Next I focused on the border, tearing high overland from one end to the other hoping to find some useful clue. All that came to my notice was the fact that the Misty edge of my existence was still in place, only now it enclosed Forlorn.
I then let my memory dredge up the sight of the grove that I might go there again. It proved to be something of a struggle, like trying to take a reluctant horse over a difficult hurdle. The more I insisted the more I was met with opposition. I began to fear that like my body, my Sight would not be able to cross the boundaries of Barovia.
I kept at it until my eyes blurred and my head swam with the effort. Just as I was about to give up, the breakthrough came. A bright light flared and died in the crystal, and within its depths the grove was visible but rippling as though it lay at the bottom of a stream. It gradually steadied and grew stronger, and I shut my eyes to allow my inner vision to take me there. Rather than a tiny picture, it seemed that I stood in the midst of the grove and could look about me. The view was imperfect, but better than not being there at all.
Nothing had changed much since the previous night. A few goblyn bodies which had managed to escape the consuming flames still littered the ground, though many had been plundered for food by my wolves and other scavengers. Curiosity satisfied, I rose high over the fly-infested pile until I was above the trees and saw the castle Auric had mentioned. It was but a few miles west by a small lake, and his assessment of it as an evil place looked to be accurate. It was nowhere close to the faded grandeur of my own domicile, but it still possessed a distinct gloominess of aspect that belied its smaller size.
The design was of a style strange to me, for though I could pick out towers and walls, their relation to each other seemed to have nothing to do with the art of defense. Archers' windows were placed in the wrong spots to be of any use, and the battlements, such as they were, appeared to be for decorative purposes only. The curtain wall looked strong enough, but it wouldn't last a week against a determined siege. What sort of lord ruled such a careless collection of stones as this?
I soared in my mind's eye over the useless wall and down into the main courtyard, finding a continuance of the odd architecture but no evidence of occupation. Approaching the main entrance to the castle itself I studied the door lintel, discerning a single word carved into the stone: Tristenoira.
Whether that was the name of the castle or the family that raised it or both was impossible to say. I entered, seeming to float through the door, and looked about the inner hall, seeing only shadows and dusty furnishings. Some faded portraits hung from the walls, again in an unfamiliar artistic style, the clothing of the subjects suggestive of a different cultural source than Barovia's.
A quick sweep through the rest of the place turned up more of the same and no occupants, though that meant nothing. Sight is a useful, but limited sense, showing what is before you, but nothing else. Someone or something controlled the goblyns, but it deigned not to reveal itself. Perhaps on some future night I might find it instructive to hypnotize another man, through an amulet around his neck, and visit this Tristenoira by proxy. There were bound to be impressions that one could gather only by being there, but I could wait for Azalin to finish his investigations.
He initially stayed in various spots along the border, methodically sifting through every imaginable detail and a few others besides, conducting test after magical test. I watched without interfering as he questioned countless frightened locals, not gaining any satisfactory answers to judge by the chronically disgruntled look upon his visage.
After a week of preliminary study he finally crossed over to explore Forlorn. Being asleep, I was unable to follow his daytime exploits, but even in my sleep I was aware of whenever he returned to Barovia. It seemed that my link to the land had grown very profound, indeed, to give me this much sensitivity. If there was a ruler controlling Forlorn-which was likely however shy he was about showing himself-then did he also have this ability? Perhaps so, considering the swiftness of the goblyn attack on Auric.
He must have been more cautious about inflicting the same game upon Azalin, though. The moment I shed my daylight stupor, I brought up his image in the crystal to see how he fared. He had apparently been allowed to wander unscathed through the forests to judge by his unconcerned manner.
Then I saw the movement of shadows within the trees. Azalin must have noticed them at the same time and kicked his horse to a gallop, but another pack of the things were well ahead of him and cut him off.
He fought them with formidable magic, killing many, but he lacked the advantage of wolves for allies. The sheer number of goblyns finally got the better of him for a moment, and he was unhorsed. They ignored the panicked beast and clawed at the fallen rider instead. Again, this attempt to take a prisoner.
Azalin tore free, using a spell to cut a path through the press of bodies and fled on foot barely ahead of their gnashing teeth. I did not think they would be able to destroy him, but it was still a most entertaining display to see. However, it angered me that he was leading the filthy things straight into my land.
As he crossed into Barovia something very interesting occurred. As if in response to my exasperation, a thick white band of fog suddenly swelled out of the clear air, gathered along the invisible line of the border, and rose high. He didn't notice it at first, being too busy running, but he must have heard it when the goblyns rushed into the stuff, for he risked a backward look.
I sensed them coming in, just as I'd sensed Azalin's entry, and as my anger surged so did the fog. It bloomed around them, engulfing them like a tide. They were soon unable to pursue their quarry, having given up that sport for clutching their throats and choking. Before too long they were writhing on the ground coughing out their last bit of life. The few who tried to return to Forlorn did not make it.
Well, well.
Drawing back my view I saw that the whole length of the border at this point was rife with the fog, which was apparently identical to the poisonous vapor that encircled my castle.
And it was-so far as I could observe-very much under my control. When I thought about the stuff retreating, it did so. It grew larger or smaller at my whim.
The chains that tied me to Barovia had grown yet another link, it seemed, but a most useful one for dealing with breathing enemies. A pity it would not have the same effect on Azalin as it would the goblyns, but poison is fairly useless against those who are already dead.
Some days after this incident, Azalin finally returned to his manor house with stacks of exhaustive notes and records of all he'd done. If he guessed that I had anything to do with the fog coming to his timely rescue, he made no mention of it. At the same time I pretended to be ignorant of his overland escape, lest it reveal to him my spying with the crystal. Thus out of a sense of mutual self-preservation were we reduced to such games-playing.
I sifted through the information he had gleaned and could offer no further explanation for the bald reality that a new land had appeared in this plane. How and why it had come to be was not something either of us could answer. Perhaps, like me, its ruler had enacted some magical trip wire the nature of which we did not as yet understand, but that was as far we could carry the speculation. Facts were required and there were damned few of them. Even the Vistani had no insights to offer, though they avoided the place more often than not. It had no population to speak of, and the goblyns made a poor audience for their entertainments. The one good point of it all for me was the knowledge I could close the border to anything that breathed.
Azalin's fascination with Forlorn lasted for less than a month, at which time he decided its appearance, I though interesting, was of no real importance to our situation.
'If we can find out how it came here, then we can find out how to take the same road back,' I told him, when he made his announcement to abandon his research.
'Were it as simple as that, then I'd have found it by now,' he stated.
'You cannot make assumptions. A few weeks' work is nothing-'
'Not when it is on top of the previous years of effort. Backtracking the way here has been the core of my experiments since I arrived and you well know it. This road, as you call it, is a dead end.'
'You discount it too quickly.'
'I know when a line of study is pointless. Pursue it if you wish, but I have other, more promising areas in which to direct my talents.'
I might have thought he was trying to discount Forlorn's importance as a means of preventing me from knowing too much but for his driving desire to quit Barovia and return to his home. He was quite obsessive on the subject, so I could trust that, if nothing else about him. This contention was like hundreds of others, part of our ongoing
