Sable Vorn's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The pack had knelt for Sable, but one man had not. The challenger who came to kill for the throne stood at the edge of the dirt floor, arms crossed. He had lowered his guard once. Now he had picked it back up. The others watched him more than they watched Sable. A blood-duel had been called, then delayed, never settled. The man still carried that debt in his eyes. Sable found him after the crowd thinned. The challenger was tall, younger than Sable had thought, with a scar that split one eyebrow. He was sharpening a knife he did not need to sharpen. "You knelt," Sable said. "I bent my knee to the wolf," the man said. He tested the blade with his thumb. "Not to the grudge. Your father's trade cost my brother his place. My brother died a landless man because of it." He looked up. "That blood is still owed." Sable understood then. If he ignored this, the man would gather others. Every wolf who had lost something under the old trade would remember it. The pack would split behind Sable's back. Maren stepped into the ring. The small old woman moved slow, but the challenger lowered his knife the moment she came near. She had dragged these people through three wars. When she spoke, the last stragglers stopped to listen. "You want the duel," she said to the man. Not a question. "Old law grants it," he answered. "It does." Maren turned to Sable. "Then it is yours to answer. I will not lift it from you." Sable looked at the challenger. He could fight and win, and make a corpse of a grieving brother. That would buy silence, not loyalty. He thought of Maren's warning. A pack that believes in a man will bleed for him. "I refuse the duel," Sable said. The challenger's face went hard. "Then you name yourself coward, like your father." "My father was no coward," Sable said. "He paid a debt with his own name to save two lives. I will pay yours the same way." He crossed the dirt and stopped an arm's length from the knife. "Your brother lost his place. I will give it back. Not to a dead man. To you. Stand at my side when I take the throne, and the first grant of land I make is yours." The hall went quiet. The challenger studied him for a long moment. Then he turned the knife and held it out, handle first. "My brother's name was owed a wolf," he said, quieter now. "You will do. But the throne is still held. Promise me nothing until you sit in it." Sable took the knife. The last crack in the pack had closed. But the man had said it plain, and it was true. The seat was still held by another. Sable's promise had a price now, and only the stolen throne could pay it.