James Lowder - Knight of the Black Rose

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A draconian, its curved blade coated with blood, stands over a fallen woman. His face frozen in horror, a young man holds his ground against one of Soth’s own skeletal minions, only to have his head severed from his body. Tanis Half-Elven flees down arrow-straight streets, showing his true soul at last…

Something tugged at the edges of Soth’s consciousness. Amidst the clear scenes of victory a shadowy thing lurked. Yet, when the death knight tried to concentrate on it, the shadow-thing slipped away. Something powerful was intruding upon his mind.

The death knight scowled. I will destroy any who betray me, any who prevent me from returning to Krynn, Soth repeated to himself again and again as the carriage rattled along its way through the night.

Magda gasped, and the sharp sound drew Soth out of the near-trance into which he had lapsed. He had lost track of their progress, for now the carriage was high in the foothills. “What is it?” the death knight asked, but the answer was obvious.

They had reached Castle Ravenloft.

Twin gatehouses of crumbling, turreted stone slouched in the darkness like drowsing sentinels. Their charge, a wooden drawbridge that spanned a chasm of frightening depth, swayed in the wind, and the rusted chains holding the planks in place chimed and groaned. Across the bridge lay the keep, protected by a moss-covered curtain of gray stone. Gargoyles with hideous, tortured faces stared sightlessly from the wall.

The rickety, weathered planks protested as the pitch-black horses charged across. Their complaints were so much idle threat; the carriage crossed the bridge without mishap. At the horses’ approach, the ancient portcullis that sealed the entrance to the keep lifted sullenly off the ground, clearing a path to the courtyard. Once inside the massive wall, the horses slowed, then stopped.

“We have arrived,” Soth said as the carriage door opened. The death knight slid from the coach into the empty courtyard. He took in his surroundings with a glance.

Castle Ravenloft must have been gorgeous once. Its subtly peaked roofs and lofty towers still gave testament to the builder’s skill, but wild vegetation left unchecked and weather damage left unrepaired had long ago marred the virgin beauty of the place. The castle’s huge double doors stood open now, and soft light bled into the courtyard.

“Come,” Soth ordered. Magda hesitated, then shrank back into the plush red velvet seat. His voice cold, the death knight added, “Your master awaits.”

Steeling herself, the Vistani climbed from the carriage. As soon as she was clear of the coach, its door slapped shut and the horses shot forward. The carriage disappeared back across the drawbridge and into the night.

Magda led the way into the castle. A small entry hall, no wider than the main doors, greeted them. Near the ceiling, four dragons carved from red stone crouched. They seemed ready to pounce on unwelcome visitors, their gemstone eyes glittering menacingly.

“Your Excellency?” the Vistani called.

With a creak, the doors to the courtyard closed.

“Parlor tricks any jester could rig,” Soth said disdainfully. Without waiting for a further reply, he boldly entered the next room.

The room was large, and torches in iron sconces provided barely enough light to banish the darkness. No furniture filled the hall. No tapestries covered the walls. The domed ceiling and the leering gargoyles squatting around its rim were festooned with cobwebs. The gray sheets danced and fluttered, casting fantastic shadows over the ruined frescos that graced the dome. An arch opened onto a small room to the right, doors of solid bronze sagged on their hinges straight ahead, and, to the left, a wide stair of dust-covered stone climbed from the hall.

“Count Strahd?” Magda said, shuddering. There was an oppressive feel to the castle, an air of subdued mystery that reminded her of nothing so much as the mausoleum from which she’d rescued Andari when they were children. He’d gone in to rob the dead, but all he’d gotten for the trouble was a broken ankle from a falling stone.

“Ah, Lord Soth, Magda. I am Count Strahd Von Zarovich, ruler of Barovia. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

The Vistani started at the smooth voice, but the death knight turned with an air of disinterest to the man who had appeared at the top of the broad flight of stairs. “You must forgive me for not greeting you at the door,” the master of Castle Ravenloft said evenly. “I was in one of the tower rooms when you arrived, reading some tomes of… sentimental value.”

The count took the stairs slowly, with a studied elegance. His long black cape floated behind him. Yet the cloak could not hide the strength in its wearer, strength possessed only by great warriors.

The lord of Barovia was tall, just over six feet. A tight, formal jacket hugged his lean frame. He wore black pants and polished dark leather boots. A chain of gold links hung from his neck and ended in a large red stone that sharply reflected the torchlight. His white shirt stood in stark contrast to the rest of his attire, and the count wore its pointed collar turned up. The white cloth framed his strong chin like dove’s wings.

As he reached the foot of the stairs, he bowed to the death knight. His face was pale, with high cheekbones and dark hair brushed back from his forehead. Black, arched brows rested over probing eyes. He rested his gaze on the armored dead man and waited for him to bow in return.

Soth scowled. “Let us not waste time with pleasantries, Count,” he said. “Why have you brought me here?”

Strahd held up a gray-gloved hand in lieu of answering, then turned his hypnotic eyes to Magda. “The trip has not been an easy one for you, my dear. I’m sure Lord Soth meant to cause you no discomfort in taking you through the forest, but-” he pulled his thin lips into a smile “-like me, he is a soldier. Soldiers tend to forget everyone is not as disciplined as they themselves must be.”

The woman looked down at her mud-splattered legs and her torn skirt. “My apologies, Your Excellency, I-”

Again Strahd smiled, this time more unctuously. The expression was every bit as frightening to see as a wolf’s snarl. “Think nothing of it,” he said, his voice a mesmerizing purr. “However, I do think it would be best for you to change out of those ragged clothes. There are some dresses in the next room, old but in good condition. One might fit you. Please go and try them on.”

To emphasize the invitation, Strahd extended a hand toward the small room across from the stairs. Magda walked shyly to the vaulted room. “The doors to your right,” the count noted patiently. “Modesty will demand you close them behind you. Take your time changing. We will be waiting here when you are through.”

Strahd kept a smile plastered on his pale face until the doors clicked shut behind her, then he looked to the death knight. The polite facade had vanished. “Your question is a bit vague, Lord Soth, but I will answer it anyway. I do not, as you suspect, control the mists that brought you to Barovia.” He waited for some reaction from Soth. When it was obvious none would be forthcoming, he added, “I brought you to my home as a gesture of politeness. It is my way of apologizing for the unfortunate treatment you received from Madame Girani.”

“You admit the Vistani are your spies?”

“Nothing so formal as all that,” Strahd replied. “I grant them certain privileges, and they offer me information about visitors to my land. It’s all very casual. Still, I will admit that I asked Madame Girani to discover what she could about you.”

“Why? What interest am I to you?” Soth’s hand drifted threateningly to the hilt of his sword.