He didn't once stir at their antics nor when I reclaimed my copper wand and the used up amulet. I would just have to create another. As for how Auric would deal with his too vivid dream and mysterious injuries, he was on his own. Lord Vasili had paid him well for services rendered; he wasn't obliged to hang about to answer questions.

  This scouting foray had been all too brief and damaging—at least to Auric—but instructive. I knew what had been killing the hermits and would have to turn my crystal in the direction of Forlorn to try to discover who controlled the goblyns. I needed to know whether the things would be crossing the border in the future and be ready for it. If once the damned creatures got into Barovia, they would infest the mountains like roaches in a pantry and there would be no end of trouble—unless I could find a way to control them myself. But I would rather not have to try as it would take time and effort away from my work with Azalin.

  Until I knew more I would send word to the boyars about this possible threat. The peasants were good at locking themselves in at night, but even the best stout door and bolts would not be enough against a determined hoard of goblyns. I would have to tell the Vistani and use them as scouts. Border checkpoints would have to be set up, with people to man them. That would give the boyars something constructive to do with their excess energy.

  I would have to attempt another traveling spell to get home. Though my body was unfatigued, the last few hours had been quite exhausting mentally. The charge in the wand was gone, so I would have to summon the magic myself. This would fatigue me more, but not as much as having to physically haul that goblyn's damned stinking body over half of Barovia. With a sigh, I ordered the wolves out of the way and began the casting.

  ***

  The effort was worth it; I made quite an entrance sweeping into my study—Azalin was there poring over the books—to drop the dead goblyn on the cold hearth stones.

  My guest kept a carefully neutral expression on his illusionary face, but he was definitely surprised. Normally nothing could distract him from his researches, but he stopped everything to come over for a look.

  "Making a change in your usual diet?" he inquired, nudging its arm with his booted toe.

  "Hardly, but there has been a major change in Barovia."

  It never occurred to me to keep this information to myself; it was far too important to our mutual goal. He was reluctant to accept the truth of Forlorn's existence at first, but took the inarguable presence of the goblyn's body as very immediate proof. He knew I never tolerated such vermin in Barovia; I had far superior servants to control whose feeding habits weren't in competition with my own. Once past this initial obstacle of disbelief, he settled into full-blown analysis of the situation.

  We talked the remains of the night speculating about Forlorn and its implications to our work, but we couldn't get very far for lack of basic information. At dawn Azalin planned to depart for the new border and study it in person in an effort to answer all the questions we raised.

  Upon awakening the next night I immediately sought my crystal ball and checked on Azalin's progress—though not too closely. He was barely halfway along and must have returned to his manor house for pack horses, equipment, and supplies for an extended stay.

  Next I focused on the border, tearing high overland from one end to the other hoping to find some useful clue. All that came to my notice was the fact that the Misty edge of my existence was still in place, only now it enclosed Forlorn.

  I then let my memory dredge up the sight of the grove that I might go there again. It proved to be something of a struggle, like trying to take a reluctant horse over a difficult hurdle. The more I insisted the more I was met with opposition. I began to fear that like my body, my Sight would not be able to cross the boundaries of Barovia.

  I kept at it until my eyes blurred and my head swam with the effort. Just as I was about to give up, the breakthrough came. A bright light flared and died in the crystal, and within its depths the grove was visible but rippling as though it lay at the bottom of a stream. It gradually steadied and grew stronger, and I shut my eyes to allow my inner vision to take me there. Rather than a tiny picture, it seemed that I stood in the midst of the grove and could look about me. The view was imperfect, but better than not being there at all.

  Nothing had changed much since the previous night. A few goblyn bodies which had managed to escape the consuming flames still littered the ground, though many had been plundered for food by my wolves and other scavengers. Curiosity satisfied, I rose high over the fly-infested pile until I was above the trees and saw the castle Auric had mentioned. It was but a few miles west by a small lake, and his assessment of it as an evil place looked to be accurate. It was nowhere close to the faded grandeur of my own domicile, but it still possessed a distinct gloominess of aspect that belied its smaller size.

  The design was of a style strange to me, for though I could pick out towers and walls, their relation to each other seemed to have nothing to do with the art of defense. Archers' windows were placed in the wrong spots to be of any use, and the battlements, such as they were, appeared to be for decorative purposes only. The curtain wall looked strong enough, but it wouldn't last a week against a determined siege. What sort of lord ruled such a careless collection of stones as this?

  I soared in my mind's eye over the useless wall and down into the main courtyard, finding a continuance of the odd architecture but no evidence of occupation. Approaching the main entrance to the castle itself I studied the door lintel, discerning a single word carved into the stone: Tristenoira.

  Whether that was the name of the castle or the family that raised it or both was impossible to say. I entered, seeming to float through the door, and looked about the inner hall, seeing only shadows and dusty furnishings. Some faded portraits hung from the walls, again in an unfamiliar artistic style, the clothing of the subjects suggestive of a different cultural source than Barovia's.

  A quick sweep through the rest of the place turned up more of the same and no occupants, though that meant nothing. Sight is a useful, but limited sense, showing what is before you, but nothing else. Someone or something controlled the goblyns, but it deigned not to reveal itself. Perhaps on some future night I might find it instructive to hypnotize another man, through an amulet around his neck, and visit this Tristenoira by proxy. There were bound to be impressions that one could gather only by being there, but I could wait for Azalin to finish his investigations.

  He initially stayed in various spots along the border, methodically sifting through every imaginable detail and a few others besides, conducting test after magical test. I watched without interfering as he questioned countless frightened locals, not gaining any satisfactory answers to judge by the chronically disgruntled look upon his visage.

  After a week of preliminary study he finally crossed over to explore Forlorn. Being asleep, I was unable to follow his daytime exploits, but even in my sleep I was aware of whenever he returned to Barovia. It seemed that my link to the land had grown very profound, indeed, to give me this much sensitivity. If there was a ruler controlling Forlorn—which was likely however shy he was about showing himself—then did he also have this ability? Perhaps so, considering the swiftness of the goblyn attack on Auric.

  He must have been more cautious about inflicting the same game upon Azalin, though. The moment I shed my daylight stupor, I brought up his image in the crystal to see how he fared. He had apparently been allowed to wander unscathed through the forests to judge by his unconcerned manner.

  Then I saw the movement of shadows within the trees. Azalin must have noticed them at the same time and kicked his horse to a gallop, but another pack of the things were well ahead of him and cut him off.

  He fought them with formidable magic, killing many, but he lacked the advantage of wolves for allies. The sheer number of goblyns finally got the better of him for a moment, and he was unhorsed. They ignored the panicked beast and clawed at the fallen rider instead. Again, this attempt to take a prisoner.

  Azalin tore free, using a spell to cut a path through the press of bodies and fled on foot barely ahead of their gnashing teeth. I did not think they would be able to destroy him, but it was still a most entertaining display to see. However, it angered me that he was leading the filthy things straight into my land.

  As he crossed into Barovia something very interesting occurred. As if in response to my exasperation, a thick white band of fog suddenly swelled out of the clear air, gathered along the invisible line of the border, and rose high. He didn't notice it at first, being too busy running, but he must have heard it when the goblyns rushed into the stuff, for he risked a backward look.

  I sensed them coming in, just as I'd sensed Azalin's entry, and as my anger surged so did the fog. It bloomed around them, engulfing them like a tide. They were soon unable to pursue their quarry, having given up that sport for clutching their throats and choking. Before too long they were writhing on the ground coughing out their last bit of life. The few who tried to return to Forlorn did not make it.

  Well, well.

  Drawing back my view I saw that the whole length of the border at this point was rife with the fog, which was apparently identical to the poisonous vapor that encircled my castle.

  And it was—so far as I could observe—very much under my control. When I thought about the stuff retreating, it did so. It grew larger or smaller at my whim.

  The chains that tied me to Barovia had grown yet another link, it seemed, but a most useful one for dealing with breathing enemies. A pity it would not have the same effect on Azalin as it would the goblyns, but poison is fairly useless against those who are already dead.

  ***

  Some days after this incident, Azalin finally returned to his manor house with stacks of exhaustive notes and records of all he'd done. If he guessed that I had anything to do with the fog coming to his timely rescue, he made no mention of it. At the same time I pretended to be ignorant of his overland escape, lest it reveal to him my spying with the crystal. Thus out of a sense of mutual self-preservation were we reduced to such games-playing.

  I sifted through the information he had gleaned and could offer no further explanation for the bald reality that a new land had appeared in this plane. How and why it had come to be was not something either of us could answer. Perhaps, like me, its ruler had enacted some magical trip wire the nature of which we did not as yet understand, but that was as far we could carry the speculation. Facts were required and there were damned few of them. Even the Vistani had no insights to offer, though they avoided the place more often than not. It had no population to speak of, and the goblyns made a poor audience for their entertainments. The one good point of it all for me was the knowledge I could close the border to anything that breathed.

  Azalin's fascination with Forlorn lasted for less than a month, at which time he decided its appearance, I though interesting, was of no real importance to our situation.

  "If we can find out how it came here, then we can find out how to take the same road back," I told him, when he made his announcement to abandon his research.

  "Were it as simple as that, then I'd have found it by now," he stated.

  "You cannot make assumptions. A few weeks' work is nothing—"

  "Not when it is on top of the previous years of effort. Backtracking the way here has been the core of my experiments since I arrived and you well know it. This road, as you call it, is a dead end."

  "You discount it too quickly."

  "I know when a line of study is pointless. Pursue it if you wish, but I have other, more promising areas in which to direct my talents."

  I might have thought he was trying to discount Forlorn's importance as a means of preventing me from knowing too much but for his driving desire to quit Barovia and return to his home. He was quite obsessive on the subject, so I could trust that, if nothing else about him. This contention was like hundreds of others, part of our ongoing disagreement over the approach of solving the problem of escape.

  So he continued with the line he'd been exploring prior to the interruption and again made lengthy and involved preparations. His next experiment at the following summer equinox failed miserably.

  As did the next. And the next.

  CHAPTER NINE

  575 Barovian Calendar

  One winter night I awoke to a decided feeling of unease and knew another great change had taken place. I was unsure what it was at first. It was similar to the feeling I got whenever anyone crossed from Forlorn into Barovia, but it seemed much… larger. I immediately rose and made use of the crystal to see what was amiss.

  A few thousand nights of practice had lessened the difficulty I'd initially experienced viewing into this other land, so the concentration required wasn't nearly as severe. I started with the northwest corner of Forlorn closest to the Tristenoira castle and worked my way southeast. It took about an hour to go over the twenty miles of snow-covered ground. None of it showed the least evidence of tracks, goblyn or otherwise.

  That left the rest of the land. I had an insistent and growing feeling that whatever had happened was big enough to be noticed from a distance. Sweeping my viewpoint to the topmost peak of Mount Sawtooth, I used it as a base to see most of the southern portions of Barovia. Nothing unusual presented itself, so I shifted to Mount Baratak in the north.

  Success. I couldn't take it in right away, thinking that some stray snow cloud blocked my sight of the Mists. But going lower and closer revealed that the Mists in this spot had drawn back an indefinite distance. Another new land was seamlessly connected to Barovia, stretching out along the northwestern border. Through the crystal I could move faster than the fiercest winter gale. I descended into this new land to investigate.

  I struck a barrier, invisible but palpable, in resistance a duplicate to what I met whenever crossing into Forlorn. It was another border. Another country.

  The land stretched on without sign of the Mists ahead, so I continued forward, taking in the sight of more forests with a few isolated dwellings. Small farms and shepherds dominated. No soldiery.

  Lamordia. The name whispered itself right into my mind, an announcement from I knew not where.

  I continued eastward, skimming the border of my own land. I moved quickly, not bothering with details for the moment, desiring rather to discover the extent of my new neighbor. Much to my surprise, I passed through yet another invisible barrier.

  This new land was considerably larger in size than Forlorn, the chief feature being a mountain so vast and high and sprawling as to dwarf proud Balinok. Indeed, the thing looked to take up an area as large as Barovia itself.

  Dipping lower, I brushed over the tree tops to the line of the border, and it was indeed a line. The Barovian forests, where they butted against it, stopped abruptly, along with the snow, though the lay of the land continued unaltered. A hill remained a hill, but trees grew thick on one side, while long grasses and low shrubs covered the other. Much of their growth was pressed in a permanent bend in the direction of the wind, which must have been very strong to be so obvious at this height to me. No trees were in evidence anywhere in this desolation, though the vegetation looked formidable enough to offer concealment for any number of nasty surprises.

  I moved closer and followed the edge from one side to the other, about thirty miles of it, and saw no sign of habitation. It looked to be as deserted as Forlorn, but until proven otherwise, I would assume there were hidden dangers here as well. At either end of our borders the imprisoning Mists rose high.

  A faint movement on the Barovian side caught my notice, and I focused and swept down upon it. Azalin. With a small pack train.

  I wondered how he had found out. Perhaps he'd set up some sort of magical warning against just such an occurrence.

  Forced to travel overland, he had to have begun early this morning, which gave me an estimate of when the new land had appeared for he was nearly to the border. He must have taken an ice sled from Vallaki and let the prevailing winds carry him swiftly along the length of Lake Zarovich. Though sometimes dangerous, that would have cut quite a few miles and hours from his trip. Winter travel in Barovia is neither easy nor safe. He would then have to skirt two out-flung spurs of Baratak by toiling through nearly trackless forest. A journey of twenty miles would take nearly the whole day. Even now he was only just making his way along a winding path that would lead to a saddle ridge linking one portion of Baratak to another. Half of it lay in Barovia and half sloped down into the new land.

  I put my crystal safely away and made some spell preparations against whatever unknown loomed ahead, then performed the very useful travel casting. By the time Azalin toiled up the summit of the saddle, I was already there and waiting, wrapped snug in my cloak while the night winds tossed drifts of snow around me. He could not feel the cold himself, of course, but the snow was a nuisance to him and his tired animals.

  He made no comment about my sudden appearance in his path, but annoyance was in every line of his posture. How much easier it would be for him to use this particular traveling spell, only he was unable to do so. I was always cordial, pretending not to notice his limitation, something that always irked him. One would think after all this time that he'd have accepted the fact and be over the aggravation. I ever kept the advantage by not gifting him with copper wands charged with it, indeed; I acted as though the idea had not even occurred to me.

  He dismounted and tied the reins to a tree, then toiled up the last yards to stand a few paces distant, looking down the opposing slope.

  "Have you tried crossing into it?" he asked after taking a good look around.

  "Yes. I cannot."

  "The same as Forlorn," he stated.

  "When did you notice this new presence?"

  "At dawn. I began riding then."

  "Does it look familiar to you?"