Vaughn Heppner - Assassin of the Damned

Lorelei reappeared two nights later, the closest to angry I’d seen her.

“I doubted you,” I said. We were in the dungeon again, and it made me feel like a vampire.

Lorelei reflected on my words and her anger dwindled. “I fled because I’m unsure how much the Moon Lady can sense while communing with you. I certainly don’t want her to know I’m here. If you do that again, I’ll leave for good.”

“Do you wish to come with me to the Tower of the East?”

She laughed. “Only a fool would join the Darkling on one of his quests. He has a way of surviving dangers, while those around him die hideously.”

“You make ‘Darkling’ sound like a title.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Is Orlando Furioso truly the famous paladin from Charlemagne’s court?”

“Do you doubt it?” she asked.

“Why are his eyes red?”

“Ask him next time you meet.”

“Is he immortal?”

“He’s extremely dangerous, if that’s what you’re asking.” She completed her sets, gathered and slid the cards into a small box, which she secreted in a pouch. “I think Erasmo knows you’re alive.”

“How would he-”

“While you’ve healed, powerful sorcery has occurred. I have my ways of knowing, and no, I won’t tell you them. Maybe as troubling as the sorcery, calls have gone out. Rumors tell of Anaximander marching for the Tower of the East.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“A particularly vile servant of Old Father Night,” she said, “who is commonly associated with the Forgotten Ones. But on a more personal note for you, there is word Erasmo has raised Lord Cencio.”

“Who?”

“You slew him, I believe.”

“I’m not aware-”

“He was an altered man. He led the pack that hunted you.”

“Signor Fangs for Teeth?” I asked.

Lorelei frowned.

“There was a noble who had wolf-like fangs,” I said, “but otherwise seemed normal.”

“Lord Cencio wore a hat with a crow’s feather.”

“That’s him,” I said. And it was my turn to frown. “What do you mean, Erasmo ‘raised him’?”

“The term is sufficiently descriptive,” she said. “It’s a rare occurrence, because it’s a difficult spell, but sometimes sorcerers who serve Old Father Night hold a grim threat over their minions. Namely, failure sometimes means returning as a dead-alive. Such creatures are driven with infernal desperation to perform their task. That being so, you should leave Perugia tomorrow.”

“Are you suggesting I should have burned the man’s body?”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen,” she said.

My left eye only saw things in a blur, although my Darkling strength had almost returned. I lacked my former speed, although Lorelei had assured me it too would return.

“You seem to be well informed,” I said. “Is my wife alive?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What about my children?”

Lorelei spread her hands, shrugged.

“Where would Erasmo keep them?”

“I can’t say for certain,” she said, with an evasive edge.

“Can’t or won’t?” I asked.

“A little suspicion is reasonable. But surely by now you should trust me.”

“Knowledge is power,” I said. “How can I know that anything you’ve told me is true?”

She stiffened. “Your bitterness is understandable, signor. But I think-”

My hands clenched. I wanted to throttle Erasmo, smash his head against paving. He had my wife! And for all I knew, Laura thought he was me.

“You must leave Perugia,” Lorelei said softly.

I forced my hands open. “You suggested earlier that these sorcerers and Old Ones act like Italians. If I were to go to the priestess of the Moon, would she help me against Erasmo?”

Lorelei gave me a shrewd look. “The priestess is brave, if foolhardy. An army of desperate soldiers gathers on the edge of Venice’s old swamp. It threatens Erasmo and surely diverts him to some degree. That helps you. You must beware of her, however. She is the Moon Lady’s servant, although she holds some articles dear to Darklings of the past. You must do as you think best.”

I touched my bad eye. Tomorrow night, I would begin.

I stood on a crag of the northern slope of the Apennines Mountains. Pine trees spread out below me. Even farther north was the vast Po Valley.

I’d left the ruins of Perugia several nights ago. My left eye saw shapes now, but not the details. I could defeat any man I met, but wouldn’t try a fifty-foot leap. In a few nights, perhaps I could.

The Po Valley was formerly a lush land, rich in crops, industrious peasants, shrewd merchants and cunning princes. Milan was its greatest city, although it had others almost as strong. Venice stood to the east, on the edge of the Adriatic Sea. North of the Po stood the mighty Alps. It separated the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of France from the Po Valley. The notable thing about the Holy Roman Empire was that it was neither holy nor Roman and could hardly be called an empire. Instead, it contained princedoms, dukedoms and city-states each filled with sauerkraut-gobbling Germans, who only stopped bickering long enough to resist their feeble emperor. The French on the other hand….

Englishmen with longbows and cunning tactics had repeatedly trampled the French in a series of off again, on again wars. The only sad aspect to that was that after thoroughly looting the French, many Englishmen had trekked over the Alps to enlist as mercenaries here. Ofelia for instance had hired a White Company captain and his ruffians to do her bidding.

I sighed. The plague must have changed some of what I’d known. The unleashed magic would have altered things even more. I marveled now that I hadn’t asked Lorelei about it. Still, I knew the priestess had cajoled princes to raise an army against Erasmo. That surely meant dukes and barons of Milan, Savoy and other cities and surrounding regions.

I glanced at the moon and began the trek down from the Apennines. The scent of pine needles dominated and my boots often crunched upon them.

I knew too little of this Black Death world. The trouble was that most people locked their doors at twilight, barons raised their drawbridges and magistrates ordered town gates shut. Except in the larger cities, few people moved at night. There might be outlaws or daring knights who planned a dawn ambush, but those labored hard to remain hidden.

I’d tramped through forest and over hill in the sight of wolves, owls and bats, but no people. During the day, I hid in caves or in a deep forest or dug a hole and crouched in it.

The next night I left the foothills and strode through grasslands. I headed east as much as north. I avoided cultivated fields and walled hamlets and stuck to pasturelands, brush and forests.

I made an exception the next night. I headed through a park. I knew because foresters had obviously cleared brush from the birch and oaks to make it easier for when his lordship hunted. The sight gladdened me. It meant that despite the plague and despite evil sorcerers, there was still some normality in the world.

A breeze rustled leaves. The wind brought the odor of fire mingled with barbecued pork. Horrid shrieks salted the smells, and it reminded me that humans and swine often smelled the same when burned.

A half mile later, I exited the tree line. Nearby lay a village-sized heap of embers. It was either a colossus’s campfire or the site of the atrocities that I’d sensed earlier. As I neared and felt the heat, my face tingled in remembrance of the living flame. I quashed any irrational fears-and the rational ones-and skulked nearer the burnt remains. I found mutilated peasants hung by their heels. I found fire-shriveled corpses nailed to burnt barns and I found headless, axe-hacked sheep.