The Garou began to move, running toward their lairs to gather fetishes and provisions for the long march. Others gathered to discuss who would stay and who would go.
Tvarivich motioned over the Gatekeeper, the small man who had opened and closed the moon bridge by which Yorgi had arrived. She turned to Albrecht. “When your party is ready to leave, Ivan will open a bridge for you. Tell him the words he needs to get your caern’s totem to open the gate, and you will be home before we have departed for war. ”
“Thanks, " Albrecht said. “I won’t say goodbye. We’ll see each other again, and soon. ”
Tvarivich smiled and walked away, gathering to her a group of hardened warriors, including Broken Talon, whom she led away to discuss war plans.
Albrecht sighed and looked around for his own group. They had gathered into a single circle, waiting for him by the river s ford. Lord Byeli and Nightmane stood nearby, watching him. He walked over to them. “Well, looks like our moot’s been cut short. We gotta go. I hate to do it, but I can’t abandon my own at a time like this. ”
“No one shall make that claim, ” Lord Byeli said. “Any that try it shall answer to my claws first. ”
“And my fangs, ” Nightmane said. “We cannot go with you, O king. Our place is here, with our queen. ”
"I understand, ” Albrecht said. "It was great having you as my guides. And thanks for standing up for me. ” Lord Byeli put his hand on Albrecht’s shoulder. “Remember the lessons I taught you about our tribe’s history. Draw on their wisdom when troubles descend. ”
“I will, " Albrecht said, clasping his hand. “I won’t forget. ” He turned to nod at Erik, who then led the rest of the crew, all eleven of them, toward the ritual circle. The Arrow’s Fall pack sat nearby, watching them. They had traveled together for nearly a week, and had made friends. The pack let out a group howl, answered by all of Albrecht’s soldiers. The Howl of Departing. Albrecht joined in, as did Byeli and Nightmane.
Albrecht gave a final wave and then turned to jog to the front of his company. Derick Hardtooth, one of Albrecht’s Theurges, spoke to Ivan, giving him the words he needed to open a moon bridge from the caern of the Crescent Moon in the Ural Mountains of Russia to Albrecht’s own North Country caern in Vermont. The shimmering, silver portal appeared in the air, and Albrecht stepped into it without hesitating, followed immediately by his soldiers.
As soon as they were all on the wide bridge, which arched upwards at a gradual slope, its horizon covered in mists, the portal closed behind them. Mists engulfed the ground off the pathway, but brilliant stars shone in the night sky above, a clear view of the Aetherial Realm.
Albrecht frowned. Far away in the sky, but seemingly larger than he remembered when he saw it last, a red star loomed close to the horizon. The Eye of the Wyrm, the baleful omen that had appeared in the heavens a few years ago. It now looked more like a small moon than a star. The others noticed this also, for a hushed growl ran throughout the group. Albrecht grunted a command, a call to discipline, and the warriors formed more tightly into their marching order.
Albrecht walked close to the head of the troupe, preceded by Goldflame and Birchbark, who scouted ahead but within sight. He cursed his luck. Damn that Konietzko, he thought, always looking for the moment, the singular battle that would elevate him above all heroes before him. He was going to drag a lot of Garou out to a far realm, risking caern defenses, all on a conjecture. And worst of all, he made Albrecht seem like the wuss for not going along with it. That’s how the other tribes would view it. Brave Konietzko, seizing the moment, showing his colors as a true leader. Colors, hah! His fur was black as the moonless night. Albrecht’s and Tvarivich’s was stark white, the sign of true breeding and purity, the sign of true alphas.
Albrecht’s anger at the Margrave hid a greater anxiety—that the assaults from the Scar were truly worldwide, that they harried his protectorate back home. But no messenger from his sept had come, and the moon bridge had opened right away—both good signs. Maybe the troubles were isolated in Europe. If so, he could follow up on his promise and arrive at the Scar with a staggering army, enough to knock the Margrave out of the history books.
Albrecht shook his head and chided himself. This was no time for ego. He could pat himself on the back once it was over, once everything was steady again, not before. He’d been a real bastard once, right full of himself. His exile had rubbed some humility into him, though, even if the exile was undeserved, the unjust punishment of his own ego-mad grandfather, the previous king. Slinking around by himself on the streets, taking succor from Bone Gnawers, was enough to wise Albrecht up real quick. He looked back on those times now as a trial, a seasoning that made him more fit to be what he was today, to deserve the relic he bore on his brow.
The Silver Crown had shown many times in the past that it did not long suffer fools to wear it. Previous kings had gone mad or come to bad ends, but the Crown survived them, eventually coming into Albrecht’s hands. He always strove to be worthy of it.
The ground beneath Albrecht’s feet shook and he halted, reaching for his klaive. His warriors immediately assumed defensive positions, looking about, searching for any sign of what caused the quake.
“Hardtooth! ” Albrecht said. “Is that supposed to happen? ”
“No, my king, ” the shaman replied. He was staring off into the mists ahead of them, clearly perplexed. “Umbral quakes do not reach to the heights we scale. This is... strange. ”
“All right. Everybody proceed ahead. Keep marching, fully alert. I want eyes on all sides. ”
He heard assenting grunts throughout the company, and the march resumed. A few moments later, the ground shook again. This time, they didn’t halt, but kept moving. No one saw any sign of its cause.
The scout Birchbark came running back to the group, panting. “Banes! On the bridge ahead! ”
Albrecht growled, his form growing, white fur sprouting, snout stretching. His growl gained depth and pitch as his vocal cords shifted. “How’s that possible? It should repel them! ” He drew his grand klaive and sped up his pace until they could all see the figures ahead, far off in the distance, silhouettes in the mist. Gold flame crouched on the path, watching the enemy, waiting for the king to arrive.
“They have not seen us, ” he said as Albrecht came near. “They are trying to sever the bridge, with tools I cannot see clearly. ”
“Can’t let that happen, ” Albrecht said. “This is our only way home. All right, form up. On my word, we charge. ” He waited a few seconds as his warriors took their positions, weapons drawn or claws unleashed, waiting for Albrecht’s signal. He threw back his head and howled from the pit of his stomach, and the Garou shot forth.
The banes—squat, broad dwarves who looked as if they had been covered in hot asphalt—leapt up from their work, scattering to and fro, unsure how to respond. Their eyes were like tiny pieces of gravel, black as the void, and their mouths were like sewer holes. Albrecht’s howl, however, had chilled them to their ephemeral marrow. Some, meaning to flee, ran the wrong way, and saw the horde of Garou charging at them. They slammed into one another trying to turn around and run the other way. '
A few, however, remained composed and set themselves against the charge. Their steely eyes glinted, giving off an aura of malice. Less-experienced Garou might have paused, but Albrecht’s soldiers were the cream of the crop. They noted the evil eye aimed at them but sloughed it off, their fury more powerful.
Albrecht had never seen banes like these before. They apparently had some degree of control over their black flesh, because spikes began to grow from their arms—crooked, sharp knives of ebony, dripping with black goo.
Albrecht hoped it wasn’t poisonous, but it couldn’t be helped. His crew would just have to avoid getting hit. The first wave of his warriors struck the forefront of the banes, the confused ones, and scattered them like shale underneath a bulldozer. As Garou claws and klaives struck them, they shattered into a hundred pieces. A howl of tr
iumph went up from the Garou.
Then the warriors hit the line of bane defenders, the ones who hadn’t flinched at their charge. These guys didn’t go down so easily. They seemed to be melded with the bridge, unmovable. The Garou leapt on them, trying to bring them down with force and size, but the creatures didn’t budge. They lashed out at the attackers with their black, gooey spikes.
A few warriors howled in pain, flinching back as they clutched wounds sizzling with the heat of the toxic tar. Others ignored the burning touch of the corrupted asphalt, fueled by their rage, and tore into the banes with all their power. They managed to snap the limbs off some of them, leaving them with no means of attack, but the others responded by charging closer. Every footfall melded the tar banes once more with the bridge, giving them expert purchase.
Albrecht reached the battle line and swung his klaive at one of the banes in motion. Its stumpy head rolled off its torso, along with the tops of its arms. The thing emitted a moaning gasp, like gas escaping a sealed container. Albrecht’s follow-up blow shattered the rest of the body.
“My lord! ” Hardtooth cried from somewhere behind him. “It’s a trick! They distract us from the others, who are tearing apart the bridge! ”
Albrecht looked ahead, past the line of defending banes, and saw a group of smaller banes chiseling with their spikes into the bridge, pulling up whole sections of it like linoleum. As the silvery substance was tom, cracks appeared, spreading across the width of the bridge. The banes took advantage of these to chisel faster.
“Everybody! ” Albrecht yelled. “Ignore the banes— get across the bridge before it breaks! ”
He leapt over the shards of his victim and rushed toward the growing tear. The banes went into overdrive, grabbing Garou and holding them tight, preventing them from moving. Albrecht halted to stab his klaive into a bane who wrestled with a Garou warrior. This, coupled with the blows the warrior delivered at the thing’s head, brought the bane down. Albrecht rushed on, slashing at the smaller banes crawling on the path, trying to get them to halt their mad tearing.
He turned to see that most of his warriors were stalled, some held by a foot or arm, slashing away at their grapplers. He looked down at the bridge, and knew it would be too late. The cracks were growing as he watched, stretching across the entirety of the width. Five Garou were with him, ready to get across, but he couldn’t abandon the others. Moon bridges were supposedly inviolate, but these banes proved otherwise. Those few times he’d heard of where a bridge had been been tom apart resulted in disaster for its travelers. They could be flung anywhere in the Umbra—or worse, they could fall forever, never coming to rest, as some dire legends told.
He howled in rage and rushed back to the struggling warriors, hacking left and right at banes, shattering arms, legs, torsos. Within minutes, the large banes were decimated and the Garou were free. As Albrecht turned back to lead them across, a creaking noise split the air and the bridge began to shift sideways, separating from its other half.
“Shit! ” Albrecht said, kicking one of the small banes off the bridge and into the mist. “Hold on! Everybody get hold of one another and don’t let go! " He sheathed his klaive and grabbed onto Hardtooth, who grasped Goldflame, and so on, each warrior holding on to another. Albrecht had no idea what would happen next.
The bridge fell away from its severed half, the far side already fading from existence like moonlight blocked by a dark cloud. They plunged into the mists, feeling the cold wetness blanket them. A sense of falling, but in no direction—up, down, sideways, they couldn’t be sure which. Albrecht could feel Hardtooth being tom from him, so he grasped tighter.
His leg impacted hard ground, followed by the rest of his body. The blow knocked the air out of him. He sucked in as much breath as he could and crouched, looking around. Hardtooth sprawled next to him, arm still wrapped around Albrecht’s elbow, trying to get his breath.
Albrecht heard other warriors grunting and could see shapes in the mist. But it wasn’t the same son of mist anymore; this was more like a thick fog, more... mundane. He sniffed the air, smelling mud and marsh. He hoped for an instant that maybe they had landed on Earth somewhere, but the sudden noise off to their right signaled someplace different. It sounded like the barking roar of a dinosaur from Jurassic Park.
“Goddamn it, ” Albrecht muttered. “We’re in some sort of realm, ” he said aloud. “Pangaea, maybe. ”
“No, ” Hardtooth coughed, rising. “Not Pangaea. The smell is all wrong. I don’t know this place. ”
Albrecht nodded. “You’re right. It smells... well, odd. Can't put my finger on it. ” He looked around again, trying to make a head count. “All right, gather round. We missing anyone? ”
The warriors circled their king, still holding on to one another. They said their names, one by one, but one name was missing. “Birchbark? ” Albrecht said. “Anybody seen her? ”
Erik hung his head. “She could not reach us before the collapse. She fell without us. ”
“She could be anywhere then. All right, first, we’ll assume she’s near. On the count of three, everybody give me a loud howl, and be ready in case something else besides Birchbark answers. ” He counted off three fingers, taking a deep breath with the last one, and then let loose a deep howl, joined by the entire group. The sound thundered off into the fog, and they each stood silently, ears cocked to hear an answer. None came.
“Maybe she can’t hear us, or maybe she’s not here at all, ” Albrecht said. “We’ll head out and try to find our way out of this place, wherever it is. Keep your eyes and ears open for any sign of her. ”
The others hung their heads, realizing that there was little they could do. They followed Albrecht as he set out, his nose guiding him to the smell of trees in the distance.
Albrecht didn’t say anything, knowing he needed to put forth a steadfast image to his troops, but he knew as well as they that they were lost, maybe beyond getting found. He hated leaving a warrior behind, but knew there was nothing he could do about it. Garou had been dumped into strange realms before, some of them never heard from again. He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to let that be their fate. He’d head for steady ground, get his bearings, and use every trick in the inventory to figure out how to get out of the realm and back to Earth.
He just hoped they could do it while there was still something to come home to.
The land glowed even in darkness. Snow covered everything under the night sky, shining dimly as if it had soaked up the daylight and now slowly released it again, light with no heat. Snow to the farthest horizon.
A shape moved in that immense whiteness, a lone wolf stumbling on three legs, dragging a fourth, leaving a trail of paw prints and blood. It stopped every now and then, standing still but for the weak quivering of its legs, and looked behind it, ears cocked. Seeing and hearing nothing but the wind, it limped onward.
Occasionally it fell, its crumpled legs buried in the snow. It waited a few moments, mustering itself, and then stood, moving again, ever onward. On the horizon, it saw a dark, unmoving shape, tall in the featureless flat of snow. The wolf continued limping, toward the shape. As it came closer, it could see the rocky places beneath the cliff overhang, unmantled by the snow. And it saw the dark opening in the rock, the mouth of the cave.
It limped to the edge of the dark hole, listening. Wind whistled within, down deep passages in utter darkness. It put one foot within the hole, but then hesitated, whimpering. It looked back along its trail and saw the dark stains here and there, where its wounds had opened over and over again, spilling more blood. A trail any hunter could follow. It bent its head low, skulking, and entered the cave.
It felt instantly warmer. The wind shuffled through the hole and past the wolf, but with nowhere near the force it mustered on the flat plain outside. The wolf crept forward cautiously, testing each step. It couldn’t see anything in the complete gloom, and sniffed, seeking any trace of a scent. There—an old hint of wet fur, leading down. The w
olf stood taller, straightening its legs and neck, and continued on, following the slight, vague scent.
It bumped into the walls as the passage twisted to the left and right, sloping always down. The scent grew stronger, no longer a trace. Its source lay somewhere ahead.
Hot air brushed the wolf’s fur and it halted, shivering, a whine almost escaping its mouth. A faint rumbling sound, somewhere ahead, preceded the bursts of hot air. An overpowering scent—something huge, old and warm.
The wolf limped forward until it could sense the furry bulk before it, mere inches away from its snout. Cautiously, the wolf nudged the shape and stepped back, cringing.
Nothing happened. The hot air continued to rhythmically blow, the low rumbles echoing in the chamber around the wolf.
The wolf crept forward and nudged harder. Before it could step back, a huge paw swept out and pinned it to the ground. The wolf yelped in pain as its back left leg—the wounded leg—twisted painfully. But it kept still, whimpering, as a massive muzzle inches from its face sniffed the air, sucking in roaring gusts. A deep, bass growl escaped the thing’s throat, seeming to shake the walls of the cave.
The wolf whined again and twisted under the massive paw, its belly now facing the muzzle.
The paw slowly released its pressure, lifting- away from the wolf.
The giant shape moved, and a loud scraping sound tore the air as its claws struck the cave floor. An almost articulate growl rumbled from its throat and light burst into the cave. A small shining orb, like a miniature moon, hovered in the air above the beast, lighting the cavern with a dim, silvery glow.
The wolf whimpered again and bowed its head before the huge, prehistoric cave bear, whose mysterious eyes looked down from a looming height. The massive bulk—at least ten times the size of the wolf—began to shift and reform its contours and features, growing smaller, into the form of an old human woman, still large by human standards, her limbs rippling with muscle. Her brow jutted over her eyes and squat nose, and hair grew in places unusual for a woman. Along the Neanderthal’s arms, chest, stomach and legs, faded tattoos danced in the dim light as her muscles shifted.
World of Darkness - [Time of Judgment 02] - The Last Battle Page 6