"He's a beast," Magda said without preamble. "Below your notice."
Soth's only reply was a low rumble of impatience.
That was not enough to make the Vistana let the matter drop. Pulling a few errant lengths of hair away from her mouth, she continued.
"Azrael should not be trusted, cannot be trusted." A measure of aggravation crept into her voice. "You must know, after all these years, just what manner of beast he is. Yet you continue to keep him by your side."
Magda had tried to break their vigil's silence many times in the past hour. She was cold and weary, and the quiet only let her focus on those discomforts. She was also unnerved by the situation. Any Vistana would have been.
Magda and Soth stood at the center of a stone bridge that spanned an offshoot of the Musarde, the feeble little waterway known as the Widow's Tears. At the far end of that bridge lay Malocchio Aderre's domain, a land that was death to all Vistani. Despite her powers, despite her years of battling the terrifying creatures that roamed the Sithican night, Magda would not have come here had Soth not requested her presence.
Requested? Magda frowned. It was no request that brought her to the perilous place, but a demand. She could have refused, of course, could have made the master of Nedragaard pay dearly for the impertinence. But Soth had been correct in noting a show of solidarity was important now. It might keep Malocchio at bay, at least for a little while.
Restless, Magda paced a little on the rough-hewn stones that comprised the bridge between the two lands. She paused to see what it was that had captured her hound's attention. Sabak snuffled intently at a dark blotch. Bloodstains. They were too fresh to have been washed away by storms or licked clean by scavengers.
Magda did not know of the battle that had occurred on that spot, how a gallant animal had tried to carry its master across the bridge to safety, but the bloodstains told that tale to Sabak, and more. The hound lapped at the gore, sniffed furiously at the tiny bits of horseflesh that remained on the bridge. In that admixture of fear and blood and sweat, he recognized the scent of the one animal his hound's heart was able to hate: Azrael.
A low, deadly growl issued from Sabak's throat, echoed off the bridge and across the valley. The angry rumble seemed to be endless. Not even the dense forest could contain it.
Her nerves on edge already, Magda had no patience for whatever nonsense Sabak was up to. She made the shortest of whistles. The dog's ears pricked up instantly. After only a moment's hesitation, which was a moment longer than he normally took to answer her summons, the giant hound padded silently to stand at Magda's right side.
She rested her hand at his shoulders and unconsciously traced patterns in his coarse, gray-white fur with her fingertips. This motion soothed both woman and beast.
Lord Soth's dead voice broke that momentary respite. "I might ask the same question of you, Magda Ilyanova Kulchevich."
At Magda's puzzled expression, he continued: "You asked why I allow a beast such as Azrael to serve me. Yet you keep a creature as fierce and unpredictable by your side." He pointed to Sabak, who regarded the death knight without the slightest hint of fear. "Your own child wishes the hound dead. Is there any other member of your troupe who does not walk in fear of the creature?"
"No."
"Surely your daughter has warned you that the hound might turn its teeth on you."
"She has."
"Yet you keep the beast with you, and demand your people accept him-despite their fear."
Magda nodded, but she had lost the thread of the discussion. Her attention was focused instead on Soth himself. The topic seemed to have fanned some spark in him. His words held a passion she had last heard in him years ago, on their trek through Strahd's domain.
"Azrael is the same to me," Soth continued. "He is my beast, and useful-despite his need of housebreaking."
Sabak snorted at a fly buzzing around his snout. For all the world, it sounded like a huff of laughter.
Finally, the death knight leaned close to Magda and said, "We both know too well that we would slay our beasts in a moment, should they turn against us."
Soth seemed willing to continue the conversation, but a distant thunder shook the forest to the north. Birds burst up from the tree line and raced across the red-gold sky. Through her boot heels, Magda felt the rolling tread of a group of large creatures. She glanced at her companions. Both Soth and Sabak remained utterly still, as if they'd been carved from the bridge's stone. Magda was not so calm; her pulse quickened and a flush suffused her cheeks.
Malocchio Aderre had arrived.
Thirteen ogres served as the procession's vanguard. The lumbering brutes marched along the verge of the narrow road, stomping the undergrowth and shoving aside trees. Like most of their kind, these were large, hulking giants, with little intelligence lighting their purple eyes. Some stood partially erect, but most crouched in an apelike fashion. Their orders must have been to clear away any flora that impeded their movements, so their posture saved them some work.
Magda studied the ogres as twelve of the thirteen arrayed themselves into a semicircle to either side of the road, sealing off the Invidian end of the bridge. At first glance, they weren't particularly impressive, even for ogres. A few wore rusted, poorly fitting chain mail, while most sported ratty furs or other lice-ridden bits of clothing. A closer look at their weapons told another story, though. Their clubs were notched from countless battles and darkly stained with the blood of fallen adversaries. The thirteenth ogre, Onkar by name, stood out from his kin. He was neither dirtier nor coarser than the others, of average height and build. What set Onkar apart was an unusual feature, or rather, a lack of one. When this ogre approached the bridge, he squatted down in profile fashion and balanced on the balls of his feet. Because of this angle, Magda could see he was quite clearly missing his nose.
Before the Vistana could wonder what became of the ogre's snout, and what price his foe had paid for taking it, the semicircle opened at its center to admit a single rider: Malocchio Aderre.
He rode a black stallion large enough to carry one of his monstrous soldiers with ease. A cloak the color of midnight flowed out behind him like the wings of some immense predatory bird. His breeches, boots, shirt, gloves, everything he wore was of the same ebon hue. Only his face, as white and smooth as bleached bone, presented a contrast. That was all that there was to him: black and white. He was all extremes and nothing else. He brought his mount to a stop with a casual tug of the reins. Behind him, a score of armed riders and another dozen ogres clattered to a stop. Malocchio kept his gaze locked upon Lord Soth as this rearguard arrayed itself along the banks of the river. A slight frown creased his pallid mask of a face when the death knight offered no reaction to this obviously superior force.
In one easy motion, Malocchio swooped down from his mount, cape aflutter, black spurs jangling. Just as he alighted, a pair of neatly attired soldiers approached. They were identical twins, half-elves, Magda guessed. Such crossbreeds were common enough in Sithicus but not so in Malocchio's domain. Malocchio has trotted them out for some reason, Magda mused. But what?
Lord Aderre strode purposefully to the bridge's terminus, the very brink of Invidia's southern border. Even had he wished it, he could have gone no farther. Within their domains the dark lords ruled supreme, but those same domains were prisons, too.
The half-breeds took up positions flanking Malocchio, but a few respectful paces behind him. They kept their gazes turned down, their slender-fingered hands clasped before them like monks at prayer. The rest of Aderre's forces moved restlessly among the horses and trees, clearly ill at ease. The ogres and human soldiers didn't really appreciate the restraint required for this sort of politicking. Their style of negotiations involved clubs and burning brands.