My throat ached from shouting, yet I could hear nothing of it. I spared a glance at Azalin. He made a gesture to indicate I should break off and start the holding phase of the cast. I gladly did so, though I was deaf to my own words. What effect could they possibly have under these circumstances?
The thickened fog, once white, took on a dark red tinge, threads of it nearly going black as it reacted to the goblyn blood.
I felt the energies stirring, growing restive under my control. Was I to be the braggart on the bucking horse? When would it become a lion?
Azalin's voice, thin and tense, sounded within my head. Direction-force it into the center of the well!
He took over the Holding while I complied, gathering up the fog, compressing it into a globe two yards across. It was turgid with blood, but I could glimpse irregularities in its surface, cracks where lighter shades of red shone through. The globe rose high, apparently drawn to the bodies of the goblyns. Their flesh bubbled where it made contact, turning to liquid that was instantly absorbed into the thing.
I caught a movement from the corner of my eye and dared to look. The bright glowing balls at the compass points were floating toward the well. If they made contact with the one I held there…
And I did not dare break it off.
They loomed close, converging from four directions at once, crashing with agonizing slowness into the central globe. The wash of power from the impact beat through me, threatening to turn my bones to jelly, yet it seemed right in my perception.
Then the glass in the racks started breaking.
The wind returned, as did my hearing. Instead of a strong breeze it ripped through the chamber like a mountain gale. Azalin still chanted his spell, but I only saw his lips move, the wind drowning out his voice. It caught him, lifting him right from his feet and spun him around the room. He thrashed, trying to right himself, to regain control of the forces but things were too far gone for recovery. Then was I caught in it as well.
Up and down ceased to have any meaning as I cartwheeled in midair. I made a grab for the tree trunk cross- piece and stayed my mad ride for a moment.
Gaping down into the well I saw that the globe was now the center of a vortex of whirling light. Azalin, looking strangely frail, was being inexorably drawn into its center. He stopped resisting, perhaps too stunned or knowing the futility of trying. His figure briefly righted itself. He flung his arms upward, shouting something, then the forces firmly snared him and he vanished down into the roiling core.
The shrieking wind seized me next; I lost my grip, spun once, and went diving headfirst straight for the blinding chaos below.
PART III: THE WAR
CHAPTER TEN
Tatyana, my love, run to me!
She instantly responds to my cry. She is as bright as molten silver, racing toward me, arms reaching out. Her face is aglow with such joy as to make my heart burst from the sheer happiness at the sight.
Mist.
Billowing about me. Surrounding me.
Her laughter is like birdsong. I gather her up and raise her high, laughing myself as I had not done in centuries. Her sweet beautiful face smiles down at me, her coppery hair flying in the warm summer sun.
Mist.
Permeating my body. Piercing my soul.
I pull her close, holding her tight so that she will never, ever be taken from me again. I hold her, cherish her, my heart so full of love I can no longer even speak her name.
Mist.
Clouding my mind. Blurring my thoughts.
A smear of white boils up, and a vast force like a giant's hand tears her from my grasp. I scream her name, try to-but I cannot remember… her… name…
Mist.
Dimming my dreams. Stealing my very memories…
I woke to the sound of my own pitiful wail of despair. Had someone taken an oaken stave and slammed it between my ribs I could not have been in more agony. I'd had her, my Tatyana-
Until the Mists had come.
I collapsed flat on my back, groaning and damning the world and all its darkness for this pain. It was some time before I was able to push aside the worst of it and notice my surroundings. With no little confusion I realized that I was not in my usual fastness in the crypt beneath Castle Ravenloft, but high above in the aerie I had carved in the north face of Mount Ghakis.
How the devil had I come to be here?
Checking myself over, I saw that my clothes were filthy and torn; my body bore marks of recent woundings, though much was healed.
Then I remembered the mad vortex Azalin had created in his tower. I'd gone right into it, following him down a spinning, dazzling tunnel to… something… some place I'd never seen or imagined. The memory of certain faces went faint and faded even as I strove to put names to them; it was like trying to grasp a dream, the more effort I put forth, the faster it fled. The damnable thing was that I knew it was no dream but a past reality. Without a single inner doubt I knew I had physically been in a place far from Barovia, along with Azalin, and we… we had…
And that was as far as I could take it. The knowledge slyly eluded me. Damnation.
Was this what it was like for the Barovians when their minds changed to echo alterations in the land? Perhaps not, since I was fully aware that something had happened, I just could not recall the specifics-which was infuriating.
And what had become of that bastard Azalin? Probably skulking in his manor house as befuddled as I. One could hope for as much. Maybe he was even more battered than I was. Cheering thought.
I got to my feet, brushing off an unexpected layer of dust and cobwebs. How long had I lain here? The imprint of my body was clear upon the earth, indicating quite a bit of weather had found its way inside. This was only a rough emergency bolt hole, after all, not so elaborate and comfortable as my crypt. Whatever had happened must have been fairly drastic to hurtle me here, for I always kept a contingency spell wrapped closer than skin about my person ready to sweep me to this spot when necessary. Until now there had never been a need. I must have been sorely injured indeed for it to have activated itself.
Had Azalin finally decided to assassinate me?
No memory of that either.
Going to the narrow cleft opening of the cave, I looked out upon the northern marches of Barovia and noticed with a shock that the snow had drastically retreated. Mountain winters are always harsh, beginning early and lingering late, but the pervasive white blanket was nearly gone, replaced by the lushness of fresh green growth.
But… but it had been early winter only last night; now it was spring. A new moon had hung in the sky-this moon was old and waning. Months had passed in but an instant for me.
A near-forgotten feeling began to creep down my spine as the realization began to sink in of how long I had been absent. Worse than knowing this was the realization of exactly what it was that I was feeling: Fear.
What had happened?
I would not allow myself to indulge in this weakness and firmly slammed it down. The only cure for fear was knowledge, which could be had easily enough. Returning to Castle Ravenloft was as good a place as any to begin.
