I slept. No dream or even the memory of a dream troubled me.

Waking, I had to remind myself that this night would be shorter than the last. It was quite an adjustment to have one's mind set on the lengthening darkness of winter, then to forgo all that for sudden spring. I felt as though a thief had stolen all the time in between. A thief called Azalin. He and his damned experiment.

With the manor house vanished along with its tenant, I had no way of backtracking to find out what had gone wrong. Aside from his journal, I had also duplicated many of his notes, having spent whole weeks doing nothing but copying thousands of pages, a simple if tedious spell. However, I hadn't had the chance to do the same for this latest effort. The major irritant, though, was having the blank spot in my memory in the first place.

I returned to the study, viewed my paper-stacked shelves with a certain amount of contempt, and sat down before the crystal once more.

However delightful it might be to hope Azalin destroyed, I had to know for sure. Though the recollection was heavily shrouded, I was certain on an instinctive level that he was still alive but not in Barovia. He might have been trapped in the Mists, but he was resourceful enough to have found his way clear of them by now.

This time I would spend the night scrying for him within the new countries, covering them foot-by-foot if necessary.

Mordent was the first-and to my mind the most likely-place to start my investigation. We had been there, after all.

Reasoning what I would do were I stranded there, I thought he would either attach himself to whatever lord governed the place, or if circumstances favored, forcibly carve out his own position of absolute power. It wouldn't take him long, not with his magical expertise. The only thing that had held him back from such a move in Barovia was his word and the sacred bond of hospitality we'd agreed to abide by. Unless the same happened in Mordent, he would be hard pressed to conceal himself.

My vision carried me straight to the heart of Mordentshire, drawn into immediate view by what I recalled of my explorations last night. I found what looked to be the intersection of two main thoroughfares, settled in, and shut my eyes, allowing my inner gaze to seem to place me there. Then I added a second layer of vision atop the first as I imagined Azalin's form standing before me. At this point I did not care if he knew about the crystal ball or not; it was more important that I find him.

A quarter of an hour of striving, concentrated effort rewarded me with nothing more than a severe headache, causing me to stop for a brief recovery. Disappointed and annoyed, I waited until the buzzing ache in my brain subsided, then tried again, this time seeking him in Darkon.

I placed myself just within the gate post by the burial ground and attempted the same visualization, casting about in all directions. This time I sensed a decided tug drawing me to the north and followed it.

Followed-I should say I was drawn along like a hooked fish. I sped over the ground faster and faster until all within my Sight blurred. Resistance to this was possible; I found I could pull away if I concentrated hard enough, but chose to see this out to the end. My curiosity was aroused.

I crossed a vast amount of ground. Darkon was much larger than Barovia if one could judge anything by this swift distance. On I went, then perceptively slowed on the approach to a city. A true city-nothing so large existed in Barovia. The protective walls ran high, indication that fortifications were common here, unlike the others.

My vision took me through the main gates, which were not open-I just seemed to pass through them. Above, carved into the lintel in the same letters used at the border marker was the name Il Aluk. I had barely read them when the force drawing me forward pushed itself into a renewed burst of speed, carrying me through the streets too quickly for me to perceive any details other than a rush of shadowy blurs. I didn't care much for this and tried to slow things but with little effect.

Very well, I was to be allowed selected glimpses, nothing more. I would accept it for now but promised myself a reckoning later for this liberty.

A pause. Now was I treated to the sight of a formidable pile of stones, a castle much, much larger and more elaborate than my own. In this I sensed an emerging theme. All things here were grander than anything I had, bigger, better, more powerful. It smacked of a very familiar insecurity.

Passing within the castle walls, things blurred again until I was stopped before two huge doors that parted open in a stately manner, then my vision was teased forward at a walking pace. A long wide approach through a marble lined room flanked by carved marble columns took me to a gigantic throne, and without surprise I looked upon Azalin standing before it with an unmistakable air of proprietorship in his pose.

From the look on his face he was very aware of my presence. I had already assumed he'd been the one to draw me here, showing me things which he wanted me to know about along the way.

My view of him and the room dropped unexpectedly, until I realized he was forcing me (in a way) to bow low before him. I suppose it was too much to expect that he would be past such pettiness. He caused me to remain in that position, possibly thinking, even hoping I would struggle against him.

As the time was right for it, I increased my force of will, allowing me to hear what was going on, taking it for granted that Azalin would be able to pick up on my thoughts as though I were speaking aloud. Magic on this high of a ranking made nearly everything possible.

"Are you quite done feeding your conceit or am I supposed to remain staring at the carpet all night?" I asked, sounding quite thoroughly bored.

"Why do you not fight me?" He was almost purring, quite a feat with that harsh voice of his.

"It is not worth the effort."

He released his restriction on me, and my view expanded to include him again. I would have really preferred the carpet; it was much less overdressed.

"I felt your presence last night, but only faintly," he said. "This time you were much more focused, more easy to control."

Control? Is that what he thought? I had best pay close attention to see if his deeds were an actual reflection of his wishes or mere air.

"I only wanted to find to where you'd withdrawn after your latest failure," I said.

"Not a failure!" he snapped. "I opened the door between this plane and Oerth, breached the barrier of Mists. With impressive results." He gestured wide at the palace surrounding him.

"Yet we are here, prisoners still. I would call that an unequivocal failure."

"I achieved the breach once and shall do so again, for, as you have seen, here I have improved my position considerably."

He seemed most anxious to get a reaction about his new home, which meant he was still impressed with it. For all I knew the whole thing could have been an illusion such as he had wrapped about himself.

"Gilded bars in a cage do not change the fact that it's still cage," I informed him. "We are both trapped here yet, and it looks to remain that way indefinitely unless by some other blunder you accidentally manage to stumble upon a genuine escape."

It was really all too easy to bait him.

He was fairly incoherent for some moments, spitting out this curse or that, listing my innumerable faults against his innumerable injuries, and generally giving vent to all sorts of pent-up resentments. Of course, he could hardly cover nearly forty years of it without finally choking on his own venom. At which point I interrupted again.

"I do have a question to ask: are you trapped within this land as I am within my own?"

He met this with silence, his red gaze burning at me. Answer enough.