wretch, and it returned the favor.
Azalin continued, 'I shall attempt to find the reason behind Arak's appearance here.'
I silently wished him luck in that endeavor, for he would certainly need it.
'I am of a mind that other lands may also come to join themselves to Barovia in this plane, like pieces of a table puzzle. Gather enough together and one might understand the whole picture.'
'That could take centuries at this rate.'
He sniffed. 'Neither of us is going anywhere.'
'My exact point,' I dryly returned.
He deigned not to respond to that, and I took my leave skyward, riding the winds along the new border, going over the ground I had viewed in the crystal. Nothing interesting presented itself. If Azalin's optimism about discovering anything useful paid off, well and good, but I had serious doubts. He'd failed far too often in the past for me to start bolstering myself with hope at this late date. The idea of sharing eternity with his abrasive company was a dismal one, but unless some other change happened besides the bringing of new inmates and property into the prison, it looked to be the future for us both.
My instincts were that the Barovian peasants here would simply accept the continuation of the land into Arak without question, the same as the mining communities in the south had accepted Forlorn. I had sent declarations out to the boyars in the area, advising anyone against crossing that border owing to the danger presented by the goblyns. I did not forbid the activity entirely, only cautioned that they would do it at their own risk. It's been my experience that once any given activity is prohibited it becomes irresistible bait to lure the foolish into trying it. Though it was a way of clearing out the mental deadwood, I preferred to cleave to my own less wasteful methods. I despise the squandering of perfectly good blood.
The recovery and exhibition of additional goblyn bodies over the years proved to be an excellent determent to would-be explorers and emigrants and inspired the boyars to willingly cooperate in the assembling of a loose domestic militia along the border. When the weather permitted they gathered at least once a moon to do battle drills, and the cultivation of sword fighting skills came to be the fashion among the upper class families. Very impressive, though I doubted if any of them could stand more than five minutes in the heat of real combat before running like rabbits.
Still it was good for their morale to let them think they were loyally able to defend Barovia against all threats. When it came down to it, I was the only real defense for the country; these irregulars were little more than a delaying tactic, though they were not informed of that unpleasant reality.
Not knowing what possible danger awaited in Arak, would have to institute the same policy in the north, prepare for the worst, and hope nothing truly serious happened.
Over the next few months, from the comfort of Castle Ravenloft, I oversaw Azalin's efforts to solve the mystery of Arak. I kept my viewing distanced enough so as not to provoke his suspicions, yet I was able to keep fully abreast of his activities. I was not unaware of his hidden ambitions toward seizing Barovia away from me and was glad of this new distraction for him, though the thought of him taking over another land was not at all pleasant. The threat-however undeveloped at this point-existed, though, so I took pains to stay informed and alert.
He made several attempts to explore Arak using his zombies to no effect before finally hiring a party of explorers. They discovered what I'd already found out through my crystal, that the things he had sent had dropped in their tracks the moment they were beyond his sight, as if another force had taken them over and neutralized them. Except for the unburied and rotting bodies, there was no sign of habitation and no explanation of who or what had caused the backlash.
His expedition went missing the following day.
I was asleep, of course, and only got a terse report from him about the incident. He had waited in vain for their return, finally going in himself to see what had happened but found no sign of them. Their trail simply stopped. He found the remains of a long cold campfire, but all evidence of their passage, gear, animals, and all, had vanished. There wasn't even a trace of a footprint left.
Azalin swiftly returned with no idea of what became of his hirelings. This interested me mightily, for aside from this one act the land appeared to be more deserted than Forlorn, lacking even a haunted castle as a sign of a past population.
The exploratory sojourns ended after this, for no other Barovians could be persuaded to take the risk, and he was reluctant to put his own precious person forward. Then there was the fact that he was less interested in identifying the dangers hidden in the long grasses than working out the actual mechanics of Arak's appearance in our plane. This required slow, patient plodding work, for which he was well suited, though he needed my services often enough. I spent much time in his manor house laboratory helping him devise and test new spells, some of them simple but massive, others disastrously overwrought and doomed to failure. We did not always wait until a solstice or even an equinox to engage in experimentation. It now went on more or less constantly-as did the failures.
Time after time the nagging voice of hopelessness flailed my brain, telling me our efforts were futile; we were trapped here together for good. When my spirits were beaten down enough to listen to it, I would work out possible strategies for destroying Azalin. A daunting task, attempting to kill that which was already dead.
When it came to magic he was my superior, but I had the advantage of being able to learn new spells. Certainly his assassination would be one sure way of avoiding the prophesied war. If once he lost all hope of escape and chose to cut his losses and take over Barovia, war would surely come. I'd prepared for it in many subtle ways, but one cannot anticipate everything. If he attacked, he would play upon my daylight helplessness, and no delaying defense within or without my castle would stand long against him.
Even if I chose to violate the laws of hospitality, made the first move, and managed to obliterate his desiccated body, his life-force would only leap to another vessel unless I found a way to trap it. To truly be rid of him I needed to find where he secreted his essence of Self. It wasn't something he would just leave lying about; he'd be quick to notice an intrusion, so I had to tread carefully. I spent weeks at my crystal until my eyes blurred and shoulders cramped and my head seemed ready to split from the effort of concentration. Inch by inch I went over his manor house and the surrounding grounds, always being careful to stay out of his way during my search. But for nothing. I could not find it.
I did manage to locate his secret journal, which was something to celebrate. He had a very well-concealed private chamber he'd dug out in the cellars of the house that he'd wisely neglected to mentioned to me. I knew he had to have such a place since he had cast many spells over the area as proof against my prying about. As I increased my skills in the Art, I was able to get around them for a time and took what advantage I could. The chamber was loaded with protective trips and traps to alert him to both magical and physical intrusion, so I couldn't actually enter the place… his servitors could, though.
On those nights when he was otherwise engaged away from the house, I would distantly control one of his zombies to enter the chamber, take down the book, and flip the pages for me one by one. Azalin had encoded the lot, writing in an unfamiliar lettering, but that did not stop me from faithfully copying down each and every line as I sat miles away in my study.
That done, I set myself to do a bit of translation and after months of slow, patient, plodding work discovered the key to his code. Some of his journal entries were very sprightly in their candid observations. I knew he hated me, but it was quite entertaining to actually see the true depth of it as well as follow his plans for what he would do to me once he had escaped Barovia. I also found his plans for trying to take Barovia for himself. Assassination was foremost in his mind for putting me out of the way, and he had devised a dozen different means to do it. I noted them all and quietly prepared subtle counter-measures against them.
One night, after having supped upon a recent addition to my dungeons, I translated a portion of his journal which sent waves of elation and excitement through me. His name. After all of my prying and spying and listening, I had finally found it. With his own hand he'd betrayed himself. As I was often wont to do in my own journals, Azalin would occasionally muse upon past happenings of his life. In just such a passage I found it: Firan Zal'honan. At last, I had his true name. Now, if I could only find the method of using it against him.
579 Barovian Calendar
Come and be ready.
