Albrecht chuckled. "Wake up. We're Garou. It always comes down to two guys bashing each other's heads in."
Regina walked onto the field and surveyed it. She then took her place at the throne, to Albrecht's left. She addressed the crowd.
"Since both combatants are here, we can begin. The challenge combat has been declared: klaives. The conditions are, as always, to fight until an honorable surrender. If none is given, then to the death. I would remind both combatants to heed the Litany concerning a surrender. I will be harsh with any who disregards it."
Albrecht nodded, as did Arkady.
"Then let the combatants take the field."
Albrecht stood up. His armor was strapped over his trench coat: a small breastplate and epaulettes, carved with ornate pictogram sigils, and vambraces on his arms. He sauntered out into the circle and stopped, taking his place just inside the marks.
Arkady also rose, walking into the circle. His battle armor was more impressive than Albrecht's — black with an ornate breastplate and vambraces. Thick, black leather covered the rest of him. He was an impressive-looking warrior.
"Draw your weapons," Regina said.
Albrecht pulled his Grand Klaive from the sidesheath in his trench coat. The crowd recognized it and began murmuring. It was a well-known family heirloom, having been used by Morningkill in his youth, and by his Garou predecessors before him.
Arkady drew his blade; not a Grand Klaive, but one which he handled well. He swished it around in a circle and seemed to be perfectly at ease with it.
"Fight!" Regina yelled.
Albrecht immediately crouched low and moved forward, his klaive out before him, ready to parry any blow. Arkady walked toward Albrecht, his klaive swinging slowly in an arc from right to left. Albrecht began to slide to the right, trying to circle Arkady, but Arkady moved to his left, cancelling out Albrecht's move.
"Well, Arkady?" Albrecht said. "Why don't you come at me?"
"I will act when I feel like acting," Arkady said, still swirling his klaive. "Not when you prefer it. Why? Are you afraid to take the initiative?"
"Ha! I just want to make this last, to give the crowd a show. If I started first, this would all be over in seconds."
"You are such a braggart," Arkady said, moving slowly and carefully forward. Albrecht stood his ground, his large sword out before him. "Why do you not back up your words with action?"
"I like watching you swing that thing around. Ever thought of taking up tennis? 'Cause that's what you look like, a wussy tennis player swinging a racket."
Arkady growled. "You had best take Crinos form, Albrecht. It will hurt very badly for you otherwise."
"You first, Rusky."
Arkady leapt forward, dropping down as he reached Albrecht and stabbing his knife up from below. Albrecht took one step back and easily parried. He then stepped to the right and swung his sword down, but Arkady rolled away and stood up straight again.
"Temper, temper, Arkady. I saw that coming a mile away."
"I was simply stretching," Arkady said, standing in place and swinging his klaive in an arc again. "I did not get all my exercises done earlier."
"Oh? Too busy jacking off?"
Arkady's face contorted into a grimace. He began growling and his shoulders grew broader, his arms bigger and his legs longer. He was shifting to Glabro form.
Albrecht shook his head. "Tsk, tsk. Can't even stay in Homid form long enough to throw a few taunts, huh?"
Suddenly Arkady was in Crinos form, a towering wolfman who came hurtling at Albrecht with incredible speed. His klaive whirled in a blur, one Albrecht could barely keep track of. But instead of stepping back on the defensive, Albrecht lunged forward, stabbing his sword into the whirling arc of Arkady's klaive. Arkady was taken by surprise and his klaive was knocked from his hand. He jumped back, dodging Albrecht's slashes as Albrecht closed the distance between them.
Arkady then slipped to the side when Albrecht least expected it and reached out with a claw to slice at Albrecht's shoulder beneath the epaulette before he could bring his klaive up to block it. Blood sprayed forth. Arkady had scored first blood.
Albrecht stepped back, bringing his klaive up and calming himself, ignoring the pain. It was just a scratch. But the distraction allowed Arkady to run off and pick up his klaive.
He's good, Albrecht thought. He's more flexible than I am. I thought I had him, and even though he was surprised, he escaped pretty quick. I've gotta be a bit more careful. Ready for anything.
Arkady was now smiling, his klaive again circling in his hand. Albrecht growled and began to shift forms, growing into Crinos. He was huge in Crinos, although he and Arkady were almost equal in height. Albrecht's fur was white, but Arkady's was even more purely white, the sign of superior breeding.
Albrecht stomped forward toward Arkady, tired of playing around. He wanted to get this over with. He had never been much for taunting in combat, and he didn't know why he had wanted to do it earlier. Had he been scared? Trying to test Arkady's boundaries? Screw that! Time to kick butt.
Arkady slowly backed away as Albrecht came closer, but Albrecht didn't hesitate. He kept coming. Arkady tried to slip to Albrecht's left, but Albrecht stepped over and cut him off. He was in range now and began to swing his klaive wildly at Arkady, with such powerful blows that Arkady knew he couldn't parry them and was forced to dodge.
But he didn't dodge. The Russian Garou stepped forward, past Albrecht's reach, and thrust in with his klaive. It slid down Albrecht's breastplate and sank into his stomach. He barked in pain and tried to step back, but he couldn't bring his large klaive up quickly enough with Arkady so close. But the other Garou moved in closer, twisting his knife in Albrecht's gut. The pain was incredible! Albrecht shut his eyes and forced himself not to lose control. He dropped his sword and grasped Arkady's head, driving his thumbs into his opponent's eyes.
Arkady screamed and pulled back, leaving his klaive in Albrecht's stomach. One of his eyes had been put out by Albrecht's claw, but Albrecht had missed the other one, managing only to scratch the eyebrow. Blood poured down Arkady's face, blinding his good eye. He ran back, trying to get clear. Albrecht ran forward, picking up his klaive and swinging it at Arkady's torso.
It was a clean shot. Arkady was in for it. The fight was almost over.
But Albrecht tripped and fell to the ground. The klaive in his stomach hit the dirt first, driving deeper, exiting the other side, barely missing his spine. He yelled in pain, coughing up blood, stunned and unable to move.
Arkady ran over, wiping the blood out of his good eye. He slashed at Albrecht with his claw, tearing through the back of Albrecht's trench coat and ripping a layer of muscle off. He drew back for another blow, but Albrecht leapt up and knocked him off balance. Rather than taking advantage of it, however, Albrecht ran to the edge of the circle and pulled Arkady's klaive out of his stomach. Blood poured forth from the wound and Albrecht clutched it tight. Nothing worse than a gut wound, Albrecht thought. Hurts like hell.
He looked at Arkady, who cautiously came at him. Arkady was barely hurt, and Albrecht was almost dead. Albrecht wondered how that had happened. He had had a clean shot, damn it! How had he tripped? There was nothing on the field! He had checked it out himself.
He raised his klaive at the last minute to parry one of Arkady's rakes. Arkady didn't seem to expect it and couldn't pull back in time, and the klaive cut through his forearm to the bone. Arkady gasped and pulled back. Albrecht stumbled forward, trying to take advantage of the surprise. He slashed upwards and then quickly to the side. The blade caught Arkady on the right shoulder, slicing through the battle armor and the bone. Arkady's arm fell to the ground.
Arkady screamed in rage and clutched his shoulder, running to the far side of the field. Albrecht tried to follow right behind him, but the pain kept him from running too fast. Arkady spun around then and ran right back at Albrecht. As Albrecht stopped and pointed his klaive forward to receive the charge, Arkady leapt into the air.
He flew past Albrecht, who tried to duck, but Arkady's claw caught him on the scalp, tearing out a chunk of hair and opening a large gash.
Albrecht fell to the ground, stunned again. He tried to stand and turn, blindly swinging his sword behind him at the foe he knew must be there. He was right. His klaive connected and Arkady grunted, but the klaive was now stuck in Arkady's left thigh. Arkady stepped back to take a breath, obviously fighting to control his rage.
Albrecht blinked and wiped the blood off his forehead before it could run down into his eyes. He readied himself for Arkady's attack as Arkady pulled Albrecht's klaive from his thigh and smiled. He began to swing it around in a circle as he approached Albrecht.
Albrecht felt dizzy watching it. He was suffering from massive blood loss and a concussion, he was sure. And now Arkady had his klaive and was going to carve him up with it. Sure, he had cost the Garou an eye and an arm, and given him a big wound to the thigh, but he was still coming on while Albrecht felt like he was about to faint.
Arkady came near Albrecht and pulled the sword back to slash at him. Albrecht fell down and the sword cut empty air over his head.
Albrecht, too weak to continue, drew in a deep breath and said, "I surrender, Arkady."
Arkady didn't seem to hear him. He stepped forward and drew the sword back again.
"Damn it, it's over. I surrender," Albrecht said, barely able to sit up.
Arkady's eyes narrowed and he began to swing the sword.
Albrecht shut his eyes, but the blow never landed. He opened his eyes, blinking from the blood running into them, to see Arkady, sword poised in mid-swing, staring past Albrecht at Regina, who was giving him an angry stare. Albrecht could barely hear her deep growl from here. Her message was clear: You can kill him, Arkady, but king or no, I will make you pay for it later.
Arkady stood there, seeming to weigh his options. He then dropped Albrecht's klaive and turned away, limping back to his chair. "Get out of here, Albrecht. You will be gone by tomorrow. And you won't return to my protectorate."
Albrecht sat there, staring at Arkady's back. He then shut his eyes and cursed himself.
Chapter Eight
Albrecht stared up at the night sky and the crescent moon stared back at him. He breathed heavily, wincing in pain with each exhalation. Thomas Abbot moved his hands over his stomach and concentrated. The wound began to seal up. Albrecht breathed more easily as the pain subsided.
"Turn over," Abbot said.
Albrecht rolled over onto his side. Blood ran down his back, staining the dirt. Abbot touched the torn muscles and again concentrated, calling on the healing power of the spirits to reknit Albrecht's ripped flesh. He then healed the scratch on Albrecht's shoulder. Albrecht felt much better, but he knew he would be sore for a while.
"Now, sit up," Abbot said, and Albrecht groaned as he obeyed. He almost fell back down as a wave of dizziness came over him. Abbot felt his forehead and then healed it. The blood stopped flowing and the wound closed up.
Albrecht smiled at Abbot. "Thanks. I feel like a million dollars."
Abbot didn't say anything. He just stood up and walked away. "Try to get some rest."
Albrecht sighed. He got up and looked around. Most of the spectators had left, following Arkady and his pack. Arkady's wounds had been healed and he had declared a victory party by the edge of the bawn. Most of the Garou had gone to celebrate with their new king.
Greyfist and Eliphas stood nearby, talking quietly between themselves. Eliphas looked worried, and Greyfist was frowning. Albrecht walked over to them.
"Hey, no need for long faces," he said. "I'm fit as I ever was. And you won't have to put up with me as king now. You should be celebrating."
Greyfist looked gravely at Albrecht. "We need to talk. In my office."
Albrecht looked at Greyfist as the Garou walked off to the mansion. He turned to Eliphas, who had begun to follow. "What's up with him? Sore loser?"
Eliphas stared at Albrecht as if he couldn't believe what the man was saying. "I think you need to hear this," he said and followed after Greyfist.
Albrecht pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and followed. As he entered the office, Greyfist was standing by the window and Eliphas sat on the couch. He closed the door behind him.
"So what's up?" Albrecht said, getting a bit worried now.
Greyfist didn't turn from the window as he said, "Arkady cheated."
"Oh, come on now," Albrecht said. "You saw it. You were right all along; he really is better than me."
Greyfist turned around. "No he's not. You had him dead by rights with that one blow. Then you fell."
Albrecht flushed with humiliation. "Yeah, well…" He puffed on his cigarette. "Do we have to have a blow-by-blow? I know my mistakes. He got lucky on that one and was able to turn the tide from there."
Greyfist looked solemnly at Albrecht. "Eliphas, tell Albrecht what you told me."
Albrecht turned to the young man, who seemed very worried. "What? What is it?"
Eliphas leaned back on the couch, not meeting Albrecht's eyes. "I… I was given my accouterments as Gatekeeper yesterday. But I have not completed the training yet, so I can't be sure—"
"Don't bandy words," Greyfist interrupted. "You know the fetish was correct."
Eliphas nodded, swallowing nervously. "Yes. It can't be wrong, can it?"
Albrecht sat down next to Eliphas. "What can't? Tell me what the hell happened."
Eliphas looked at him now. "I have a fetish, the Spirit Ward of the caern. It has been used by every Gatekeeper of North Country for three centuries now. Its purpose is to alert the Gatekeeper to intruder spirits who enter the caern. It detected one during the fight. There was an alien spirit on the field. That was what tripped you."
Albrecht leaned back, his mouth open and his head shaking. "You mean Arkady brought in a spirit to cheat?"
"That's not all," Greyfist said. "It was a Bane."
Albrecht growled. "No. That can't be. Not even Arkady is that stupid."
"But the fetish does not lie," Eliphas said, exasperated. "When it warned me, I didn't know what to do. I've only just become the Gatekeeper, and Garrick is not around to train me. I went into the Umbra to see it with my own eyes, but it had fled by then. However, the area… stank of the Wyrm. It had left the scent of its corruption behind."
"Wait a minute," Albrecht said. "That could have been the smell of the Black Spiral Dancers from a few days ago."
Greyfist shook his head. "No. Rites of Cleansing removed those yesterday. Regina saw to it personally. This was a new scent."
Albrecht shook his head, staring into the corner of the library.
"Why is this so hard for you to believe, Albrecht?" Greyfist asked. "I've suspected for some time that he was behind the Black Spiral Dancer attack. He's obviously made allies among the Wyrm."
"That bastard," Albrecht said, gritting his teeth. "I would have won. I would have had him."
"Quit being so damn selfish!" Greyfist snapped.
Albrecht looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean? He caused me to lose the fight."
"Don't you understand what this means? Arkady is king now! He has brought the taint of the Wyrm onto the throne!"
Albrecht shuddered. His guts turned. It was his fault. If he'd been able to beat Arkady, the throne wouldn't be in danger of corruption. He had to do something. Albrecht stood up, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Greyfist said.
"To take this up with Arkady," Albrecht said, reaching for the doorknob.
"You can't!" Greyfist yelled. "You've just lost a challenge to him. You can't challenge him again; he doesn't have to accept it. The others would turn against you, and your accusation would be assumed false."
Albrecht stopped and looked down at the floor, thinking. "We've got to reveal this! He can't get away with it."
"I've already thought through all the options," Greyfist said, turning toward the window again. "Eliphas cannot bring forth the accusation bec
ause he is too new at his position, too low in rank. He has no tangible proof by which to accuse the sept's Master of the Challenge, only the faint evidence of the spirit's tracks, and no definite connection between that spirit and Arkady. Arkady is fresh from his victory and has many allies. The sept wants a king, and he has proven his right by combat to be king. Arkady would ridicule Eliphas, and force a physical challenge." Greyfist paused. "No. I have to challenge Arkady."
"What?" Albrecht said, walking back to the center of the room, staring at Greyfist's back. "You will do no such thing! He'll tear you to pieces in seconds. Hell, you know I can beat the crap out of you, and if he can get me, you don't stand a chance. Besides, what if he cheats again?"
"There is always Gamecraft. I can easily best him at that."
"But you are the one bringing the challenge. The form of resolution will be his choice. He'll choose klaives — you know it."
Greyfist sat down at his desk. "You're right. We have a treacherous secret and we can't even reveal it. Damn this whole system of rights and challenges! If only the mighty rule, then the mighty can bring us down."
"But only the mighty can protect us from the Wyrm," Albrecht said, "Or so the theory goes."
They all sat in silence for a while. Greyfist looked out the window and seemed to be struggling with heavy thoughts. Then he looked at the other two. "There is one hope."
Albrecht looked up at him. "What?"
Greyfist looked down at the desk nervously. "It… it's a bit preposterous, really. It came to me in a dream. I've been struggling to figure it out over the last few days. It's made me think a lot about our tribe's situation."
"A dream?" Albrecht said. "What makes you think this one was special?"
Greyfist looked straight at Albrecht. "I believe this dream was sent by Falcon."
Albrecht didn't say anything, but looked back at Greyfist, waiting for him to continue.
"Have you ever heard of the Silver Crown?"
Albrecht frowned. "It's an old legend, isn't it? Something about the first crown worn by a Silver Fang king? Back in the Dawn Times ?"
The Silver Crown Page 8
