The Raven's Whisper

Ismark was on his fourth glass of brandy.

Outside, the rain gave the Village of Barovia no respite. Inside, at The Raven’s Whisper, the air smelled of beer, meat stew and tobacco. The storm had driven in more people than usual, but the laughter and the crackle of the central fire reached him muffled, as if from another room.

His noble bearing had seen better days: his velvet jacket was rumpled, a wine stain peeking from the lapel; his tousled brown hair and the stubble on his jaw framed a face with glassy eyes fixed on some point along the bar.

The sense of danger had been growing for weeks. First came the rumors about his sister, then the shadows prowling around the manor at night. He had wanted to believe it was idle gossip, but then they killed his father.

Ismark raised a hand to ask the tavern keeper for another drink, but the man had long been caught up in a conversation.

“…so I finished it off with a mace to the head,” a heavyset man with silver hair was saying. His muscular arms and calloused hands gripped an imaginary weapon. “BAM! Put it to sleep in one blow. Isn’t that right, Pancracio?”

“But there were three more waiting upstairs,” replied a dark-haired young man with an elegant bearing, his relaxed manner at odds with the gravity of the tale. “They set up a perfect ambush. If it weren’t for…”

“For my aim,” another one cut in, never taking his smile off the barmaid bringing him a glass of wine. He was slender, white-haired and green-eyed, with freckles scattered across his nose. “Two arrows, two vampires down. Though I’ll admit the third one nearly took my head off.”

Ismark had been drifting closer little by little, the brandy glass still empty in his hand. Va-vampires?

“The third one was mine.”

The voice came from a nearby table. As if out of nowhere, a figure slipped over to stand beside the group at the bar. Dark-skinned, dressed in dark, foreign-looking clothes, the stranger drew a rapier in one fluid motion and drove it into the wooden counter.

“One thrust. Straight to the heart.”

The steel quivered, and silence fell at once; every eye was fixed on the blade now standing up from the bar.

The tavern keeper let out a nervous laugh as he wiped a glass.

“Now I know who to call when I’ve got a rat problem,” he joked.

Conversation in the room gradually picked up again, though more than one patron kept glancing at the rapier stuck in the wood.

Ismark was already on his feet, one step away from the group. He didn’t remember getting off his stool. The men exchanged looks, sizing up the newcomer.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Ismark said, clearing his throat.

“And you are…?” asked the silver-haired one, narrowing his eyes.

The tavern keeper set the glass down on the bar.

“A little more respect, stranger. That’s Ismark Kolyanovich, the burgomaster’s son.” He lowered his voice. “May he rest in peace.”

No one said a word. Ismark squeezed the empty glass between his fingers. He still wasn’t used to hearing it.

“My sister is in danger,” he said at last, and his gaze slid to the rapier stuck in the bar. “I need people capable of protecting her and taking her to Krezk. I can pay generously.”

The white-haired young man set down his wine.

“Kaleb, at your service,” he said, with a bow that nearly spilled his drink. “These are Sinnos and Pancracio; and the one who just ruined this good man’s bar is Laghai.”

The tavern keeper looked at the gash in the wood and sighed.

“And the one over there,” Kaleb went on, pointing his glass toward a nearby table, “is…”

A woman was already getting to her feet. She pulled her hood over her braided blond hair and walked up to the bar with her eyes on the door.

“Alexis,” she said. “And it might be better to talk somewhere more… private.”

Ismark blinked and glanced around; several curious people were following the conversation.

“Y-you’re right,” he said, stammering a little. “My manor isn’t far. Let me offer you dinner for your trouble, if you’d like.”

The group agreed and got ready to leave.

---

Going from the stifling heat of the tavern into the cold, heavy night air was like plunging into icy water.

The downpour had finally dwindled to a soft drizzle. The group’s footsteps echoed off the stone walls as they followed Ismark through the alleys. They were the same streets as always, but that night every dark doorway looked to him like a good place for someone to be watching from.

“Excuse me.” Kaleb moved a few steps ahead to talk to him. “If I heard right, the tavern keeper said your father was the burger-master… what exactly does that mean?”

“Burgomaster,” Ismark corrected. “Uhm… it would be the one who is… who was in charge of the town. Now that post is mine.”

“Ah,” said Kaleb, and for once he added nothing more.

They walked on a few steps before Ismark spoke again.

“You’re clearly new to Barovia.”

“Oh, yes, we all even met here,” Kaleb replied, his cheerful tone back. “We’ve been together two weeks… two wonderful weeks.”

Kaleb smiled at the group, waiting for someone to chime in. Sinnos merely rolled his eyes; the others kept walking in silence.

The manor emerged gradually from the mist. Since the funeral, Ismark had found it hard to see it as his home. Several hooded guards flanked the property; he had hired them himself the week before and still didn’t know their names. Recognizing him, one of them signaled, and the gate swung open without a word.

They crossed the gardens along a stone path that wound between trimmed hedges and pale roses, until they reached the manor’s main entrance.

“Come in, please,” Ismark offered.

The group stepped inside shaking the rain from their cloaks and coats, leaving small drops on the marble floor of the entrance hall. Ismark waved a careless hand.

“Don’t worry about the water,” he said, ushering them forward.

A few seconds later, a young woman appeared in the doorway.

“Ismark, you’re just in time for din…” His sister stopped short at the sight of the band of strangers standing in her entrance hall.

At first she said nothing. She simply looked them over one by one, and although her expression stayed polite, Ismark knew her far too well. Her copper hair fell in natural waves over her shoulders, framing a face with a tight jaw.

“Everything’s fine, Ireena, these are trustworthy people.”

Sinnos snorted, amused, and Pancracio quickly elbowed him.

“A pleasure, my lady,” said Kaleb, bowing with a theatrical flourish.

Ireena gave her brother, who was smiling at her and swaying a little, a brief frown, then dropped the group a perfect and very quick curtsy.

“Welcome.”

Ismark approached her with careful steps and murmured something in her ear. She pressed her lips together, but nodded and headed for the dining room with measured steps.

---

The group settled into the worn leather armchairs of the sitting room. From the kitchen drifted waves of roast meat, fresh bread and herbs that made their stomachs growl.

“Mmm, yes, I think we could easily ask fifty coins a head,” Sinnos murmured to Pancracio as they examined the costly tapestries on the walls.

Alexis had stayed in front of the family portrait that dominated the center of the room: two children posed beside the late burgomaster, whose features radiated authority even from the canvas. Little Ireena’s red hair stood out vividly against the dark tones of her father and brother. She knelt by the armchair, hugging a golden-haired dog, her shoulder resting against her father’s leg. She was the only one smiling.

The metallic clatter of a fork hitting the floor rang out from the adjoining dining room. Alexis turned toward the sound. Through the open door she saw Ismark holding a steaming cup, taking slow sips, while Ireena, at his side, spoke to him in a low but insistent voice. Around them, the maids were finishing setting the table.

Her brother, his face tired, simply nodded to calm her down.

Suddenly Ireena noticed Alexis watching them. Alexis felt a shiver and looked away.

When she looked again, Ireena was closing the dining room door.

A few minutes later, the door opened again and one of the maids gestured respectfully for the group to come through.

They took their seats around the oak table without much ceremony, though everyone seemed aware they were somewhere more formal than usual. No one took the head of the table, not even Ismark. Ireena sat beside him, hands folded in her lap, her posture too straight.

In the end, it was Ismark who broke the silence.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I’ve spent weeks looking for capable people who could help me with this situation.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair.

“Things around our family have been strange. We’ve had the feeling that we’re being watched.”

“By anything in particular?” asked Pancracio, leaning forward with interest.

Ismark exchanged a look with Ireena before answering.

“I thought I saw people circling the property, so I increased security, and I started to think maybe I was being paranoid, until…” His voice caught. He looked at Ireena, and she reached out without hesitation to cover his hand with hers on the table. The gesture was small but enough for him to go on. “Until they killed our father.”

A heavy silence settled over the table, broken only by the sound of the rain, which was starting up again.

“They said it was an accident,” he added bitterly, “but I know it wasn’t. And now I’m afraid they’ll come for my sister.”

Ireena lowered her eyes to her plate.

“And why her, specifically?” asked Alexis.

Ismark hesitated.

“I don’t know exactly what they want, but after what happened to our father, everything has become more dangerous and I don’t want to take any chances. I need her out of this town as soon as possible.”

“At the tavern you said she had to be taken to Krezk,” said Laghai, in a slow, direct voice. “Why there?”

“It’s safer,” Ismark replied. “She’d be far from all this, with people we can trust.”

“And how much gold does that ‘safety’ come to?” asked Sinnos.

“Fifty coins a head.”

“A hundred,” Sinnos said flatly, his mouth full.

Ismark clenched his jaw.

“Sinnos…” Pancracio began, but Ireena cut him off.

“That’s outrageous.”

Her voice was strangely calm. Sinnos shrugged, unbothered.

“Girl, this is going to be dangerous. It won’t exactly be a stroll in the park among the daisies.”

Her companion’s remark drew a smile from Alexis.

Ireena caught it at once and raised an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, do you find this amusing?”

Alexis looked straight at her, without a trace of guilt in her eyes.

Ireena went on, addressing the group as a whole:

“I understand this is your trade, but our father has just died. Couldn’t you show a little more… decorum? Well-mannered people don’t haggle at a time like this.”

“Well-mannered people?” Alexis’s voice cut through the air. “What an elegant way of calling us savages.”

Ireena opened her mouth as if to answer, but Alexis went on:

“Like Sinnos said, it’s going to be dangerous. But of course, it’s easy to have opinions about other people’s work when you’ve never had to do any. I doubt you even know how to wash a dish.”

The flush climbed up Ireena’s neck until it colored her cheeks. Once again the dining room fell completely silent.

Distant thunder rumbled and the windowpanes trembled.

“By the way… have you tried the bread?” said Kaleb with a nervous smile. “It melts in your mouth.”

No one answered him. Ismark shifted in his chair.

“Fine,” he said at last, with a sigh. “A hundred coins it is.”

Sinnos nodded, satisfied, while Ireena stared at her brother in disbelief.

---

The rest of the dinner passed in awkward silences. Afterward, over coffee, Ismark spread maps across the table, tracing alternate routes with his finger as he explained the dangers of each road. They talked about the supplies they would need, departure times, the names of people to deal with.

As he went over the safe resting points along the road to Krezk, Ismark noticed that Ireena’s attention kept shifting between his explanations and furtive glances at Alexis.

Later, the maids made up the entrance hall so the guests could sleep there. Ismark bid the group good night, but before going upstairs he stopped in the sitting room, in front of the family portrait. His father looked at him from the canvas with that expression he had always mistaken for severity, but which he now recognized as worry.

“I hope I’m doing the right thing, Father,” he murmured.

Ismark put out the candles and went up to his room.