As one they turned to Grandfather. The oldest among them, it was his right to speak first. “High-blooded princes like Alexander normally have little use for our kind as anything other than servants, or as in the case of certain sorcerers, subjects for experimentation.” He glanced at Deverra. “I do not speak of the Telyavs, of course.”
Deverra acknowledged his words with a nod.
“I therefore find it difficult to believe that Alexander wishes to do anything more than use our tribe to further his own ambitions—and when we have served our purpose, he will seek to destroy us.”
Arnulf nodded vigorously at this.
Qarakh wanted to ignore the Goth, but he knew he couldn’t this time. “You agree?”
With a flick of his wrist, Arnulf released his ax. The weapon spun through the air, and the head buried itself in the ground between Qarakh’s feet with a dull thunk. Qarakh didn’t flinch, nor did he take his eyes off Arnulf.
“Alexander is our enemy. Instead of wasting our time sitting here and talking, we should attack!” Arnulf punctuated this last word by slamming his fist against his leg. There was a crack of breaking bone, followed by softer grinding and popping sounds as the injury healed.
“Aye!” Wilhelmina said, her voice thick with battle lust.
Qarakh understood what was happening. Their Beasts were talking to them, urging them to give in to their anger. He turned to Alessandro. Though the second-in-command could be as savage as the rest—indeed, his blood boiled over into rage with frightening speed—Alessandro nevertheless had a keen mind for tactics. He would be more levelheaded here, away from the actual battlefield.
“It is possible this displaced French prince is sincere in his offer of an alliance,” the Iberian said thoughtfully. “I doubt he wishes to establish a kingdom for himself in Livonia. In his eyes, it would be poor substitute for Paris.”
“He is a Christian,” Wilhelmina said. “Their kind spread across the land like a plague simply because they can.”
“Alexander told me himself that he is no Christian,” Qarakh said. “He merely uses the religion as a tool.”
Wilhelmina shrugged. “Perhaps the religion is using him and he is unaware of it.”
“And if he sees his religion as nothing more than a means to an end,” Grandfather put in, “then why would he view our tribe any differently? Or his oath, for that matter?”
Before Qarakh could respond, Arnulf jumped in. “He will attempt to conquer us because he is a conqueror. He can no more deny his nature than we can.” He scowled at Qarakh. “Though some find it easier to try to deny their nature than do others.”
Qarakh reached down and plucked Arnulf’s ax from the ground. He held the massive weapon lightly, as if it weighed nothing. And image flashed through his mind—the ax blade biting into Arnulf’s skull, cleaving flesh, bone, and brain, spraying a fountain of vitae mixed with chunks of gray matter into the air.
The Mongol gritted his teeth and tossed the ax back to its owner. Arnulf caught the weapon by the haft and tightened his fingers around it until the knuckles were bone white.
Qarakh turned to Grandfather once more. “I would have you finish your council, wise one.”
“If Alexander had his way, he would be sitting upon the Parisian throne this very moment. In order to reclaim what he believes to be his rightful place, he will do whatever is necessary. He will ally with us or seek to destroy us—whichever he ultimately believes will be to his best advantage. He does not care for Livonia, not does he care about us. I doubt he even cares about Paris, deep down. All Alexander cares about is fulfilling his own desires.”
“The same could be said of any Cainite,” Alessandro pointed out.
Deverra had been silent for a time, but now she spoke. “Some of us have learned to live with our hungers—both physical and spiritual—instead of for them.”
Qarakh turned to his tribe’s shaman, his… he almost thought companion, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Such relationships were an aspect of mortal life, and not for creatures such as they. Deverra was his shaman, one of his advisors, an important ally as leader of the Telyavs—nothing more.
“What do you think?” he asked her.
“When working magic, one often employs dangerous materials, energies and entities that are liable to turn on the caster if the ritual goes awry. But if one prepares thoroughly and performs the enchantment with care, the rewards can be well worth the risk. I view our current situation as much the same. Yes, Alexander is powerful, dangerous and duplicitous. But he also might be the key to securing our future. So far, we have managed to hold out against the encroachment of their civilization. But we all know that it is only a matter of time before the Christians—eager to spread the word of their god and extend their worldly power—descend upon our land in full force. Indeed, the Sword-Brothers are in Livonia to do just that to the mortal herd; without those whom we feed upon, we are lost. If Alexander is true to his word, he might be able to help prevent that from happening.”
“If,” Wilhelmina said. “You seem to forget that
Alexander is in the company of some of those very same Sword-Brothers and other monks in knight’s dress. He would have to keep their conquering zeal in check as well as his own. And even if he did, allying with Alexander would be like making a pact with a demon.”
“So?” Deverra said. “It wouldn’t be the first time I have done such a thing.”
Qarakh wondered if Deverra were speaking metaphorically or literally. He decided he didn’t want to know.
“I acknowledge that the risk is a great one,” the shaman went on, “but the potential benefits to Livonia make it a gamble worth taking. Still, I believe we should continue to shore up the tribe’s strength while we explore the possibility of an alliance with Alexander.” She smiled at Qarakh. “If only to be prudent. I have
