Assassin of the Damned (Dark Gods) Read online

  “The cur!” she cried, startling me. Her eyes blazed like a rat cheated of booty. “I knew he’d get greedy. He can never just do a task. He always has to try to milk more.” She rapped a fist against her forehead, shook her head and asked in a quieter voice, “He killed the other one, though? Tell me you know he killed that one.”

  Yes, there had been two of them. One slumped in death at his stake, with his throat cut. Then the import of her words hit home. “You hired White Company mercenaries?” I asked. She, a grave robber had done this?

  She shrugged. “I believe in buying excellence over cheaper shoddy goods. At least, I thought they were the best killers around. I suspected the captain was a braggart.”

  “The big red-bearded one?” I asked.

  She nodded. “That’s the captain. Da Canale. He calls himself an Englishmen, but I know his mother was born in Pisa.”

  “Why did you want the man with the medallion killed?”

  “Magi Filippo?” she asked, and she bared her teeth. “If you punch him like you did Ox, I’ll give you a thousand florins.”

  Where did a grave robber acquire such amounts? Instead of unraveling mysteries, I gained new ones. “Why do you want this Filippo killed?” I asked.

  Ofelia’s features hardened. “…I knew him once. He was my papa’s apprentice. My papa was an eel-fisher. That was before the dying, before everything began changing. Magi Filippo he calls himself now. Ha! He wears his medal, his magician’s badge. He’s set himself against honest laborers. He stops those he can from reaching the castle, me for one. Does he begrudge me florins? He used to seek my favors freely enough in the old days.”

  This was an old wound, it seemed.

  “Lord High and Mighty Filippo says his master set him the task,” Ofelia sneered. “He fancies himself the master around here. The things he’s done with that pendant—bah! I knew that despite his newfound power that Filippo was always careless. Papa said it all the time, and he always beat Filippo for it. People say the English soldiers are swift. That’s how they storm castles and the smaller walled towns, and how they capture over-confident nobles and merchants. I convinced the captain he could ambush Filippo unawares. It’s good they slew the other one and cut his throat. In some ways he was even worse than Filippo.”

  She shot me a venomous glance. “The captain had him tied, you say. Filippo was as good as dead then until you showed up. You spoiled everything. My only joy is that Filippo will kill you or worse before he finishes with me.”

  I gave her a vicious grin. I’d seen this Filippo run screaming from me. As long as I kept from looking at his evil medallion, I had no fear of him.

  Ofelia rubbed her chin. “I’m intent on hiring your sword, signor.”

  This grave robber had gall, but she also had courage. I liked that, and I could use the florins. My rusty mail—could I trust it? Even with the mail, I was woefully under-armored. The crossbow earlier had proven that. Normally, over the mail, I buckled on a chest plate and a skirt of linked hoops. I needed arm and leg plate, and a ten-pound helmet with visor. Then I needed an armored warhorse, a heavy lance, several battle swords and a good axe. One poet had called us knights, “A terrible worm in an iron cocoon.” The “worm” implied how we devoured everything in our path, more in our search of money than actual fire and mayhem. These days, knights, squires and men-at-arms marched in a prince’s host less because of feudal obligations than for pay in florins. Hence, someone as lowly as this grave robber could believe her coins would purchase my aid. Yet there was a singular problem.

  I told Ofelia, “First I would need a sword.”

  “Whoa,” Ofelia said. When the wagon stopped, she climbed in back and threw aside a tarp. Several swords and daggers lay there, probably stolen from smashed caskets. “Take your pick, signor. Just help me reach the castle.”

  “You said Filippo has horses, hounds and swords.”

  “I saw you punch Ox,” she said. “He was the strongest man I knew. You manhandled him like a child. By your story, you chased off White Company killers. I will tell you a secret. I’ve a trick that will surprise Magi Filippo. Kill him and the others will scatter. That I know for certain.”

  I nodded. “First tell me who the lady in the castle is.”

  “She’s particular about that sort of—”

  “No more excuses,” I said. “If you want my help, you must speak.”

  Ofelia scratched her scalp. Under her hood, she had bristles for hair. “Have you heard, signor, of the Moon Lady?”

  I shrugged.

  “A priestess of the Moon lives at the castle,” Ofelia said.

  “What does a priestess of the Moon want with so many corpses?”

  “What do I care?” Ofelia asked. “She pays in silver. That’s enough for me.”

  “My sword will cost you fifteen hundred florins.”

  Ofelia began to protest.

  “You tried to kill me,” I said. “And so far I’ve refrained from hanging you for it.”

  She grew pale, nodded.

  I climbed into the wagon-bed and picked up a sword. It had the stamp of Villani, one of the best smithies in Milan, which was the arms and armor capital of Italy. The sword wore specks of rust, probably from laying in damp ground too long. A rusty sword for a knight with rusty mail—maybe it was fitting. I felt enlivened with a blade in my hand. I was ready to deal vengeance and gain justice, be it from a priest, sorcerer or slumbering goddess.

  Ofelia snapped the reins and the mules lurched into motion.

  -6-

  We hit a stretch of open road and passed dark vineyards. There was a cottage down in the ravine, with light shining past the door jam. The mules pulled at a steady clop and their heads bobbed up and down. Soon we crested the hill. More appeared in the distance.

  “There,” Ofelia said. She pointed at a castle on a crag. It was dark, and even from here, the castle radiated menace. It was too tall and spiky, like an evil castle in a minstrel’s tale.

  “Don’t the guards carry lanterns?” I asked.

  Ofelia’s laugh sounded like a witch’s cackle.

  The road led down and looked to twist in the ravines. I spied lights of movement among trees. Our friends carried lanterns or torches.

  “How many men will Filippo have?” I asked.

  “We could only wish they were men,” Ofelia muttered.

  Hounds howled before I could ask her what she meant. The howling was eerie, discordant, as I’d said earlier. A premonition touched me and I realized the improbability of Ofelia’s tale. I put my hand on her shoulder. She cowered, and I felt her flesh tremble.

  “Is this a trap?”

  She shook her head.

  “By the howls Filippo must have half-a-dozen hounds and likely a dozen riders,” I said. “I can kill two or three of his men-at-arms. The rest will swarm me and capture you. You must realize that. I don’t think you’d willingly ride into capture. That leaves only one other option.”

  “All you have to do is kill Filippo,” she said. “Surely you know that.”

  “Slay him while his men guard him?” I laughed.

  “Knock them out of the way. You’re strong.”

  “My dear woman, horses are too big to knock out of the way.”

  “I hired you—your sword, I mean. I did it honestly, signor. I want to reach the castle. Why would I jeopardize my wagon and cargo just so Filippo could kill you? You’re nothing to me.”

  I scowled.

  “How was I supposed to know you’d wake up?” she asked. “The way you lay beside the road earlier, Ox and I thought you were dead. Filippo was out there before that. There would be no means for Filippo and me to plan a trap, if that’s what you fear.”

  Her reasoning made sense, and her blatant greed and self-interest were too honest to fake. I released her.

  She rubbed her shoulder, glanced at me. “The priestess gave me a powder, signor. It makes a flash that blinds people in the dark, at least for a few moments. You can attack then.
”

  “Right,” I said. “Move in among horsemen.”

  “Are you jesting?” she said. “I’d flee, but you’re quicker than a stoat and would catch me. You can kill them.”

  “Run and leave your precious cargo?” I asked.

  “You evaded Ox’s club,” she said, “twice. You caught me on the road when I tried to run. You must know your own quickness, signor. Combined with your great strength—and with my powder—Filippo’s as good as dead.”

  I recalled the White Company mercenaries. Had I dodged the first crossbow bolt? I’d moved among them as if they’d stood spellbound, and I’d snatched the knife out of the second crossbowman’s hand. I pressed a hand against my chest and poked a finger where the crossbow bolt had torn into chainmail. The flesh underneath was whole and the ribs intact. Yet the bolt had pierced my body and I’d leaked a black fluid.

  My scowl deepened. I could see in the dark. I moved as fast as a stoat. I hit like a bull, and now I could heal like a lizard, one that re-grows its tail.

  “I have a plan, signor,” Ofelia said as she graced me with a rat-like grin. “My papa taught me to always have a plan.” The wagon creaked along a ravine thick with brush. “Magi Filippo has seen you. I’m sure you frightened him. He might be too cautious to step into our trap if he spies you here.”

  “You want me to lay in the wagon with the dead?” I asked.

  “No. I think you should drape Ox’s cloak over your armor. Hunch as Ox always did. Keep silent when they ride up, for Ox seldom spoke. When I kick you, close your eyes. I’ll toss the powder. Trust me, signor. You’ll know the flash went off. That is when you draw your sword.”

  It was simple, and it played on Filippo’s likely expectations. But could I trust this grave robber? Could I trust my strength and speed to slay Filippo? How did I know the others would scatter at his death? What if they wore plate, wore all the armor a knight should?

  A horn blared. It was loud, arrogant and close.

  I hurried into the wagon-bed and tore away Ox’s hooded cloak. Soon I sat on the buckboard with my flimsy disguise. I was barely in time.

  They came out of a clump of trees, the hounds first. They were vile creatures. I hadn’t expected it. How could I? The hounds were elongated men who ran on their hands and feet. They were naked and their backs were high off the ground. Their eyes bulged and some had fangs instead of teeth. One of them bayed. The others panted and loped toward us.

  “What are they?” I whispered in horror.

  “Damned creatures,” Ofelia whispered, “who ran afoul of the Lord of Night.”

  “Who?” I whispered.

  She shot me an incredulous glance.

  Horsemen thundered into view. The riders were big, wore flapping cloaks and hoods. Fortunately, none clinked with mail or clanked with plate. Even with my demonic vision, it was hard to see their faces. Several of the riders seemed to have snouts like beasts. I felt then as if I’d ridden into the first canto of Dante’s Inferno. I believe I was as terrified and horrified as when Dante first called out to eerie-voiced Virgil.

  I barely remembered in time Ofelia’s plan. I hunched on the buckboard, kept my head down. The rusty, Villani-forged sword lay at my feet.

  “Halt!” a man shouted. I thought I recognized his voice.

  Ofelia drew rein. We creaked to a stop, swayed. Horses neared. Torches hissed and threw flickering light.

  I peered out of my hood. Magi Filippo, the supposed eel-fisher’s apprentice, rode in the lead on an elegant Arabian horse. He held a torch and had a feline smile that oddly matched his forked beard. His pendant thumped against a leather jerkin. He must have been proud of the pendant or maybe it was the symbol of his authority. Behind him followed big riders. One of them gazed at me. Torchlight reflected out of his eyes as if he was a wolf. I shuddered, and wondered what had occurred to turn men into creatures and creatures into men.

  The altered hounds snarled up at us and gnashed their teeth. In some, I spied a muted light of humanity. Those seemed as mournful as savage, as if they understood their degradation.

  “Ofelia,” Filippo said in an oily tone. “This is a wonderful surprise. What? No words for your old friend? Ofelia. I thought we had an agreement. I let you enter the castle. You—”

  “You always planned me treachery,” she said nervously. I had the feeling she tried hard not to glance my way. In spite of my horror, I wondered what treachery she had in store for me.

  Filippo laughed. “Planning is one thing, doing is another. But if you do it, you must succeed. You failed to succeed when you sent the White Company killers after me.”

  “I’ve kept my bargain,” she whined.

  Filippo eased the Arabian closer, and his features turned ugly. “That was a nasty bit of business, setting the captain and his men on me. Did you really think—”

  Ofelia nudged me with her foot. I barely remembered to close my eyes and turn my head. Her garments rustled as if she threw something. I heard a hiss and a violent explosion that made me cringe. Horses screamed, riders shouted and hounds howled.

  My fear boiled into rage. With a bellow, I grabbed the sword and leaped from the moving buckboard—the mules bolted. I had a moment to wonder if Ofelia had calculated that in her plans.

  With a jarring thud, I crashed into Filippo. The Arabian reared. We tumbled. I twisted Filippo under me. He struck the ground first and bones crunched. The impact blew me off him. I rolled, found I’d kept hold of the sword and sprang to my feet. Riders shouted wildly and clawed at their eyes. Horses screamed and turned in circles. Filippo tried to get up as he worked his mouth like a landed carp. I hacked once and finished him. It was brutal and sudden, the usual way of war.

  At his death, riders lurched in the saddle as if wasps had stung them. The altered hounds howled like damned souls and fled. Maybe Ofelia had spoken truly about just having to kill Filippo. Still, I distrusted her. So I used my advantage, the sighted among the temporarily blinded. I lunged here and there and used the tip of my sword. I stabbed at vital spots. Even so, four riders galloped away.

  I tried to grab a horse. I would catch Ofelia. Each time I neared an animal, it bolted in terror. They must have smelled the stink of sorcery upon my person.

  I knelt beside one of the fallen riders and forced myself to inspect him. He had a pushed out mouth and nose, like the beginning of a snout. He seemed human otherwise, which is to say that the transformation was all the more hideous. I could only conclude that he had bargained his soul and had begun to melt into a demon. Either that, or instead of me being Dante and entering the land of the dead and the demons of Hell, they had somehow found a means onto the Earth. The thought made me back away. I glanced at others. They were the same. Each had a badge pinned to his chest that showed a cloaked man. Did that make them servants of this Old Father Night? One thing made me glad. Each of those lying on the road was dead.

  I dared crouch beside Filippo and examined the gold chain. I let my hand hover over the pendant. Repugnance filled me. I wanted nothing to do with the foul gold. Let it tempt another.

  I stood. Ofelia’s wagon was gone. I cleaned my sword, sheathed it and set out for the castle. If I’d been ensorcelled, would my face begin to push outward into a snout? Were Erasmo’s dark deities indeed real? I touched my face. It seemed normal. Even so, I lengthened my stride. I would force these spells from me or I would wreck Perugian vengeance upon the caster.

  -7-

  To my surprise, I found Ofelia a quarter mile later. The right rear wheel had spun off her wagon. That corner of the wagon touched the road. Ofelia had unhitched the mules and tied their reins to branches. She had one end of a pole under the wagon, with wood under the pole to make it a lever. Her lantern-light cast the pathetic scene in a yellow glow. Ofelia grunted and pulled. It appeared as if she wanted to lift the wagon corner and kick a piece of wood under it. She would have to lever it many times to get all her wood under. Only then could she think about wrestling the wheel back onto the axle.
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  She sweated, grunted and cursed with crude profanity. And suddenly with a crack of wood, her lever splintered. She sprawled backward onto the road.

  “You should have unloaded the corpses first,” I said.

  She yelped, jumped up and waved a trembling knife in my direction. From under her hood, she squinted into the darkness as if I was invisible.

  I strode into the lantern’s radius. “The wagon’s too heavy,” I said.

  Terror twitched across her pockmarked face. The knife shook worse. She looked at it, shrugged, sheathed the knife and tried to smile. It was the most insincere smile I’d ever seen.

  “I wager you won the fight,” she said.

  “Do you want their corpses?” I asked.

  She forced a chuckle and nodded as if she appreciated my humor. “Did you slay them all?”

  I shook my head.

  Worry pulled at her mouth. “Please tell me you killed Filippo.”

  “Was he truly a sorcerer?” I asked.

  “Was?” She smiled. “That means he’s dead, right?”

  Ofelia was clever. “When I killed him,” I said, “the others reacted oddly.”

  “They’re bonded to him. They’re creatures of the Lord of Night.”

  I wondered if ‘the Lord of Night’ was a nickname for the Devil. “Was Magi Filippo a creature of this lord?” I asked.

  Ofelia clapped her hands in delight. “He’s dead. Oh, he’s finally dead. What wonderful news.”

  “Is the Lord of the Night the Devil?”

  “You’re not truly asking me that,” she said with a laugh.

  “Why not?”

  “Because everyone knows about the Lord of Night. Peasants in Ireland know. The lord is as human as the two of us…well, as me. He brought the Great Mortality. He changed the world. Why pretend you don’t know?”

  “Tell me about this Great Mortality.”

  Ofelia laughed. “Where have you been that you can ask me that?”