Vaughn Heppner - Assassin of the Damned

“You’re the lycanthropes,” the knight said.

“That is why it is hard to explain it to you. Death once squatted here and has tainted the trails.” The lycanthrope shook his head. “This is an evil place with haunted scents.”

“But among them,” the knight said, “you smell this dead thing?”

“That is so.”

“Is the scent in many places?”

“It is very faint,” the lycanthrope said.

“Answer my question, beast.”

The lycanthrope’s eyes became dark. “We are not beasts. We are shape-changers, the Chosen.”

“And your noses are legendary,” the knight said. “Did you smell this thing in many places?”

“…It is possible.”

The horse snorted and shook its head.

“A predator likely dragged the carrion,” the lycanthrope said. “That is why we smelled it in-”

“What predator?” the knight asked in a contemptuous voice.

“This world has many predators. This we know. Bears, leopards, wolves-”

“What predators have you smelled here?”

“The carrion must-”

“What hunters?” the knight demanded.

“Foxes, owls and-”

“Foxes dragged this so-called carrion? Is that what you’re saying?”

The lycanthrope blinked. Then he turned to his brothers of the fang. They snarled back and forth between themselves.

The knight whistled sharply so the lycanthropes spun toward him.

“Our paymaster has deadly enemies both open and hidden,” the knight said. “Among them are powers unwise to name. Some do not approve of his ends. Among them are those who can cause the dead to walk.”

“This is ill news,” the lycanthrope said.

“To the superstitious it may be,” the knight said. “Dead or alive, all things fall to me. Since you are with me, you need not fear dead things. But you must tell me what you smell, even if it is faint.”

“We only hunt the living. We fear nothing that lives.”

“Your courage is legendary, of course. I want to know what this faint smell means. We will track it and find out.”

“Spells are needed against dead-things-that-walk. But only weaklings use spells. Lycanthropes are strong. Forget the faint scent. That is my advice.”

“The paymaster did not seek you because this thing is easy,” the knight said. “Honor comes from great exploits. It is faint, you say. Maybe what made it is gone. Maybe it is here, hidden like a wraith, watching us.”

I needed a crossbow, a heavy one. Then I could put a bolt through the knight’s brain.

The lycanthrope lowered his head, and he snarled at his companions. They traded sly glances and soon snarled softly.

“We hunt,” the lycanthrope agreed.

I heard the deceit. They feared me as most normal people had so far. No doubt, the black knight also heard their deceit. He sat back in his saddle. After a time, he slotted the morningstar and scratched the horse’s neck.

“Did you smell this faint scent on the silver knife?” the knight asked.

“…Yes,” the lycanthrope said.

The knight lowered his helmeted head. Then he looked up sharply at my building.

With slow deliberation, I eased back out of sight. When I heard a jangle and clank of armor, I eased forward to the window.

The knight had dismounted. He unbuckled a saddlebag and withdrew three objects: a clothbound thing, a scroll and an ivory box.

“Keep quiet,” he told the lycanthropes. “Don’t ask questions until I’m done. This is delicate work and I can’t afford any mistakes. Do you understand?”

“Should we hunt?”

“No,” the knight said. “Just keep out of my way and don’t make noise.”

The three beasts slunk to the broken fountain of Mars where they crouched and muttered together.

The knight took off his gauntlets, knelt and opened the scroll, weighing down the ends with stones. He unwound the cloth to reveal a dagger and scratched lines into the cobblestones that soon took on an elaborate shape. Then he opened the ivory box and took out six candles. He set them in various places, rose, stretched and crackled his knuckles. Finally, he took a long stick from the saddlebag and scratched the tip against paving. The tip burst into flame.

The lycanthropes had quit muttering. They lay by the fountain, their necks stretched as they watched the proceedings.

The knight lit each candle in turn, maybe in a special sequence. He shook out the lit stick and picked up the scroll. The massive horse clopped to him and peered over his shoulder.

I caught a whiff of the candles. They smelled like burnt human. Worse, I heard faint screams, and I thought in one of the flickers to see a tortured ghost-face.

The knight cleared his throat and read aloud from the scroll. A flame whooshed from the tallest candle. It flickered high and the wax melted and flowed into the etched lines. Then the air above the etching became hazy and filled with billowing smoke. The smoke began to take shape as if under a sculptor’s chisel. A forehead appeared, the bridge of a nose, lips, chin-no, it was a spade-shaped beard.

With a start, I realized it was my face, although I presently lacked a beard. Had the knight used a spell to locate me?

Before I could flee, the smoke-face opened its eyes. It smiled. What a sly smile. What an arrogant stare. Then it came to me. The smoke-face wasn’t mine. Well, it was. But it showed Erasmo in my likeness. The lips parted. He spoke with a puff of smoke as on a wintry day.

“The ruins are secure?” Erasmo asked.

The knight bowed his helmeted head as one does to a high official. “The lycanthropes have prowled Perugia, signor. They found a silver knife, but no traces of a woman’s trail.”

“Indeed,” Erasmo said. “And…?”

“They smelled a faint trace of what they called ‘a dead thing’.”

The smoky lips compressed and the smoky eyes narrowed.

“The lycanthropes refuse to track it, signor.”

“Is it the Darkling?”

“The lycanthropes say it is a faint scent.”

“You doubt the lycanthropes?” Erasmo asked.

“They fear these ruins, signor.”

A smoke-hand appeared and stroked the rippling beard. “Can I trust you, Signor Orlando?”

“I desire Durendal and Angelica’s whereabouts, Your Excellency.”

The wavering face broke into an evil smile. “I must live for you to gain those,” Erasmo said.

“You will live, signor. This I assure you.”

“How long will the portal burn?”

The knight glanced at the etching, shrugged.

The smoky hand vanished. The head nodded. “Give me ten minutes.”

“That will be cutting it very near,” the knight said.

“I need to gather an amulet and a key. They’re in the high tower. Make certain I face no unwarranted surprises.”

“How many will you bring, signor?”

“I have you and you have the lycanthropes. That will be enough.”

“They won’t dig,” the knight said.

The head laughed, and then the smoke dissipated.

Erasmo came to Perugia? I flexed my hands as a bitter smile stretched my lips. I would throttle him until his face turned purple.

The black knight called the lycanthropes. They raced to him. He spoke urgently, but too quietly for me to hear. A lycanthrope glanced up at my building. The knight spoke curtly. The lycanthrope lowered his head.

In seven swift strides, I stood before another window ninety degrees from the one I’d just used. I leaped and landed in a crouch atop a two-storey ruin. Unfortunately, the wall complained.

Lycanthropes shouted from within my former building. They were fast, but I’d been faster.

I scuttled like a crab on all fours. My foot shot through rotted roofing. I lay flat, slithered out of danger and made it to the other side. I leaped again, dangled from the new roof and dropped into the alley. I dodged around corners and shimmied up a lead pipe attached to a church. The church had angled roofs. I hid among them and listened, but heard nothing.