David Wise - Tales of Ravenloft

As I walked, my eyes swept back and forth across the room. The woman I wanted to see, Kassandra, stood near the front of the chamber. If anyone in the guild could help me, it would be she. I increased my pace.

Just before I reached her, she stepped onto an elevated platform and took her place behind an ornate lectern. Her delicate fingers lifted a small silver bell, and a shake of her wrist filled the hall with elegant ringing. At the piercing sound of this chime, everyone in the room fell silent. Even I, for all my pressing business, slowed to a halt in order to hear what she had to say. I suppose that I should have guessed, but my thoughts were not flowing smoothly on that autumn day.

"Listen to me, all," she said in a smooth, even voice. "I stand before you today with a sad announcement. Cordova, one of our most prominent and beloved members, has been murdered."

I almost laughed at her sincerity. Could it be that I was the only one who had seen that bloated fool for the charlatan that he was? Impossible. Others in the room must even then have been struggling to keep from laughing at the thought that Cordova had been beloved by the other members of the guild. I attributed the widely spread gasps of surprise and alarm as nothing more than politeness on the part of Cordova's contemporaries.

Of course, to kill a member of the guild, even one as unworthy as he, was to invite the ultimate penalty from the assembly. Were it not for the cloak of invisibility that I had employed, I should not have dared to attempt the feat myself. After all, even the most clever of rogues could not hope to escape the vengeance of five score others, no matter how great the difference in their individual talents.

"Who has done this?" came a cry from the crowd. I must admit that the speaker sounded sincere. Perhaps the bloated pig had managed to find one friend among the guild. I supposed that the law of averages would make even that unlikely event a certainty.

To my horror, Kassandra did not dismiss the answer as unknown. Instead, she reached into her pocket and drew out a folded bit of paper. Wrinkles and creases in the creamy square showed that it had once been crumpled. As she opened it, I recognized it as the frantic letter I had written to Cordova in that failed attempt to make myself known to him. In my panicked state I had not thought to pick up the incriminating note. I could say nothing as Kassandra began to read the vindictive words that I had intended for only Cordova's eyes.

At last, the shock faded. I sprang forward and flung my hand out. I would reclaim the letter and explain what had happened to me. Certainly they would believe me if I claimed that it was some spell of the wizard that had motivated me to do the deed I had done. I reached the front of the chamber just as the lithe Kassandra finished her reading. My fingers curled around the note, and I pulled it out of her hand.

At least, such was my intent. Imagine my surprise when the paper was not affected in the least by my clawing grasp. I tried again, slapping wildly at it in an attempt to knock it from her slender Fingers. Again, there was no reaction.

I stood perfectly still for a moment. I struggled to control myself, aware that panic and madness were hovering on the fringes of my soul. Kassandra dropped the paper as murmurs of alarm rippled through the crowd. People began to shout, demanding that I be found and killed, but I paid no attention to them. My whole being seemed to be wrapped up in that tumbling scrap of paper. If I could do nothing to affect it, then I was already lost.

With every bit of mental effort that I could muster, I reached out for the incriminating note. It settled onto my hand. . and stopped! For nearly a second it rested in my palm, the sensation of it racing like a mixture of pain and pleasure through my nerves. Then the sound of Kassandra ordering the members of the guild to find me and kill me broke my concentration. The paper trembled, passed through my fingers, and did not stop again until it rested upon the floor.

As the others moved out into the night, I moved with them. I could not stand the thoughts in my head. What would become of me? I could not imagine.

Then, a single idea became fixed in my mind. This diary would be my voice. I would record what had happened to me on the pages of this book and leave it where others would find it. Perhaps someone will discover a way to undo the terrible curse that has fallen upon me.

I returned to my room, arriving before any of the guildsmen had reached it. It took me no fewer that three attempts to lift the quill that I now write with. At last, however, I mustered the required concentration and set about recording my experiences.

I do not know how much longer I will be able to write. The effort of will required to keep the pen from slipping through my hand becomes greater with each passing second. In the end, I will simply. .

Epilogue

A tumbling snow drifted down from the empty black of a midnight sky. Throughout the dark domain of Hazlan, it smoothed over the landscape with a delicate layer of white. The peaceful tranquility of this, the first snow of the looming winter, could not have been in greater contrast to the hectic rush of the townsfolk in Toyalis earlier that day as they made ready for the harsh hand of weather that would soon assail them.

The last bell of midnight tolled out across the countryside, and all was calm and still and quiet. Only one light broke the perfection of this darkness, and none of the domain's residents saw that, for it was perched high atop a stone tower, well away from the road that ran from Toyalis to Slyvar. This amber glow radiated from the laboratory of the foul wizard Hazlik, and his labors were not such that any of Hazlan's folk cared to know of them.

Cloistered away within his magically warded keep, the wizard moved to and fro about his workshop. As he drifted past trays of chemicals, shelves of arcane scrolls, and racks of unusual objects, his withered hands darted out to gather up various items. In the end, he came to stand next to a slender table over which a silken blanket had been draped.

Hazlik pointed at a small lamp that rested upon the table. With a sudden spark, it came to life and spilled an even yellow light upon the counter and the small crystal disc that lay upon it. The wizard leaned low over the crystal, allowing the golden light to wash across his gnarled face, almost bisected by a terrible scar.

Hazlik picked up the lens and cast a careful eye upon it. Clearly, he could discern more than the average man with his penetrating gaze. After several minutes of examination, he spoke. At the sound of his words, a quill pen sprang into action, recording what he said in a great book.

"Final notes on experiment twenty-seven dash thirteen. As in my twelve previous attempts to pierce the 'border ethereal and escape from this demiplane, the subject has broken up and become trapped in an incorporeal form. There is no reason to believe that this procedure is without hope of success, however. Perhaps I am taking the wrong approach. In my next experiment, I will alter the balance of astral and ethereal vapors. If I am correct, this will enable the subject to regain a corporeal form with only a minimal effort. After all, there is cause for hope. This subject resisted fading from existence for fully forty-eight hours longer than all previous subjects."

Marielle circled the campfire in slow, liquid steps, idly fanning her skirts as she moved. At the far side of the fire she let the strength dissolve from her legs and sank to the ground, alone. The low flames formed a curtain that separated her from the others of her Vistana tribe, those few who still lingered, not yet ready to surrender to sleep. No one paid her any heed. The dancing had ended, and the last strains of the fiddle had faded, drifting into the night sky like missive spirits sent from the fiddler's hand to a distant realm. The youngest gypsies had already succumbed to the music's spell; toddlers now snoozed in their mothers'vardos, while the older children lay haphazardly in the shallow sleeping pit lined with moss and blankets, sheltered by the circle of gypsy wagons. Marielle could hear one of the old dogs snoring beside them.