"Shuffle the cards. But the answer will be vague for so vague a question—and no, you cannot ask a new one."

  Deciding to swallow my annoyance at her presumptuous tone, I obeyed her. I turned over the card on top. It was blank.

  "What is this?" I demanded. "Why do you have such a card in this deck?"

  She stared and shook her head; the sound of her heart's rapid beating seeming to fill every nook of the vardo. "I-l do not understand. There should be no such card here at all."

  "You did not make this one?"

  "No, Lord Strahd." She pressed far back in her chair, as if trying to distance herself from the table. This was clearly a great surprise to her.

  I wanted to back away as well, but settled for merely placing the remainder of the icy deck between us.

  "There is magic afoot, then. This was meant as a message to me. What is its meaning?"

  "There can be only one: that things beyond your present knowledge are taking shape that have a bearing on what you will face."

  "To help or to hinder me?"

  She shrugged.

  "Not too terribly useful, then."

  "It could also be a card of waiting. That certain things must come to pass before you can take action against your enemy."

  "Wait for how long?"

  "The cards cannot reckon the time as we understand it. You ask what I cannot answer, Lord Strahd. Perhaps you already have the answers and you need not look to the cards at all."

  "Then let us hope I find them soon or else all of Barovia will suffer, including the Vistani."

  "Because of the war that's to come?"

  "Indeed. You have reminded me of Eva's warning; was there nothing more?"

  "You must study your enemy, and more importantly, you must not underestimate him."

  "Every good general knows and does that."

  "And you must trust in your friends."

  "I have none."

  "Yet they are there all the same. The animals of the wood, the wind and the rain, the very earth of Barovia itself."

  "And the Vistani?"

  "We will help all we can, Lord Strahd—in our own way. But we are not sword-fighters."

  I was well aware of that.

  "But we can watch all things for you, even the Necromancer."

  "Only from a safe distance. He is a danger to any who attract his notice. His powers are such that he can kill ordinary men without much effort or thought."

  "As I saw in the dreams. He tried to kill you with the fiery needles, but the mist carried you away."

  It was part of their magic to rely on dreams. Not nearly as efficient or controlled as my own practice of the Art, but no less powerful. I could trust in it even if I hadn't experienced the immediate proof of it last night.

  "That is what happened. Any Vistani approaching him will not be so fortunate. Why was I not told of his coming by your people first?"

  "None of our tribe were camped in that wood. The scouts said there was no game to be found there so they moved elsewhere. I saw him in my dreams, though, not clearly, for he has cloaked himself too well. I did not understand their import until the lady's message was brought to our camp along with the servant's gossip of a stranger to her house, then I knew the time of the Necromancer had finally come."

  "I would rather that he left, and quickly. Can your people take this Necromancer through the Mists and back to his own land?"

  "No more than we could take you."

  Well, I had to ask.

  "Will he find his own way back?"

  "With the white card's influence in the reading the answer is both yes and no."

  "How can that be?"

  She spread her hands, canting her head to one side. She did not know. Going to the Vistani to find out about the future could be a very frustrating experience, which is why I had always previously avoided it. I was coming to the conclusion I should leave now and let things look after themselves.

  "There is perhaps one other way I might help you now," she said. She collected the cards and put them away, then from her skirt pocket drew forth a small pouch. It was so heavily embroidered that the fabric beneath the decoration was hardly visible. She opened the loose knot on the drawstrings and reached in, taking out a carved wooden ring, placing it between us on the table. Next she brought out a crystal ball. It was as large as an apple and clear as mountain water, quite perfect. She set it upon the ring base.

  I remained quiet, allowing her to concentrate while she stared into it. After a few moments the crystal became cloudy, its center going white and roiling like the border Mists.

  "Do you see it?" she whispered.

  I pressed my own gaze hard upon the ball, seeing nothing more than mist at first, then a tiny picture faded in and out so quickly I was not sure if I had only imagined it.

  "Keep looking," she ordered.

  I put all my focus into it. The picture returned, and held long enough for me to perceive what it was. "Iron gates," I said.

  They were familiar, being the entry to the manor house Azalin had taken over. The view in the crystal moved forward through them, then up to the huge oak door of the house itself. I seemed to pass through without it opening and stood in an elegant hallway. This was not the place as it was, nor even the illusion Azalin had cast.

  "Is this what will be in the future?" I asked.

  "Perhaps."

  I traveled down the hall to a vast round chamber, thick-walled with a round window set in the center of the roof. A full moon shone down, bathing the circular room with a cold blue light. The light formed a sphere in the center of some apparatus I did not recognize. The sphere grew brighter and brighter until I could not bear it and had to turn away. When I looked back the image was gone and the light fading from the crystal. The mist folded over it, then the ball became clear again.

  Ilka put a trembling hand to her brow. I waited until she seemed recovered then asked, "What is the meaning?"

  She gave a little laugh. "That is the peril of seeing the future. It has no meaning until it has become the past."

  "But this is something that will happen?"

  "Probably, since the image was so clear. Sometimes, when there are too many uncertainties over a specific event the outcome is fogged, or there can be several outcomes to confuse you. Beware of them. Trust the future only after it has happened."

  "Which isn't much help to me, for by the time it has happened we might all be destroyed."

  "But the present is where you must be. In the present will this war be won… or lost. Prepare, watch, and wait."

  "I would do that anyway."

  "But this time you will have this to aid you." She picked up the ball and pressed it into my hands. It felt heavy and cool.

  I could have offered a polite protest, but it would have been inappropriate here; this was too magnificent a gesture. "You are sure?"

  "I am old, Lord Strahd, I must soon pass it to someone. To use it tires me more than you can imagine, but you have much more power than I ever had even in my youth. You will be able to use it to see many things and protect Barovia. But be warned: the future is often changeable, and the past can be made into a lie by wishes of what might have been. The uncorrupted present is best, for then it will show you only the truth of what is happening. It is also much less draining."

  "How do I see the present?"

  "Look hard into the crystal and think of a place you wish to see."

  Placing the ball back on its pedestal I concentrated and was surprised how swiftly a view of Castle Ravenloft appeared in its depths. The image was small but very detailed, every stone visible. I leaned closer.

  "No need for that," she said above me. "Now that the image is fixed in your mind just shut your eyes."

  I did so; the view remained clear in my mind and grew larger until I seemed to be there. When I desired to move toward the castle my view did just that. I fairly flew toward it. In I came past the overlook, swooped up the chapel wall, then down and around to the front to my very room. I passed through the locked windows and went straight to my library. No candles were lit, but I could see everything perfectly, and knew it was the present. All was as I had left it the night before when I had gone to visit the village.

  Pulling back, I opened my eyes and had to blink as a wave of dizziness washed over me.

  "You will get used to that," said Ilka as I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  "It is truly amazing. Will I be able to travel anywhere in Barovia with this?"

  "Only in your mind. And you cannot see into a place you're not familiar with, however, you may begin in a known place and travel to the unknown from that point. Or you may think of a person you wish to see and his image will come to you along with wherever they might be."

  I had to test this out and immediately thought of Azalin, recalling his form and then focusing on the ball. In a few moments I seemed to be hovering several feet above him as he sat at a table in the manor house studying the baron's book. Though too far away to see which page he was on, it was obvious he was trying to memorize whatever spell was before him. Often had I done the same myself, spending hours poring over the volumes in my library.

  I moved closer, but with much caution. He was very engrossed, then abruptly looked up, his eyes glowing red, and I was sure he could see me. Then his gaze went to one side and the other, quite missing me. He closed the book and stood, his posture all alert. His lips began to form words, and I could hear them, actually hear them. They were magical in origin and I recognized them despite the fact he placed the accents differently from the ones I knew. It was a location spell— and my cue to leave. I pulled back and opened my eyes, shaking the image from my mind.

  Dizziness, but not so bad as before.

  "Can he follow me here?"

  "Who?"

  "I was watching the Necromancer and he sensed me then attempted to find me."

  "No. He won't know it was you unless you tell him."

  "I could hear him speak. If I'd stayed would I have been able to talk to him?"

  "Yes—but to do both will tire even you overmuch if you do it all the time, it requires much effort. Listening is easier, but also tiring. You will learn to select when it is right to listen as well as look."

  "Can all people sense when I am watching them?"

  "Those who are perceptive will notice. But there's little they can do about it. A word of advice—do not abuse this privilege. Some things are meant to be private."

  "Madam, I am not accustomed to peering through bedroom windows and am not likely to do so."

  Her face crinkled and she chuckled softly. "I am glad to hear it. This is not an entertainment, but a weapon. Use it wisely and do not allow him near it."

  "You have my solemn word as a Von Zarovich." While I lived—and I took that concept very seriously indeed—Azalin would never know about her gift to me.

  ***

  From Azalin's private commentary notebooks, contd.

  What a barbaric place Barovia is, backward and fearful. I can hardly fathom how Von Zarovich is able to bear to stand residing here, much less get anything done in regard to his Art. Perhaps it is a silent testament to his stubbornness that he has accomplished even this much in terms of establishing and holding his rule here.

  The great castle Von Zarovich seems so proud of is hardly more than a primitive pile of stones pretending to be a fortress. It is most inconveniently located on a spire standing next to one of the country's mountains, connected only by a drawbridge in poor repair. Formidable, but nearly impossible to get to except by a single winding road. I can already anticipate that the transport of supplies for my needs is going to be an infuriatingly slow process.

  The castle's isolation may be good for fighting off an invading army but works against it in times of peace. My own fortress in Oerth was in the center of all things, my power alone being more than enough to defend its walls. Strahd apparently lacks that and must rely on such basic means to preserve his safety.

  He has adequate defenses, but why he would even bother to defend the hulk is a mystery to me. He would be better served to simply knock the lot flat and begin again, but I doubt he has the resources to achieve such improvements.

  He claims that it has been in a minor decline for the last two hundred years—a clue to his actual age there—but if this is his idea of minor I should be interested to know what a major setback is to him.

  His own rooms are fairly comfortable and in order, but the so-called "guest suite" he ushered me into is hardly fit for one of my station. Perhaps he hopes I will remove myself from Barovia that much faster. There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure, but that would hold true with or without his slights.

  Apparently Castle Ravenloft is the best the whole miserable land has to offer, and if so, then it is hardly worth my notice—unless he is lying to me again. That is something I intend to investigate if my experimentation does not prove to be immediately successful and I am stranded here for a time. I shall have to strengthen my position with the creation and recruitment of allies. This should not be overly difficult if Latos is any example. He and others like him can be controlled easily enough.

  I believe Von Zarovich rules by fear and playing upon whatever old loyalties still exist by tradition (and force) between himself and his boyars. My interrogation of Latos and his woman seemed to confirm this. Though they were reluctant to say anything against Von Zarovich, it seemed obvious to me that he is not a kind—weak—lord, being more feared than loved. I shall have to determine just how deep that fear runs and make plans to exploit it should the need arise.

  Miserable as this parcel of stones and mud is, assuming the rule of Barovia is a distinct likelihood in my future.

  End of excerpt.

  CHAPTER SIX

  542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

  Azalin elected to make the manor house his home for the duration of his stay, a decision I met with mixed feelings. On the one hand it was a place of sorrow for me, on the other, I could not have picked a better location in which to put him. It was little more than an hour's flight from Castle Ravenloft, yet nearly half a day's journey for him by horseback along the twisting roads of the mountain—when the weather was good.

  I liked the disproportion. He'd be close enough to watch, but far enough away that I could feel moderately secure in the castle from immediate danger. I would set up so many magical defenses that even if he tried a spell for disappearing from one place to appear in another he would not find it a great success.

  Years before I had devised an invisible buffering wall around the castle for just that purpose to foil other, lesser mages who had had grievances with me. When any of them tried to effect an entry into the keep, the force of their spell reflected off the buffer wall, sending them elsewhere. I heard one was lucky and ended up in Krezk on the far western border; another landed in isolated Immol. A third had the very bad fortune to reappear in the cave den of some of my mountain wolves. I only discovered this incident by accident when I happened to use that cave for daytime shelter once and found the remains of his shredded clothing and distinctive jewelry amongst the gnawed bones. My four-legged children had made quite a thorough celebration of their unexpected feast.

  But for all that, I still felt only moderately secure. Azalin was cut from a different bolt of cloth than the other mages I'd faced. He would be far away in the manor, yet not nearly far enough. That would only happen by getting him out of Barovia entirely.

  Because of its past tragedy the house had enjoyed an evil reputation for a very long time and most of the locals—barring that one idiot scion and his three henchmen—avoided it. The town council of Berez had never needed to approve of any new construction within a mile of the grounds, for its people found other sites more appealing. I was glad of this, wanting to keep Azalin as removed from the Barovians as was possible.

  The edicts I unofficially passed down to them through Zorah Latos would make an impression, but whether it would last I did not know. Ambition can cause people to be incorrigibly half-witted at times. Sooner or later someone might put me to the test, and I would have either another addition to my larder or a head on a pike, depending on the state of my temper at the time. I could also have a political problem as well depending on the importance of the transgressor. I would just have to wait and see and let things work themselves out in my favor as they usually did.

  Massive repairs to the house were required, of course. Azalin made it very clear that if he was to have any success at all in finding an escape for us he would need a properly equipped working area, or laboratory as he called it, an unfamiliar word to me, though the root word of "labor" helped to clarify its meaning.

  He made no secret of his opinion that my own chambers in Castle Ravenloft were wholly inadequate to the task. If his purpose was to annoy me he did not succeed. I came to expect the worst from him at all times, therefore he was hard-pressed to surprise me with such petty complaints. Besides, I had the idea that much of his criticism was derived from some deeply hidden pang of inadequacy within. Caviling away on this point or that was probably how he made himself feel better, irksome for me to listen to, but if that was part of the price of my freedom, then so be it.

  The one thing he could not find fault with was my library. In two centuries I'd amassed a respectable number of books on the Art, many of which he'd never heard, so the flow of disparaging comment stopped the moment he entered the room. His silence as he surveyed the ranks of volumes was compliment enough.

  Out of necessity I gave him the run of the library. He needed all the knowledge at my disposal to help him understand the nature of the magic (or whatever it was) that brought him to Barovia. His initial interest had to do with how the Mists had come about in the beginning, though I was loath to give him the full and true story. I referred him to the public record of that night for the time being, hoping its dry wordage would encourage him to seek information from actual observation of the Mists rather than simply reading about them. It was more preferable to me that he should— with his current superior ability in the Art—devise an escape without having to know the sad business of my Tatyana's death.