Repay!
The corpse raised the stake high. I might have screamed; I couldn't hear myself for Azalin's maddened cursing.
I glimpsed the stake arcing down, felt the tearing, burning explosion of agony in my chest. My desperate dying shriek rent the air, the last of it drowned as the blood rushed up my throat. I gagged on it. Coughing, I tried to expel my own blood from my throat. The stuff spewed over the bodies holding mine in place.
I tried to rise, make one last escape, but something else had me hard in its grip. Something I could not fight. I felt it rasp against my rib bones as I bucked against it. The stake. The damned wood had gone right through my body, pinning me to the alien earth of Darkon.
My limbs flailed out of control…
Lord Strahd!
… heels drumming as ungoverned spasms racked me…
Lord Strahd! Wake up!
…the weight of all those dead-crushing, killing…
Aldrick?
… taste of my own blood in my mouth…
Yes! Wake up! Wake up now!
As though he was one among the corpses I saw Aldrick's face anxiously peering down at me. The vision clouded, fogging over.
The dead heaped upon me, pressing…
Come back, Lord Strahd!
I saw Aldrick again. The vision of the dead… clouds…
– or the Mists-
The terrible pain did not stop, but… changed.
Pressure was still on my chest, but different from-
Hurry!
Smothering, but bearable.
Now!
Then a terrific wrenching, as though I was being turned inside out.
My lord Strahd?
And I jarringly but undeniably traded one pain for another.
The faint image of Aldrick's face took on solidity, reality as the essence that is me was ripped from Vychen and thrust back into my own body again.
I was in the barracks house, lying flat on the floor, clutching the heavy crystal ball close to my chest. Guards were standing nearby watching with fear on their faces. Gasping, I realized my link to Vychen has dissolved, blessedly dissolved.
"My lord?" Aldrick.
"It worked," I whispered. This time with my own voice.
The first few nights were the most important and the worst because of all the waiting, the wretched uncertainty. Recovered from my ordeal, I kept constant post over my crystal as diligently as any of my border guards, waiting to see what Azalin would do.
The dark of the moon came… and went. His army camped just north of the Krezk pass for another week, then gradually began pulling out until none remained but a few of the guardian zombies who had not been caught in the fire.
I didn't want to trust this and sent in scouts to make sure. Some even managed to return. Their reports confirmed that Azalin's people were apparently gone from the border.
I wanted to see for myself, take control of another, but without the disk and the crystal to use I could not. It would take a very long time to create another. At least it was useless to Azalin without the magic potion to act as a catalyst.
Weeks passed, then months, then years. Azalin held back from making another massive attack, for his army would soon come to grief without experienced leaders. He could not even send his damned zombies across, knowing I would turn them against each other once they were on my side of the border. He would have to hold back and lick his wounds and hope a new generation of effective leaders would mature to replace the old. Not likely, I thought, for he was too jealous of his power to allow others to learn the art of warfare as I knew it.
I had hoped the aftermath of my assaults would provide me with at least several years of respite, time to prepare for the next attack, and for once my wish was granted.
I could thank my enemy for that, for his delay gave me the time to strengthen my own defenses. His temporary weakness made me strong. And until he realized that the continuing result for both of us in our ongoing war would ever be a draw, I would have to continue to watch, wait, and prepare for his next attack.
Unless… unless I got very, very clever again.
EPILOGUE
736 Barovian Calendar, Mordentshire, Mordent
When Van Richten's voice died away, Mrs. Heywood closed the book with a thump.
Lord Strahd von Zarovich. Such a terrible man, she thought-though he couldn't really be a man at all. And as for that Azalin creature, why, it couldn't possibly be the same Azalin that ruled Darkon today. It couldn't possibly…
She shook herself as if to jar the awful thought from her mind and looked at Van Richten, but his attention was obviously turned inward. He seemed utterly unaware of her presence. What was he thinking? Certainly nothing pleasant to judge by his bloodless face.
But…but…it was just a book after all.
The more she thought about it, the more she came to realize that the tale was not truly a history of anything that had really happened; it was something made up. That had to be it. The idea of living in a world where things like Strahd and Azalin and zombies walked-it was just too horrible to think on. Besides, all the geography was wrong. Darkon had no common border with Barovia, there were other lands in the way. How silly to write a story as if they were joined together. How very, very silly. Fantasy, it was merely a madman's fantasy about something that never happened. Now there were always rumors of wars coming from Darkon, but nothing ever came of it. Just enough fact had been mixed in to make it interesting, and frightening. The writer had merely used the names of real rulers to make it seem more truthful. An odd literary device, but nothing more. Still, it had shaken her. Van Richten, too, poor man. He'd be wanting one of his sleeping draughts tonight himself.
"Doctor?" She lightly touched his shoulder. When he did not respond, she spoke a bit louder. "Dr. Van Richten?"
"Eh?" He slowly returned from whatever path his mind had been wandering and blinked at her.
"Would you like me to make you some tea?" After all that reading he'd be as dry as dust.
"Oh, ah, that's most kind of you, but another time perhaps. I think I shall have to be going home to make a few arrangements."
"Arrangements for what?"
"Just a short trip. It's lovely weather for traveling, don't you think?" He gathered up his long discarded outer coat and slipped it on, doing the buttons up wrong.
"Traveling where?" she asked, trying to keep exasperation from her voice.
"Mm?" He concentrated on fixing the buttons.
"Are you saying that the awful things in this book are going to send you off to who knows where?"
"Who knows what?" he inquired absently as one of the buttons came away in his hand. "Dear me, I shall have to pack a needle and thread."
"Doctor!"
"Eh?" He finally focused on her.
"You don't actually believe anything in that book, do you? Nothing in it makes any sense. It's no more than a silly fictionalization. I've said it was a forgery and I still stand by my judgment."
Van Richten opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. A quick sad smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Yes, you're right, of course. It's a lot of nonsense. What a dreadful thing it would be if creatures like that were running about the land."
"My thoughts exactly," she said with some relief. "Are you-are you still planning to leave town?"
"Yes, actually, but only to see about locating a new dealer for importing fennel and catnip. The batches I've been getting lately have been somewhat less than the best quality."
She bit her tongue to keep from commenting on that one. Whatever journey he had in mind, she was sure it had to do with that book. There was certainly much more to Rudolph van Richten than he wanted people to know. But until and unless he chose to confide in her, she'd have to respect his privacy.