'Here is your past; it indicates great passion and great violence.'
No surprises there. I shuffled and turned up the next card. 'The Necromancer?' I asked. The picture fairly leaped out, a figure in magical robes, its face hooded and too dark to see; before it were eight graves whose skeletal occupants were rising up at its command from the clinging earth.
She licked her lips. 'This is in your future. In this position to the rest it means someone who will oppose you. Someone with unimagined power and black knowledge, very dangerous. Shuffle again.'
The next card was 'The Warrior,' which she told me to place above the Darklord. The figure was completely covered in blood red armor and held a silver broadsword before it.
'This is also your future.'
An icy claw closed fast around my heart, twisting it. 'War,' I murmured.
'Such as even you have never known before. The Warrior represents a facet of yourself, your place in what is to come.'
I dealt out another card, placing it to the right of the Darklord.
'And these are your allies against the Necromancer.'
It was 'The Mercenary,' showing four soldiers raising their swords in salute to each other over a chest of gold.
'Tell me the meaning of it all.'
'It is as you see. There is a dangerous wizard coming who will challenge you, try to destroy you, and you will oppose him with all your might. But it won't be enough, you must seek help from others to survive.'
'I fight alone, now.'
She sneered. 'Turn the next card to see the folly of that.'
I did so. It was 'The Horseman,' showing a robed skeleton, brandishing a scythe raised high, riding a skeletal horse through an endless graveyard. The silvers and blacks were so harsh I could hardly look at them. In no uncertain terms it was a death card.
'Do not let your pride destroy you and everything else,' she said.
'What happens if I seek help?'
She gestured, and I turned the top card. It was of a young woman on a horse, nearly obscured by fog. 'The Mists, a future which is unknown, but it is yet a future-far better than the Horseman.'
I stared long at the images before me, committing them to memory. Tonight I would find the books on the subject and compare what they had to say with Madam Eva's interpretation. I had a sinking feeling hers was going to be the correct one.
'When is this to happen?'
She spread her hands. 'Soon. More than a day, but less than a century.'
'You call that soon?'
'As you mark the time. And it could be at any point in between. You must prepare.'
'How will I know this necromancer?'
'You will know.'
I had other questions, how he would come, where, and again when, but she only shook her head in defeat. The cards could be infuriatingly vague on such points. 'Can you tell me nothing else?'
'Only to ask that you do not ignore this warning.' She swept the cards together, shuffled, and breathed upon them, then put them away into the silk bag. She was utterly serious, and that alone was enough to disturb me, let alone the results of the reading. 'The others in the camp do not know of this yet, so say nothing of it. I will tell them when the time is right. It will become as much a part of us as our music.'
I thought that one over. 'And you came from so far way to tell me of this?'
'Upon you all else depends. For the Vistani-for all the people of Barovia-it is better to have 'the devil Strahd' than this necromancer who is death and worse than death. Understand and believe that, and perhaps we may all have a chance to live… even you.'
Against that, I could, and would, offer no argument.
PART II: AZALIN
CHAPTER FOUR
542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia
Mid-summer solstice was more than a week away, but many of the burgomasters had chosen not to wait and sent their annual tax early. The collection structure I had instituted nearly two centuries ago after my change was still efficiently working. Working so efficiently, in fact, that I rarely paid attention to the process, having other means of filling my time than counting money. So long as my boyars and burgomasters were honest-those who were not had their heads removed-the taxes were regularly stored by my exchequer officers in a special stone house in the village of Barovia until need arose to put them to use.
Such a need was about to occur; I was planning to embark on a new series of magical researches and the equipment and supplies would be costly. At the same time I would deal with the necessary evil of approving certain expenditures submitted to Castle Ravenloft by the boyars over the last few months. Hopefully, this night's work would leave me free and in peace to work uninterrupted for the next year or so unless some more worthy distraction offered itself.
So it was that I took myself down to the village where some officers of my exchequer waited to arrange things to my satisfaction. This was a rare event, my coming openly to the village, and because of it there was more post- sunset activity than I had expected. Lights showed in many windows, some people even lingered on the streets to talk-albeit close to their doorways-an unheard of thing, but here perhaps they felt a bit safer, ironically because of my presence. With Lord Strahd himself around who would dare to harm them once darkness had fallen?
Who indeed? I thought as I approached the door to the Blood o' the Vine inn and entered. A profound silence fell over the common room. They all stood to bow or curtsy, murmuring 'Welcome, my lord' with varying degrees of sincerity. With this formality out of the way I went straight to the work table set up for my officers to use and began a cursory inspection of the papers awaiting my approval.
I bestowed a grant to the village of Immol to help their mining operations and authorized the building of a new public hospice in Krezk. Barovia's population was richer by a thousand more than last year, I was pleased to note. Perhaps one of their number was my Tatyana reborn, though by my reckoning she was likely already in Barovia. If the pattern held true, she was even now in some farm or village location yet unknown to me, flowering into middle adolescence. In another four or five years I would begin looking for her in earnest.
The initial stack of paper was nearly exhausted, but before I could get to the rest there was a commotion at the door of the inn. Someone outside incessantly pounded on the door, their demanding shouts muffled by its thick, solid timber. It was already barred and bolted, though, and as relatively lax as things were in the village, the hour was late enough. The door would not be opened to let anyone in until the sun was well up.
On the other hand, the pounding and shouts were annoying. I instructed the innkeeper to make an exception and admit the visitor. With a gulp, he reluctantly obeyed. Everyone held a collective breath. Why they were fearful was a mystery. They already had me inside with them; what greater danger could be without?
The innkeeper swung the door open and in stepped a young Vistana man. He looked much like the late Bartolome had been in his youth-same eyes, same impudent way of carrying himself, and for all I knew he could have been the fellow's grandson. This new specimen identified me right away and instantly came over, dropped to one knee, and presented his complements to 'the wise Lord Strahd.'
'What is it?' I asked.
By way of reply, he stood and drew from his sash a slightly crumpled letter. I noted with puzzlement the wax seal bore the crest of Baron Latos, who lived some miles west of here over the mountain. The color of the wax was blue, not red, indicating it was not from the Baron himself, but rather his wife. I broke it open and saw by the salutation that she did have business with me.
My Lord Strahd,
