Assassin of the Damned (Dark Gods)

by Vaughn Heppner

  The low buildings huddled in misery. Towers rose in places, six of them. Roads linked each, and the roads made a familiar pattern. I remembered the pattern Orlando had made in Perugia. Erasmo had used the pattern to journey from here to there. The gargantuan Tower of the East stood in the center of the other towers. All roads or lines led to it.

  High in the main tower light blazed from a window. Now that I studied them more closely, it seemed as if the giant flames in the sky bowed down toward the window. The moment I recognized that, one flame shifted unnaturally. Its tip dipped low, and for a moment, I imagined it had eyes. Our eyes met, and the flame licked back—in shock perhaps.

  Those weren’t flames, but demons, or some other supernatural beings. They were here…I don’t know why. I had two suspicions. One, they might help Erasmo blow the trumpet. Two, maybe in some manner they helped him heal from my cut.

  I lowered my eyes. Maybe it was sacrilegious to look up at them.

  Ah. There was the sign. That’s what I wanted. A door opened in one of the lesser towers. I had questions. I doubted altered men could tell me. Now a sorcerer, one of Erasmo’s magician henchmen, could likely give me useful answers. A sorcerer darted into that tower.

  I dropped from my perch and landed like a cat. Then I used shadows and kept up my hood. Few altered men were aboard. Many were likely outside the castle fighting. I hoped Signor Orlando was out there, and both the lycanthropes, too.

  The giant flames crackled. They poured heat. Whenever I stepped out of shadows, I felt the scrutiny of the sky. I should have known the Tower of the East would be a door into some strange evil. This was Erasmo’s place of power.

  I hurried from shadows and toward the foot of a tower. I stepped onto one of the main roads. A shock struck me, a current of power.

  I leaped off the road. The feeling stopped. What was that? I needed answers. I needed them fast. I resolutely stepped onto the road. The shock flowed through me again. It made my teeth ache. I strode to the door and hammered on it with my fist. I banged impatiently. I kept at it. The current numbed my feet. It was making my eyelids heavy.

  The door swung open. A beefy altered man glowered. He was the biggest I’d seen. He wore a cloak, a cap, but his features were inhuman. He had a snout like a wolf and a black tongue. I shoved him aside as I stepped in. I slammed the door behind me. The current stopped.

  I stood in an atrium. There were busts everywhere and they were all of me. These had the spade-shaped beard and Erasmo’s evil stare. Tapestries hung in places. They showed hellish scenes of leering succubae and other abominations. In some of them Erasmo strode as a conqueror. In others, he was a vile celebrant. When I say Erasmo, they were all images of me.

  What was his fascination with me? I’d hated it before. Now I resented it. It was a personal affront. If he was going to be a Lord of Hell, he should do it with his own features. He shouldn’t smear my name and likeness throughout all eternity.

  “Who are you?” the altered man growled.

  I stabbed him, dragged him to a closet and shoved him in. Then I yanked down a tapestry, sopped some of the blood and threw that after him.

  There were more rooms. They were empty. Finally, I found stars. I bounded up. They went in a spiral and kept going what seemed forever.

  I ran and grew enraged that Erasmo looked like me. He’d stolen my former life. He’d taken my wife and children. They had to be here somewhere.

  After a long climb, a door waited above. It looked heavy. Part of me wished to throw my shoulder against it and batter it down. The wiser part, the cunning part, slowed, stopped and soon tested it. It was open. I pushed ever so slowly.

  ***

  The room was huge. It contained rugs, cushioned chairs and an open hearth in the center. Black coals and ashes smoldered there now. There were cabinets with wine and decanters. There were tables with spiced chicken, apples, pears, ham, meat pies and cakes. Plates lay on tables. Greasy bones lay on those, hunks of bread and half-filled glasses. There had been a feast, a party maybe.

  A lone occupant rose from the head of one of the tables. He set a gnawed bone on the silken tablecloth. He was hairy, eight feet tall and had clawed hands. It was the chief of the lycanthropes in human form. A long blue cloak hung at his back. It was fastened near his hulking shoulder with a sapphire flower of exotic design. His green eyes were hot and poisonous, and greedy for pain. He tilted his face, and he sniffed.

  “You’ve been with the sea creatures,” he said.

  “I was in Perugia. Do you remember?”

  He shrugged.

  “You feared me then,” I said. “Your brothers of the fang said I was a dead thing.”

  “We feared you before you ran from us. We fear nothing that runs away.”

  “I won’t run now. Go ahead and call your brother.”

  He sniffed again, more carefully. A slow smile stretched his lips. “You made a mistake coming here,” he said. “You lack silver weapons.”

  I kicked the door shut and dropped the bar. “Do you remember the smile I gave your brother when I cut under his chin?”

  He picked up a sword, a whippy, flexible thing over five feet long. It looked sharp, deadly. I’d never seen a sword like that. It had a jeweled pommel.

  “This is how we duel in my world,” he said. “Tonight, I gain rank in the civilized manner.”

  “You?” I asked. “Civilized? Is that a jest?”

  He slashed the sword. The tip whipped back and forth with deadly swishes. He hurled his chair from him and stepped away from the table.

  “Erasmo della Rovere has style,” he said. “He is a superior being. He ordered a proper sword forged for a true warrior. With it, I will cut out your heart and give him half. The other half I’ll gnaw. I will thereby gain your strength.”

  “You’ll need it.”

  “I will hew your head with a swipe. I will pack your head in salt and take it with me when I return home. There I will let the pups piss on your face and I will tell them the story about how I slew the killer-in-the-dark.”

  I spread my hands and moved toward him. “I have no five-foot sword,” I said. “How civilized is that?”

  He flicked the sword, and the tip swished several feet either way. “It is alive,” he said. “Notice the movement, the backsnap. In our world, such a sword is called a tschai. I tell you this so you may understand the honor I do you.”

  I frowned. I didn’t want his honor. I wanted to kill Erasmo, save my family. The lycanthrope stood in the way.

  “You crossed to the fiery world after us,” he said. “That was brave. I salute you.”

  He made an exaggerated flourish. It would have been comical in another place. His green eyes glittered. The teeth in his smile were long and canine-like. The blue cloak, the exotic sapphire flower, what did he try to prove?

  “You have been clever,” he said.

  I dipped my head. Maybe in his own way he was a knight.

  “Now you may die,” he said. “Now I will gain your soul, killer-in-the-dark. You are mine.”

  His muscles tensed. He slid his feet toward me, passed the hearth and stalked between the cushioned chairs. He had reach with that long sword, whatever he had called it. He had reach with those long arms. He would be fast. The chief of the lycanthropes was greater than any mere altered man. He was a giant. He ignored normal weapon cuts. I did not have time to duel, to complete his ceremony. I had to stop the end of the world.

  He howled, leaped, and thrust his twitchy sword.

  I threw my deathblade. It sank to the hilt in his throat. The point stuck out of his neck. He gurgled. He blinked once, and he took a step closer. Then the five-foot blade crashed to the floor. He followed it.

  I hurried, and I hacked off his head and threw it across the room. I did not do it as an act of savagery. I did not do it for revenge. I did it because I feared his recuperative powers. He was a lycanthrope, a strange creature of myth. The decapitation honored him—in a way. I think he might have understood.


  I raced for the stairs on the other end of the room, and I continued to climb.

  -31-

  The top must have finally been near. After yet another circuit around the tower on these spiral stairs, I heard voices. They murmured. They sounded worried.

  Voices equaled more than one, maybe many. I stowed the bag, straightened my clothes and gave them a quick brush. The busts had given me an idea. I settled my hood to insure it hid my features. Only then did I continue, now in a stately stride.

  I passed an open door and entered a circular room. A widow admitted fiery light from the gargantuan flames in the sky. Braziers glowed with red embers. Bizarre etchings and lurid figures decorated the walls. The floor was a giant mosaic. The symbols surely held magical significance. In the center of the room was an ebon altar. A nude and terrified beauty lay upon it. Shackles held her ankles and wrists.

  The murmuring stopped as I entered. There were several clumps of apprentices. They wore long, scarlet robes tied by yellow cords. Each bore ugly scars on his face, burn marks. I realized then that each mark had a counterpart on the wall. The burn was a magical symbol, likely branded on. Maybe the living flame had done that to each.

  The sorcerer lacked facial scarring. He wore the opposite of them, a yellow robe with a scarlet cord. He had gnarled hands. He was short, bald and had the leathery face of an onion merchant. He seemed less like a sorcerer than an angry peasant. I took that to mean he was a master at his art. Maybe this was Erasmo’s most trusted servant. All the apprentices were taller than the sorcerer.

  “Who are you?” the sorcerer asked. His voice was hoarse. He stood near the altar beside a small table. On the table were an assortment of knives. There was another thing there, but a yellow cloth hid it.

  I stood silently. I doubted he could see my features underneath the hood.

  The apprentices glanced at the sorcerer. He kept his leathery face impassive.

  I wondered how to imitate Erasmo, and decided the more arrogantly I acted the more convincing. So I kept staring.

  The sorcerer brushed his fingertips against his thumb. “Do you bring a message?” he asked.

  I could draw my knife and attempt to kill them all. Instead, I wanted answers first. There was also the possibility that the sorcerer and the apprentices knew spells that could seriously harm me. I doffed the hood, and I continued to stare at the sorcerer.

  The reactions startled me. Many gasped. The apprentices to a man averted their gaze from mine. In twos and threes, they knelt. The sorcerer bowed his head and he spread his arms outward. With much huffing and puffing, he worked onto his knees.

  “My lord,” he said, “this is a surprise.”

  I remained silent. I noticed that the sacrifice on the altar had screwed her eyes shut. Maybe I should order them all to lie on their bellies. I could kill them more easily then.

  “Do you wish to speak alone, my lord?” the sorcerer asked.

  “Confine them all to their quarters,” I said.

  One apprentice groaned. Several turned chalk white. The boldest dared look up at the sorcerer with confusion.

  The sorcerer hesitated. I had likely already blundered. But I couldn’t back down now. I narrowed my eyes. The sorcerer stiffened, and he clapped his hands.

  With their eyes downcast, the apprentices fled the room. The last shut the door with the softest snick.

  I walked regally toward the sorcerer. He swallowed audibly, and his leathery skin turned pale. He began to tremble.

  “My lord,” he whispered, “I-I don’t understand. We awaited your signal. Everything is ready.”

  I laughed grimly.

  “The powers, lord…. What keeps them at bay? This shouldn’t be possible.”

  “Do you think I tell you everything?” I asked.

  He brushed his fingertips against his thumb. He frowned, obviously perplexed. I wished I knew what he was thinking. “My lord—my lord,” he said. “You’ve shaved off your beard.”

  “I wondered when you would notice.”

  “Lord, have I failed thee?”

  “Quickly,” I said, “explain your part. Then you shall see how you’ve failed.”

  He lifted his head and stared. A lizard-quick moment of understanding lit in his eyes. He bowed his head. He stopped trembling and color returned to his skin. “Lord—” he began.

  I was upon him before he finished. With an arm around his throat, I dragged him upright. I pressed the deathblade against his stomach. Maybe Erasmo and I used the same face, but there were surely enough minor variations and word choices that alert people could pierce the difference.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Your features are uncanny, even to the tilt of his head.”

  “Do you want to live?”

  “Naturally,” he said.

  I wondered at his cool. “Then you must answer me,” I said.

  “I think not.”

  “Then I have no use for you.”

  “Nor will you have a use for me once I tell you what you want to know.”

  “One means you die now,” I said, “another later.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “that’s a problem.”

  I tightened my hold, and I whispered into his ear. “I have a knife. It has cut your master before. The wounds do not heal.”

  He nodded because I gripped him too tightly for him to speak.

  “Your death can be hard or quick,” I said, and I eased up.

  He coughed hoarsely. I let go. He bent over, coughed and began to wheeze. He massaged his throat and straightened. “You look just like him,” he said. “You should have grown a beard, though.”

  “Decide!”

  “If you killed anyone entering the tower,” he said, “the body will soon be discovered. Guards will sound the alarm. The apprentices will come out of their rooms. They will talk. If nothing else works, our lord will unleash the powers against you.”

  “What powers?” I said.

  “Look outside. They’re the giant flames.”

  “What are they?”

  He shook his head. “I dare not say more.”

  I had no time to dicker. He was tough minded. He was evil. A woman lay on the altar, ready for him to sacrifice. How many other women had he slain with his assorted knives? If I tied and gagged him, he likely had magical abilities to free himself. He had left me no choice. I was the Darkling. To show mercy now in this desperate place was folly.

  I killed him, wiped my deathblade on his yellow robe and laid him on the mosaic. I would have to question an apprentice. The sight of the dead sorcerer might help loosen his tongue. I strode for the door.

  “I’ll tell you want you want to know,” the nude woman on the altar said.

  I whirled around. In my haste, I’d forgotten about her.

  “The keys are on the knife table,” she said. “They’re under the yellow cloth.”

  I found them, freed her and ripped his robe from him. She wrapped herself with it. She was young and beautiful, blond-haired, with startling green eyes.

  “I’ve listened to them talk,” she said, as she knotted the cord around her slim waist. “They’re worried because things aren’t going right.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “You won’t kill me, will you?”

  “No.”

  “On your word?” she asked.

  “On my word of honor, my lady.”

  “There’s no honor here,” she said bitterly.

  “I’m a prince.”

  She laughed. It was a hard thing, tinged with fear. “Can you spirit me out of here?”

  “Not at the moment,” I said.

  “Will you come back for me once you’re done?”

  “If you help me,” I said. “If it’s possible.”

  She nodded. “That’s better than anyone else is offering.”

  “You must hurry.”

  “Did you kill someone getting in?”

  That told me she had been listening. It also made me wary. Who was sh
e? I could have asked her a dozen questions and still know nothing about Erasmo and his plan. Time was precious.

  “I killed the chief lycanthrope and I killed this sorcerer.”

  “His name was Pandolfo Petrucci,” she said.

  “I don’t care what is name is. Tell me what’s going on with the spell.”

  She brushed back her golden hair. For a woman just freed from an altar, she had amazing poise.

  “The flames in the sky are powers, lords of another realm,” she said. “They’re supplying magical might.”

  “Keep talking,” I said.

  “The Grand Conjuration has been days in the making. It’s a difficult spell. I’ve been chained to this altar three different times. This makes the fourth. The Lord of Night is injured, as you said. He slowly regains strength. Everyone is readied, and then he has a relapse. When the signal finally comes, I’m to be butchered along with many others. Then the Lord of Night will summon a being powerful enough to finish the Grand Conjuration.”

  “You mean blow the Trumpet of Blood.”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t heard about that.”

  “They didn’t talk about it?”

  “Not near me.”

  “Why does he need these flame powers?” I asked.

  “Do you think I’m a witch?”

  I grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a window. It faced the massive tower.

  “How hard is it to get into there?” I asked.

  She brushed back her golden hair. “I would say it’s impossible.”

  “How do you know?”

  She tugged the robes more tightly around herself. “It’s a hard world out there. I believed an apprentice’s promises. They might have come true. Then the Lord of Night returned hurt. He tried to hide it, but we soon knew. Well, the sorcerers and apprentices knew. That’s when the plan changed and they needed—”

  She turned to me. “Do you think I’m a virgin?” she asked.

  I studied the massive tower, although I avoided looking at the giant flames, the so-called powers.

  “I always thought sorcerers only sacrificed virgins,” she said. “I thought I was safe. Then my lover decided here was his chance to gain influence. They all vied with each other to offer their paramours to their sorcerer. They’re all dogs. He said he loved me. Then he told me I should understand. He said he was sorry. Can you believe that?”