The Silver Crown

by William Bridges

  Albrecht nodded and turned to leave the room.

  "Farewell, O king," Azaera said.

  Albrecht did not respond. He opened the door and walked out, closing it behind him. He couldn't stand the idea of her watching him walking off down the tunnel. He marched back the way he had come, smoldering with barely suppressed rage, ignoring the crawling drones around him.

  As he passed a side tunnel, he heard Mari call out. "Albrecht!"

  He turned to look at her. She and Evan were being led down the passage toward whatever fate awaited them. Evan looked scared, but Mari looked furious, ready to frenzy.

  "I… I'm sorry. I can't do anything," Albrecht said, watching them be pulled away.

  She glared at him. "Asshole! I should have known better than to join you! You've always been a self-obsessed asshole!"

  Evan looked at Albrecht, nodding. "I… understand, just get the crown, Albrecht."

  Albrecht stood there, watching his packmates disappear into the darkness. He trembled in rage, but fought to control it. Mari's accusations he could understand. He expected that from her. But Evan... He gave up too easy. He thought of Albrecht before himself. That's not right, Albrecht thought. I don't deserve that! That kid's putting his trust in the wrong place, damn it. And it makes me feel even shittier than if he cursed me like Mari.

  Albrecht walked down the passage to the Moon Bridge room. He growled at the robed Dancer there to get him to Central Park. The Gatekeeper stared coldly at Albrecht.

  "I can't," the Dancer said. "It has defenses that will not allow my pathstone to connect. Unless, of course, you could give me the proper rites..."

  Albrecht growled at him. "I'll tear your head off! Don't fuck with me! I'm not in the mood. Just send me… Hell, I don't know! To the Silver Fang Homeland in the Umbra."

  The Dancer chewed his lower lip. "I can't. I can get you close, but not into the realm."

  Albrecht grabbed his robe and shook him. "What's your problem? Doesn't this lead anywhere?"

  The Dancer laughed. "It's a Black Spiral Dancer Moon Bridge. Do you want it to lead everywhere?"

  Albrecht let him go. "Just open a Bridge."

  The Gatekeeper began the rite. It was almost identical to the one with which Albrecht was familiar, but the names the Dancer called out to were almost unpronounceable and left a tingling in Albrecht's spine when he heard them.

  A hole in the air opened up, glowing with silver radiance. Albrecht stepped into it and stepped out onto a Moon Path in the Umbra. He was in a featureless landscape under a gibbous moon. The bridge closed behind him, and he was alone.

  With no idea of where to go next.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When the moon finally disappeared below the horizon, dimming the Moon Path, Albrecht was still lost. He had walked for hours and had seen nothing but the path and the ephemeral barrens on either side. No realms or domains to be seen anywhere. The Black Spiral Dancer had lied. He had not put Albrecht anywhere near his destination.

  Albrecht sat down on the path and put his head in his hands. He had never felt so low before. Even after the exile and during the drinking bout that had followed, he had had his youthful pride to prop him up. But now… now he felt he had used up all his luck. This was the universe's revenge for his having been a self-absorbed ass for all these years. Never thinking of others, or even of Gaia really. Always concerned instead with glory.

  But glory ain't worth shit if there's no one to witness it, he thought. It's over. Arkady's going to be king and I'll crawl back to New York, packless again. I'm going to hit the bottle again, that's for sure. This time I ain't getting back out.

  He saw a light to his left and looked up to see a Lune aimlessly floating down the dimming Moon Path. Albrecht got up and stood in its way, blocking the path.

  The Lune floated toward him and stopped inches away, spinning around and around. Then it floated upwards, as if it meant to go over him.

  Albrecht reached up and grabbed it, pulling it back down. "I am lost, hungry and shit out of luck. You are going to take me to the Silver Fang Homeland, do you hear me? I know I don't speak your lingo, but I think you savvy mine. All right? Let's get this over with!"

  The Lune began spinning about furiously, trying to break Albrecht's grip. But Albrecht only squeezed tighter.

  Light exploded from the Lune and a hole opened in the air between it and Albrecht. The Lune tugged itself away, pulling Albrecht into the hole with its momentum before he could fully release his grip. He fell into the Moon Bridge.

  The hole sealed up behind him, shutting out the light, as the Lune continued its enigmatic journey down the path.

  * * * *

  Albrecht fell. He had come out on the other side of the Moon Bridge to find himself in mid-air. Looking down, he saw the ground far below. He figured the distance to be about one hundred yards below as he plummetted toward the ground. The green, autumn-leaf-strewn ground.

  The ground rippled, and became water. Albrecht crashed into it, shattering its wavy mirror and plunging in. He was swinging his limbs about wildly, trying to resurface, when the water turned into sand. His legs were buried in the white particles, and he spat out a mouthful of it.

  He pulled himself out and looked around. He was in a desert. From horizon to horizon, all he saw were sand dunes, slowly shifting in a light breeze.

  I'm in a Wyld realm, he thought. That's gotta be it. A field becomes a lake which becomes a desert. What else could it be?

  He stood up and looked for landmarks of any kind. There was nothing.

  I hope like hell it turns into a beautiful tropical island soon, he thought. 'Cause I'm awful thirsty already. Much more of this and I'll dry up here, king of an empty, forlorn patch of desert.

  Having nothing better to do, he started walking. The sun was bright and burning, so he pulled his trenchcoat off and draped it over his head to shade his face.

  He walked like that for hours, until the sun went down and the moon rose. It was full enough for most humans to have called it a full moon, but, being a Garou, Albrecht was more sensitive to such things. He knew it was still gibbous. The full moon was his moon, an Ahroun's moon, and he knew he'd feel it in his soul when that phase took to the sky. He also knew that when it was full, two nights from now, Arkady would be crowned.

  He had found no food or water. He was exhausted. Without some sustenance soon, he would start feeling the consequences. He could last longer than most humans or animals deprived of food or water, but he knew that the more active he was, the weaker he would get.

  He lay down next to a smoothly rising dune and closed his eyes. In seconds, he was asleep.

  He woke with a start. Something was wrong. He looked around, gripping his klaive. The landscape had changed again. He was now in a wood, surrounded by white birches. The ground was flat and even, a carpet of green grass between the tree trunks. It was eerily pure. Just the trees and the grass, in all directions. The trees even seemed to be lined up in rows, but Albrecht couldn't be sure of this. The moon was high in the sky. He had slept for at least an hour, if not more.

  A voice came from behind him. "The ghosts of dead armies."

  Albrecht was on his feet instantly, turning around with klaive in hand. An old man stood a few feet away, leaning on a birch. He was thin but looked like he once had carried a lot of muscle. His white hair grew long, well past his shoulders and almost to his belt. He wore a gray robe adorned with silver pictograms — Silver Fang pictograms — representing honor, wisdom and glory. And there, on his chest, was the symbol of kingship.

  "Who are you?" Albrecht asked.

  "Aaron Ever Stone," the man said. "I saw you notice the trees. They are not trees. They are the ghosts of my dead army. My loyal army."

  "Your name...It's familiar. But I can't place it," Albrecht said.

  "In my time on Gaia's flesh, I was king of the Esk River Protectorate in northern England. In the seventeenth century, by human reckoning."

  Albrecht stood looking
at the Silver Fang king, unsure what to say or do. He had never been in the presence of such a powerful ancestor before. "How… did you get here?"

  The old man looked at Albrecht, puzzled. "This is my death domain. It is you who have come here. And who are you?"

  "I am Lord Albrecht, scion of the House of Wyrmfoe. I was thrown into a Wyld realm. I don't even know where this is."

  The old man nodded, understanding. "Ah. You are in the Silver Fang Homeland. You have passed through the Wyld zones along the edge. They come and go, but seem to get closer every few… years. If they are truly years, the time I reckon by the changing of the seasons. But time moves slowly here, does it not? So say the living who visit me."

  "I don't know," Albrecht said. "Umbral lore was never my specialty. I can't believe I'm here. That damn Lune did send me where I wanted!"

  "Why have you come?"

  Albrecht thought for a minute, trying to figure out how to bring up the topic. He decided just to say it. "I'm looking for the Silver Crown."

  The old man's eyes widened. "Why? Why do you seek such a thing? Are you vain?"

  "No! I need it. It's the only thing that will allow me to take the crown from Arkady. Let me explain: Arkady is Wyrm-corrupt. He has allied with the Wyrm's minions. And he's set to take the throne on the cusp of the full moon—"

  "Stop! I will hear no more. A king corrupt? Never! You must be mistaken. And you seek the crown? Listen to me, then: The crown is a thing of vanity and pride. It brings only pain and ruin. I know this, for I wore the crown. I was its last bearer. It was I who hid it from the world, to save the tribe from its terrible power. A power which destroys just as surely as it raises its wearer on high."

  "You know where the crown is? I can't believe this! Finally, some answers. Look, you may have had problems with the crown, but I have to have it. Regardless of the consequence to me. The consequences to others will be much worse if I don't."

  "You are not listening to me! Whelp! I tell you, it is an evil thing. I know this! You wish the crown? Then listen to my tale, and if the wanting of this thing is still in your heart afterwards, I will reveal its location to you."

  "You've got a deal."

  The old king wearily lowered himself to sit on the grass, leaning his back against a birch. He motioned for Albrecht to sit also. Albrecht went to a birch nearby the old man and sat down, leaning against it.

  "I ruled a war-ravaged land. The Black Spiral Dancers, born in the fens and bogs and moors of Scotland, had their power to the north of my protectorate. Filthy place. From some deep pit in the earth they crawled forth to harry my lands, to steal our flocks and to corrupt our rivers with their filth."

  "And the humans were ignorant of all this. They only knew that the border wars between England and Scotland were fierce. The border reivers were indeed a hard people, cruel and cunning, with no sense of honor or decency except to their own kin. Under the cover of such havoc as they wreaked, the Dancers raided our lands and ravaged us sore."

  "I knew something had to be done. I had to get the Garou to the west and east of me to band together and take the fight to the Dancers' own lands. But they would not listen to me — Fianna and Get of Fenris. Getting them to work together against a common foe was nigh impossible. And that's when I heard of the Silver Crown."

  "A wandering minstrel sang its tale, telling where it was hid, in the land now known as Pangaea. I knew this crown was the answer to my questions. It would allow me to forge an alliance of all the tribes and return wrack and ruin to the Dancers."

  "So I set off on the quest with my loyal pack, the King's Own. It was a hard journey, for the Umbra was a wild and furious place in those times. Not like now. It is empty now. Devoid of life."

  "We reached Pangaea with only minor wounds, and searched and searched for the crown. It was at Table Rock we found it, the holy rock. There, in a hole under the rock, the crown was hid. It took all our might to move the stone, but move it we did, for our need was dire."

  "I beheld the shining crown and placed it upon my head. And I knew what I had to do. I was Falcon's chosen, the one true king of the Silver Fangs. Nothing could stop me from saving my kingdom and ending the reign of terror the Dancers had begun."

  "We returned to my kingdom and the news soon spread of the crown. I sent for the leaders of the Fianna and Get of Fenris septs, my closest neighbors, to discuss a war party. They came, although they did not want to. But they could not resist. It was as if the crown called to them to heed my request, giving them no peace until they listened and did as I said."

  "Do you begin to understand the tyranny of the crown? Its power over others? Its ability to steal choice away from them, to force them unto a course of action? I did not realize this then, believing they came because they wished to."

  "We supped together and I entertained them with my best Galliards. A fine evening it was. But they seemed to feign enjoyment, covering their fear of the crown. I believed they were subtly insulting me, and grew angry with them. I sent the Galliards away and commanded them to give me packs from their septs to go to war against the Dancers."

  "The Fianna bowed, cowed before my authority, and said she would deliver them in a fortnight. I was pleased."

  "But the Get. He steamed and shivered, fighting some inner demon. Or so I told myself. He was in actuality fighting the power of the crown. He won the battle, and cried that he would not send his packs to die for such a tyrant as I was."

  "I was furious. Not only had he stained me with that insult, but he had stained Falcon also, implying that the crown had made a petty dictator. In an instant, I drew my klaive and cut him down. His head flew across the room and thudded against the chamber door."

  "The Fianna stared at me in shock and dismay. She begged to leave, to return to her lands to begin the preparations for war. I gave her leave, pleased that she, at least, would join my endeavor."

  "But the fortnight passed, and no sign of her packs was seen or heard. I was furious again. How dare she slight me? I knew I would have to teach her a lesson. I would have to war on her."

  "I rallied the troops and led them out across the moors, to the lands of the Fianna. They were expecting us, and they put up a valiant fight. But we were masterful in war, and I was most masterful of all, for the crown bore me well through that battle. My cries and commands were as bolts of lightning against the Fianna. They could not resist my will. Eventually, they all fell before me."

  "But the Fianna did not fold before my army easily. They delivered a dread accounting upon us: Only I and my pack survived. I sat upon my horse in the field of battle, surrounded by my pack, staring at the lifeless bodies of the Fianna. And at the lifeless Silver Fangs. In a fit of anger and wounded pride, I had killed the elite of two septs, the heart of a generation of Garou."

  "The Dancers did not wait long to take advantage of the disaster my vanity had caused. They came down in greater numbers against the lands, the lands so newly depleted of warriors. Only the Get withstood them, bulwarked in their caern to the east."

  "The Esk River Protectorate is no more. Dead. They are all dead."

  "Do you see now why I warn you against this fetish? It is the cause of two septs' downfall!"

  Albrecht was silent. He thought about everything he had been told about the crown. So many conflicting stories. Was the crown a gift from Gaia or a fetish like any other, but one which had become cursed over the years? Would its retrieval only doom the North Country Protectorate, as it had this old king's land?

  But no, Albrecht thought. It wasn't the crown that did this, it was the old man. It was his vanity. How can he blame the crown for backing up his commands, for lending force to them? The choice of how to use the crown was his.

  "I am sorry to hear your story. It grieves me. It is a tragedy; one which I will never forget. But… I still need the crown. I have to save my protectorate. While the crown may damn it in the end, it is the only thing which can save it now."

  The old man looked at him. "It has on
ly brought me sorrow. Deep, unyielding sorrow. Do not seek it. Stay here with me. Brighten my days with new tales of honor and glory, tales of how the Fangs succeeded without the crown. I am so lonely here, in my place of exile, with only my dead nearby…" He looked at the trees.

  Albrecht felt a chill up his back. Things are not what they seem to be, he thought. He remembered something about this famous king, Aaron Ever Stone. Something he had forgotten, about this king's name in the tales. There was one thing mentioned in the legends: his lineage.

  "I remember you now… What royal family are you from?"

  The old king looked at Albrecht quizzically. "I am a son of the House of Winter Snow."

  And then Albrecht knew for sure. He stood up, stepping away from the king. "I lived up to my end of the bargain. I heard your tale. Now, where is the Silver Crown?"

  The king looked up at Albrecht, exasperated. "You still want it? After all I have said?"

  "Yes. You agreed to tell me where it is."

  "But I would only cause your ruin by doing so. No, I cannot."

  "You are going to go against your word? Where is the honor in that?"

  The king looked stricken. "Honor? It has been… so long. Please, stay here with me. I can teach you much of the old ways. I even know Gifts lost to the world today. I could teach them to you…"

  "No. Tell me where the crown is."

  The king grabbed the birch he was leaning against and pulled himself up. "If you stay for one moon. One moon is all I ask! I will then tell you where the crown is. On my honor as a king!"

  Albrecht thought. He knew he wouldn't be able to force the answer from the king by violence. The king was just an emanation, a shadow of the dead. He was a spirit. If Albrecht killed him, he would never get the answer, since the spirit would depart to reform elsewhere in the Umbra. But who knew where? He knew that time worked differently in the homeland. One moon here could be months in the real world, or only hours.