I, Strahd: The War Against Azalin
Chapter Five

543 Barovian Calendar, Barovia
The passage of a single year may be swift or slow for me depending on the focus of my attention. When waiting upon some important occasion, such as the return of my Tatyana, time seems to nearly stop. When working on research that might lead to my escape, I forget about it altogether and blink in surprise to find it is again mid-summer.
The passage of this past year has been paradoxically both swift and slow, which has been due entirely to the presence of my "guest," Azalin. Though stimulating company, to say the least, he is rather like having a tame bear about the castle... an amusing novelty - until it decides to turn on you.
We spent the initial weeks of our new partnership exchanging information, both magical and otherwise, though we were as yet both very cautious in what we shared, neither desiring to give advantage to the other. Furthermore, we used these initial discussions to begin to learn one another's native tongue so that the use of spells would no longer be necessary to converse. The use of spell work to communicate soon became altogether unnecessary for us.
The solstice was nearly upon us again. Tonight, as the year turned from season to season, Azalin would call upon the resulting fluxing energies to lend power to the spell we would attempt. Of course, a lot of preparation had gone into this.
***
542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia In that dank and crumbling manor house Azalin and I settled on the generalities of just how we were to work together to engineer his return home and my possible escape. The latter was not very important to him, I could immediately see that, so it would be up to me to not let him forget it in his haste to leave.
It had been many years since I had to actually stoop to negotiating with another, but his power was such that I dared not press him too strongly against his will lest he decide to press forward with the open challenge he had mentioned. All things between us had to be carefully balanced, so I had to hurriedly scrape the rust off my bargaining skills in order to rise to the need at hand. I did rather well for someone with virtually no position of strength.
The art of the bluff is not to be underestimated.
I also believe that it had been long since he had to do the same, else he would have come out ahead on some points. He was cautious and patient, but perhaps too much so; there is a time and place for such, but one must know when the moment is right to decisively strike. Even now, he may end up waiting too long and fall behind.
Each moment I spent with him added to my knowledge of his idiosyncrasies, all of which would be useful to me as a strategist should open conflict come about. If I could prevent it I would, but now was not the time.
Despite my instinct to kill him and be done with the threat, reason told me that he was my best chance to escape. His knowledge - so he informed me, and so I later discovered - of the Art was indeed profound. I could learn much from him and intended to do just that. Dangerous as he was, the risk was worth it if it could expand my own knowledge.
To make this a relatively safe and viable undertaking, I found I had many other duties to suddenly perform, such as apprising the nobles in the immediate area of the manor house about its new tenant. This task I assigned to Zorah. I deemed her intricate social circle within the boyars to be the best way to deliver instructions to the local nobles. She was an important figure to the various families, making her a most useful tool to manipulate the twisted workings of Barovian politics. Besides, she seemed rather grateful to me for having handled the situation with Azalin and my efforts to keep him at a safe distance from her own home.
The locals would know only that Azalin had arrived in the land by a traveling spell that went awry, and it was my express order that he be left strictly alone for as long as he was here. The story I gave was mostly the truth, that Azalin was an extremely dangerous sorcerer, easily offended. Zorah's own experience with him would bear that out.
On the surface this policy was to keep the nobles from endangering themselves by encounters with Azalin's quirks of temper. In reality, I did not want him making allies of any disaffected members of Barovia's nobility. The idea of their using Azalin as a figurehead, his magical talents as a weapon, and rebelling against me was one of the first possible dangers I'd thought of, and denying him the opportunity seemed the best solution. Perhaps it might even avert the war Madam Eva had warned me about.
My boyars could be a fractious lot. I had held full control of them for nearly two hundred years, and except for that one attempt at civil war that I'd foiled, things had been relatively peaceful. Sometimes there would be the odd assassination or two happening between rival houses, but when those occurred I arbitrated things back to normal when necessary. If the death was justified, I let things stand. If not, then the perpetrators were issued an invitation to come inspect my dungeons at Castle Ravenloft. The more intelligent ones always elected to kill themselves outright, their relatives tendering regrets to me.
The rest would either try to hide (which was quite useless) or bolt away to take their chances in the Mists. Then would I set my wolves to track them down first and dispose of the problem. As I have said, I had not established my rule in order to be loved.
Taking into account that I as yet knew little about Azalin, I sensed he was also used to being in a position of power. If I picked up on that quality, then so would others, and they might try appealing to him for help against the devil Strahd, thinking Azalin would be an improvement as their leader. All their lives they'd known no other sovereign but me, so they had no one to compare with me, else they might find my guidance more agreeable. There is much difference between contention with one cautious wolf versus a rampaging bear.
I had some allies but many enemies. Until now the latter had no recourse but to endure my law as best they could, having no power to oppose me. But if they took it into their heads to win Azalin over to fight me, all could be lost. My instincts told me I wasn't yet ready to face him.
There was also the reverse to think on, that once he made their acquaintance, Azalin might use the boyars against me - even those who were unquestionably loyal.
He was a powerful enough mage to do so. True, he was presently only interested in returning home, but should that prove to be an impossibility, what then? The open challenge he had mentioned? I deemed it best to keep everyone apart and work to get rid of him as soon possible.
My next sojourn after the Latos estate was to the Vistani camp next to the Tser Pool. The vardos looked much like the ones I had seen decades ago, same bright paints and carved trim; their occupants also seemed unchanged. Remarkably so considering that two generations had passed since I had made the pact with Madam Eva.
Over the years our agreement had proved to be a wise and mutually beneficial arrangement. The Vistani had ever kept me apprised of people and events in the country - though in the case of Azalin they had not done so well. I had, in turn, protected them from undue harassment and had refrained from taxing them. Their messengers regularly crossed the poisonous fog barrier to leave missives at Castle Ravenloft. By now every one of them knew the antidote for the fog, but so far they had kept that secret well within the tribe. As Eva had promised, they occasionally sold it to anyone foolish enough to want to enter the castle without my permission. The outcome of such transactions never failed but to enrich the Vistani pockets... and my larder cells.
I landed in the woods just outside the camp, having counted eight of their wagons pulled in a circle around several fires. Music drifted to me on the still air - there is always music at a Vistani gathering - and the smell of cooking. There was no snow on the ground, but otherwise things were much as they had been at our first meeting.
The Vistani are not as shy about being out after dark as most Barovians, but they are far more sensitive to the world around them. Even as I settled my cloak back into place I noticed mothers scurrying to gather their children and the men standing to look in my direction. The music stopped.
Rarely did I bother to show myself to such a large group. Usually my dealings were with a single messenger such as the one resembling Bartolome who had come to me the previous night. I saw him again now, striding forward to stop a respectful distance away to execute a sweeping bow.
"We give welcome to the wise Lord Strahd," he said in response to my nod. "Madam Ilka is expecting you."
I was hardly startled by that bit of news. It would be an extraordinary night indeed if I ever surprised a Vistana seer.
He led me to a vardo similar to Eva's but with little birds etched into the glass panes of its windows instead of flowers. He reached high and opened the door, motioning me up the steep wooden steps to the shadows within.
The interior was cramped as they all were, but she'd made good use of the space.
Along with bunches of herbs, lanterns hung from the ceiling crossbars. Their glass was tinted pink, lending a soft glow to everything. I dare say it made even me look less pale. The bed was neatly folded up against one wall and a shelf let down from another to serve as a temporary table. Ilka sat behind it, her watchful gaze on me. I was immediately struck by the startling similarity she bore to her predecessor, the same round, wizened face - if decidedly more wrinkled - the same short, wide figure. Most startling were the eyes. Her eyes were exactly the same as Eva's, the same dark, penetrating gaze. Had I not know better, I would have sworn that Eva herself sat before me.
"Welcome to you, Lord Strahd," she said, not budging from her chair. As she must have been well past eighty, I assumed it was not meant as a slight and found a seat for myself. She looked frail, but her voice was yet strong, and the light in her eyes fierce.
"Thank you. I received your message about remembering Madam Eva's warning. Was there anything you can add to it?"
"You wish a reading?"
Suddenly I noticed the deck of tarokka cards in her hands. They had not been there an instant before. Very talented, she was, like her mentor. I nodded, and she gave the cards to me to shuffle. I made a thorough job of it, taking my time, admitting to myself that I was reluctant to see what message they had in store for me. They were her own deck and felt different from Eva's, just as heavy, but cold. The more I shuffled, the colder they got.
"Put one card in the center," she said.
I did so. It was The Darklord.
Just as I feared. If I'd still possessed a beating heart, it would have lurched and begun pounding with dread anticipation. I looked to Ilka for a clue on what was to come, but not one of the many lines on her face shifted. Fighting the feeling of dread, I managed to carry out the rest of the pattern of shuffling and placing the top cards on their designated places.
Next came The Beast, The Necromancer, The Warrior, and The Mercenary cards. The reading was identical in every way to the one Eva had given me over seventy years ago.
When it comes to the Vistani and their skill at knowing the future, I do not believe in chance or coincidence. A chill from the cards worked its way up my hands, seeped into my chest and settled there. It was only by great force of will that I managed not to openly shiver.
"The Necromancer has come," said Ilka, echoing my exact fear. "I have had dark dreams of this for the last few nights. Dreams of fire and sword, of things of darkness stalking the land, killing, and the dead rising up to kill others in turn."
Imprecise pictures from her inner mind such as anyone with a morbid imagination might have. I needed something more specific. "Did your dreams tell you aught else?"
"Only that which the cards have shown you here."
"What is to be done?" I had taken all the precautions I could think of for the moment, but was very much open to suggestions.
"Shuffle the cards. But the answer will be vague for so vague a question - and no, you cannot ask a new one."
Deciding to swallow my annoyance at her presumptuous tone, I obeyed her. I turned over the card on top. It was blank.
"What is this?" I demanded. "Why do you have such a card in this deck?"
She stared and shook her head; the sound of her heart's rapid beating seeming to fill every nook of the vardo. "I-l do not understand. There should be no such card here at all."
"You did not make this one?"
"No, Lord Strahd." She pressed far back in her chair, as if trying to distance herself from the table. This was clearly a great surprise to her.
I wanted to back away as well, but settled for merely placing the remainder of the icy deck between us.
"There is magic afoot, then. This was meant as a message to me. What is its meaning?"
"There can be only one: that things beyond your present knowledge are taking shape that have a bearing on what you will face."
"To help or to hinder me?"
She shrugged.
"Not too terribly useful, then."
"It could also be a card of waiting. That certain things must come to pass before you can take action against your enemy."
"Wait for how long?"
"The cards cannot reckon the time as we understand it. You ask what I cannot answer, Lord Strahd. Perhaps you already have the answers and you need not look to the cards at all."
"Then let us hope I find them soon or else all of Barovia will suffer, including the Vistani."
"Because of the war that's to come?"
"Indeed. You have reminded me of Eva's warning; was there nothing more?"
"You must study your enemy, and more importantly, you must not underestimate him."
"Every good general knows and does that."
"And you must trust in your friends."
"I have none."
"Yet they are there all the same. The animals of the wood, the wind and the rain, the very earth of Barovia itself."
"And the Vistani?"
"We will help all we can, Lord Strahd - in our own way. But we are not sword-fighters."
I was well aware of that.
"But we can watch all things for you, even the Necromancer."
"Only from a safe distance. He is a danger to any who attract his notice. His powers are such that he can kill ordinary men without much effort or thought."
"As I saw in the dreams. He tried to kill you with the fiery needles, but the mist carried you away."
It was part of their magic to rely on dreams. Not nearly as efficient or controlled as my own practice of the Art, but no less powerful. I could trust in it even if I hadn't experienced the immediate proof of it last night.
"That is what happened. Any Vistani approaching him will not be so fortunate.
Why was I not told of his coming by your people first?"
"None of our tribe were camped in that wood. The scouts said there was no game to be found there so they moved elsewhere. I saw him in my dreams, though, not clearly, for he has cloaked himself too well. I did not understand their import until the lady's message was brought to our camp along with the servant's gossip of a stranger to her house, then I knew the time of the Necromancer had finally come."
"I would rather that he left, and quickly. Can your people take this Necromancer through the Mists and back to his own land?"
"No more than we could take you."
Well, I had to ask.
"Will he find his own way back?"
"With the white card's influence in the reading the answer is both yes and no."
"How can that be?"
She spread her hands, canting her head to one side. She did not know. Going to the Vistani to find out about the future could be a very frustrating experience, which is why I had always previously avoided it. I was coming to the conclusion I should leave now and let things look after themselves.
"There is perhaps one other way I might help you now," she said. She collected the cards and put them away, then from her skirt pocket drew forth a small pouch. It was so heavily embroidered that the fabric beneath the decoration was hardly visible. She opened the loose knot on the drawstrings and reached in, taking out a carved wooden ring, placing it between us on the table. Next she brought out a crystal ball. It was as large as an apple and clear as mountain water, quite perfect. She set it upon the ring base.
I remained quiet, allowing her to concentrate while she stared into it. After a few moments the crystal became cloudy, its center going white and roiling like the border Mists.
"Do you see it?" she whispered.
I pressed my own gaze hard upon the ball, seeing nothing more than mist at first, then a tiny picture faded in and out so quickly I was not sure if I had only imagined it.
"Keep looking," she ordered.
I put all my focus into it. The picture returned, and held long enough for me to perceive what it was. "Iron gates," I said.
They were familiar, being the entry to the manor house Azalin had taken over.
The view in the crystal moved forward through them, then up to the huge oak door of the house itself. I seemed to pass through without it opening and stood in an elegant hallway. This was not the place as it was, nor even the illusion Azalin had cast.
"Is this what will be in the future?" I asked.
"Perhaps."
I traveled down the hall to a vast round chamber, thick-walled with a round window set in the center of the roof. A full moon shone down, bathing the circular room with a cold blue light. The light formed a sphere in the center of some apparatus I did not recognize. The sphere grew brighter and brighter until I could not bear it and had to turn away. When I looked back the image was gone and the light fading from the crystal. The mist folded over it, then the ball became clear again.
Ilka put a trembling hand to her brow. I waited until she seemed recovered then asked, "What is the meaning?"
She gave a little laugh. "That is the peril of seeing the future. It has no meaning until it has become the past."
"But this is something that will happen?"
"Probably, since the image was so clear. Sometimes, when there are too many uncertainties over a specific event the outcome is fogged, or there can be several outcomes to confuse you. Beware of them. Trust the future only after it has happened."
"Which isn't much help to me, for by the time it has happened we might all be destroyed."
"But the present is where you must be. In the present will this war be won... or lost. Prepare, watch, and wait."
"I would do that anyway."
"But this time you will have this to aid you." She picked up the ball and pressed it into my hands. It felt heavy and cool.
I could have offered a polite protest, but it would have been inappropriate here; this was too magnificent a gesture. "You are sure?"
"I am old, Lord Strahd, I must soon pass it to someone. To use it tires me more than you can imagine, but you have much more power than I ever had even in my youth. You will be able to use it to see many things and protect Barovia. But be warned: the future is often changeable, and the past can be made into a lie by wishes of what might have been. The uncorrupted present is best, for then it will show you only the truth of what is happening. It is also much less draining."
"How do I see the present?"
"Look hard into the crystal and think of a place you wish to see."
Placing the ball back on its pedestal I concentrated and was surprised how swiftly a view of Castle Ravenloft appeared in its depths. The image was small but very detailed, every stone visible. I leaned closer.
"No need for that," she said above me. "Now that the image is fixed in your mind just shut your eyes."
I did so; the view remained clear in my mind and grew larger until I seemed to be there. When I desired to move toward the castle my view did just that. I fairly flew toward it. In I came past the overlook, swooped up the chapel wall, then down and around to the front to my very room. I passed through the locked windows and went straight to my library. No candles were lit, but I could see everything perfectly, and knew it was the present. All was as I had left it the night before when I had gone to visit the village.
Pulling back, I opened my eyes and had to blink as a wave of dizziness washed over me.
"You will get used to that," said Ilka as I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"It is truly amazing. Will I be able to travel anywhere in Barovia with this?"
"Only in your mind. And you cannot see into a place you're not familiar with, however, you may begin in a known place and travel to the unknown from that point. Or you may think of a person you wish to see and his image will come to you along with wherever they might be."
I had to test this out and immediately thought of Azalin, recalling his form and then focusing on the ball. In a few moments I seemed to be hovering several feet above him as he sat at a table in the manor house studying the baron's book.
Though too far away to see which page he was on, it was obvious he was trying to memorize whatever spell was before him. Often had I done the same myself, spending hours poring over the volumes in my library.
I moved closer, but with much caution. He was very engrossed, then abruptly looked up, his eyes glowing red, and I was sure he could see me. Then his gaze went to one side and the other, quite missing me. He closed the book and stood, his posture all alert. His lips began to form words, and I could hear them, actually hear them. They were magical in origin and I recognized them despite the fact he placed the accents differently from the ones I knew. It was a location spell -  and my cue to leave. I pulled back and opened my eyes, shaking the image from my mind.
Dizziness, but not so bad as before.
"Can he follow me here?"
"Who?"
"I was watching the Necromancer and he sensed me then attempted to find me."
"No. He won't know it was you unless you tell him."
"I could hear him speak. If I'd stayed would I have been able to talk to him?"
"Yes - but to do both will tire even you overmuch if you do it all the time, it requires much effort. Listening is easier, but also tiring. You will learn to select when it is right to listen as well as look."
"Can all people sense when I am watching them?"
"Those who are perceptive will notice. But there's little they can do about it.
A word of advice - do not abuse this privilege. Some things are meant to be private."
"Madam, I am not accustomed to peering through bedroom windows and am not likely to do so."
Her face crinkled and she chuckled softly. "I am glad to hear it. This is not an entertainment, but a weapon. Use it wisely and do not allow him near it."
"You have my solemn word as a Von Zarovich." While I lived - and I took that concept very seriously indeed - Azalin would never know about her gift to me.
***
From Azalin's private commentary notebooks, contd.
What a barbaric place Barovia is, backward and fearful. I can hardly fathom how Von Zarovich is able to bear to stand residing here, much less get anything done in regard to his Art. Perhaps it is a silent testament to his stubbornness that he has accomplished even this much in terms of establishing and holding his rule here.
The great castle Von Zarovich seems so proud of is hardly more than a primitive pile of stones pretending to be a fortress. It is most inconveniently located on a spire standing next to one of the country's mountains, connected only by a drawbridge in poor repair. Formidable, but nearly impossible to get to except by a single winding road. I can already anticipate that the transport of supplies for my needs is going to be an infuriatingly slow process.
The castle's isolation may be good for fighting off an invading army but works against it in times of peace. My own fortress in Oerth was in the center of all things, my power alone being more than enough to defend its walls. Strahd apparently lacks that and must rely on such basic means to preserve his safety.
He has adequate defenses, but why he would even bother to defend the hulk is a mystery to me. He would be better served to simply knock the lot flat and begin again, but I doubt he has the resources to achieve such improvements.
He claims that it has been in a minor decline for the last two hundred years - a clue to his actual age there - but if this is his idea of minor I should be interested to know what a major setback is to him.
His own rooms are fairly comfortable and in order, but the so-called "guest suite" he ushered me into is hardly fit for one of my station. Perhaps he hopes I will remove myself from Barovia that much faster. There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure, but that would hold true with or without his slights.
Apparently Castle Ravenloft is the best the whole miserable land has to offer, and if so, then it is hardly worth my notice - unless he is lying to me again.
That is something I intend to investigate if my experimentation does not prove to be immediately successful and I am stranded here for a time. I shall have to strengthen my position with the creation and recruitment of allies. This should not be overly difficult if Latos is any example. He and others like him can be controlled easily enough.
I believe Von Zarovich rules by fear and playing upon whatever old loyalties still exist by tradition (and force) between himself and his boyars. My interrogation of Latos and his woman seemed to confirm this. Though they were reluctant to say anything against Von Zarovich, it seemed obvious to me that he is not a kind - weak - lord, being more feared than loved. I shall have to determine just how deep that fear runs and make plans to exploit it should the need arise.
Miserable as this parcel of stones and mud is, assuming the rule of Barovia is a distinct likelihood in my future.