something, hoping my reaction was casual.
'I found it in the appendices of two different histories. One was a mere reference; the other had a more detailed account of how you foiled an assassination plot against you, but not before being wounded by the culprit's knife, then repeating the ritual words as you bled.'
'He wounded me slightly with only a scratch along my ribs.' Damned historians, they never do get things right.
'And the repeating of the words?'
That had been my antic humor getting the better of me. The witnesses to what had happened in the castle garden had been so wide of eye and in awe that I had given in to temptation and shocked them even more.
'What happened?' he pressed.
'I took possession of the knife-no others were willing to touch it. A moment later I cut myself on the hand by accident, forgetting how sharp the blade was.'
'By accident? I do not believe in them, not when it comes to magic.'
'Believe as you like.' I was growing irritated at the direction he was taking.
'But it was a magical knife, and you spoke the ritual words. Perhaps far back in the darks of time they were truly magical in origin-'
'I did, and I see where you wish to go with this and concede the possibility of a connection. I think it most unlikely, though. Why should it even interest you?'
'Because if your tie to the land is too strong, then you may never be able to escape Barovia.'
I met this statement with a long silence and a stony face. What is his game? was my first thought. Was he trying to prepare me for a future failure in this proposed escape? If he broke free of this plane and left me behind… I would not be able to do a damned thing to stop him. Not unless I watched him much more closely than I was already.
'Of course, there may be ways around such a tie,' he added.
'If it exists.'
'I have no doubt that it does. I'm thinking that if you have any valedictory ritual that we can employ, it might serve to negate the tie you established at the time, freeing you to escape.'
I had a mental picture of him holding out a carrot with his right hand, and the instant I took it I would then discover the stunning effect of the stick hidden in his left. Such a ritual as he conjectured existed, but to initiate it was not a light matter.
As though hearing my very thoughts he went on. 'In fact, a severance might be absolutely necessary for our success.'
And weaken my hold on the land. All those questions about the country and its history made great sense if they were part of his first step toward supplanting me. But even if he had no ambition to take my place… how could I truly sever myself from Barovia? I longed to leave it and be free, but not forever. Tatyana was here. I could never abandon her, and should I perform such a separation ceremony it might also end any hope of my finding her again.
'I shall investigate the idea,' I said, trying to sound indifferent. And I would, exhaustively, before making so irrevocable a decision.
'Excellent.' He sounded most pleased with himself, which did nothing to negate my distrust of him.
'But I promise nothing.'
He made a slight gesture of dismissal as though to belie the importance of the subject. 'Now about this other incident concerning your brother and his bride-'
'A family tragedy that I would prefer not to go into,' I said shortly, growing tired of his delving.
His gaunt face gave away nothing, but his mouth did twitch. He knew he had finally stung me in turn.
He repeated the dismissive gesture. 'Perhaps another time, then. The night is passing and we should be at work.'
So saying, he focused himself upon the task before him, blending diverse items together and noting down the details. The smugness fairly dripped from him. Yes, he'd gotten to me, but anything to do with Tatyana was none of his damned business.
He was just as closed-mouthed about his personal past, though ever eager to recount his endless magical exploits and triumphs, sometimes in exhaustive detail. He claimed to have destroyed many less knowledgeable mages, defending his actions by saying it was their own fault. They lacked his experience and talent, but were full of self-delusion about their powers, attempting to challenge him when they should have known better than to try. I took this as a not too terribly subtle warning to take care not to repeat their mistake.
He had nothing to worry about on that account, for I would not be so foolish as to attempt an open attack against him, being wise enough to seek other means should they become necessary.
He could be quite the bore about his adventures unless I could sidetrack him into topics more to my liking. Perhaps he lacked social skills, but he could also discuss magical theory for hours, which I had to admit I enjoyed greatly. Though insufferably conceited he did know his Art. I learned much from him. The work was anything but easy, but I kept at it. With a war looming I would need formidable defenses to survive.
Gradually, under the terms of our agreement, he taught me many of the spells he knew. Like my sharing of the library, it was a necessary evil, since the process of the research and work ahead required we have an equality of knowledge. Though snappish and overbearing, he was fairly cooperative at parting with his secrets (those he chose to share), all of which I carefully recorded away in my own spell books. We both came to think-even take for granted-his sojourn in Barovia was but a temporary inconvenience, and he would be gone to distant lands soon enough, so it seemed safe for the time being.
In regard to the exchange of information I did wonder about his own studies. Though he was always at my books, like the new spells he developed, he showed little interest in trying the spells contained in them-at least while I was awake. Perhaps he wasn't far enough along in his training to master them yet, but that was most unlikely in light of the complicated ones I learned from him. His fluency in the language of spell work was profound, so there was some other reason why he abstained from adding to his store, for most practitioners are positively greedy about adding to their repertoire.
Again I held back from directly asking him about this apparent eccentricity, though I wanted to know. Something, some instinct, always kept the question unspoken on my lips. At worst all he could really do was refuse to answer, but then I'd want to know the why of that refusal and so on. The time would eventually come, though, when I would ask and he would have to respond or lose face-in his case a most serious matter. His pride was vast.
My questions to him about the land 'Oerth' from which he had come were legion, and those I had no trouble putting to him, nor was he stingy with answers. Setting aside his contempt for the people he'd ruled along with other slanted judgments, it sounded very similar to the world I'd known before the Mists had come to Barovia, though his native language was so remarkably different as to convince us both that they were from entirely different planes of existence. However, separate as they were, both lay somewhere beyond the Mists, all we had to do was create a passage back to one and surely the other could be reached using similar means.
If I could trust him.
If we could trust each other.
Once away from Barovia and the restrictions of our pact, it would be every mage for himself and me more than most. In his position I would take the common sense approach of killing me just to prevent me from being a future threat. Barring that, one finds a foolproof way of controlling an enemy to keep him out of mischief.
When you know a man's weakness you can better dominate him. I had to acknowledge that I possessed many of those: being dormant during the day the chief amongst my physical limitations. I also had to admit that my love for Tatyana was a major weakness, hence my reluctance to inform Azalin of the full story concerning her. Knowledge is power and this was one fragment I wanted to keep from him for as long as possible lest he find a way of using it against me.
But to turn the tables I found that he did not seem to suffer from normal, mortal vices. While I was awake I never once saw him eat or drink, never heard him express interest in carnal joys, or even take a moment's pleasure in music or the savage beauty of a starlit sky. He was wholly consumed by his work, and I had to admit his powers of concentration were formidable when the mood was upon him.
Again I never heard the beat of his heart, and he reserved breathing for the purposes of speech only. Although
