“Link your arms around my neck, both of you.” Puzzled, they obeyed, clinging tightly. “Hang on,” the elf instructed. He balanced himself, squatted low, then leaped up onto the balcony.
The three companions headed to the chapel, stopping to examine the various rooms and alcoves as they came across them. Their search turned up nothing. When they reached the chapel, gently rebuffing the guardian skeleton, each of them set upon the room with renewed energy, aware by the fading light outside that twilight was near.
“Surely,” Sasha said aloud, his voice full of hope, “a holy object ought to be in a holy place.”
Again, they turned up empty-handed. By that time Sasha and Leisl were very tired; even the vampire was starting to feel the strain. The young priest refilled his oil lamp, lit it again, then lay back in one of the pews, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Leisl had dipped into her pack and was currently chewing on a hunk of bread. Her bright hazel eyes kept flickering about, as though she didn’t feel quite comfortable in the place.
“So, what do we do now?” she inquired with her mouth full.
Jander didn’t answer as he looked at them, his mood black with failure. He mulled over the situation in his mind. The helpless prisoners, most of them children, still languished in the dungeons below. Anna had not been avenged. Strahd would return eventually. Jander’s daring foray against the aristocratic vampire had accomplished nothing save the destruction of a few slaves and coffins.
Jander swore softly. Leisl’s query still rang in his ears: so what do we do now?
He had no answer.
The elf heard the familiar, soft clatter that heralded the approach of the bony chapel guardian. Was it time to close the church? he wondered facetiously. Weary, discouraged, he turned to look at the guardian.
And he saw something that caused him to bolt upright, his whole body tense.
The vampire had looked upon the melancholy skeleton a thousand times. He could probably recite every last detail about the walking pile of bones. But Jander had never before truly seen what had been resting within his grasp for decades. Shards of what had once been formal clothing draped the guardian’s shoulders; any belt had long since dropped off. However, the skeleton still wore ruined leather boots that tended to slow its movement. About its stalk of a neck, a pendant dangled, as it had for hundreds of years.
It was wrought of platinum and shaped like the sun, with a quartz crystal embedded in its center. The medallion swung as the skeleton moved, tapping against the ribs with a hollow sound and catching the flicker of the torchlight.
Suddenly Jander remembered the covers of books in the study, inlaid with that same sunburst. The elf’s mind raced to the fresco and the inscription he had deciphered: THE GOBLYN KING FLEES BEFORE THE POWER OF THE HOLY SYMBOL OF RAVENKIND. It was all beginning to fall into place—Strahd’s scathing comment in his journal about Sergei becoming a priest: … The clergy has given him leave to wear the Priest’s Pendant, a pretty enough bauble to which Sergei attaches a great deal of—perhaps too much—emotional value; the headless statue in the Hall of Heroes, with the same pendant carved around its stone neck; the portrait of the three brothers, the youngest of whom wore that same pendant; Strahd’s cry, as he bent over the body of the brother he had killed: You were supposed to have been a priest.
“The one who has loved best has the heart of stone,” Jander said softly. The truth shone on him like the brightest sunlight; the quartz in the pendant was the piece of the sun, and the skeleton standing before Jander was all that remained of noble, loving Sergei.
“Jander?” came Sasha’s voice, uncertain.
The elf exploded into action. With a cry, he swung at the skeleton with his bare hands, seizing the dry bones and scattering them like a madman. Ribs clattered to the floor. Arm bones skidded into corners. The skull bounced and shattered on the stone floor.
With his violent attack on the skeleton, Jander had freed the trapped soul. They were kin, in a sense, he and Sergei: the vampire couldn’t help but love anyone who had loved Tatyana, Anna, so deeply. Abruptly the frenzy passed, and the elf gazed at the bones that lay strewn about the chapel floor. He knew that the next time anyone approached the statue of the youngest von Zarovich in the Hall of Heroes, it would be a stone statue and nothing more.
Sergei was at peace at last, and he had left behind that which Jander had sought—a way in which they could both have their revenge upon Strahd, the creature who had destroyed the woman they loved.
“There,” rasped Jander, pointing a trembling finger at the medallion as it lay winking upon the floor. “That’s it. That’s the piece of the sun.”
Wonderingly, Sasha reached out his hand and closed it about the medallion. It rested comfortably in his palm, the cold metal warming from his touch. Leisl peered over his shoulder as the priest traced the runes carved into the platinum. He recognized some of them: Truth. Compassion. Forgiveness. Justice. Light.… The Holy Symbol of Ravenkind did indeed appear to house a piece of the sun. It was altogether the loveliest thing Sasha had seen in his life.
“Boy, that’d fetch a pretty penny somewhere,” Leisl commented, although her voice, too, was subdued with a sense of awe. Sasha smiled a little, then turned to the vampire with eyes that were shiny with tears. He knew how the elf loved beauty, and he suddenly longed to share the glory that was the Holy Symbol with the tortured soul.
“Oh, Jander, touch this. You must touch it.”
Jander, too, was enraptured with the beautiful object. As if drawn, he reached out a gloved hand to caress the artifact, but he snatched it back at once, blackened and smoking, and clutched it to his breast. A groan escaped his lips.
“Oh, Jander, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I only wanted to share it with you!” Sasha’s face was full of contrition.
“It’s all right,” Jander managed. “Obviously it was never intended for such as me.” He smiled, his pain turning it into a grimace. “You see why I wanted you to come along, Sasha. If it did that to me with just a touch, think what it will do when you present it against Strahd.”
“The heart of stone,” Sasha breathed, his gaze drawn back to the object again. “Just like Maruschka said.”
Jander’s head came up. “Maruschka?”
Sasha nodded, too enraptured by the beauty of the pendant to notice the strained sound of Jander’s normally mellifluous voice. Leisl, however, fixed the vampire with narrowed eyes.
“When Leisl and I went to see the Vistani to have our fortunes told,” Sasha explained. “She was the one who gave us all the clues.”
“When did you go?”
Sasha met Jander’s silver eyes, worried at the fear he saw there. “A few weeks after you asked me to help you defeat Strahd. What’s wrong with that? I know gypsies are cheats most of the time, but that one—”
Jander was on his feet, glancing about the room. “Come on,” he urged them. “We’ve got to get out of here.” Leisl needed no further encouragement, but was on her feet and ready to leave. She’d been right all along. Something was wrong here.
“What’s the matter?”
“Sasha, you’re a fool!” Jander cried. “The gypsies are Strahd’s spies! If you went to see Maruschka and she told you about all this, then she knows we’re here. And that means—”
“Strahd knows we’re here,” Leisl finished, growing horror on her sharp features.
Even in the flickering orange of the torchlight, Jander could see the blood drain from Sasha’s face.
The torch and the oil lamp suddenly went dark. A blast of cold air came out of nowhere and whipped through the chapel, nearly knocking the companions down with its force. Though Jander could see nothing with his infravision other than Sasha and Leisl, the elf sensed a maleficent presence in the once-holy place. A low, satisfied laugh began to sound, rising to a shriek of evil mirth that was a tenor harmony to the wind’s deep rush. Punctuating the other sounds was the hair-raising call of wolves on the hunt.
“Too late,” came Strahd
’s velvet voice.
THE WOLVES CAME AS THEY HAD A GENERATION BEFORE in the village, with a musical and deadly sense of purpose, bounding into Castle Ravenloft’s chapel from the hallway, the alcoves, and from the door to the garden. Some even came crashing in through the stained glass windows, sending shattered rainbows flying. Jander formed a mental command to turn the half-dozen beasts.
His order went completely ignored. The elf was unable to even sense the wolves’ minds.
“You humiliated me with that trick before,” came Strahd’s voice, tinged with satisfaction. “Not this time.”
It was Sasha who recovered first. He began chanting an incantation in a voice that was clear and careful though high with fright, making a circle about himself and Leisl with holy water. The approaching wolves continued to charge them, only to halt abruptly outside the sacred circle the priest had created. They growled their frustration.
Jander had located Strahd. He was seated in one of the thrones on the balcony fifty feet above them, a dark figure of shadow with a pale white blur for a face. As Jander watched, the count rose and advanced to the edge of the balcony.
More than anything in that moment, the elf wanted to leap up and tackle his foe with his bare hands and teeth. He knew, though, if he made a move, the count would summarily destroy him. That was what happened to teachers who had outlived their usefulness. Instead, Jander summoned the patience of five hundred years of undeath and stayed motionless. He waited until he was certain he had Strahd’s attention. When the elf caught the other vampire’s gaze, he smiled, slowly, and dissolved into a fine mist that immediately dispersed to near invisibility.
Although he no longer had physical organs, Jander was capable of “hearing” and “seeing” what transpired next. The count, baffled and angered, rushed to the edge of the balcony.
“Jander! You shall not escape me so easily!” Strahd roared, his eyes glowing red. Suddenly his attitude changed, becoming languid. He turned his attention to Sasha and Leisl, who stayed well within the protection of the priest’s ring. Just outside of the circle of holy water, the thwarted wolves shifted and growled, confused.
“Sasha Petrovich, cleric of Lathander,” the count said smoothly, in an almost conversational tone. “You are a brave priest indeed, to walk into the lair of a vampire. Even braver to have befriended one. But your efforts were for naught! You and your thieving friend shall die useless deaths. Jander has deserted you. At the first sign of trouble, you see how he reacts.”
Sasha didn’t want to believe it, but it certainly appeared that way. The priest gripped the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind in one hand and pulled Leisl, who was trembling at the sight of the Gray Singers, protectively close to him with the other.
“Be that true or no,” he said, his voice youthful and clear with purpose, “you are still my enemy, Count Strahd. I take my revenge for the murder of my family!” He made as if to lift the medallion, but the vampire had vanished.
Confused, Sasha hesitated. An instant later, Strahd materialized abruptly, right at the limit of Sasha’s ring of protection. He wore a smile of triumph, and in his cold, sharp-nailed hands, he clutched a terrified young woman.
Sasha made a terrible choking sound. The woman’s doelike eyes were huge and filled with fear.
“Katya!” the priest whispered, horror-struck.
The mist that hovered a few yards near the scene registered the information with an equal horror. Katya? Sasha’s fiancee was really Trina, the count’s lycanthropic spy! Jander wanted to materialize, warn Sasha against what he knew the young priest was about to do. The vampire fought down the impulse. Patience would win the game and nothing else. But dear gods, it was so hard just to stand by and watch Strahd play with the elf’s friends as if he were sitting at a game of Hawks and Hares.…
Sasha stared, transfixed, an expression of unspeakable pain on his features. He had been standing straight, secure in his convictions of righteousness and the all-powerful might of his god. Now he slumped, defeated before the battle.
“Don’t hurt her,” he murmured. “Please, whatever you do to me, don’t hurt her.”
“It is in your hands, Sasha Petrovich. Throw down the amulet,” Strahd purred, “and she lives. Make one move toward me, and she dies instantly.” Sensuously, the vampire lord pulled Katrina’s dark hair away from her white neck. He bared his fangs and brought them toward the beating vein … closer … closer …
“Sasha, don’t, he’ll kill us all,” began Leisl. Strahd paused, fixing her with a powerful red gaze.
“Do be still, thief,” the vampire commanded. Leisl held her tongue, suddenly no longer mistrustful. His eyes held her, and slowly Leisl felt her own will slip away under that crimson stare.
“All right,” said Sasha in a broken voice. “For pity’s sake, leave her alone. She’s never hurt a soul.”
The bitter, malicious irony of it ripped through Jander. Patience, he reminded himself.
The Holy Symbol of Ravenkind fell to the stone floor from Sasha’s nerveless fingers.
“Excellent. Sasha, I am so very pleased that you are reasonable. Now, please, kick it out of the circle for me,” Strahd instructed. When the priest, too numbed with grief, didn’t move, the vampire jerked hard on Katrina’s arm. Playing her role to the hilt—or perhaps Strahd had really hurt her—she gasped in pain. Sasha moved, hastily kicking the beautiful object out of the ring. It slid along the stone floor with a scraping noise.
“Thank you so very much. For everything, really. You see, I let you find the trinket because I needed to locate it myself. If I have it, I can keep it safe, can’t I?”
Jander’s “vision” was beginning to fade. He had never lingered in mist form so long before. Usually he used it only for a brief instant—to evade capture or slip under a door. The elf didn’t know how much longer he could wait. He let himself drift down, slowly, to the scene.
“I knew about the famous Holy Symbol of Ravenkind,” Strahd continued, “but I didn’t know exactly what the cursed thing was. Most High Priest Kir died before he could tell Sergei the secret. I must confess, I had no idea that my dear brother’s pendant was the awesome, sacred Holy Symbol. I overestimated the priests. I thought they would guard it more carefully than that.”
“But, thanks to you, my dear friends—” he bowed mockingly to Leisl and Sasha “—I have the bauble in my grasp. Pick it up, my dear,” the count told Katrina.
As if she were tossing aside a costume, Katrina divested herself of her look of wide-eyed vulnerability. Her sprightly laugh echoed through the hall as she flung her arms around Strahd’s neck and kissed his pallid cheek.
“Oh, you are so clever!” Like a child gathering flowers, she scurried to the discarded holy symbol and picked it up eagerly. Sasha stared at her, his mind thawing only enough to make room for a fresh horror.
“Katya, no!”
Her smile widened, turned feral. “You’re catching on, sweetheart. Oh, how easy, easy you were to fool!”
Sasha had recovered from the shock of the betrayal, and his Vistani blood boiled within him at the deception. His black brows drew together, and a storm that would have done a pure gypsy justice began to gather in his eyes. With a snarl, he reached for the pink wooden disk that was Lathander’s own holy symbol.
“Foolish priest!” Strahd roared. “You dare to threaten me in my own home! From nothing, you seek to destroy the land?”
Suddenly there was a hissing sound by Sasha’s and Leisl’s feet. Small columns of steam were rising as the holy water Sasha had poured evaporated. The disk Sasha clutched exploded into flames, and the priest cried out in pain. The seven wolves pranced agitatedly.
“No, sit and guard,” Strahd told them for Sasha’s benefit. “See that the priest watches what happens to his friend. At least, for a while.”
The vampire turned to Katrina. “You take him, when you are ready,” he instructed her. Still holding the symbol, Katrina looked at Sasha. A slow grin spread across her pretty, savage face.
“Come, Sasha my love. Kiss me. Don’t you want to kiss me?” Katrina threw back her head and howled, the inhuman sound exploding from her throat. Her skin rippled as thick hairs emerged and receded.
“Katya!” Sasha could barely believe the nightmarish reality that was being revealed to him. Katrina’s eyes had not changed, but her nose and mouth were elongated in a grotesque parody of a wolf’s muzzle. Gray hairs exploded out of her face.
Leisl did nothing. She stared, transfixed, at the vampire. “Come, my dear,” Strahd invited in his velvet voice. “Come to me.”
The Little Fox began to move slowly toward Strahd. “Since you were responsible for the deaths of my slaves, it is only fitting that you be my first new one, hmm?”
“No!” cried Sasha, his attention briefly diverted from the terrifying spectacle of Katrina licking her jowls a few feet away from him. “Let her go!” At his cry, Katrina paused. She swung her wolfish face to Strahd.
“What?” she demanded in a low growl. “You will make her a vampire?”
“Yes, I think so,” Strahd answered absently, running a thin finger along Leisl’s jawline. “I do not think Jander Sunstar has really left. He is too noble to flee, the fool. It will hurt him to know what I have done to the child. It will hurt the priest also, to watch. Besides, I think she will make an interesting companion.”
“You will not!” snarled the werewolf. She whirled, turning on Strahd. Her hands were still human enough for her to clutch the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind like a weapon.
Strahd’s eyes registered surprise at the outburst, but he made no move. Not yet.
Katrina kept a tight grip on the Holy Symbol. “It was all your fault, you know,” she growled. “You kept finding more and more women to take you away from me. You wondered how so many of them could be killed. I got them alone, I led them to Sasha in wolf form, and he got rid of them for me. And now you tell me that you’re going to make her a vampire and start the whole thing over again? No! I won’t hear of it!”
Vampire of the Mists Page 33
