The three were silent at first as they wound their way deeper into the cobweb-draped heart of the castle. The cold increased the farther they went, and the mortals began to shiver. Leisl listened to the echoing sounds their feet made on the flagstones as they descended.
“Hey,” she whispered suddenly. Her voice seemed incredibly loud.
“What?” Sasha hissed back from a few steps in front of her.
“Jander, have you ever gone down the stairway before?”
The elf paused, glancing back up at her. His sharp features looked distorted in the wavering orange light of the torch he held. “No, but I know where it leads.”
“How do you know there’s not some kind of trap here?”
There was an absolute silence. Jander had no idea if Strahd had rigged the convenient stairway with anything dangerous. It would be just like the count. He grinned wryly to himself.
“I don’t know, Leisl. You’ve raised an excellent point. Would you like to go first and spring any traps you might see?”
“You bet I—hey!” Leisl scowled as she caught Jander’s dark-humored joke. To his own surprise, Sasha snorted with sudden laughter, and even the Little Fox began to chuckle, though she shook her head in mock exasperation. The elf smiled up at her, the torchlight almost glinting off his golden skin, his silver eyes warm with humor. Suddenly Leisl realized that, strange though it was, she was starting to like the vampire. “Seriously,” she noted, “if you would like me to check as we go—”
“No,” Jander said. “I’ll stay in the lead. Any traps here would be far more dangerous to you.” He turned and continued on, adding darkly, “That is only one of the benefits of being dead.”
It was impossible to calculate how much time passed before they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, but Jander’s torch was almost burned out. Before they entered the catacombs, the elf took Leisl’s torch and lit it from his own dying one.
“Behold the hall of the dead,” Jander said grimly. He placed a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “It is not a place for the faint of heart.”
Sasha gazed up at him steadily, the light from his lamp throwing shadows on his face. The long descent had given him time to steady his nerves and reinforce his sense of purpose. He blazed with an inner fire that glowed in his features. Jander recognized the expression; he had burned like that, once, long, long before.
“I’m not afraid,” the priest replied in a calm voice. “Where do the vampires sleep?”
Jander almost laughed. “Everywhere,” he said flatly. “Every coffin in here might house one of Strahd’s slaves.”
Sasha couldn’t help it. He shut his eyes, wincing. “There are three of us, and it is daylight outside,” Jander reminded him. They stepped up to the first crypt.
“Look at them,” Leisl said in a tone of faint disgust, her hazel eyes fastened on the dark ceiling. Sasha followed her gaze, and even he had to swallow. The ceiling of the dank place was covered with hundreds, perhaps thousands of bats. Even though the priest knew they were harmless, he felt a rising tide of panic as they shifted and fluttered.
“We should begin,” Jander said.
As Sasha and Leisl retrieved their tools, the vampire strode to the first crypt. With only a little effort, he lifted the huge stone lid and peered inside. A skeleton, draped with ruined bits of finery, slept its eternal sleep untroubled by undeath. Tension building in his muscles, pulling them taut, he moved on to the next crypt.
A few hundred years before, the innocent young elf that Jander had been would never have imagined that so grim a thing as death would become routine. Things change, he mused morbidly as he held the writhing body of the vampiress so Sasha could pound a stake into her heart. Twenty such “murders” they had completed so far, twenty beautiful, deadly, evil creatures, with lips the color of the blood that bubbled up from their hearts. Jander remembered Daggerdale as they worked. For an instant, he was mortal again, tasting bile in his throat as he and Gideon sought out and dispatched the unholy things, much as he and Sasha were doing now.
Death ought not to become so routine, even the death of a vampire.
They had worked out a system, the elven vampire, the wiry little thief, and the half-gypsy priest. Jander, with his superior strength, removed the stone slabs. He held the vampiresses down while Sasha pierced their hearts with sharpened wood. Leisl was left with the unpleasant but less dangerous task of cutting off the heads and stuffing the mouths with garlic as Jander and Sasha moved on to the next crypt.
“My hands are going to stink for the next ten years,” Leisl muttered under her breath as she crammed one more garlic bulb into the gaping mouth of the vampiress she had just decapitated. Concentrating on her work, ghoulish as it was, alleviated some of her trepidation, but not all. She still felt as though they were, somehow, under surveillance, and now and then she glanced around sharply. “You’re getting jumpy, girl,” she said to herself, “and that’s bad for your profession. Just calm down.”
She finished the task and caught up with her comrades. They had reached the last coffin, and, as Leisl approached, the infernal creature shuddered and died. Her face became pale and composed as her soul drifted to peace. Sasha and Jander drew back, and Leisl severed the head from the neck with a few quick hacks and completed the grisly ritual.
Jander looked at Sasha. The priest’s shirt was soaked with sweat, and his breath was labored. A drop of red meandered down his cheek like a bloody tear. Without thinking, Jander reached over to wipe it away.
Sasha jerked back, then looked flustered. “I’m sorry. You startled me!”
The elf nodded as if he believed it, but he realized the truth with a weary sense of resignation. Sasha did not yet trust him fully. He could hardly blame the boy, but it was a sad thing nonetheless. He looked about. The ghostly shapes of the stone coffins loomed like slumbering monsters. Distorted by the wavering torchlight, they appeared to move. Those less brave than Sasha and Leisl might have been driven mad by the eerie place long before now.
“We have done good work here,” Jander said. “We have eliminated most of our enemies. Now we must find Strahd’s coffin and sanctify it, so that he has no place of refuge here!”
Sasha nodded slowly, tired from his exertions. He flexed his hands, cramped from clutching hammer and stake. If it had been possible, Jander would have suggested that the priest take a rest. Time, however, even more than the master of Ravenloft, was their enemy.
Jander was not certain where Strahd’s coffin was, but he could make a fair guess. He, Leisl, and Sasha had investigated every one of the two dozen crypts in the main area of the catacombs. There were a few alcoves off to the sides; no doubt specially prepared for the members of the count’s immediate family.
The first such chamber they came to was that of Strahd’s parents, the handsome Barov and Ravenovia, Castle Ravenloft’s namesake. Steps led down into the small, peaceful room. The two sarcophagi appeared well-sealed and untroubled. Jander continued on, letting the nobles sleep undisturbed. They had died before Strahd had made his evil pact with the dark entity, so it was likely that Barov and Ravenovia enjoyed true death.
A second chamber was labeled for the use of Sturm and Gisella von Zarovich. Sturm had been Strahd’s second brother, Jander recalled. Yet the room was completely empty, even of coffins. The fortunate Sturm appeared to have lived out his prosaic life away from Castle Ravenloft and its diabolical inhabitant.
A third room for the dead was also empty, although some preparations had been made. One open, empty sarcophagus clearly bore the name “Sergei von Zarovich.” Jander shook his head sadly. After brutally murdering his youngest brother, Strahd had not even bothered to inter the corpse. No doubt the unfortunate young man had been left to rot where he lay while Strahd pursued his malevolent desires. The sight of the second sarcophagus caused the elf to close his eyes in pain. If time had passed naturally, the coffin in the crypt would have borne the words, “Tatyana Federovna von Zarovich.”
Anna wou
ld never rest in such a place. Her body was ashes, burned in a madhouse and scattered to the winds. And Tatyana was doomed to return to Barovia over and over … A gentle touch on his arm brought the elf back to the present. Sasha was looking up at him, concerned.
“There is nothing for us here,” Jander said, his voice thick.
The final chamber had to be Strahd’s. As with Barov’s and Ravenovia’s tomb, steps led down into the fifty-foot-long room. From here, the trio could see the count’s coffin. There appeared to be no obstacles to their entry.
“We should proceed with caution,” the elf said in a soft voice to Sasha. “It looks too easy.”
Slowly, carefully, Jander began to descend into the crypt of Strahd von Zarovich.
A SHARP STINGING SOUND FILLED THE AIR AS ARROWS flew from bows concealed in the wall and embedded themselves in Jander’s body. Within a heartbeat, Leisl, daggers in hand, had flattened herself against the wall while Sasha had seized his holy symbol.
“Jander!” the priest cried.
A dozen shafts protruded from the elf’s body like pins from a cushion. Unperturbed, Jander plucked them out one by one. He did not bleed, did not even appear injured. “I’m all right,” he reassured the cleric. “As I said, there are advantages to being dead.”
Leisl shook her head, smiling a little. When he had removed all the arrows, Jander continued his descent alone. Nothing further happened. When he reached the bottom, he looked around. His infravision picked out several warm red shapes in various corners of the room. Before he could tell Sasha or Leisl not to follow him, the wolves emerged into the dim light of the trespassers’ torches.
There were easily a dozen of the great beasts, who approached with frightening slowness. The fur on their necks was raised, and their ears were plastered to their skulls. A low growl rose from every corner, and Sasha and Leisl could see the flash of sharp white teeth and the red gleam of hate-filled eyes. The rank smell of musky fur filled the room.
“Oh, gods,” whispered Leisl, coldness filling her gut. The night’s Gray Singers. Without thought, she stepped closer to Sasha.
Jander cursed to himself. The beasts were Strahd’s creatures, but he had to try to turn them before he started hacking at them with his sword. He sent a mental command. Easy, my old friends. We mean no harm. You don’t want to hurt us.…
The wolves, stiff-legged, closed in for the kill. Jander’s gloved hand went to his sword. No. Leave us alone. Your master’s orders were not meant for us!
One of the wolves paused. Her ears twitched, and she ducked her head a little. The elf stayed tense, hoping against hope that his will was stronger than Strahd’s power over the wolves. A second wolf seemed confused and sat down, whimpering. Leave. You have guarded well. It is time to go.…
A third, then a fourth, relaxed. One by one, the huge animals ceased to threaten the three interlopers. The first female suddenly ran up the stairs, and the rest followed until they had all abandoned their sentry posts.
The vampire closed his silver eyes in relief. Sasha and Leisl stared, dumbfounded. “That is how, once, I saved your father’s life,” the elf told the young man, and Sasha smiled as he remembered his mother telling him the story.
“That is very encouraging,” Jander continued. “I had thought the wolves to be completely under Strahd’s control. That I was able to turn them means the count isn’t as all-powerful as he’d like me to think.”
Leisl took a deep, shuddering breath and deliberately forced her tense shoulders to loosen.
When they reached the closed coffin, Jander fully expected another sort of attack, but nothing happened. Sasha began to lay out the items necessary for the task at hand: his holy symbol, a vial of holy water, and some special herbs that had been blessed.
“Do you think he’s here?” Leisl whispered. Jander shook his head.
“No.” Carefully he opened the coffin, then stared. He was wrong.
Strahd lay on the satin lining, his dark eyes closed, his gaunt features pale and waxy. His hands were folded across his chest, and he appeared perfectly composed. The master of Ravenloft looked, as he was, quite dead.
“Thank the Morninglord it’s still daytime.” the priest murmured. Jander nodded, moving Strahd’s hands to his sides so that Sasha could place the sharpened stake over the count’s heart. The priest positioned the weapon, said a quick prayer, and raised the hammer.
We’ve got you now, you bastard, Jander thought with a sudden self-satisfied burst of hatred.
White hands shot up to clasp Sasha’s neck, as the count, with a bestial roar, sat up. The priest dropped his tools, his hands clawing at the fingers clamped around his throat. He jerked back, but the motion only succeeded in tumbling both himself and the count to the floor. Jander leaped at the count with a cry of his own, striking Strahd with a violent blow. The count’s grip slackened, allowing the priest to squirm free. He rolled away, coughing and gasping.
Jander threw himself on Strahd with all his strength, pinning the count beneath him. Strahd’s eyes blazed red, and his sharp teeth snapped an inch away from Jander’s face. The elf didn’t have to say anything to the Little Fox. She was already there, hammering a stake into Strahd’s black heart with all the power she could muster. It penetrated, and Strahd screamed in agony. Again Leisl hammered, and the stake went deeper. Blood drenched the fine white linen of Strahd’s shirt. The count shuddered once, violently, then went limp.
Jander permitted himself to collapse limply over the body of his enemy. It was over so quickly. Somehow he had expected the cunning master of Ravenloft to have put up a better struggle. To his surprise, Jander felt curiously unsatisfied. Someone touched his shoulder gently.
“Jander.” came Leisl’s soft voice, “I think you’d better take a look at this.”
Wearily the elf lifted his head. Leisl, shaking with her earlier efforts, pointed at the count’s body. Lifting himself, Jander studied the body beneath him. A shapely female vampire lay on the stone floor, a stake through her heart.
“Damn you, Strahd,” the vampire whispered, closing his eyes as he rolled off the corpse. “I should have realized.”
“An illusion?” Sasha coughed, rubbing his bruised throat. Jander nodded miserably.
Sasha respected his comrade’s silence and went about sanctifying the coffin. Leisl turned her attention to decapitating the corpse.
Anointing the coffin’s satin interior with holy oil, the priest murmured a prayer. He then doused the coffin liberally with holy water. He sighed and looked over at Jander. “It’s done,” he said. “Now what?”
The elven vampire shook himself from his lethargy.
“We start searching for the piece of the sun.”
The next few hours were among the most frustrating, tense, and essentially miserable ones any of them had ever spent. Jander’s first thought was that Sasha might be able to magically locate the Holy Symbol, but it proved to be a fruitless effort. Their only other recourse, Jander reluctantly informed his companions, was to search the castle.
“The whole damn place?” Leisl moaned incredulously. Jander nodded, and, almost overwhelmed by the task ahead of them, they began their search. They left the sinister catacombs by way of the even more frightening dungeons.
“Some of the former prisoners left treasure in the cells,” Jander told them. “We might as well check here.”
The elf remembered his first visit here, how the pitiful wails and cries had disturbed him. Now the place was more or less quiet. Strahd’s slaves were hungry, impatient feeders, and the larder was low. The elf unlocked the cells with the skeleton key that hung on a peg outside the center cell, and he and Leisl made a careful but swift inspection of each one. Sasha watched with horror.
“None of this moves you at all, does it?” the priest asked, a note of disgust creeping into his voice.
“It all moves me,” Jander answered, refusing to get angry as he rifled through a rotting chest of gold pieces. “Especially what’s in the farthest cell.
”
Curious, Sasha went and looked into the cell. A small boy was curled up, fast asleep, on a pile of rotting straw.
“Don’t disturb him,” Jander whispered at Sasha’s ear. “Gods know, he needs the rest from this horrible place.”
“Why haven’t you let him go?” Sasha whispered back angrily.
“Because I don’t rule here. Strahd does. I do what I can, when I can. It’s never enough. I’ve let prisoners go in the past, but he always takes more.” The vampire snarled. “Only when we have slain the master, may we free his prisoners. Not before. Come.”
“But—”
“Sasha,” said Leisl sharply, “let him alone. Let’s do what we came here to do and then we can save the world, all right?”
Sasha turned on the thief with a hot retort on his lips, but it died as he looked first at her, than at Jander. She was right. The elf, too, was pained by what surrounded him, but he had a plan that could accomplish everything they wanted to do. There was no sense jeopardizing that plan.
With a last, wounded look at the slumbering child, Sasha followed the vampire. Leisl brought up the rear, her sense of trepidation still with her. The stench of rot that assaulted Sasha’s nostrils when they entered the torture chamber almost caused him to vomit, but his undead guide moved surely through the instruments of agony to the balcony. Sasha stared. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the grisly tableau of slow-moving zombies reenacting their deaths and grinning skeletons fondling implements of pain.
The priest felt a gentle prodding at his back, and turned to meet Leisl’s level gaze.
“Don’t look,” she said gently. “Just keep moving.” In a state of stunned shock, Sasha obeyed. Jander halted and looked up at an observation balcony about ten feet above them.
Vampire of the Mists Page 32
