On the night before their initial battle I had soared over the camps, noting the numbers, the placement of their sentries, and other small details. Both sides had possessed a few hundred troops each, not a lot compared to the standards of the past, but enough to thoroughly disrupt the peace I'd established.

I had begun disrupting things myself by landing and calling up phalanx after phalanx of rats from out of the wilderness to overrun each side. Instead of getting their rest, the soldiers were up all night raising an unholy row over the rodent invasion. This, combined with an unexpected rain and hail storm which lasted 'several hours, left their morale floundering in the mud with them.

My spies had told me that the miniature armies finally lost all heart for conflict when in the bleary-eyed morning they had discovered the bodies of their respective leaders impaled and dying on tall stakes facing each other across what was to have been the battlefield. My crest had also been on each stake to let them know who was responsible for interrupting the conflict.

Everyone had wisely heeded my warning and departed for home. Since that time peace had been relatively constant in Barovia. There were still squabbles between the boyars, but they kept them quiet. Anything that drew my attention was likely to draw my fatal annoyance.

I landed just beyond the ten foot high walls surrounding the Latos house and allowed my form to fill itself out. The iron entry gate was locked for the night, as the rest of the place would be. For the sake of appearance I rang the bell, then as a mist I slipped between the bars, resumed solidity, and strode briskly up the stone walkway to the main door. I did not expect anyone to answer the ringing bell; night visitors in Barovia tend to be unpleasant and best left outside until morning. Much to my surprise, the big iron-studded door was pulled open, and I beheld the still excellent figure of Zorah herself standing there holding a candelabra high in one hand.

The wind extinguished some of the candles, but enough light remained that she could see who had arrived.

"Lord Strahd, I thought that it would be you," she said with a strange mixture of relief and fear in her tone. She seemed to be not at all startled at this sudden appearance of the Lord of Barovia himself on her front step, but neither did she seem pleased. She would not look me in the face and her voice trembled as she said, "Be welcome to our home, my lord."

"Your crisis is still with you?" I asked.

"The man has not come back, but my poor Cazi- oh, my manners-come in, my lord, and I will tell you everything."

She carried herself like a queen-albeit a very frightened queen-as she hesitantly took my arm and swept us both inside the house. A servant shut the door against the darkness while others scattered to their tasks.

The years had been good to Zorah, all forty-five of them, and though her dark hair was now shot through with many strands of gray, they suited her well. She took me into one of the front parlors.

"Would my lord care for some refreshment?" she asked, after inviting me to sit on one of her delicate chairs.

She was observing the social protocols, but there was a great deal of tension whirling about her like a snow devil. Each of her movements was a little too fast, a little too forceful. She was obviously afraid, but only partly of me, which seemed strange.

"Come now, Baroness, what has happened?" I asked brusquely.

She dropped her gaze and her shoulders slumped for some moments. I feared she might break down to tears, but fortunately she collected herself and spared us that minor embarrassment.

She sat up straight again to look me in the eye. "It is as I wrote you, my lord-you did receive my note?-of course, you must have. I've been most distracted by this and poor Cazi doesn't make it any better. I fear he is under some terrible enchantment and there may be worse to come. Had I known the result of letting that horrid man in the house I would never have allowed it."

"Chances are he would have gained entry with or without your permission if he is a mage as you suspect."

"He must be. Who else could do as he's done?"

She appeared outwardly calm, as was instilled in her by her breeding, but I could clearly hear her inner agitation in the swift thump of her heart. That in turn inspired certain powerful urgings within me, but this was not the time or place to indulge the sating of my appetite.

I leaned back in my chair, elbows on its arms, fingers steepled, and looked at her. "Now, tell me ail that has happened. Leave out nothing," I instructed, and listened for a quarter hour as she created a more detailed picture of the last evening's events. No new point presented itself, but she more fully described this Azalin person and her reaction to him.

"He's tall as you are tall, but very thin, and has a hawkish look to his face. It's not an ugly face, but there's nothing at all pleasant to his expression, and his eyes… I'm not sure how to say it. They seemed to glint red and yet be cold as winter at the same time. What bothered me most was that there was a kind of darkness around him, like a shadow, but without any real shadow. It was nothing you could see, only feel inside when he drew close enough. All I wanted to do was run away, but I dared not. Cazi was also afraid, but we'd already granted the man permission to come inside and it was too late."

Many times during her talk she referred to the instinctual fear this Azalin had inspired in her, and I noted how she would even yet jump at the least noise.

"How fares the baron?" I asked.

"Well enough, but still with no memory of this visitation. He is in a fit of temper because of the books that were burned. They've been in the family for generations and are-were-quite valuable."

"Only to a collector of curiosities, I assure you."

Not the first time had I mentioned that point. On my infrequent visits of state to the manor I had occasionally chided Cazimir about the worthlessness of his precious tomes, only to have the baron-with vast courtesy- discount it. The Latos magic books were little more than sad remnants of what must have once been a prized hoard on the Thaumaturgic Arts. His proud ancestors, for reasons best known to themselves, had "improved" the originals by recopying and rebinding them on a regular basis, thus destroying the integrity of the spells and formulae. They were rather dangerous now, but since none in the family had the least talent in the Art, it was safe enough to leave things as they were. The disposal of minor family heirlooms was beneath my notice unless there was a real threat involved. The books had harmlessly occupied shelf space in the baron's library for decades-until this Azalin saw fit to burn them.

"What about the ebony box that he carried out?"

She shook her head. "It's not particularly valuable but has been in the family for generations. Cazi thinks it's just been misplaced, is quite unconcerned about it, and won't believe me when I tell him otherwise."

"You have no idea why this man should take it? Was there anything missing from the study, something small enough to fit into the box?"

"I don't think so or Cazi would have noticed and complained about it-unless he was made to forget-but one of the servants would have-unless they've been made to-" She caught herself before she carried things too far. "Forgive me, my lord, I am just that upset about things. I'm not used to feeling like this and I don't like it."

She certainly must be upset to think I would even be remotely interested in this confidence, though her sudden vulnerability appealed strongly to me. It made the blood run fast in her veins. I restrained myself and kept firmly focused on the matter at hand. Next I would need to interview her spouse. Although I had never found Cazimir to be more than a fastidious little fool, I had not forgotten his ancestor's presumptuous ambition. Treachery had seldom been a danger since Barovia's isolation. But if a mage of substantial power had indeed entered my realm, one could not be too careful.