Vampire of the Mists

by Christie Golden

  Jander shook his head. “They’re all cowed by you, Your Excellency. Mothers warn their children of the ‘devil Strahd.’ Perhaps some newcomers?”

  The count began to pace, his strong hands clenching and unclenching. “No, the Vistani have not told me of any wanderers in a long time.”

  “Someone could have come in through the mists and avoided the gypsies,” Trina pointed out, descending the stairs and going to Strahd. The count paused in midstride and glared down at Trina, considering.

  “True,” he admitted. “I shall find out.”

  “What about the clerics?” Jander suggested.

  At this, Trina laughed aloud. “What, Martyn the Mad and his skinny little apprentice? No, Jander, those two are no danger at all.”

  “There is somebody else, somebody in the village who has chosen to defy me.” Strahd smiled cruelly, his fangs glinting in the torchlight. “He shall regret it bitterly. Jander, how would you deal with such an individual?”

  “There is something you can do that will guarantee he’ll trouble you no more,” the elf replied. “I don’t think you’ll like it, though. Just wait him out.”

  “That is the coward’s way!” Strahd exclaimed scornfully. “You suggest that I, the lord of Barovia, permit some upstart mortal to murder my creatures?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Right now there’s nothing to connect you with the vampiresses. If you start punishing the Barovians for the attacks, you’re playing right into the hunter’s hands. Let it go, Strahd. Let him destroy your slaves if he wants to. He can’t touch you, and in a few years he’ll be dead and you won’t have lost a thing.”

  Strahd’s eyes narrowed with displeasure, and his nostrils flared. “You were right, Jander. I do not like the plan. However, I concede that it has merit, and I shall consider it.” He glanced at the corpse and shook his head. “Poor, pretty Irina. Jander, get one of the zombies to dispose of this. You, my pet,” he said to Katrina, extending a grave-pale hand, “come with me.” He and the werewolf ran lightly up the stairs, Katrina’s the only pair of feet to make sounds on the stone.

  Jander studied the headless body that had once been a beautiful woman. He picked up the carcass easily and bore it out to the wild chapel garden. There, in the moonlight, with the rain beating down, he buried Irina himself.

  The elf rose early the next evening and went to the chapel. He stood at one of the broken windows, staring out at the twilight. During the course of the day, the previous night’s rain had turned to snow. The colors of the sunset had barely finished fading on the distant horizon, and, in the chapel garden, the thick, newly fallen snow softened the mounds of Irina’s and Natasha’s graves.

  Strahd’s arrival was sudden and completely unheralded, yet Jander turned smoothly to greet the younger vampire, neatly snatching from the air the gray wool cloak Strahd tossed to him. The count stretched his lips in a smile, seemingly in high good humor. Jander stiffened a little, careful to keep his face neutral. Strahd’s idea of fun had little in common with the elf’s.

  “Come, my friend,” Strahd said, when Jander did not immediately don the cloak, “we have business to take care of tonight!”

  “Aren’t we hunting as wolves?” Jander asked carefully. Usually when he and the master of Castle Ravenloft hunted together, which happened less and less as the years went by, they did so in lupine form. Fur was much more discreet than cloaks.

  “It is a surprise. We have a call to pay on someone in the village,” said Strahd, and that was all he would reveal. Turning, the count led the way through the castle and down into the courtyard, where a pair of black horses waited, harnessed to Strahd’s magnificent coach. Jander felt his shoulders loosen a bit at the sight. Surely Strahd would not take the coach and horses if he were planning another “discipline” of slaughter like the one he had visited on the burgomaster and his family.

  The midnight steeds began the long trek down the steep road to the village. Spring was in the air, but snow still blanketed the earth. The moon was waxing, a few days short of full, and its light on the snow brightened the scene considerably.

  The two vampires sat in silence for a time. Jander wondered what the count had in mind for that night. Apparently he was going to be subjected to another one of Strahd’s little “tests.” The irony of the situation did not escape the elf. Here they were, possibly the two most powerful individuals of their kind, thrust together in the dark land that seemed to nurture them. They could have been an unbeatable team, yet they were far too different to ever become comfortable allies.

  There was much in the count that the elf admired. The count was unquestionably good company, with his easy conversation and extensive knowledge of a variety of subjects. But something about Strahd was too hungry for Jander’s liking. They were not friends, despite the count’s constant use of that term. Comrades in arms, perhaps, bound by their undead natures and strong sense of individuality, but not friends.

  Jander caught Strahd watching him, and the elf smiled a little. “I wish you’d tell me what you’re up to.”

  “And ruin my surprise? Never! When centuries stretch before one, surprise keeps the senses honed. Staying off-balance is the only way to keep the intellect sharp, do you not agree?”

  They passed through the ring of fog, clattered over the bridge, and continued on. Soon they reached the outskirts of the village. Jander saw white faces at the windows, staring out fearfully. The horses trotted on, making a sharp turn to the right and passing through the village square before taking the first left.

  At last they halted before a small shop. The sign, too worn to be legible, creaked in the wind. All the other shops were dark—either closed or abandoned. A light burned in the window of this one, however.

  Strahd jumped out of the carriage and strode to the entrance. As always, he was determined to make a fine appearance, and he looked debonair and commanding as he approached the door. He knocked forcefully.

  For a moment, silence reigned. “Who is it?” came a thin voice at last.

  “Your liege lord,” Strahd boomed. “You were told to expect me.”

  There was another silence, and Jander could smell fear behind the wooden door. He heard the bolt slide back, and the door eased open a crack. A sharp female face peered out, then the door opened fully.

  The woman dropped into a curtsey, perhaps to hide her fear. “Good evening. Count,” she said in a voice that quivered. “My name is Cristina. All is ready for your visit.”

  “Excellent, my dear!” said Strahd in a pleased voice. He extended a thin hand to bring her to her feet, and she rose and stepped back, ushering Strahd and Jander into a tiny, rather bare sitting room. The elf glanced briefly around the room, taking in the stiff, thread-bare chairs and old but well-polished tables that stood between them. Framed color sketches of men and women in evening clothes crowded the walls, the only things that seemed personal in the little room at all.

  Strahd took Jander’s arm and guided him into the center of the room. Cristina trailed after them. “This is my companion, Jander Sunstar,” the count told her. “He is the one you must see.”

  The woman turned frightened brown eyes to Jander, but moved closer, obedient. She reached up to the elf, as though to touch him, and, startled, he stepped hastily away from her. He darted a questioning glance at Strahd, who was smiling. Cristina stepped up to Jander again and slowly but firmly ran her hands over his shoulders and arms, examining his tunic.

  “It should be no problem at all, Your Excellency,” she said. The elf was, by now, completely confused, and his puzzlement showed on his sharp-featured face.

  The count burst out laughing. “Cristina, we are confusing our friend! Jander, Cristina is a seamstress. I asked the burgomaster to tell the finest tailor in his village that we had need of her services. Your clothes are hardly fit for the spring celebration.”

  “The what?” Jander asked, still confused.

  Strahd ignored him and returned his attention to Cristina
, who seemed to have relaxed slightly. “My dear, have you prepared a selection of fabrics and colors, as I requested?”

  “Indeed, sir, I did,” she replied and led them through a door into a much larger room. Here were the tools of her trade, shears, manikins, fat cushions of pins and needles, racks of thread, and bright yarn for embroidery. One table had been covered with multiple bolts of fabric. “I only hope that something I have pleases you.”

  Once she began to concentrate on the business at hand, Cristina lost some of her apprehension. She was a woman in her late thirties, whose face was careworn but whose eyes sparkled when she talked of her craft. She had done admirably in gathering a fine assortment of cloth. Jander, who tended to favor strong colors like blue and red, selected gold silk and an indigo velvet. He also picked out a bolt of crimson broadcloth and trim of gold and silver.

  “Do you not like my style of clothing, Jander? I think it would suit you admirably,” Strahd suggested, indicating the highly tailored, layered clothing that he himself wore.

  “No, Your Excellency, it seems there are altogether too many buttons for my taste. New clothes based on what I wear would be fine. And gloves,” the elf added suddenly, sorrow brushing his features. “Several pairs of gloves.” Perhaps a layer of cloth between his killing flesh and the delicate flowers would enable him to work in the garden once again.

  “I do wish I was going,” Cristina said. “I’d love to see all the people in their pretty clothes! Here, half a moment. I’ll fetch the mirror, and you can see how the colors look against your skin.”

  “Ah, no thank you,” said Strahd. “We are running late for an appointment as it is. When can you have the outfits ready?”

  Cristina thought for a moment. “I can send them within the week.”

  Strahd frowned. “Three days.”

  The seamstress grew pale, but nodded. “Whatever Your Excellency wishes.”

  “Here’s for your effort,” and the count casually scattered a handful of gold coins on the table. When a shocked Cristina had finished gathering them up, she discovered that her customers had disappeared.

  She sat down on a stool, trembling. Many were the whispers about Count Strahd von Zarovich, all of them fantastic and most of them sinister. The strange, golden-hued being that accompanied him, kind though he seemed, also was mysterious. Cristina clutched the coins to her breast. It was more money than she’d ever seen in one place before. Count Strahd had done all right by her, and she’d not be saying anything against him or his friend.

  Not on her life.

  “You’re looking for someone at the spring celebration, aren’t you?” asked Jander when Strahd brought the elf his new clothes three nights later.

  Strahd turned his head sharply to look at Jander, piercing the elf with a needle-sharp gaze. “What makes you say that?” he asked, his voice soft, his tone dangerous.

  The elf wasn’t sure what trap he’d sprung in Strahd’s dark mind, but he ventured ahead carefully. “You’re going to see if you can learn anything about the vampire killer.”

  The count relaxed, and the sharpness of his gaze faded somewhat. “Ah. Yes, actually. Your advice was good, but I must continue my own investigations. Besides, I have not made a public appearance in Barovia for far too long. I don’t want the people forgetting about me.”

  “I hardly think that’s likely,” said Jander. “But why am I going with you? I really would rather not.”

  The count raised one raven brow. “Ah, Jander, after all the years you have huddled here in Castle Ravenloft, it’s time the people knew you as my guest, so they may treat you accordingly. Have I made so many demands on you these years past that you should refuse me the pleasure of your company?”

  “No, but—”

  “Do you not like the new clothing I have had made for you? Is that what has upset you? Shall I return it to Cristina and demand my money back?”

  Jander cursed inwardly. Strahd would do it too, and the thought of poor Cristina being denied her hard-earned money filled the elf with anger. “The clothes are beautiful, Strahd,” he said wearily, “and I’ll wear them to the celebration.”

  “I shall have you looking like a nobleman yet,” the count approved, choosing to ignore Jander’s resentment.

  A half-hour later, as Jander admired the feel of the fine fabric against his skin, he had to admit that the count had been right. He wished he could see himself in a mirror, for he knew that the clothes were well-made and striking. The cotton shirt he wore beneath the short-sleeved indigo tunic of velvet fit him perfectly. The tunic itself had patterns of gold thread embroidered on it. The gold silk breeches also fit well, tapering into a pair of supple, white leather boots. Dutifully, Cristina had provided several pairs of gloves, also made of the same milk-white leather.

  When Strahd entered, he paused, his eyes raking the elf from top to bottom. “Turn around,” Strahd commanded absently. Reluctantly Jander complied. When he turned around again, the elf could see approval in the count’s dark eyes, mixed with a tinge of self-satisfaction.

  “You are every inch a worthy companion of the lord of Barovia,” Strahd complimented him, with a little bow.

  That night they entered the carriage once again and went down to the village, swooping like a hawk on its prey.

  THE EVENT WAS HELD IN THE BURGOMASTER’S MANSION. Jander felt very uncomfortable, recalling the last time he had entered that building. Repairs to the damaged areas had been made over the years, however, and the new burgomaster seemed determined to make every effort to erase the incident in the public mind.

  Coaches milled about the place; poor things in comparison with Strahd’s beautiful carriage, but the best the less-than-wealthy Barovians could afford. Their clothing, too, was far less sumptuous than that worn by Jander and Strahd, and suddenly the elf wished that he had not been clad in a manner that so flagrantly boasted of the count’s wealth. He smiled ruefully to himself. Not, he mused, that he could ever hope to blend in with the crowd. The Barovians were an insular lot, and even a strange human met with distrust in the unhappy realm. Jander was clearly alien, and therefore suspect. Clothing would do nothing to mitigate their misgivings. Besides, he was obviously with “the devil Strahd.”

  The carriage clattered through the open iron gates. At the main entrance, the two black horses halted and a servant stepped forward to open the carriage door. His face was carefully neutral but noticeably pale. Strahd stepped out of the carriage with a flourish.

  He was met with silence. After a long moment, a few of the bolder guests who were also just arriving murmured, “Good evening, Count.”

  “It is a beautiful evening indeed, my good people,” Strahd replied blandly. He turned and motioned to Jander, who stepped down with considerably less flamboyance than the other vampire. A few people transferred their stares from their liege lord to his companion.

  “Come,” said Strahd under his breath as he gripped Jander by the elbow and guided him purposefully through the crowd. The elf could feel the eyes boring into his back, and he was acutely uncomfortable. They ascended the steps where the burgomaster and his wife were waiting, preparing to greet their guests.

  The burgomaster was in his early forties, tall and straight with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. If he was distressed at having Count Strahd von Zarovich and his mysterious friend attend the function unannounced, he did not show it.

  “Your Excellency, you do my home great honor by your visit,” he said in a strong voice, bowing low. “Allow me to present my wife, Ludmilla.”

  Ludmilla, in her mid-thirties, was a handsome, full-figured woman who curtsied deeply, her eyes on the ground. She looked familiar to Jander. “I echo my husband’s welcome, Your Excellency,” she said.

  “Ludmilla Kartova, is it not?” Strahd asked as he bent to press cold lips to her hand.

  “Why yes, Your Excellency. Until I married.”

  “My sympathies on the demise of your family, madame. I compliment you on your house’s resto
ration.”

  “Th-thank you, Your Excellency.”

  Jander cringed inwardly. He knew where he recognized Ludmilla from. Strahd’s audacity stunned him. “Burgomaster Radavich,” the count continued, “allow me to introduce my friend, Jander Sunstar. He is a visitor from a distant land, as is no doubt readily apparent.”

  “My lord, my lady,” said Jander, “It is a privilege to meet you. I also extend my sympathies for your loss.”

  “Yes,” cut in Radavich quickly, with a surreptitious squeeze of his wife’s hand. “Please come in. You are most welcome.”

  Jander and Strahd allowed themselves to drift past the burgomaster and his wife. The count collected the obeisances of his people as he and Jander slowly moved out of the small, elegant reception hall and into what Jander could only call a great area.

  There was little similarity between the charnel house Jander had fled and the elegant, well appointed chamber. It was evident to him that several of the charred walls of the earlier residence had simply been removed, so that what had once been three or four rather dark rooms was a single large room, full of light and air. Pillars of carved fruit wood helped to support the expanse of ceiling, set with molded white plaster panels that bore a pattern of apple blossoms.

  A small fortune in candles burned in four multi-tiered chandeliers. The simple ironwork holders had been painted white to match the ceiling, making the flames on the candles they held appear to float freely in air and shadow. Candelabras and graceful oil lamps added further light, gleaming amid garlands of apple blossoms and spring wild flowers on the mantlepiece of the large hearth. Their perfume complemented the soft music of a single flute and the murmur of conversation of the assembled villagers. In recognition of the balmy spring night, a fire had been laid ready but remained unlit, and the wide double doors were thrown open to the garden. Lanterns had been hung in the trees, casting soft yellow light over sprays of blossoms. Were there still lovers in Barovia bold enough to seek privacy under the night sky? Jander wondered.