A bearded fat man detached himself from the shadowed group and approached the dancers. He sauntered like a knight, dressed like a prince in tight hose and yet had the features of a town butcher. He raised meaty hands as one who held authority. When the dancers noticed that, they left the fire and flocked around him. They had sweaty faces and many breathed heavily. I debated climbing my boulder as they circled him. They blocked my view.
My coin seemed to grow heavier then. But the Moon Lady’s warning only increased my desire to stay.
The butcher spoke. At least, I presumed he did. He had a strangely high voice, although the villagers listened raptly.
He said, “The clergy tell us they know why we die. They say we’re wicked. They say if we pray in the churches, if we give them extra florins they’ll beg the saints to help us. We’ve prayed. We’ve paid, and yet people die like sheep among raving wolves. The saints are deaf. The priests are liars and death stalks us unmercifully. We’ve all lost kin. We’ve all fled doomed villages, or many of us have. I’ve seen death everywhere. I’ve seen it in Milan. It rages in France.”
The butcher worked himself into a passion. I’d seen his type before in taverns: the drunkards who bellowed before they rose up to fight. Dogs had to growl and bark first. His words entranced the people and more than one glanced at the bound priest. Did they mean to hang the poor fellow?
Maybe my curiosity dulled my caution. Maybe I’d grown weary of the Moon Lady’s nagging. Maybe it was because they were ordinary folk. His speech and their dance were extraordinary. I wanted to know more, even told myself I needed knowledge of this so-called changed world if I were to outwit Erasmo.
I left the boulder and strode to the back of the crowd. I sidled next to a man who stood apart from others. He wore elaborate leather boots that reached his mid-thighs. He had a long face and a wide-brimmed hat with a crow’s feather. The hat and boots declared him a noble. The crow’s feather seemed strange. It should have been an ostrich feather.
I nodded as he glanced at me. “Who is he?” I whispered.
The noble stared at me too long. Maybe this had been a mistake. Could people sense my difference?
“Are you new here?” He whispered hoarsely and without moving his lips.
“…I fled my village,” I said.
He nodded as if understanding, although his lips twitched, perhaps in mockery.
I realized my garments and cloak were well tailored. I’d foolishly picked a peasant persona. “I noticed the fire,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
“They’ll be food afterward. First the flagellants must help expedite our sins.”
“The speaker is a…flagellant?” I asked.
“You’ve never heard of them?” The noble seemed more amused by the moment.
I shook my head.
He adjusted the brim of his hat, leaned closer. “The priests are powerless against the plague. Or so the flagellant says. If it is sins that have caused this—”
“The Great Mortality?” I asked.
“The Black Death,” he whispered. “That’s what we call it. Prayers are no good, so the flagellants practice harsher methods.”
The noble’s lips had remained motionless throughout his whisperings. It was more than odd. I felt as if he concealed something. His manner was too superior, too amused with me, as if he knew a joke I didn’t. It was then I noticed his scent, much like a wet hound.
“You don’t mean they beat the priest?” I asked.
He gave a strange chuckle. “The priest is given the choice of blessing the affair. If he’s stubborn and refuses, he earns his beating.” The noble glanced at me sidelong. “Do you think that’s wrong?”
The butcher shouted and interrupted our talk. I heard cloth tearing.
Women moaned. Some men shouted. A few children laughed wildly. The crowd surged back and jostled the two of us. It allowed me to spy the fat man, the butcher. He’d ripped off his expensive shirt. He had white skin with countless thin scabs.
One from his group handed him a whip. It was like a cat-o-nine tails, but with little iron spikes that rattled at the ends.
“Spare us!” the fat man shouted toward the heavens. He slashed himself with the whip, cut his skin. “Forgive us our sins!” He slashed a second time, a third and a fourth.
A woman shrieked as blood began to flow.
A second man from the group of flagellants ripped off his silk shirt. He joined the fat man, whipped himself until blood mingled with his sweat.
“Stop this madness!” the priest howled. “This is evil. You must stop!”
“We abase ourselves before thee!” the fat man shouted skyward. “We spill our blood to cleanse the Earth of stinking plague!”
Several of the women of the flagellants scratched their faces until they bled. The villagers swayed. They mumbled in horror. They shrank back. Some bowed their heads and prayed fervently.
“This is against the holy—” the priest shouted.
“Shut up!” a flagellant bellowed. He clouted the bound priest on the side of the head. The priest crumpled. The flagellant kicked him viciously in the side.
“Stop that,” I said.
“Don’t bother,” the noble with the wide-brimmed hat whispered.
I glanced at him. He grinned, and I noticed then that he had fangs instead of teeth. He had long canines. He backed away from me and into the darkness.
People turned and stared, and I stood alone. The butcher stopped in mid-stroke. Worse for me, the hounds swiveled around. Most of the dogs had worked in near the two men bloodying themselves. A big brute of a hound raised its head and began to sniff the air. Its hackles rose and it barked at me. The other hounds followed its lead. Several curs moved stiff-legged toward me.
“Shoo,” I said. “Get out of here.”
The closest hounds tucked their tails between their legs. One whined, backed away. Several barked more wildly.
“Look at his face,” a woman screamed. “It’s the color of a corpse.”
The butcher, the bloody head flagellant, edged toward me. He pointed his gory whip. “Who are?” he asked in a nervous voice. “Name yourself, I command it.”
All the while, the hounds barked as if I was a bear they were too afraid to attack.
“Stop kicking the priest,” I said.
“He’s dressed in black!” a man shouted. I recognized it as the voice of the noble I’d been talking with, the noble with fangs for teeth.
The butcher’s eyes lit up. “It’s a demon!” he roared. “It’s a demon of Death. Our torments have brought it up from Hell. Now we must stone it. Kill it and the plague will stop.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “What—”
A stone hit me in the back of the head, enough so I staggered. The only one who was behind me, at least that I knew about, was the noble with fangs instead of teeth.
Men and women scrambled out of my path.
“He’s doesn’t bled,” a man shouted, one hidden in darkness, my evil benefactor. “His head is gashed and he doesn’t bleed.”
“Stone the demon of Death!” the butcher roared. “He’s colored like a corpse because he’s walking death. Kill it and save yourselves. Do as I—”
I dashed at the butcher, leapt to avoid the thrusting dagger of a nearby man and dodged the butcher’s wild whip-slash. Then I slammed an elbow into his face. The thud was loud, but he had a strong neck. It snapped back, but not as Ox’s had. Blood gushed from the butcher’s broken nose and he toppled backward. I whirled around. Stones flew, a half dozen. I dodged and ducked and only one struck me a grazing blow on the shoulder. I picked up the flagellant’s whip and snapped it at the nearest people. They surged back with screams. A few tripped over others and sprawled backward onto the ground.
The people feared and hated me. The noble with fangs for teeth had disappeared. I hurled the whip, turned and raced into the night. I had no desire to hurt regular folk.
I expected the people to bay like hounds and give chase. The butcher,
however, lifted himself on one elbow.
“No!” he shouted. “Stay! We’ve driven the demon of Death from us. Now we must celebrate our victory. Help me up, and then someone bring that devil-priest to the fire. It’s time he learned a lesson.”
I heard no more, too busy sprinting up the lonely road. I hoped the noble with fangs for teeth followed. I’d pay him back for his troubles. All the while, I ignored the sense of smugness emanating from my coin.
-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.
Assassin of the Damned (Dark Gods) Page 9
