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  How long had I lain here for grass to grow up through the armor?

  I tried to surge up, but the combined blades of grass held me down, although my head lifted. Grass even grew through my leggings. The tallest blades fluttered in the breeze.

  I bellowed and wrenched my right arm with fierce strength. Grasses tore and roots pulled out of the ground. I yanked harder, freeing my right arm. Soon, I ripped my other arm free and clawed at my sides, tearing more grass. I began wrenching my legs. Finally, with a feeling of triumph, I surged to my feet. I beat at my mail so it clinked as I knocked lodged dirt, roots and grass. I stamped the ground with my feet. Then I stopped, horrified. The grass where I’d lain was dead white.

  Terror threatened to unman me. How could I have lain there so long the grass under me had died and yet I was still alive?

  “I am alive,” I said, in a hoarse voice, one that startled me.

  The coin I’d spit out of my mouth glowed faintly with a silvery light. Shocked, I knelt and picked it up. It was the size of a florin, the standard coin of the merchants of Florence. The engraving on one side showed mountainous Perugia, with a prominent moon above the city.

  I froze. I was Gian Baglioni, the prince of Perugia. I had an enemy, Erasmo della Rovere. He had hurled a spear into my belly. I shook my head, not wanting to think about that just yet. While I had lain dying—at least, I’d thought I’d been dying—I’d spoken to the moon.

  I looked up and through the leaves saw a smattering of stars. There was no moon this night. Something about the stars troubled me. I glanced around. I saw each indentation of bark on the nearest cypress trees. I frowned. It was night. At night, you needed a torch to see this well. I stared at the bark as dread stole my ability to move. This was vile sorcery. Yes, I’d been ensorcelled, possibly enslaved to a foul sorcerer or to one of Erasmo’s dark deities.

  I turned the coin. It showed an engraving of an achingly beautiful woman. She looked just like the lady in the moon I’d seen before…before passing out.

  I clutched the coin. “Erasmo.” I spoke his name with hatred, with the desire to slay. This was his doing. We had come to the swamp….

  I couldn’t remember why. I realized with a shock that I’d forgotten things.

  Something tugged my hand. I frowned. It tugged again. I opened my hand. The coin…by some dark witchery it wanted me to go…to a place where I could gain help. That’s what seemed to whisper in my mind.

  My lips twisted into a sneer. This was witchery indeed, dark sorcery. Although I’d been ensorcelled so I could see at night like a demon, I still had my will. I was Gian Baglioni, the rightful prince of Perugia. The grass through my armor showed me I’d lain here for some time. Erasmo had long departed, of that I was certain. I wanted this spell taken from me. Therefore, I would allow the coin to tug me. Then…a fierce desire to right these hideous wrongs broke the loathing that had locked my limbs. I would free myself of sorcery, hunt down Erasmo and kill him.

  Only then did I consider the spear. It had pierced my belly. Forcing myself to it, I inspected my mailcoat around my stomach. There was a tear in the middle of my gut. Much of the rust might have been dried blood. I reached around and fingered smashed links in the small of my back. The implications—the spear had gone completely through me—I leaped up and ran in a gibbering panic, sickened at the idea that I was already dead.