better served to simply knock the lot flat and begin again, but I doubt he has the resources to achieve such improvements.
He claims that it has been in a minor decline for the last two hundred years-a clue to his actual age there-but if this is his idea of minor I should be interested to know what a major setback is to him.
His own rooms are fairly comfortable and in order, but the so-called 'guest suite' he ushered me into is hardly fit for one of my station. Perhaps he hopes I will remove myself from Barovia that much faster. There is nothing that would give me greater pleasure, but that would hold true with or without his slights.
Apparently Castle Ravenloft is the best the whole miserable land has to offer, and if so, then it is hardly worth my notice-unless he is lying to me again. That is something I intend to investigate if my experimentation does not prove to be immediately successful and I am stranded here for a time. I shall have to strengthen my position with the creation and recruitment of allies. This should not be overly difficult if Latos is any example. He and others like him can be controlled easily enough.
I believe Von Zarovich rules by fear and playing upon whatever old loyalties still exist by tradition (and force) between himself and his boyars. My interrogation of Latos and his woman seemed to confirm this. Though they were reluctant to say anything against Von Zarovich, it seemed obvious to me that he is not a kind-weak-lord, being more feared than loved. I shall have to determine just how deep that fear runs and make plans to exploit it should the need arise.
Miserable as this parcel of stones and mud is, assuming the rule of Barovia is a distinct likelihood in my future.
End of excerpt.
CHAPTER SIX
542 Barovian Calendar, Barovia
Azalin elected to make the manor house his home for the duration of his stay, a decision I met with mixed feelings. On the one hand it was a place of sorrow for me, on the other, I could not have picked a better location in which to put him. It was little more than an hour's flight from Castle Ravenloft, yet nearly half a day's journey for him by horseback along the twisting roads of the mountain-when the weather was good.
I liked the disproportion. He'd be close enough to watch, but far enough away that I could feel moderately secure in the castle from immediate danger. I would set up so many magical defenses that even if he tried a spell for disappearing from one place to appear in another he would not find it a great success.
Years before I had devised an invisible buffering wall around the castle for just that purpose to foil other, lesser mages who had had grievances with me. When any of them tried to effect an entry into the keep, the force of their spell reflected off the buffer wall, sending them elsewhere. I heard one was lucky and ended up in Krezk on the far western border; another landed in isolated Immol. A third had the very bad fortune to reappear in the cave den of some of my mountain wolves. I only discovered this incident by accident when I happened to use that cave for daytime shelter once and found the remains of his shredded clothing and distinctive jewelry amongst the gnawed bones. My four-legged children had made quite a thorough celebration of their unexpected feast.
But for all that, I still felt only moderately secure. Azalin was cut from a different bolt of cloth than the other mages I'd faced. He would be far away in the manor, yet not nearly far enough. That would only happen by getting him out of Barovia entirely.
Because of its past tragedy the house had enjoyed an evil reputation for a very long time and most of the locals-barring that one idiot scion and his three henchmen-avoided it. The town council of Berez had never needed to approve of any new construction within a mile of the grounds, for its people found other sites more appealing. I was glad of this, wanting to keep Azalin as removed from the Barovians as was possible.
The edicts I unofficially passed down to them through Zorah Latos would make an impression, but whether it would last I did not know. Ambition can cause people to be incorrigibly half-witted at times. Sooner or later someone might put me to the test, and I would have either another addition to my larder or a head on a pike, depending on the state of my temper at the time. I could also have a political problem as well depending on the importance of the transgressor. I would just have to wait and see and let things work themselves out in my favor as they usually did.
Massive repairs to the house were required, of course. Azalin made it very clear that if he was to have any success at all in finding an escape for us he would need a properly equipped working area, or laboratory as he called it, an unfamiliar word to me, though the root word of 'labor' helped to clarify its meaning.
He made no secret of his opinion that my own chambers in Castle Ravenloft were wholly inadequate to the task. If his purpose was to annoy me he did not succeed. I came to expect the worst from him at all times, therefore he was hard-pressed to surprise me with such petty complaints. Besides, I had the idea that much of his criticism was derived from some deeply hidden pang of inadequacy within. Caviling away on this point or that was probably how he made himself feel better, irksome for me to listen to, but if that was part of the price of my freedom, then so be it.
The one thing he could not find fault with was my library. In two centuries I'd amassed a respectable number of books on the Art, many of which he'd never heard, so the flow of disparaging comment stopped the moment he entered the room. His silence as he surveyed the ranks of volumes was compliment enough.
Out of necessity I gave him the run of the library. He needed all the knowledge at my disposal to help him understand the nature of the magic (or whatever it was) that brought him to Barovia. His initial interest had to do with how the Mists had come about in the beginning, though I was loath to give him the full and true story. I referred him to the public record of that night for the time being, hoping its dry wordage would encourage him to seek information from actual observation of the Mists rather than simply reading about them. It was more preferable to me that he should- with his current superior ability in the Art-devise an escape without having to know the sad business of my Tatyana's death.
There were a few select tomes he did not come into contact with, which I hid elsewhere in the castle-like the book with the black pages Alek Gwilym had brought. Just because the thing was no longer forthcoming with information for me did not mean it would be the same for another. I was not about to take the chance. I also denied him the knowledge of the existence of my private journals. Though they contained many important details on Barovia's history and my own magical observations, they were my personal records, holding thoughts sacred to myself that I would share with no one. Not that he noticed any of this or was ever given a hint of a chance to do so.
With a portion of the recently collected taxes to finance the project, I arranged for the hiring of workers to begin massive repairs to the manor house. Azalin had some very specific changes to make to the structure, including the complete gutting of one wing and the use of its foundation to support a large circular tower.
The shape of it was not lost on me; the image I'd seen in Ilka's crystal ball was yet fresh in my mind. I wondered just how far in the future that event might be.
Azalin required that the tower be massively reinforced, and I first thought it was also meant to serve as a keep until a talk with the engineers and master builders cleared my suspicions. The stress points in the construction were designed to withstand force from within and keep it contained rather than assaults from without. I either had taken on an insane dreamer as a guest or he was indeed some sort of genius when it came to applied spell work.
The short summer months progressed, and the future rapidly became the present as the walls went up, course by course. By the end of autumn the tower was finished, other outside repairs were complete, the roof solid, and the walls intact. Interior modifications could proceed when the winter weather abated enough to allow the carpenters to travel. Azalin supervised much of the work himself, and I made frequent visits, presenting him with many questions about the dimensions and purpose of his design.
'The exact placement of the stones in this pattern is necessary to maintain the integrity and power of the spells,' he said rather haughtily, as if I should know this fact. 'Your own facilities lack this; I'm surprised you've accomplished as much as you have.'
'It is not as though any of it is especially difficult for me,' I murmured.
