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.

579 Barovian Calendar, Darkon Excerpt from Lord Azalin's private journal, stolen at great risk by Lord Strand's secret envoy, Dioti the Sly.

I confess that I'm still disturbed by my lapse of memory over the time I spent in Mordent. Had Von Zarovich not also been there I would discount the gap as part of the price to pay when experimenting with magic, but his involvement in anything must never be ignored. I have concentrated the full force of my thought upon the problem, yet it refuses to open itself to me. During our conversation. Von Zarovich implied that he knew more than I did of the incident, but he is an accomplished liar. On the other hand, he has an antic taste for humor and might have been speaking the truth, knowing that I would doubt him. His is the sort of mind that would meet itself in a maze.

That night at the ruined monastery when we argued had proved fateful indeed. Disconsolate and disgusted with my fate, I had entered the Mists. When I came back to consciousness in one of the inner chambers of what I came to learn was called Castle Avernus, I first thought I had finally escaped Barovia. Events soon proved this assumption correct but revealed I was still locked within the same plane that holds Barovia apart from Oerth. This disappointment was mitigated when I came to understand that this new land, Darkon, was entirely mine.

The castle servants, the population, the whole governmental structure acknowledges me as lord here and behave as though it's always been so. I have swiftly taken advantage of the opportunity and reinforced it to make certain all here are unquestioningly loyal to me. There will be no more betrayals, for I root them out before they have the chance to grow. I have killed without hesitation as a warning to the others. Those who remain I may rely upon to carry out their duties.

Toward that end I have assembled a core of those who will act as extensions of my will. From the ranks of the soldiers, from the halls of the nobility, even from the streets and back alleys of Il Aluk have I drawn them, my inner core of servants that I have named the Kargat. They are my eyes and ears in Darkon and considerably more efficient than Von Zarovich's unpredictable Vistani.

The Kargat have proved themselves again and again as they move, secretly and silently, within the noble houses here seeking out disloyalty and paying betrayal with death. I have rewarded them well and made them the commanders of the army that will soon take Barovia.

At their head is General Vychen. His goals are very like my own, but he prefers to remain within his own sphere of power and has no ambitions for my throne. Even when I arranged to make the change in him so that he would become a creature like Von Zarovich, his loyalty to me stayed constant. This has not always been the case for others who have been likewise converted, but they have been dealt with and are no longer a threat.

Vychen will be my best weapon against Von Zarovich. He has military experience and is quite ruthless. He's gathered together an excellent staff of officers, yet wisely makes certain they are oath-bound to me, not himself.

My army grows, but slowly, for there are many unwilling to serve who must be made examples to the rest. I could take Barovia now, but I will leave nothing to chance. First I will assemble an overwhelming force, then will they march into that detestable plot of mud and rock and destroy it and its lord.

End of Excerpt

579 Barovian Calendar, Barovia

I finished my translation of the page and looked up at the pleased face of Dioti, who liked to think of himself as my best Vistani spy.

"It is excellent, is it not. Lord Strahd?" he asked. "I endured many dangers to bring it to you, so it is most excellent, indeed."