Assassin of the Damned

— 15-

I reached the hill’s summit. A plain spread out below. Roads webbed it and a city sat in the nexus of roads. Even better, I recognized the place. It was Siena.

As the prince of Perugia, I would skirt it. The city called itself a republic, which meant its merchants made the rules rather than a hereditary prince. I had rented my knights and foot soldiers and had gone along as captain on three separate occasions against Siena. The last time, I’d captured the fort that guarded the main gate. Siena’s merchants had wisely ended the siege by agreeing to the demands. Because of my part, the Sienase merchants hated me. Although I should point out that several years earlier, I’d hired out to Siena. My men and I gave them hardy service, and yet the coin-counting merchants had decided to keep our back pay. Storming that fort had balanced the scales of honor.

I trudged downhill. I would skirt the plain until near Lake Trasimene. Then I would head into the mountains for Perugia.

***

A little over an hour later, I heard whining. I thought of handlers gripping leashes and hounds straining to attack. I presently trudged uphill between boulders and tall grass. Down there by the bluebottle bushes, branches shook.

I sprinted along the slope for some trees. I should have been more alert. Lorelei had warned me. I soon strode steadily through the trees, and despite the steep angle and the litter of half-buried rocks, I never once twisted my ankle. Because of my keen night-vision, the world seemed odd. It lacked the bright greens and sky blues of day. Instead, the leaves were dark and the grass gray, yet I could see an owl swivel its head to watch me or a fox pause as it stepped out from hiding. It felt like a twilight half-world, a shadowy realm that only I inhabited.

I ran downhill, found a stream and splashed in it. I wondered if I should lie down. I did not breathe. I could simply be like a rock and wait for the hunters to pass. No. That was knavish, and there weren’t any deep spots in the stream.

I climbed a boulder and ran along an old fallen log. There was splashing behind me. I shimmed up a tree, peered back. Hounds ran through the stream. They were altered, elongated humans. They bunched together and whispered in low growls. Then some ran one way, some the other. Of handlers and horsemen, I saw no sign.

Maybe I could ambush these creatures one at a time. I had my deathblade. One persistent hound splashed in the same direction I’d taken. He flicked his limbs into the water like a finicky but persistent cat. He stared into the rippling current, and I wondered if I’d left footprints. Soon, he climbed up the same boulder I had, followed the path along the old log.

I eased my knife from its sheath. If I dropped silently, I had a chance for one swift stab.

“Prince Baglioni,” the hound whispered in a harsh, inhuman growl. “I know you’re near.” His head swiveled from side-to-side. He had a strangely undershot jaw and bulging eyes. “Prince Baglioni,” he whispered, “it’s me.”

I squinted, and horror touched me. The face…it just might have been Signor Guido, my old arms instructor. He had been a gallant gentleman, a favorite of the ladies. In those days, he had sported a thick white mustache and a neat little beard.

“Prince-”

“Up here,” I whispered.

He froze, and whined as he looked up. I dropped out of the tree. He cringed and whined again, even baring his teeth. It hurt to see him degraded to such a low condition. He had always worn finery. Now he was naked like a beast, with sores on his side.

“Is that you, Signor Guido?” I asked.

His tongue lolled and he sidled closer like a hound that wished to be petted. The desire was so apparent that despite my repugnance, I patted his shaggy head. He squatted on his haunches, beaming. It made me ill.

“I’m so glad to have found you, Prince Gian,” he said in his doglike growl.

“Is it really you…Guido?”

He hung his shaggy head and whined. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and shook like a hound shaking out water. “He did this to me, my prince.”

“Erasmo?”

Guido cringed as he pissed squirts of urine like a terrified dog. “He-he said I slighted him long ago.”

I remembered. Erasmo had hated my arms instructor. Signor Guido had swaggered wherever he went, a master of the sword and loved by the ladies. It must have eaten Erasmo with jealousy.

“What can I do for you, old friend?” I whispered.

His rump twitched like a hound wagging its tail. “No, no, my prince, it’s what I can do for you. I hate…him.”

“Erasmo?”

He lowered his head. “He-he changed many of us.”

“Wait,” I said. “I thought Erasmo had taken my guise.”

Guido panted, and his deformed face twisted with agony. “Not to us. We know, we know. But never can we say. I was the last…the last-”

“Changed?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I’m the last to…to think of old days, old ways. Oh, I have a hard time with names. But I remember you. I taught you. I once stood as you do now.”

“Ah, Signor Guido,” I said. “Name the favor and I will give it to you.”

He cringed horribly. “They call. They call with their whistles, my prince.”

I’d heard nothing.

“We must find you,” he panted. “We cannot kill, but must tree, must capture.”

“Do you wish a release from this existence?” I asked.

He shrank from me. “No, no, my prince, I–I live. I will lead them away from you. Then you must sneak in and slay the master.”

“Erasmo is here?” I asked.

“Please. Don’t say that name. No. He is not here. But the hunter is here. He whips me and kicks me if I speak words.”

“Does this hunter have a crow’s feather in his cap?”

“Yes, yes, that is him. Will you kill him, please?”

“I swear it, old friend. And I shall slay…the other one for what he has done to you.”

“Thank you, thank you, my prince,” and Guido licked my hand. Then he trotted away, looked back once and then loped into a thicket. Moments later, he howled as a hound who has found the trail.

I hurried in the opposite direction, more determined than ever to make Erasmo pay for his evils.

***

Hours later and countless miles distant, I ran through a pine forest as I heard hooves. I stopped and listened for baying hounds. The hoof-beats neared. Scanning the dark forest revealed nothing new. These hunters forwent lanterns or torches. I thought about the noble with fangs for teeth. Were there sorcerous means for tracking as well as using altered hounds?

I hid, drew my knife and waited.

The hooves drew nearer. I grew tense and tried to count numbers by the drumming against the cold earth. Through the trees, I glimpsed motion. Surely these were minions of Erasmo della Rovere. No ordinary horsemen would dare ride so hard at night without light. The cavalcade thundered past. Soon the sound of hooves dwindled.

I sheathed my blade and stepped out of hiding. A horn blared in the distance. Several heartbeats later, a faint horn answered from even farther away. I was certain they hunted me. After a few moments deliberation, I changed my route and headed into the deeper woods.

Maybe an hour later I grew troubled. I’d missed something important. I slowed. Weasels, owls and bats had completed their night’s work. Dawn approached. Soon, starlings would sing and robins scour the ground for the early worm. I should rejoice. Evil creatures hid during the day. What had I missed?

I advanced cautiously. Something was wrong and I had no idea what or why. I turned in a circle and eyed each pine in sight. With a slow step, I approached a thicket. I wanted to reach Perugia, not hide like a rabbit. I listened. Silence. I brushed my knife-hand against my lips. Despising this cowardice, I eased into the thicket and waited. A dollop of cowardice was better than rash courage that would see me killed. Above all else, Erasmo must die, and that by my hand.

Through the screen of leaves, I scanned the forest. All seemed peaceful and yet a sense of terror filled me. Something grim approached. I felt it in my bones. Was it the lizard-beast? With an effort of will, I stood and looked around.

The first crack of dawn touched my eyes. It sent a wave of weakness through me. I toppled sideways and crashed against branches. The fiery blaze of dawn was several magnitudes too bright for me. I shut my eyes like a bat caught in the light. I needed a cave. Numbly, I recalled Lorelei’s words. The moon was my friend and the sun was my enemy. I might have wept at my fate. I might have raged. Instead, I drew my cloak over my head and hunkered like a hibernating bear.

My thoughts blurred and time jumped. For a single moment, I heard patter on pine needles…later, something chittered near my ear. I tried to rise, but once more fell into a stupor. If I dreamed, the imprints of them vanished upon my awareness later the next twilight.

I eased out of the thicket as stars appeared. I was an evil creature of the night. Like werewolves, vampires and altered hounds, I ran loose when good people locked their doors. How could I lead Perugia’s knights now? Which tournament could I enter? The barons of Perugia would elect a new prince. Its people would find my bolthole, drag me out and kindle flames under my feet. Could I hold Laura, hug the twins, cold as a corpse, a thing that only came out at night? What was I?

With heaviness of soul, I renewed my trek to Perugia.

***

Hooves drummed. Hounds bayed eerily. I flitted like a shadow, used trees, boulders and folds of the earth. Rage boiled in me. I wanted vengeance. It was like a fever and the moon rode high in the night sky.

I backtracked into a fig orchard. It must have been several years since anyone had pruned the trees or yanked out weeds here. I waited as hounds raced past, their human noses sniffing the original trail. Sorry creatures, twisted by sorcery, elongated men who ran naked on their hands and feet. Yet by Signor Guido’s example, a few of them were still capable of nobility. Horsemen followed. They wore cloaks, jerkins and held lanterns. They seemed human enough, but a closer examination proved the lie of that. They had faces like wooden masks and eyes of charcoal. The expressionless men spurred their horses so blood dripped from flanks. None of the men shouted. None laughed, frowned or snarled. They seemed like lifeless puppets, yet they gripped lances or swords and I knew they hunted me. Among them rode the man with fangs for teeth. He had his wide-brimmed hat with its crow’s feather and he grinned. A golden pendant dangled from the chain around his neck. I had no doubt the pendant bore the Cloaked Man.

“Faster!” he shouted. His hoarse voice was all too familiar.

When they galloped out of sight, I emerged from the orchard and headed for the next hill.

I soon darted into another orchard of fig trees, these wilder than those I’d left. That troubled me. These looked like healthy trees, would likely produce a good crop of figs. All a peasant needed to do was prune branches and weed between the rows, and later pick the fruit. These trees implied years of neglect. That implied the plague, Great Mortality, the Black Death, whatever one wished to call it, had swept through the surrounding villages years ago. I could not have ‘slept’ for years. That was too dreadful to contemplate.

Sounds ahead drew me out of my reverie. I climbed a boulder. Branches snapped about fifty feet straight down. Hounds bayed at that. Both sounds came from a narrow ravine thick with brush and brambles.

Something silvery broke out of the brambles below. It was a woman wearing a hood. She glanced wildly over her shoulder. She wore a short tunic that barely concealed her thighs and she gripped a bow. She dashed between two bushes. Moments later, human hounds broke out of the same brambles. They panted and gnashed their teeth in eagerness. None had Signor Guido’s nobility, but seemed hopelessly degraded as they sniffed her trail.

I leaped from my boulder and found myself crashing through bushes, plunging down the steep grade after them. My garments resisted the thorns and branches almost as well as chainmail. Then I was through and sprinted in the ravine.

Hounds bayed, and then came a terrible scream.

I drew my knife and burst into a glade. The woman stood at the end of it. She held her bow and sent an arrow at the pack baying to reach her. One hound dragged its hind legs, with an arrow in its side. She missed, coolly notched another arrow and sent it humming into a hound’s mouth. Then the twisted, elongated humans were upon her. They sank human-like teeth into her flesh. They punched, slapped and clawed. It was a horrifying performance. She fought back with a knife and wounded one. Then a hound ripped the knife from her. I expected it to stab flesh. Maybe the creature had forgotten how. Like wolves, they ravaged with teeth.

I shouted the Perugian war cry.

A human hound whirled around. I slashed. Smoke billowed from its face. Then I became like a lion among jackals. Teeth flashed at me. Fists and fingernails hit and cut. I thrust and hacked, and I realized my deathblade was exactly that. Each wound poured smoke. Each cut brought a howl from the twisted creatures. Soon I thrust my knife into the last one’s throat, heard it gurgle and hurled it off the woman.

A horn blared faintly in the distance. Could the others have heard the howls? Of course, they had heard. I knelt by the woman. She bled profusely from three bad bites. The worst poured blood like a maiden pouring water from a pitcher.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her silvery garments told me she belonged to the Moon Lady.

“Shhh,” I said.

She groped for my hand. I took hers.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she whispered. Blood stained her teeth.

“Let me bind your wounds,” I said.

“Listen,” she pleaded. “I’m dying. I know it. I must complete my task.”

I nodded.

“You must return to the castle,” she whispered. “You must complete the ceremony and become the Darkling. Lorelei lied to you.”

What could I say to that? “I suspected as much,” I said. I wanted to ease the woman’s passing.

“The Lord of Night is cunning,” she whispered. “Erasmo has summoned Orlando Furioso, the black knight. You must beware the black knight. If you’re to survive, you must gain all your Darkling powers.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Return to the castle,” she pleaded.

She was a brave woman, had turned at bay and fought to the very last. I admired that.

“You cannot defeat Erasmo as you are,” she whispered. “He holds the Tower of the East. He-” She coughed blood, too much.

“Be at ease,” I said. “I will do as you ask.”

She looked at me with glazed eyes. Then she died. I brushed my palm across her eyes and closed them. I was sick of running like a frightened peasant. I wanted the hunter who had sent hounds after a young maid and who’d kicked Guido in the side. Signor Fangs for Teeth thought it a joke to fling rocks at my head.

I studied the grim tableau around me, arose and thought about Magi Filippo. It was time to set a trap of my own.

***

I waited in the boulders above the ravine. Riders came on fast. Through the trees, I heard the jangle of their equipment and saw the bob of lanterns. My coin grew heavy then.

“Hold!” a man shouted. His voice came through the foliage and the jangling sounds quit as horses whinnied.

Return to the castle. You must not risk capture, my Darkling.

“That way,” Signor Fangs for Teeth said. “He’s over there.”

I knew then that the hunter was a sorcerer, at least enough of one to sense when the Moon Lady communed with me and in what direction.

I took out the coin and whispered, “You’re giving me away.” Prudence stopped me from saying more.

I tucked away the coin and saw the lanterns approaching. They were supposed to have followed the hounds’ trail and to have found the slain moon maiden. While they examined the dead, I would have crept near enough to strike.

I slid from my perch and couched behind the boulder. I had the advantage of a steep and brambly slope. They could not ride their horses up it and I might possibly attack them one-by-one if they dared climb on foot.

I wondered if the Moon Lady knew the hunter could track through her coin, at least when she attempted to communicate with me. If she knew, then she was trying to scare me off. If she didn’t know, it meant the dark gods had limitations.

Like wild boars and with a great shaking of leaves, the band broke into the open. Dead-faced men rode in the van and in the back. Signor Fangs for Teeth was in the middle. He held up his hand. Riders drew rein and woodenly slid out swords. None bothered looking upslope, but waited like statues. I couldn’t decide if they were true dead men or under a wicked spell.

The hunter removed his wide-brimmed hat and mopped his forehead with a cloth. He fiddled with the crow’s feather, put on the hat and adjusted it to a rakish angle. Then he leaned forward, with both hands on the saddle’s pommel. Leather creaked as he peered up. I saw him smile and expose his signature fangs.

“It has been a good hunt.” He scanned the ridgeline. “But now my master wishes to see you, Darkling. It’s rather urgent.”

I crept from behind my boulder and eased behind brambles. Carefully, I began to descend down-slope.

“He prefers you intact, undamaged. But if you resist too frantically, we’re allowed….” His grin widened. “I shan’t say ‘kill you’, as that’s rather redundant. But I’m sure you understand the drift of my thoughts, signor. It’s said that once you were a gentleman of the highest quality.”

Something crackled down to my left. I peered intently. A dead-faced man crept uphill. I scanned the brambles. There were others. Oh, the hunter was clever. I hadn’t seen them dismount and slip into cover.

I heard a whine behind me uphill.

“Hsst, keep quiet,” a human hound growled.

“It’s odd living in the dark,” the hunter said. “The old ways, they die hard. Perhaps that is why I was at the bonfire with the flagellants. I remember before the change occurred-” The hunter shrugged, and he raised his voice. “Walk down like a gentleman, signor. It won’t be pleasant for you if I unleash the hounds.”

I drew my deathblade. I’d often practiced knife throwing as a squire and had attained a degree of skill. But to trust all on a single cast and possibly lose my deathblade, it was risky. Yet I remembered what had happened to the bondlings when I’d slain Magi Filippo. I slid farther down-slope.

“Here,” a hound howled from the ridge. “Here, here, here, he’s here, master.”

The hunter laughed triumphantly and reached into a saddlebag.

I slid down-slope faster yet. Then dead-faced men dismounted, five of them with swords. They formed a shield wall at the foot of the slope.

I stood up, about halfway down.

The hunter pulled his hand from the saddlebag and raised a thin stick. “You’re wise,” he said. “Now walk down into the lantern-light.”

“You made a mistake,” I said.

“If you mean Guido the hound,” he said, “it’s you who are mistaken. Once I learned of his treachery, others spiked his paws onto wood while I flayed him alive. It was an instructive time.”

I flipped my deathblade and caught it by the tip. “You not only live in the dark,” I said, “but the dark has flooded your soul.”

The hunter pinched the brim of his hat and tipped it. “Well spoken, signor. Now if you’d hurry, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Your mistake is in thinking this is a hunt,” I said.

“Do you prefer the word ‘chase’?”

“No. War.” My arm snapped forward. The knife whirled, and I heard a wet thud. The hunter’s mouth sagged. His stick fell from his grasp. Then he toppled from the saddle to crash onto the ground.

Around me, in the brambles and below, dead-faced men collapsed as if someone had cut puppet-strings. While as before, the hounds bayed as if their skin had caught fire, and they fled.

I worked down the rest of the way, put my foot on the hunter’s chest and yanked out the blade. Smoke trickled from the wound, and his medallion winked as if sunlight had struck it. I crouched beside the body and peered at the golden pedant. It was of the Cloaked Man. I reached for the thin stick, thought better of that and searched for an ordinary twig. With it, I prodded the medallion.

“Erasmo della Rovere,” I said, directing my speech toward it. “Can you hear me?”

I waited, but nothing happened. I prodded the medallion again, considered taking it, but rejected the idea. If the hunter had been able to trace me through my coin, surely the Lord of Night could do so with a Cloaked Man medallion.

I forced a grin. “How’s your foot, Erasmo?” I glanced around to see if anyone was near. No one was. I bent low and whispered, “In the swamp, you shouldn’t have run away. You should have fought me like a knight. I had a terrible wound. You might have won. But then the Good Book says, ‘The wicked flee when no man pursueth’.”

I rose abruptly, and I kicked the corpse. Erasmo held my wife and children. I stared at the medallion, wondering if it was true that a sorcerer could retrieve images from it. Had Erasmo heard my words? I did not know. Then I continued the journey to Perugia.