I let my sword blade dip toward the ground. "All is well, the password is 'crossroads.'"

  The soldier relaxed slightly and nodded, then glanced at the rest of his group, or what was left of it. There were some dozen survivors, but considering that they'd been pitted against the best in Azalin's army, it was amazing anyone was standing at all. I'd have to remember to commend the Krezk commander for her excellent training program.

  The enemy dead were counted and as there were more of them than the living, I could safely call this a victory and be proud.

  Azalin would not easily recover from this blow. The officers destroyed here were the elite of his precious Kargat, culled and trained and culled again if they got overly ambitious and threatened him. He'd provided me with his own defeat by his fanatical thinning of the ranks, for it is not an easy thing to find someone with intelligence, talent, and boldness who is willing to subjugate himself to another's rule. So far as I knew, Azalin had wiped out all who could have possibly replaced this lot. Those remaining were sheep, not wolves, and sheep cannot lead an army. With any luck it would take him decades to restore his command structure. By that time I would have devised other strategies—

  The wind, calm a moment before, abruptly kicked up, hissing through the dry grass like a thousand snakes. Its touch was cold as a winter grave. My men looked around, startled, suddenly shivering, knowing that something was wrong, but not sure what it might be.

  I did. I could smell the magic in the air, feel its heaviness thrumming through my bones.

  "We're discovered!" I snapped. "Head for the border now! Go! Now!"

  They did not hesitate or ask questions. Wise of them. As they fled in fear-driven haste for Barovia, I pulled out a ring I had prepared and donned it, then spoke the activation word that would summon the fire spell stored within its bright gold. The ruby mounting glinted bright an instant before flashing to full life. I just had time to direct it before the force of the energy burst free and slammed over the battle ground in front of me.

  The heat was such that even the green summer grass kindled and high flames soon washed over the bodies as I intended. I wanted no chance that Azalin could bring them back again, so utter destruction was a necessity. Their clothes beneath the armor caught and burned. Their flesh seared and bubbled, and the stink of burned rotted meat rolled over the land. The unnatural wind blew about in all directions, sending sparks flying. They carried the fire beyond the confines of the ambush. The wind drove it north into Darkon. If I had any more luck tonight it might even reach and engulf his line of guardian zombies. The horses, overcoming their controlling charms, finally gave in to their terror and bolted, screaming.

  I turned south to follow my people in escape. They were well along. The border was not far, I would simply take to the air and head for the barra—

  Fool!

  Above me Azalin's harsh voice bellowed out like a clap of thunder.

  I am lord here!

  It seemed to fill my very head. I faltered in my rush forward as the force of it hammered me.

  I am lord of all Darkon!

  I tried to alter my form into a bat. Nothing happened. No shifting and shrinking of shape and muscle occurred.

  Did you think I would not know when you entered my domain?

  Damnation to him, his magic was interfering with the process.

  When any of your damned menials entered?

  I began running.

  Here is my repayment for your folly!

  Sensing movement above I looked up and stopped barely in time. It missed me by a hair's breadth. Right in the path before me a man's body slammed into the ground. His limbs were twisted and obviously broken from the fall, and the last expression on his face was that of absolute terror. He hadn't died here, but very far away in Azalin's stronghold.

  He'd been in one of the two assassination parties I had sent into Il Aluk. Their purpose was to keep Azalin thoroughly occupied, distracted so that I could go forth with the raid and this deception here. From my own experience I always knew when Azalin sent one of his zombies into Barovia, and had no doubt he'd be aware of my doing the same with anyone as well, especially if I used magic.

  Your servants failed!

  His voice boomed in my mind, and I staggered from the force of it.

  Their pathetic attempts to harm me failed!

  Another body dropped next to me. I recognized him as the leader of the second company. His throat had been ripped out. I could see the neck bones jutting through the torn flesh.

  YOU failed!

  I leaped over him and ran, but barely ten paces later another body fell from the sky in front of me. This one actually struck, throwing off my stride. I swerved and lost balance. A fourth came down, knocking me flat under its weight. Before I could push it off, I was hit again. Azalin was burying me under the bodies of my own men like a child smothering an ant with a fist full of sand.

  It would only get worse; I tried to turn myself to mist… and nothing. More interfering deviltry from him. I pushed and clawed and got free, then something unexpectedly seized my head and hair, pulling me back.

  They were moving, these dead things.

  No breath or beat of heart stirred inside them, yet their arms worked, hands reached, fingers clutched. How often had I given this parody of living to my castle servitors, but never had they turned on me or dragged me to the ground.

  One last thing to do. I had hoped to take Vychen back and use him later, but I would have to abandon that plan. In the barracks house, in the shelter of my alcove I opened my own eyes. Or tried to.

  I strove to part my will from Vychen, to release my control of him but could not shake myself free.

  You dare to come this way to Darkon? Then stay, bloodsucker. Stay and die!

  Azalin's magic. His damnable magic was holding me in place, forcing me to fuse with Vychen. Now I wasn't only aware of his pain and panic, it became my own.

  Now I was no longer miles away and safe from such an attack, I was a part of what was going on, unable to draw away. Now did I struggle for my life. And lost.

  Their sheer numbers were too much. They surrounded me, pulled me back and down. I struck the ground, overcome by an avalanche of cold, reanimated flesh. Vychen was strong, but no match for these things, which were just as powerful.

  Their mouths hung open as though frozen wide with laughter, but they made no sound. I caught the thick stench of death clinging to their skin as they pawed at me. Seizing a questing arm I tore it right from the socket of one of them. There was a burst of blood, but my savage action made no change. That body and the others continued to arrest my desperate fight to get free. I was fixed to the earth by them, all my limbs held fast.

  Then I saw the stake—one of the very ones my people had brought over.

  I had prepared them all myself, enspelling them to make sure they'd do more than the expected injury of piercing undead flesh. They wouldn't merely rend, but sear their way through, cleaving to the body like a barbed arrow. To pull it free would cause even greater harm. And it was in the hands of a mindless corpse under the control of my worst enemy.

  I will repay! Azalin's harsh voice screeched in my mind, the pain of it making me cry out.

  The corpse's head lolled side to side as it shambled toward me, movements made wooden by Azalin's far away control. Its neck was broken so badly that the bones were completely parted and only the remaining skin and muscle kept it attached to the body. The thing stopped and loomed over me.

  Repay!

  The corpse raised the stake high. I might have screamed; I couldn't hear myself for Azalin's maddened cursing.

  I glimpsed the stake arcing down, felt the tearing, burning explosion of agony in my chest. My desperate dying shriek rent the air, the last of it drowned as the blood rushed up my throat. I gagged on it. Coughing, I tried to expel my own blood from my throat. The stuff spewed over the bodies holding mine in place.

  I tried to rise, make one last escape, but something else had me hard in its grip. Something I could not fight. I felt it rasp against my rib bones as I bucked against it. The stake. The damned wood had gone right through my body, pinning me to the alien earth of Darkon.

  My limbs flailed out of control…

  Lord Strahd!

  … heels drumming as ungoverned spasms racked me…

  Lord Strahd! Wake up!

  . . .the weight of all those dead—crushing, killing…

  Aldrick?

  … taste of my own blood in my mouth…

  Yes! Wake up! Wake up now!

  As though he was one among the corpses I saw Aldrick's face anxiously peering down at me. The vision clouded, fogging over.

  The dead heaped upon me, pressing…

  Come back, Lord Strahd!

  I saw Aldrick again. The vision of the dead… clouds…

  —or the Mists—

  The terrible pain did not stop, but… changed.

  Pressure was still on my chest, but different from—

  Hurry!

  Smothering, but bearable.

  Now!

  Then a terrific wrenching, as though I was being turned inside out.

  My lord Strahd?

  And I jarringly but undeniably traded one pain for another.

  The faint image of Aldrick's face took on solidity, reality as the essence that is me was ripped from Vychen and thrust back into my own body again.

  I was in the barracks house, lying flat on the floor, clutching the heavy crystal ball close to my chest. Guards were standing nearby watching with fear on their faces. Gasping, I realized my link to Vychen has dissolved, blessedly dissolved.

  "My lord?" Aldrick.

  "It worked," I whispered. This time with my own voice.

  ***

  The first few nights were the most important and the worst because of all the waiting, the wretched uncertainty. Recovered from my ordeal, I kept constant post over my crystal as diligently as any of my border guards, waiting to see what Azalin would do.

  The dark of the moon came… and went. His army camped just north of the Krezk pass for another week, then gradually began pulling out until none remained but a few of the guardian zombies who had not been caught in the fire.

  I didn't want to trust this and sent in scouts to make sure. Some even managed to return. Their reports confirmed that Azalin's people were apparently gone from the border.

  I wanted to see for myself, take control of another, but without the disk and the crystal to use I could not. It would take a very long time to create another. At least it was useless to Azalin without the magic potion to act as a catalyst.

  Weeks passed, then months, then years. Azalin held back from making another massive attack, for his army would soon come to grief without experienced leaders. He could not even send his damned zombies across, knowing I would turn them against each other once they were on my side of the border. He would have to hold back and lick his wounds and hope a new generation of effective leaders would mature to replace the old. Not likely, I thought, for he was too jealous of his power to allow others to learn the art of warfare as I knew it.

  I had hoped the aftermath of my assaults would provide me with at least several years of respite, time to prepare for the next attack, and for once my wish was granted.

  I could thank my enemy for that, for his delay gave me the time to strengthen my own defenses. His temporary weakness made me strong. And until he realized that the continuing result for both of us in our ongoing war would ever be a draw, I would have to continue to watch, wait, and prepare for his next attack.

  Unless… unless I got very, very clever again.

  EPILOGUE

  736 Barovian Calendar, Mordentshire, Mordent

  When Van Richten's voice died away, Mrs. Heywood closed the book with a thump.

  Lord Strahd von Zarovich. Such a terrible man, she thought—though he couldn't really be a man at all. And as for that Azalin creature, why, it couldn't possibly be the same Azalin that ruled Darkon today. It couldn't possibly…

  She shook herself as if to jar the awful thought from her mind and looked at Van Richten, but his attention was obviously turned inward. He seemed utterly unaware of her presence. What was he thinking? Certainly nothing pleasant to judge by his bloodless face.

  But…but…it was just a book after all.

  The more she thought about it, the more she came to realize that the tale was not truly a history of anything that had really happened; it was something made up. That had to be it. The idea of living in a world where things like Strahd and Azalin and zombies walked—it was just too horrible to think on. Besides, all the geography was wrong. Darkon had no common border with Barovia, there were other lands in the way. How silly to write a story as if they were joined together. How very, very silly. Fantasy, it was merely a madman's fantasy about something that never happened. Now there were always rumors of wars coming from Darkon, but nothing ever came of it. Just enough fact had been mixed in to make it interesting, and frightening. The writer had merely used the names of real rulers to make it seem more truthful. An odd literary device, but nothing more. Still, it had shaken her. Van Richten, too, poor man. He'd be wanting one of his sleeping draughts tonight himself.

  "Doctor?" She lightly touched his shoulder. When he did not respond, she spoke a bit louder. "Dr. Van Richten?"

  "Eh?" He slowly returned from whatever path his mind had been wandering and blinked at her.

  "Would you like me to make you some tea?" After all that reading he'd be as dry as dust.

  "Oh, ah, that's most kind of you, but another time perhaps. I think I shall have to be going home to make a few arrangements."

  "Arrangements for what?"

  "Just a short trip. It's lovely weather for traveling, don't you think?" He gathered up his long discarded outer coat and slipped it on, doing the buttons up wrong.

  "Traveling where?" she asked, trying to keep exasperation from her voice.

  "Mm?" He concentrated on fixing the buttons.

  "Are you saying that the awful things in this book are going to send you off to who knows where?"

  "Who knows what?" he inquired absently as one of the buttons came away in his hand. "Dear me, I shall have to pack a needle and thread."

  "Doctor!"

  "Eh?" He finally focused on her.

  "You don't actually believe anything in that book, do you? Nothing in it makes any sense. It's no more than a silly fictionalization. I've said it was a forgery and I still stand by my judgment."

  Van Richten opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. A quick sad smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Yes, you're right, of course. It's a lot of nonsense. What a dreadful thing it would be if creatures like that were running about the land."

  "My thoughts exactly," she said with some relief. "Are you—are you still planning to leave town?"

  "Yes, actually, but only to see about locating a new dealer for importing fennel and catnip. The batches I've been getting lately have been somewhat less than the best quality."

  She bit her tongue to keep from commenting on that one. Whatever journey he had in mind, she was sure it had to do with that book. There was certainly much more to Rudolph van Richten than he wanted people to know. But until and unless he chose to confide in her, she'd have to respect his privacy.

  He completed his struggle with the buttons. "Now about the purchase of this book—have you decided on a price?"

  She made a brief inner calculation, based on what she would offer to Milos when he returned. "This one will be thrice the total of your earlier purchase. Even though it's a forgery, it is not without some curiosity value. I'm taking that into account for my appraisal."

  "I've never known you to set anything but a fair charge on your goods, Mrs. Heywood. I shall return tomorrow with full payment."

  "Providing that Mr. Milos accepts my offer," she added as a caution. "He might not, you know."

  "I'm sure everything will turn out fine, but I should very much like to be here when he returns. I could just browse the shelves while you conclude your business with him."

  She pursed her lips, weighing his desire against practicalities. It was not exactly good business to allow him to hear what she planned to offer Milos, nor should Milos suspect that she already had a buyer at hand. He might want more money and thus lower her profit on the deal.

  "I appreciate your concern, Doctor, but I would prefer to take care of this on my own, as usual. I've dealt with his sort before. He may look rough, but he'll not try anything foolish. I'll pay him fairly and send him on his way."

  Van Richten frowned, but finally nodded. "As you wish. But please do be careful, and I don't mean about Mr. Milos."

  She glanced at the book on the table, then back to Van Richten.

  "Yes, exactly," he said. "Such things tend to attract other negative—ah—influences."

  "Influences?" she prompted, troubled by his manner.

  He made a helpless, throwing away gesture. "Just… just take care to lock your doors and windows."

  "I always do, but thank you for your concern."

  "And I'll see you first thing in the morning about payment."

  He settled his hat on his head and started to leave, but paused as though he had more to say. Mrs. Heywood waited him out, but he finally only shrugged, smiled, and wished her a good evening.

  The afternoon was long spent. If Milos did not return soon she would have to lock up for the night. One of her strict unbroken rules was to shut her business at sunset, the same as most of the rest of the town.

  She tidied up for the day, stopping frequently to peer through the curtains for any sign of the man. Doubtless he'd filled his waiting by lifting one too many tankards and time had gotten away from him. She was just fitting the brass key into the lock when a shadow fell across her windows. The last stray beams of the setting sun faded, but there was sufficient light for her to identify Milos and open the door for him.

  "Goodness, but you cut it fine," she observed. "Everything stops here after dark, you know. This may be a city, but we still keep country hours."