This might have now begun to change though. The arrival of Madam Eva and her little train of vagabonds seemed an unlikely source of freshened hope for me, but after so many years of a stalemate I would welcome them and allow them unheard of freedoms—so long as they could provide knowledge in turn.

  "Such forgetting does not happen with you," she said. "You remember things your people do not. Your memory is protected. We would create that protection for ourselves."

  "It sounds a most difficult task."

  Madam Eva shook her head. "Pah, 'tis already done."

  "I should like to know how."

  "It is in our songs, in our dances and music. It fills us through and through, strengthening us."

  "You drew the power from the land itself, did you not? What is the construction behind that?"

  She shrugged. "It is what we do, like walking. Do you explain to a child how to place his feet? No. He does it himself with some guidance."

  "And one must be Vistani to accomplish this casting?"

  "So far as I know."

  I had a strong feeling that the gleaning of knowledge would not at all be an easy thing. "Another question: why did you come here at this of all times?"

  "We always travel, no matter the season."

  "Madam Eva, I believe you understand my meaning. Answer me."

  She said nothing for quite a long while. I could hear the very burning of the candles flames as they consumed the wax. "You may not believe."

  "I have learned to believe in many things of late."

  Another shrug. "Very well. We had to come at this turning of the wheel, to give warning that important changes are afoot, Strahd of Barovia."

  "What changes?"

  "For you, for Barovia, other places."

  "What changes?"

  "I can only tell you what the cards have told me." Tied to her belt was a small silk bag, which she now opened. She drew out a deck of cards, the like of which I had not seen before, but instantly recognized.

  "A tarokka deck," I said.

  I'd heard all kinds of rumors about their power of foretelling the future. It was said that only the bravest dared to ask for a reading from them. Sometimes they gave only hints on several possible futures, other times they told of exact and unchangeable events. It takes courage—or blind foolishness—to dare to see what lies ahead on one's path.

  Each card had a picture on it, symbolizing many different aspects of life and death. The decks were such that only the person who had made them could use them. Flashing brilliant colors in the candlelight— green, gold, blue, red—they seemed to spark with light of their own as Madam Eva nervously shuffled them.

  "You know how they work?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  In theory. I had several treatises on them in my library, written by people who had devoted whole lifetimes to their study, but that is not the same as seeing them. I had never tried to create a deck for myself, for the universal warning in each book stated that it was not a job for dilettantes. Though I was hardly inexperienced, my focus was in another direction, so I had left well enough alone.

  "You are going to give me a reading?"

  "It is something you need to know. Before we even thought of crossing the Mists I had a falling of the cards such as I had never seen. Disaster and doom await all unless… you are the key, Strahd von Zarovich."

  "To what?"

  "I cannot be over-clear, for it might bring about the disaster you must prevent."

  I understood her reasoning, how such things worked. By its nature I had to respect the limits imposed, but it still chafed. "Then what can you tell me?"

  "Here—" she placed a small table between us, and gave the cards to me. They felt very heavy and hot in my hands. "Shuffle them, then turn the top card up and place it in the center."

  I did so. It was the card known as "The Darklord," showing a twisted bestial figure on a throne. The colors were somber purples, blacks, and greens.

  She frowned at it and looked at me. "This represents you, the ruler of Barovia."

  "Not very flattering," I commented.

  "Shuffle, then turn up the next card, and put it below the Darklord."

  This one was "The Beast," with the silhouette of what looked to be a wolf in human garb howling against a bilious full moon.

  "Here is your past; it indicates great passion and great violence."

  No surprises there. I shuffled and turned up the next card. "The Necromancer?" I asked. The picture fairly leaped out, a figure in magical robes, its face hooded and too dark to see; before it were eight graves whose skeletal occupants were rising up at its command from the clinging earth.

  She licked her lips. "This is in your future. In this position to the rest it means someone who will oppose you. Someone with unimagined power and black knowledge, very dangerous. Shuffle again."

  The next card was "The Warrior," which she told me to place above the Darklord. The figure was completely covered in blood red armor and held a silver broadsword before it.

  "This is also your future."

  An icy claw closed fast around my heart, twisting it. "War," I murmured.

  "Such as even you have never known before. The Warrior represents a facet of yourself, your place in what is to come."

  I dealt out another card, placing it to the right of the Darklord.

  "And these are your allies against the Necromancer."

  It was "The Mercenary," showing four soldiers raising their swords in salute to each other over a chest of gold.

  "Tell me the meaning of it all."

  "It is as you see. There is a dangerous wizard coming who will challenge you, try to destroy you, and you will oppose him with all your might. But it won't be enough, you must seek help from others to survive."

  "I fight alone, now."

  She sneered. "Turn the next card to see the folly of that."

  I did so. It was "The Horseman," showing a robed skeleton, brandishing a scythe raised high, riding a skeletal horse through an endless graveyard. The silvers and blacks were so harsh I could hardly look at them. In no uncertain terms it was a death card.

  "Do not let your pride destroy you and everything else," she said.

  "What happens if I seek help?"

  She gestured, and I turned the top card. It was of a young woman on a horse, nearly obscured by fog. "The Mists, a future which is unknown, but it is yet a future—far better than the Horseman."

  I stared long at the images before me, committing them to memory. Tonight I would find the books on the subject and compare what they had to say with Madam Eva's interpretation. I had a sinking feeling hers was going to be the correct one.

  "When is this to happen?"

  She spread her hands. "Soon. More than a day, but less than a century."

  "You call that soon?"

  "As you mark the time. And it could be at any point in between. You must prepare."

  "How will I know this necromancer?"

  "You will know."

  I had other questions, how he would come, where, and again when, but she only shook her head in defeat. The cards could be infuriatingly vague on such points. "Can you tell me nothing else?"

  "Only to ask that you do not ignore this warning." She swept the cards together, shuffled, and breathed upon them, then put them away into the silk bag. She was utterly serious, and that alone was enough to disturb me, let alone the results of the reading. "The others in the camp do not know of this yet, so say nothing of it. I will tell them when the time is right. It will become as much a part of us as our music."

  I thought that one over. "And you came from so far way to tell me of this?"

  "Upon you all else depends. For the Vistani—for all the people of Barovia—it is better to have 'the devil Strahd' than this necromancer who is death and worse than death. Understand and believe that, and perhaps we may all have a chance to live… even you."

  Against that, I could, and would, offer no argument.

  PART II: AZALIN

  CHAPTER FOUR

  542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

  Mid-summer solstice was more than a week away, but many of the burgomasters had chosen not to wait and sent their annual tax early. The collection structure I had instituted nearly two centuries ago after my change was still efficiently working. Working so efficiently, in fact, that I rarely paid attention to the process, having other means of filling my time than counting money. So long as my boyars and burgomasters were honest—those who were not had their heads removed—the taxes were regularly stored by my exchequer officers in a special stone house in the village of Barovia until need arose to put them to use.

  Such a need was about to occur; I was planning to embark on a new series of magical researches and the equipment and supplies would be costly. At the same time I would deal with the necessary evil of approving certain expenditures submitted to Castle Ravenloft by the boyars over the last few months. Hopefully, this night's work would leave me free and in peace to work uninterrupted for the next year or so unless some more worthy distraction offered itself.

  So it was that I took myself down to the village where some officers of my exchequer waited to arrange things to my satisfaction. This was a rare event, my coming openly to the village, and because of it there was more post-sunset activity than I had expected. Lights showed in many windows, some people even lingered on the streets to talk—albeit close to their doorways—an unheard of thing, but here perhaps they felt a bit safer, ironically because of my presence. With Lord Strahd himself around who would dare to harm them once darkness had fallen?

  Who indeed? I thought as I approached the door to the Blood o' the Vine inn and entered. A profound silence fell over the common room. They all stood to bow or curtsy, murmuring "Welcome, my lord" with varying degrees of sincerity. With this formality out of the way I went straight to the work table set up for my officers to use and began a cursory inspection of the papers awaiting my approval.

  I bestowed a grant to the village of Immol to help their mining operations and authorized the building of a new public hospice in Krezk. Barovia's population was richer by a thousand more than last year, I was pleased to note. Perhaps one of their number was my Tatyana reborn, though by my reckoning she was likely already in Barovia. If the pattern held true, she was even now in some farm or village location yet unknown to me, flowering into middle adolescence. In another four or five years I would begin looking for her in earnest.

  The initial stack of paper was nearly exhausted, but before I could get to the rest there was a commotion at the door of the inn. Someone outside incessantly pounded on the door, their demanding shouts muffled by its thick, solid timber. It was already barred and bolted, though, and as relatively lax as things were in the village, the hour was late enough. The door would not be opened to let anyone in until the sun was well up.

  On the other hand, the pounding and shouts were annoying. I instructed the innkeeper to make an exception and admit the visitor. With a gulp, he reluctantly obeyed. Everyone held a collective breath. Why they were fearful was a mystery. They already had me inside with them; what greater danger could be without?

  The innkeeper swung the door open and in stepped a young Vistana man. He looked much like the late Bartolome had been in his youth—same eyes, same impudent way of carrying himself, and for all I knew he could have been the fellow's grandson. This new specimen identified me right away and instantly came over, dropped to one knee, and presented his complements to "the wise Lord Strahd."

  "What is it?" I asked.

  By way of reply, he stood and drew from his sash a slightly crumpled letter. I noted with puzzlement the wax seal bore the crest of Baron Latos, who lived some miles west of here over the mountain. The color of the wax was blue, not red, indicating it was not from the Baron himself, but rather his wife. I broke it open and saw by the salutation that she did have business with me.

  My Lord Strahd,

  I regret to infringe upon my lord's most valuable time, but a matter has arisen of which I fear you would wish to be informed.

  Late yesterday afternoon a stranger appeared at our gate demanding shelter for the night. As he was well spoken and well dressed we gave him audience, though I was very afraid of him for reasons I could not then understand. He introduced himself as Azalin and had a very superior manner about him, refusing our offers of food and drink. As night fell, he and my good husband retired to the study to talk, since he had expressed an interest in our books.

  Not an hour had passed when there came much shouting and a crash, but I could not gain entry and my calls went unheeded within. Soon after, the stranger emerged and left our house, walking out without a word. He had an ebony box with him that the baron uses to hold things special to him. I hurried in to my husband and found him fast asleep on the floor and a number of our magic books burning in the fireplace. His hands were burned, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. When I asked him what had happened he had no memory of the incident. Indeed, he had no memory at all of the entire evening from the coming of this Azalin person. My poor Cazi is starting to think we are all mad as we keep insisting this happened while he is just as convinced it did not.

  I have concluded that our strange visitor is a master of the Art, and it is well known that you ever wish to be notified of newcomers to Barovia, particularly of this sort. I am very anxious over this as I fear he may return and do worse than make us forget the passage of one evening.

  Please, please as you are our lord and protector would you advise me what to do?

  Your faithful servant,

  Zorah, Baroness Latos

  I knew the Baroness rather well; Zorah was a careful, long-thinking woman, not given to being ruled by her emotions, and though the tone of the letter was by all other judgments restrained, for one such as herself it bordered on the edge of hysteria. It had been hastily written, with many mistakes and blots where the ink had gotten away from her, and the usual careful flourish of her signature was spiked and shaky.

  In regard to her husband, for all of her other intellectual virtues, Zorah was inexplicably devoted to him. He was adequate at his public duties, but otherwise unremarkable. If a mage of any skill had visited their house her 'poor Cazi' would be very much out of his depth. No wonder she was upset.

  "How came this to you?" I asked the Vistana. No need to inquire how he knew where to find me. His people had an uncanny knack for keeping track of my whereabouts.

  He bowed again. "A trusted servant of the lady gave it to my fourth cousin by marriage, who then gave it to my uncle, who passed it to my third cousin, who gave it to—"

  I held up a hand. "Enough. Was there anything else to this message?"

  "None from the lady Zorah." He stressed the final word.

  "From anyone else then?"

  "Madam Ilka—the letter happened to pass through her camp and—"

  "What about her?" I asked sharply. I had kept an ear open to the rumors of the movements and doings of the Vistani. This Madam Ilka seemed to be Eva's chosen successor, though if rumor was true, Eva herself still seemed to be lingering about. This of course was impossible since she had already been ancient at our meeting many years ago. I therefore discounted such rumors as typical Vistani superstition.

  The young man paused, his dark gaze flickering briefly at the others around us. All ears in the common room were canted in our direction, everyone listening intently. I wondered how much of this any of them should hear and decided to trust the Vistana's discretion, indicating he should continue.

  "She said to say 'remember the warning Madam Eva gave you.'"

  "I see."

  I kept an outwardly calm appearance, but inside, the image of the necromancer and the garish graveyard painted upon Eva's cards came fresh to my mind, and my mouth went dust dry. No longer was I in the tavern but perched on a padded stool in a Vistana vardo with the heavy scent of drying herbs about me.

  The memory of Eva's tarokka card reading over seventy years ago sprang to my inner eye as though taking place again before me. The Necromancer card with its ominous colors and dark meaning—was it about to become real?

  She had warned me to prepare, and I had done just that, building up my defenses and bolstering my own skills by constant study and practice of the Art. In the times since then mages had appeared in Barovia out of the Mists, I made their acquaintance, sized them up, cultivated them even, to determine if they were the promised threat or not. If any dared to challenge me, I found it easy enough to deal with them, taking as spoils of war their spell books and whatever else useful they had to add to my knowledge. All these intruders proved to be false alarms, though; none had been worthy of Eva's warning.

  I had no way of knowing if this new one was any different, but never before had the Vistani seen fit to remind me of the reading. Be that as it may, I would still never be so complacent as to sit idle while any self-serving mage ran rough over my lands and people. Turning the sheet over, I noted only the address to myself penned in Zorah's hand, but in her haste she had evidently forgotten to place a date on it.

  "How long has it been in transit?" I asked the young man.

  "Since but this morning, Lord Strahd. We Vistani can move like a mountain storm if the need is great."

  "And you knew the need was great?"

  He spread his hands. "Alas, Lord Strahd, I cannot read, so I do not know what important thing the paper says, but the lady gave us silver enough to understand a delay would not be welcome."

  Taking that as a broad hint, for I always paid well for interesting news to ever ensure its timely arrival, I tossed him a gold coin from my vest pocket. He was just beginning to babble a profuse thanks as I hurried out the door.

  If I do say so, my acquired abilities make it possible for me to move faster than a mountain storm, or even faster than Vistani gossip when necessary. Wings spread and straining against the thin air, I worked my way steadily west. The wind was not in my favor, and it took nearly an hour to skirt the massive shoulder of Mount Ghakis before turning south to the vale between two of its spurs where nestled the estates of Baron Latos. The Latos estates were considerably smaller than they had been in the early years of my reign, due mostly to an inept and presumptuous ancestor of the current baron who had sought to curry favors with me. He had been disappointed. Much of the surrounding land was poor and not given to farming or herding, but one of Cazimir's nearer ancestors had possessed the wit to try planting a vineyard on the hillsides and the family's fortune had been secured for generations.