what was going on now. He had no desire to fight Regina, and so he bowed his head and shut up. When she saw his submissive gesture, she stepped back.
Albrecht looked up and saw that Shining Outward stood over Arkady, likewise cowing the Garou into submission. It was not hard; Arkady was obviously hurting badly and was only too glad to give up.
Albrecht stood up, shifting to Homid form, and began dusting himself off. "What's the deal? Why'd you stop me? That bastard insulted me! Here, at Morningkill's funeral!"
"That's exactly why we stopped you two," Regina said. "How dare you challenge over Morningkill's grave! Such a disrespect for the dead! I am appalled."
"I started nothing!" Arkady said, now standing in Homid form and limping over to his pack. His leg was badly mauled, but one of his pack members bent down and began to call on a Gift to mend it. "You saw it! This mad one attacked me!"
"Shut up, Arkady!" Greyfist said. "You know very well that you provoked it. I consider it a challenge."
"Ah, but Seneschal, I am Master of the Challenge at this caern. It is I who decides what is a challenge and what is not."
"Not in this case," Regina said. "Since you are a claimant to the throne, you cannot act in your normal caern position until the claim is resolved. Another must be declared Master of the Challenge in your place."
"Since you are the Caern Warder," Greyfist said to Regina, "doesn't the position fall to you?"
"I believe that is the standard etiquette," Shining Outward said, dusting the dirt that had been kicked up by the fight off the headstone.
"Well, then?" Greyfist said to Regina. "Is Arkady considered to have challenged Albrecht for the throne?"
"Ha!" Arkady said. "I did no such thing! I simply carried the howl longer than his weak lungs could."
"You asshole!" Albrecht said. "That wasn't your right! It was my right to end the howl. You stepped on my territory!"
"Albrecht's correct," Regina said, looking at Arkady. "You disrupted his grandfather's death rites. As a member of House Wyrmfoe, it was Albrecht's duty to lead the howl, but you took it over. I consider that a challenge."
"Pah!" Arkady said. "How silly. It does not matter, though. It was only a matter of time until he challenged me."
"Yeah," Albrecht said. "But you challenged me, so I have choice of weapons."
Arkady glared at him angrily. "So? What do you choose?"
"Klaives."
"Then I will carve you from chest to groin and hang your pelt on this tree!" Arkady said, pointing at a nearby birch.
"Hold on there," Regina said. "I haven't set the time or place yet. I decree that it will be tomorrow night before the Grand Oak. Be there by midnight, or forfeit your claim."
Arkady nodded and gave Albrecht a sneer. He then walked off, his leg now fully healed thanks to his packmate's magic. The King's Own Pack fell in behind him, and they soon disappeared over the ridge of the hill.
"King's Own Pack, huh?" Albrecht said. "We'll see whose pack they are once I'm king."
"Your temper is as bad as it's always been," Greyfist said, walking past Albrecht.
"Hey!" Albrecht said, following him. "You saw that. He provoked me. And why'd you break it up? I almost had him."
"You weren't close, Albrecht," Greyfist said. "It was clear that as soon as he got over his surprise, he would have won by out-thinking you. The way he slipped from your grip showed that."
"He got lucky on that on
e."
Greyfist stopped and spun around to face Albrecht. "Damn it! When are you going to wake up? Arkady can beat you. You walked right into his challenge — don't think he didn't plan it this way! He's a master of the klaive. He really will carve you up! You could have chosen Gamecraft to best him, a contest of wits. You're not particularly smart, but you could have overcome him at that at least!"
"Don't talk to me like that," Albrecht said. "I'm sick of it. In case you aren't aware, I am also a master of the klaive. And mine's bigger than his, besides. I've seen his klaive. It's nice, but it's no Grand Klaive. I think House Wyrmfoe's family heirloom is going to wind up flaying his ass."
Greyfist turned around and walked off down the hill, fuming. "Your ego is going to get you killed, and then the dream will be dead for good."
Albrecht watched his friend march off down the hill. Dream? What the hell was he talking about?
Chapter Seven
Mari hit the punching bag again. And again. One hundred, one hundred one, one hundred two… After one hundred and ten blows in succession, she took a break and jogged around the one-room gym. She had broken a sweat but wasn't breathing heavily yet.
She ran past Evan, who sat at the small desk by the door looking bored, staring out the window onto the streets of New York. He turned from watching the passersby outside to watch Mari as she ran past. He yawned.
"Look, I think we should try to get in touch with Albrecht," Evan said.
Mari did not answer him. She kept running until she finished her lap. She then took a deep breath and sat down on the blue mat that stretched from wall to wall.
"Tomorrow," she said. "I gave him until tomorrow to let us know what's happening."
"Yeah, but that could be too late."
"He can take care of himself. I'm sure we would have heard something by now if he were in trouble."
"Not necessarily. Little word gets in or out of that place. Those Silver Fangs are true New Englanders: secretive and shut-mouthed."
"Well? What do you want to do? We don't have a phone number and I'm not sure exactly where the caern is."
"But Mother Larissa would know. She'd surely tell us."
"She's been bothered enough in this affair—"
The phone rang. Evan looked at it, then reached over and picked it up. "Cabrah's Self-Defense. This is Evan speaking."
"Don't you have school or something?" Albrecht said.
"Albrecht! Where the hell are you?!"
Mari stood up and walked over, her hand out for the phone. "Give me that. I've got a few things to say to him."
Evan turned away from her, covering the receiver. "Wait a minute. Let me find out what's going on." He uncovered the receiver and leaned back in his chair. "So what's happening? Do you know why those guys attacked you? Is the king really dead? Who's going to be the next king?"
"Hold on," Albrecht said. "One at a time. First: A whole hell of a lot is happening. Second: No, I don't know why those two attacked me yet. Third: Morningkill is really dead. His funeral was last night. Fourth: I'm fighting someone tonight to become king of the Silver Fangs."
"What? You're joking, right?"
"Nope. The guy's name is Arkady and he's a real asshole. But I can take him."
"But… king? You?"
"Hey, don't sound so surprised. I thought I'd get some support on this from you at least. Of course, king! I've told you my heritage before."
"Yeah, but I thought you had given up on that. I never thought you'd actually… you know, become king."
"King?" Mari said. "Albrecht?!" She reached out and snatched the phone from Evan. She yelled into the receiver, "What do you mean, king? You can't be king!"
Albrecht chuckled. "Yeah, that's what some of these guys tell me. But I say otherwise. What's the matter? Don't like the idea of ol' Albrecht lording it over all the tribes, including yours?"
"The day you 'lord it over' the Black Furies is the eve of the Apocalypse, Albrecht. Don't even joke about it. Are you serious about this? What are you thinking? We have a pack."
"Yeah, so? I can be king and member of a pack at the same time. It just means that you guys might have to help me out with official duties and all. Big-time stuff. Lots of renown in it."
"Shove your renown, Albrecht. I don't like the idea of you as king at all. Why can't another be king?"
"Because the only other contender is too big of a jerk. I can't let him have it. Hell, I'd never hear the end of all that talk — 'The Silver Fangs are going down.' 'The Silver Fangs can't rule.' 'The Silver Fangs blah, blah, blah.' No, I'm not going to contribute to more of that."
"Really? What do you think people will say when they hear that Albrecht, lord of drunks, is taking the throne?"
"Hey!" Albrecht said, getting angry. "That's not called for. That was a long time ago."
Evan grabbed the phone back from Mari, who frowned at him but walked across the studio to the hanging punching bag. She began to throw a series of blows at it.
"It's me again," Evan said. "Don't worry. She's just surprised. We're behind you."
"Is that noise in the background what I think it is? Is she hitting the bags again?"
"Yeah."
"She's awfully weird for a Theurge, kid."
"Well… Hey, what do you want us to do? How can we help?"
"I'll call you tomorrow and let you know how the fight goes." There was a pause. "Of course, if I don't survive, I probably won't be calling you."
"You said you could take this guy!"
"Well, yeah. But you never know. I'll see you! Bye!" Albrecht hung up.
Evan placed the receiver back in its cradle. He looked at Mari, who stopped punching the bag to look back at him. "He's in trouble."
"Of course he is. But he doesn't want us involved. We've got to respect that."
Evan looked out at the street, at the dirty buildings crowding in. "I guess." He didn't like it, though. Not at all.
* * * *
Albrecht left Greyfist's office. The call was exactly what he had expected: Evan curious and concerned, Mari ready to tear his head off. He knew she was just as worried as Evan, but she hid it well.
He had spent most of the day practicing with the klaive. He wasn't out of shape by any means, but after that fight in New York, he wanted to make sure Arkady didn't slip any blows past him. He concentrated on his defense, since his offense was not in doubt.
He also did meditation exercises to help calm himself down. He did not want to frenzy against Arkady. Greyfist was right about one thing: If he frenzied, Arkady would win. So Albrecht worked to calm himself with meditation.
But Mari had pissed him off anyway.
He should have called them earlier, and then exercised. But he knew the hours she kept at her gym, and he was guaranteed to reach her in the afternoon.
He walked back up to his room to meditate again. He was confident that Greyfist would alert him well in time for the combat.
* * * *
The crowd was already gathered and waiting when Albrecht went out to the field. Regina's caern protectors had marked off the combat arena with small, white rocks placed one after the other in a large circle. The Grand Oak stood at the western edge of the circle.
There were no bleachers or raised seats, so spectators had arrived early to get the prime viewing spots. There weren't that many Garou or Kinfolk at the caern, so the circle was probably big enough that there would only be two rows once the battle began. But those rows would encircle the entire marked space.
Albrecht walked onto the field and examined it. Torches on poles surrounded the field, providing the only light besides the crescent moon and stars. A layer of dirt had been laid on the field and packed down, with all the rocks and pebbles cleared away. The field was clean and open, with no depressions. A good, fair playing field. That was in Albrecht's favor. He had never been one to rely on tricky distractions. He was a straightforward fighter, and this was his kind of field. From what he'd heard of Arkady and his fighting prefe
rences, Albrecht would have the advantage.
He went over to the Grand Oak. Greyfist had set up a chair there, along with towels, a bucket of water and a first-aid kit. Thomas Abbot was also there. He had volunteered to act as healer for Albrecht.
"Hello, Thomas," Albrecht said to the older Garou as he sat down in the chair. "By the way, I want to thank you for standing up for me yesterday in the moot."
Abbot smiled and shrugged. "Certainly. I was only defending my views. You are Morningkill's heir, therefore you should be king."
"I get the idea you don't think much of Arkady."
Abbot sneered. "I suppose it shows too much, then. Well, if he does win — perish the thought — we will need a gadfly against his policies. I will be happy to fulfill that role."
"And if I win?"
Abbot smiled at Albrecht. "As long as you're on the up-and-up, you have nothing to worry about. Act like your grandfather, however, and you'll be in for some disappointments from the court."
Albrecht nodded. "Of course."
He looked out at the field again. Across from his position, the crowd had cleared away to make room for Arkady's chair. The King's Own Pack were carrying it over. Arkady's packmate, Peter, was to act as his healer.
Albrecht glanced at his watch. Quarter till twelve. He knew it was too much to expect that Arkady would be late. It appeared the fight was on.
A murmuring went through the crowd and Albrecht looked up to see Arkady in the circle, checking it out the same way Albrecht had earlier. He was frowning, as if he was disappointed with it. Albrecht smiled. Good, you schmuck. I'm glad you hate it.
Arkady went and sat down in his seat. He stared across the distance at Albrecht, smoldering. Albrecht smiled and nodded at him, and Arkady returned the nod, smiling also. Bastard, Albrecht thought. Facetious bastard. Of course, so am I.
"I just don't get it," Greyfist said. "Why does this sort of thing always come down to combat?"
The Silver Crown Page 7
