I, Strahd: The War Against Azalin (Ravenloft #19) - Page 8

I had to make a conscious effort to remain absolutely still. Keeping every muscle utterly relaxed under the present circumstances required an astonishing amount of willpower when every instinct screamed at me to move. It was a true battle between reflex and resolution, and though precious instinct had saved me often in the past, this time I must not give in to basic impulse.

I managed to hold quite still, inspired by the knowledge that if Azalin found out my deception he would instantly understand that I'd discovered his great secret. And that would be very bad for me.

I heard more sounds from his area of the chamber, the brush of his bones against the stone floor, a ghostly groan. Whether it was an expression of physical or mental distress, I couldn't tell. Could such creatures feel bodily pain in the same sense as other beings? Never before having encountered such a powerful being, I did not know.

After a few moments, I stirred and moaned and let my eyes flutter open in what I hoped would seem a normal manner. Now did I allow myself to look around, doing my best to recreate my initial reaction to the destruction, being careful not to overplay things. When my gaze fell upon Azalin, he was already getting to his feet.

His illusion was firmly in place; he looked the same as ever, except for his gloves, which were gone. Probably torn or burned from his withered hands when –  Stop that right now.

If I started making mental comparisons between the illusion and what I knew to be reality, it would affect my behavior and be a giveaway to him. In all our time together, in all the recollections he'd passed to me, he hadn't once dropped the least hint of his true self, and quite wisely. Had I known, I would never have given him my shelter and protection and would have done my utmost to destroy him.

Perhaps I wasn't animate in the same way as others, but I did retain a spark of true passion within me, and that made me a closer, more willing ally to the living than to this creature. Final death could still ultimately claim one such as myself, but a lich was already dead, a collection of bones existent by the foulest kind of dark magic and its own monumental determination to dwell beyond its normal span of years.

While I still supped with pleasure from life's table, still held my place as a predator in the workings of the world, not so for a lich, who had given up all such pleasures, embracing and at the same time defying death itself for continuance, empty continuance. The cold revulsion Azalin inspired in all who came near him was quite justified.

With all my contact with him I had grown used to that kind of cold, successfully ignoring it. The reaction I had now was not aversion to his physical form so much as the fact that when it came to magic, he as a lich was more than powerful enough to challenge me and win. Indeed, the only thing holding him back from such conquest must have been our bargain, the necessity of our having to work together. That could change, though. It might have changed already with this catastrophic failure. I had to play this out very carefully and not provide him with the least suspicion that his secret was no more, that I had realized my terrible vulnerability to him. His pretense must continue.

Barovia was little enough, but all I had. It was also my only hope of seeing Tatyana live again. To save her, to save that which was mine, I would do anything, even take on the perilous task of trying to destroy Azalin.

But I dared not surrender to that impulse just yet. This was not the time. Even had I been rested and ready for just such a confrontation, i still would have been hard pressed to overcome a being with Azalin's power.

I stood – my limbs surprisingly steady after what I'd been through and what I was currently dealing with –  and surveyed the damaged chamber with him. To continue the pretense that I was still ignorant of the truth I had to react as I would normally, which would be easy enough to emulate, for it was already boiling up inside.

I fastened him with a stony gaze, trying to suppress my rising rage. "What went wrong?" I whispered.

His eyes glowed red, untouched by the fading moonlight coming down from the shattered window. "I don't know yet."

"You must have some idea."

"As you must also."

"What do you mean?"

"I told you to make a severance with the land."

"You cannot blame this disaster on such a flimsy detail."

"You are the one who chose to blind himself to the facts, so yes, I may place the blame for it upon you. I said your tie to the land was too strong to be broken, and this more than proves me correct."

"It wasn't meant to be broken; the breakage was to be the barrier that separates Barovia from its original plane. That was clearly understood."

"By you alone, I gave you fair warning of the foolishness of that theory."

"You said you would compensate."

"I said I would try. I guaranteed nothing."

"Ever the lament for those who fail. All this time wasted, all this effort for naught!"

"Not completely." He turned slightly from me, looking over the remains of his precious laboratory as though nothing were amiss. "Even negative knowledge can be useful."

I choked, not needing to falsify my reaction to his apparent serenity. With the passing of my initial shock it was easy enough for me to fall back into what had become our usual pattern of argument. At this point, had I still been ignorant of his secret, I wouldn't have been able to endure another instant of his company.

Drawing back upon myself – this time unimpeded by the turbulent flux of magicks – I initiated the change and a moment later was airborne, strong wings beating the thick air, lifting me toward the hole blasted into the roof. Part of me half expected that he would try attack while I was in this small and somewhat more vulnerable form, but in my mind I was confident that he was still unaware of my realization. He'd seen me in a temper on several occasions and was used to my leaving in a sudden manner. Such displays weren't likely to affect him. In the past, peering into my crystal, I'd seen him simply continue with whatever he had been doing before the disruption. Presumably that would happen again now, and he would busy himself trying to work out what had gone wrong. I could assume that he would be glad I'd left so that he could freely concentrate on the problem.

The proof of this was his lack of action against me during the next ten seconds.

I was tense all the same until I had cleared the gaping hole. I easily avoided the twists of hot lead framing, and broke away into the clean night air. Now did I purposely exhale, purging my lungs of that pervasive death stench. It seemed to cling to me even in this form, inspiring me to fly faster to escape it. The keen mountain wind flowing from Mount Baratak helped to pare it away.

Swiftly following my black moon-shadow on the ground far below, I arrowed straight for Castle Ravenloft. The land climbed to meet me as I left the manor house in the valley behind. At this point it's easier to go around this high spur of Baratak than over it, but I was in no mood for sparing myself and skimmed dangerously close to its rocky shoulder to save time.

The winds at this elevation are often hazardous and unpredictable, but now they seemed in accord to my will and propelled me forward until I was dizzy from the speed. I rode them like a small raft on wild rapids, but I was in control, keeping upright and holding direction. In less than half the regular time it usually took to travel the distance, I reached the castle and swelled to human form, my feet touching down lightly on the walkway outside my bedroom. I looked back, illogically on guard against pursuit, but nothing marred the moon-bathed sky for miles in any direction.

It meant little. I was far from safe.

I pushed through the outer doors and swept through my otherwise unused bedroom to the inner door leading right to my library and glared at the ranks of book-covered shelves. They were less orderly than I liked since Azalin always plucked them down for use with abandon and rarely returned any back into place, but certain tomes were untouched. I found the one I wanted, dusty and ignored, seized it, and flipped it open, heedless of the stress on its cracking pages.

The chapter I sought was some three quarters of the way through, marked by a distinctive illustration of a creature that closely resembled what I'd just seen in the shambles of the laboratory. I couldn't find it, though, and went over the pages twice before thinking I had picked up the wrong volume. I checked the title. It was correct, matching the one in my memory. This was the right book; it had a whole section devoted to the lore surrounding liches – a section that appeared to be missing.

I carefully examined the spine and binding, but found no crude cutting away of pages. He had made a careful job of it. The contents had been purged, even the page numbers matched up. If I hadn't known it should have been there, not been purposely looking for it, I would never have noticed the alteration. Quite seamless.

Surveying all the other books of my collection I could take it for granted that they had also been subjected to a similar expurgation. He must have begun the process from his very first day here. Angered, I started to fling this one across the room, but caught myself just in time and carefully slid it back into place. I summoned a miniature dust devil to swirl over it and its neighbors so all would appear to be undisturbed. Azalin must get absolutely no clue from me that I'd found him out.

Should he suspect, he would probably take quick and deadly action to try to kill me. I might survive, might even destroy him instead, but I was in desperate need of preparation to guarantee it.

I needed to know more. There was but one other unlikely source of information left to me in the castle. I quit the library and sought my daylight sanctuary in the crypts far below. Here, in one of the most secure refuges I had ever constructed, I kept certain important spell and magical books hidden from him, along with my personal journal. So far as I knew he had no idea of their existence. If this lot had been tampered with… I'll deal with it then.

My crypt, where I most often sheltered from the sun during the day, was the best defended chamber in the whole of the castle. There I had rigged countless traps and protections, many designed specifically to hold against the kind of intense magic of which Azalin was capable of summoning. I spent months perfecting and charging them with lethal power. The idea was to delay and drain him, using up precious daylight time, and I had put in enough to last through the longest mid-summer had to offer. But those spells were not designed with a determined assault from a lich in mind. I would have to correct that.

Once in the crypt I went straight to the concealed alcove built into the base holding the sarcophagus and muttered the words that would open it. Thin lines appeared in the unmarked marble and widened to the point where I could grasp the stone plate and pull it to one side.

All was as I had left it, the books, the journals; the crystal ball in its velvet casing was elsewhere. I seized one of the books, a rare reference volume, and searched it page by page. My memory of the contents was fairly clear, though I hadn't opened it in several decades. I was sure there was some mention about liches within.

No more. It was as clean as the library collection. The same went for the rest of them, except the one Alek Qwilym had brought me, for its pages were still black.

Azalin had been remarkably thorough with the others, though. And I could assume he had managed to read my private journals.

The rage flooding through me at this violation was too great for the stone chamber to hold. I surged into the larger, outer crypt to give proper vent to it, roaring and smashing things with abandon. It was some time before I came to myself again and could survey the situation with a somewhat cooler head.

Yes, he had purged the books, and yes, he had invaded the record of my innermost thoughts. I'd have done precisely the same thing given the chance. He knew all there was to know about me – but only up to this point. I could plan around that, compensate for it, and do it in such a way as to continue a pretense of my ignorance. Not too very difficult. I'd had centuries of practice at dissembling; this would be but an extension of that useful skill. I had but to give him what he expected to see. As for my enemy… My knowledge of liches was now limited to what I could recall from casual reading. I had never made an especial study of the creatures, thinking it most unlikely I would ever encounter one. They tended to stay in one spot once they initiated the hideous spell work to bring about the awful change they desired.

Once done it could never be revoked, and they would continue on, dead and yet not dead, but in a manner far removed from my own form of existence. I still took sustenance from the living, sometimes killing to maintain my life as everyone else, but a lich was sustained itself by magic, by the kind of foul necromancy so filthy and black as to make my own dark deeds seem celestial by comparison.

All the little clues, his lack of breathing and heartbeat, his never eating, the abnormal, biting cold of his mere presence, the burning red glow of his eyes – they should have told me the truth far sooner than this. Had I been so wrapped up in the preparation for escape that I had overlooked their importance? Not likely. No. Impossible. I knew how my own mind worked and this sort of mistake was quite out of the ordinary for it. The only explanation was that Azalin had cast a very subtle spell upon me, one that prevented me from seeing what was now painfully obvious. Only when the aftermath of our explosive escape attempt had stripped him of all guise and spell work had the truth finally dawned. His cleansing of the books had been to prevent me from stumbling accidentally upon the subject which would likely have negated his spell. The more I considered it, the more obvious it became. It was the only way I could account for such a tremendous lapse of perception on my part.

In some twisted way I could take it as a compliment. He must view me as being a real danger to him once I found him out. Certainly I did have lethal means at hand to use against him, possessing any number of captured magical weapons that might do the job, except for those with auras that repelled me as well.

If it came down to a fight, he was my superior in many areas of magic, and I was all too vulnerable to supernatural injury from him – especially during the day. On the other hand, were we to engage in face-to-face physical combat, I could destroy him. Or at least his outer body. An important detail I recalled about liches had to do with them placing their life-force in some object or container for safekeeping. If their bodies were disposed of they could use it to magically transfer themselves into another vessel, a corpse being the preferred receptacle.

There were plenty of those in Castle Ravenloft. But Azalin would not be like my mindless servitors with no will but my own. He would be capable of thinking and acting for himself.

Another dim recollection concerning their weaknesses had to do with knowing the lich's true name. Azalin was a mere title. He had admitted as much. Even in the times when we had been forced to communicate with spells while we learned one another's language, he had always skirted the issue of the meaning of "Azalin,"

saying merely that it was a title of respect bestowed upon great rulers. But Azalin could not have been part of his name much less his entire name, and one would need that to deliver any sort of effective controlling spell. He would be very careful to avoid providing me with that kind of a weapon. As for a spell which would effectively control him, I knew several of that type, but whether any of them would affect him with or without the use of his name I couldn't speculate.

I had been deluding myself by comparing him to a pet mountain bear; only this thing's word had held him in check all this time. I was his keeper merely so long as he chose to be kept.

In his first weeks here he'd needed a protector and guide and had held back his hand, but as I paced around the outer crypt there occurred to me other, more solid reasons why he hadn't yet challenged me.

I was his best hope of leaving Barovia. He needed my help in the spell work, since he seemed unable to learn new ones. For that he required my willing cooperation in order to raise my knowledge up to a point where I'd be useful to his endeavors. The problem with that ploy was that now I was powerful enough in my own right that Azalin could not compel me into anything against my will. If he made the attempt and forced things, he would have to kill me, for I would refuse to submit; I was stubborn enough for that.

Then there was my link to the land. Destroying me would destroy Barovia, and by default, Azalin. He had come to believe this as much as any of the Vistani, which had always surprised me, for I was not all that certain I believed it myself, though I had used the legend to my advantage often enough. So what was I to do with this disaster awaiting a time to happen?

I had no doubt that I could keep up my fiction of ignorance about his true nature. It was necessary to my continued safety and our continuing work. Though I could press forward on my own with the research, it would go much faster with his contribution. Because of his labors I had seen a glimpse of another world, and to break through to it I needed him as much as he needed me.

It was an unpleasant and highly delicate balance of power to be sure, based on mutual deception and an archaic sense of teeth-on-edge courtesy, but I could live with it. I had to live with it. For like it or not, he was my only hope of escape.

Several nights passed and I heard nothing from him, though I kept an eye on things by means of my crystal. He was busy with repairs to the tower, and it seemed to take the whole of his time and concentration. Well and good, for I had need to make a quiet and unobserved journey from the castle.

Once I had ascertained that Azalin was fully occupied at his tasks, I went to the library and began a special casting. By the time I'd finished, an exact double of myself appeared sitting at my library table poring over a book, lost in study. It was detailed enough to accurately reflect candlelight and even turn pages on a regular basis. The illusion would not stand up to a close inspection, but I was willing to risk that Azalin, with whatever Sight spell he favored, was not likely to do more than just check on my general whereabouts.

The casting in place, I donned a thin gold chain from which hung a special amulet that would completely obscure my presence from the various Sight spells which I had seen him employ. For me to simply disappear was not enough and would rouse his suspicion, hence the necessity of having a double where I might be expected to be found. Azalin was probably too caught up in his repairs to even bother to look, but I had never regretted being overly cautious. When it came to a foe like this lich, there was no such concept.

All things ready and smoothly running, I executed my traveling spell. One instant I was in my library and the next standing just outside the circle of Vistani wagons by the Tser Pool, the night wind warm upon my face.

The air carried the scent of my presence to their mongrel dogs who set up an immediate row in reaction, as did their other animals. The preparations for that evening's meal stopped abruptly. Children fled to their mothers, and the men stood looking about – alert, their hands going to the big knives which they carried in their broad sashes. The focus of their attention eventually came around to me as I emerged from the forest darkness into the firelight.

"Madam Ilka," I said, "take me to her."

There was a slight hesitation on their part. Perhaps I had startled them for once; they certainly acted like it. One of the older men finally gave a short nod and snapped an order to the others. There was no relaxation of their fear, but at least they were no longer frozen in place by it.

I was given a loose escort to Ilka's vardo – nobody wanted to venture too close to me – and one of them knocked on the door, getting a faint reply from within. He opened it and a look of shock crossed his features as I took to the narrow steps and boosted myself inside without further invitation. My errand was more important than observing the ridiculous courtesies surrounding the entry of a gentleman to a lady's boudoir. In the pursuit of the sating of my appetite I'd found countless women in all states and stages of dishabille; they could hold few surprises for me now, and Ilka proved to be no exception. She was seated in her pillow-padded chair as before, the beginnings of a tarokka reading spread in front of her on the table. Once again I was struck at her remarkable resemblance to her predecessor. She looked up, dark eyes flashing mild amusement, and jerked her chin in the direction of a small stool, probably the same one I had used on my previous visit.

"Welcome, Lord Strahd. Sit and take your ease."

I left the door open. The men outside were within earshot, but I cared not.

Before the night ended they would all hear of what I wanted from them and their whole tribe throughout Barovia.

I took my seat, and Ilka turned over the next card in her reading. It was the Darklord.

"It seems I've no need to see farther," she said, gathering and shuffling the lot into a neat pile.

"Do you know why I have come?"

"The cards have only hinted, and my dreams have not been so clear. I know it has to do with the Necromancer."

"It does."

She gave me a long look. I heard the fast, light beating of her ancient heart drumming in its cage and I could smell her fear. "Does the war come now?"

"I hope not, for I am not yet prepared."

"But I thought – "

"Were he a mere necromancer then would the war stop before it could ever begin for I would kill him – but he is more than you or I ever expected."

"What is it you say?"

I told her – in detail – and watched all color drain from her face.

The sweet, exciting stink of her fear now filled the cramped vardo. To hear a living heart, to scent the fear driving it, was more than enough to rouse my hunger and tempt me to forget the promise I had made to Madam Eva so very long ago. I struggled to hold myself in check.

Ilka muttered something in her own language and made a warding gesture which seemed to have no effect against me. I plucked out the phrase "protect us" from her soft flow of words. "Such dark creatures are not meant for this world," she said aloud after some moments. "He must be destroyed."

"Indeed, but not until the time is right."

"Is the Lord Strahd afraid of him?"

"Afraid?" I arched on eyebrow. Under different circumstances I might have been angered at her presumption, but considering the subject of our discussion, I let it pass. "I fear no one in my land. But I am wise enough to discern the necessity of caution. One misstep could prove fatal. I certainly intend to kill him, but only in my own time."

She cocked her head to one side. "You have a use for him then?"

"I could desire things to be otherwise, but yes, I do. It is necessary for him to continue with the work we're doing; once it is successfully completed I shall take steps against him. Until then I have need of the Vistani as well."

"We are already your eyes and ears throughout the land."

"In general. What I need are watchers to specifically spy on him. He is in his own house now, miles from the castle. I cannot keep vigil over him as before, especially during the day."

"We dare not come too close to him. He might hear our thoughts and kill us."

"I don't require your people to move into his house, only to watch outside its gates and grounds and tell me of anything unusual that happens. I particularly want news of any who visit him, be they peasant or noble. He may try to make allies; if that happens I need to know of it."

"Better to kill him," she grumbled.

"I am open to suggestion as to how one might be able to kill the dead," I returned dryly. "Perhaps your dreams may reveal his true name to you that I might use it against him. If so, then I should be glad to know the magic as well."

"Alas, Vistani dreams are not like any others, nor our magic."

Which was probably just as well. "You will tell your people what I require of them. Accept only the best and wisest. Those who have gifts for seeing the truth past an illusion must be among them, for this necromancer can conceal much when the need suits him."

"There are few like that in our tribe."

"Find and gather them. They will be rewarded well for this service; you have my word on it." From my waistcoat pocket I drew out a silk bag, loosened the cord, and let the coins within tumble out over the table.

A glint came to her eyes as they all but fed upon the treasure. The Vistani were as fond of the brightness of gold as any magpie.

"Sort it out amongst yourselves how to manage this watch, and see to it that those chosen for duty are subtle about it so that they are not caught. There are fates far worse than merely dying, and the necromancer is familiar with many of them."

"My people may not agree to stand watch."

My sudden rage filled the vardo like a blood-red cloud. She flinched as I fought to hold it in check. When it was under control, I continued, my voice a stinging whisper. "In this they have no choice. Your people may risk death in my service or have it as an utter certainty in his. Are you willing to be the one to break the agreement Madam Eva and I made?"

She licked her lips, and her hand covered the tarokka deck. Muttering again she turned the top card over. It was The Horseman. She stared at it a long moment with a stricken face. The Horseman was feared by all for its portent of calamity and destruction, and usually meant death. Ilka gave a short hopeless laugh, then pushed the cards toward me, her fingers trembling.

I cut the deck and chose. It was easy enough to deduce her questions: What will befall the Vistani if we do nothing? And: What awaits us to follow Lord Strahd? To answer the last question I placed the card face up between us on the table and waited for her reaction. This time it was The Mist. Not always a good card for its uncertainties, but better than the previous draw.

She made no move, looking at it as though she hadn't seen it before, though the custom was for each Vistana seer to make her own deck.

"Well?" I said, growing impatient.

She briefly bowed her head. "All will be as you command, Lord Strahd. The Vistani will be your faithful servants in this war."

And not beforetime. I touched the amulet on my breast. "Do you know what this is?"

She peered closely at it, then held her hand up, palm out, fingers spread. I felt something lightly touch it. Something that was there and yet not quite real. "It is a charm against prying magic that no one may find you," she pronounced.

"Correct. I have prepared many of these for just this time." From another pocket I drew forth a small leather bag. "Each person who takes up the watch against the Necromancer must wear one of these. They will be hidden from his magical Sight, but they must take care he does not see them in the normal way or it will do them no good."

"We shall be like ghosts," she promised.

"I hope not, for ghosts are the dead and this lich knows their ways."

Again the warding gesture.

"Is all this clear to you? Must I remain to make the rest understand the importance of the task?" I put an ominous tone to this, making it seem like the threat it was.

She caught the hint. "No, Lord Strahd need not trouble himself. I will see to all. But…"

"What?"

"The others will want to know – how long must we keep the watch?"

"A day or a century." I let my fingers brush against the two cards, one the unknown, the other certain disaster.

"For as long as it takes?"

"For as long as it takes."

547 Barovian Calendar, Barovia "The wench will still be there a few days from now. Your presence is required to carry out these duties before I can move on to the next phase of work."

Even after five years Azalin had not tired of testing me, baiting me. I finished settling my cloak into place, not bothering to spare him a look as I secured the fastening at the base of my throat.

"Unless your head is turned enough by mere rumor to risk all chance of escape,"

he continued.

I had long grown used to his imperious manner and knew when to ignore it. This was one such time.

"What you want done is not beyond your scope; you can accomplish it easily enough."

"My efforts are better concentrated in the preparation for larger things," he said loftily.

"What would that be, running errands best left to your servitors?"

He'd made the trip from his manor house to Castle Ravenloft himself to present another order for new laboratory equipment and supplies. I didn't care much for him coming here, but I was willing to put up with it if it expedited his project.

"I want no more mistakes; that's why I must see to this personally. The previous lot of goods you sent was wholly unsuitable for use."

"Not my fault. The craft guilds constructed things exactly as you ordered."

"They failed," he stated flatly. "If you would let me deal with them directly there would be no more errors."

"And likely no more craft guilds. You have already killed two of their most skilled workers for minor errors that could have been corrected had you given them the chance to do so."

"They were incompetent idiots."

"Because of your lapse it could take decades of training before the next generation comes of age in the expertise required. I remind you that this is not your grand and glorious Oerth with an infinite number of replacements for the casualties of your temper."

"You can spare yourself the effort; I am only too well aware of the limitations of this miserable land."

"Excellent. For a mind such as yours, it should not be much of a challenge to work within those limits. When I get back I will deal with the guilds as before."

"You could be gone for months!"

"Or a single night. I'm sure you can find entertainment enough in my library for that time."

"Entertainment!" he snarled, for he had nothing but disdain for anything smacking of recreation