The Silver Crown

by William Bridges

  Mari sometimes really had it in for him, but when it came to issues of pack unity against an outside force, she could come off like his personal guardian and protector. She was the same way with Evan.

  "Can I ask you something?" Eliphas said, bringing Albrecht out of his reverie. Albrecht looked at the road ahead and saw they were approaching a town. Middlebury. And past Middlebury, near the foot of the Green Mountains, was the Morningkill estate. They were almost there. Almost to the court.

  "Sure, go ahead," Albrecht replied, sitting back and looking straight ahead.

  "Why were you exiled?"

  Albrecht was quiet for a while, looking out at the white birches they passed, ghostly blurs at this speed. "I guess you don't know. You're young enough not to understand what really went on. Morningkill and I didn't get along too well. He didn't like the idea of any Garou who could threaten his power, one who might make a better leader than him or who could point out his failings to others. Me? I was too big for my own britches. I pushed his button one too many times. I had come back from nearly getting my ass trashed by a Wyrm creature — the Vssh'krang, I think it was — and I did it alone, too. My pack was dead by then, so I was sort of a free agent waiting to make a pack of my own."

  "Anyway, I dragged the thing's carcass back to the caern and presented it before the court, demanding they shower me with honor and glory and all the stuff heroes deserve. But Morningkill had gotten tired of these shows of mine. Yeah, I proved I could kick butt good, but Morningkill thought maybe I was too good. He aimed to feed me a fat slice of humble pie. I wasn't having any of that, and he knew it. So, for insolence before the king, he kicked me out."

  "That doesn't seem right," Eliphas said, his brow furrowed in worry. "He was the king. He's supposed to reward us when we do our duty to Gaia."

  "Yeah. So? The world ain't fair in that respect. It throws us all kinds of curves, like a mad, paranoid king who kicks the best and the brightest out of court."

  "But all the other exiles? Surely not all of them were exiled out of vanity?" Eliphas looked very worried now.

  "Who? Loba Carcassone? She opened her mouth about the Defiler Wyrm's plots once too often. Morningkill didn't want to hear that crap. If he listened to her, then he'd have to do something about the Wyrm, wouldn't he?"

  "But everyone knows Carcassone is crazy, with her talk about the Wyrm hiding in little children, and some sort of generations-long conspiracy to corrupt humans—"

  "Is she crazy? I'm not so sure about that. You get out of the caern more often and you'll see some truly weird shit. And as for the other exiles, what about those two who attacked me? What's the story there?"

  "They were plotting against Morningkill. Arkady revealed the plot and personally chased them from the caern after Morningkill declared their punishment."

  "Arkady, huh? I never liked that guy. That air of his, like he's holier than Gaia. And you said he's the one trying for the throne? Did you ever think that maybe he had those two kicked out because they discovered his kingly aspirations and were going to tell Morningkill? After all, Morningkill wouldn't abide anyone who wanted to be king in his place. Arkady would have wound up on the outside, like me and Loba. Hell, maybe he and I are in the same boat together, and he just wanted to save the Fangs from Morningkill's madness."

  Eliphas didn't say anything. He drove on in silence, staring straight at the road ahead.

  "Don't get me wrong," Albrecht said. "Morningkill and I used to be real close. I'm going to miss him, even after all he did to me. Hell, he was my grandfather, and he was damn proud that his grandson was a Garou. It used to be good between us. But he just kept getting more and more paranoid, and I just got cockier and cockier. There's nothing to be done about it now, though. He's dead and that's that."

  They drove on in silence. Soon Eliphas pulled onto a side road, and about a mile or two down he pulled off onto a one-lane road. They passed an open gate and Albrecht saw two men in the rear-view mirror watching them as they drove past. They were dressed in black and wore long knives in their belts. Garou guards with klaives.

  Albrecht looked ahead and saw the mansion through the trees. Cars were parked to either side of the drive. As they pulled into the cul de sac in front of the house, Albrecht saw that every space was taken.

  "No one has left yet," Eliphas said. "From the moot, that is. Everyone is needed for the caern defense."

  "Makes sense," Albrecht said, looking about. No others were in sight. "Just let me out here. I'll find my way around."

  "Thanks for the ride."

  Eliphas nodded and Albrecht got out of the car. Eliphas turned the car around and drove down the lane looking for a parking space. Albrecht walked around the mansion, staring up at his childhood home.

  It had been a long time indeed, he thought, looking at the large house. The two-story, two-wing mansion stood large in his memory, and loomed over him now. It was exactly as he remembered it. Nothing had changed. The maple trees in the yard were older, but that was the only proof that time had passed. Morningkill had not liked change. He certainly made sure that it did not come to his house. At least, judging by the looks of it. But things would certainly change now.

  Albrecht walked around the south wing of the house, looking in the windows. Same old rooms with the same old furniture. Classic antiques. No one was inside. He came around to the rear of the house and looked out over the large field.

  The first thing to catch his eye was not the group of Garou out on the field, working to cover what looked to be tunnels. Or the empty tents, still standing from the aborted moot. The thing which caught his eye and drew his breath away was the tree. The Grand Oak. A huge, towering mammoth of an oak. And at its base was the throne. The king's throne.

  But something was wrong, or rather, something was not exactly right with the throne. Albrecht had not seen it in years, but he knew it well from his youth, and he knew that the bloodstains did not belong. They were alien, intruders in the court. A sign that all was not right with the world. Standing and staring at the dried blood of his grandfather, Albrecht knew that this was going to be harder to deal with than he had thought.

  He looked out over the field to the Garou who performed rites by the holes in the ground. The Black Spiral Dancer tunnels, thought Albrecht. The Garou were plugging them with dirt and shovels and using the secrets taught them by spirits to add more dirt where necessary. Albrecht figured that more Garou were in the Umbra, the spirit world, likewise using spirits to seal up the rents in their territory. Rites of Cleansing would also be performed, to remove any lingering taint of corruption left by the deformed Garou's passage.

  The workers were looking at Albrecht now, some with unreadable expressions, others with looks of anger. One Garou, whose back was to Albrecht, turned to see what they were staring at. He was an older Garou, with black hair going gray and a strong physique. He saw Albrecht and his face broke into a smile. He walked quickly over to Albrecht and embraced him.

  "Hello, Greyfist," Albrecht said. "It's been a while."

  "Damn. I'd wondered if I'd ever see you again," Greyfist said, looking Albrecht over. "Here you are."

  "Yeah. Here I am," Albrecht said, watching the Garou workers, who all stared at him in uncomfortable silence.

  Greyfist looked at the workers. "Hurry up! Get those breaches sealed! What are you waiting for? Another attack?" He turned back to Albrecht. "Come on. We can talk in my office."

  "Your office? Since when have you had an office?"

  "Since Morningkill appointed me seneschal," Greyfist said, leading Albrecht into the mansion and down a hall.

  "You? Good lord! He really was crazy!"

  Greyfist smiled and opened a door into a large room filled with wall-to-wall bookcases. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing toward a couch while he walked to a large desk and pulled a pipe from the top drawer.

  "No thanks," Albrecht said, walking around the room. "I've been sitting all morning. It's a long drive here."

  "Sorry. Y
ou're the one who chose to live in New York." Greyfist lit his pipe and sat in a leather chair behind the desk.

  "I didn't choose. The Gnawers were the only ones who would have me. You're lucky I didn't move to Alaska or someplace equally remote." Albrecht walked about the office, examining it. He looked at the furnishings and the books along the wall. "Pretty posh place you got here."

  "It's just an office, Albrecht. But I am glad you're here. We need you."

  "We?" Albrecht said, turning toward Greyfist. "You mean the Fangs? What in the world would you need me for?"

  "Cut it out, Albrecht. You know very well that you're next in line to be king."

  "Hold on there! What about Arkady? I thought he wanted the job — I sure as hell don't! What are you thinking? The Fangs kick me out and then want me to rule over them? Yeah, that's real likely. You saw those stares out there."

  Greyfist leaned over the desk and stared intently at Albrecht. "Don't be an idiot. You're Jacob's grandson. You are the first in line. You are scion of the House of Wyrmfoe, the First Family of the North Country Protectorate. Your line built this protectorate, damn it! Your position is the nominal head of the entire North American continent, based on rights of precedence set by your family generations ago when the tribe first came to these lands. All Garou are beholden to the king of North Country."

  "Listen to you. You believe this crap! Let me tell you something: there's not a Garou in all of the state of New York who buys that! Morningkill has been a joke for years. Oh, sure, they're supposed to listen up when the Silver Fang king speaks, but since when have they ever done that? And who's going to make them? Morningkill dragged the crown down with him. No one respects it anymore."

  "That doesn't mean it can't rise again."

  "I don't know if it should."

  Greyfist stared at Albrecht. "What do you mean? It's the throne, damn it!"

  "I mean maybe it's this damn throne and all the authority that comes with it that's dragging us down!" Albrecht said, raising his arms exasperatedly and pacing about in front of the desk. "You've heard the way the other tribes talk about the Fangs. Well, I get a lot of that where I'm from. 'The Fangs are nuts. They're going to bring us all down with their silly dictates.' Maybe it's time the other tribes lived without the Fangs for a while, 'cause either it'll teach them that they can't live without us or, more likely, that they're right and we really are a bunch of inbred fuck-ups."

  Greyfist looked down at his desk, rubbing his pipe between his fingers and thumb, thinking. Then he raised his head and looked at Albrecht again. "You can believe that if you want. Hell, I know most of it's true. But we will never become the leaders we are supposed to be if we don't strive for it. Just because others have failed does not mean we should cease to strive. Too much depends on us. Gaia depends on us. The king is needed."

  "Then let Arkady be king," Albrecht said, walking to the bay window and looking out over the field.

  "Arkady… Arkady is not fit."

  "What do you mean? He's royal, isn't he? That's what Eliphas said. A Crescent Moon even! You can't get much more royal than that. Besides, he's obviously more purebred than I am. Everyone's always known he had some breeding."

  "But I don't trust him, Albrecht. I think he killed Jacob."

  Albrecht spun around and stared angrily at Greyfist. "I thought a Black Spiral did it! That's what I was told. What are you saying?"

  "Calm down. I can't prove it. And yes, a Black Spiral Dancer is what killed Jacob. But I think Arkady was somehow in on it. That he knew it would happen."

  "That's quite an accusation."

  "I know. But it's too damn convenient. Garrick is killed, leaving Regina to take over his duties in addition to her own. And she is still wounded from a mission Morningkill sent her on, one that I think Arkady had something to do with arranging. Arkady's pack — the King's Own, for Gaia's sake — arrives late at the moot, too late to prevent the Black Spiral Dancer from killing Jacob. And Arkady's newfound heritage is announced before the king is even buried. Doesn't it all seem too much to you?"

  Albrecht looked out the window again. "I don't know. Yeah, it sounds real convenient. But I've known odder things to happen. Maybe it's fate. Maybe Arkady is meant to take the throne."

  "It was your grandfather's last wish that you be king."

  Albrecht was silent for a while, staring out the window, across the field, at the throne. The bloodstained throne. "Vanity. That's all. Just vanity. Morningkill wanted the line to continue when he should have known better. The line is obviously unfit."

  Albrecht noticed a woman and a boy walking out onto the field, toward the tents. He turned and walked to the door. "I've got to go. There's someone I haven't seen in a while."

  Greyfist looked out the window and then back at Albrecht, who already had the door open. "They don't like you, Albrecht. Your Kin were shamed at your exile, and suffered for it. They blame you."

  Albrecht looked at him, the anger in his eyes softening. He then walked out the door and back onto the field.

  Chapter Four

  Margot Rothchild looked around the empty tent. The tables and chairs had already been removed, but the tent still stood. Someone really should take them down, she thought. To stand here looking so forlorn, so abandoned… it just isn't right. Not considering what happened to poor Jacob. Someone really should take the tents down, for his sake.

  "Mother, what are they doing out in the field?" Seth said. The ten-year-old boy stood outside the tent, pointing to the Garou rite participants who worked to seal the holes. "They've got those funny sticks with feathers, the ones no one will tell me about. Are they doing magic, mother?"

  Margot looked at her son and felt the fear again: the fear which always gripped her whenever he talked about the Garou. She prayed that it was boyish curiosity and nothing more. Just a boy's fascination with the strange. Not an instinctive yearning. God, please no, not that.

  "Yes, dear," she said, hiding her fear away again. "Don't bother them. They're very busy."

  "But what kind of magic, mother?" Seth persisted, his eyes wide with fascination as he watched one of the Garou raise his staff over his head and let loose a low, almost whispering, howl. "It's a ritual, isn't it? Grandfather says that spirits are always near when the Garou do a ritual. Have you ever seen a spirit, mother?"

  "Yes. But it wasn't very interesting. It was just a bird. Just like any bird."

  "Then how did you know it was a spirit?"

  "It spoke to Morningkill and then flew away into the air and disappeared."

  "In plain sight? It went to the Umbra, didn't it?"

  "I suppose so. Now, let's get back to the car, dear. Your grandfather is expecting us to be there when he is done with his business." Margot reached for Seth's hand, but he tore it away and stepped out onto the field.

  "But I want to watch the rite!" he said.

  "Seth! Get back here! Don't go too close!"

  But Seth was already running toward the Garou. Margot's fear broke free from the little place within her where she hid it. It would hide no longer. "Seth! Please come back!"

  Seth turned to look at her and his eyes widened. He stopped running and stared at her in shock. After a moment she realized he was staring past her, behind her. She turned around and gasped.

  He was taller than she remembered, and he stood so close she wondered how she hadn't heard him approach. "Jonas! You… you startled me," she stammered out, her eyes falling to the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

  "I'm sorry, Margot," Albrecht said. He looked at his cousin, no longer the vivacious girl he'd once known, but a woman in her thirties, premature wrinkles and worry lines clearly visible. Stress had taken its toll on her face and bearing. She stood with shoulders slumped, unable to look him in the face. "How are things? How's the family?"

  "They… they're all right. I..." She turned away, back toward Seth, "My son… he… he's run out. He's going to get in the way…"

  "He's fine, Margot. There's nothing he can d
o to disrupt the rites. I'm sure they want him to watch."

  "But I don't! I… I mean, I'd rather he not bother them. It's rude."

  Albrecht looked out at Seth, who was now standing still, looking back at Albrecht, curiosity on his face. "Has he shown any of the signs? Do they know yet?"

  Margot shuddered. "No. They don't know. They say it may be a few years."

  "I hope the heritage is true. Gaia knows we need more Garou."

  "I've got to go. Warner is waiting—"

  "That's right, Margot," a stern voice said from outside the tent, behind them. Albrecht turned around and saw a middle-aged man in a suit standing and staring angrily at him. "I've been waiting by the car. I think you and Seth should go back there right now."

  Margot said nothing and left, walking over to Seth, who had come back to the tent and was looking at Albrecht with awe. She grabbed his hand and pulled him around the tent, heading toward the mansion.

  "But I want to see Uncle Jonas!" Seth yelled, his eyes still on Albrecht, who smiled back at him.

  "Go to the car, Seth!" the stern man snapped, not taking his eyes off Albrecht.

  Seth followed behind his mother, but looked back at Albrecht as he moved away.

  "Hello, Warner," Albrecht said.

  "Don't even bother, exile," Warner said, the disgust in his voice apparent. "I don't know why you're here, but I want you to leave my family alone."

  "They're my family, too. Margot was my mother's friend. Her only friend here."

  "I don't care about the past. I am concerned with the present, and you are a bad influence on Seth. If he has bred true, you are the last person I want as a role model for him."

  "Oh, calm down, Warner," Albrecht said, shaking his head and looking away from the seething statue of a man before him. "You know my exile was politics, nothing more."