Bucket and rope were missing, but I'd expected as much. I sat on the edge of the stones and swung my legs around, easing myself into the well. Its rock sides were hot to touch, but not uncomfortably so, growing cooler as I descended; my hands had no difficulty maintaining purchase. Down I went, until my boots splashed into the debris-clogged water. I went lower in order to thoroughly soak the bottom of my cape, but when I began climbing back up, something tugged at it, pulling strongly.
Thinking that the edge had simply caught on something, I turned to shake it loose and nearly lost my hold on the wall from the surprise. Clinging to the hem were two small fists belonging to a thin child not more than ten years old.
Dumbfounded for all of two seconds, without further thought, I reached down and grabbed one stick of a wrist and hauled upward. The waif instantly wrapped arms and legs around my body in a death-grip. The extra weight was negligible; I climbed back to the top quick as a spider.
Once out of the well, I took a look at my partially drowned rat. It was a girl, if one might draw conclusions about the dripping rags that served as a dress. Her bone-white face was puffed from tears and blank with shock, and it took no little effort to peel her from my waist and set her on the ground. She took one terrified look at the village, another at the body of a woman slumped near the well, then fastened herself around my legs and started wailing.
Grief has its place and purpose, but hers was a decided impediment to my urgent business. I pushed her an arm's length away, stared hard into her eyes, and instructed her to be quiet and go to sleep. Her weeping hiccupped to a stop, and I lay her limp body onto a bare patch of earth for the time being.
That distraction dealt with, I drew the incense from my pocket, found a brand of wood, and commenced the work of casting the spell I'd planned.
This was no light undertaking; I wasn't even sure of success, but after several minutes'work, the first tremors of power began running through me like the hot blood of battle fever. Squeezing a quantity of water from my cloak was the final step. I shouted the last words completing the spell at the sky and clapped my hands overhead. Raw power leapt from them, shooting up until its dark purple aura was lost against the clouds.
Nothing visible happened for a time, then I detected a shifting in the gray billows above, like a great animal rousing itself. They roiled and writhed in harrowing silence, then a kind of pale mist suddenly obscured their details.
Rain struck my upturned face.
It was better than I'd hoped. Such magic is difficult to manipulate; sometimes the results of alteration are as impossible to predict as natural weather. But this time I'd brought about a steady soaking downpour that hissed and steamed among the flames, gradually smothering them. I was well satisfied.
Free now to turn my attention to the child, I spent some moments waking her and more still gently opening her mind up to questioning. Because she was so young, and thus had little understanding of adult things, it was a tax on my patience to correctly interpret her answers into something comprehensible.
As far as I could judge, hers had been an unremarkable village, like hundreds of others dotting the valleys of Barovia. All had been at peace until the arrival of perhaps a dozen or so strangers who blithely announced they were taking the place over. When the elderly farmer who acted as burgomaster dared to question this, they cut his head off. After a few days of plunder and play, the new landlords grew bored and began the butchery, ultimately setting fire to everything. The girl had only survived because her desperate mother had dropped her into the uncertain safety of the well at the last moment.
I glanced at the woman's body. There was a fearful gashing on her back and shoulders. Sword wounds.
By the time I'd gotten this much from the girl, my conveyance was approaching in the distance. The downpour had apparently extended at least to the edge of the fire and likely beyond, else the horses would never have kept coming. I welcomed it, stopping and turning them until they faced east toward Vallaki. Since the back was crammed with boxes — including a special one large enough for a man to lie in — I put the girl up front on the driver's bench. She was alert to the point of being aware of her surroundings, but unable to offer much reaction. Crouching miserably in the rain, holding hard to the seat, she stared at me with neither expectation nor fear.
That counted for something. I firmly ignored the temptation of her blood while drawing my cloak around her slight body. Its heavy wool was wet, but would keep her warm enough until she reached Vallaki. I had more work ahead of me, anyway, and wished to rid myself of its encumbrance.
"The coach will stop at an inn," I said to her. "Tell the people there that Lord Vasili commands they care for you and the horses until his return. Understand?"
She nodded. Having imparted the instructions with a slight mental nudge, I could trust that she would readily pass the message on in a clear manner. She would be well fostered.
As the horses and wagon lurched over the now muddy road with their new cargo, I turned to the west, arms once more spread to ride the wind, and began to search beyond the burned area surrounding the village. Six hours later, after backtracking a sodden and nearly obscured trail originating in a wheat field, I discovered them camped high up in the foothills of Mount Baratok, to the north. Bandits they were, by the look of them, though it would not have mattered to me if they'd been nobles or slaves.
They'd sheltered in one of the caves piercing the limestone there and, from the piles of refuse thrown about, had evidently been in occupancy for quite a period prior to their invasion of the village. My small body hanging easily from the slender branch of a nearby tree, I settled in to listen to the men on guard.
Their talk was instructive, giving me to understand they'd not only murdered and done the arson, but from their high perch commanding a fine view of the valley, had taken rare delight at the fiery show. How disappointing that the rain had put an end to it; some were still grumbling over the ill luck hours afterward.
They were predators, but careless ones. A predator myself, I well knew the joy of the hunt, but also the responsibility, and to wantonly kill all your prey means your own death as well.
Particularly so in their case. Barovia was mine, the land, the peoples, mine to do with as I pleased. I would tolerate no interlopers despoiling my property.
Strahd von Zarovich looks after his own.
Abandoning the tree, I flew away, out of their limited sight, and became a man again, eyes and ears — and other senses — alert to all that lay around me. I became aware of a pack of wolves living not a quarter mile distant and put forth a silent call for them to come. In a remarkably short time I was surrounded by a number of their great, shaggy bodies. Grinning and panting, they bumped and fell against me to express their affection, nipping each other in their excitement and making soft yips and growls of greeting. I fairly basked in it, but not for long. At a soft word of command, they quietly followed me, threading through the trees like ghosts.
We stopped well outside the nimbus of light from the bandits'campfire. While the wolves remained hidden and waited, I slipped forward and made a slight noise to attract the attention of one of the men. They'd been in Barovia long enough to be cautious; instead of one coming to investigate, I had three to deal with. No matter.
Swords drawn and keeping within sight of each other, they crept forward into the trees, muttering cautions to be careful, treading on dry leaves, and otherwise announcing their intrusive presence to anyone or anything with ears to hear. I stood in the deep shadow of an elderly oak until the man I'd chosen came even with it, then reached out and plucked him from his feet without a sound. Pinning his arms with one hand and with the other clamped firmly over his face, I swiftly retreated with my prize. He kicked and flailed, ultimately vocalizing a strangled noise, but this was well muffled and brief for lack of air. My palm both covered his mouth and pinched his nose. His friends heard nothing.