Herr Grest considered the pouch. “Rubbish,” he grumbled. “Love philters are for those too old or ugly or poor to have a woman they want.”
Smiling thinly, Magda dropped the item back into the sack. Better that he didn’t buy it, the Vistani thought. Grest is the type who would hunt for the tribe once he’d discovered that the powder was only so much ground bone. “Perhaps this charm, Herr Grest. You are a brave man to travel through Barovia after sunset, but even the boldest would be well advised to carry one of these.”
She held up a long leather cord, and the silver charm at its end glittered seductively in the firelight. On the shining teardrop, a single eye was engraved, half-lidded and malevolent. “It’s a ward against the dark things that prowl these woods by night.” Magda lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Zombies, werewolves, even vampires cannot see you when you wear this.”
From the way Grest’s beady-eyed gaze locked onto the silver amulet, Magda knew that she had a prospective sale.
“How much?” the giorgio asked, his hand gliding toward his purse.
“Thirty gold.”
“Rubbish,” Grest countered. “Fifteen at the most.”
Magda shook her head, setting her raven-dark hair dancing around her face. The charm did have some power, even if she was exaggerating its strength. “I’m only offering it to you at that price because of my unfortunate rudeness before.
If you won’t pay what it’s worth, though, I-”
“Thirty it is, you charlatan.”
As the transaction was being completed, Andari returned with the horse, saddled and ready to go. Grest had snatched the silver amulet from Magda’s hand, and after dropping two handfuls of gold coins into the dirt, mounted. “I would have paid twice that for a night with you,” he said to the beautiful woman as he wheeled his horse about and headed down the narrow path leading into the forest.
As Grest’s mare reached the edge of the wood, it reared nervously, reluctant to leave the safety of the campfire. The balding man angrily kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Come on, you bastard. Get moving.” The mare stared into the bushes at the clearing’s edge, its eyes wide with fright. Grest kicked it again. After pawing the ground a few times, the horse bolted forward.
A figure, even darker than the darkness in which it was hidden, shifted slightly. The death knight turned back toward the Vistani camp, resuming his watch. He had pursued the wolves through the forest for hours, over dark- watered streams and through brush as tangled as a madman’s mind. Some miles back, the monstrous guides had ceased their howling, which was replaced by the faint sound of music. Soth had followed that sweet sound here to the small camp.
At first he had assumed the gypsies gathered around the campfire to be an illusion or the human guises of the foul denizens of the Abyss. During the hour or so he had spent watching the men and women, the death knight had abandoned this notion; it seemed clear these were merely humans. Now Soth waited for someone to reveal himself as leader of the ragtag troupe-perhaps even this “Strahd” of whom the zombie had spoken. The young man named Andari obviously had some power over the others, but no one seemed to fear him. No, he was not the one who kept the tribe together.
Unaware of the glowing eyes that watched him, Andari continued to berate his sister. “You won’t steal. You won’t dance for strangers. Your stories are worth nothing to the tribe.” The young man kicked Magda in the side, and she fell to the ground. “You are lucky Grest bought that amulet or you would be sleeping in the woods tonight.”
“Magda’s fate is not for you to decide.”
The young man spun around to face the shriveled old woman who had made that terse pronouncement. “Madame Girani,” he said, color rising to his cheeks in embarrassment. “I do not presume to speak for you, but Magda-”
“Heeds my word, not yours.” Madame Girani set her cold gaze upon Andari, and her blue eyes leeched the heat from the man’s soul. Cowed, he extended a hand to his sister. “Good,” the old Vistani said as the young woman stood and brushed the dust from her skirt. “Now, what is the trouble?”
Magda moved to the old woman’s side. She placed a gentle hand on Madame Girani’s stooped shoulder. “Andari wanted me to sell myself to a wealthy boyar from the village. When I said no, he left me in the caravan alone with the pig. I had to break a crystal bowl over the man’s head to convince him to leave me alone.”
Madame Girani sighed and clutched her gnarled walking stick more tightly. “I have told you before, Andari, I have plans for your sister. The tribe is large enough to support a storyteller, and I want Magda to be the one to fill that role.”
“I only thought to gain the tribe a little more gold from a giorgio ’s fat purse,” he replied sullenly. Andari dropped to one knee and gathered up a few of the gold coins scattered in the dirt. “This is for you.”
The old Vistani woman did not reply. Instead she stared at the armored man who had appeared at the edge of the clearing; it was as if he’d materialized out of the darkness, so abrupt was his coming. As the tall man drew closer, the firelight revealed him to be a knight clad in ancient armor. The damage from many battles marred the delicate ornamentation on the breastplate, which was also blackened from the touch of intense heat. Yet those scars could not hide the beauty the armor had once possessed.
A long purple cloak hung heavily from the stranger’s shoulders and draped behind him almost to his knees. A tassel of long black hair topped his helm, which was as ancient and as ruined as the rest of his armor. Of the man himself, only his eyes shone from beneath the plate mail. He entered the camp with the haughty self-assurance of a wealthy boyar, his tread slow and confident, like the relentless progress of fall into winter.
“Welcome,” Madame Girani said. “This is the camp of my tribe, and I offer you its shelter.”
Lord Soth bowed slightly and rested a hand upon the pommel of his sword. “I accept that offer.”
Andari gawked at the stranger. At his side, Magda stiffened at Soth’s sepulchral voice. Like all Vistani, she knew that unnatural creatures stalked the forests of Barovia after sunset, and this might well be one such monster. She reached for the silver-bladed dirk hidden in her wide sash.
“He is under the protection of the master,” Madame Girani whispered, placing a bony hand on Magda’s arm. The young woman relaxed, though her eyes did not leave the death knight.
The two women, standing side-by-side as they were, appeared to Soth as age-distorted reflections of one another. Both Magda and Madame Girani were dressed in long, flowing skirts and snow-white blouses with billowing sleeves. They wore colorful sashes wrapped about their hips. Large bracelets circled their wrists, and glittering gold rings dangled from their ears. And, even though Madame Girani’s hair was silver and pulled back from her face, the death knight could see that once it had been as dark as Magda’s halo of curls.
The similarities went beyond their physical appearance. In the eyes of both Vistani women Soth saw determination and fearlessness. Whereas Andari was clearly frightened by the death knight, Magda and Girani appeared to accept him for what he was. These women know much, Soth decided, but they are not to be trusted completely.
“The night is growing chill,” Magda noted after a moment. “Come, giorgio, warm yourself at our fire.” She moved toward Soth, but the death knight held up a gauntleted hand in warning.
“I have no need of such comforts. I want only information.”
“You will have that,” Madame Girani offered as she turned her back on the death knight. With slow, deliberate steps, she made her way to a chair set close to the dying fire. “Andari, you will play for our guest. And, if we are so honored, Magda will dance.”
Andari balked at the suggestion. “Magda never dances for-”
“Of course I will,” the young woman interrupted. “Get your violin, Brother. I will dance a tale of Kulchek the Wanderer.”
With obvious dismay, the musician unwrapped his instrument and tuned the strings, running a finger mournfully over the slight damage inflicted earlier. Magda stood at Madame Girani’s side, helping her settle a fringed shawl around her thin frame. Soth remained at the clearing’s edge. When Andari appeared ready to begin, the old woman motioned to the knight. “Enjoy the dance, then we will talk.”
The death knight crossed the clearing to stand near the fire, away from Madame Girani. When Magda gestured to a chair near the old woman, Soth shook his head. “I am quite comfortable here,” he said flatly.
The song Andari chose started slowly, but it seemed to take possession of Magda from the first note. Eyes
