David Wise, Chet Williamson, Mark Anthony,Elaine Cunningham, James M. Ward, Roger E. Moore, Alien C. Kupfer, Kate Novak, Gene DeWeese, D. J. Heinrich, Jeff Grubb, James Lowder, Juanita Coulson, J. Robert King, Nick Pollotta, Elaine Bergstrom, William W. Connors, P. N. Elrod
Tales of Ravenloft
Contents
David Wise…………………………………………The Crucible of Dr. Rudolph van Richten
Chet Williamson…………………………………………………………..The Vanished Ones
Mark Anthony…………………………………………….The House of a Hundred Windows
Elaine Cunningham…………………………………………………………….Song Snatcher
James M. Ward………………………………………………………………………Undefiled
Roger E. Moore……………………………………………………..The Briar at the Window
Alien C. Kupfer……………………………………………………………………….Nocturne
Kate Novak……………………………………………………………………….The Wailing
Gene DeWeese…………………………………………………………………..Von Kharkov
D. J. Heinrich…………………………………………………………………Sight and Sound
Jeff Grubb……………………………………………………The Judgment of abd-al-Mamat
James Lowder…………………………………………………………The Rigor of the Game
Juanita Coulson……………………………………………………………..Cold, Hard Silver
J. Robert King…………………………………………………………………….Objets d'Art
Nick Pollotta…………………………………………………………………………The Freak
Elaine Bergstrom………………………………………………………….The Weaver's Pride
William W. Connors…………………………………………………………..The Glass Man
Andria Cardarelle…………………………………………………………………..Dark Tryst
P. N. Elrod……………………………………………………………………………Caretaker
The Crucible of Dr. Rudolph van Richten
As Darkon's heavens deepened past indigo, receding beyond the ruddy backward reach of dusk, sinewy vapors slid between the trees and churned into dim mirages on the old forest road. Shadows lost their confining edges, merged, and thickened. To scorn shelter in the land of the Mists after sunset was deadly folly, but for one traveler, the promise of a bright hearth and a warm bed had already slipped into darkness.
Dr. Rudolph van Richten turned and grimaced at the burden lashed to the rump of his horse: the stiffening corpse of a dark-haired young man.
'We may both be ghoul meat tonight, but I'll catch your people before the flesh eaters find me, Vistana!' he spat with a great deal more conviction than he felt.
The lean, middle-aged herbalist searched the diminishing horizon ahead, desperate for any sign of a brightly painted vardo. He'd ridden hard since morning, yet the gypsy caravan had somehow outdistanced him anyway. There was no other route they could have taken from Rivalis, but he had seen no sign of them all day. Still, Van Richten rode on doggedly, as fearless of the impending night as a lamb of the chopping block. The Vistani had kidnapped his beloved child Erasmus, and all the torments that might descend out of the night were nothing compared to that loss!
As Tasha trotted along the eclipsing lane, Van Richten scanned its overgrown borders. He spotted a slender oak branch that hung by a feeble tether of bark; the bough snapped off cleanly in his hand as he guided Tasha past it. Draping the reins over the saddle, he trimmed and peeled the wood into a crooked pole about as tall as himself. Then, grasping the coarse linen shirt of the lifeless Vistana, he ripped free a wide swath, which he wrapped about the end of the staff and tied off, fashioning a long torch. Now for the courage to light it.
Overhead, the leafy ceiling cast a net of opaque shadow over the horse and rider, reducing the gritty road to a colorless strip that withered into void just ahead. A deathly hush smothered the forest, and the lonely staccato of Tasha's hooves rose in the silence, growing painful to Van Richten's ears. He vainly wished she could walk above the ground so they might slip through the woods without sound, but with every step, even her saddle creaked in betrayal. All creatures of the day were deep in their lairs, while things that creep in the night were just rising, pricking up their ears at the isolated clip-clop in the spreading blackness.
The anguished father wondered if he could keep the path without a torch. They were alone, and he wanted to remain so. Dr. Van Richten was just a peaceful herbalist from a small village — no match for danger — and only the torturous vision of Erasmus drove him on. A man who braves the Darkon night, went the saying, will see wondrous things before he dies. Until now, that had been an old preacher's proverb, spoken with a chuckle. . and behind safely bolted doors.
The merest suggestion of a queer noise implanted in Van Richten's ear, and a cold shiver wrung his spine. A dim wisp of light flashed in the nearby underbrush — or so he thought. He ogled the dark spot, but spied nothing beyond the murky flank of the road. A shadow flitted by Van Richten's stirrup. His eye darted after the motion, but caught only a snatch of gyrating mist. He blinked and squinted at the depthless surroundings, then shivered again.
'Perhaps it's only the echo of light a man sees when he closes his eyes,' he murmured hopefully.
Tasha expelled a tense, low whinny and turned her sleek head in the same direction.
She had seen something, too.
Another phantom spark flickered in the eaves of the weald, then faded. With a start, Van Richten turned toward it. A scattering of pinpoints ignited nearby, dying as quickly as he looked their way. He glanced to the other side of the road, where more pale fires kindled beneath the brush. Their numbers multiplied, and soon a greenish glow slithered through eerie silhouettes of thicket, illuminating the undergrowth in a faint pall.
Another shadow rolled by underfoot, spooking the horse, and the rider nearly lost his balance as she shied from it. 'Easy, Tasha, easy girl,' he urged, soothing the mare with a stroke on her gray dappled neck. 'It's only mist and faerie fire.' Tasha threw back her head and snorted anxiously, stamping one hoof and then another.
'I suppose I must light the torch,' Van Richten muttered, putting down the reins once more and reaching into the chest pocket of his wooly coat for a small, spring-loaded spark block. He squeezed the roughened strip of steel against the small flint bar, compressing the spring, then released it. The file scraped across the surface of the block as the spring uncoiled, releasing a flurry of brilliant sparks.
'I hope we're alone, girl,' he remarked to Tasha. 'This torch will. .'Van Richten caught his breath and held his tongue.
Something had whispered in the mist below.
Tasha's ears snapped forward, angular and trembling, and her muscles went taut between Van Richten's legs.A blood-chilling, unnatural moan fluttered the horse's muzzle, inducing an ominous tingle under the man's skin. Instinctively he pocketed the spark block and caught up the reins. Then Tasha's ears went down flat. .
With a sharp heave her equine scream splintered the silence, piercing Van Richten's heart with icy dread. The mount reared up and leaped as if she would climb into the air, nearly flipping onto her back. Van Richten madly flung down the torch, seized her mane with both hands, and leaned into the cringing saddle, clutching with all the strength his four limbs could muster. The unhinged animal bucked and spun in blind, reckless hysteria, filling the air with shrieks that wound higher with every convulsive breath. Meanwhile, the Vistana corpse behind Van Richten flailed wildly on Tasha's haunches, striking the doctor with blows from its floppy limbs. With each thrash, Tasha's sturdy mane slipped further through Van Richten's fingers. For a moment he experienced a queasy weightlessness, until he and his mount collided with a barrier of pine trees, brutally knocking the wind from him. Tasha writhed against clawing needles and lunged away with another scream, leaving the doctor entangled in the branches, ripping free of his clasping legs and wheeling out of sight while he plunged headlong into a pulpy thicket.
For a long and dizzy moment, Van Richten lay oblivious in the wet and thorny bed, but fear that Tasha might
