Chapter I — Sanctuary
The church looked as though something had already tried to kill it.
Its stone walls still stood beneath Castle Ravenloft, but little else suggested sanctuary. Pews had been broken and shoved out of alignment. Candelabras lay overturned. Blood stained Father Donavich’s robes. The altar bore deep scratches around a crucifix that seemed to have been handled often enough to leave marks in the wood.
Whatever had happened here had happened recently.
Rose and Thorn did not hesitate when Donavich met them.
He recognized the children, and when they told him that the strangers had saved them from the monster in their house, his concern moved immediately toward practical things. It was late. They were exhausted. Whatever story had brought them here could wait long enough for two frightened children to sleep.
He offered them his room and his son Doru’s.
Rose and Thorn disappeared behind closed doors with the ease of children accepting a familiar adult’s authority.
Only afterward did the Society explain what had happened at Durst Manor.
Elisabeta.
Walter.
The ritual.
The thing that had answered.
Donavich listened with disgust, but not disbelief. The emotion that crossed him seemed closer to weary recognition.
That kind of desperation was common here.
“Morninglord defend us.”
He crossed to the altar, where the scratches surrounding its crucifix made more sense once he removed it. The object had been taken down often enough to scar the surface beneath it.
Donavich fixed it onto the statue of the Morninglord.
The party had nowhere else to go.
Donavich granted them sanctuary for the night and began turning the ruined church into something that might approximately resemble lodging. The surviving pews would have to serve as beds.
PaK watched him prepare them.
Then he pointed toward the altar.
“Anyone going to take the big bed?”
Donavich looked where he was pointing.
A hand settled gently onto PaK’s enormous shoulder.
“That isn’t a bed, my child.”
There was no mockery in it.
Donavich helped him remove his armor, guiding him through straps and buckles before bringing him toward one of the pews.
PaK lay down.
His conclusion was immediate.
It was the most comfortable bed he had ever slept on.
Haleria thanked Donavich for his kindness.
The priest dismissed the praise. There was a young man in the village named Parriwimple, he explained, a “boy like him.” Donavich was accustomed to unusual mannerisms.
Haleria asked if Parriwimple had also been dropped on his head.
Donavich corrected her.
“Mentally disabled.”
Haleria observed that her own people were rarely afforded such grace or political kindness.
Donavich looked at her.
Did being denied kindness make perpetuating cruelty her right?
There was no time for the argument to develop.
The church shook.
Something struck the floor beneath them with enough force to carry through the pews.
Then a voice screamed up through the boards.
“FATHER! I AM STARVING!”
Donavich sighed.
He brushed off his robes.
He needed to tend to his son.
Then he passed through another room and disappeared.
The church slowly became quiet again.
The Society began preparing to sleep.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
Donavich did not return.
Da’amir finally went after him.
The room through which the priest had disappeared was as sick as the rest of the church. Water leaked through the roof. Mold crawled along damp surfaces. A trapdoor hung partially open in the floor.
Something could be heard beneath it.
Wet sounds.
Flesh being eaten.
The Society abandoned the idea of sleep.
Before descending, Haleria returned to the children.
She placed Lancelot on Rose’s lap.
Protect her.
The little dog remained behind as the doors closed.
Then the Society opened the trapdoor and descended into the earth beneath the church.
Chapter II — Father, I Am Starving
The basement was not a crypt.
There were no carved walls, polished stones, or ceremonial chambers like those beneath Durst Manor. This was simply the underside of a church: packed dirt beneath their feet and thick wooden pillars disappearing upward to support the building above.
The light barely reached between them.
Donavich lay facedown in the dirt.
Beside him was a broken chain.
Validus searched the room ahead.
Nothing.
No movement.
No figure among the columns.
Nothing emerging from the dark.
He looked forward.
The danger was above him.
Doru dropped from the ceiling.
He came down onto Validus with the force of something that had been waiting for exactly that mistake, the first attack so violent that it nearly put Validus down before the others had properly understood what they were fighting.
Haleria called upon the spirits.
The answer came quickly.
Vampire.
Weaknesses.
Revulsion.
Her eyes went immediately to Donavich’s body.
“Someone grab his crucifix!”
Then she called Guidance onto Da’amir.
Da’amir had another idea.
He pulled out his rope.
A bola began taking shape in his hands, an improvised restraint intended to be launched from the crossbow and take Doru’s legs out from beneath him.
It did not survive the shot.
The construction came apart in flight.
The arrow struck one of the wooden pillars and broke.
PaK ran for Donavich instead.
He turned the priest over.
Half an hour earlier, those same hands had helped remove PaK’s armor and led him to the most comfortable bed he could remember.
Now Donavich’s throat had been torn open by teeth.
He was dead.
PaK took the holy symbol from him.
Then he threw it across the basement to Validus.
Da’amir returned to the rope.
This time he worked it into a lasso and attached it to his ten-foot pole, reaching toward Doru in an attempt to restrain the vampire and pull him away from Validus.
For a moment the rope caught.
Then Doru thrashed.
The knots failed beneath strength no living man should have possessed.
The rope came loose.
Validus raised Donavich’s holy symbol.
Doru recoiled.
The effect was immediate.
Whatever remained of the priest’s faith still meant something to the thing that had killed him.
The vampire withdrew until there was nowhere farther to go, forced into the corner of the basement while Validus prepared to exploit what Haleria had uncovered.
For the first time, the Society had control of the room.
They advanced.
PaK reached Doru first.
His blows landed.
They did not land properly.
The vampire’s body absorbed force that should have mattered. Damage disappeared beneath unnatural resilience.
Doru retaliated.
One strike.
Then another.
The third came after the others should have made accuracy almost impossible.
It did not matter.
Doru caught PaK.
The grip became absolute.
PaK was grappled and on Death’s Door.
Doru’s mouth opened.
The fangs extended.
Da’amir drove his pole forward, trying to force the vampire away.
Doru did not move.
Haleria answered with Concordant Choir.
The sound struck where wood and steel had struggled.
Validus kept the holy symbol raised and advanced.
PaK tore himself free.
Then he went immediately back in.
This time the blow landed perfectly.
The impact was enormous.
Doru staggered.
For the first time, the vampire looked wounded.
Validus kept the symbol between them.
“The Morninglord compels you.”
Something changed.
Doru pushed through the revulsion.
“The Morninglord sucks cocks in Hell!”
He rushed Validus.
The protection collapsed in a single violent exchange.
Validus went down.
Doru bent over him.
Then he fed.
Life came out of Validus with the blood.
The holy symbol scattered across the dirt.
Da’amir recovered it.
He raised Donavich’s crucifix again.
Doru recoiled again.
But this time there was somewhere for him to go.
The stairs.
He fled toward them.
Then stopped.
Something above had caught his attention.
“I smell children.”
Rose and Thorn were upstairs.
The party moved.
Da’amir followed Doru and knocked him Clumsy with his pole.
Haleria followed.
Concordant Choir struck again.
The vampire fell.
Behind them, PaK began dragging Validus toward the stairs.
Validus’s head struck the steps repeatedly on the way up.
He remained alive.
Barely.
Da’amir went to Doru.
He took out the rope again.
The unconscious vampire was bound.
Doru was restrained.
Haleria retrieved her spear.
She drove the spear through the vampire.
Validus stabilized.
Then Haleria took the glaive.
The weapon descended.
Doru’s head came away from his body.
The Society had entered the church looking for somewhere to sleep.
They returned from beneath it almost destroyed.
They collapsed in the mold-covered room.
And this time they slept.
Chapter III — The Pastry Woman
Morning removed one horror.
Walter’s lingering weakness was gone.
The Enfeeblement that had followed them out of Durst Manor finally released its hold.
Rest had done less for everything else.
The party was healthier than it had been the night before, but not whole. Validus had suffered worst of all. After Doru’s feeding, he was moribund.
Haleria opened the door.
Lancelot was outside.
The dog slept anxiously against it.
He was supposed to be with the children.
Haleria asked what he was doing there.
Then they looked toward the bedrooms.
Both doors were open.
So was the door of the church.
Rose and Thorn were gone.
Footprints led away from the church.
The trail crossed the village and returned toward the place where the previous day’s nightmare had begun.
Durst Manor had collapsed into itself, leaving wet rubble where several floors and generations of family history had stood.
Rose and Thorn were there.
They were talking to an old woman with a cart.
Nothing in the scene initially resembled danger.
The woman was kind.
The children knew her.
Her name, Rose casually supplied, was Morgantha.
The Dursts were regular customers.
Rose had hurried away because she did not want to miss the delivery of Dream Pastries. Daddy normally handled that, but Daddy was missing.
Dream Pastries were his favorite.
The Society simply had to try them.
Morgantha congratulated the party for taking care of the “kiddios.”
Good deeds deserved rewards.
One pie was on the house.
There were two varieties that morning.
Meat.
Fruit.
Da’amir chose meat.
The pastry was savory and hot, filled with venison and wolf meat beneath a rich brown sauce. After resurrection, starvation, Durst Manor, Walter, Doru and almost no proper food between them, it was the first meal in days that resembled something made for pleasure rather than survival.
He ate.
His wounds seemed to settle beneath the warmth of it.
Color returned.
PaK considered trying some.
Then he smelled the pie.
“Too complex. Too many flavors. I like raw.”
Validus watched Morgantha.
He tried to detect whether anything lay beneath the pleasant old woman and her pastry cart.
He found no malice.
Da’amir, meanwhile, wanted more.
Could he be added to the delivery route?
Rose supplied the answer.
Daddy owned the windmill where Morgantha and the others worked. He normally coordinated their deliveries.
Rose hoped they found him soon.
Otherwise people might not get their pastries.
The windmill.
The deed recovered from Gustav’s chest had named an old mill among the Durst holdings.
Here, apparently, was what it had meant.
Haleria continued talking with Morgantha.
The woman claimed to use only the finest ingredients.
Haleria asked her name directly despite Rose already having supplied it.
Morgantha never answered.
Haleria reached for money.
Silver pieces.
She pressed them toward Morgantha’s hand.
Skin touched skin.
Strength vanished from Haleria.
The weakness came suddenly enough to force her back.
A headache followed.
Morgantha turned toward Da’amir.
“I do hope you enjoy your pastry, Da’amir. Come see me again for more soon, deerie.”
Nobody had told her his name.
Then she pushed the cart away and continued her rounds.
Haleria lowered herself onto the small stone wall beside the ruined house.
Her head pounded.
Behind her, Rose and Thorn looked at what remained of home.
The Society asked why they had run away.
They had already explained it.
They could not miss the pastry delivery.
Thorn looked toward the rubble.
“I want mama…”
Validus crouched into the lie.
He would find their parents.
The words came perfectly.
Rose and Thorn believed him.
Trust softened something between them.
For the moment, that was enough.
But first they needed somewhere safe.
Mrs. Petrovna.
Rose knew her mother’s friend lived in Vallaki.
There was only one complication.
Rose hoped she would be allowed to stay in the Petrovna house.
She did not want to be sent to the orphanage.
Validus had experience with orphanages.
He decided to share it.
He had grown up in one.
It was horrible.
The beds were bad.
You had to share a room.
Thorn began to cry.
His stuffed animal disappeared against his chest as he clutched it.
“I don’t want to go to the orphanage! I want my room and bed!”
Haleria fought through her headache and tried to calm him.
The look she gave Validus made clear that further assistance was unnecessary.
Da’amir assisted anyway.
“It’s better than dying to the wolves in the forest!”
Rose looked at the ruins.
Daddy used to hunt wolves.
He could have kept them safe.
The rubble offered no response.
Chapter IV — Goods for the Road
Bildrath’s Mercantile survived by selling necessities to people who had few alternatives.
The Society needed necessities.
The road to Vallaki would require supplies they did not have, and whatever little wealth had survived Durst Manor now needed to become practical things.
Bildrath was an unusual man.
He ornamented his speech with phrases that were almost correct and cultural references worn badly enough to reveal themselves as costume.
Haleria became his preferred target.
Foreigner.
Traveler.
Someone who might not know what anything in Barovia should cost.
The prices reflected his optimism.
The party traded anyway.
Validus carried the copy of Lancelot du Lac they had recovered from the Durst library.
It had helped identify Lancelot’s name.
Now it had monetary value.
Validus traded it for a healer’s kit.
Thorn saw the book leave.
“My story!”
Rose looked at him.
“You can’t read anyway.”
Thorn’s face collapsed.
“Daddy used to read it to me.”
The trade continued.
A healer’s kit mattered more on the road.
Haleria sold her glaive for gold.
The same blade that had removed Doru’s head now became currency.
PaK inspected a healing potion.
Bildrath wanted ten gold pieces.
PaK negotiated.
By the time the exchange ended, the price had fallen all the way to four.
The normal price.
Da’amir bought a fishing rod.
Six gold pieces.
No apocalypse, cult, vampire, collapsing mansion or starving road could apparently erase the possibility that someday there might be fish.
As the negotiations wound down, Bildrath’s false sophistication began giving way to something less performative.
The party needed to leave.
Soon.
Before the Devil killed him for helping them.
A voice came from the rear of the shop.
Parriwimple appeared.
“Uncle? Am I allowed to come out now?”
Bildrath snapped at him to get back.
Then, once his nephew had been dismissed, Bildrath explained the situation to Haleria.
His poor nephew was a waste of space.
He would never be a man.
Only the night before, Donavich had corrected Haleria’s language when she joked about someone being dropped on his head.
The village had a boy like PaK.
Parriwimple.
Donavich had called him mentally disabled.
He had insisted on kindness.
Now the party understood the context in which that kindness had mattered.
They left Bildrath’s shop with supplies for the road.
Behind them, Parriwimple remained with his uncle.
Ahead of them, Castle Ravenloft remained above everything.
Chapter V — Don’t Look Up
Outside, Haleria returned to the title everyone seemed to use.
The Devil.
Barovia spoke about Strahd as though the name and title could be separated.
Strahd von Zarovich was a man.
The Devil was something children were taught to fear.
Thorn knew a rhyme.
“This is the Devil Strahd’s domain,
don’t look up or you’ll feel his reign.”
Nobody particularly enjoyed hearing that beneath the castle.
They kept walking.
The Blood on the Vine Tavern was nearly empty.
Only two people sat eating breakfast.
Brother and sister.
Ireena and Ismark.
Ismark recognized Rose.
The greeting had the same familiarity that Bildrath and Morgantha had shown her. This was not a village populated by strangers occupying adjacent buildings. Rose Durst belonged here.
She informed him that their house had fallen down.
There had also been a monster attack.
Haleria ordered water from the bar.
The man serving it displayed almost no emotion.
Once the children were occupied collecting drinks, Haleria told Ismark what had actually happened.
Ismark sighed.
It was a tragedy.
Particularly for him.
The Dursts had been the largest estate on Barovia’s tax roll.
As Burgomaster, he was now going to need to make cuts.
Ireena punched him in the shoulder.
His priorities reordered themselves.
Their own father had died the previous week.
A sudden heart attack.
According to Ismark, there were worse ways to die here.
Many worse ways.
His father’s death had left him Burgomaster.
A week into the job, one of the village’s largest estates had collapsed, its owners were missing or dead, and its surviving children had arrived in his tavern under the protection of outsiders.
He offered to take them to Vallaki himself.
Rose and Thorn were the town’s future.
Their safety was his responsibility.
Ireena objected.
Their father had only just died.
The village was already anxious.
Now the Dursts had suffered a catastrophe large enough to leave one of Barovia’s great houses as rubble.
People would be worse.
If the newly installed Burgomaster disappeared for a week, Ireena feared another peasant revolt.
Ismark did not particularly like the alternative.
Ireena would go.
She knew the road.
She had made the journey many times beside her father when Kolyan attended meetings with Vallaki’s Burgomaster.
She could guide them.
She left to prepare the wagon.
Ismark remained with Haleria.
Keep his sister safe.
Keep the children safe.
And when they reached Vallaki, stay there.
Barovia was not safe.
Travel beneath the sun.
Do not continue after dark.
And above all else—
Stay away from the castle.
He looked toward Ravenloft.
“It is a beating heart of sorrow pumping evil and darkness into the land.”
The Devil liked foreigners.
Not because he welcomed them.
Because he enjoyed playing with them.
The Society had already survived the Mists, Durst Manor and a vampire beneath a church.
Ismark did not find that reassuring.
Get to Vallaki.
Stay there.
Ireena would know the way home.
But as for the strangers—
“It will be a miracle if you reach Vallaki unharmed.”
He let that settle.
“It would be suicide to attempt it twice.”
Outside, Ireena prepared the wagon.
Rose and Thorn had somewhere to go.
The road to Vallaki waited.
Castle Ravenloft remained above them.