Vaughn Heppner - Assassin of the Damned

He pitched the coin to the crossbowman, who neatly caught it. “Is there a likeness?” Da Canale asked.

The crossbowman frowned and glanced at the coin, then at me. “What does this mean, signor?” the crossbowman asked his captain.

“Give him the coin,” Da Canale said.

I warily accepted it, and was shocked to see my likeness stamped there.

“It’s you,” Da Canale said, “is it not?”

Erasmo, I realized. He had stamped coins in his image-my image. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t accept the features he’d been born with? Surely he had become powerful enough to drop the pretence.

“I knew you looked familiar,” Da Canale said.

He held his sword and he darted a meaningful glance at the crossbowman. The man picked up his loaded weapon. Others stood. Steel scraped out of wooden scabbards.

I handed Da Canale the coin. “The sorcerer changed my features so I’d look like him. Why he did this, I cannot fathom, unless he thought it a joke.”

Da Canale became thoughtful. “We all might have died except for you. I owe you that, and I pay my debts.”

I felt an easing of tension.

“I wonder if you would grant me a favor,” Da Canale said.

I waited.

“You wear mysteries like a cloak, signor, but I would appreciate it if you could tell me why you helped us.”

He did not add, ‘Tell us truthfully.’ Yet I heard the plea in his question. I stared at the flames. These were hard times for men. These here struggled manfully, and they faced devils in the night. It was good to be among brave soldiers. I wondered if I had become one of the things of the night. The answer was so obvious it pained me.

“I believed that if I helped you,” I said, “you would willingly answer certain questions of mine.”

He nodded. “There is reason in that. Please. Ask.”

“Why do you think the goat-men attacked you? So far, I’ve only seen them attack peasants.”

“Men say the Lord of Night is hurt,” Da Canale said. “Rumor speaks of him lying abed in the Tower of the East. From peasant, to knight, to lord, everyone fears him. Yet I’m sure you know this. Now, however, the lords of Milan, Pavia, Bologna and Modena have plucked up their courage. These lords have cast silver into the wind to hire companies, lances and even scattered men-at-arms, anyone who dares face this sorcerer. Signor Hawkwood of the White Company leads the army. The armed camp grows on the shore of an evil swamp, the first rampart to the Tower of the East. The Lord of Night may be hurt, but he sows fear and death through his minions. They butcher villagers, burn hamlets and attack small companies such as ours.”

“How long have these brave lords cast their silver into the wind?” I asked.

“It is several weeks now.”

“Will this host besiege the Tower of the East?”

“I’m not yet privy to their counsels,” he said.

“It is a dangerous undertaking.”

Da Canale’s nostrils flared. “If you’re asking why do I join? The answer is simple. I’m Hawkwood’s man. And I’ve seen too much evil lately. Things like the Great Mortality, evil castles and goat-men are abominations. I will fight to stamp them out-given that I have a fighting chance.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Signor da Canale,” I said, standing.

“You won’t stay?”

I noticed he didn’t ask me to stay. “I wish you luck, all of you.” I bowed and then strode from the fire. Once hidden by darkness, I resumed my lonely trek to the Tower of the East.

Signor Fangs for Teeth and his dead-faced men reappeared two nights later.

It was a mistake on their part. Or maybe it was fear. Erasmo wanted to harass me no matter the cost to him in lost minions. How difficult was it altering men, giving them supernatural powers? Maybe what Erasmo needed was time and he was willing to expend underlings to buy it.

I, on the other hand, wanted information. So I broke branches, stomped my booted foot in soft soil and slowed my remorseless trek to the Tower of the East. Finally, in the middle of a forest, I climbed a large cypress tree and waited in the mid-level branches.

Horsemen soon approached. I waited patiently, a human leopard ready to drop upon its prey. Signor Fangs for Teeth did not disappoint. His dead-faced men surrounded the tree. I recognized him by the floppy hat. The crow’s feather looked frazzled. He clopped near and peered up.

I was already dropping and had timed it perfectly. His eyes widened and my boots collided with his shoulders. The horse staggered, almost went down and then ran into a tree. It wobbled like a drunk before it collapsed.

The dead-faced men sat like statues throughout. Their bared swords never wavered.

I concluded they were an extension of Lord Cencio’s will. He lay on the ground, my knee on his chest and the tip of the deathblade at his throat. I wrenched the golden chain from him, twirled it twice and flung the medallion far away. I wished for a private conversation.

“No smiles, my lord?” I asked.

His black eyes burned with hatred.

“You seek death, I’m told.”

“Your death,” he said.

The wolf-like teeth were obscene. I wondered which was worse, a minor alteration or something like goat-men?

“My death,” I said, “by which you gain restful oblivion for yourself.”

Several of the dead-faced men swiveled their heads so they watched me with cold eyes.

“That is a poor choice,” I said. “Here I offer you oblivion, and you try to be sly. No, Lord Cencio, you should consider my offer.”

“The Lord of Night will simply reanimate me,” he said.

“Even if you’re chopped into small pieces, each burned into greasy ash?”

His dark eyes lost some of their intensity.

“I will vow to do this,” I said.

The dead-faced men sheathed their swords. Signor Fangs for Teeth arched his neck. “I’m ready,” he said.

“Ah, signor, first you must earn it.”

Hatred tightened his face.

“Tell me something of interest,” I said.

“…Of what nature?”

“Where are my wife and children?”

He frowned, and I think I understood why.

Even though I hated to say it, I asked, “Where are Erasmo’s wife and children?”

He blinked several times. “It is odd you should ask that, signor. His daughter returns from aboard. She lands at Cape Lodovico in several nights.”

“How do you know?”

“I overhead him tell the satyr.”

“Why would Erasmo tell him?” I asked.

“We were to keep you from heading that way.”

“And now you tell me this?”

He bared his hideous teeth. “Look at me, signor. I did not bargain to become one of the living dead, urged to hunt with infernal hate. I have accepted your offer and now demand that you keep your vow. Slay me, and burn this body. Do it. Or my soldiers will slay you instead.”

Swords slid from scabbards.

I pressed my full weight onto his chest. I grabbed a handful of hair, stretched his neck and cut with furious strength.

The soldiers collapsed as before. I took one of their swords and used it for the grisly task. The pieces I faithfully burned in a fire. They smoked with a foul stench. Before I finished, the once dead-faced soldiers stirred. There was fearful animation in their faces now, terror. Whatever spell had held them in thrall was broken. Most slunk away, several ran. One picked up his sword and charged. He died swiftly. I concluded that each had made bargains with the darkness, and had become ensnared. Maybe for them this was a second chance.

All I knew was that Francesca, my daughter, came by galley from wherever Erasmo had sent her. Why did he want her now at the Tower of the East?