Ax head a fraction of an inch from her throat, Wilhelmina stared into Arnulf’s eyes, her jaw muscles clenching and unclenching, sword arm quivering, eager to swing. Finally, in a husky voice, she said, “Indeed.” Arnulf kept the ax to her neck for a moment longer before lowering it and stepping back, nodding once to Wilhelmina who hesitated before returning the nod.
Grandfather turned to Alessandro. “Does that answer your question?”
It certainly did. Alessandro decided to keep an even closer eye on Arnulf as the tribe continued to prepare for the possibility of war. “Grandfather, could I speak with you—away from the others?”
“Of course. We’ve already witnessed the most interesting part of tonight’s lesson, for after this Arnulf and Wilhelmina will both be keeping their Beasts on shorter leashes. Come, let us walk.” And though Alessandro was sure the ancient Cainite had no need to do so, Grandfather put his hand on the Iberian’s arm for support, and together they walked away from the training field as Wilhelmina began to pair the students up for sparring practice.
As the sound of clashing steel rang through the air, Grandfather said, “What is on your mind, Alessandro?”
Now that he was in the presence of the lorekeeper, Alessandro felt foolish discussing his concerns about omens, so instead he asked, “What is your assessment of our tribe’s strength?”
A small smile played about Grandfather’s lips. “There are many kinds of strength. Could you be more specific?”
“Our fighting strength.”
“Of course you do.” Grandfather didn’t continue right away, and Alessandro began to think the elder might decline to comment, as he sometimes did. Others, Arnulf especially, took this habit as a sign of a wandering mind due to the lore-keeper’s age, but Alessandro knew differently. Grandfather simply preferred to keep his own counsel on certain matters.
But after a time, Grandfather sighed. “In the end, there’s very little difference between us, you know. Cainites and mortals. Just as a grown man isn’t all much different from the boy he once was, so too are we not as far removed from the living beings we once were as we might like to think. It’s been the same story since the beginning of time… tribe against tribe, leader against leader. There may be different pretexts for war—territory, religion, honor, power—but in the end, it always comes down to the same thing: feeding the Beast.”
“For mortals as well?” Alessandro asked.
“Of course. Where do you think our Beasts came from?” Grandfather broke off and patted the Iberian’s arm. “Please forgive an old man for rambling. You asked what I think of our tribe’s strength. Our tribe is young and still in the process of growing, but we count among our number many powerful Cainites who are no strangers to battle.”
“Many of them are off wandering, though.” Alessandro glanced over his shoulder at the training field. “And the majority of those who remain are young and unskilled.”
“The young will learn, and in time the wanderers shall return.”
“But that’s just it: time. Will there be enough for our messengers to locate the wanderers and tell them they are needed back home? Will the young ones learn the battle skills necessary to keep them from Final Death, let alone to defeat Alexander’s army?”
“These are questions only time may answer,” Grandfather said. “But if it’s reassurance you seek, remember that word spreads fast among night-walkers and that our people can travel quite swiftly when needed. Several wanderers have already returned since the call first went out, have they not?”
“Only three.”
“That is three more than we had two nights ago, and still more will come. And while the young ones might not be battle-hardened veterans yet, at least they now know which end of a sword is which.” He smiled. “Most of them. And all shall continue to improve.”
“But Alexander’s men are no doubt highly trained and experienced. I don’t see how we can hope to stand against them.”
“It might not come to that, depending on how Qarakh’s meeting with the prince goes. After all, what is a parley but a battle of words? But in the end, when two tribes go to war, victory is determined by one thing alone: the strength of the leader. Would you like to hear a story?”
Alessandro was surprised by this sudden change of topic, but he agreed out of respect for the ancient Gangrel, if nothing else.
“Two shepherds tended their flocks at opposite ends of a valley. It was a large valley, and fertile, so the few conflicts that arose between the shepherds were minor and easily resolved. But then one day a lone wolf came into the valley and began preying upon the flocks, first taking a sheep from one and then from the other. Both shepherds were saddened and angered by their loss, and though they had always tended their flocks with care, they vowed to do so with even greater diligence in the future. But the wolf was a crafty devil, and despite the shepherds’ best efforts, they were unable to prevent him from continuing to take sheep from the two flocks.
“The first shepherd was so angry that he gathered together all of his friends and relations and set out to hunt down and destroy the wolf. The second shepherd, though also angry over his losses, was a more pragmatic man. He understood that the wolf wasn’t a demon sent to plague him, but rather an animal simply following its nature. So the second shepherd chose his best remaining sheep and slaughtered it. He left a portion of its meat in a place where he knew the wolf roamed and would be sure to find it. The next day, the shepherd returned and found the meat gone, so he left a second piece.
“Meanwhile, the first shepherd and his hunting party searched throughout the valley,
