by David Wise
Tales of Ravenloft
( Ravenloft )
David Wise
Chet Williamson
Mark Anthony
Elaine Cunningham
James M. Ward
Roger E. Moore
Alien C. Kupfer
Kate Novak
Gene Deweese
D. J. Heinrich
Jeff Grubb
James Lowder
Juanita Coulson
J. Robert King
Nick Pollotta
Elaine Bergstrom
William W. Connors
P. N. Elrod
David Wise, Chet Williamson, Mark Anthony,Elaine Cunningham, James M. Ward, Roger E. Moore, Alien C. Kupfer, Kate Novak, Gene DeWeese, D. J. Heinrich, Jeff Grubb, James Lowder, Juanita Coulson, J. Robert King, Nick Pollotta, Elaine Bergstrom, William W. Connors, P. N. Elrod
Tales of Ravenloft
Contents
David Wise…………………………………………The Crucible of Dr. Rudolph van Richten
Chet Williamson…………………………………………………………..The Vanished Ones
Mark Anthony…………………………………………….The House of a Hundred Windows
Elaine Cunningham…………………………………………………………….Song Snatcher
James M. Ward………………………………………………………………………Undefiled
Roger E. Moore……………………………………………………..The Briar at the Window
Alien C. Kupfer……………………………………………………………………….Nocturne
Kate Novak……………………………………………………………………….The Wailing
Gene DeWeese…………………………………………………………………..Von Kharkov
D. J. Heinrich…………………………………………………………………Sight and Sound
Jeff Grubb……………………………………………………The Judgment of abd-al-Mamat
James Lowder…………………………………………………………The Rigor of the Game
Juanita Coulson……………………………………………………………..Cold, Hard Silver
J. Robert King…………………………………………………………………….Objets d'Art
Nick Pollotta…………………………………………………………………………The Freak
Elaine Bergstrom………………………………………………………….The Weaver's Pride
William W. Connors…………………………………………………………..The Glass Man
Andria Cardarelle…………………………………………………………………..Dark Tryst
P. N. Elrod……………………………………………………………………………Caretaker
The Crucible of Dr. Rudolph van Richten
As Darkon's heavens deepened past indigo, receding beyond the ruddy backward reach of dusk, sinewy vapors slid between the trees and churned into dim mirages on the old forest road. Shadows lost their confining edges, merged, and thickened. To scorn shelter in the land of the Mists after sunset was deadly folly, but for one traveler, the promise of a bright hearth and a warm bed had already slipped into darkness.
Dr. Rudolph van Richten turned and grimaced at the burden lashed to the rump of his horse: the stiffening corpse of a dark-haired young man.
"We may both be ghoul meat tonight, but I'll catch your people before the flesh eaters find me, Vistana!" he spat with a great deal more conviction than he felt.
The lean, middle-aged herbalist searched the diminishing horizon ahead, desperate for any sign of a brightly painted vardo. He'd ridden hard since morning, yet the gypsy caravan had somehow outdistanced him anyway. There was no other route they could have taken from Rivalis, but he had seen no sign of them all day. Still, Van Richten rode on doggedly, as fearless of the impending night as a lamb of the chopping block. The Vistani had kidnapped his beloved child Erasmus, and all the torments that might descend out of the night were nothing compared to that loss!
As Tasha trotted along the eclipsing lane, Van Richten scanned its overgrown borders. He spotted a slender oak branch that hung by a feeble tether of bark; the bough snapped off cleanly in his hand as he guided Tasha past it. Draping the reins over the saddle, he trimmed and peeled the wood into a crooked pole about as tall as himself. Then, grasping the coarse linen shirt of the lifeless Vistana, he ripped free a wide swath, which he wrapped about the end of the staff and tied off, fashioning a long torch. Now for the courage to light it.
Overhead, the leafy ceiling cast a net of opaque shadow over the horse and rider, reducing the gritty road to a colorless strip that withered into void just ahead. A deathly hush smothered the forest, and the lonely staccato of Tasha's hooves rose in the silence, growing painful to Van Richten's ears. He vainly wished she could walk above the ground so they might slip through the woods without sound, but with every step, even her saddle creaked in betrayal. All creatures of the day were deep in their lairs, while things that creep in the night were just rising, pricking up their ears at the isolated clip-clop in the spreading blackness.
The anguished father wondered if he could keep the path without a torch. They were alone, and he wanted to remain so. Dr. Van Richten was just a peaceful herbalist from a small village — no match for danger — and only the torturous vision of Erasmus drove him on. A man who braves the Darkon night, went the saying, will see wondrous things before he dies. Until now, that had been an old preacher's proverb, spoken with a chuckle. . and behind safely bolted doors.
The merest suggestion of a queer noise implanted in Van Richten's ear, and a cold shiver wrung his spine. A dim wisp of light flashed in the nearby underbrush — or so he thought. He ogled the dark spot, but spied nothing beyond the murky flank of the road. A shadow flitted by Van Richten's stirrup. His eye darted after the motion, but caught only a snatch of gyrating mist. He blinked and squinted at the depthless surroundings, then shivered again.
"Perhaps it's only the echo of light a man sees when he closes his eyes," he murmured hopefully.
Tasha expelled a tense, low whinny and turned her sleek head in the same direction.
She had seen something, too.
Another phantom spark flickered in the eaves of the weald, then faded. With a start, Van Richten turned toward it. A scattering of pinpoints ignited nearby, dying as quickly as he looked their way. He glanced to the other side of the road, where more pale fires kindled beneath the brush. Their numbers multiplied, and soon a greenish glow slithered through eerie silhouettes of thicket, illuminating the undergrowth in a faint pall.
Another shadow rolled by underfoot, spooking the horse, and the rider nearly lost his balance as she shied from it. "Easy, Tasha, easy girl," he urged, soothing the mare with a stroke on her gray dappled neck. "It's only mist and faerie fire." Tasha threw back her head and snorted anxiously, stamping one hoof and then another.
"I suppose I must light the torch," Van Richten muttered, putting down the reins once more and reaching into the chest pocket of his wooly coat for a small, spring-loaded spark block. He squeezed the roughened strip of steel against the small flint bar, compressing the spring, then released it. The file scraped across the surface of the block as the
spring uncoiled, releasing a flurry of brilliant sparks.
"I hope we're alone, girl," he remarked to Tasha. "This torch will. ."Van Richten caught his breath and held his tongue.
Something had whispered in the mist below.
Tasha's ears snapped forward, angular and trembling, and her muscles went taut between Van Richten's legs.A blood-chilling, unnatural moan fluttered the horse's muzzle, inducing an ominous tingle under the man's skin. Instinctively he pocketed the spark block and caught up the reins. Then Tasha's ears went down flat. .
With a sharp heave her equine scream splintered the silence, piercing Van Richten's heart with icy dread. The mount reared up and leaped as if she would climb into the air, nearly flipping onto her back. Van Richten madly flung down the torch, seized her mane with both hands, and leaned into the cringing saddle, clutching with all the strength his four limbs could muster. The unhinged animal bucked and spun in blind, reckless hysteria, filling the air with shrieks that wound higher with every convulsive breath. Meanwhile, the Vistana corpse behind Van Richten flailed wildly on Tasha's haunches, striking the doctor with blows from its floppy limbs. With each thrash, Tasha's sturdy mane slipped further through Van Richten's fingers. For a moment he experienced a queasy weightlessness, until he and his mount collided with a barrier of pine trees, brutally knocking the wind from him. Tasha writhed against clawing needles and lunged away with another scream, leaving the doctor entangled in the branches, ripping free of his clasping legs and wheeling out of sight while he plunged headlong into a pulpy thicket.
For a long and dizzy moment, Van Richten lay oblivious in the wet and thorny bed, but fear that Tasha might whirl back and trample him provoked him into action. He rolled out of the bushes and into the road, now illuminated in the subtle blaze of faerie fire. He frantically searched around him for stampeding hooves, but Tasha rampaged in another direction. The thought struck Van Richten that she might bolt back to Rivalis and leave him stranded, so he crawled stupidly toward her, still unsure of his feet.
The mists suddenly parted, and a bolt of horror shot through him — Dr. Van Richten abruptly drew up on his knees and threw his hands to his mouth.
Even as Tasha ferociously pitched herself into the air, a swarm of short, pudgy humanoids leapt and clung to her! The lunatic horse squirmed and kicked furiously, yet the little fiends only vaulted in greater numbers. Beneath Tasha's piteous screeching, a babble of clicks and hisses passed between the diabolical villains as they hopped along the ground, fearless of her hooves, and flung themselves upon her. They hung from her legs and shoulders and haunches by their teeth, their stumpy, digitless limbs twitching as she vainly sought to shake them off. The miserable beast began to sway and founder, until at last her forelegs folded. She buckled to the ground with a rough heave, and the horde swept over her.
Van Richten clutched at his heart and cried "Tasha!" in spite of himself. In response, a half dozen of the unnatural creatures turned and looked at him, kneeling in the middle of the mist-swirled road.
With gigantic, bulbous eyes creased by slitted pupils, they gazed at the man. Noses did not protrude between those bulging orbs; their mouths were nothing more than holes from which tubular black tongues spat, lizardlike, and their horrid faces were sewn with cruel stitches into hooded body suits of heavy cloth. They were constructs, the doctor perceived through his haze of terror; grotesque manikins infused with the baleful life-force of some malevolent power. He shook uncontrollably under their glassy examination. Both repulsed and fascinated, Van Richten gaped into the raptorial eyes of the dolly abominations, and they in turn regarded him stonily.
The sinister fabrications began to hop toward him.
"Think, Van Richten, think!" the man sputtered, falling back to his posterior and crawling away, crablike. The little creatures fanned out and toddled closer, chattering to one another with short clicks and pops of their spitting tongues. As the nearest doll-beast bobbed on its stumpy legs and prepared to leap, Van Richten clawed at the cold dirt behind him, his will teetering. Then by chance his hand fell upon the torch. Instantly his fingertips recognized the object, and renewed hope spurred him to motion.
Gigantic eyes like theirs were obviously designed for perfect darkness. If he could light a fire. .
The doctor rolled to his knees and scrambled to his feet, seizing the pole as he rose; the length of the shaft slid through his grasp until the knot of rags butted against his fist. With a clumsy pivot, he turned to face his foes and shoved his fingers into the pocket that housed his spark block. The bobbing predator sprang like a flea, landed face-first upon Van Richten's lower leg, and thrust its mouth against him. To his horror, he felt a spiny point wriggle and probe its way through the thick cloth of his trousers, seeking the meat of his calf. The intruder found a soft spot and thrust inward, sending Van Richten into a frenzied dance, yelping and kicking his distressed limb outward, each snap of his knee growing more forceful than the last. Finally, with a pop the tiny creature dislodged and tumbled into the bushes.
A second assailant bobbed frenetically and lunged at Van Richten, but he swatted it aside before its tongue could impale him. Two more leapt, but he snarled and swung the base of his staff, connecting with one in midair and sending it end over end in the opposite direction; the other he grabbed by the hood and flung into the woods. Now the man no longer waited for his enemies' advance, but charged into their moon faces, kicking one on the run and sweeping his weapon across the shoulders of two more. At the end of the charge, he spun and faced them again — this time with the spark block in his hand. He lowered the torch head, raised the block, and squinted against the imminent burst of sparks.
Without warning, an impact from behind sent Van Richten sprawling to his face; the rest of the pack had interrupted its repast upon poor Tasha to bring him down. They tackled the human with surprising force and sent him forward, his arms outstretched before him. A feeble streak of crackling flint embers arced through the air, but none of them caught on the torch. The doctor struck the ground heavily, and the shock of the blow bounced the spark block from his fingers. Tiny bodies stormed like rabid vermin across Van Richten's back, and a dozen fleshy drills rent his clothing and bit into him.
Agony sliced through him like blistering-hot wires, wrenching a scream from his astonished lips as a host of wriggling intruders burrowed and squirmed under his skin. Still he crawled forward, scratching at the dust as still more tiny monsters piled on and pierced him with their dagger-tongues. Desperately he swept his arms back and forth over the ground, until finally his searching fingers fell upon the spark block. As his thumb fumbled for the file, his other hand drew the rag knot closer. The mounting torment on his back began to unhinge his mind. His extremities numbed as his head began to swim. His thumb slipped clumsily across the steel file, and the tool flipped over in his hand.
A jabbing probe lanced his spine and spasmed inward, eliciting a sharp, involuntary arching of his punctured back. Every muscle in his body locked, and he clenched the spark block in his palm, squeezing the file tight against the flint, then snapped his fingers wide. The steel strip scraped across the stony block as he freed it, sending up a fountain of light.
The probing tubes within Van Richten's torso hesitated. He gasped with hope, then clutched and released the spark block again. A bright shower of kindled stone skittered across his palm and the torch beside it. Blisters swelled on his skin as the sparks found soft flesh, but he began to pump the firemaker zealously, generating a dazzling display of light bursts. Soon the burning welts on his hand supplanted the torture on his back, and he realized that the invaders had fled his body. Still he raked at the flint until at last the linen torch flared to life. Van Richten climbed drunkenly to his knees, planted the tip of the staff in the road, and pulled himself to his feet. His smoky torch sent up a dirty ribbon of soot and cast a yellowish glow over the bushes around him, jittering with scurrying foes. He stared dazedly after the movement until the pounding in his ears subsided. Slow
ly the internal cacophony diminished, only to be replaced by a grating snuffle behind him.
Van Richten weakly turned about and squinted through the torch light, only to crumble back to his knees and groan hopelessly at the approaching faces of two walking dead men!
“He who braves the Darkon night indeed sees wondrous things before he dies," Van Richten moaned. The zombies waxy skin sagged from the bone beneath their eyes, puckering about the neck and cracking at the folds. Their splintered teeth were clogged with dirt beneath wide-cleft, blackened lips. Brittle hair tangled in wiry chaos atop their seeping heads, sometimes bordering upon an encrusted patch of sloughed-off scalp, and rotten clothing clung pointlessly to meatless bones wrapped in torn, leathery skin.
"Whatever you are," he pleaded, "I beg of you. Raise me to living death if you must, but leave me the will to avenge myself upon the Vistani. . "
The dead men halted and hovered silently over him, radiating frigid oblivion, then spoke, moving their lips in unison. "I am the voice of Lord Azalin," they croaked through moldering vocal cords.
The Wizard-King! Here? "L–Lord Azalin?" stammered the man.
The king was a powerful wizard, but to detect the plight of a subject at the very borders of his domain, let alone come to the rescue, was astounding. He must have used his magic to animate the dead men and make them perform his will.
"Identify yourself," the dead ordered monotonously.
"I am Rudolph van Richten."
Another corpse joined the pair from behind — this one a female, with her throat torn open. "I know you," claimed all their flayed lips together, some with a hiss, others with a croak. "You are a physician of Rivalis."
"Yes, Lord Azalin. Thank the gods you are here!" exclaimed Van Richten, fighting down the rush of bile in his mouth at the sight of scrolling eyes and air-dried bones.
