What you seek, we have seen.
Before the dawn of the Later Age, in the midst of the Nine Nights of Fear, the Great Weapon was blessed here. Made by a holy man, yet not made. With his last breath he brought it here, and we blessed it.
Lost, lost now is the Piece of the Sun, which was also the great Holy Symbol of protection for the Raven’s Kind. It rests near those it was meant to protect. More, we cannot tell you.
This is the song of the stones, not sung for far too long. We shall not sing again.
The chanting became unintelligible and faded quietly on the clear, still air. The stone’s glow died, as well. Jander felt an odd feeling of peace, and even the silence of the night sounded harsh after the haunting song. Sasha’s face was filled with rapture.
“Thank you, blessed Lathander,” he whispered. Even skeptical Leisl’s face was filled with incredulity and a puzzled wonder.
They were respectfully silent for a moment. “So they’re the same thing!” Leisl said at last, then she added morosely, “But we still don’t know where the artifact is hidden.”
“Yes we do,” Jander corrected. “The Holy Symbol was made for the Raven’s Kind—Strahd’s family. Their crest is a raven, their castle is Ravenloft. So that means that it is hidden there, near the ones it was meant to protect.” He turned his gaze on Sasha. “Perhaps,” he said with a chuckle, “we should rename you Pavel. Are you ready to enter the land of the Darkness?”
Sasha smiled back at him, his face still alight with the magic of the place. “Ready when you are, Nosferatu.”
SASHA GAZED OUT KATYA’S WINDOW AT THE DECEPTIVELY bright morning. A fresh layer of white snow blanketed the streets, hiding the rough spots and refuse. Only a few prints, of horses and humans, showed that a few souls were up and awake. The priest sighed and closed the shutters.
He turned to find Katya blinking sleepily. She smiled and stretched, yawning, the flush of sleep still on her face. Sasha’s heart filled with a love for her that was almost painful, and he went to her and kissed her forehead.
“Why did you not leave for the dawn ritual?” she mumbled. “And your clothes … Where’s your robe?”
Sasha’s eyes roamed her face eagerly. Katya was so beautiful, so fragile and gentle. “I have something very important to do today. I may not be back for a while. If—if I don’t return in the next couple of days, I want you to read this.” He placed a sealed note on her bedside table. “I love you, Katya. I will do everything I can to come back to you. I promise.”
His anxiety brought her awake fully. She frowned.
“Sasha …”
Before his will could fail him, he turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Sasha!” He ignored the pleading cry. For all their sakes, he had to.
Leisl was waiting for him impatiently when he returned to the church. As usual, she was clad in functional men’s clothing. Her mousy brown hair was braided tightly so as not to be a distraction. Their horses were saddled, ready to go. She had gathered their tools together and strapped them securely on the horses’ backs.
“About time you got here,” she grumbled, frowning. “Sun’s been up for an hour. We’re wasting time.”
“We’re wasting time quarreling too,” Sasha shot back as he vaulted easily onto his gray mare. “Come on.” He squeezed his thighs together, and the horse sprang into a canter. Cursing, Leisl mounted her own steed and followed.
They rode down Church Street and through the market square, where there were more signs of life than near the church or Katya’s cottage. Sasha, his mind crowded with unpleasant thoughts, didn’t notice at once that Leisl had dropped behind. After a few moments, as he reached the outskirts of the village, the silence behind him penetrated his brooding, and he pulled his horse up. Ten minutes later, he saw Leisl clattering down the street toward him.
“What were you up to?” he demanded. “I thought you were impatient to get going.”
She smirked at him. “Just picking up some food for when we get hungry.”
“I hope we won’t be there that long.”
“If we are, you’ll thank me.”
“You think more about eating than anyone I know!”
Leisl’s hazel eyes narrowed. “That’s because I’ve been hungry enough at times that I can’t help but think about it,” she snapped. Sasha was properly rebuked and lowered his eyes. He tugged his mare’s head back to the road. They continued on in silence, their horses settling into a comfortable pace.
Sasha mentally reviewed his spells. Lathander had been generous and had filled his priest’s head with a number of useful incantations in reward for several hours of deep prayer. As for more mundane preparations, between them Sasha and Leisl had an array of weapons—holy symbols, stakes, hammers, holy water, and garlic. They also had a few non-sacred items of pure silver, for Jander had warned them that encountering a werewolf within Ravenloft’s walls was entirely possible.
They clattered across the bridge that spanned the Ivlis, and Sasha saw the ring of rolling fog a short distance ahead. He halted his mare and fished about for the magical potion. Leisl did likewise, and they shuddered at the bitter taste. Gritting themselves for the always-unpleasant journey through the malevolent mist, they squeezed their horses into a slow trot.
Cold dampness engulfed them, completely obscuring vision and sound. Sasha hoped the Little Fox was right behind him, but there was no way to be certain. A few hundred feet later, the mist thinned and cleared. Leisl was waiting for him, grinning.
“Slowpoke,” she teased, but there was real kindness in her voice. He feebly returned her smile.
The journey to Castle Ravenloft took longer than they expected as the road twined up through the mountains. They debated leaving the beaten path to follow a trail that branched to their right, but the risk of getting lost was too great. Better to follow the road and take a little longer than to lose their way in the forest.
As they headed into the mountains, the horses slowed slightly with the extra effort. Sasha patted his mare’s gray neck, and she whickered and swiveled her ears back in her master’s direction.
“What’s that?” Leisl asked, pointing to their left. A road stretched into the distance. Even though it was approaching midmorning, the huge gate that barred the distant road seemed menacing to the young woman. The fact that the gigantic statues standing sentinel had had their heads removed added to her discomfort.
“The gates of Barovia,” Sasha answered, his voice solemn. “They say that Strahd can open or close them just by thinking about it.”
Leisl looked at the gate again and couldn’t suppress a shudder. Sasha, too, was growing a bit nervous as they neared their goal, and he kicked his mare with more vigor than was necessary. The horse leaped into a gallop.
After a few more tense moments, they saw Castle Ravenloft looming into their vision. Tall and black against the clear, wintry sky, it represented everything Sasha knew was evil about Barovia. Here was the seat of the villagers’ fears. Here dwelt the monster responsible for the slaughter of the priest’s family. Here was the nightmarish master of the land. And he, Sasha Petrovich, walked into it willingly. It didn’t make much sense on the surface, but the priest knew his course to be the right one.
As they rode closer, Sasha saw two guard towers ahead and then noticed a rickety drawbridge spanning the deep chasm. He doubted their horses would be able to cross. “Whoa,” he muttered, drew his horse up, and sat, thinking. Many beams on the bridge had rotted away, and the iron looked very old and rusty.
“What do we do now?” Leisl asked, halting her own mount. She glanced up at the two stone guardhouses. They were vacant, save for the stone gargoyles that grinned wickedly down at the travelers.
Sasha sighed and swung off his mare. He began to unpack her. “It’s too unsafe to bring the horses across,” he explained. “We’ve got to let them go here.”
“Let them go?”
Sasha turned and looked at her. “If we tether th
em, they’re easy prey for anything that comes along. If we set them free, chances are they’ll wander back to the village and safety. Besides,” he added grimly as he hauled another bundle off his horse, “if we make it out with the job done, we’ll be able to walk back in utter safety. If we don’t, well, we won’t need horses.”
Leisl didn’t reply, only began to unpack her horse. Sasha gathered their tools into a single sack, reluctantly deciding to leave some items behind. They would do him little good if their weight caused him to fall to his death. He straightened and eyed the drawbridge, but it didn’t look any sturdier than it had before. Sasha shook his head and slung his pack over his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel.
“I should go first,” offered Leisl. “I’m lighter, and I’m pretty nimble. Maybe I can help you across.”
Sasha hesitated. He didn’t like the idea, but Leisl had a point. “All right. You first.”
Carefully the Little Fox ventured onto the first board. It groaned, but held. She gripped the iron chain tightly, easing herself onto the next board and then the next, feeling her way and shifting her weight when necessary. She kept to the sides as much as she could, as they were better supported. Her eyes carefully examined each board before she put her weight on it.
“Step where I step,” she called.
By the Morninglord’s glory, it looks unsafe, Sasha thought. He clutched his sack tightly with one hand and used his other to grip onto the rusty iron chain. Tentatively Sasha stepped onto the board. First step safely planted, he said a quick prayer of thanks, one he repeated with each safe step.
When the priest looked up again, Leisl was already three-quarters of the way across, but that glance cost Sasha his concentration. He frowned as he looked at the next board. Was it there Leisl had put her weight, or on the other side?
He stepped gingerly. The board snapped beneath his weight. Sasha’s right leg went through up to the hip. Flailing frantically, he clutched at the swaying chains. His pack tumbled down to the sharp rocks a thousand feet below. He hadn’t realized he had cried out, but his throat suddenly hurt, and Leisl was there holding onto him. He fixed her with a frightened stare and dug his fingers into her freckled forearms.
“You’re going to be all right. Just relax,” the thief murmured, her voice calm and reassuring. “Grab onto that beam there. It’s sturdy,” she said in a sharper tone. The priest pried his fingers loose from Leisl’s arms and obeyed. Calmly the thief talked him back onto his feet. It was then he realized he’d dropped his pack.
“Better to lose the pack than to lose the priest,” Leisl said. “Your powers are more important than any holy symbol. Come on.”
Sasha’s next steps were tentative, but he made it across. “Leisl, thank—”
“Forget it,” she said, though the appreciation in his eyes made her glad.
They continued, walking through a covered tunnel and emerging in a cobblestone courtyard. The entrance to Castle Ravenloft loomed ahead, its entry doors covered with beautiful carvings.
“Look at those doors,” Leisl murmured. “I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous in my life.”
“Yes, they are lovely,” Sasha admitted, his dark eyes roving over the ornate carving, “but remember what the place houses.” He stepped forward and reached for the latch.
Jander had told him that he would be unable to meet them at the door because of the sunlight, but that he would leave it open. As promised, the door swung outward easily, and the two hurried inside. Sasha pulled the door closed behind them. After the bright morning sunshine, it seemed very dark inside.
“I’m glad you made it here safely,” came Jander’s musical voice. The elf stepped into the entryway. Sasha’s eyes adjusted enough so that he saw they were in a small room, dimly lit by flickering torches, “Was there a problem? You’re late,” Jander continued.
Sasha threw him a dark, unhappy look. “Did you think we weren’t going to come?” The elf said nothing, only raised a golden eyebrow. Sasha’s shoulders sagged. “I had to say good-bye to Katya.”
“I was worried,” Jander offered. “Strahd’s spies are everywhere.”
Leisl, who had been quietly looking around, gasped suddenly. Her curious gaze had wandered up to the four dragon statues that perched above the entryway. They stared down at her balefully, their eyes gleaming.
“They are only stone,” reassured Jander, although the glittering jeweled eyes always unnerved him too. “How are you armed?” he asked them.
“We brought many holy items,” Sasha answered, “but I lost my pack on the bridge, so we’ll have to make do with what Leisl has.”
“I spent the morning carving some stakes,” Jander informed them. “What about other weapons?”
Sasha shook his head. “Only a hammer or an axe, if I have to fight. I hope I don’t. Leisl?”
Grinning, the thief patted her boot. Jander saw that a small dagger was neatly tucked into it. “All I need for a fight is in here.”
“Then I have a present for you,” Jander said. He handed her a small, evil-looking dagger. Its blade shone even in the torchlight, and its sheath looked very odd to Leisl. She took it curiously.
“Jander, that’s a Ba’al Verzi dagger!” Sasha exclaimed, repulsed. “Why do you want to give her that awful thing?”
The elf turned his silver gaze to the priest. “Because,” he answered coolly, “the blade is pure silver. I, too, am armed … just in case,” he said, indicating the short sword that hung at his side.
“Is it magical?” Leisl asked.
“No,” the elf replied shortly, “merely functional. I leave the magic to you, Sasha. I have one request for you. Do you think you would be able to find Strahd if he were in the castle?”
Leisl’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened. The elf dammed the flood of questions by adding, “I said if. I don’t think he’s here, but it would be a good idea to check.”
Sasha shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, “but I can try.” He seated himself on the floor, shifted a bit to get comfortable, then closed his eyes. The priest began to murmur a soft chant, then fell silent. His eyes moved rapidly beneath their closed lids. At length, he opened his eyes and met Jander’s questioning glance.
“I turned up nothing. I can’t be sure, though.”
“Thank you for trying. That will have to do.” Jander strode to the torches that lined the gray stone walls and liberated two from their sconces while Sasha busied himself lighting a shuttered oil lamp Leisl had carried.
“Our first destination should be the catacombs,” the vampire told them as he handed Leisl a torch. “We’ve got to kill the slaves before nightfall. Come.” He led the way out of the hall. Leisl and Sasha followed.
Jander set a swift pace, and the two mortals had to hurry to keep up with him. Leisl was silently grateful that she didn’t have time to examine things too closely. What little she glimpsed as they half-walked, half-ran down the silent stone corridors unnerved her sufficiently. She kept telling herself that the gargoyles that lurked above were only stone carvings, that the beautiful yet cold statues they passed couldn’t really be following her with their eyes.
The Little Fox was by no stretch of the imagination a coward, but she had never before been in this kind of situation. Stealing food, knifing an enemy in a street fight, even slaying vampires out in the open was one thing. Being inside the dark, brooding edifice of stone, shadows, and distorting torchlight was something else entirely, and the thief couldn’t shake a curious, prickling sensation of foreboding. Leisl kept her eyes fastened on Sasha and the elven vampire, although her ears were alert for the slightest sound.
The oppressive darkness of the castle’s interior unsettled Sasha too. He was used to the small streets and alleys of his village. The church, dilapidated though it had been, never had that stifling sense of night-at-daytime that Strahd’s dwelling place radiated, and the burgomaster’s home had been a cozy cottage compared to the sprawling, if
decayed, grandeur of Castle Ravenloft.
What struck the cleric most, though, as the three of them moved purposefully through the dark halls, was how out of place Jander appeared. The vampire was all color—gold skin, blue tunic, red breeches—in sharp contrast to the monotony of gray stone that pressed about them. The elf had seemed more at home when Sasha had encountered him in the woods and even by the church than he did here. Suddenly the cleric recalled Jander’s impassioned words about the misery of the vampire’s nature. He realized just how bitter a fate it was to the elf. Jander had been meant for green forests and golden sunlight, not the dark, shadowy existence of living death.
They came to a halt in front of a pair of double doors, as finely carved as the front doors had been.
“This is the chapel,” Jander explained. “I should warn you, Strahd has many minions here. Most of them are mindless entities, and they have been instructed not to harm me or anyone with me. I doubt we’ll run into anything more dangerous than a skeleton or a zombie. At least,” he amended, “not during the daytime.” He pulled open the double doors.
When he touched the doors, he heard the expected soft rattling sound behind him. As it had done perhaps a thousand times before, the skeleton who guarded the chapel contested their entrance. It shuffled toward the vampire and the mortals, worn leather boots slowing its progress. Jander had almost come to regard the guardian as a friend; at any rate, its mere appearance no longer distressed him. There was no real threat in the skeleton’s attempt to bar them from the chapel.
Then, as if to prove Jander’s earlier point, the skeletal guardian stepped aside, the bright medallion that hung about its neck swinging gently with the movement. Jander swept past him, and Leisl and Sasha followed, though not without a backward glance or two. Sasha quietly mourned the destruction of the place as he gazed at the broken pieces of wood that had been pews.
“Here we are,” Jander said as they passed through an alcove. An entryway to a spiral staircase opened before them. Chill breezes wafted out. The air smelled stale, as if it had been trapped there for centuries. “We follow the staircase to the catacombs. Leisl, put out your torch. We should save the lights if we can. I don’t know how long it is going to take.”
Vampire of the Mists Page 31
