nobleman. When the noble stole tax money, the count had everyone in his household killed. Was it a surprise? Certainly not.”
“What’s your point?”
A wide smile played across Azrael’s face, making his muttonchop sideburns bristle like whiskers. “A predictable person is a lot less dangerous than one who tosses surprises at you.”
Magda slung her pack over her shoulder and took a last look around the musty tower room. “You’re as good at giving advice and sharing your ‘wisdom’ as any Vistani fortune-teller I’ve ever met. Do you ever follow it yourself?”
Azrael didn’t answer for a time. After he finished repacking his food, he noted, “If I followed half the advice I give, do you think I’d be here myself?”
Caradoc was finally growing accustomed to seeing the world at a tilt. His head still lolled on his shoulder, unsupported by his broken neck, but in the time since Soth had attacked him, the ghost had become less aware of the odd angle at which he viewed things. At times his mind compensated for the injury, straightening the landscape and the horizon he saw. Then there were the minutes and hours when Caradoc couldn’t even walk because of the vertigo that gripped him, times when he couldn’t tell up from down. Luckily, those attacks were growing less frequent, and the ghost was certain that, given time, his mind would adjust.
As he stood in the darkest shadows at the tower’s base, Caradoc saw the world as he supposed it really was. The ancient two-story tower squatted atop a steep-sided mound like a dragon upon its hoard. For decades the tower had protected the hill and its owner, but even its sturdy walls had not been able to keep the count from exacting his ultimate revenge upon its master. Now the place was empty, save for the occasional wanderer who sought it out as ill-considered shelter from the Barovian night, and the rats that scurried openly along the ceiling timbers. Its few windows gaped darkly, like missing scales on a dragon’s hide.
A dwarf and a woman walked from the tower into the chill predawn air. They deposited small packs at the doorway.
Soth’s new minions, the ghost thought disdainfully.
A rusty shirt of chain mail hung well below the dwarf's waist; the motley tunic beneath it poked out at his shoulders and neck. The armor had obviously been meant for a human, but the dwarf seemed unaware how ludicrous he looked in it, much like a young squire pretending to be a knight. The dwarf's features instantly dispelled that image from Caradoc’s mind. There was a feral glint in the dwarf's eyes, and his dark sideburns framed an upturned nose and wide mouth that looked as if they more properly belonged on an animal.
Clad in a gown of rich red fabric, hastily patched and with an uneven hem, the young woman appeared less threatening than the dwarf. Yet she carried herself with a confidence that unsettled the ghost. She was thin- waisted and lithe of frame, with the muscled legs of a dancer. The scratches crisscrossing those legs and the claw marks marring her shoulder told of a long, hard trek to the tower. The way she kept her gnarled cudgel close at hand revealed her wariness to sudden danger. Though her features were deceptively gentle-green eyes, full lips, and a soft chin-the ghost knew she must possess a reservoir of strength, for she had survived days of travel with Lord Soth and a harrowing escape from Castle Ravenloft.
“We’ll be leaving any time now,” the dwarf said, scuffing clumps of sod from the ground with his heavy boots. “I dare say the old count won’t want to dally until the sun rises.”
A brief moment of excitement passed through the ghost at the dwarf's disrespectful tone. If Strahd heard him, there would certainly be a confrontation, and Caradoc yearned to have an excuse to reveal himself and his new alliance to Lord Soth. Then he’ll realize how foolish he was to mistreat me, the ghost concluded, clinging to the shadows.
Magda sat down on the steepest part of the hill, just before the gate. Next to her, an uneven and badly constructed stone stair rambled down the hill. “We can’t be on our way too soon for me,” she noted impatiently, tapping the ground with her club.
It wasn’t long before the death knight and the vampire lord joined Soth’s servants. Caradoc shrank back into the shadows, then into the tower wall itself, at the sight of the death knight. A memory of Soth’s icy hands crushing his throat flashed in Caradoc’s mind, and he shuddered. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good time for a meeting.
“Although you do not agree with my assessment of your companions,” Count Strahd said, “I will present you with special troops that you will undoubtedly find of some use on the journey through the duke’s lands.” Both Magda and Azrael glanced at the vampire, but he spared them not a word.
His hands raised over his head, Count Strahd bayed the words of a spell. Wolves echoed the sound from the woods ringing the tower, and bright moonlight rained down upon the hillside like a sudden downpour. Faces appeared in the white light, faces contorted in screams of agony. These swirled around the hill, then disappeared into the earth. The ground trembled in thirteen places along the slope. First one dirt-crusted hand clawed its way to the air, pushing aside dirt and grass, then another. Like some ghastly spring bloom, skeletal hands and arms slowly reached up toward the gibbous moon.
Magda gasped and crawled up the slope. Less than an arm’s length from where she’d sat, a helmeted head had emerged from the ground. The skeleton pulled aside the earth from its chest with bony fingers, then sat up and proceeded to methodically free its legs. The hillside was awash with similar scenes-long-dead warriors, their armor hanging loosely upon rotting bones, responding to Strahd’s call. Worms twisted and fell from the dirt between the skeletons’ ribs, and pincered insects scuttled from beneath their helmets. At last, thirteen skeletal warriors stood on the hillside, their shallow graves at their feet, their battered swords in their hands.
“This should give you a fighting force worthy of a knight of your stature,” Strahd said, gesturing to the grim host assembled there.
Caradoc shrank back into the castle wall even farther, until only his face lay outside the cold stone. The count was revealing too much! Soth had commanded thirteen such warriors on Krynn, and it seemed that Strahd was taunting him.
Soth nodded and gestured for Magda and Azrael to gather up their packs. “They will follow my commands?”
“As I said, they are my gift to you, Lord Soth,” the vampire replied with a bow. “They once served the boyar who ruled this keep, and now they are yours to command.” He paused and pointed to the west. “Beware of Duke Gundar’s influence over them once you get close to his castle. Such mindless creatures are easily swayed to the side of a duchy’s lord once they enter his province.”
The death knight turned to the skeletal warriors. “Come,” he said flatly and started down the stone steps. Magda and Azrael fell in behind him. The undead warriors shuffled into place, keeping a relentless pace behind their new master.
“May we never meet again,” Lord Soth called from the edge of the forest.
The count raised his gloved hand in a casual salute. “Indeed,” he said softly. “Let us hope.”
Only after the death knight and his strange following had been swallowed by the forest did Caradoc emerge from his hiding place. The ghost floated tentatively toward the vampire lord, wringing his hands before him. “Forgive me, terrible lord, but by raising troops like those he commanded on Krynn, have you not revealed to Soth that you know more about him than you should?”
Strahd arched an eyebrow. “That was my intention, Caradoc. Soth did not miss the significance of my gift, and the question it will raise in his mind will help me. If he can’t be sure what I know, he’ll not be so quick to turn against me.”
After studying the sky for a moment, Strahd turned away from the ghost. “Dawn is coming. I must away.”
“Master,” Caradoc cried. “I watched as you healed the death knight’s arm. Might you heal my broken neck. I have been a faithful-”
Strahd faced his servant, the calm on his features and in his voice more terrible than any threat. “Don’t be foolish, Caradoc. Be thankful Soth didn’t discover your presence. I gladly would have let him destroy you, had you been careless enough to be seen.”
The ghost fell to his knees and cast his eyes at the ground. “Forgive me. I thought-”
“You thought I might heal you. Put that thought out of your mind, Caradoc. It was the hope that you might be human and whole again that caused your problems with your last master-” Strahd gestured for the ghost to rise “- and I will not tolerate the repeat of such foolishness. Abandon all such hopes. You are a servant, and it is best for
