Deverra herself had been something of a puzzle to Qarakh for the last few nights, though he supposed that should’ve come as no great surprise to him since he’d never understood her completely. She had said no more about hoping an alliance with Alexander would come to fruition. In fact, she’d begun to act as if she believed war was inevitable, helping him and the other warriors plan strategy and directing the other Telyavs in the creation of wards. He had attempted to speak to her once or twice about this seeming change of attitude, but she had merely evaded the subject. She seemed grimmer for some reason, her usual spark of humor gone. Perhaps she was simply responding to the overall mood of the tribe as it prepared for the battle to come. But he couldn’t help feeling there was more to it than that.
“So how do we fight this Ventrue?’ Lacplesis asked. The Beastslayer wore a hooded black cloak that concealed his features, but his hands sported patches of thick fur, and his ebon nails were long and sharp.
Grandfather spoke. “There is an old saying: ‘Cut off the head and the body will die.’ If we can find a way to destroy Alexander, his army will be as good as defeated.”
Now it was Qarakh who felt like saying, Easier said than done. But he held his tongue; he would never speak disrespectfully to his tribe’s lore-keeper—especially not in front of guests. “Alexander is what the westerners call a Methuselah. He is too powerful to be fought directly. He must be tricked.”
“What of the Telyavs’ magic?” Karl the Blue asked. “Perhaps it would prove a potent weapon against the Ventrue.”
All eyes turned toward Deverra.
“As Qarakh said, Alexander is extremely old and strong. When I was in his presence, I could feel his power. I believe he would detect any enchantment directed at him in time to evade it, if not nullify it altogether.”
Malachite spoke. “As you might well imagine, Alexander never said anything to me about his knowledge—of lack thereof—of sorcery. But I have heard rumors over the years, and I have seen some of the books and scrolls he carries with him. My impression is that while he is no sorcerer himself, he possesses enough knowledge of the mystic arts to make using magic against him a risky proposition.”
“After two thousand years, he likely possesses knowledge of just about everything,” Alessandro said. There was some mumbling and downcast looks, and while the statement Alessandro had made was no doubt true enough, Qarakh wished the Iberian hadn’t spoken it. An army that allowed itself to become demoralized was an army that was already beaten before ever setting foot upon the field of battle.
“We have discussed many plans—both of attack and defense—over the last few nights,” Qarakh said, “and while all have had their merits, none has emerged as the best route to take against Alexander. I suggest that we do as Malachite says and turn the Ventrue’s pride against him.” He continued on before anyone—especially Sturla—could comment. “Alexander is a deposed prince seeking a return to power. If we refuse his offer of alliance, then he will surely attack us in order to gain a military victory that he might use in his quest to regain his throne. He is an ancient vampire of refined and high blood.” This brought mutters and snarls from the assembled Gangrel. “And thus he believes we are little more than animals, and he will expect us to fight as such, riding forth to engage his knights in full force. The one thing he will not expect from us is subterfuge, for he does not believe our kind is capable of it.”
“You speak as if you have a plan in mind,” Karl the Blue said.
“If he does, I wish he’d get around to it,” Borovich murmured.
Qarakh’s sword hand itched to go for his saber, but he restrained himself. If they began quarreling among themselves, Alexander would have already won. “My plan is a simple one, yet I believe it will prove effective.” Just as it did for the Anda many years ago, he thought. He wondered if Aajav had stirred that memory not only to warn him against allying with Alexander, but also to give him the means of defeating the Ventrue. Even in torpor, Aajav still took care of his brother.
“Here is what we will do.”
But before Qarakh could go on, Deverra stiffened and her eyes grew wide. One by one, the other Telyavs reacted the same way.
“Someone has activated a ward.” Deverra closed her eyes and cocked her head to the side, as if listening to a sound only she could hear. Seconds later, her eyes flew open, a look of alarm on her face.
Qarakh knew what her words would be before she spoke them.
“It has begun,” she said.
Alexander was coming.
Chapter Eighteen
Those sitting jumped to their feet, and everyone drew their weapons. Qarakh left his saber in its scabbard, though, despite the urgings of his Beast. He turned to Deverra.
“How far are these wards from the camp?”
“A little less than four miles. We would’ve placed them farther out, but in order for the spells to be fully effective—”
Qarakh held up a hand, cutting her off. This was no time for lengthy explanations. “If Alexander sensed the wards, he is aware that our tribe wields magic, though he cannot know to what extent. He will assume that the wards provided us
