"Indeed?" I arched an eyebrow.

  His cloth-wrapped hands shot up, palms outward with the fingers visibly trembling. "You must believe me, Lord Strahd, it was intended to be a gift to you as soon as I'd had it cleaned."

  "Very kind of you to think of me," I said dryly. He was something of a fool, but so far as I knew he had always been a honest one, so I took it as a truthful statement. For now. "How did it come to you?"

  "My many times removed great-grandfather allowed an obscure religious order to build a monastery on the estate. It's been abandoned for at least a century, and I thought we could convert the buildings into another winery. The book was discovered during the cleaning and brought to my attention. I knew right away it must be magical and intended it for you, but it was covered with filth, in very poor condition. I was going to have it restored before presenting it to you as a surprise gift."

  Doubtless had he gotten the chance to clean the volume, he would have destroyed anything useful that might have been in it, and my surprise would not have been of the sort to please either of us.

  He continued. "Forgive me, but with this terrible man all thoughts of that went right from my head. All I could hope was that the book would appease him and that he would take it and go."

  "What did he do?"

  "He took it and went."

  I restrained a sigh. Latos shiverd in reaction and quickly continued, "B-but first he muttered something over it—a spell, perhaps? It made my head hurt to hear the words."

  A spell most certainly. Sometimes a casting had that effect on people sensitive to magic.

  "He put it in my special keepsake box, ebony with a very fine bit of carving on it, and then he waved, like this—" Latos made a broad sweep with one arm toward the fireplace. "That's when all my precious books went flying into the flames. I tried to get them out, but…" he trailed off, holding his bandaged fingers up in a helpless gesture, like a mournful, abandoned puppy begging for table scraps. Perhaps that was his appeal to Zorah. "Then he gave me such a look, such a terrible look with those cold dead eyes that I thought he was going to kill me right on the spot. He waved again, and that's the last thing I remember until waking in my wife's arms."

  I paced once around the room and back, senses straining, searching, probing—but could detect nothing useful but the aftermath of the simple spells committed against Latos and his books. Any trace of the mage himself was not to be found.

  "What's to be done, my lord?" Latos asked, after a moment.

  "First, you will complete the work he began."

  "My lord?"

  "Finish burning the books."

  "But—"

  "Their presence is what attracted him in the first place. If any remain, then might they not bring in even worse visitors?"

  "Oh!" Latos shot the sooty volumes a fearful look. "I'd never thought of that."

  "Get rid of them, even the copies which you have begun, but you will tell your friends—all of them, baron—that you gave them to me for safe-keeping. That way, should any other such 'visitors' come calling again, they may come to me." I did not want any of the locals getting ideas about burning any magical books they might find.

  He chewed his lip, clearly unhappy, but nodded. "Immediately, my lord. As you command."

  "I also want the name of the ringleader of the assault on the girl."

  Latos, whose color had slowly begun to return, went white again and his jaw began to tremble. "B-but he's been punished, my lord."

  "Not enough."

  "But he's of noble blood."

  "Which is no excuse for any crime." Noble or peasant, my justice was the same for all. This policy was not popular with the upper classes, but I had not taken up the rule of the land to be loved. Besides, the blood of the high tastes just the same as the low. "As for this thief Azalin, I will see to him."

  "Thief?"

  "He took your book and box away without permission or payment. You know my views on that sort of thing."

  "Indeed, all of Barovia knows, my lord."

  "Except, apparently, for Azalin."

  * * *

  The name I had gotten from Latos led me straight to the town of Berez. It was a bit farther west and south on the Luna river and held no happy memory for me. Not far from here I had encountered the first reincarnation of my Tatyana—and lost her.

  I resolutely pushed that pain from my heart as I circled high over the town square, locating the domicile of the current baron. Because of my unhappy associations with the place I rarely visited this area, perhaps once for each succeeding generation. It was probably a mistake else the new scion of the family would have known better respect for my laws.

  It took but a moment to ascertain the heir's sleeping quarters and slip through the cracks in the window casing. I reformed in silence and cautiously looked and listened about the room. The boy—bordering close upon manhood—was sprawled in a tangle of bedclothes, mouth open, and the sour smell of wine hung on his breath as he snored. He looked too innocent to be capable of anything vile, but I am myself a prime example of deceptive appearances.

  I found a tinder box and lit a candle so that he could see me. He had one moment to transform from sluggish awareness to horrified full awakening, then I had him frozen to my will like a bird with a snake. I questioned him closely about his encounter with Azalin and learned that so far as he knew, the mage was still at the abandoned burgomaster's house just east of town. It was of some concern to the baron his father, and he had sent notice of the intrusion to me. Zorah's message via the Vistani had simply reached me first.

  The boy had also been terrified of this newcomer, giving a vivid account of the incident, of how he and his three large armed friends had been no match for this single man. He had thrown them around like toys, then very nearly strangled them all, using only muttered words and a few gestures. I added each detail to my meager knowledge to build a better picture of what I would be facing. The man seemed to be a mage of considerable power who had no qualms about showing it off. The four louts had first understood nothing of the mage's language, but he had muttered what seemed an incantation and was perfectly understandable thereafter. The youth's description showed this Azalin to be arrogant in manner and speech, with little patience for fools.

  We had, it seemed, much in common.

  When it was clear that I had exhausted the store of information this specimen had to offer I liberated enough blood from his veins to ensure he would never again break my laws. Doubtless the discovery of the body would cause some consternation in the morning, but it was for the best. The thought of dealing with this dolt were he to inherit the barony was already irksome. This was one easy way to spare myself future annoyance.

  I eased out the window again, going from mist to the form of a bat in seconds. The wind had the scent of rain upon it that grew stronger the farther east I went until the sky finally did open up to drench me. No dramatic peals of thunder, no strokes of lightning, simply a steady soaking downpour which the farmers so loved. The wind was with me now, and it was not long before I reached my goal. Apart from Azalin, I knew what awaited me there, a re-acquaintance with old pain and profound grief.

  Of all the houses in all the towns in all of Barovia, why did he have to come to this one? Here it was that Tatyana, named Marina then, had been adopted into the home of Berez's skinflint burgomaster. His daughter in name and servant in reality, but he had harbored plans to take her for his wife, or so she had confessed to me. She was not particularly enamored of the idea, but it was beyond her power to avoid such a fate. Not, however, beyond mine.

  I'd begun the process to make her like myself so that she need never serve anyone ever again, but I had underestimated the fear and ignorance of those around her. Too late had I arrived and was unable to save her from a brutal death at the hands of her would-be husband. I had served him an equally brutal punishment, though it was too quickly over. The whole sorry episode still haunted me, the memory bitter in my heart, as cutting as winter sleet. Losing Tatyana once had been terrible enough, but twice…

  Of course, I had no idea at the time that she might return in twenty years or so. Not that it was much of a comfort. Had I acted more quickly, done something, anything different, then might she now be at my side and thus spared life after unfulfilled life, spared one terrible death after another? That was unknown, but the thought ever after bedeviled me.

  Again, I had to push such frettings from my mind as I closed upon the old manor house. Distractions were dangerous; I needed to focus on what lay ahead rather than the sorrows of the past.

  Closer I flew until the building's hulking shape at last loomed out of the gray curtains of rain. I could not at first take in what I saw and I paused, apprehensive. Where I had expected a decayed ruin there was now a formidable structure, restored to pristine newness. How powerful was he to be able to remake the whole place in so short a time?

  The answer presented itself the longer I studied the outer structure and finally understood it to be an illusion. A most perfect and believable one, more than sufficient to awe anyone with no experience in the Art. I had to know what to look for to break past the fallacy. Beneath it was the house as it really was, a dead and decayed corpse falling in upon itself.

  I tried peering through the broken and gaping windows but saw no sign of light. He was asleep, gone, or like myself, able to do without ordinary illumination. I did not care for the latter choice. Moving in close to see better and perhaps escape the rain, I found a suitable window to make my entry and hurried forward—

  And was just as quickly rebuffed.

  It felt like someone had taken a massive club, set it on fire, and used it to strike me out of mid-air. I tumbled once, righted myself, and got control barely in time to avoid hitting a tree. The shock of the strike hurtled me into man-form again, staggering for balance and blinking hard to clear my suddenly clouded vision.

  I rubbed my eyes and glared at the house until fully recovered. Of course he would have powerful protections and other wards surrounding the place, and I'd blundered into them like some raw apprentice. I vowed not to underestimate this one again.

  The rain began to slacken, but my cloak was soaked through. Generally I ignored such weather, but this stuff seemed uncannily cold, particularly for this time of year. There was also a nearly palpable feeling of horror starting to settle heavily upon my shoulders. I knew fear well enough, though I was more used to inspiring it in others than feeling it myself, but only rarely did this kind of full blown dread inflict itself upon me. The last time had been that hellish night when I had made my pact with Death and sealed myself inside the Mists. This was very like it, fundamental and all-consuming, like a child's primal fear of darkness.

  Then I recalled the reaction of others to Azalin and knew him to be nearby. This was either part of his nature or a spell he had in constant effect around him. But I was not a child to be frightened, nor even an ordinary man to give in to such intimidation.

  As the rain swept along its way and silence descended on the area, I waited and watched and listened. No night animals were on the move. I took that to mean they had cleared out completely. The only sound was the slow drip of water from the trees and the decaying house. I stretched my other senses, but felt nothing new for them to touch upon except the protection thrown around the building.

  The air grew thick as a mist began rising from the ground. The conditions were not right for it, but in Barovia the mist looks after itself. It confounded my vision, for as I stared through one of the broken windows, I saw a man's figure within, but it was shadowy, without detail.

  "You are the one they call Strahd von Zarovich."

  The strange harsh voice stabbed into both my mind and ears at once, sending an icy frisson of fear fluttering against my spine. I was unprepared for its loudness or the chill, but strove hard not to flinch and even succeeded. For an instant I wondered if it was the voice of the thing that had tempted me into my bargain nearly two centuries past, but only for an instant. The voice from that time would have no need to confirm my identity.

  "You are the one who calls himself Azalin?" I returned, looking warily about me, before turning again toward the house. Sometimes a break would occur in the mist and I would see the figure through the window, shapeless in a dark cloak and bareheaded.

  "Azalin is what some here have chosen to call me."

  No one in Barovia would have given him that appellation. It had come with him from the outside. "But it is not your name?" Names are important and have much power if properly used.

  "As some call you Count, some call me Azalin."

  "A title, then," I murmured to myself. It was not from any language I knew, nor indeed from any I had ever heard. Without having to probe too deeply, I could sense the spell he was using in order for us to communicate.

  When he spoke no further, I took a few steps forward, close enough to encounter the barrier he had set up. My larger, human body registered its effect differently than before. Now it was a decided prickling, like invisible needles striking at random over my form, mild now, but increasing in intensity the closer I got. It was uncomfortable, but bearable. I stopped in the middle of it, unwilling to retreat as it gave me a tenuous tie to him. I could learn things about him in this way, things that my other senses could not begin to comprehend. At the same time, though, he could increase his knowledge about me as well. I had to be careful how I balanced it all.

  "What is it you wish of me. Von Zarovich?" The voice sounded bored and testy.

  I held back my flare of temper at this casual address of me as though I were his subordinate. The man was arrogant, meaning he was either as powerful as Latos said, or a fool. I did not think he was a fool but rather thought he was testing things. Two could play at that.

  "At the moment I desire only to speak. I take an interest in my subjects."

  He took on a condescending, disdainful tone. "You see me as your subject, then?"

  Actually, I could not see him at all; the figure faded completely from my view, hidden by the rising mist.

  "All in Barovia are my subjects," I said evenly.

  "So I have been told. But not all subjects are given the honor of a personal audience with their master."

  "Few of my subjects capture my interest. Those who appear out of nowhere, however, are an exception."

  "And what leads you to believe that of me? Are you so well acquainted with everyone in your kingdom that you know when even a single stranger enters?"

  "There are fewer arrivals than you might imagine. And I am indeed acquainted with everyone possessing powers such as yours."

  "And are there many?"

  Certainly he already knew the answer to that. "Very few, I would imagine, though without knowing the precise nature and extent of your powers, I have no way of being positive."

  Presenting myself as being in the more vulnerable position would likely make him feel confident in dealing with me. Not an especially difficult task, he sounded like he had quite a store of self-assurance, though that could be all bluff.

  The voice laughed. "Their number is doubtless exceedingly small, else they would not long be your subjects."

  "There is more to my rule than sorcery."

  "I would be the last to deny it. The willingness to use one's power is at least of equal importance."

  As if to prove this statement, the needle-like prickling increased all over. I withstood it without so much as a wince, having known far worse. He was trying to play, like a child teasing another in order to provoke a reaction. He would have to do better than that with me. As for him using his power on others… "I was told of your treatment of the ones you… ejected… from this house."

  "And you do not approve?"

  "On the contrary, I doubt that I would have been as merciful. I have little tolerance for those who take what is neither rightfully theirs nor freely given." My tone was such as to indicate I was not referring to the assault on the girl. I was hoping he would bring up the subject of the book he had taken.

  "Even if the object in question is taken from those who are not worthy of its possession?" Right. He'd picked up on the hint fast enough and shifted to a different topic entirely.

  "And who is to be the judge of another's worthiness?"

  "He who is worthy. Yourself, for example."

  "And yourself?"

  "I will not deny it."

  What a high opinion he cherished of himself. He also emphasized the point by increasing the pain of the needles and keeping it at that level. Some of them seemed to burn right into my flesh and remain there. It was a hellish distraction. Best to end the game-playing now before he did something we would both regret. "It is time we spoke face-to-face."

  "I think not." He sounded bored again and there was a finality to his words.

  The needles blazed, not a mere dozen, but hundreds, thousands of them. I staggered back, biting off a cry as the pain shot through me. Distance did not mitigate its force, indeed, it was on the increase. An ordinary man would have been dead by now. Instinct took over, and I retreated into mist-form, blending with that which lay all about me on the ground. The pain did not follow me there and instantly ceased.

  I had to take a moment to collect myself, both physically and emotionally. No one, absolutely no one in over two hundred years had ever had the insolence or unmitigated arrogance to speak to me like that, then dismiss me like some dull-witted servant.

  I was absolutely furious. For a moment I could not think at all, so consumed was I by sheer rage. My initial reaction was to call back the rain clouds, stir them up, and send a few blasts of lightning dancing throughout the house. Indeed, I was halfway through the initial stages of the spell before I caught myself and pulled the power back in. It was not out of any mercy, but rather my instinct operating again. It told me that such an impetuous action would be a very bad idea.