542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

  One's hindsight is always clear, and after but a month in the company of Von Zarovich mine confirms to me what my inner voice had urged on the first night of our meeting: that I should have killed him then.

  Certainly I am more than capable of doing it, but curiosity and caution stayed my hand then. I knew nothing about him, and the fact that he had survived the otherwise lethal force of the first spell I had flung at him was enough to school me against additional assaults.

  He was—so it seemed—coolly unconcerned toward me, something I am not used to; since the moment when I initiated my own change the reaction of mortals in my presence is ever that of fear. I had grown so accustomed to seeing it that its sudden lack drew my instant attention. If he was not as other men, what then was he?

  Since he had thrown off my attack and seemed immune to fear I had two choices before me: that he was a mage of deadly power equal to or greater than myself, or that he was some sort of supernatural creature. It did not seem likely he could be both, for talent like mine is rare, and I had to purposely effect my own supernatural change. I can account for my deficiency of perception by the fact that I had many distractions that night and could not bestow my full consideration equally upon each. I only realized the possibility of the combination after it was too late to do anything about it. By then I was bound by my own oath to his laws.

  I see now that he had bluffed his way through the whole business. He has magical power, but it is nothing to compare with mine. He must have known that, yet played expertly upon my need for aid, maneuvering me into a position with his sly bargaining so that I was forced to put myself at his mercy.

  I could feel the fool, but at that point his act was as complete as one of my own illusions, so there is little purpose in self-reproach. I take pride in being able to know when anyone lies to me, but Von Zarovich proved to be the one exception capable of immunity to that ability. The why of it eluded me until I came to reside in his castle while he made improvements to the manor house which I have chosen to reside in for the duration of my stay.

  That he was not human in the normal, mortal sense was soon obvious, but the exact nature of his difference was not immediately apparent, but easy enough to discern with time. He took pains to conceal the pointed tips of his ears, but beyond that—at least while in my company—bothered to do little else. Of course, once I was in regular contact with him his undead nature became quite conspicuous: the lack of mirrors, the dusk-to-dawn hours and so forth—not that I was particularly disturbed by any of it. My own nature was such that he would be disappointed by the contents of my veins, so I was safe enough from that feeble threat.

  What most concerned me was the extent of his magical knowledge. Should he prove to be superior in talent to me, then I would have to be most careful in my dealings. Our first weeks together might be construed as laughable to those indulging in grim amusements as we oh-so-cautiously fenced around one another, each imparting as little information to the other as possible, while at the same time trying to extract it. This was in spite of our noble pact.

  He acted wisely in entrapping me into promising to abide by the laws regarding host and guest. By the time I knew his true limits it was too late to do anything about him. I will be honor-bound by my word. Though I may break it in an open challenge, I am not yet in a position to do so. I am yet a stranger in his land and he my only "friend." I use the word as a form of contempt. He is in actuality a necessary evil I must endure until such time as I can effect an escape.

  That is what is foremost in my mind, to return to my own land and deal with the traitors who pursued me into that damned mist in the first place. I judge that I can put up with Von Zarovich for whatever length of time it takes to effect the spell; it should not be long, but one impediment worries me.

  I have discovered a truly devastating obstacle: I am unable to learn new magic.

  It has to be the single most unpleasant surprise I have faced in the last century, and I refuse to accept its permanency. Not a day goes by that I do not attempt to break the barrier that prevents me from learning even the simplest of new spells. Thus far it remains intact. Until and unless I can breach it I will have to preserve the peace between myself and Von Zarovich, since he has no such limitation.

  What an intolerable situation this is. For he is ever eager to exploit my fund of knowledge, yet I am unable to improve my own concerning the practical application of a spell. I must be very careful never to allow him to suspect this weakness of mine, lest he gain greater power over me. How this will affect the swiftness of my escape I do not as yet know. Until then I can make no move against Von Zarovich, for I need him to cast spells I cannot learn for myself.

  The other secret I must preserve is that of my own true nature.

  Mortals and uncanny night creatures alike have a universal revulsion to what I am. It is an instinctual thing that goes beyond all reason with them and the usual reaction is to attempt to destroy me—which has yet to happen. Von Zarovich might be able to countenance the truth, but it is not my intention to test him. To that end I have very carefully cast a spell upon him, preventing him from determining what is beneath my concealing illusion. It is a much subtler version of one I took care to employ on my own servitors; anything more and he would notice the spell. Thus far there has been no change in his manner to indicate that he is aware of the spell on him or my secret.

  He may harbor curiosity about my peculiarities but hopefully will never be able to answer his questions. The core of the spell has to do with preventing his mind from making certain key connections. The danger for me is if he accidentally stumbles upon the answer, but now that I have the free run of his library I have been taking steps to prevent such an event from happening.

  I am spared from the necessity of additional castings on those around him, since his dealings with living mortals are infrequent. His castle servitors, guards and the like, are already dead and altogether mindless, being one of his best lines of defense against an ordinary attack. He takes advantage of the fact that people who can think are so frightened by those who cannot—the dead.

  I, of course, am the exception to that.

  End of Excerpt

  CHAPTER FIVE

  543 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

  The passage of a single year may be swift or slow for me depending on the focus of my attention. When waiting upon some important occasion, such as the return of my Tatyana, time seems to nearly stop. When working on research that might lead to my escape, I forget about it altogether and blink in surprise to find it is again mid-summer.

  The passage of this past year has been paradoxically both swift and slow, which has been due entirely to the presence of my "guest," Azalin. Though stimulating company, to say the least, he is rather like having a tame bear about the castle… an amusing novelty—until it decides to turn on you.

  We spent the initial weeks of our new partnership exchanging information, both magical and otherwise, though we were as yet both very cautious in what we shared, neither desiring to give advantage to the other. Furthermore, we used these initial discussions to begin to learn one another's native tongue so that the use of spells would no longer be necessary to converse. The use of spell work to communicate soon became altogether unnecessary for us.

  The solstice was nearly upon us again. Tonight, as the year turned from season to season, Azalin would call upon the resulting fluxing energies to lend power to the spell we would attempt. Of course, a lot of preparation had gone into this.

  ***

  542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

  In that dank and crumbling manor house Azalin and I settled on the generalities of just how we were to work together to engineer his return home and my possible escape. The latter was not very important to him, I could immediately see that, so it would be up to me to not let him forget it in his haste to leave.

  It had been many years since I had to actually stoop to negotiating with another, but his power was such that I dared not press him too strongly against his will lest he decide to press forward with the open challenge he had mentioned. All things between us had to be carefully balanced, so I had to hurriedly scrape the rust off my bargaining skills in order to rise to the need at hand. I did rather well for someone with virtually no position of strength. The art of the bluff is not to be underestimated.

  I also believe that it had been long since he had to do the same, else he would have come out ahead on some points. He was cautious and patient, but perhaps too much so; there is a time and place for such, but one must know when the moment is right to decisively strike. Even now, he may end up waiting too long and fall behind.

  Each moment I spent with him added to my knowledge of his idiosyncrasies, all of which would be useful to me as a strategist should open conflict come about. If I could prevent it I would, but now was not the time.

  Despite my instinct to kill him and be done with the threat, reason told me that he was my best chance to escape. His knowledge—so he informed me, and so I later discovered—of the Art was indeed profound. I could learn much from him and intended to do just that. Dangerous as he was, the risk was worth it if it could expand my own knowledge.

  To make this a relatively safe and viable undertaking, I found I had many other duties to suddenly perform, such as apprising the nobles in the immediate area of the manor house about its new tenant. This task I assigned to Zorah. I deemed her intricate social circle within the boyars to be the best way to deliver instructions to the local nobles. She was an important figure to the various families, making her a most useful tool to manipulate the twisted workings of Barovian politics. Besides, she seemed rather grateful to me for having handled the situation with Azalin and my efforts to keep him at a safe distance from her own home.

  The locals would know only that Azalin had arrived in the land by a traveling spell that went awry, and it was my express order that he be left strictly alone for as long as he was here. The story I gave was mostly the truth, that Azalin was an extremely dangerous sorcerer, easily offended. Zorah's own experience with him would bear that out.

  On the surface this policy was to keep the nobles from endangering themselves by encounters with Azalin's quirks of temper. In reality, I did not want him making allies of any disaffected members of Barovia's nobility. The idea of their using Azalin as a figurehead, his magical talents as a weapon, and rebelling against me was one of the first possible dangers I'd thought of, and denying him the opportunity seemed the best solution. Perhaps it might even avert the war Madam Eva had warned me about.

  My boyars could be a fractious lot. I had held full control of them for nearly two hundred years, and except for that one attempt at civil war that I'd foiled, things had been relatively peaceful. Sometimes there would be the odd assassination or two happening between rival houses, but when those occurred I arbitrated things back to normal when necessary. If the death was justified, I let things stand. If not, then the perpetrators were issued an invitation to come inspect my dungeons at Castle Ravenloft. The more intelligent ones always elected to kill themselves outright, their relatives tendering regrets to me. The rest would either try to hide (which was quite useless) or bolt away to take their chances in the Mists. Then would I set my wolves to track them down first and dispose of the problem. As I have said, I had not established my rule in order to be loved.

  Taking into account that I as yet knew little about Azalin, I sensed he was also used to being in a position of power. If I picked up on that quality, then so would others, and they might try appealing to him for help against the devil Strahd, thinking Azalin would be an improvement as their leader. All their lives they'd known no other sovereign but me, so they had no one to compare with me, else they might find my guidance more agreeable. There is much difference between contention with one cautious wolf versus a rampaging bear.

  I had some allies but many enemies. Until now the latter had no recourse but to endure my law as best they could, having no power to oppose me. But if they took it into their heads to win Azalin over to fight me, all could be lost. My instincts told me I wasn't yet ready to face him.

  There was also the reverse to think on, that once he made their acquaintance, Azalin might use the boyars against me—even those who were unquestionably loyal. He was a powerful enough mage to do so. True, he was presently only interested in returning home, but should that prove to be an impossibility, what then? The open challenge he had mentioned? I deemed it best to keep everyone apart and work to get rid of him as soon possible.

  My next sojourn after the Latos estate was to the Vistani camp next to the Tser Pool. The vardos looked much like the ones I had seen decades ago, same bright paints and carved trim; their occupants also seemed unchanged. Remarkably so considering that two generations had passed since I had made the pact with Madam Eva.

  Over the years our agreement had proved to be a wise and mutually beneficial arrangement. The Vistani had ever kept me apprised of people and events in the country—though in the case of Azalin they had not done so well. I had, in turn, protected them from undue harassment and had refrained from taxing them. Their messengers regularly crossed the poisonous fog barrier to leave missives at Castle Ravenloft. By now every one of them knew the antidote for the fog, but so far they had kept that secret well within the tribe. As Eva had promised, they occasionally sold it to anyone foolish enough to want to enter the castle without my permission. The outcome of such transactions never failed but to enrich the Vistani pockets… and my larder cells.

  I landed in the woods just outside the camp, having counted eight of their wagons pulled in a circle around several fires. Music drifted to me on the still air—there is always music at a Vistani gathering—and the smell of cooking. There was no snow on the ground, but otherwise things were much as they had been at our first meeting.

  The Vistani are not as shy about being out after dark as most Barovians, but they are far more sensitive to the world around them. Even as I settled my cloak back into place I noticed mothers scurrying to gather their children and the men standing to look in my direction. The music stopped.

  Rarely did I bother to show myself to such a large group. Usually my dealings were with a single messenger such as the one resembling Bartolome who had come to me the previous night. I saw him again now, striding forward to stop a respectful distance away to execute a sweeping bow.

  "We give welcome to the wise Lord Strahd," he said in response to my nod. "Madam Ilka is expecting you."

  I was hardly startled by that bit of news. It would be an extraordinary night indeed if I ever surprised a Vistana seer.

  He led me to a vardo similar to Eva's but with little birds etched into the glass panes of its windows instead of flowers. He reached high and opened the door, motioning me up the steep wooden steps to the shadows within.

  The interior was cramped as they all were, but she'd made good use of the space. Along with bunches of herbs, lanterns hung from the ceiling crossbars. Their glass was tinted pink, lending a soft glow to everything. I dare say it made even me look less pale. The bed was neatly folded up against one wall and a shelf let down from another to serve as a temporary table. Ilka sat behind it, her watchful gaze on me. I was immediately struck by the startling similarity she bore to her predecessor, the same round, wizened face—if decidedly more wrinkled—the same short, wide figure. Most startling were the eyes. Her eyes were exactly the same as Eva's, the same dark, penetrating gaze. Had I not know better, I would have sworn that Eva herself sat before me.

  "Welcome to you, Lord Strahd," she said, not budging from her chair. As she must have been well past eighty, I assumed it was not meant as a slight and found a seat for myself. She looked frail, but her voice was yet strong, and the light in her eyes fierce.

  "Thank you. I received your message about remembering Madam Eva's warning. Was there anything you can add to it?"

  "You wish a reading?"

  Suddenly I noticed the deck of tarokka cards in her hands. They had not been there an instant before. Very talented, she was, like her mentor. I nodded, and she gave the cards to me to shuffle. I made a thorough job of it, taking my time, admitting to myself that I was reluctant to see what message they had in store for me. They were her own deck and felt different from Eva's, just as heavy, but cold. The more I shuffled, the colder they got.

  "Put one card in the center," she said.

  I did so. It was The Darklord.

  Just as I feared. If I'd still possessed a beating heart, it would have lurched and begun pounding with dread anticipation. I looked to Ilka for a clue on what was to come, but not one of the many lines on her face shifted. Fighting the feeling of dread, I managed to carry out the rest of the pattern of shuffling and placing the top cards on their designated places.

  Next came The Beast, The Necromancer, The Warrior, and The Mercenary cards. The reading was identical in every way to the one Eva had given me over seventy years ago.

  When it comes to the Vistani and their skill at knowing the future, I do not believe in chance or coincidence. A chill from the cards worked its way up my hands, seeped into my chest and settled there. It was only by great force of will that I managed not to openly shiver.

  "The Necromancer has come," said Ilka, echoing my exact fear. "I have had dark dreams of this for the last few nights. Dreams of fire and sword, of things of darkness stalking the land, killing, and the dead rising up to kill others in turn."

  Imprecise pictures from her inner mind such as anyone with a morbid imagination might have. I needed something more specific. "Did your dreams tell you aught else?"

  "Only that which the cards have shown you here."

  "What is to be done?" I had taken all the precautions I could think of for the moment, but was very much open to suggestions.