Vampire of the Mists (Ravenloft The Covenant Book 1) by Christie Golden

Author:Christie Golden [Golden, Christie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786961863
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

THE YEARS FOLLOWING THE ATTACK ON THE BURGOMASTER passed like so many minutes during Jander’s stay at Castle Ravenloft, and time blurred the intensity of the elf’s desire for revenge. After all, fifteen years meant little to a being who had expected to experience hundreds as a mortal, even less to an undead creature who sadly looked forward to eternal existence.

Not so for the human inhabitants of Barovia.

The fall sky was a cloudless, bright blue, and the red and rust hues of the leaves made for a pleasing contrast. The rain that had fallen the night before yielded a morning rich in the fragrance of damp earth. Leisl breathed deeply of the fresh scent, brushed a stray lock of mousy brown hair off her face, and took a huge bite out of the apple she’d just stolen from the fruit cart.

Market day in the autumn was a thief’s paradise. There was so much going on and so many different items to steal that the cutpurse known as the Little Fox hardly knew where to begin. She figured the apple was a good start and took another bite as her quick hazel eyes flickered about.

In addition to the usual wares on display—Kolya’s pastries, Andrei’s fresh cuts of meat, and Cristina’s fabrics—the farmers from the outlying areas came into town in the fall. Shiny, newly harvested apples were everywhere to be seen. Carts brimmed with potatoes, cabbages, and turnips. Others were filled with pumpkins and squash. Just arriving was a fisherman with a string of salted trout on lines that stretched across his wagon. Leisl’s mouth watered. She loved trout, fried in a pan with garlic, onions, and pepper …

The clop-clop of hooves behind her caused Leisl to turn, and a gaily colored gypsy wagon clattered into the square. Tethered to the back of the wagon and struggling to keep pace were two dozen bleating sheep. The Vistani driving the wagon was whistling merrily, but his shepherd passenger merely glowered. The Little Fox’s sharp features softened as she grinned to herself. The shepherd was likely cursing at the ten gold pieces the Vistani had charged him to carry him and his sheep safely through the choking fog.

Another few bites, and Leisl finished her apple. She dropped it into the makeshift pigpen one of the farmers had constructed to showcase his pink, oinking wares. A big sow lumbered over to the core and snuffled at it.

More horses were coming down the muddy path from the farm areas, and Leisl thought she saw a young foal with a dark golden coat and a flaxen mane. Was it really a sorrel? Hardly anyone in Barovia bred sorrels. Leisl noticed the gypsy wagon driver sitting up and peering at the approaching steeds with an appraising gaze. Wanting a better look at the three-month-old foal herself, Leisl clambered atop the pig pen.

“Hey! Boy! Get off of there before you fall in!” Leisl knew it was the pig owner, and she turned to face him with an apologetic grin.

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