“Where is Strahd Von Zarovich?” Soth rumbled.
Stunted fingers ending in thick claws scraped against Soth’s armored hand. With little effort, the death knight lifted the short, bulky creature from the ground and tossed him from the trees and into the road. The light of the setting sun revealed the hideous nature of the beast that had been tracking Soth and Magda. His frame was heavy, but he stood no more than three feet from head to toe. The beast crouched on legs unfit for great speed but obviously superb for digging and climbing. Short arms, round with corded muscles, stood out from his broad shoulders. Upon his back hung a battered pack, covered with mud and prickling with brambles.
The thing’s head rested upon a neck small enough to be almost invisible. He possessed features similar to a man’s, but flattened until they resembled a wild animal’s. The creature’s eyes were set wide apart and were so absolutely black they seemed to belong to a doll. A caninelike muzzle supported a wet black snout, whose nostrils were even now distended from tracking the death knight. Rounded ears lay flat against the beast’s broad skull, and sharp, pointed teeth lined his mouth. Over his face, as well as the rest of his body, short hair grew in a thick coat. For the most part, this fur was brownish gray, but the hair ran in bone-white stripes below the creature’s muzzle and in a broad stripe running from his snout to the nape of his neck.
In all, the beast resembled nothing so much as a horrifying mating of a small man and a badger.
“I am no servant of Strahd, Lord Soth,” the beast said, the utterance sounding like the growl of a bear. “I am here to help you.”
“You have been spying upon us since we left the village,” the death knight said, studying the strange creature carefully. There was something familiar about the beast, though Soth could not say what. “Those are the actions of a spy, not an ally.”
The creature barked a laugh. “The wolves you had on your trail- those were spies, Sir Knight. The fact I killed ’em-and I did-should be enough to prove to you I’m a friend.” He stood and rubbed the back of his neck with a pawlike hand. “Besides, we’ve met before.”
Shudders racked the beast for a moment, then he doubled over in pain. The hair covering his stocky frame melted away, seemingly drawn back into his skin. His limbs lengthened, and his features took on a more human-or, to be precise, a more dwarven-cast. The snout became a flat nose, the bristling hair a mustache and muttonchop sideburns. A brown tint, the color of freshly turned earth, seeped into his eyes, giving them a deep, thoughtful appearance. He rubbed his bald pate, always the last thing to return to normal, and nodded with satisfaction.
Magda, who despite Soth’s orders had turned back to see the thing that had been tracking them, gasped and drew her silver dagger. “Werebeast!” she cried. “I should have known you were a cursed thing when first I saw you!”
The naked dwarf took the pack from his shoulder. He faced the woman, unconcerned with his lack of clothes, and snorted. “Put the blade away, little girl. Even if it is silver-and I know from the way it reflects the light that it is-you won’t get a chance to strike me with it more than once before I split your skull open.” He pulled a bright red tunic from the pack and shrugged it on over his head, then gestured toward three long scars crisscrossing his stomach. “And believe me, one blow isn’t enough to kill me.”
Folding his arms over his chest, the death knight said, “Even if you are an ally, why have you been following us?”
“Not us,” the dwarf noted as he stepped into a pair of ratty leggings. “You. I’m following you, Sir Knight. I’d just as soon see the Vistani dead-and I’m willing to act on that, too, if you give the word.”
Magda cursed and moved to Soth’s side. “He’s a spy, my lord. Why else would he follow you?”
With a sigh the dwarf removed his iron-soled shoes from the pack, sat on a stone at the road’s edge, and slipped them on. “I’d much rather wear these than carry ’em,” he noted. Fully garbed in a motley collection of ill- fitting clothes, the dwarf approached the death knight. “I am Azrael,” he offered, as if that information alone was a great concession. “I follow you, Sir Knight, because you are very obviously a being of great power-greater than me, I’m more than willing to admit.” He smiled slyly. “Perhaps even greater than Strahd Von Zarovich himself.”
The death knight nodded to acknowledge the compliment. “I am Lord Soth of Dargaard Keep. What do you hope to gain by trailing me?”
“First,” Azrael said, “let me tell you what you can gain by accepting me as a follower.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the east. Darkness had begun to settle on the horizon there. “I can help you to deal with the count’s minions-like those wolves I killed a few days back. They were following you and reporting back to Strahd each sunset. That’s their howling, you see? Messages. Haven’t heard any howling at night lately, have you?” He puffed out his chest pridefully.
“I fear neither the count nor his servants,” Soth replied. The dwarf exhaled like a balloon stuck with a dagger. “In fact, there is nothing you can offer me, little man. Be glad I am letting you live.” Turning on his heel, the death knight started down the road again. Magda, trailing behind him, brandished her sliver dagger at the werebeast as she left. The gesture was not so much threatening as insulting.
A look of puzzlement crossed the dwarf's face. He tugged at his mustache and smoothed his sideburns as he considered his plight. At last he sat down by the side of the road.
He hadn’t expected the death knight to turn down his company so quickly or so completely. Yet, when it comes right down to it, Azrael realized sadly, there’s little I can offer Lord Soth… except my loyalty-not that my loyalty is a worthless commodity. The knight just doesn’t realize how valuable I could be. I’ve got to prove myself.
Smiling, the rag-clad dwarf stood and brushed himself off. Whistling tunelessly, he set off down the road after the death knight.
“None of these stones bear the mark you described,” Lord Soth said angrily. He looked out across the Luna, flowing red in the dying light of the sun. “Is there another fork to this river?”
“Yes, but this is the spot where Kulchek found the tunnel into the earth,” Magda replied. She overturned a large stone and peered beneath it, searching for the Vistani trail marker that was rumored to show the way to the portal. “The doors blocking the tunnel were buried beneath the ground, remember?”
“In your children’s story, perhaps,” Soth began, “but I-”
A mournful cry rent the air just as the sun’s last glow faded in the west. It wasn’t the low howl of a wolf, but a high, sorrowful cry of anguish. The sound echoed over the river and rattled through the foothills for a time.
Magda looked stunned, as if some deity had granted her insight into the workings of the world. “Sabak mourning for his lost quarry!” she gasped. “Did you hear it, my lord? We’re in the right place!”
After scanning the area for some mundane source for the cry, the death knight nodded. “Perhaps, Magda, perhaps. But where is the entrance to the tunnel?”
Cursing vilely, Azrael barreled out of a clump of bushes, his hands clutching at the rabbit that zigzagged across the ground before him. The dwarf's presence hardly startled Soth or Magda, for he’d made no secret of following the pair. And when they’d refused to reveal anything about the object of their search, he’d set about capturing dinner for the party.
The rabbit proved too quick for the dwarf, and it soon disappeared into a knot of brambles. Futilely Azrael yanked the bushes apart, their thorns doing little damage to his rough, callused hands. The only thing he uncovered was a large, lichen-covered stone, but when he turned that over, a small burrow presented itself. The dwarf considered transforming into his full badger form-for his curse granted him the ability to hold one of three forms: dwarf, giant badger, or horrifying cross of the two-but before he could decide, Magda called out.
“He’s found something,” the Vistani cried. She was at Azrael’s side in a flash, her loathing of the werecreature momentarily forgotten. With a trembling hand she pointed to the stone the dwarf had overturned. “His paws burn into stone when he’s on the prowl,” she whispered. “Sabak’s print!”
The mark of a single paw, made by a wolf or very large dog, glowed from the stone. Azrael reached down. The track was warm to the touch.
“Perhaps you can be of use, dwarf,” the death knight noted, staring with glowing orange eyes at the stone.
The death knight briefly explained what it was they were hunting for, and Azrael offered to dig down from the stone to search for the iron gates. As before, pain shot through the dwarf's body as he transformed, but this time the creature he became appeared as nothing more than a badger, very large but otherwise ordinary. With a nod of his flat head to the death knight, he lunged at the ground and proceeded to tear into the earth.
The rabbit’s burrow provided a head start for Azrael’s excavation, and in very little time he had disappeared
