and perhaps escape the rain, I found a suitable window to make my entry and hurried forward-
And was just as quickly rebuffed.
It felt like someone had taken a massive club, set it on fire, and used it to strike me out of mid-air. I tumbled once, righted myself, and got control barely in time to avoid hitting a tree. The shock of the strike hurtled me into man-form again, staggering for balance and blinking hard to clear my suddenly clouded vision.
I rubbed my eyes and glared at the house until fully recovered. Of course he would have powerful protections and other wards surrounding the place, and I'd blundered into them like some raw apprentice. I vowed not to underestimate this one again.
The rain began to slacken, but my cloak was soaked through. Generally I ignored such weather, but this stuff seemed uncannily cold, particularly for this time of year. There was also a nearly palpable feeling of horror starting to settle heavily upon my shoulders. I knew fear well enough, though I was more used to inspiring it in others than feeling it myself, but only rarely did this kind of full blown dread inflict itself upon me. The last time had been that hellish night when I had made my pact with Death and sealed myself inside the Mists. This was very like it, fundamental and all-consuming, like a child's primal fear of darkness.
Then I recalled the reaction of others to Azalin and knew him to be nearby. This was either part of his nature or a spell he had in constant effect around him. But I was not a child to be frightened, nor even an ordinary man to give in to such intimidation.
As the rain swept along its way and silence descended on the area, I waited and watched and listened. No night animals were on the move. I took that to mean they had cleared out completely. The only sound was the slow drip of water from the trees and the decaying house. I stretched my other senses, but felt nothing new for them to touch upon except the protection thrown around the building.
The air grew thick as a mist began rising from the ground. The conditions were not right for it, but in Barovia the mist looks after itself. It confounded my vision, for as I stared through one of the broken windows, I saw a man's figure within, but it was shadowy, without detail.
'You are the one they call Strahd von Zarovich.'
The strange harsh voice stabbed into both my mind and ears at once, sending an icy frisson of fear fluttering against my spine. I was unprepared for its loudness or the chill, but strove hard not to flinch and even succeeded. For an instant I wondered if it was the voice of the thing that had tempted me into my bargain nearly two centuries past, but only for an instant. The voice from that time would have no need to confirm my identity.
'You are the one who calls himself Azalin?' I returned, looking warily about me, before turning again toward the house. Sometimes a break would occur in the mist and I would see the figure through the window, shapeless in a dark cloak and bareheaded.
'Azalin is what some here have chosen to call me.'
No one in Barovia would have given him that appellation. It had come with him from the outside. 'But it is not your name?' Names are important and have much power if properly used.
'As some call you Count, some call me Azalin.'
'A title, then,' I murmured to myself. It was not from any language I knew, nor indeed from any I had ever heard. Without having to probe too deeply, I could sense the spell he was using in order for us to communicate.
When he spoke no further, I took a few steps forward, close enough to encounter the barrier he had set up. My larger, human body registered its effect differently than before. Now it was a decided prickling, like invisible needles striking at random over my form, mild now, but increasing in intensity the closer I got. It was uncomfortable, but bearable. I stopped in the middle of it, unwilling to retreat as it gave me a tenuous tie to him. I could learn things about him in this way, things that my other senses could not begin to comprehend. At the same time, though, he could increase his knowledge about me as well. I had to be careful how I balanced it all.
'What is it you wish of me. Von Zarovich?' The voice sounded bored and testy.
I held back my flare of temper at this casual address of me as though I were his subordinate. The man was arrogant, meaning he was either as powerful as Latos said, or a fool. I did not think he was a fool but rather thought he was testing things. Two could play at that.
'At the moment I desire only to speak. I take an interest in my subjects.'
He took on a condescending, disdainful tone. 'You see me as your subject, then?'
Actually, I could not see him at all; the figure faded completely from my view, hidden by the rising mist.
'All in Barovia are my subjects,' I said evenly.
'So I have been told. But not all subjects are given the honor of a personal audience with their master.'
'Few of my subjects capture my interest. Those who appear out of nowhere, however, are an exception.'
'And what leads you to believe that of me? Are you so well acquainted with everyone in your kingdom that you know when even a single stranger enters?'
'There are fewer arrivals than you might imagine. And I am indeed acquainted with everyone possessing powers such as yours.'
'And are there many?'
Certainly he already knew the answer to that. 'Very few, I would imagine, though without knowing the precise nature and extent of your powers, I have no way of being positive.'
Presenting myself as being in the more vulnerable position would likely make him feel confident in dealing with me. Not an especially difficult task, he sounded like he had quite a store of self-assurance, though that could be all bluff.
The voice laughed. 'Their number is doubtless exceedingly small, else they would not long be your subjects.'
'There is more to my rule than sorcery.'
'I would be the last to deny it. The willingness to use one's power is at least of equal importance.'
As if to prove this statement, the needle-like prickling increased all over. I withstood it without so much as a wince, having known far worse. He was trying to play, like a child teasing another in order to provoke a reaction. He would have to do better than that with me. As for him using his power on others… 'I was told of your treatment of the ones you… ejected… from this house.'
'And you do not approve?'
'On the contrary, I doubt that I would have been as merciful. I have little tolerance for those who take what is neither rightfully theirs nor freely given.' My tone was such as to indicate I was not referring to the assault on the girl. I was hoping he would bring up the subject of the book he had taken.
'Even if the object in question is taken from those who are not worthy of its possession?' Right. He'd picked up on the hint fast enough and shifted to a different topic entirely.
'And who is to be the judge of another's worthiness?'
'He who is worthy. Yourself, for example.'
'And yourself?'
'I will not deny it.'
What a high opinion he cherished of himself. He also emphasized the point by increasing the pain of the needles and keeping it at that level. Some of them seemed to burn right into my flesh and remain there. It was a hellish distraction. Best to end the game-playing now before he did something we would both regret. 'It is time we spoke face-to-face.'
'I think not.' He sounded bored again and there was a finality to his words.
The needles blazed, not a mere dozen, but hundreds, thousands of them. I staggered back, biting off a cry as the pain shot through me. Distance did not mitigate its force, indeed, it was on the increase. An ordinary man would have been dead by now. Instinct took over, and I retreated into mist-form, blending with that which lay all about me on the ground. The pain did not follow me there and instantly ceased.
I had to take a moment to collect myself, both physically and emotionally. No one, absolutely no one in over two hundred years had ever had the insolence or unmitigated arrogance to speak to me like that, then dismiss me like some dull-witted servant.
I was absolutely furious. For a moment I could not think at all, so consumed was I by sheer rage. My initial reaction was to call back the rain clouds, stir them up, and send a few blasts of lightning dancing throughout the house. Indeed, I was halfway through the initial stages of the spell before I caught myself and pulled the power back in. It was not out of any mercy, but rather my instinct operating again. It told me that such an impetuous
