I, Strahd: The War Against Azalin

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.

The current baron fancied himself a scholar and we had a common interest in books but little else, so my visits here, though not unheard of, were infrequent. Latos had accomplished one incredibly clever achievement in his otherwise bland life and that was to marry Zorah Buchvold. My informants in the social circles of the boyars reported a general reaction of surprise at her acceptance of the plump and sometimes fussy Cazimir Latos. He seemed a most unlikely sort for her, but where he was concerned her blind spot was firmly in place and she doted on him. A rumour had floated about some years past that the baron had fathered an illegitimate child with the wife of a minor landholder.

But the rumours had died - or been hushed up - and I had deemed them unimportant anyway. To be fair, he did treat Zorah with great kindness and devotion, probably being too phlegmatic in temperament to get up to any mischief. He just was not the sort to offend anyone. Fine qualities for some people, but not always desirable for someone in a position of responsibility. He was good at tending his vineyards, but much of the smooth workings of his place in Barovia's governmental structure could be credited to his cannier wife.

I coasted swiftly along over foothills dotted with the lengthy system of frameworks that supported the vines. The fast-maturing dark red grapes native to Barovia were still pale green, but their growth seemed lush. It looked to be an excellent crop this year. I darted over them, then came to a landscaped hill near the top of which stood their home. It was fairly new, a century old or so, partly cut into the hillside. A retaining wall ran along the outer perimeter, giving it the look of a fortress. If it came down to a true war the household would indeed be able to defend itself for a short time, though that had never been tested. As things were reckoned in Barovia, there was no war or opportunities for such. I had seen to that.

If my boyars and other nobles had squabbles, they long ago learned to settle them without force of arms. The one occasion in Barovia's history after my change when a clash occurred was the absolute last.

It had begun as a property dispute that should have remained a minor hearing of arguments in a village court. The matter might have ended there, but the losing party in the case had given open challenge to the victor in the street. A fight had ensued, blood had been spilled, and vengeance had been required. One assassination of house members and their allies after another had taken place until things escalated to the point of each side raising an army.

I'd been concerned with other matters that year, though my spies within each household had been sending regular reports up the Svalich Road to Castle Ravenloft, so I was well aware of what was going on. The reports for both sides included the observation that my lack of interference in the business had been taken as tacit approval. An unwise assumption, for it had been simple insufficiency of interest on my part until they began to gather troops.

According to my law, only I am permitted to raise and keep an army.

On the night before their initial battle I had soared over the camps, noting the numbers, the placement of their sentries, and other small details. Both sides had possessed a few hundred troops each, not a lot compared to the standards of the past, but enough to thoroughly disrupt the peace I'd established.

I had begun disrupting things myself by landing and calling up phalanx after phalanx of rats from out of the wilderness to overrun each side. Instead of getting their rest, the soldiers were up all night raising an unholy row over the rodent invasion. This, combined with an unexpected rain and hail storm which lasted 'several hours, left their morale floundering in the mud with them.

My spies had told me that the miniature armies finally lost all heart for conflict when in the bleary-eyed morning they had discovered the bodies of their respective leaders impaled and dying on tall stakes facing each other across what was to have been the battlefield. My crest had also been on each stake to let them know who was responsible for interrupting the conflict.

Everyone had wisely heeded my warning and departed for home. Since that time peace had been relatively constant in Barovia. There were still squabbles between the boyars, but they kept them quiet. Anything that drew my attention was likely to draw my fatal annoyance.

I landed just beyond the ten foot high walls surrounding the Latos house and allowed my form to fill itself out. The iron entry gate was locked for the night, as the rest of the place would be. For the sake of appearance I rang the bell, then as a mist I slipped between the bars, resumed solidity, and strode briskly up the stone walkway to the main door. I did not expect anyone to answer the ringing bell; night visitors in Barovia tend to be unpleasant and best left outside until morning. Much to my surprise, the big iron-studded door was pulled open, and I beheld the still excellent figure of Zorah herself standing there holding a candelabra high in one hand.

The wind extinguished some of the candles, but enough light remained that she could see who had arrived.

"Lord Strahd, I thought that it would be you," she said with a strange mixture of relief and fear in her tone. She seemed to be not at all startled at this sudden appearance of the Lord of Barovia himself on her front step, but neither did she seem pleased. She would not look me in the face and her voice trembled as she said, "Be welcome to our home, my lord."

"Your crisis is still with you?" I asked.

"The man has not come back, but my poor Cazi -  oh, my manners - come in, my lord, and I will tell you everything."

She carried herself like a queen - albeit a very frightened queen - as she hesitantly took my arm and swept us both inside the house. A servant shut the door against the darkness while others scattered to their tasks.

The years had been good to Zorah, all forty-five of them, and though her dark hair was now shot through with many strands of gray, they suited her well. She took me into one of the front parlors.

"Would my lord care for some refreshment?" she asked, after inviting me to sit on one of her delicate chairs.

She was observing the social protocols, but there was a great deal of tension whirling about her like a snow devil. Each of her movements was a little too fast, a little too forceful. She was obviously afraid, but only partly of me, which seemed strange.

"Come now, Baroness, what has happened?" I asked brusquely.

She dropped her gaze and her shoulders slumped for some moments. I feared she might break down to tears, but fortunately she collected herself and spared us that minor embarrassment.

She sat up straight again to look me in the eye. "It is as I wrote you, my lord - you did receive my note? - of course, you must have. I've been most distracted by this and poor Cazi doesn't make it any better. I fear he is under some terrible enchantment and there may be worse to come. Had I known the result of letting that horrid man in the house I would never have allowed it."

"Chances are he would have gained entry with or without your permission if he is a mage as you suspect."

"He must be. Who else could do as he's done?"

She appeared outwardly calm, as was instilled in her by her breeding, but I could clearly hear her inner agitation in the swift thump of her heart. That in turn inspired certain powerful urgings within me, but this was not the time or place to indulge the sating of my appetite.

I leaned back in my chair, elbows on its arms, fingers steepled, and looked at her. "Now, tell me ail that has happened. Leave out nothing," I instructed, and listened for a quarter hour as she created a more detailed picture of the last evening's events. No new point presented itself, but she more fully described this Azalin person and her reaction to him.

"He's tall as you are tall, but very thin, and has a hawkish look to his face.

It's not an ugly face, but there's nothing at all pleasant to his expression, and his eyes... I'm not sure how to say it. They seemed to glint red and yet be cold as winter at the same time. What bothered me most was that there was a kind of darkness around him, like a shadow, but without any real shadow. It was nothing you could see, only feel inside when he drew close enough. All I wanted to do was run away, but I dared not. Cazi was also afraid, but we'd already granted the man permission to come inside and it was too late."

Many times during her talk she referred to the instinctual fear this Azalin had inspired in her, and I noted how she would even yet jump at the least noise.

"How fares the baron?" I asked.

"Well enough, but still with no memory of this visitation. He is in a fit of temper because of the books that were burned. They've been in the family for generations and are - were - quite valuable."

"Only to a collector of curiosities, I assure you."

Not the first time had I mentioned that point. On my infrequent visits of state to the manor I had occasionally chided Cazimir about the worthlessness of his precious tomes, only to have the baron - with vast courtesy -  discount it. The Latos magic books were little more than sad remnants of what must have once been a prized hoard on the Thaumaturgic Arts. His proud ancestors, for reasons best known to themselves, had "improved" the originals by recopying and rebinding them on a regular basis, thus destroying the integrity of the spells and formulae. They were rather dangerous now, but since none in the family had the least talent in the Art, it was safe enough to leave things as they were. The disposal of minor family heirlooms was beneath my notice unless there was a real threat involved. The books had harmlessly occupied shelf space in the baron's library for decades - until this Azalin saw fit to burn them.

"What about the ebony box that he carried out?"

She shook her head. "It's not particularly valuable but has been in the family for generations. Cazi thinks it's just been misplaced, is quite unconcerned about it, and won't believe me when I tell him otherwise."

"You have no idea why this man should take it? Was there anything missing from the study, something small enough to fit into the box?"

"I don't think so or Cazi would have noticed and complained about it - unless he was made to forget - but one of the servants would have - unless they've been made to - " She caught herself before she carried things too far. "Forgive me, my lord, I am just that upset about things. I'm not used to feeling like this and I don't like it."

She certainly must be upset to think I would even be remotely interested in this confidence, though her sudden vulnerability appealed strongly to me. It made the blood run fast in her veins. I restrained myself and kept firmly focused on the matter at hand. Next I would need to interview her spouse. Although I had never found Cazimir to be more than a fastidious little fool, I had not forgotten his ancestor's presumptuous ambition. Treachery had seldom been a danger since Barovia's isolation. But if a mage of substantial power had indeed entered my realm, one could not be too careful.

"Where is the baron, Zorah?"

"In his study, my lord. He doesn't know I've asked you to come."

"Not to worry, I am sure he won't mind." then took myself away to the baron's study. The servants made themselves scarce as I passed through the hall. She either had them very well trained or they were naturally cautious. Or both. I tapped twice against the study door and went in before Latos could answer.

"Zorah, I said I was busy and - " he began rather peevishly, then seemed to come very close to swallowing his tongue when he caught sight of me. He was a round-faced, round-bodied man, with a nervous manner about him, at least when he was with me. Very informally attired in a yellow and green dressing robe, all of his fingers were lightly bandaged, and from across the room I could scent the herbs of a healing salve on the air.

He and another man who worked as his chief scribe were at a long table that served as a desk, and scattered over it were the sooty remains of the burned books, pieces of them anyway. A pile of clean paper was on the left, several quills were at ready, and another stack of paper - written upon - was on the right.

Both men quickly stood, Latos nearly toppling a pot of ink. His scribe made a hasty and fortunately accurate grab before it went over.

"Lord Strahd?" said Latos, quite flabbergasted. He made an awkward bow. "It-it is an honor, but how come you here? There is nothing amiss with the tax collection I hope; my records are - "

I raised a hand to calm and quiet him. "I came in regard to a recent incident that has come to my attention. Vandalism to your library, was it not?"

"Indeed it was, my lord, and it is most kind of you to even be concerned with what must be such a minor thing to you."

"Sometimes the minutiae of life are the most important." I gave a pointed look to the scribe and another to Latos, who quickly made a gesture of dismissal. The fellow all but bolted for the door, still holding the ink pot.

Latos was for plying me with food and drink, ever his own way of seeking comfort, but I politely dismissed any for myself. He was very fidgety and anxious to please, but had always been so from childhood. This occasionally made it difficult to discern if he was trying to hide something or just being himself.

I let my gaze fix on his bandages. He folded his injured hands close to his chest, a defensive movement, as though he was ashamed of them.

"Tell me what happened," I ordered.

He did so, weaving a dramatic tale of coming in for an after dinner nap as was his custom only to be awakened by his agitated wife and find to his dismay that his fine books were burned and so were his hands. He was of the opinion that someone had tossed the collection in the fire and he had tried to retrieve them, then fainted from the pain, which had addled his memory.

"The servants claim to know nothing, and they've been with us for years and years, but perhaps one of them suddenly went mad. It makes more sense than this tale of a stranger coming to the gate as they and my dear wife keep insisting.

What think you, my lord?"

I made no immediate answer. He sounded truthful, though there were some problems with his story. One does not simply pass out from pain. The ordeal of it might send a body into a faint, but not pain itself, else the criminals in my dungeons would never be awake long enough to appreciate their punishments. I put it down to either the enchantment Zorah feared or his own penchant for the dramatic and nodded at the table. "What are you doing here?"

"I hope to salvage some of what was lost. A few volumes survived nearly intact.

I was having the pages re-copied and it's very difficult. The language is strange, almost gibberish, but my scribe is being careful about it."

So he was no better than his ancestors when it came to literary mutilation. I thought it best not to tell him that what he was trying to preserve was gibberish now indeed.

"Why did you have a fire in the room to start with? It's summer."

"Sometimes I like a bit of toasted bread, butter, and honey, and if I wait on the servants to bring any from the kitchen it's all soggy and spoiled, so I make it here myself." He drew my attention to a little cabinet with glass doors that did duty as a pantry. Inside I could see a loaf of bread and other edibles. "I - I get a little hungry between meals, you understand."

Far better than he could dare imagine. "Come, Latos, sit down a moment." I waved him toward a comfortable chair. He eased into it, mightily puzzled and somewhat fearful, which did not last long once the force of my full influence was upon him. "Now, you will tell me everything that happened from the moment the stranger called Azalin appeared."

"Stranger?"

His eyes had a far away look to them and he began to sweat, so I knew he was under my control. However, he made no immediate reply, only shook his head, wincing as though in pain. I studied him with senses other than my sight and understood the problem: some sort of a minor constraining spell had been placed on him. I knew of several types but had never bothered to memorize any because of my own innate ability made it seem unnecessary. Fortunately, I knew how to negate the effect and did so, repeating my question about Azalin.

Latos promptly launched into a recitation similar to his wife's. The stranger called himself Azalin and said he was from a place called Oerth. He was new to Barovia and mentioned an incident he had stumbled into regarding the assault of a young servant girl by four men, one of whom was the scion of a noble house in Berez. The baron seemed to hesitate and stumble over this last statement, trying not to continue, but the force of my will forced it from him.

"Azalin interrupted their crime, allowing the girl to get away, then questioned the men before he sent them running off into the night after relieving them of all their clothes."

"Did he?" One man against four. Interesting. "That is all this Azalin did?"

"They were bruised and quite humiliated."

"A light enough punishment considering what they were about."

My views on obeying the law were well known to all of Barovia. I pushed that aside for the moment and told Latos to continue.

"It is from them that he found out about my books, for he was very interested in magic and everyone in the area knows about the collection. He wanted to know everything about Barovia. He acted as though he'd never before heard of it."

I let my control over him slip somewhat. Hypnosis is excellent for obtaining matter-of-fact information, but often important details are left out. The dam had been sufficiently breached so Latos was in a most verbose mood. One of the details he now included was the frequent mention of the inexplicable cold fear Azalin inspired in everyone. When the man asked about his magic books, timid Latos had not dared to turn him down.

"There was something very horrid about him, unnatural, as though it would be all the same to him to either walk past without noticing you or skin you alive. I showed him my books, and he looked at each, but his reaction was most insulting.

He grew very angry and threw them around like they were nothing, then ordered me - me in my own house, under my own roof! - to be silent. I was in deadly fear for my life and those around me and tried to think of something, anything, that might appease him. He wanted magic books, and I had one other new addition to the house collection."

"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.

After some moments I was calm enough to deal with things in a more rational manner. Before I gave in to natural urge and killed this insufferable bastard, I wanted to know more about him. If he proved to be stronger and more skilled in the Art, and thus immune to anything I could perpetrate, I would have more to deal with than just being shrugged off like an annoying stingfly.

Perhaps this Azalin had but a few spells and only happened to be very good with them, bolstering himself the rest of the time with a supreme show of confidence.

That was my hope, but I doubted things would prove to be so simple. The obvious fact was that he was extremely powerful in the Art, knew how to use it, and had little regard for the consequences of his actions. A highly dangerous combination.

I was not about to let him intimidate me, though. I was still lord of the land with all its strength at my back and a substantial knowledge of magic to draw upon. I had woven a number of deep protections about my person and Castle Ravenloft that would be difficult for even a skilled practitioner in the Art to breach. Difficult, I reminded myself, but not impossible. Caution was required.

Still holding to the mist, I eased forward until I encountered the outer layer of his spell. It was new to me, but not impenetrable. I could have likely dissipated it, but that would require effort better saved for other things, as well as alert him to my coming. I went through the barrier with hardly any resistance at all.

Cold. An unfamiliar sensation in this form, but the chill was not something even remotely physical. It was the sort to affect the mind rather than the body, permeating the heart and whatever it was I had left that served as a soul. Part of his defenses. I ignored it and pressed through it and the front gates of the house.

Re-forming just enough to see, I found I possessed two views at once, illusion and reality layered upon each other. In illusion the iron bars were new and locked, in reality, fallen and rusting in the mud.

The same went for the once massive front door. As I floated into the entry hall I seemed to pass right through the thick slab of oak, but at the same time it was flat on the floor, covered with debris.

A third layer of illusion assailed me inside, and it was wholly from my own mind: the sight of the cringing, murderous burgomaster and next to him Tatyana in the humble clothes of a serving maid. They were ghosts, but only in my memory. I was unprepared for the strength of the memories, but long practice helped me to push them away. I could spare no attention for the past now and needed my every thought trained upon the hazardous present.

The more I concentrated, the more clearly could I see what was reality, and after a few moments I shattered the last blocks.

Around me the dank ruin emerged from the illusion, the counterfeit manor abruptly melting away. After surveying the wreckage, I almost wanted the illusion back, then dismissed the dream. There was work to do yet.

Gradually, I assumed full solidity, ready to forsake it should the pain return, but nothing untoward happened. I took a look about me and found no immediate threat in the dismal hall, beyond the insistent cold.

Ahead, in the very room where I had met Tatyana again, I heard a distinct scraping sound, perhaps a chair or table being dragged along the warped flooring.

No light. What illumination there was came from the windows, and they were choked with the pale mist seeping in. It was more than sufficient for my use. I let myself go mist-like again, holding to a nearly transparent form, but with little substance, and floated forward, my boots an inch or so above the floor, utterly silent.

His back was to me as he stood over a rickety table, at first little more than a tall man-shape in a black velvet cloak with blood-red fur lining showing at the collar and edges. The style was definitely not Barovian, but its blatant richness and severity was decidedly meant to intimidate lesser souls. The heavy material was wrong for this time of year, as though he had come from a colder climate.

He partially turned, presenting his profile; I recognized him at once from Zorah's description, the lean face, dark hair, and hawkish features. I could not yet see his eyes. His gaze was fixed on the tattered pages of a crumbling book lying on the table top. An ebony box bearing the Latos crest lay on the floor in one corner as if impatiently flung there. No mystery remained as to what he had carried away in it now.

Thief, I thought. For all his powers he was no better than some greedy cutpurse on market day. The magic book - and it was magical, I could feel it even at this distance - would be mine soon, as it should have been.

He turned his back again, leaning on the table with one hand and flipping the pages with another, reading in near-total darkness. I sensed he had placed some preservation spell on it to keep it from further deterioration, else the near-ruined paper would surely have cracked away to dust under his handling.

I took that moment to fill out into solidity again.

Cold. Very cold it was in here with him.

A scent of dust in the air, very strong, filled my head as I silently inhaled.

Not unexpected in these surroundings, but this had the additional sour taint of decay, as if something had crawled in and died, but the odor seemed to come from the man before me, not the house.

Then I noticed the silence. Like that of a grave in here. What was missing? His heartbeat.

I could not detect the least muffled thump of life from his chest, nor was he breathing. Was he an illusion as well? But no, his hands created sound while turning the pages, thin creaking whispers they were as his fingertips brushed the paper, like that of a spider scuttling over the sheets.

He was not like me, so said my instincts, yet there was something very unnatural about him, something otherworldly in a sense beyond his outlander origins. Until I found out precisely who - and what - I was dealing with, I would have to be very careful with this one.

"I see you have made the acquaintance of Baron Latos," I said loudly, stepping into the room.

He gave a singularly gratifying start and jump and whirled around, his forbidding features converted to the comedic by his complete and utter surprise.

He recovered himself nearly as fast, first to a defensive posture, then relaxing when I made no move against him. He straightened, settling his cloak into place.

I noticed that for all his proximity to the filthy table there was not the least speck of dust marring his fine black velvet clothes. Another illusion, then, and one that was far superior to that which he had cast on the house.

There was no hiding his eyes, though. As Zorah promised they held more than just a glint of crimson, not a reflection, but the result of some cold fire burning within. His focus fell hard upon me.

"I see I underestimated you, Strahd," he said warily.

"It is a common mistake."

His reaction to my entrance improved my humor to the point where I took no exception to his use of my given name. No purpose would be served to let him think such a trifle could annoy me.

"Now that we are speaking face-to-face, as you wished - " slight emphasis on the 'you' " - perhaps you would be willing to answer some questions."

Some of my satisfaction dimmed. A fine thing it is, he steals, trespasses, is insufferably rude, then wants to conduct an interrogation of me. I smiled and said, "If you would be willing to do the same."

"Of course. What would you wish first to know?"

I had already decided to ask a question of which I already knew the answer. "How did you come to Barovia? Was it the Mists that brought you?"

"You know of the Mists, then?"

Of course I do, but then you are not sure of that yet, are you? I thought. "I know of them. For two centuries they have surrounded my land and held it hostage, held its people and myself prisoners. What do you know of them?"

"Far less than you, apparently. I entered what I thought were morning mists waiting to be burned away by the sun, but when they cleared, it was night. And I was here, in a land so distant it is unknown in my own, as mine is unknown in yours." Whatever was beneath the illusion shrugged, a very human gesture. "I have come to suspect your land of being on a different plane of existence. Are you familiar with the concept?"

He knew of things I had suspected for a very long time but had hardly dared to think on. Perhaps he would share his information if I could but draw him out.

"I have heard mages speak of it, but none have offered evidence to bolster their words."

He nodded. "It is the same on Oerth. I have feigned similar knowledge, admitting only to myself that it was wildest speculation."

Feigned? With his powers why should he bother lying to anyone? And why be honest with me unless he felt himself safe? I hoped for as much, though I could not count on him underestimating me a second time.

"Such candor is rare. Does it extend to other matters? Your reasons for establishing yourself here, for example, in the remnants of this particular manor house?"

"It is of significance then?"

I was curious to find out if he had been attracted to the house because of the terrible things that happened here so long ago. It might give me a clue as to what he was. "I will perhaps know that when I know your reasons."

Another shrug. "It was the first structure I came upon after my puzzling arrival. And my need for shelter is not great." He gestured at the place falling down around his illusionary ears.

"The Mists deposited you nearby?"

"Quite nearby. I was able to detect the presence of those four fools and their victim." He paused, probably waiting for me to ask him to elaborate on the story, but I merely nodded for him to continue. "I intended merely to question them, but the situation I found upon entering demanded my actions. But tell me, of what significance is this place to you?

Damn, but he was quick. I must have revealed something of my inner feelings. The problem with not projecting an illusion of oneself is that others can read your face if you let your guard down. This Azalin apparently possessed a talent for that, or he had picked up on the negative reverberations still echoing in the place and made an accurate guess. Or worse, he had picked up on my very thoughts. I would tell the truth then.

"One very dear to me was... slaughtered here many years ago. It has not been occupied since that time. I am surprised that, beneath the illusion, much of the structure still stands."

A brief pause from him as he digested that little tidbit. "You can see the truth beneath illusions, then?" His tone indicated he did not care much for that idea.

"In many cases." I paused a moment as well and thought it best to be truthful again. "The one you wrap so tightly about yourself, however, is, as yet, beyond my abilities."

As yet.

The face he presented so convincingly showed surprise. "You would not wish to be privy to my reality. I often wish that I were not."

Interesting comment, that. Why would he be so displeased with his "reality" as he put it? Perhaps he was disfigured in some way. People can be very vain. "You are more than a mage, then?" More than human?

"And less," he said cryptically. The words had the same finality as before when he had dismissed me. I would leave the subject for later.

"And your plans?" My gaze focused for an instant upon his stolen book. It all but glowed with power to my eyes.

"My only desire is to return to my own land." On that he sounded entirely truthful. Harsh as his voice was - unless it was also illusion - he could not keep out the determination and... longing? It seemed too soft an emotion for him.

"And if you cannot? I trust you would not then try to steal mine." By his manner alone I could infer that he had held a position of power in his land of Oerth.

He might want to recreate that here.

"I would not steal what is another's." Ever so slight emphasis on the word 'steal.' And a lie, considering the matter of the book.

"But to challenge that other? Is that acceptable in your eyes?"

"To challenge openly is always honorable. That is not, however, currently my intent."

Currently. I noted that word. Barovia was small, but all I had. I nodded. "I see. But in the future?"

"Whatever happens, it will be dictated by circumstance and necessity."

An answer such as I would make myself. "You do not rule it out, then?"

"I rule out nothing. Nor, I imagine, do you."

I gave him a thin smile. "It would be the height of foolishness to do so."

"As it would be for me."

If I could only see past his illusion, somehow gain a hint of what was beneath, I could plan how best to deal with him, for deal with him I would. My initial assessment of him on a personal basis was anything but complimentary, but he had knowledge and skills I could find a use for, so I could ignore the revulsion he aroused in me.

Though I hadn't faced it in many a year I recognized his kind of arrogance; it was backed up by true power, dangerous power. I could not control him, but perhaps I could talk him into controlling himself.

I am not modest to the point of downplaying my own powers and talents; they are considerable, but I am well aware of my limits. This Azalin, whoever and whatever he was, was superior to me on many important levels - I had sensed that much - but he had yet to realize it. I could play on that point to my advantage.

I had limits, but if there is one thing which I have learned as both a soldier and politician it is the art of the successful bluff.

"Well, Azalin, until circumstance and necessity raise their ugly heads, I will bid you welcome to Barovia."

"As a subject?" There was a decided sneer attached to that query.

"As my honored guest."

He gave me a long contemplative look, full of caution, but I could tell he was interested. "There are sacred customs in my land regarding host and guest associations."

"It is likely they are similar to the ones here."

"Which are?"

"The host promises to defend and nurture his guest. The guest promises to honor his host and keep the peace and law of his house."

"I can protect myself."

"Are you so sure of that? There are dangers in Barovia of which you have no knowledge. I do."

"Yourself being the chief amongst them?"

I spread my hands, smiling. He shifted slightly at the movement as if to react to an attack. "I will not deny it," I said, repeating back his own words.

"However, if you are my guest then I am obligated to protect you."

"So long as I keep your peace and law."

"Not a difficult task, I assure you."

"You would accept my word?"

"I would, since the consequences of your breaking it would be... unfortunate."

"Might you elaborate on that?"

"You are intelligent enough to imagine for yourself what you might do to me were our positions reversed and I attempted to violate your laws." Excellent word, that: 'attempted.' I could almost see him turning it over in his mind. Certainly he must now be as curious about me as I was of him and wanting to learn more. "I think you can see the advantage of cooperation over conflict. The latter would be a great waste."

"I would not want my place as your guest to hinder in any manner my efforts to return home."

"On the contrary, it would be my delight to aid you in the process. If you can escape this 'plane of existence' as you call it, then I, if not all of Barovia, could be set free as well."

"You would help me?"

"We would help each other. I can provide you with the resources and equipment to allow you to begin work without delay. Give me your word to keep the law, and you may avail yourself of my own library of magical volumes. Then you need not be reduced to barrel scrapings such as this." I indicated the priceless book with well judged contempt, not too much, not too little.

He made an ugly, mirthless sound, but I was certain it was a laugh. A bitter one. "And am I to trust you to keep your word?"

"Mutual trust for us is an absolute necessity for mutual survival so long as you are here, otherwise neither of us will break free. I would keep my word.

Anything less would be dishonorable."

"And you trust me to keep mine?"

"Just so. I think you would prefer to search for a return path through the Mists without the distraction of constantly having to look over your shoulder."

I would be there, anyway, but then he would know that and could be confident that I wouldn't put a knife in to his back - purely in the figurative sense, mind you. It was my expectation that any normal weapon would have little effect on him.

"You would work with me on this escape?"

"Yes."

"I would want to set down additional rules before agreeing to this."

I gave a gracious nod. Anything he could come up with would only be for his own self-protection and likely have little consequence against me. I was quite serious about my duties as host. Getting him to accept that fact would effectively place him under my rule and once there, I could play on that point to my best advantage for as long as necessary.

Most people pace around or let their gaze wander as an aid to thought. He continued to look steadily at me with those strangely cold red eyes. It might have disconcerted a lesser being, but I had faced the personification of Death itself and survived. At this point, Azalin inspired no fear in me.

"Very well," he said.

I strove not to let my satisfaction show, but in those two words he had just delivered himself to my tender care.

"You have my sworn word to abide by your laws for so long as I am here - and so long as you return in kind."

"I swear to return in kind."

"The chances are," he added, as if to discount the profound importance of what he had just done, "that this is but a temporary situation."

On that I could offer no comment.

***

From Azalin's private commentary notebooks, contd.

542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

One's hindsight is always clear, and after but a month in the company of Von Zarovich mine confirms to me what my inner voice had urged on the first night of our meeting: that I should have killed him then.

Certainly I am more than capable of doing it, but curiosity and caution stayed my hand then. I knew nothing about him, and the fact that he had survived the otherwise lethal force of the first spell I had flung at him was enough to school me against additional assaults.

He was - so it seemed - coolly unconcerned toward me, something I am not used to; since the moment when I initiated my own change the reaction of mortals in my presence is ever that of fear. I had grown so accustomed to seeing it that its sudden lack drew my instant attention. If he was not as other men, what then was he?

Since he had thrown off my attack and seemed immune to fear I had two choices before me: that he was a mage of deadly power equal to or greater than myself, or that he was some sort of supernatural creature. It did not seem likely he could be both, for talent like mine is rare, and I had to purposely effect my own supernatural change. I can account for my deficiency of perception by the fact that I had many distractions that night and could not bestow my full consideration equally upon each. I only realized the possibility of the combination after it was too late to do anything about it. By then I was bound by my own oath to his laws.

I see now that he had bluffed his way through the whole business. He has magical power, but it is nothing to compare with mine. He must have known that, yet played expertly upon my need for aid, maneuvering me into a position with his sly bargaining so that I was forced to put myself at his mercy.

I could feel the fool, but at that point his act was as complete as one of my own illusions, so there is little purpose in self-reproach. I take pride in being able to know when anyone lies to me, but Von Zarovich proved to be the one exception capable of immunity to that ability. The why of it eluded me until I came to reside in his castle while he made improvements to the manor house which I have chosen to reside in for the duration of my stay.

That he was not human in the normal, mortal sense was soon obvious, but the exact nature of his difference was not immediately apparent, but easy enough to discern with time. He took pains to conceal the pointed tips of his ears, but beyond that - at least while in my company - bothered to do little else. Of course, once I was in regular contact with him his undead nature became quite conspicuous: the lack of mirrors, the dusk-to-dawn hours and so forth - not that I was particularly disturbed by any of it. My own nature was such that he would be disappointed by the contents of my veins, so I was safe enough from that feeble threat.

What most concerned me was the extent of his magical knowledge. Should he prove to be superior in talent to me, then I would have to be most careful in my dealings. Our first weeks together might be construed as laughable to those indulging in grim amusements as we oh-so-cautiously fenced around one another, each imparting as little information to the other as possible, while at the same time trying to extract it. This was in spite of our noble pact.

He acted wisely in entrapping me into promising to abide by the laws regarding host and guest. By the time I knew his true limits it was too late to do anything about him. I will be honor-bound by my word. Though I may break it in an open challenge, I am not yet in a position to do so. I am yet a stranger in his land and he my only "friend." I use the word as a form of contempt. He is in actuality a necessary evil I must endure until such time as I can effect an escape.

That is what is foremost in my mind, to return to my own land and deal with the traitors who pursued me into that damned mist in the first place. I judge that I can put up with Von Zarovich for whatever length of time it takes to effect the spell; it should not be long, but one impediment worries me.

I have discovered a truly devastating obstacle: I am unable to learn new magic.

It has to be the single most unpleasant surprise I have faced in the last century, and I refuse to accept its permanency. Not a day goes by that I do not attempt to break the barrier that prevents me from learning even the simplest of new spells. Thus far it remains intact. Until and unless I can breach it I will have to preserve the peace between myself and Von Zarovich, since he has no such limitation.

What an intolerable situation this is. For he is ever eager to exploit my fund of knowledge, yet I am unable to improve my own concerning the practical application of a spell. I must be very careful never to allow him to suspect this weakness of mine, lest he gain greater power over me. How this will affect the swiftness of my escape I do not as yet know. Until then I can make no move against Von Zarovich, for I need him to cast spells I cannot learn for myself.

The other secret I must preserve is that of my own true nature.

Mortals and uncanny night creatures alike have a universal revulsion to what I am. It is an instinctual thing that goes beyond all reason with them and the usual reaction is to attempt to destroy me - which has yet to happen. Von Zarovich might be able to countenance the truth, but it is not my intention to test him.

To that end I have very carefully cast a spell upon him, preventing him from determining what is beneath my concealing illusion. It is a much subtler version of one I took care to employ on my own servitors; anything more and he would notice the spell. Thus far there has been no change in his manner to indicate that he is aware of the spell on him or my secret.

He may harbor curiosity about my peculiarities but hopefully will never be able to answer his questions. The core of the spell has to do with preventing his mind from making certain key connections. The danger for me is if he accidentally stumbles upon the answer, but now that I have the free run of his library I have been taking steps to prevent such an event from happening.

I am spared from the necessity of additional castings on those around him, since his dealings with living mortals are infrequent. His castle servitors, guards and the like, are already dead and altogether mindless, being one of his best lines of defense against an ordinary attack. He takes advantage of the fact that people who can think are so frightened by those who cannot - the dead.

I, of course, am the exception to that.