Of course, I had no idea at the time that she might return in twenty years or so. Not that it was much of a comfort. Had I acted more quickly, done something, anything different, then might she now be at my side and thus spared life after unfulfilled life, spared one terrible death after another? That was unknown, but the thought ever after bedeviled me.

Again, I had to push such frettings from my mind as I closed upon the old manor house. Distractions were dangerous; I needed to focus on what lay ahead rather than the sorrows of the past.

Closer I flew until the building's hulking shape at last loomed out of the gray curtains of rain. I could not at first take in what I saw and I paused, apprehensive. Where I had expected a decayed ruin there was now a formidable structure, restored to pristine newness. How powerful was he to be able to remake the whole place in so short a time?

The answer presented itself the longer I studied the outer structure and finally understood it to be an illusion. A most perfect and believable one, more than sufficient to awe anyone with no experience in the Art. I had to know what to look for to break past the fallacy. Beneath it was the house as it really was, a dead and decayed corpse falling in upon itself.

I tried peering through the broken and gaping windows but saw no sign of light. He was asleep, gone, or like myself, able to do without ordinary illumination. I did not care for the latter choice. Moving in close to see better and perhaps escape the rain, I found a suitable window to make my entry and hurried forward-

And was just as quickly rebuffed.

It felt like someone had taken a massive club, set it on fire, and used it to strike me out of mid-air. I tumbled once, righted myself, and got control barely in time to avoid hitting a tree. The shock of the strike hurtled me into man-form again, staggering for balance and blinking hard to clear my suddenly clouded vision.

I rubbed my eyes and glared at the house until fully recovered. Of course he would have powerful protections and other wards surrounding the place, and I'd blundered into them like some raw apprentice. I vowed not to underestimate this one again.

The rain began to slacken, but my cloak was soaked through. Generally I ignored such weather, but this stuff seemed uncannily cold, particularly for this time of year. There was also a nearly palpable feeling of horror starting to settle heavily upon my shoulders. I knew fear well enough, though I was more used to inspiring it in others than feeling it myself, but only rarely did this kind of full blown dread inflict itself upon me. The last time had been that hellish night when I had made my pact with Death and sealed myself inside the Mists. This was very like it, fundamental and all-consuming, like a child's primal fear of darkness.

Then I recalled the reaction of others to Azalin and knew him to be nearby. This was either part of his nature or a spell he had in constant effect around him. But I was not a child to be frightened, nor even an ordinary man to give in to such intimidation.

As the rain swept along its way and silence descended on the area, I waited and watched and listened. No night animals were on the move. I took that to mean they had cleared out completely. The only sound was the slow drip of water from the trees and the decaying house. I stretched my other senses, but felt nothing new for them to touch upon except the protection thrown around the building.

The air grew thick as a mist began rising from the ground. The conditions were not right for it, but in Barovia the mist looks after itself. It confounded my vision, for as I stared through one of the broken windows, I saw a man's figure within, but it was shadowy, without detail.

"You are the one they call Strahd von Zarovich."

The strange harsh voice stabbed into both my mind and ears at once, sending an icy frisson of fear fluttering against my spine. I was unprepared for its loudness or the chill, but strove hard not to flinch and even succeeded. For an instant I wondered if it was the voice of the thing that had tempted me into my bargain nearly two centuries past, but only for an instant. The voice from that time would have no need to confirm my identity.

"You are the one who calls himself Azalin?" I returned, looking warily about me, before turning again toward the house. Sometimes a break would occur in the mist and I would see the figure through the window, shapeless in a dark cloak and bareheaded.

"Azalin is what some here have chosen to call me."

No one in Barovia would have given him that appellation. It had come with him from the outside. "But it is not your name?" Names are important and have much power if properly used.

"As some call you Count, some call me Azalin."

"A title, then," I murmured to myself. It was not from any language I knew, nor indeed from any I had ever heard. Without having to probe too deeply, I could sense the spell he was using in order for us to communicate.

When he spoke no further, I took a few steps forward, close enough to encounter the barrier he had set up. My larger, human body registered its effect differently than before. Now it was a decided prickling, like invisible needles striking at random over my form, mild now, but increasing in intensity the closer I got. It was uncomfortable, but bearable. I stopped in the middle of it, unwilling to retreat as it gave me a tenuous tie to him. I could learn things about him in this way, things that my other senses could not begin to comprehend. At the same time, though, he could increase his knowledge about me as well. I had to be careful how I balanced it all.

"What is it you wish of me. Von Zarovich?" The voice sounded bored and testy.

I held back my flare of temper at this casual address of me as though I were his subordinate. The man was arrogant, meaning he was either as powerful as Latos said, or a fool. I did not think he was a fool but rather thought he was testing things. Two could play at that.

"At the moment I desire only to speak. I take an interest in my subjects."

He took on a condescending, disdainful tone. "You see me as your subject, then?"

Actually, I could not see him at all; the figure faded completely from my view, hidden by the rising mist.

"All in Barovia are my subjects," I said evenly.

"So I have been told. But not all subjects are given the honor of a personal audience with their master."

"Few of my subjects capture my interest. Those who appear out of nowhere, however, are an exception."

"And what leads you to believe that of me? Are you so well acquainted with everyone in your kingdom that you know when even a single stranger enters?"

"There are fewer arrivals than you might imagine. And I am indeed acquainted with everyone possessing powers such as yours."

"And are there many?"

Certainly he already knew the answer to that. "Very few, I would imagine, though without knowing the precise nature and extent of your powers, I have no way of being positive."

Presenting myself as being in the more vulnerable position would likely make him feel confident in dealing with me. Not an especially difficult task, he sounded like he had quite a store of self-assurance, though that could be all bluff.

The voice laughed. "Their number is doubtless exceedingly small, else they would not long be your subjects."

"There is more to my rule than sorcery."

"I would be the last to deny it. The willingness to use one's power is at least of equal importance."

As if to prove this statement, the needle-like prickling increased all over. I withstood it without so much as a wince, having known far worse. He was trying to play, like a child teasing another in order to provoke a reaction. He would have to do better than that with me. As for him using his power on others… "I was told of your treatment of the ones you… ejected… from this house."