As a tiny bat, this feat was simple enough. I had him resume his man-shape once past the outer flap and took a quick look about me. All was the same as when I'd been here with Darl's party. So far no one had marked the general's absence. I had hoped for as much. My past observations had indicated that once he was with a woman he stayed busy with her for the remains of the night. I made a check of his private quarters, also unchanged, but didn't stay more than a moment since the place still reeked of garlic. I wanted no trace of it clinging to him, lest it alert others that something was amiss.
Back in the planning area I took time to inspect the maps on his strategy table. They were all of Barovia and were as accurate as the ones I'd made of Darkon, though some blank spots were in place, notably Castle Ravenloft and other select areas where I had cast heavy protection spells to keep out prying eyes. I recognized Azalin's writing and took it as something of a compliment that he'd seen to this task himself.
The general's plan appeared simple but effective. His army would come in through the pass and first sweep west to take the city of Krezk, securing all the bridges crossing its river. Over the river they would march east along the Svalich road. The policy was to totally destroy everything in their path with fire and sword, no prisoners, no booty. The object was to capture me if at all possible, but if not, then they had Azalin's orders to kill me, along with detailed instructions on just how to best go about it.
If Azalin believed my demise would destroy Barovia, then it was likely he didn't think it would affect the lands around it and destroy them as well. That or he no longer cared. It was another of his weaknesses: if a fact ran counter to his deepest desire, then would he obstinately ignore the fact. Of course, there was no way to prove this one's truth beyond killing me, and I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
Though there were probably copies, I took a moment to burn this lot of papers in a charcoal brazier.
I went to the tent flap and shoved it aside. The guards there snapped to attention. One of them stepped forward, apparently expecting orders. I gave them.
Sudden midnight staff meetings were a common occurrence with Vychen. His nature dictated it, but it was no inconvenience to his people since so many of them were night creatures like himself. This was fortunate for me, else I would have had to deal with the problem of truly serious daylight raids.
Fear of him and of Azalin made them efficient and timely. Within a quarter hour all five of his lesser generals turned up, along with several dozen other commanders, many of whom I knew by name from scrying. It was no great effort to maintain my impersonation before any of them. When one of them made a guarded query about the disk on Vychen's forehead I told him the truth: that it was a magical item that would help in the war effort. I only neglected to mention which side would benefit.
They all had mounts ready, as I had ordered, and if puzzled by it, no one offered any questions. There are some advantages to being an absolute ruler within one's sphere. The general's horse was brought forward, and I heaved his muscled bulk into the saddle. The animal, like the others, wore a minor controlling charm on its tack, meant to keep it calm despite any terror it might have of its rider. How convenient. I would have to make some of those myself. If things worked out.
I snapped at his people to follow and led the way off through the center of the camp. The troops on either side who were still awake got to their feet and listlessly saluted our passage; there were no cheers for their leaders. This gave me to that understand morale was low and likely being ignored altogether. Azalin had no concern for the minions who served him, yet another mistake. Contented servants are less likely to betray or desert their master.
We rode south to the edge of camp closest to the Barovian border. The inner pickets here were heavy, on watch for raiding parties. The outer pickets made that possibility remote since they were composed of the dead. They faced south, standing unnaturally still, dread, untiring sentinels ready to move instantly against anyone daring to approach them. But only anyone trying to enter the camp.
I passed through the lines of zombies, some of whom were Barovians killed in skirmishes, their bodies dragged into Darkon so that Azalin could work his reanimation magic upon them. The idea was to demoralize those in my army should they see what had happened to their former comrades.
Now did Tew Yssup, Vychen's first general, risk his commander's displeasure by voicing a question. He was nervous about being far from the camp, so dangerously near the border.
"This is the place where Strahd will make his stand against us when we march," I answered. "I want all of you to have it fixed in your heads. Lord Azalin will not be kind to those who make mistakes."
That bought me another few minutes of travel, bringing us closer to my goal. Soon now.
"Forgive me, sir," he began again, "but this is most unwise, to be here without an escort-"
"Are we not soldiers ourselves, Yssup?" I demanded. "Any one of us is a match for ten of Strahd's best. Lord Azalin made sure of that."
A few more minutes. My objective was just ahead, a slight dip in the land, a very shallow bowl, but enough so that one could not see beyond the opposite side. Any sensible commander would have ridden around the possible trap, but I was the great General Vychen. Who would dare to strike at him? Who indeed? I thought as we rode straight into it. Only I, Strahd of Barovia.
I called a halt in the middle of the bowl and ordered them to dismount. Yssup choked.
"If Strahd has his own sentries posted I don't want them seeing us as we come over the horizon," I snapped.
It sounded plausible, but there was an overall reluctance in their midst. Showing none myself, I slipped down and ground-tethered my horse, then marched forward, not glancing back to see if any followed. It was just the sort of thing Vychen would do. I heard them trotting to catch up, some muttering uneasy complaints.
As I came to the crest of the bowl, I dropped to a crouch, then to my hands and knees, and crept my way along. The others, in their absurd follow-my-leader obedience, did the same.
Thus were the lot of us in this supremely disadvantageous position when one of the party of troops I had sent in earlier rose up from the long grass, followed by others with swords drawn, screaming red murder as they stormed in.
The Darkon officers recovered fast, but those on the outer edge of our group took the brunt of the initial charge and heads went rolling. I had briefed my people on the supreme importance of decapitating whenever possible, having warned them about the supernatural nature of the enemy. The Barovian's silver-plated swords were enspelled to expedite this process and all carried a supply of sharp, fire-hardened wooden stakes. They also had orders to leave Vychen alone.
Yssup got to his feet, sword out, fangs bared as he roared his rage at the ambush. He put his back to me-a serious mistake. I drew my blade and swung. His head flew one way and his body dropped another, his sudden blood smoking as it spurted black over the ground.
I struck twice more before Vychen's men realized that they had a traitor in their midst. This surprised them almost as much as the attack itself, and two more dropped before anyone thought to oppose me.
Now did I have to defend myself, and I put all my effort into it, yelling to draw more attention to me. It took the pressure off of my more vulnerable human troops. As soon as a Darkon man turned to deal with me, one of mine had a chance to move in close for a kill.
The air went heavy with the scent of blood, and I felt the raw craving for it sweep over Vychen's body. He had not fed tonight. It was terribly distracting. I wanted to drop my sword and tear into the nearest throat. Instead I forced myself to swing and cut and block and swing again, taking wounds and snarling as I returned the insults with savage interest. Then the next man I attacked was one of my own, wearing my colors. I froze in mid-strike.