Tatyana, my love, run to me!
She instantly responds to my cry. She is as bright as molten silver, racing toward me, arms reaching out. Her face is aglow with such joy as to make my heart burst from the sheer happiness at the sight.
Mist.
Billowing about me. Surrounding me.
Her laughter is like birdsong. I gather her up and raise her high, laughing myself as I had not done in centuries. Her sweet beautiful face smiles down at me, her coppery hair flying in the warm summer sun.
Mist.
Permeating my body. Piercing my soul.
I pull her close, holding her tight so that she will never, ever be taken from me again. I hold her, cherish her, my heart so full of love I can no longer even speak her name.
Mist.
Clouding my mind. Blurring my thoughts.
A smear of white boils up, and a vast force like a giant's hand tears her from my grasp. I scream her name, try to - but I cannot remember... her... name... Mist.
Dimming my dreams. Stealing my very memories...
***
I woke to the sound of my own pitiful wail of despair. Had someone taken an oaken stave and slammed it between my ribs I could not have been in more agony.
I'd had her, my Tatyana - Until the Mists had come.
I collapsed flat on my back, groaning and damning the world and all its darkness for this pain. It was some time before I was able to push aside the worst of it and notice my surroundings. With no little confusion I realized that I was not in my usual fastness in the crypt beneath Castle Ravenloft, but high above in the aerie I had carved in the north face of Mount Ghakis.
How the devil had I come to be here?
Checking myself over, I saw that my clothes were filthy and torn; my body bore marks of recent woundings, though much was healed.
Then I remembered the mad vortex Azalin had created in his tower. I'd gone right into it, following him down a spinning, dazzling tunnel to... something... some place I'd never seen or imagined. The memory of certain faces went faint and faded even as I strove to put names to them; it was like trying to grasp a dream, the more effort I put forth, the faster it fled. The damnable thing was that I knew it was no dream but a past reality. Without a single inner doubt I knew I had physically been in a place far from Barovia, along with Azalin, and we... we had... And that was as far as I could take it. The knowledge slyly eluded me.
Damnation.
Was this what it was like for the Barovians when their minds changed to echo alterations in the land? Perhaps not, since I was fully aware that something had happened, I just could not recall the specifics - which was infuriating.
And what had become of that bastard Azalin? Probably skulking in his manor house as befuddled as I. One could hope for as much. Maybe he was even more battered than I was. Cheering thought.
I got to my feet, brushing off an unexpected layer of dust and cobwebs. How long had I lain here? The imprint of my body was clear upon the earth, indicating quite a bit of weather had found its way inside. This was only a rough emergency bolt hole, after all, not so elaborate and comfortable as my crypt. Whatever had happened must have been fairly drastic to hurtle me here, for I always kept a contingency spell wrapped closer than skin about my person ready to sweep me to this spot when necessary. Until now there had never been a need. I must have been sorely injured indeed for it to have activated itself.
Had Azalin finally decided to assassinate me?
No memory of that either.
Going to the narrow cleft opening of the cave, I looked out upon the northern marches of Barovia and noticed with a shock that the snow had drastically retreated. Mountain winters are always harsh, beginning early and lingering late, but the pervasive white blanket was nearly gone, replaced by the lushness of fresh green growth.
But... but it had been early winter only last night; now it was spring. A new moon had hung in the sky - this moon was old and waning. Months had passed in but an instant for me.
A near-forgotten feeling began to creep down my spine as the realization began to sink in of how long I had been absent. Worse than knowing this was the realization of exactly what it was that I was feeling: Fear.
What had happened?
I would not allow myself to indulge in this weakness and firmly slammed it down.
The only cure for fear was knowledge, which could be had easily enough.
Returning to Castle Ravenloft was as good a place as any to begin.
Trying to recall my travel spell - for I was in a hurry - did not work. The intricacies of the words refused to form on my lips, and I could only conclude I had cast it already, even if I could not recall the circumstances. I gave vent to a single snarl of frustration, then initiated the transformation to shrink my body into that of a bat. At least that ability hadn't been forgotten.
I sped around Ghakis and coasted down to my castle which rose unchanged on its spire of rock. The snows here also lingered, but only in the deep places where the shadows never quite lifted. The courtyard, which was subject to a few hours of sun slanting over the curtain wall each day, was quite clear of it and now mud and new grass held sway.
There was a deserted look about the place, though, and as I came closer I saw the small houses and work areas I had set up for the glass blowers and other craft-workers were abandoned, apparently for several months to judge by the deterioration. Most Barovians were in the habit of slapping a coat of new paint on their shelters as soon as the weather permitted after the wear of winter. I saw evidence of this when I circled wide for a look at the village below. Life there was going on as usual, but seemed to have halted in the castle.
Alighting on the walkway outside my bedroom I pushed through the doors, listening. All was quiet, as it should be, as it always was. I made a swift exploration of the main areas of the castle and found nothing amiss. My skeletal servitors stood or paced at their posts, undisturbed. The library was as I'd left it, though because of the protection and preservation spells there it showed no sign of time's passage.
The dungeons, however, were a different matter. Most of the prisoners there had died, a common enough occurrence, for that was why they were there in the first place, but the stink and rot was a bit much even for me, and I had no need to breathe. Only two wretches remained, barely alive in their cells, starving, and quite mad, which defeated the purpose of their incarceration since insanity was a form of escape. I hungered, and in deference to the injuries I'd taken made a feast of them to speed my complete healing.
Their blood was adequate, though I had tasted richer, but one cannot expect much by way of nourishment from half-dead cattle. I would have to restock my larder soon, hopefully with better stock. In the meantime I ordered my servitors to open the cells and clear out all the bodies.
The ones that were still fairly whole I directed to be taken to my work-room for future reanimation.
Revived to some extent, I went back to my room to strip off my rags and dress again, then sought my magical books to refresh my memory on certain important spells. I also found a goodly stack of missives from my various informants among the boyars as well as notes left by the Vistani, reports on all the little intrigues and rumors, reports on the progress of the border militias and their drills, but nothing of real import. Not even fresh newcomers had bothered to cross into Barovia in all this time. Apparently my lengthy absence had had little effect on anything. I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or insulted and finally decided to ignore the whole business for the time being. I had other things to occupy me. Within an hour I was ready to travel and did so.
One moment I was in my study, the next at Azalin's manor house. Or at least the site on which it had once stood.
There was absolutely no sign of the house, not one brick or nail. Before me now was a perfectly scooped out crater some sixty or seventy yards across. The edges were softened by weathering, but not by much. At its deepest point, about thirty feet down, water was gradually pooling. No vegetation encroached within the circle, though growth around the rim was thick and healthy. This was a thoroughly dead area, and would doubtless become the focus of much dread and superstition by the locals once they became aware of it.
I sensed nothing untoward about it, only a strong tremor of negativity along the latent energy lines in the earth, which was likely due to Azalin's nearly forty years of occupation. Other than that, there was absolutely no sign of the house or tower.
Or Azalin.
He was quite incapable of moving anything on this scale; that would involve spellwork which he was unable to grasp. Something else had done this damage - if it was damage. Perhaps the house was elsewhere in Barovia. If so, then I'd have to find it and my missing guest. I cared nothing for his well-being beyond the cheering idea that if he was dead, then a number of problems would be lifted from my shoulders.
"So, you too survived," a harsh voice said from behind me.
I whirled, annoyed with myself for allowing anyone to approach me unnoticed.
Perhaps I wasn't fully recovered from whatever had happened in the vortex.
Azalin stood wrapped in the thick shadow of an ancient tree, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked undamaged, but that meant nothing since his entire appearance was an illusion.
"Surprised?" I snapped, unclenching the fists I'd made.
"Not really." There was something odd about his manner. He seemed strangely subdued and distant. Had he suffered a similar loss of memory? I would have given much in that moment to find out, but wasn't about to betray my own lack by asking him.
"What went wrong this time?" I demanded, as I had done far too often over the years.
He did not reply right away. "I don't know," he finally murmured.
What was this? His usual reaction to failure was either cool analysis or a fit of violent temper. This... passiveness was singularly disturbing. Had despair seized him? Or was this resignation? Either or both served only to fuel the blazing anger rising in me.
"You... don't... know." I waited for him to speak again. And waited. Still he remained silent. It was far more infuriating than if he'd fallen into a rage. If I stayed one moment longer I would lose all self-control and do something we'd both regret.
I made the transformation, taking to the skies once more. My last view before quitting the cursed spot was that of Azalin staring into the barren hole where once stood his home.
***
In the ensuing weeks we continued in our studies, searching tomes and scrolls of all sorts, hoping for any hint or clue which would lead us out of our mutual prison. Azalin's efforts seemed halfhearted at best, almost as if he had despaired of ever escaping. If this were indeed true, I knew that matters could soon turn dangerous. If he had resigned himself to remaining within Barovia, he might decide to finally attempt to challenge my rule.
These thoughts were constantly in my mind throughout those days following the failure of our latest escape attempt. I watched him more carefully than ever.
After feeding each night and tending to whatever menialities demanded my attention, I spent the remaining hours in which I wasn't burdened with Azalin's company pouring over scrolls and books, searching for clues which would help me to destroy him. The initial elation of discovering his name soon faded to frustration when I couldn't find the means to use it against him. I also made frequent use of my crystal ball to keep careful watch over him.
Thus it was that I was fairly alarmed one evening to discover that I could find no trace of him in all of Barovia. The previous night we had met to search a ruined monastery from which he had detected the resonance of a magical item. The scroll he found turned out to be worthless to our purposes, and we exchanged harsh words before parting. Even if I had angered Azalin enough for him to want to leave the land, he had no better prospects in the few other lands which had recently adjoined themselves to my own. Perhaps someone else had finally disposed of him. If so, it would relieve me of the task but would present problems of its own. Anyone powerful enough to destroy Azalin would present a definite threat to me.
Desiring to discover the truth, I pressed my crystal ball into immediate service. Letting my view soar out high over the land, I began at the site of the manor house and worked my way outward in a wide spiral. Nothing attracted my attention until I swung westward and stopped cold in shock.
The Mists were nowhere along that border.
Questions flooded my mind, the chief being whether or not Azalin had actually succeeded. Had he made it possible for Barovia to rejoin its proper plane?
To that - after my first excitement passed and I was able to think again - I had to admit a reluctant no, for I'd seen the Mists in their usual line along the eastern horizon when I had flown down from Ghakis the previous evening. So what was I looking at, a new land linked to Barovia?
I coasted over the Old Svalich Road as it ran through Krezk, holding my view high. The road had been a dead-end into the Mists and unused except by the Vistani. Now it continued on through a verdant forest, as though it had always done so. I pressed over the border, and excitement returning, saw farms and crofts, houses and other buildings collected together into villages and towns and all appeared to be thriving. No desolation like Arak or desertion like Forlorn, this was a living land with a substantial population.
Following the Svalich to the very end I saw a sizable town sprawled over some chalky cliffs overlooking a harbor - the sea, or a huge lake, with boats at their docks or anchored in the deeper water. Far out on its surface lay the familiar bank of the Mists.
Would the people know what had happened to them, to their land? That was doubtful. If the refugees from Forlorn were any example, the folk in this new place would be unaware of any change or accept that things had always been so.
To be certain I would command the Vistani to travel there for me and gather what information they could.
The town was quite closed up for the night. Apparently they either had something to fear in the dark as did most Barovians, or it was the local custom for a folk making their living from the sea. I would have to find someone still up and about, listen in on their conversation, and perhaps find out what they called this land - Mordent.
The name popped right into my head, clear as a flash of lightning. I have been here.
The memory of it still eluded me, but the feeling was very insistent. I had been here with Azalin. The country was Mordent, and this town was Mordentshire, and there was a house... or was it a tower... ?
Gone. Damnation. Whatever the remembrance, it slipped away like quicksilver.
Though able to hypnotize nearly anyone and cause him to recall the most minute detail of his life, I couldn't do the same for myself. I hated being aware that I knew something but denied the knowledge; it was like a book whose pages had been glued together.
Disgusted, I went north from the town, hoping to trigger another recollection. I followed the coastline to see just how big Mordent might be. As a matter of course I was on the lookout for anything resembling a castle, or some other kind of fortification, but saw nothing, not even the lowly barracks for a small local militia. They were either very well hidden or did not exist, which struck me as being strange. Was the law here so well observed that law-keepers were unnecessary? As a soldier, I had an ingrained caution about invasion that had survived nearly two centuries of isolation, but a country without armies is not likely to trouble its neighbors. A trusting, if foolish policy.
Continuing northward I passed through the now familiar feeling of a border, leaving Mordent behind. Examining the land, I began to recognize details from previous visits and realized that I had returned to Lamordia. The announcement did not repeat itself; it hadn't done so since my first visit here four years ago.
How many more lands had come into being here? Just how far had Azalin's experiment carried? Was he aware of what it had done or was he genuinely as ignorant as he had seemed? And why was it these lands had come to join themselves to Barovia rather than the other way around? Surely it must be less trouble to drag one small land to Oerth than to have its lands slipping away to this plane.
No answers deigned to present themselves, though.
I pressed on until reaching a second border, then turned eastward. This new country had much less forest, and the people were more thinly spread to judge by the infrequency of houses. Perhaps this was considered to be frontier land, not yet suitable for large settlements. Here there was little more than flat farmland and grazing range and nothing like a real village.
Lots of burial grounds, though. Quite a large number of them. Did the dead here outnumber the living? Chilling thought, that.
I finally came upon a narrow track leading from the Lamordian forests into the flat plains marching north and spied a kind of marker between the lands. It was merely two tall posts and a crosspiece, symbol only, and of no real use as a true gateway, but it did give me another name to think upon.
Darkon.
The ornate letters were carved deep into the weathered crosspiece, which bore no other information. Either by accident or design there were no guards or anything resembling a toll box. When Barovia was still been a part of the rest of the world such things were common enough. Apparently whoever ruled Darkon had no need of such revenues. Here all was deserted, except for another burial ground close by.
I rose and skimmed high, following the demarcation between Lamordia and Darkon to see how far it went. It flowed on and on, until the opposing land ceased to be Lamordia and I looked upon Barovia again. I followed the borderline until I recognized a five mile wide pass between Mount Baratak and the lesser peak of Mount Krezk and Lake Krezk just beyond. The pass had gone nowhere - that is, straight into the Mists - until now. Just like Mordent, Barovia was solidly joined to Darkon.
It took more time and much more travel for the scale of the change to fully register in my mind. Darkon ran on, miles and miles of it, to cover most of Barovia's northern border except a small portion, no more than a league, which was blocked by Arak.
But that couldn't be right. Barovia's boundary with Arak was thirty miles long at least. Arak's most northern mountain peak; had been cut off by the Mists, now its once hidden side descended into Darkon. How could things have shifted so much? The juncture of the lands was such as to alter their very placement in relation to each other. Seamless. Not even the growth of the grass had been disturbed.
How was any of this possible - isolated lands floating in a sea of Mists, silently joining to one another in less than an eyeblink? Or was Azalin wrong about his planes theory and the lands had existed there all along, the Mists somehow concealing and barring one's entry and exit?
My head ached from the effort of concentration, and my neck and shoulders cramped in protest to the hunched posture I'd held for the last several hours. I let the images in the crystal drift and fade along with my unanswerable questions, opened my eyes, and waited for the brief dizziness to pass. These discoveries were fascinating, but there were limits to what even I could do.
Ilka had been right about how tiring this could be. And I had not even begun to look for Azalin.
I sat down to it again. This time I focused my thoughts on my missing guest, but I was not immediately rewarded with a vision of him, distant or otherwise. The center of the ball remained stubbornly opaque. Had he found a way to conceal himself? And if so why had he never used it before? Sheer suspicion should have inspired him to do so prior to now.
Or was he destroyed? What a pleasant thought. Very cheering.
Another hour and I was in too much discomfort to continue. I broke off my search to give ease to my pounding head. My limbs felt unnaturally heavy and sluggish, the reason for which presenting itself when I glanced toward my bedroom and saw the pale light of the spring morning seeping through the windows. At that point I wasted no time seeking immediate shelter down in the crypt, taking the precious crystal with me.
I slept. No dream or even the memory of a dream troubled me.
Waking, I had to remind myself that this night would be shorter than the last.
It was quite an adjustment to have one's mind set on the lengthening darkness of winter, then to forgo all that for sudden spring. I felt as though a thief had stolen all the time in between. A thief called Azalin. He and his damned experiment.
With the manor house vanished along with its tenant, I had no way of backtracking to find out what had gone wrong. Aside from his journal, I had also duplicated many of his notes, having spent whole weeks doing nothing but copying thousands of pages, a simple if tedious spell. However, I hadn't had the chance to do the same for this latest effort. The major irritant, though, was having the blank spot in my memory in the first place.
I returned to the study, viewed my paper-stacked shelves with a certain amount of contempt, and sat down before the crystal once more.
However delightful it might be to hope Azalin destroyed, I had to know for sure.
Though the recollection was heavily shrouded, I was certain on an instinctive level that he was still alive but not in Barovia. He might have been trapped in the Mists, but he was resourceful enough to have found his way clear of them by now.
This time I would spend the night scrying for him within the new countries, covering them foot-by-foot if necessary.
Mordent was the first - and to my mind the most likely - place to start my investigation. We had been there, after all.