I, Strahd: The War Against Azalin
Chapter Eleven
Strahd's Narrative Continues
I did not have much time. Quickly gathering what I thought I might need, then making the travel casting, I took myself to a place where I could enlist immediate help for what was to come.
The Wachter holdings were closest to the Krezk pass. Fortunate, for they had ever been loyal to the house of Von Zaorovich. This dated back to the very beginning when Victor Wachter had served me well in defending Castle Ravenloft against that thrice-damned Dilisnya traitor. I had released Victor from my service, though he still had served as a boyar in his district. Decades later his daughter Lovina had helped me in delivering my final punishment to the bastard betrayer, and since that point the family had always prospered under my protection. Not that they were perfect, each generation possessed its aberrations, but on the whole they were competent and trustworthy in their duties.
The current head of the family was Yersinia Wachter, the several times great grand-daughter of Lovina. She was in her mid-sixties now, a widow with an uncanny ability to stay even with the complicated ebb and flow of Barovian politics, yet at the same time she managed to keep clear of its attendant parlor battles, scandal, and occasional assassinations. She would eventually pass the rule and responsibility of their district on to her son, Aldrick, and it was to be hoped that for the family's survival he had inherited his mother's diplomatic skills.
Like nearly all Barovians, their custom was to retire early with the sun, so the place was locked fast when I appeared within the high thick walls of their estate. I hurried across the beautifully kept grounds and seized the bell pull for the main entry, setting up a clamor suitable for the emergency.
The results were predictable with the usual fear, puzzlement, and sorting out what exactly was going on. Things went much more swiftly when Aldrick's face appeared at one of the windows and I could shout up to him and identify myself.
I could have appeared within the house, but that would have been overdoing things. They were in enough of an uproar at this untoward intrusion of Lord Strahd himself turning up on their doorstep in full battle gear with pressing business.
As I suspected, their memories had altered to match the changes in the land, and they were quite aware of Darkon's presence on their northern borders. Over the months Yersinia had had the foresight to keep a close watch on things and step up the drills for the motley volunteers in the militia under her charge. She had perhaps fifty, mostly the young people from well-to-do families near her estate.
They'd been in need of some interesting activity and playing at soldier was the fashion in these fallen days. Inexperienced, completely untested fighters used to the comforts of wealth were my army. They would have to do.
Aldrick, a stolid man in his forties, was responsible for the actual running of the volunteers, most of whom were presently scattered in their various homes, tucked up safe in bed for the night. I quickly explained to him and Yersinia about the approaching situation and the absolute need for haste. They were appalled, of course, and for a few teetering moments unable to do more than stand and stare at each other in mutual dismay for this monumental shift of circumstance. The idea of anyone invading Barovia was a nearly unfathomable concept to them, and the unknown is always daunting. There was no time for this sort of nonsense, though, and with a few sharp words I pushed them into action.
With Yersinia's authority behind him and mine behind hers, Aldrick gathered his senses together and set about collecting as many of the militia as he could, not an easy task considering the horror Barovians have about being out after dark.
He was not the man Victor was, but only for lack of anything worthy to develop his talents. He did know to delegate tasks and once he had notified a half dozen of those closest, he sent them out to bring in the rest.
It took well over an hour; I tried not to chafe at the delay. It could only be expected due to their lack of experience, but it was still difficult to keep my temper in check. I had to remind myself of the bitter fact that they were hardly more than children. I couldn't help but recall the primed legions I had commanded when first I'd marched in to take Barovia. These lesser offspring would have been hard pressed to pass muster as their boot-polishing apprentices.
But that was then; this was now.
When most of the fifty finally arrived, decked out in their battle regalia and mounted on whatever horses were not being used for plow work, I was more reminded of a masked ball than anything else. Aldrick, noticing my thunderous expression, assured me that they were well drilled and could hold their own if pressed. That remained to be seen.
I addressed the lot, trying to give them an idea of what they were facing and what was expected of them. It did not precisely boost their morale. They were variously excited, nervous, afraid or fearful, which was a good sign. I did not want over-confidence in the ranks as it nearly always led to a rout when toppled by the realities of blood. Part of my training for the militias was for them all to get a thorough grounding in battle history by reading the memoirs of past soldiers, including my own observations on the topic. I had hopes that some of the wisdom had sunk in. A war was not about glory; it was about killing and being killed. When the battle was over, whichever side had the least dead usually won. Of course, what was coming across the border from Azalin was the exception to that rule.
Aldrick and I, mounted on two of the Wachter's best steeds, led the way toward the Krezk pass, kicking our line of followers into a ground-eating trot. It was past midnight, and I worried over how few hours remained before morning sunlight forced me to retreat. Once an engagement began, time had a nasty way of slipping by at an alarming rate.
We had to ride around a spur of Krezk to reach the pass, and I was anxious to check on the progress of the coming hoard. I told Aldrick to continue at this pace and urged my horse into a gallop to get ahead of the column, my night vision keeping me clear of any pitfalls on the little used track. I passed on a mile ahead of my troops, tethered my horse to the ground, and took to the air, driving myself swiftly to the border.
The zombies had made much progress and would reach the pass within an hour. More haste was needed if we were to meet them there.
By the time I returned, Aldrick had nearly caught up, but because of the darkness he missed my transformation back into man-form. My horse wasn't so fortunate and would have bolted had I not caught the reins and forced my will upon her, calming her again so that I could ride. Up in the saddle I gave orders to increase our pace to a canter. No one questioned the why of my urgency, taking it for granted that I knew what I was doing. As it happened, I did but was unsure of the final outcome.
Once more I ran ahead of the rest, this time taking a position on a bluff overlooking the pass. I could see the zombies in the near distance, and my horse started nervously as the death stench rolled toward us. The others, outside my control, would not be so tractable and likely go mad once they got a whiff.
I could see to that detail right now and dismounted, putting my mind and certain elements of my magical store in order. Pushing out all other distractions, I concentrated on the wind and after many long moments of waiting noticed the change in its direction. A fresh spring breeze now flowed out of Barovia and into Dark-on, a small thing, but important.
Next, my troops would need light to fight by, so I prepared that spell, all but the final casting of it, which I would activate once they arrived. I made other preparations, taking care with the details, but moving quickly, all too aware that Azalin was probably peering over my shoulder with his Sight.
Aldrick arrived, and I hailed him from my vantage point, calling down information on the location of our foe. The creatures were nearly to the border.
He announced he was ready, drawing his sword. The horses danced nervously, catching their riders' suppressed excitement. I mounted and rode down to join them. Some were all for a headlong charge to break the ranks of the coming zombies, which I explained would be pointless. That tactic only works well when one is facing an enemy capable of fear.
I told them what was about to happen insofar as my contribution was to be, so as not to startle them, then with a look toward the approaching zombies, ordered up my people and told them what to do. I had little expectation that any of this would do much good, it being foolish to think I could teach them the basics of cavalry warfare in but a few moments. They knew how to ride, and that was my chief concern. If they could stay on their horses, most might have a chance of survival. Half to the left and halt to the right, I sent them off to be ready to initiate a flank attack when I called for it.
I was alone now, having placed myself directly in the path of the zombies, my dormant heart having climbed into my throat in anticipation. It had been a very long time since I'd felt the true heat of battle fever creeping upon me. One forgets what a potent tonic it can be.
The first of the creatures stepped into my land. It did not waver, and from that alone I knew that though Azalin was skulking back in his castle, he still followed their every step. His lordship of Darkon must have granted him increased powers for his Art, even as Barovia bolstered mine. Well, I could put an immediate end to that business.
The knowledge had ever been in me since Forlorn first appeared, but there had been no need to employ it. Eyes shut to concentrate, I reached forth with my will and called upon the power of the land itself to aid me. I felt a faint reaction and responded in turn, demanding more, raising my arms high to draw it up.
Mist.
It began seeping up from the earth, slowly, gathering in pools at the feet of the zombies, who paid it no mind. The mist grew thicker, uncannily holding itself in place against the wind. Thicker, more obscuring, rising ten feet, twenty, fifty, until it rivaled the great Mists that bounded this plane of existence. Its poison was useless against the dead, but let Azalin's Sight try to pierce that, if he could.
My troops saw this and looked on in fearful wonder, but soon had another wonder to take its place. I cast the last portion of the spell I had prepared with a flinging gesture. To them it seemed that a handful of very bright stars had dropped low from the sky to illuminate the whole of the field.
The lights danced like mad fireflies above the oblivious zombies, multiplying their shadows in a hundred directions. They plodded forward, the mind controlling them forcing them straight toward me. Whether Azalin could see or not, his will still drove them. I held my ground, drawing my sword. For nearly two centuries it had hung virtually unused on the wall of my bedroom, but its heft and fit were as natural to my hand as the feel of my own skin, the blade razor keen.
With a cry I kicked my horse into a gallop and raced toward the dead. They reached out for me, their mouths sagging wide in a parody of joy. I veered at the last moment to the left, my right arm swinging the sword like a scythe. In this manner I cut at least six of them in half in one pass, my blade slicing through the rotten muscle and soft bone. This was to show the troops how it was done. I shouted once to Aldrick and heard answering calls from him and the rest.
They rushed in from either side, sweeping along in an uneven line, but making up for it with eagerness.
They cut and slashed, clumsily, but were sometimes effective, reducing the opposition along the edges by that much more. Their horses were not war beasts, though, and some threw their riders and bolted. When this happened the zombies would gather to attack whoever was unfortunate enough to not be able to run. One man was lost this way, and I saw Aldrick about to be similarly engulfed.
It would not do for this lot to lose their leader in their first fight. I shot forward to drag him out, but this only drew the attention of the zombies from him to me. He stumbled clear, but I was surrounded. It was too much for my horse, and under my influence or not, the beast reared, screaming in terror.
Heedless of its slashing hooves the zombies closed in, and my animal went down, taking me along. I kicked free of the stirrups and rolled clear, but not for long. A stinking mass of cold flesh fell upon me, pulling and tearing. I gained my feet and cut at the creatures, calling up one of my partial castings, shouting the words to complete it, and let its force rip through the ranks.
That made for a show. The blast rolled upon them, their frail grave clothes catching flame, followed by the remains of their shrunken flesh. They were beyond feeling pain, but the element of fire was enough to severely interfere with the magic animating them. Some twisted and writhed, setting blaze to others brushing against them and they in turn passing it on. The flames were unnaturally hot, meant to turn the bones brittle and more easily prone to damage.
I took myself away from the worst of it and shouted for Aldrick and his people to withdraw. They eventually did so, with much disorder, for they were not immune to fear of the flames. I motioned for them to assemble upwind of the blaze, though Aldrick rode in on another horse and threw a hand out to me. I hooked a leg up behind his saddle and he hauled me up and away from there.
We joined with the others, who had paused to turn and watch. I dropped to the ground and surveyed the remains of the battle.
The small lights I had conjured were fading, but the growing fire more than replaced their illumination. The zombies faltered and dropped, their increasing weakness showing wherever I focused my concentration and threw off their master's hold on them.
Vaguely I became aware of a great uproar behind me and turned to see Wachter's people milling about, grinning and shouting, shouting my name. Once it had been used by my troops of old as a battle cry, now it rang across the field as a victory chant. Very gratifying.
***
There was a celebration at the Wachter house the following night, and already the tale had grown in the telling. What was in reality a minor skirmish was now a full blown battle which the house minstrel was already putting to verse. He left out the lesser details, such as how I ordered the troop in on foot after the fire had died to club the burned and scorched bones to powder, thus preventing them from ever rising again. Such work was too base for high verse.
I avoided the victory banquet and speeches, leaving it to Yersinia to congratulate the survivors and list the fallen as honored heroes all would remember. This went down well with the rest, many swelling with bright-eyed pride at their prowess. Aldrick especially looked much more a soldier now than he'd been last night. Perhaps it was an awakening of something long dormant in his blood, an echo of his ancestor's skill for fighting.
His mother had once said that he had always studied the deeds of times past, possibly nursing a secret desire to somehow match them. Well, he had gotten his wish, for good or ill. I would have to get to know him better, for I was in need of a lieutenant, and he had not lost his head, literally or figuratively, when things had gotten rough. Though he couldn't have known me capable of escaping the fire, he had still charged in to make a rescue, and I respect bravery.
What I did not mention to any of them was the fact that I could have taken care of the whole invasion on my own. I could have taken control of the whole lot had I desired, even as I had controlled Azalin's zombies on other occasions. It would not have been easy, but entirely possible for me. But winning this little encounter had not been my goal.
Azalin's sending of this mob had been but a test, to see how I would resist and what kind of a fight I would make. But if meant as a test for me, then I had turned it into a test for an undisciplined gang of novices. It was less a battle than a training exercise, but I let them think that they'd accomplished a great thing and helped their lord defeat a terrible enemy. It was just the sort of boost to their confidence they would need in the days and months ahead when the real fighting started in earnest. This was but the opening ploy, and it would only get worse.
Azalin's next army would be comprised of the living - alive and in control of their own actions, driven against me by their loyalty to his wealth and power.
I could do no less myself, though Barovia's resources were limited compared to the vastness of Darkon. There were certain important advantages on my side, such as my past experience as a military commander and my ability to learn new magic.
Azalin would not dare train someone up to be a match in strength to his own skill; his pride and fear would not allow him to create any possible rivals to his power.
The fact that neither of us could personally lead a troop across the border, though restrictive to strategy and morale, would not curb the coming conflict.
Unless I got very, very clever, then all was lost before anything had ever really begun.
I did not have much time. Quickly gathering what I thought I might need, then making the travel casting, I took myself to a place where I could enlist immediate help for what was to come.
The Wachter holdings were closest to the Krezk pass. Fortunate, for they had ever been loyal to the house of Von Zaorovich. This dated back to the very beginning when Victor Wachter had served me well in defending Castle Ravenloft against that thrice-damned Dilisnya traitor. I had released Victor from my service, though he still had served as a boyar in his district. Decades later his daughter Lovina had helped me in delivering my final punishment to the bastard betrayer, and since that point the family had always prospered under my protection. Not that they were perfect, each generation possessed its aberrations, but on the whole they were competent and trustworthy in their duties.
The current head of the family was Yersinia Wachter, the several times great grand-daughter of Lovina. She was in her mid-sixties now, a widow with an uncanny ability to stay even with the complicated ebb and flow of Barovian politics, yet at the same time she managed to keep clear of its attendant parlor battles, scandal, and occasional assassinations. She would eventually pass the rule and responsibility of their district on to her son, Aldrick, and it was to be hoped that for the family's survival he had inherited his mother's diplomatic skills.
Like nearly all Barovians, their custom was to retire early with the sun, so the place was locked fast when I appeared within the high thick walls of their estate. I hurried across the beautifully kept grounds and seized the bell pull for the main entry, setting up a clamor suitable for the emergency.
The results were predictable with the usual fear, puzzlement, and sorting out what exactly was going on. Things went much more swiftly when Aldrick's face appeared at one of the windows and I could shout up to him and identify myself.
I could have appeared within the house, but that would have been overdoing things. They were in enough of an uproar at this untoward intrusion of Lord Strahd himself turning up on their doorstep in full battle gear with pressing business.
As I suspected, their memories had altered to match the changes in the land, and they were quite aware of Darkon's presence on their northern borders. Over the months Yersinia had had the foresight to keep a close watch on things and step up the drills for the motley volunteers in the militia under her charge. She had perhaps fifty, mostly the young people from well-to-do families near her estate.
They'd been in need of some interesting activity and playing at soldier was the fashion in these fallen days. Inexperienced, completely untested fighters used to the comforts of wealth were my army. They would have to do.
Aldrick, a stolid man in his forties, was responsible for the actual running of the volunteers, most of whom were presently scattered in their various homes, tucked up safe in bed for the night. I quickly explained to him and Yersinia about the approaching situation and the absolute need for haste. They were appalled, of course, and for a few teetering moments unable to do more than stand and stare at each other in mutual dismay for this monumental shift of circumstance. The idea of anyone invading Barovia was a nearly unfathomable concept to them, and the unknown is always daunting. There was no time for this sort of nonsense, though, and with a few sharp words I pushed them into action.
With Yersinia's authority behind him and mine behind hers, Aldrick gathered his senses together and set about collecting as many of the militia as he could, not an easy task considering the horror Barovians have about being out after dark.
He was not the man Victor was, but only for lack of anything worthy to develop his talents. He did know to delegate tasks and once he had notified a half dozen of those closest, he sent them out to bring in the rest.
It took well over an hour; I tried not to chafe at the delay. It could only be expected due to their lack of experience, but it was still difficult to keep my temper in check. I had to remind myself of the bitter fact that they were hardly more than children. I couldn't help but recall the primed legions I had commanded when first I'd marched in to take Barovia. These lesser offspring would have been hard pressed to pass muster as their boot-polishing apprentices.
But that was then; this was now.
When most of the fifty finally arrived, decked out in their battle regalia and mounted on whatever horses were not being used for plow work, I was more reminded of a masked ball than anything else. Aldrick, noticing my thunderous expression, assured me that they were well drilled and could hold their own if pressed. That remained to be seen.
I addressed the lot, trying to give them an idea of what they were facing and what was expected of them. It did not precisely boost their morale. They were variously excited, nervous, afraid or fearful, which was a good sign. I did not want over-confidence in the ranks as it nearly always led to a rout when toppled by the realities of blood. Part of my training for the militias was for them all to get a thorough grounding in battle history by reading the memoirs of past soldiers, including my own observations on the topic. I had hopes that some of the wisdom had sunk in. A war was not about glory; it was about killing and being killed. When the battle was over, whichever side had the least dead usually won. Of course, what was coming across the border from Azalin was the exception to that rule.
Aldrick and I, mounted on two of the Wachter's best steeds, led the way toward the Krezk pass, kicking our line of followers into a ground-eating trot. It was past midnight, and I worried over how few hours remained before morning sunlight forced me to retreat. Once an engagement began, time had a nasty way of slipping by at an alarming rate.
We had to ride around a spur of Krezk to reach the pass, and I was anxious to check on the progress of the coming hoard. I told Aldrick to continue at this pace and urged my horse into a gallop to get ahead of the column, my night vision keeping me clear of any pitfalls on the little used track. I passed on a mile ahead of my troops, tethered my horse to the ground, and took to the air, driving myself swiftly to the border.
The zombies had made much progress and would reach the pass within an hour. More haste was needed if we were to meet them there.
By the time I returned, Aldrick had nearly caught up, but because of the darkness he missed my transformation back into man-form. My horse wasn't so fortunate and would have bolted had I not caught the reins and forced my will upon her, calming her again so that I could ride. Up in the saddle I gave orders to increase our pace to a canter. No one questioned the why of my urgency, taking it for granted that I knew what I was doing. As it happened, I did but was unsure of the final outcome.
Once more I ran ahead of the rest, this time taking a position on a bluff overlooking the pass. I could see the zombies in the near distance, and my horse started nervously as the death stench rolled toward us. The others, outside my control, would not be so tractable and likely go mad once they got a whiff.
I could see to that detail right now and dismounted, putting my mind and certain elements of my magical store in order. Pushing out all other distractions, I concentrated on the wind and after many long moments of waiting noticed the change in its direction. A fresh spring breeze now flowed out of Barovia and into Dark-on, a small thing, but important.
Next, my troops would need light to fight by, so I prepared that spell, all but the final casting of it, which I would activate once they arrived. I made other preparations, taking care with the details, but moving quickly, all too aware that Azalin was probably peering over my shoulder with his Sight.
Aldrick arrived, and I hailed him from my vantage point, calling down information on the location of our foe. The creatures were nearly to the border.
He announced he was ready, drawing his sword. The horses danced nervously, catching their riders' suppressed excitement. I mounted and rode down to join them. Some were all for a headlong charge to break the ranks of the coming zombies, which I explained would be pointless. That tactic only works well when one is facing an enemy capable of fear.
I told them what was about to happen insofar as my contribution was to be, so as not to startle them, then with a look toward the approaching zombies, ordered up my people and told them what to do. I had little expectation that any of this would do much good, it being foolish to think I could teach them the basics of cavalry warfare in but a few moments. They knew how to ride, and that was my chief concern. If they could stay on their horses, most might have a chance of survival. Half to the left and halt to the right, I sent them off to be ready to initiate a flank attack when I called for it.
I was alone now, having placed myself directly in the path of the zombies, my dormant heart having climbed into my throat in anticipation. It had been a very long time since I'd felt the true heat of battle fever creeping upon me. One forgets what a potent tonic it can be.
The first of the creatures stepped into my land. It did not waver, and from that alone I knew that though Azalin was skulking back in his castle, he still followed their every step. His lordship of Darkon must have granted him increased powers for his Art, even as Barovia bolstered mine. Well, I could put an immediate end to that business.
The knowledge had ever been in me since Forlorn first appeared, but there had been no need to employ it. Eyes shut to concentrate, I reached forth with my will and called upon the power of the land itself to aid me. I felt a faint reaction and responded in turn, demanding more, raising my arms high to draw it up.
Mist.
It began seeping up from the earth, slowly, gathering in pools at the feet of the zombies, who paid it no mind. The mist grew thicker, uncannily holding itself in place against the wind. Thicker, more obscuring, rising ten feet, twenty, fifty, until it rivaled the great Mists that bounded this plane of existence. Its poison was useless against the dead, but let Azalin's Sight try to pierce that, if he could.
My troops saw this and looked on in fearful wonder, but soon had another wonder to take its place. I cast the last portion of the spell I had prepared with a flinging gesture. To them it seemed that a handful of very bright stars had dropped low from the sky to illuminate the whole of the field.
The lights danced like mad fireflies above the oblivious zombies, multiplying their shadows in a hundred directions. They plodded forward, the mind controlling them forcing them straight toward me. Whether Azalin could see or not, his will still drove them. I held my ground, drawing my sword. For nearly two centuries it had hung virtually unused on the wall of my bedroom, but its heft and fit were as natural to my hand as the feel of my own skin, the blade razor keen.
With a cry I kicked my horse into a gallop and raced toward the dead. They reached out for me, their mouths sagging wide in a parody of joy. I veered at the last moment to the left, my right arm swinging the sword like a scythe. In this manner I cut at least six of them in half in one pass, my blade slicing through the rotten muscle and soft bone. This was to show the troops how it was done. I shouted once to Aldrick and heard answering calls from him and the rest.
They rushed in from either side, sweeping along in an uneven line, but making up for it with eagerness.
They cut and slashed, clumsily, but were sometimes effective, reducing the opposition along the edges by that much more. Their horses were not war beasts, though, and some threw their riders and bolted. When this happened the zombies would gather to attack whoever was unfortunate enough to not be able to run. One man was lost this way, and I saw Aldrick about to be similarly engulfed.
It would not do for this lot to lose their leader in their first fight. I shot forward to drag him out, but this only drew the attention of the zombies from him to me. He stumbled clear, but I was surrounded. It was too much for my horse, and under my influence or not, the beast reared, screaming in terror.
Heedless of its slashing hooves the zombies closed in, and my animal went down, taking me along. I kicked free of the stirrups and rolled clear, but not for long. A stinking mass of cold flesh fell upon me, pulling and tearing. I gained my feet and cut at the creatures, calling up one of my partial castings, shouting the words to complete it, and let its force rip through the ranks.
That made for a show. The blast rolled upon them, their frail grave clothes catching flame, followed by the remains of their shrunken flesh. They were beyond feeling pain, but the element of fire was enough to severely interfere with the magic animating them. Some twisted and writhed, setting blaze to others brushing against them and they in turn passing it on. The flames were unnaturally hot, meant to turn the bones brittle and more easily prone to damage.
I took myself away from the worst of it and shouted for Aldrick and his people to withdraw. They eventually did so, with much disorder, for they were not immune to fear of the flames. I motioned for them to assemble upwind of the blaze, though Aldrick rode in on another horse and threw a hand out to me. I hooked a leg up behind his saddle and he hauled me up and away from there.
We joined with the others, who had paused to turn and watch. I dropped to the ground and surveyed the remains of the battle.
The small lights I had conjured were fading, but the growing fire more than replaced their illumination. The zombies faltered and dropped, their increasing weakness showing wherever I focused my concentration and threw off their master's hold on them.
Vaguely I became aware of a great uproar behind me and turned to see Wachter's people milling about, grinning and shouting, shouting my name. Once it had been used by my troops of old as a battle cry, now it rang across the field as a victory chant. Very gratifying.
***
There was a celebration at the Wachter house the following night, and already the tale had grown in the telling. What was in reality a minor skirmish was now a full blown battle which the house minstrel was already putting to verse. He left out the lesser details, such as how I ordered the troop in on foot after the fire had died to club the burned and scorched bones to powder, thus preventing them from ever rising again. Such work was too base for high verse.
I avoided the victory banquet and speeches, leaving it to Yersinia to congratulate the survivors and list the fallen as honored heroes all would remember. This went down well with the rest, many swelling with bright-eyed pride at their prowess. Aldrick especially looked much more a soldier now than he'd been last night. Perhaps it was an awakening of something long dormant in his blood, an echo of his ancestor's skill for fighting.
His mother had once said that he had always studied the deeds of times past, possibly nursing a secret desire to somehow match them. Well, he had gotten his wish, for good or ill. I would have to get to know him better, for I was in need of a lieutenant, and he had not lost his head, literally or figuratively, when things had gotten rough. Though he couldn't have known me capable of escaping the fire, he had still charged in to make a rescue, and I respect bravery.
What I did not mention to any of them was the fact that I could have taken care of the whole invasion on my own. I could have taken control of the whole lot had I desired, even as I had controlled Azalin's zombies on other occasions. It would not have been easy, but entirely possible for me. But winning this little encounter had not been my goal.
Azalin's sending of this mob had been but a test, to see how I would resist and what kind of a fight I would make. But if meant as a test for me, then I had turned it into a test for an undisciplined gang of novices. It was less a battle than a training exercise, but I let them think that they'd accomplished a great thing and helped their lord defeat a terrible enemy. It was just the sort of boost to their confidence they would need in the days and months ahead when the real fighting started in earnest. This was but the opening ploy, and it would only get worse.
Azalin's next army would be comprised of the living - alive and in control of their own actions, driven against me by their loyalty to his wealth and power.
I could do no less myself, though Barovia's resources were limited compared to the vastness of Darkon. There were certain important advantages on my side, such as my past experience as a military commander and my ability to learn new magic.
Azalin would not dare train someone up to be a match in strength to his own skill; his pride and fear would not allow him to create any possible rivals to his power.
The fact that neither of us could personally lead a troop across the border, though restrictive to strategy and morale, would not curb the coming conflict.
Unless I got very, very clever, then all was lost before anything had ever really begun.
