"How can we march under such conditions?" He was not despairing, but honestly curious, as if my pitifully small army had a chance of actually invading Darkon.

  Since the day of that first skirmish with Azalin's zombies every farmer and shepherd not actually engaged in food production was pressed into military service. The same went for the nobility as I found ways to keep their younger sons and daughters busy. Many of my commanders were like Aldrick, drawn from the families of the boyars, groomed from birth to give and take orders as befitted their stations of responsibility, but there were not enough of them. Even with my dead servitors to bolster the ranks, I didn't have a tenth of the force that Azalin would be able to raise.

  If I could trust the scraps of information Dioti brought (which I constantly confirmed by my other spies) and if what I saw in my crystal was not an illusion, Azalin was taking his time in preparation, apparently wanting to make a thorough job of it. Despite the fact that his influence with them ended at the border whenever I was present to fight them, he could have probably summoned enough of his dead to carry out an invasion but held back from that action. Instead he kept them close to the frontier; as far as I could determine they were there to defend his side should I think to send anyone across.

  Elsewhere in Darkon I saw troops being gathered up and trained, noted the location of the camps and how many lived there, wrote down the names of all his chief commanders. He had some two dozen people of high rank whom he tested again and again for their unconditional loyalty, then put them in charge of other loyal officers. This was his Kargat, and they were absolute dictators within their given domain, answerable to none but themselves, their immediate leaders, and Azalin.

  Azalin picked only the best fighters for the Kargat, then saw to it that they were initiated into the dark life of the undead, making them highly effective and dangerous agents. Occasionally he "gifted" a select few with lycanthropy should their own nature dictate it as more suitable. Though infants compared to me, they were like minor gods—or devils—to the frail mortals about them. I could surmise that they would ultimately be leading the invasion force by their frequent attendance at staff and strategy meetings with General Vychen. I eavesdropped as best I could on these, though if I lingered too long or too close my presence was noticed. Still, I managed to gain much useful information on their movements, personal habits, and weaknesses over the long course of my observations from afar.

  Though Azalin took his time assembling his army, there was no shortage of small skirmishes along our border, usually involving a few zombies sent in to harass the common folk there. Because of their limits the creatures were no real threat to anyone who knew how to fight them, but this still caused a general migration of refugees out of the area, mostly terrified farmers and herders. As for the zombies, they could cross in at any given time, creating havoc for their master. Since he usually sent them across during the day, I was sure their chief purpose was to keep my people dispirited, distracted, and on edge.

  I instructed my border guardians on how to best deal with the things themselves and got on with other work. Instead of wasting precious time fighting mere pawns, I kept busy producing magical items to aid my own top people, but the process was exhausting, so not many had such treasures. It was better that they rely on their own resources and training, anyway. Azalin was ironically helping to season my soldiers into true fighters, for each time they drove back or destroyed one of his assaults, it was a great boost to their confidence.

  Insofar as magical preparation was concerned, my chief priority was to forestall Azalin from observing anything of importance. To this end all my top people were given protective neck chains to be worn constantly. The links were imbued with a casting that prevented Azalin from spying on their wearers—Azalin, not myself, which I carefully built that into the spell. Thus were they able to come and go and speak freely without fear of being seen or overheard by anyone but me, and of course, I took care not to inform them about the latter detail. It was how I made sure my own people were loyal, an impressive accomplishment of work for me but not nearly sufficient to the need.

  As indicated by the Tarokka cards all those years ago I had to seek help from outside. Thus did I send Yersinia Wachter, under close and well armed escort, into Mordent and Lamordia as my first ambassador to the lands beyond Barovia. Her overt mission was to establish formal trade agreements with them and arrange for a mutual defense policy. Unhappily Azalin had already achieved a non-aggression treaty with the mayor of Mordentshire, whose near-insignificant office was the closest thing the whole country had for government. He'd had less luck in Lamordia, which didn't even have that much government.

  Yersinia had better luck cultivating friends within Mordent's Weathermay clan, one of the town's most prominent families. She was perfectly suited on a social level to deal with anything involving the upper classes, which was why I'd chosen her for the task. Though she lacked experience in soldiering, she was an expert at reading people and getting them to talk. By this means she was able to make the right contacts to achieve her covert mission: the hiring of mercenaries.

  Leaving her son to scrutinize the new maps, I quit the study for a smaller room nearby that I had prepared with absolute privacy in mind, bolstering this objective with heavy protection spells. Its original opening on a minor corridor was bricked up, and now the chief entry was a window too narrow for anything but a bat to squeeze past. For emergencies I had a second opening in a cracked bit of flooring no larger than my thumb, but adequate for me to flow through as mist.

  Within, all was draped in black velvet, walls, floor, ceiling, including the single chair that made up the furnishings. Here would I sit, the crystal ball before me in my hands, able to concentrate fully on its images, free of all diversions as I seemed to float in featureless darkness. The only light came from within the crystal.

  It was time to obtain Yersinia's report for the day. I composed myself in the chair, focused my attention in the crystal, and shut my eyes the better to visualize her face and form. After a few moments it seemed she stood before me, a startled look upon her features as far away in Mordent she became aware of my presence.

  "Lord Strahd?" she asked looking about her with a hint of uncertainty, though I had contacted her this way many times before. By speaking my name I knew that she was alone.

  "What progress have you made?" I snapped.

  She knew we did not have much time. This sort of communication was exhausting for me, and I was wary of Azalin eavesdropping should he find a way around my obscuring spells.

  "I've spoken at length with Voan Darl. He's interested, especially after hearing what you are willing to pay."

  "Azalin can pay him more."

  "Yes, but Azalin also ordered the execution of some woman Darl was close to; he bears no love toward Darkon's ruler."

  Within days of Yersinia's arrival she had met and talked with a fellow calling himself Voan Darl. He had the silken manners of an in-bred noble, combined with the skills of a professional assassin, and was very much for hire. He had been a guest of the Weathermays until a disagreement with another guest from Darkon ended in a duel of honor, resulting in one less place setting for the evening meal. Aware of his hosts' acute embarrassment, Darl departed their house, taking rooms at a small Mordentshire inn. His present source of income was gambling at cards with the locals at a public house. His earnings, due to the modest means of his fellow players, were marginal at best. This made him very ambitious to better himself.

  "Can he bring others like him into Barovia?" I asked.

  "Yes, providing the pay is the same. I've spoken to them. They're hard people, but capable, I trust them."

  "Trust is an illusion."

  "Indeed, my lord, especially in war, but I think you may rely upon them, particularly after you've seen them yourself."

  That was quite true—once my hypnotic influence was upon them. "What else have you to report?"

  "The Weathermays are interested in the trade agreement for their own holdings, but they can't speak for the rest of the land. Barovia may have to make such pacts on an individual basis rather than as a whole, the same as I established in Lamordia. They're a powerful family, though. Others will likely follow their lead."

  "See to it. We need the supplies. Hire Darl and his people and send them in right away. Make sure to issue them neck chains. I don't want them ambushed by Dark-on agents on the road."

  "Yes, my lord."

  Yersinia understood the magical protection of the chains, always wearing one herself. It also possessed a small but important refining spell that allowed me to speak with her through the crystal with much less effort than would otherwise be required on my part. Few others I had made possessed that quality since it was an extremely difficult casting to achieve.

  "I shall contact you at the same time tomorrow," I said, breaking off before she could reply, for my head was beginning to buzz at the effort of seeing, hearing, and speaking from afar. The magical drain on me was enormous at such distance even with the added help of the amulet, but I endured it. Not to do so was to surrender to Azalin.

  And so it went, as I prepared for a war I was certain that I could not win.

  ***

  580 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

  As the months passed, my troops trained and fought, and I sent other agents out of Barovia to seek help. Most unexpectedly Azalin himself provided valuable assistance to my side by utterly alienating Darkon's Mercenary Guild.

  Rather than pay for their professional skills, he conscripted them involuntarily into his army. Theirs was a reputable guild with a long tradition of pride and independence, so this did not sit at all well with them, and a revolt took place within the Il Aluk barracks. The body count was high, and the majority of the dead were not the mercenaries, but Azalin's regulars, including some of his precious Kargat. Those rebels unaccounted for were presumed to have escaped and gone underground. Word was swiftly passed to all branches of the guild in Darkon's other population centers, and the rest of the members followed suit and vanished. Incensed, Azalin set his Kargat to locating and killing those whom he'd decided were traitors.

  When this bit of news came to the ears of the Vistani tribes in Darkon, they made it known in certain discreet quarters they could not only help the survivors escape certain death but find work at a fair wage with the enemy of their enemy.

  So it was that a large number of expert killers began to steadily stream into Barovia and this time didn't end up in my dungeons.

  Azalin had not used the fair weather of the summer to begin his assault, though his army was massed near our border, just out of sight on his side. For over a year he'd held back, much to the chagrin of General Vychen, who was impatient to start. It was the only disagreement I could discern between them, if one could call it that. Vychen was Azalin's willing puppet, but also a military man. When the sky is clean of clouds and the ground firm underfoot, the opportunity for an easy assault should not be wasted, and he wanted to take it. Azalin insisted on more numbers in the ranks, though his army, including the living, dead, and undead, was easily three times the size of mine. He seemed less interested in victory than annihilation.

  When one is outnumbered, then one must become inventive, so I put the time he gave me to good use.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  581 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

  "Forgive me, my lord, but I still think it is too much of a risk for you to be present at this meeting."

  I tried to keep the amusement from showing in my expression as I looked at Aldrick Wachter across my study table. As ever, he held up well under my gaze, and though he did not at all resemble his ancestor Victor, he strongly reminded me of him all the same. The last year and a half had truly helped Aldrick develop into a n effective commander, but sometimes he could be overly protective toward his liege.

  "If you are lost, then all Barovia is lost," he continued, the chronically mournful lines of his face deepening.

  Now I allowed myself a single laugh. "You may well speak a profound truth, but I can take care of myself and have thus far done rather a good job of doing so."

  "But this wizard we fight may have snares so well hidden even you could miss them. Don't forget that business in Krezk."

  Last month one of Azalin's Kargat agents had managed to infiltrate the barracks in Krezk by posing as a common soldier. When the moon turned full he burst forth in his lupine form and slaughtered dozens in their sleep before the alarm went out and he was finally killed. Though the remains of his wolfish head were still on a pike in the center of the camp, the occurrence had been a severe blow to the confidence of the troops. I thought it was for that result alone that Azalin had sacrificed his hirsute pawn.

  "I have not forgotten, and it is for that reason I'm seeing to this myself. I must inspect each individual in the company to make sure there are no similar surprises for them once they set out."

  "But one cannot be too careful, my lord—"

  "Indeed," I said, pushing back from the table and "Your concern for my safety has been noted, Commander, now let us go see to my night's business."

  He caught the edge in my tone and wisely subsided. He need not have worried about me, for though I was protected by my unnatural condition (which he knew nothing about), I was at present a walking storehouse of magical defenses. Add to that the fact that I was in full battle dress with an enspelled sword riding easily on my left hip, and even Azalin himself would have been hard pressed to do me injury.

  Aldrick picked up a stout leather pouch lined with hammered lead foil and drew himself to attention—his way of dealing with the disorientation of what was coming. I picked up a small, heavy wood box, stood next to him, and spoke the words of power that caused us to vanish from my study and reappear seconds later in Krezk some forty miles to the west.

  Opening his eyes, Aldrick then released a small sigh of relief, but made no other outer reaction to the spell. He would never be comfortable with magic, not entirely trusting it, but he did trust me. It was a testimony to his own loyalty that he traveled in this manner—which he had once confessed was quite alarming to him—without complaint.

  Our destination was the aforementioned Krezk barracks, and though it was more than an hour past sunset activity was still high within its newly built walls. Sentries, traveling in pairs, paced alert at their posts while their companions saw to the endless tasks necessary to keep a large army unit at the ready. About one thousand were housed here, and the commander in charge made certain none could complain of boredom. They were the best turned out, best drilled, and best fed of all those in my service. They were considered the elite of Barovia, and that was likely the reason Azalin's Kargat had been sent here. What better place to undermine everybody's confidence than to thumb a nose at Strahd's finest?

  My visit now was intended to make the troops put the recent butchery farther behind them and get them focused on the present.

  I was gratified at the immediate response to our sudden appearance in the center of the parade ground. Half a dozen of the people on watch gave the alarm and came rushing in, swords drawn. They halted a precise two yards away and gave grim challenge. Aidrick solemnly provided the countersign and that evening's password; though it was obvious from their faces that the soldiers knew us, one must always follow regulations. Azalin's illusions were an ever present threat.

  A runner was sent to Commander Resvalan's quarters, but she'd been expecting us and came to greet us, smartly turned out in the Von Zarovich colors of black, red, and white. She offered a formal salute, which we returned. Since I was in uniform, it was not necessary for her to bow as well in acknowledgment of my title. With the greeting ritual out of the way, Resvalan ordered her people back to their posts and led us to her administrative office, a small structure not far from the cooking sheds. She'd noticed the box in my hands but offered no comment or questions.

  Everything here was built of wood and plaster, quickly thrown together out of necessity. There had been some worry about the danger of fire during an attack, but I had taken care of that possibility. Once I had finished, the whole of the Krezk barracks was fire-proofed, magic-proofed, and quite invisible from Azalin's scrying. If he wanted details of what went on here, he had to send in spies, and there were ways of dealing with them as well.

  Resvalan gave up her chair and desk to me and stood to one side with Aidrick while she briefly rendered her daily report, which was satisfactory. I then asked for the list of volunteers I had told her to draw up and read over the names on it.

  "Voan Darl's name is not here," I said after a moment. "Why is that?"

  "The man is a trip wire waiting to snap, my lord," she candidly answered.

  "Is he now? Would you care to elaborate?"

  "He does not interact well with the rest of the troops. That can be a fatal liability on a raid."

  "Yet he is very efficient at his job."

  Several times in the past year I had sent him and his companions from Mordent on spying missions into Darkon, and they had returned intact and with much valuable information.

  "Agreed, my lord, but he's a most difficult man to deal with. He's gotten it into his head that he's some sort of favored eccentric and above serving regular duty in the camp. Even the Darkon mercenaries will fall in with the rest for the drills; they know the training will keep them alive, but Darl's lot stay to themselves, citing that they are civilians."

  "Which they are."

  Recognizing his talent would be wasted were he to be absorbed into the main army, I had struck a special arrangement with Darl when I'd first hired him.