Qarakh wasn’t happy to hear his lore-keeper and his second-in-command calmly discussing the battle that was about to be joined as if he and Arnulf were nothing more than common tavern brawlers to wager on. He would’ve have said something to them, but he knew better than to take even a fraction of his attention off Arnulf.
Neither Alessandro nor Grandfather realized just how young Qarakh was. They thought their khan had stalked the night for two centuries, not a handful of years.
Deverra stood and put herself between the two Gangrel. She turned first to Qarakh. “If you two fools wish to tear each other apart, so be it. But keep in mind that you’ll only be doing our enemy’s work for him.” Before the Mongol could respond, she turned to Arnulf. “Did you not swear an oath of allegiance to Qarakh as your khan?”
The Goth’s only reply was a bestial growl.
“Did you?” she insisted.
Arnulf’s muscles tightened as if he were about to spring, but then he relaxed. “Yes.” He fairly spat the word.
Deverra looked back to Qarakh, an eyebrow raised as if to say, Well? It’s your turn.
Ignore the bitch! Tear the bastard’s heart out and feast on it!
Qarakh said down on the log once more. “Your council is wise, Arnulf. I shall slay the ghoul before the sun rises.”
The Goth scoffed but was mollified. Deverra gave them both a last look before retaking her place on the log next to Qarakh.
“You are ever the tribe’s scolding mother, Telyav,” Grandfather said. “A tribe of querulous little boys.” He let out a snuffling laugh that sounded more animal than man.
Irritated at Deverra’s interference—however necessary it might have been—and the lore-keeper’s laughter, Qarakh drained his mug in a single gulp and then turned to Alessandro. “Why did you assign that fool Rikard to sentry duty last night? An entire army could have marched past directly below him and he would never have known it.”
“He’s a city-dweller,” Arnulf said with a sneer, as if that explained everything.
“Rikard wasn’t the only sentry on duty last night,” Alessandro said. “There were three others.”
“I was aware of them, and all three were alert to a man. They are not the issue. Rikard is.”
“I posted him to sentry duty as a test. Since joining the tribe, Rikard has been somewhat… ambivalent about performing his duties. I wished to gauge the level of his dedication by having him serve sentry duty for a few nights. If he failed to perform his task well…” There was no need to complete the thought. The tribe must be strong. Weak members were culled from the ranks, one way or another.
“I am somewhat surprised that he not only survived the ‘instruction’ you gave him last night,” Alessandro continued, “but that he returned to camp at all.”
“Perhaps he now wishes to prove himself to his khan,” Arnulf suggested.
“Perhaps,” Grandfather acknowledged. “Then again, perhaps he wishes more.”
Qarakh scowled at the lore-keeper. “Such as?”
Grandfather’s only reply was a shrug. Qarakh hated it when the old one did that.
“I shall keep close watch on him,” Alessandro promised.
“See that you do,” Qarakh said. “Now, to the matter at hand: Deverra has had a vision.”
“Not a vision, precisely,” the priestess said. “More like a warning from the land itself. A new enemy is coming, a prince with the face of a boy.”
Qarakh caught a slight start in Grandfather, but it was Arnulf who spoke first.
“Let the whelp come,” Arnulf said. “This tribe needs a good battle.”
“Perhaps,” Qarakh said, but turned to the lore-keeper. “You have something to add, Grandfather?”
The old Gangrel let almost a minute go by before speaking. “When I roamed the woods west of the Alps, I heard word of such a prince with the face of a boy. His name was Alexander and he was terrible indeed. But he was said to lair in Paris and never to venture from his city. We are far from Paris indeed.”
Qarakh did not know of this Paris, but if he himself could have come from far-off Mongolia he doubted very much this Alexander couldn’t make the trip here if he wished. But why would he wish it? The city-bred vampires were sedentary, lairing behind their walls and feeding off the fat merchants and harlots.
“Alexander no longer rules Paris,” Deverra said, in a tone like a death knell. “He was exiled some years ago and sent east.”
“Toward us,” Alessandro said.
“It would seem,” she said.
Grandfather frowned. “If so, this is distressing indeed. The Alexander I knew of was a powerful ancient, Embraced in Athens seven centuries before the birth of the Christian god. If he has been driven from Paris, he will seek dominion over others. It is in his blood.”
“Could he be allied with the knights we faced last year?” Alessandro asked. “They were Germans, I thought, but still…”
Arnulf snorted. “I’ve heard stories of French and German high-bloods fighting together in the Carpathian wars. Still, they were driven out then and they will be driven out now.”
“Not easily, if he is nearly two millennia old,” Qarakh said. “And even if this Alexander’s reputation is exaggerated, he will not come alone. He will bring a fighting force with him. Perhaps large, perhaps small, but they will be deadly to a man.”
“How do you know this?” Arnulf challenged.
“Because we defeated the smaller force last year.” Qarakh smiled, displaying his fangs. “And because that is what I would do.”
Alessandro looked thoughtful. “This would explain the reports of trespassers that we have received of late. Perhaps they are Alexander’s scouts.”
“Spies, you mean,” Arnulf growled.
“Whichever the case, we shall know more of that upon Wilhelmina’s return,” Qarakh said. If she returns, whispered his Beast.
“The question is why Alexander is marching on Livonia,” Grandfather said.
“He no longer rules in Paris, and wishes to establish his own empire here,” Deverra said.
Qarakh shook his head. “He is used to ruling a city.
