Ganelon didn't realize he'd been staring until he found both mother and daughter looking at him with something close to revulsion on their faces.

"Sorry," he murmured, abruptly turning his attention to the tops of his boots.

But the women didn't react. Ganelon had only just begun to wonder why when he heard the scrape of iron-shod boots behind him. He spun about and saw the real object of their loathing.

Azrael, Lord Soth's seneschal, emerged from the darkness of a shadow-draped corner. How he'd got there Ganelon couldn't imagine, though he accepted the dwarfs presence without hesitation. Such weirdness was becoming all too common around Veidrava, from sightings of dead riders to rumors of what lay hidden within the mine's gigantic Engine House.

The dwarf was grinning, an expression so exaggerated that it made his bone-white mustache and mutton chop sideburns bristle like an animal's whiskers. Cheerful malice glinted in his brown eyes. "I've had dreams about this day," he said in a throaty whisper. "How long's it been, eh, Magda? Twenty years? Twenty-five?"

"Thirty-two," the raunie replied. "Still not enough for my taste." She held her right hand before her, fingers loosely curled. Suddenly she was holding a club. The cudgel was as long as her forearm, its wood dark and knotted. Bratu was at her side now. Both he and Inza brandished silver-bladed knives.

Azrael laid one meaty hand on Ganelon and tossed him aside. The young man crashed into a crate of apples. He lay there for a moment, stunned.

"Enough."

Two tiny orbs of orange flame-eyes, Ganelon realized numbly-flickered like marsh lights in the same gloom-locked corner from which Azrael had appeared. A wave of unearthly cold rolled out from the shadows, harbinger of a figure armored in seared and ruined plate. His single word of command had been enough to halt both the seneschal and the Vistani. His presence was enough to compel Ambrose to his knees. Though he had never seen Lord Soth before, Ganelon realized it could only be the master of Nedragaard Keep and joined the shopkeep in that show of subservience as quickly as he could manage. "Great lord," he murmured.

Soth ignored the merchants. He focused instead on the Vistani. Bratu and Inza lowered their knives and averted their eyes as a sign of respect. Magda, however, kept her club raised. She met Soth's gaze evenly, without the slightest hint of surprise or alarm. "Greetings," she said. "What is it you wish from me?"

"Your skull," Azrael growled. "I need something to throw at the rats that keep getting into my pantry."

Magda sighed, but did not look away from Soth. "Your time alone in your almost-home has made you forget about courtesy," she said. "Even we thieves without title know to leave our animals outside."

I'll eat your heart!" Azrael snapped.

"Then, at least you would possess one," she replied.

Azrael took a step toward the raunie, but she drove him back with a feigned swipe of her club. Azrael had felt the touch of that enchanted wood once, not long after Magda had first gained the weapon. The single blow had knocked him unconscious. He had no desire now to see what worse damage she could do after three decades of practicing with the thing.

Soth gestured toward the open door, beyond which a number of other Vistani from Magda's tribe had gathered. There was a hound there, too, a large, snarling thing that was only restrained by the strong arms of three men. "Outside, seneschal," he said. "What I have to say to the gypsies does not concern you."

Azrael paused, mulling over some reply, but never gave it voice. Muttering a curse under his breath against all Vistani, he slowly exited the store. Both Inza and Bratu followed the dwarf outside, as did Ganelon. Only Ambrose hesitated. He stood in the doorway, staring at the sunlit world beyond, and trembled.

Finally he turned, head bowed and hands clasped before him. "Pardon me, great lord, but there is a sick woman upstairs. I do not want to leave her alone. She is asleep now, but when she awakens she might rant and-"

"She is his ward," Magda interrupted, "and he takes his responsibility toward her quite seriously."

"I vowed to care for her as my own," added the shopkeep nervously.

Soth dismissed the topic, and the man, with a wave of his gauntleted hand. "Go to her, then. You could scarcely comprehend what will be said here. Before you depart, though, swear an oath to me upon the woman's soul, that you will not repeat anything you overhear."

Ambrose spoke the oath, then scurried up the stairs, wheezing and huffing all the way.

"What a world this might be if everyone's vows were as inviolable," mused the master of Nedragaard.

"Had you honored your pledges as a Knight of Solamnia. Lord Soth, this world would not exist."

The fallen knight turned sharply. "We are speaking of you now, lady, of promises to me that you have broken."

"Then we have nothing to discuss." Magda finally released her grip on the cudgel, and it vanished. "Seven years ago I vowed that my Wanderers would no longer repeat what we know of your infamous past, even to you. In return, you promised to keep us safe from the assassins Malocchio Aderre dispatches across the border to slaughter us."

She pinched the sunburned flesh on one arm. "I am still alive, eh? So I assume that you've kept your end of the bargain. That you can no longer recall the details of your existence before you came to this gods-forsaken place-well, that should be proof enough that we have kept our word."

"I captured one of Aderre's spies," Soth replied. "He had been ferreting out my history, and someone provided him with some bits of truth."

Magda nodded. "I do not question that. Only the truth could have roused you from your waking slumber upon the throne. But there are others beside my tribe who claim to know your origin."

"Others?"

The Thorns of the White Rose. It's said they know even more about your life before unlife than I do."

"Who are they?" Soth rumbled.

"Bandits and warriors, mostly drawn from the Iron Hills elves," Magda said. "They serve a reclusive general called the White Rose."

"To what end?"

"The general's name should be explanation enough, Knight of the Black Rose. They wish to see you defeated, perhaps destroyed. I don't know how they learned of your history. I've never met their leader But even the most insignificant thief in their ranks knows the story of your life. Perhaps their general is an old adversary of yours, eh?"

"Perhaps." Soth paced for a time, hands clasped behind his back. From outside came the sounds of an argument and a dog's frantic barking. Neither Soth nor Magda reacted. Both had confidence that their followers could handle themselves.

Finally the death knight spoke again. This White Rose might indeed be funneling information to Aderre, but I am not convinced your people are without blame in this. I will require proof of your loyalty."

"Loyalty has never bound me to you," Magda said coldly. "From the moment you entered my family's camp in Barovia and forced me to be your guide, we have been linked only by necessity and self interest."

"And fear," Soth added.

"Once," Magda agreed. "But I am no longer the girl you abducted from her grandmother's vardo. I have seen darker things than you, done more terrible things than you might suspect. Self interest is all that binds us now."

Soth bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Of course. Then we need to be clear on this fact alone: it is in your best interest to side with me in this fight, Magda Ilyanova Kulchevich. Do not mistake my patience with an old ally's sharp tongue for weakness."

That last comment took Magda by surprise. "Ally," she repeated, and the hard lines of her face softened just a little. She slipped her blouse off her right shoulder, exposing three long scars. Time had paled the marks, but not erased them. The gargoyle's slash," she said. "From the battle in Strahd's castle. It still aches when the weather changes."