At this, two of them surreptitiously made a sign meant to protect one from the evil eye. The others shifted uneasily at the reminder of Barovia's lord, though they could thank him for putting gold in their pockets for their goods, which were now packed away in the coach. This was the attitude that inspired me to occasionally adapt another name when traveling. My reputation was such that any business I wished to personally conduct was always severely hampered. The people either were terrified or overwhelmed me with ceremony, or both. Better to allow them the illusion that they were dealing with Lord Strand's able envoy, Vasili von Holtz, rather than the dread Strahd himself.
One might question why I even bothered to attend to so humble a task as purchasing certain supplies for Castle Ravenloft, but the fact was that I enjoyed the distraction. The night air was good — when I bothered to breathe it — and the horses needed the exercise. Besides, as the merchants had correctly pointed out, there were dangers in the night. . but who better to deal with them than myself?
With their fears settled, or at least momentarily distracted, I was about to depart when one of them pointed at the western sky with awe. It was lighted up as if the sun had reversed course to make an unorthodox return. Clouds hanging over the area reflected a hellish orange glow back to the earth.
"A fire," she murmured. "And a big one. What can it be? "
"It's miles away," opined another. This was confirmed when someone ran to the top floor of the Vallaki Inn to get a better look.
"What's out there?" I asked, standing in my stirrups, craning my neck with them. I knew Barovia well, but had not been west of Vallaki for several years.
"Farms, Lord Vasili," someone answered. "The fields must be afire. There are clouds. Perhaps some lightning struck the ground and. ."
I left them to futile speculations and whistled my horses up. Within minutes I was clear of Vallaki and heading west at a steady trot. Crossing the fords of the Luna River, I noticed with dismay that the fire glow did not seem perceivably nearer, indicative of its distance. How far? Five miles? Ten? The horses were too slow for my curiosity. Throwing a silent command into them to ensure they would steadily continue along the road, I stood high in the stirrups again, this time grasping the ends of my cape and throwing my arms wide. My body began to rapidly shrink; color faded from my vision, but far away objects grew sharper and more easily discemable. Clothes and skin blended, transmuting into silken fur and the delicate span of wings; the west wind caught their black folds like a sail. With an effortless rush, I rose high over the rattling coach.
The laboring horses left far behind, I sped on toward a vast tower of smoke pushing itself against the clouds.
A fire indeed, and a bad one.
Acres of nearly ripe wheat had already gone up, and a broad arrowhead of flame marched relentlessly east, driven by the wind. It might burn itself out, but the last month had been unseasonably dry, so that seemed an unlikely chance. Vallaki itself could be spared for being on the other side of the river, but not so for the miles of farmland in between.
When the smoke became too thick to see, I wheeled back, swooped down to the road, and resumed a man's form again. One breath of the choking, ash-filled air blowing from the inferno convinced me not to try another. My eyes stung and streamed freely as I considered what best to do.
To magically control the fire was my first thought, but instinct told me my influence would be insufficient for the task. My second thought was for the weather. I glanced up. The clouds looked promising; at least I had something to work with. Checking through my pockets, I found a small pouch of incense. It hardly seemed enough, but I had plenty of fire to light it, there were some sticks lying about, and I knew the words of power to. . my heart sank. I had everything necessary for the magic but water.
In order to create rain, one must have water, but if one has water, then the rain is hardly likely to be necessary. Of course. It made perfect sense. To whatever fool had designed the spell.
I put the incense away in disgust, then retreated as the stifling wind carried a phalanx of sparks toward me. It was pure reflex. On my left hand was a ring capable of providing me with a certain amount of protection against fire. Its pale stone cast a cool blue radiance about me even now. Well, I couldn't keep retreating all the way back to the Luna. If I could trust that there were farms ahead, then I'd surely find a well or stock pond to complete the requirements of my spell. I had only to go forward.
Into the fire.
Clenching my left hand into a fist, I grimaced at the ring. Yes, its magic would stave off the harsher effects of the blaze; I well knew that in my mind, but putting aside so primal a fear is much easier said than done.
Then run fast, Strahd. Run very, very fast.
It might have helped not to look, but even I had not that much control. With walls of flame booming on each side, horrific heat, and smoke dense enough to cut into bricks, I sprinted down the exact center of the dirt road, fervently wishing the damned thing were wider. I could have moved more quickly in the form of a bat or a wolf, but wasn't sure if the magic of the ring would function as well, if at all, under such a change. This was not the time for experimentation.
I pulled my cape high in a feeble effort to protect my head from the worst of it and raced on. The racking heat beat hard on me, worse than any forge, worse than any midsummer sun. I would melt from it or flare up like an oil-soaked torch, twisting and screaming as. .
Stop whining and run.
It bellowed like a living thing. It was a living thing, consuming all life in its path and leaving death in its wake. Raging and roaring, the wind of its voice threatened to pound me into the ground for daring to challenge its power over the land.
Through. I'd gotten through.
The burning wall was behind me. But not the heat. That rose up from the roasted earth, curling about my body as if to yet sear me. The ring helped, but I'd pushed its limits. My hands and face were red and stinging, but not too badly. They could be ignored; I kept moving.
I'd known that the vanguard of the blaze would be my greatest danger, but once past its barrier there would be a relative respite since the grass and wheat would have been quickly exhausted as fuel. Had this been a heavily forested tract, with tall trees capable of burning for hours, I'd have never attempted it.
Striding forward into a charred and reeking world, I viewed a sorry landscape, utterly black except for bright spots where it still burned or an unexpected patch of green that had somehow escaped. Ahead, partially concealed before by the smoke, was a farming village — or rather its corpse.
It hadn't been much before the fire, and was less than nothing now, just a few wretched hovels crowded together on each side of the road. The thatch roofs were gone, but the wooden frames and beams were still aflame. My attention, however, was focused on something far more riveting. Scattered in the ruins and along the road were the bodies of the peasants who had lived here. Young and old, some so burned I couldn't tell man from woman, but others nearly untouched. These latter told me that the fire might not have had a natural origin. For without exception they'd been cut down by sword or by arrow.
Slaughtered. Murdered.
The smell of their blood hung thick in the hot air. My drowsing hunger, ever a light sleeper, came fretfully awake.
But I had no time to attend it. Every minute's delay meant the fire spread a few more yards. Multiply that by its breadth. .
I dashed to a waist-high ring of mortared stones that marked the remains of the village well. Its low roof was burned away; the four poles that had supported it were smoking stumps that had to be kicked down so I could get to the opening.