Tales of Ravenloft

Cold, Hard Silver

The beautiful young woman who stood on Baratok's western slope seemed disoriented, like one but recently wakened from a long sleep. In the foothills below and to her right were barrens dotted with pits, tailings, and workers'huts, which marked the location of rich silver mines. On either side stretched outliers of the vast Tepurich Forest. Beyond, at the mountain's base, lay Wagner Lake, its waters lapping the shores near the boyar's mansion and the adjacent village, pastures, and farmholds.

The scene ought to have gladdened her heart, for in times long past, Jezra was the Wagners'heiress. All she beheld belonged to her. But a terrible curse now forever divided her from kindred and home.

She gazed sadly at the bleak, autumnal landscape. Snow had come early to Baratok this year; even before the last leaves fell, deep drifts had accumulated above the mines and forest. The moon, at its zenith, reflected on a stark white wilderness and illuminated Jezra's silvery tresses and strange, pale eyes.

Bathed in pearlescent, unearthly radiance, she shivered despite her costly fur-lined cloak. Anguish contorted her exquisite face. Why was she condemned to wander endlessly through wintry weather, never knowing spring and summer? Why must she be alone and friendless? And why, no matter how warmly she was clad, was she always so cold? — as if knives of ice stabbed her to the very bone, never ceasing their brutal torture.

Suddenly her attention was caught by a faint glimmer in the forests below. Pinpricks of light moved slowly on an angling course from south to north, heading toward the mines.

Torches! People carrying brands to guide them in the woods!

After a moment of wonderment, Jezra realized this was the last night the miners would spend on Mount Baratok until spring. The torches probably were borne by the workmen's families, hurrying to meet their fathers and brothers dwelling in the hillside huts. It was most unusual for Barovians to be abroad at night, but she understood a yearning to see kin after a long separation. Tomorrow, the reunited families would return to the village. There the miners would deliver the results of a season's labor — a mule train loaded with refined silver — to the boyar's stronghold. That pattern had been repeated for generations on the Wagner estates. It was one she remembered well.

Hunger kindled in Jezra's heart, a hunger as intense as the perpetual cold afflicting her. To hear voices, to feel the touch of a hand, to know the warmth of a human presence. .

Warmth!

It was a long way down to the forest, but nothing would deter her from reaching her goal. Wreathed in mist and moonlight, she started to descend Mount Baratok.

Five mercenaries and a half-breed Vistana woman climbed a narrow, twisting animal track. Towering trees, leafless silhouettes against the hazy, moonlit sky, swayed overhead. The glow of the travelers'torches cast eerie, wavering shadows, and creatures hidden in the surrounding blackness cried out sharply, startlingly. A thickening mist crawled like a serpent through frostrimmed brush and deadfalls, obscuring the steep path.

"How can he see where we are going?" one of the mercenaries said, furtively indicating the darkly hand- some giant at the head of their group.

"Need you ask?" the youngest fighter muttered. "He sees like a wolf or a cat, thanks to that damned enchanted sword. "His tone sour, he added," and because of it he wields powers none but the gods should own."

"Aye, but on this climb he is relying on the gypsy to guide him. And how trustworthy is she, after watching him kill her cousin? "

"As trustworthy as the spells he uses to control her and the rest of us," the young man said with smothered rage.

They spoke softly, but Lord Captain Hans Eckert overheard them. He halted abruptly and wheeled around. His height allowed him to loom over his men dauntingly. "Why do you chatter and drag your feet?" he demanded. "One would think we had never invaded enemy territory ere now. What has become of the boasting cutthroats I led against Teglan's forces and the maddened hordes of Dessiro? You were bold enough then."

"This. . this is different, Cap'n," the eldest fighter said," and that was another time and place."

For a moment, the handsome giant's expression grew remote. "Yes, another place. . "Then he focused again on his followers and growled," a place where you paid little heed to a storyteller's pratings. I told you to ignore that silly graybeard back in the tavern at the crossroads. Have we met any of the creatures he warned us about? "

"The. . the wolf-thing that jumped us just after we started up the trail."

"The werewolf, you mean," Hans corrected him, scornful. "The dead werewolf. You saw my sword cut him down. Gods, how the brute yowled! And were any of you harmed? Did the man-wolf even touch you? Ho! Nor will any Barovian monsters, not so long as I wield this." He lovingly caressed the weapon's silver pommel.

Hate glittered in the black eyes of the gypsy at his side. "Warlock!" she cried. "If I could contact my people, they would warn the count of your presence here, and he would destroy you!"

"Your people, Lisl?" Eckert's mouth curved in a cruel smile. "But half-breed gypsies have no people. The Vis- tana tribes cast them out. True? Your stupid cousin revealed that, as he did so many other useful things before I washed my sword in his blood."

She gasped and pressed her hands to her heart. "Oh, Sebestyen, poor Sebestyen. ."

"Best appreciate your current enslavement, or you can join him in his wretched, unmarked grave."

"Have you no decency left, Brother?" the youngest mercenary exclaimed. "Quit tormenting her!"

The giant's icy gaze shifted in his direction. "Ah! Lisl's chivalrous would-be protector is heard from. Still the moralist, eh, Wilm? You and she both learn slowly." Hans drew upon the enchanted weapon's power. A familiar sensation gripped Wilm and the gypsy, holding them fast while invisible whips lashed their bodies. The flogging left no marks, but the pain was very real. The three mercenaries cringed, remembering past occasions when similar punishment had been meted out to them.

Hans laughed as his victims'limbs trembled and their eyes bulged with silent pleas for mercy. Finally, with a negligent gesture, he released the sufferers and addressed them and his hirelings sternly. "Take warning: Waste no more of my precious time. All of you — move!"

Still shaking from her ordeal, Lisl stumbled up the path. Her master did not look back to see if his brother and the other men followed him; there was no need.

Ruthlessness was as much a part of Captain Hans Eckert's garb as the finely Grafted wool, leather, and metal he wore. Like his men, he went well-armed, but no weapon they carried was a match for his blade. Its keen edge and sorcerous powers had cut down many a foe — most recently, a werewolf!

As he trod close behind the gypsy, his thoughts strayed to Wilm's impotent outburst minutes ago. Foolish, idealistic Wilm! Faithful to a boyhood vow, he had been his sibling's loyal lieutenant throughout their mercenary careers. Not even profound disgust with that sibling's ever more vicious behavior had made the young man renounce the oath. And now he could not; the sword's obedience spell bound him with unseen but unbreakable chains. No matter how severe the provoca- tion or how much Wilm's conscience protested, he must never raise his hand against his master and must follow wherever Hans chose to go. .

Or did not choose. .

The captain's smile faded. He had built a solid reputation as a mercenary leader who did not quibble over the amount of blood spilled or whether or not his employer's cause was just. And he had amassed considerable loot and acquired influence among kings and princes who hired him.

Then he came upon a dying mage in a castle's ruins. His vision failing, the necromancer mistook Captain Eckert for an apprentice who had been slain during the attack. With his last words, the mage entrusted Hans with an ensorceled blade and its secrets.

The captain's first spellcasting enforced lifelong obedience on those attending him — Wilm and the three veteran mercenaries. It even protected him from assassination while he slept. Next he concealed the blade within arcane shields, lest enemy wizards steal it from him ere he had fathomed all its powers, which promised to be enormous.

He proceeded cautiously, discovering the range of the sword's magic little by little. At each new conquest, each overthrown opponent, each new trick of the sword revealed, he grew more confident. In time, this marvelous weapon would put wealth, slaves, and perhaps a throne within his grasp, if he controlled his impatience and did not become foolhardy. And no one ever accused Hans Eckert of being a fool.

Steadily, surely, abetted by the sword, he ascended. Shrewd, calculating, pitiless to any standing in his way, he neared the heights. Within a year, kings who once treated him as a hireling would grovel before his majesty. . And then his dreams of glory vanished in impenetrable mist.

One moment he was about to capture an important stronghold, slaughter its inhabitants, and plunder at his leisure. The conquest would enhance his rapidly growing political strength.

But a peculiar fog separated Hans, his three veteran fighters, and Wilm from the rest of the army. And when the mist lifted, the five found themselves in this alien realm, Barovia.

Initially unperturbed, Hans called upon his sword to help retrace their steps. In vain! The portal between his world and this one remained hidden. Evil gods and some sorcery far greater than his blade thwarted every attempt to escape.

How could this have happened? All his hard-won wealth and influence lay on the far side of that diabolical mist, and he could not reach them! The mercenary genius who had ensnared so many others was himself ensnared! Hans belabored the problem and brooded for days before he was forced to concede defeat.

There seemed no way out. So. . he must adapt if he hoped to survive. This was, in effect, enemy terrain, and he must study it. Over Wilm's outraged objections to the shedding of innocent blood, Hans coerced information from isolated farm families and wayfarers and left the bodies for scavengers. He learned that Barovia harbored numerous fantastic and deadly creatures. And the mist that had trapped him was not unusual; such mists were all too common in this realm, and were rightly feared.

The wealth and reputation that could have kept Hans and his followers sheltered and well fed lay on the far side of that infernal gate of mist.

In the end, they stooped to robbery, always leaving evidence to imply that the thefts and murders were committed by renegade gypsies. Wilm, naturally, abhorred these despicable forays even as his brother Compelled him to participate.

Inwardly, though, Hans, too, seethed with resentment. He was a master mercenary, a man on his way to great things. It was shameful to be reduced to common pilfering and throat slitting!

He must escape from Barovia. If he could not return to his own world, he would seek out other realms in this one — realms ripe for the sort of conquest Captain Eckert had perfected elsewhere. Once he left Von Zarovich's fog-shrouded land, Hans could create a domain of his own. Wealth was the key, and for a time, he despaired of ever acquiring sufficient funds to fulfill his dreams.

When he first met Lisl and her cousin he did not foresee the gypsy half-breeds'value to him. But tuika brandywine loosened Sebestyen's tongue. He began to boast of big plans for stealing an annual shipment of silver from the Wagner mines. Hans immediately saw the flaws in the clumsy scheme. And he saw how to correct them with the aid of his enchanted sword. The end result would be a masterpiece!

In drunken generosity, the Vistana offered to make his new "friend" a partner. Hans, however, had no intention of sharing. Resisting the takeover, Sebestyen forfeited his life.

Terrorized and grief-stricken, Lisl was easily bound by an obedience spell. She became an unwilling native guide to Barovia, particularly to this mountain trail. Once Hans had the treasure and was safely across the border, she would serve him in a more sensual capacity. And if Lisl failed to please, she would go the way of her cousin. Small loss; there were countless other women he could enslave.

Sebestyen had proposed an operation worthy of Captain Eckert's talents: an entire season's output of refined silver. His palms itched at the prospect, and he lusted to hold the lovely, argent metal, the shining foundation of his future private kingdom.

King Hans! He liked the ring of that, and soon it would be true! The path had begun to fork and divide confusingly, sometimes dwindling to nearly nothing. He held his torch high, probing the darkness, staying to the main trail with difficulty. "How much farther to the campsite?" he demanded.

Lisl tensed at the sound of his harsh voice. "I. . I do not know."

He seized her arm in a brutal grip. "Liar! Your cousin knew. But that map he sketched for me on the tavern's filthy tabletop was as muddled with wine as his brain. Sebestyen bragged that gypsies are familiar with every pathway in this realm. Prove it!"

He thrust her away from him so violently that she nearly fell. The Vistana rubbed her aching arm and dabbed at her tears with the hem of her shawl as she staggered on.

All about them now, trees thinned, scrubbier varieties replacing the forest titans of the lower mountain. Through gaps in the woodland wall, the journeyers saw open ground, a frozen desolation drenched in waning moonlight.

"Hope we is nearin'them mines," a mercenary wheezed. "I wants to get about killin'them pit workers and takin'the silver."

"Save your breath," Wilm said curtly, eyeing his bloodthirsty fellow fighter with distaste. "No telling how much farther he will make us climb. . "

But in fact, within fifty paces they reached the sought-for campsite. Five of the travelers sank gratefully onto the stone benches ringing an ancient fire pit. Hans alone was energetic, buoyed by anticipation. He walked to the northernmost edge of the clearing and gazed out at the barrens. Not far away stood miners' huts, securely shuttered against the night. With an evil smirk, he touched the sword. Lisl and the men watched him anxiously, sensing magic in the frosty air. Satisfied with his efforts, Eckert turned and said, "Gather fuel. Get a fire going."

"Will that not reveal us to them there on the slope, Cap'n?"

"No. Nor will our torches. I willed the miners to see and hear nothing beyond their doors. So you have no excuse for not working. Move."

They did, grumbling. And when the pit glowed with heat, they grumbled about the hard cheese and dried meat they had brought in their packs. Exasperated, Hans used the sword to lure two plump hares within reach, skewering the helpless prey. Content at last, the mercenaries butchered and roasted the game, devouring it noisily.

Wilm and Lisl ate little and sat apart from the rest. Clasping hands, they eyed each other sympathetically, mutual enslavement and hatred of their enslaver linking them. As a cold wind soughed overhead, the gypsy began to croon. The haunting melody gave the brutish mercenaries pause. Even Captain Eckert listened with interest.

"What is that song?" he asked when she finished.

"Regina d'Ghiacco."

He grimaced. "The Ice Queen? 'That ridiculous Vistana legend of a beautiful spirit who prowls this mountain? "

"Jezra Wagner is not a legend," Lisl snapped. "She was buried in an avalanche long ago. Her spirit roams Mount Baratok and the lands about and seeks relief from the terrible cold that always afflicts her. If she touches you. . it is death."

The veterans'eyes widened. Hans, though, spat an obscenity. "Ridiculous!" he repeated. "Who has seen this Ice Queen? You? And if she is such a menace, how has anyone lived to tell the tale after encountering her?"

Lisl shrugged. "I said you die only if she touches you. Some who saw her managed to flee before she got too close. Later, they returned and found their unfortunate companions frozen."

His laugh echoed through the clearing. "And you superstitious Barovians can think of no other way a man might freeze to death? If a fool gawks at a snow mirage until his blood congeals, that does not prove spirits exist. "The mercenaries, encouraged by his explanation, nodded and chuckled.

Lisl insisted, "Jezra is real, and the gods help those who invade her ancestral lands, as we are doing."

Hans lashed out, slapping her hard. She fell back on the stone bench, her cheek reddening from the blow. Wilm struggled to rise and defend the gypsy, but could not; his brother crushed that noble impulse with a scornful glance and a touch on his sword.

"You seem to have an affection for her," he said, his tone mocking. "Very well then, keep her quiet. Share her naive beliefs in Vistana legends, if it solaces, so long as you are not noisy about it. As for me, I believe only in money. Not gold, precious though it is, for it is too soft for my nature. No, I will have a fortune fit for a king — cold, hard silver, enough to last me a lifetime!"

On the mountain slope, the beautiful young woman halted. She had been listening to a melancholy song issuing from the woods and wondered why it had ceased so abruptly. The ancient tune and the singer's sweet alto voice had been pleasing.

She wondered, too, why the journeyers stopped where they did. Jezra had assumed they would continue straight on to the miners'huts. Instead, they made camp on the border between forest and barrens.

No matter. Indeed, this was better. She would rendezvous sooner than she had expected.

Ever since she had begun her descent at twilight, she had adjusted her course to intersect with theirs. Now she would meet these people face to face. Her heart pounded with excitement. How she could speak to them, perhaps share her own songs with the woman she had heard earlier. . and she could touch them. .

The strange hunger in her breast worsened with every passing moment. She must hurry! Her pale eyes gleaming, Jezra headed toward the camp at the edge of the barrens.

A lopsided discussion was underway there, the veterans questioning, their captain sweeping aside every doubt expressed.

"But the count, the boyar's thief-takers. ."

"No thief-takers will pursue us. Admittedly, Sebestyen's original plan would have drawn them like flies to carrion. He was going to recruit a gang of fellow half-breeds to slit the miners'throats. How stupid and clumsy! And entirely unnecessary!" Hans grinned and said," Once the moon is set, we will simply walk over to the huts. At my command, the bespelled workmen will emerge from their hovels and load the silver on mules for us. We lead the pack train back here, then on down the mountain. ."

"Leaving a trail of footprints and hoofprints a child could follow," Wilm commented acidly.

Hans noted that his brother still held Lisl's hand. This deepening affection between them might explain the pair's annoying tendency toward defiance. He would smash Wilm's feeble little rebellion in due time. As for Lisl. .

"You forget my sword's power," he said, gesturing grandly. "The mountain flank above the mines is heavy with snow, a weight that needs only a touch of magic to bring it down on them. The avalanche will cover everything, including tracks. To the boyar, it will seem an unfortunate accident. By next spring's thaw, when he discovers the truth, we will be far away — and very rich!" Hans sat back, his expression smug.

The mercenaries nodded approvingly. "Ai! Twil be a treat to see 'em squashed under all that snow!" one crowed, his mates slapping their knees and grinning.

Lisl shivered, and Wilm put an arm around her. "Come closer to the fire," he said.

"It is not. . not that kind of cold. It is. ."

"We still have a while before the moon sets," Hans interrupted them. "Amuse us, gypsy. Tell our fortunes, for fortunes we soon will have!"

Lisl shivered again and shook her head. Wilm pleaded that his brother let her be, but Hans demanded she obey. "I know you play those Vistana tricks, woman. I saw you reading fortunes for the tavern patrons. Read ours."

Reluctantly, she knelt by the fire pit and pulled a set of runes from her pocket, casting the engraved stones on the ground.

"Well?" the eldest mercenary exclaimed. "What do they say? "

"That you will finally have relief from the aches in your bones, an end to the old wounds that often pain you."

He looked surprised, then smiled. "A good fortune, that! No more pain while we and the Cap'n lounge about the foreign palace he will buy with that silver!"

"What about me?" another asked.

Lisl threw the runes again, her manner solemn. "I see you. . elsewhere. "

The man guffawed. "Elsewhere than Barovia, you mean. Far away! I will drink to that, once we are across the border with the loot."

The gypsy seemed about to add to the prophecy, but did not. Instead she cast the runes for the remaining mercenary. "A long journey for you as well."

"Not comin'back to Barovia ever, am I?" he worried.

"No. Not ever."

Wilm knelt beside her and whispered," What do you foresee for us?"

She cast the runes carelessly and said," Freedom."

"You have not read my fortune," Hans cut in. He chuckled at her surprise. "I need not believe this mumbojumbo to be amused. Throw the stones."

This time, Lisl peered closely at the runes'position, then stared at Captain Eckert. "I see silver. Cold, hard silver. You will have more of it than you can carry."

"Ha! It takes no arcane skill to predict that! Of course I shall have the silver," he said loudly, as if daring anyone to argue. "After all I have done to win it, I deserve that silver."

Lisl thought of her cousin. Wilm remembered scores of helpless victims cut down by his brother, as though those people were less than insects. The gypsy said tonelessly," Yes, you deserve it."

Suddenly, a moan of agony stunned the group. Hans whirled around and watched in astonishment as a beautiful stranger rushed into the clearing.

She was a tiny, lovely woman dressed in an elegant habit, her cloak lined with the most expensive fur. Hair the color of silver flowed about her shoulder? and exquisite face. Her eyes were an incredible blue, and they seemed to pierce the captain's soul.

Hans had never beheld such a woman. Fascination warred with suspicion. "Who. . who are you? Where did you come from? "

"Where? I come from the mountain. My mountain."

"Yours?" He sounded inane, even to himself. His shock was now heavily tinged with apprehension, and he unsheathed his sword.

"I am Jezra, and all the Wagner lands are mine. " Briefly, she glanced at the others, then returned her attention to Captain Eckert.

"You are one of the count's spies, sent to stop me from taking the silver!" he shouted, raising the sword and ordering his men to attack. As alarmed by the unforeseen threat as he, the mercenaries hastened to cut down this intruder.

Compelled to obey his brother's commands, Wilm, too, started forward. But Lisl clutched at his arm desperately, holding him back. "Stay away from her!" she screamed. "She is death!"

If Hans heard the warning, he gave no sign. "By edge of steel or by my magic, you perish!" the captain exulted. "Become the ghost you claim to be!" His sorcerous blade slashed completely through the stranger's pretty neck.

To no effect.

The mercenaries struck her breast and belly and head. None of their blades drew blood.

Hans Eckert gawked at his sword and then at the woman. "This cannot be! It is impossible! The sword must kill you. I bade it take your life!"

"Why are you so unkind?" Jezra wailed. "I only want to share your fire, your presence. . "As swift as light, she darted at them, taking hold of each man in turn, pleading for understanding.

As she made contact, bodies were transformed instantly into glittering, crystalline ice. Three frozen corpses stood in the clearing when Jezra reached Hans.

The spirit touched him, and the touch became an embrace. Her small arms slid around his waist as she gazed up at him. "You are too handsome to be such a cruel man. So handsome, and so warm. No, please, do not pull away from me! Just let me hold you for a while." Sighing, she laid her silvery tresses against his chest and hugged him tightly.

Invisible manacles fell from Wilm's wrists. The compulsion that forced him to serve a brother grown hateful and murderous vanished like dew in a bright sunrise.

Dumbfounded, he stared at Hans and the silver-haired woman. She embraced a man of ice who held a sword of ice. As she at last withdrew a pace from the mercenaries'leader, an abnormally powerful gust of wind roared up the trail. It was preternatural, an angry god's breath, thrusting violently at the lifeless statue of Lord Captain Eckert. The crystallized form swayed for a long moment, then fell with a crash, shattering, and the magic sword shattered beside him.

Jezra was oblivious to this stunning conclusion of their embrace. She cried in ecstasy," Warm! I am warm again. "It was a prayer of thanksgiving, and she repeated it over and over, dancing among the remaining ice-clad statues she had made. The spirit sang joyously of spring and summer, things she had not known for centuries.

Lisl tugged urgently at Wilm's arm. "Do not listen. Her singing can drive mortals mad. Quickly! We must get away. Legends say that her joy when she steals warmth from the living lasts only a short time. Then the Ice Queen might seek us."

The young man sheathed his sword, and he and the gypsy sidled cautiously around the fire pit and hurried to the edge of the woods. "We can go to the miners'huts," Wilm suggested. "The spell Hans cast is broken for them, too, now."

"Yes! We will be safe there. Safe. . and free." Reminded of the accuracy of her earlier prophecies, Wilm felt a chill snake down his spine.

They paused at the forest's edge and looked back at the camp. Jezra still danced there, leafless trees visible through her graceful, insubstantial face and body. Broken pieces of a steaming, half-frozen corpse and a nowuseless mage sword lay at her feet.

"What of her?" Wilm wondered. "Poor specter!"

"She will return to the mountain," Lisl said. "Jezra spoke truly. The Wagner estates are her home, and she guarded their upland holdings from invaders tonight."

Wilm stared at his elder brother's remains. Moonlight gleamed on the frozen pieces, making them resemble a heap of sparkling coins. "You spoke truly as well, Lisl," he said. "Hans finally won his cold, hard silver, enough to last him through eternity. Come. He has no power to keep us with him anymore. "Holding hands, the couple walked on toward the mines.

And Jezra Wagner, the Ice Queen, singing a paean to the warmth of life, danced out of the forest clearing. Bathed in silvery moonlight and momentarily rid of the terrible hunger that drove her, she began to ascend Mount Baratok.