Visions danced in his head, images of the past. King Morningkill bent down over Albrecht, a child of twelve, and patted his shoulder. The king dipped his hand in paint and drew a pictogram across Albrecht's face. The sign of the chosen. At twelve years old, before even his Firsting, Albrecht was chosen heir to the throne. Morningkill smiled at Albrecht.
The images swirled in his mind. His first kill, a simple Bane. But it had been his first and he had done it well. The admiration of his young packmates, the other Fangs who had undergone their rites with him, becoming Garou together. The praise and cheers for the boy who would one day be king.
And the growing vanity from such praise. Albrecht saw again the scene of his exile. He dragged the Wyrm carcass behind him, beaming with pride. But Morningkill stood up on his throne and commanded Albrecht to kneel. Albrecht refused and was banished by the king. He lost his temper and leapt at his grandfather, but Greyfist pulled him back.
New York. He wandered the streets, alone. The Bone Gnawers had been pleased to welcome him, but he disdained their company. As the days passed and soon the months, he grew more and more like them, fishing his meals from garbage cans. He drank bottle after bottle of increasingly worse alcohol. Every day made him more cynical, more gutter-mouthed. He had once spoken only as a high-born Fang was expected to, but his speech soon devolved into curse word after curse word.
Then Evan ran into him, colliding with him in the street, running for his life from Black Spiral Dancers. He had his Firsting right there, tearing into the Spirals and killing them. Albrecht took him in and helped him get to the northern spirits who taught him his heritage. And in the process, he climbed out of the gutter. He had been saved by Falcon then. He had been considered worthy by the great bird. But now…?
The pain was gone. Albrecht blinked and opened his eyes.
A golden light came from behind Albrecht, and before he turned to look at its source, he heard the flapping of huge wings and the clack of talons on marble tile.
He turned his head and beheld Falcon. Not the tiny spirit that had led him here, but Falcon himself. The totem of the Silver Fangs stood incarnate in the room. The great bird emanated golden light from his shining feathers and an even brighter radiance from his eyes. He looked down at Albrecht.
And bowed his head.
Albrecht let out a sigh. He had survived. He had been judged worthy by the greatest judge of honor there was. By the totem which stood for honor, the totem which, in a deep, mystical way, was honor incarnate.
Arkady whimpered and withdrew his hand from Albrecht's guts. He crawled back a few feet, staring in fear at Falcon.
Albrecht stood up, holding in his intestines, and Falcon opened his wings wide. A golden glow blinded everyone in the room. The Black Spiral Dancers screamed and clutched their eyes, scuttling into the corner. When the glow subsided, Albrecht blinked, staring down at his body. At his fur and claws. He gnashed his teeth and howled for joy that he now had teeth to gnash. He was whole again, his stomach sealed and his arm usable.
He looked around the room. Everyone was staring at him. Albrecht turned to Arkady, who was still on the floor. The Garou did not meet his gaze. Instead, he stared at Falcon, trembling. Albrecht turned back to Falcon.
Falcon spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. "He is yours to command, King Albrecht. You wear the Silver Crown. You are king of the Garou, as ordained by Gaia at the Dawn. What is your command to him?"
Albrecht looked back at Arkady. He knew this was his most important moment. His first royal edict. His ruling would be a reality, no matter what Arkady wished otherwise. The crown would ensure that. It would force Arkady to do his bidding. And that was a terrible power to wield.
Albrecht thought. He could kill Arkady outright. Or worse, he could force the Garou to suffer what he had: loss of his pelt. He savored that thought. But then he realized what it would do to him if he went through with it. He would be Arkady. In many ways, they were reflections of each other already: both exiles, both royals, both contenders for the crown. But he wanted nothing to do with Arkady's style of rulership as displayed by what Albrecht had just gone through.
But was mercy proper here? Did Arkady deserve it? He had killed Greyfist, Albrecht's oldest friend and a trusted seneschal. Didn't Greyfist deserve revenge? To be weak here, to fail to dole out the proper justice...Who would that ruling harm in the future?
Albrecht felt the full weight of the crown: not a physical weight, but one of responsibility. Arkady's life was in his hands. Arkady, who could go on to harm other Garou as he had his own sept. But Albrecht had always hated the sanctimonious leaders who so casually handed out life or death sentences, never seeming to care for the consequences of their edicts. He knew that he could not let hate rule him. He had to rule his own rage before he could rule others.
Damn it, he thought. I don't want to become what I most hate. I don't want to be a despot. I don't want to be the strong arm of authority.
"Get up, Arkady," Albrecht said.
Arkady looked up at him suspiciously, trembling. But he stood up, as if he had no choice. The power of the crown compelled him.
"I am not going to kill you, although you damn well deserve it."
Arkady's eyebrows rose. He stared in utter shock at Albrecht.
"But you are now an exile. Not just from the protectorate, as I was, but from the tribe. You are no longer a Silver Fang."
Arkady lowered his head. "No. Kill me. Don't make me walk alone. Kill me."
"No. Your punishment is to wander alone. Tribeless. No one will take you in. You deserve worse, you asshole. But I won't kill you. I'm not going to start playing that game. I ought to thank you, in a twisted way. You helped me shed my skin here. Literally. A friend of mine says that's what the problem with the world is: The Wyrm's not shedding its skin."
Arkady looked at Albrecht with contempt and a sneer on his face.
"And just for that grimace you're wearing," Albrecht said, "you can bow down and acknowledge your punishment."
Arkady growled but seemed unable to resist Albrecht's command. He bowed.
"Get out of here. Get out of the city, out of the state. Get out of the fucking country. Go back to where you came from."
Arkady looked up at Albrecht with fear in his eyes. "No. You can't. Not back to Russia. You don't know how things are there. You don't know the power of the Hag—"
"And I don't give a damn. Just go."
Arkady rose, all his will useless before the power of the true king's commands. He walked to the passageway, trembling with anger.
"One more thing," Albrecht said. "You are forbidden to deal with Black Spiral Dancers. Not even they can help you now."
Arkady looked at Albrecht. All the hate and anger in him had drained away. All that was left was sorrow. "You do not know what it is to walk alone, Albrecht. Even you, who have known exile, do not know the terror of the ronin. Do you think this fate I will now suffer is unknown to me? It was my life in Russia. A hard life. Only the Black Spiral Dancers offered aid. But when I arrived here, in North Country, I was accepted. No communication could escape Russia to reveal my past there. I swore never to lose that acceptance. Being king would have allowed me to keep that and eventually to betray the Black Spirals who had so beholden me to them. But you have ruined that."
He turned and crawled into the passageway. Albrecht said nothing else to him.
Albrecht looked at the Black Spiral Dancers. He then looked at Evan and Mari. "All right. You're my advisors. What do we do with them?"
"Kill them," Mari said, staring murderously at them. "Kill them all."
Evan lowered his head and said nothing, but Albrecht could see the hate he had for them, and his shame at that hate.
"I want you to go back to your caern," Albrecht said, addressing all of the Dancers, who tried to avert their gazes but could not. They were, after all, Garou, and Albrecht wore the Silver Crown. "And kill everything you see there. If you don't get killed in the process, I want you to fall on
yourselves and kill each other. If one of you is left after that, that one may live. But I want the survivor to tell this story to all your kind. Let them know that they better not fuck with me. Get out of here."
The Black Spiral Dancers ran for the passageway, bloodlust already in their eyes. They were looking forward to the coming blood-bath. All except one, the last one out of the room. Arglach. He stared back at Albrecht with fury.
"I am now leader in Dagrack's place," he said. "Leader of my hive. And you make me destroy it. From one leader to another, if I survive, I will kill you some day." He then crawled into the passage to follow his grunting and howling war party back to their Moon Bridge.
When they were gone, Albrecht turned to Falcon.
"I want to thank you for everything you've done. It seems you're always getting me out of a mess."
"You govern your own actions. I only act to aid my children when all else has failed. You had to complete the quest as far as you could; but it was impossible to complete it without me. I led you here, but only you could make the final sacrifice."
"Look… I am a bit worried about this kingship thing. This ultimate power scares me a bit."
"Have no fear. Your ability to command the actions of others is no longer a trait of the crown."
"Huh?"
"It was a test, Albrecht. As everything else has been. The first command is the most important. It will hallow or taint your days forever after. The test is over. The crown's powers are no longer so great."
"Did I choose right, then? Should I have killed Arkady?"
Falcon was silent.
"Look… If the crown isn't so powerful anymore, what good is it?"
"It is the symbol of Gaia's unity. One king over all the tribes. One law for all the tribes. The Litany. You wear the crown, so you must support the Litany, even when it harms your tribe. The other tribes may not immediately recognize your position, but if you rule wisely, they will learn by example."
"So all those legends about the crown's amazing powers were just tall tales?"
"No, they were true. But that was another age. The time of the king is fading, Albrecht. Gaia willing, there will come a time when all of Gaia's creatures will be able to rule themselves with no guidance but their own hearts."
"But wait a minute. The crown is from the Dawn. Everything was perfect then. Why did they need the crown?"
"Perfect? What age has ever been perfect? Things were newly born then, Albrecht. Unformed. Their purposes under Gaia had not begun to be fulfilled."
Falcon then spread his wings wide. "Enough instruction. You must return to your caern. Tomorrow is Coronation Day!"
A golden light suffused the room and blinded them all. When they again opened their eyes, they were standing on the field outside Morningkill's mansion, before the throne of the Silver Fangs.
Garou nearby sprang into action, anticipating an intruder, but they stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Falcon and his passengers.
Then Falcon raised his wings once more and was gone.
Albrecht stood there, whole again, completely healed by Falcon. The crown was on his head, a plain silver band. He looked at the Garou, running from all over and pointing at him, staring in awe. Well, he thought, this sure is a change from the last time I was here.
Mari and Evan turned about, looking in all directions.
"Is that the throne?" Evan asked, pointing at the Grand Oak and the seat carved into it.
"Yeah," Albrecht said, eyeing it. He wondered if it were comfortable to sit in.
"All this for that hunk of oak? It doesn't look like much," Mari said.
Albrecht looked at her frowning face and started to laugh. "After all this, that's all you have to say?"
"I'm entitled to my own criticism," Mari said.
Albrecht shook his head and walked up to the throne. He sat down on it. As he sat in the seat of his grandfather, he looked out over the Garou gathering around, staring at him with expectant faces, waiting for him to speak.
And he realized that the hardest part was just beginning.
Epilogue
The rites had been performed. They had taken the entire day and most of the night, but they were done. Lord Albrecht was now King Albrecht, invested through the rituals of his people.
There had been a special guest for the investiture, one Albrecht had invited personally. One who had not set foot within the caern for a longer time even than Albrecht's exile. Loba Carcassone stood proudly to the right of the throne, the position of the king's chosen, his favored warriors. The Silver Fang pariah had long been ignored for her campaign against the Wyrm's child-abuse plots, but now she was honored for them, recognized as the hero she was. Albrecht knew that, if everything she said about the Defiler Wyrm was true, there would be an accounting soon — even if he had to lead the charge himself. But that was a matter for the future. For now, Loba once again stood in her tribal protectorate. The exiles had come home.
The feast lasted for a week. Celebrants were invited from all over, even from the other tribes. Antonine Teardrop was there for the Stargazers. Mother Larissa came for the Bone Gnawers. Others came, too, leaders of their own protectorates or septs: Alani Astarte, the wise old matron of the Black Furies; Pearl River and True Silverheels of the Children of Gaia, two level-headed ex-hippies; the somewhat rowdy but entertaining Riordan Cliffgrazer of the Fianna; and Nepthys Mu'at of the Silent Striders, who didn't stay long.
The Get of Fenris sent no one. Their leader, Arn Guth Stormbright, had never been a friend to Albrecht. The same for the Red Talons and the Shadow Lords, all nursing sour thoughts about the Silver Fangs in general and Albrecht in particular. The Uktena and Wendigo were also absent. They did not recognize the Silver Fangs' rule, and so stayed away.
Yet this was the first time in many years that so many tribal leaders had come together. It was an occasion for true celebration. Albrecht couldn't believe it himself. Two days ago he had been just an uncouth, prideful Garou to them. Now, they came to wish him well and to discuss the future between their tribes.
Albrecht had hidden in Greyfist's library for most of the first day, nervous and unsure of how to receive them. He had never done anything remotely like this before.
There was a knock on the door, and Evan poked his head in.
"Hey, kid," Albrecht said, pacing before the desk.
Evan walked in. "You're going to have to go out there. We told them you're still suffering from your wounds, but that you'd be out soon."
"I can't do this! I'm not a diplomat. I can't schmooze with these guys."
"You don't have to. Just be yourself. They'll respect that more."
"Oh, yeah. Right. They'll respect me for being myself? For cursing and spitting out cynical homilies at every turn? They'll love me. I'll be a hit."
"Albrecht, quit whining. You've been through much worse than a simple party. You know how to do this. What did your grandfather use to do?"
Albrecht stopped pacing. "I remember once, long ago, when a high and mighty Garou came to see him. Bull Roarer, I think, of the Uktena. I don't know what he was doing here. But he's old and respected. Jacob stepped down from the throne and greeted him in Lupus form, which seemed to please the old wolf."
"See? You've got a good example to follow in your grandfather."
"Ha! Then there was the time, much later, when Kleon Winston came. You know, the Glass Walker Don? Morningkill made him wait out in the rain for an hour before he finally saw him. And then Winston left angry anyway. It's funny, but the electricity in the mansion didn't work too well for a month after that. We figured the Walker had left a gremlin behind for his troubles."
"So? It's still an example. It's just what not to do. You've got both angles now."
Albrecht looked at Evan. "Always looking on the bright side, huh?"
Evan looked back at him. "Even when we were getting kicked around by those Dancers, I knew you'd succeed. I don't think Mari had such faith, but I did. I knew I might die. But I knew
you would succeed so you could take the throne and unite the tribes — those tribes out there on the field waiting for you. If I had died, what would you have done now?"
Albrecht was silent for a moment. "I'd have gone out there and made peace. For your sake."
"Good. And now that I'm alive, you're not going to?"
Albrecht smiled. "All right, Master Po. I'm going out there." He punched Evan in the arm as he walked past him. And then he went out to greet the dignitaries.
* * * *
The feast was over. The guests had gone home, satisfied that the king was someone they could deal with. They did not universally recognize his rule over their tribes, but they did realize that he was a fair judge who could help them work through their own disputes.
The Silver Fangs of the North Country Protectorate all beamed with pride. The grandson of King Jacob Morningkill now sat on the throne. Things were as they should be. The low had again been raised high.
Albrecht sat on the throne, watching the Kin families clean up the field of litter left after the feast. He smoked a fat, smelly cigar and had his feet up on the armrest of the throne as he leaned back over the other armrest. He belched.
The party had been over for a few hours now. He had changed back into his old clothes, a T-shirt and jeans. His klaive hung from its shoulder holster on his left side. His long hair was no longer tied back, but flowed loosely down his shoulders. He hadn't shaved for a few days, and his beard was coming back. And the crown was on his head, immovable.
Seeing Evan and Mari walking across the field toward him, Albrecht sat up straight and put out the cigar. They were only his packmates, but he had learned from the last few days that he needed to clean up his act if he was going to lead the tribe.
Mari shook her head as she approached. They came and stood at the foot of the throne, looking up at him.
"We're going back to New York," Mari said.
"What?!" Albrecht barked, sitting up. "But you've got great digs here!"
"We live in New York, Albrecht."
Albrecht frowned and slouched again. "Yeah. I guess. Hey! I can visit anytime I want. I'm king, aren't I? No more waiting in line for Moon Bridges. No more greasing the palm of the Gatekeeper. Anytime! You guys can come back anytime, too. Sure."
The Silver Crown Page 22
