In response, a breeze swelled and broke the mists, swiftly scattering them to reveal the foothills of an unfamiliar, mountainous region. Van Richten searched the terrain around him and wondered at stark, keen-ridged peaks to the east, carving a jagged horizon in the starry sky. The heavens behind them were vaguely blue, portending morning's advance, but dawn was at least an hour off.
Slowly, the size of the undead horde around him dawned on Dr. Van Richten. A great host of them — perhaps a hundred! — stood by in a huge crescent. They gibbered with ravenous urgency while their mindless presence pressed against Azalin's invisible barrier, grasping for a seam with an unconscious, unliving will of their own. Only Radovan looked away from Van Richten, to the south, along a grassy road that led over a knoll. His tongue began to writhe under the bit of his bridle, rattling the metal rod against his yellowish teeth.
"You've found them, haven't you?" breathed Van Richten, and as if they understood his words, the legion of corpses turned and lumbered toward whatever lay over the ridge.
What to do! The undead would shred any living thing they found. What if a farm lay beyond the ridge? Even if the kidnappers were there, was this what he wanted? What if the zombies should attack Erasmus?
Van Richten dropped Radovan's reins and jostled through the moving throng of undead. They groaned hungrily at him, but let him pass. He crested the hill and looked down a short expanse, into a glade of poplars, where he spied the twinkle of a campfire. The leafy cover of the glade around the bivouac did little to hide the rounded roofs of three large wagons.
It was the Vistana caravan.
The undead mass lurched forward, grasping with their claws and grumbling in incoherent agitation, but as they neared the camp an alarm went up. From within the advancing mob, Van Richten watched the gypsies rush about, casting glittering dust into the air and making frantic gestures. Two dark-haired men swung thick staves at the first zombies to reach the camp, beating them to the ground. Another cadaver cast itself upon a defender and the two of them went down. The man began to scream as it bit into his shoulder. A young girl snatched up a heavy staff and jabbed it sharply against the ghoul's ragged skull, knocking the head from its shoulders. Meanwhile, the dead circled the encampment, but their inward progress halted as the gypsies completed a warding circle.
Sharp commands rose above the grunts and sighs of the thwarted zombies as they huddled on the perimeter. Van Richten sought their source and finally sighted a hunchbacked old woman. It was Madame Radanavich, rushing among her people, snapping out orders and reinforcing the perimeter with somatic hexes of her own. As he looked upon her frightened yet resolute face, Van Richten seethed in vexation. Without a plan, he parted the wall of undead and crossed the warding line. Two of the tribe moved to halt him, but fell back amazed when they recognized him.
"Madame Radanavich! Thief!" he charged.
"Dr. Van Richten!" gasped the wrinkled woman. "How came you to Barovia? Have you set these flesh-eaters upon us? "
"Where is my son? Give me my son!" he cried in answer.
Radanavich looked over the zombies, then back at Van Richten with hardened eyes. "No! The boy is forfeit by your own agreement and by your own incompetence."
"Return him to me or I'll — I'll unleash the dead upon you," the doctor threatened.
Two burly males seized the doctor, and the old Vistana laughed cruelly. "Your brainless minions cannot touch us, Van Richten," she sneered. "We know their ways better than you."
"I want my son, witch." Madame Radanavich hobbled up to the prisoner and gazed into his pale blue eyes. "We sold the giorgio child for fair profit. He now belongs to Baron Metus." She gestured to the east with her head. "If you want the child back, deal with him."
"Sold Erasmus?" gasped Van Richten. "Why, I will — I will — "He struggled against the rough hands that held him. The old Vistana laughed.
"What will you do, little doctor? Your companions can't reach us, and it's a wonder you even found us — " She paused and frowned. "How did you find us? Only the Vistani can travel the Mists."
In spite of his predicament, Van Richten realized it was his turn to smile. "Radovan showed me the way," he replied, grinning enigmatically.
"Radovan?" she sputtered, taken aback. "My Radovan?" She began to cast worried glances toward the undead. "Dr. Van Richten, where is my son? "
"Call him," whispered Van Richten coolly. "Call your son."
"No!"
"Then I will. Radovan! Radovan, come to me!"
The dead Vistana pressed to the fore and halted at the warding circle. The gypsies who held Van Richten cried out and released him, backing away from the sight of their lifeless fellow, who weaved like a broken doll, a horse's bridle in his mouth. Madame Radanavich wailed and wrung her hands, moaning," Black gods, black gods, my poor son!"
Van Richten rushed to Radovan, seized his reins, and snarled," Here's your son, witch! Don't you want him back? I've brought him for you!" The doctor flipped the reins over the dead gypsy's head and began to pull him across the invisible barrier. Radovan's feet remained planted where they were, but his body folded unnaturally from his severed spine — he seemed to look at Van Richten as if to plead not to be pulled so, but the man tugged harder. Finally, with a stumble, the zombie crossed the line.
"He is inside the circle!" yelled a young Vistana girl. Now Radovan staggered past Van Richten and moved toward his mother.
"Stop!" she cried, making a sign against her son, but he continued toward her.
Van Richten caught the reins and held them, and Radovan paused. "Tell me where to find my son!" demanded the doctor, and the entire army of undead pronounced it with him. "Where is Erasmus?" they asked in unison.
Madame Radanavich's expression changed from fear to horror and finally to fury. She pointed two fingers and a thumb at the doctor and hissed," I curse you, Rudolph Van Richten, with all the power I have to lay you low! Live you always among monsters, and see everyone you love fall beneath their claws, starting with your son!"
Erasmus is the slave of Baron Metus, and he will be forever. "She laughed hysterically and cried," The baron is a vampire!"
"No!" cried Van Richten in horror. "No! A vampire! NO!" Hatred burst his heart, transporting him beyond reason, and he blathered," You curse me, Madame Radanavich? You curse me? I say, feel the power of that oath redoubled upon you — I curse you! I will have my son back, as you have yours!" He threw down the reins and cried," Go to her, Radovan!"
Van Richten turned upon all the terrified gypsies and screamed," I curse you all! Living dead take you as you have taken my son!" To the zombies he bellowed," Take them! Take them all!"
The army of undead writhed on the circle, pressing against it with inflamed determination, until one of them suddenly broke through where Radovan had crossed. Then another penetrated the ward on the other side of camp. Screams of alarm went up among the tribe as the circle collapsed and the mass of voracious corpses swarmed over the camp. Some of the living futilely swung weapons or tried to flee before collapsing under the rush of starving, oblivious carnivores. The Vistani's terrified wails rang through the countryside as the ghouls chewed upon their raw human flesh. The stench of fresh meat thickened the air, and slowly it penetrated Van Richten's delirium of rage — he gaped in shock as Radovan tore the bit from his mouth and began to devour his own mother before her bulging eyes.
"Stop!" he shouted, but the feeding frenzy was long beyond control. "Stop!" he bawled again, then ran from the butchery, leaving the undead to finish their human repast with smacking lips and licking tongues. He careened down a footpath, away from the carnage, crashed into some bushes, and lay there retching in utter misery. Soon his dry heaves gave way to sobbing, and he wept until dawn.