Assassin of the Damned (Dark Gods)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Lorelei pursed her dainty lips. “There is a spider called the black widow. It kills her lover. The Moon Lady practiced a similar rite. The first Baglioni must have known about that. He was handsome and bold, and after his night with the Moon Lady, he sought out a maenad and taught her forbidden delights. That was a terrible crime. For the maenads had to foreswear intimate relations with men in order to gain acceptance by the Moon Lady. This maenad fell from grace, knew the man and fled with him. He lived out his mortal span, and he received the Moon Lady’s child, which he raised. As unbelievable as it sounds, the Moon Lady refrained from killing him. And she favored the Baglioni line ever since. I think…I think he wooed her beyond the believable. I think the Moon Lady loved him, although she loved herself and her ways more.”

  “You were that maenad,” I said.

  Lorelei laughed sadly and shook her head. “The maenad was my birth sister. The Moon Lady sent me to kill her, which I did. In those days, I ruthlessly sought power. No. I killed my sister, but that planted a seed that sprouted hundreds of years later. I rebelled only when it became safe to do so, after the Old Ones had entered their eon-long slumber.”

  Lorelei turned over a card, a nine of spades, and after a thoughtful pause, she placed it over the ten of spades.

  “You’re helping me in order to pay back an old debt to your sister?”

  A flicker of what might have been pain appeared on her face. It vanished as she shook her head. “I’m not a fair maiden in one of your Italian poems,” she said. “I’m an Immortal, which is to say, a survivor. You’re suspicious of me because I happened to be in the castle when you wandered in the warrens. I was there partly because the Moon Lady’s Darkling had taken too long in arriving. There were other reasons, but since those don’t concern you, I’ll keep them to myself. Why do I help you? The answer is simple. I fear Erasmo. He is a true acolyte of Old Father Night. That grim one loves death. Look at the destruction his servant plans. Although…I think Old Father Night may have miscalculated with your friend.”

  “Meaning what?” I asked.

  “That I believe Erasmo plans to supplant the Old Ones. I think he strives for power over them. Others have tried that in the past, those with unbridled ambition and deep cunning. That’s another reason I’m helping you. These upheavals are always dangerous to Immortals.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re trying to thwart the Moon Lady,” I said.

  “But it does. Erasmo and his master are worse. Yet she’s bad enough, if given half a chance. If we’re not careful, she’ll supplant them once they’re gone, and she’ll raise a dark kingdom devoted to her worship. She might forgive my past rebellion, but she might not. I don’t care to give her the chance to decide.”

  “Why would the moon priestess allow you in the castle then?”

  “Are you sure you were a Perugian prince?” she asked. “You Italians are noted for your deceit and backstabbing, for making an alliance one day and selling out to someone stronger the next. The Moon Lady accepts my aid because she hates Old Father Night more than she hates me.”

  With a fingernail, I pried at the rough table edge. “Then you seek to return our world to what it was before the plague.”

  “No. That’s impossible, although it would be ideal. I think your Italian cities were about to enter a golden age, say, in another hundred years. All the elements were in place.” She shrugged. “As I’ve said before, I think some of the Old Ones may have become insane. The plague and now this trumpet…mass death unleashes terrible forces. The world is awash in sorcery as I suspect it might have been in the beginning. There is the possibility that this chaos might unravel everything.”

  I thought about the dead world, the comets that blazed across the heavens and hit with shattering force. Erasmo took us on that road so he could forge…whatever his ambitions had conceived. He was like a man who whipped a team of horses, with his wagon careening along the edge of a cliff. He could plunge over the cliff at any moment, but he could also arrive at his destination. In this instance, his wagon was our world.

  “Did you cause me to sleep longer in the swamp than the Moon Lady had planned?” I asked.

  Lorelei laid down another card. “I wish I knew how to do that. It would take great cleverness.”

  I noticed she didn’t say no or yes. But I left it at that, deciding she would lie about it if she had.

  ***

  The nights passed and my hurts healed. The eye took the longest. Without Lorelei and in my impatience, I would have lain in the moon’s rays all night. I began to wonder if Lorelei told the truth about that. Maybe she wanted me to linger here for reasons of her own.

  To test my suspicion, I remained under the moon longer that night, long enough that I felt the Moon Lady’s tug. I hurried indoors and refused to take out my coin, much as a siren urge tickled my curiosity.

  Lorelei reappeared two nights later, the closest to angry I’d seen her.

  “I doubted you,” I said. We were in the dungeon again, and it made me feel like a vampire.

  Lorelei reflected on my words and her anger dwindled. “I fled because I’m unsure how much the Moon Lady can sense while communing with you. I certainly don’t want her to know I’m here. If you do that again, I’ll leave for good.”

  “Do you wish to come with me to the Tower of the East?”

  She laughed. “Only a fool would join the Darkling on one of his quests. He has a way of surviving dangers, while those around him die hideously.”

  “You make ‘Darkling’ sound like a title.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Is Orlando Furioso truly the famous paladin from Charlemagne’s court?”

  “Do you doubt it?” she asked.

  “Why are his eyes red?”

  “Ask him next time you meet.”

  “Is he immortal?”

  “He’s extremely dangerous, if that’s what you’re asking.” She completed her sets, gathered and slid the cards into a small box, which she secreted in a pouch. “I think Erasmo knows you’re alive.”

  “How would he—”

  “While you’ve healed, powerful sorcery has occurred. I have my ways of knowing, and no, I won’t tell you them. Maybe as troubling as the sorcery, calls have gone out. Rumors tell of Anaximander marching for the Tower of the East.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “A particularly vile servant of Old Father Night,” she said, “who is commonly associated with the Forgotten Ones. But on a more personal note for you, there is word Erasmo has raised Lord Cencio.”

  “Who?”

  “You slew him, I believe.”

  “I’m not aware—”

  “He was an altered man. He led the pack that hunted you.”

  “Signor Fangs for Teeth?” I asked.

  Lorelei frowned.

  “There was a noble who had wolf-like fangs,” I said, “but otherwise seemed normal.”

  “Lord Cencio wore a hat with a crow’s feather.”

  “That’s him,” I said. And it was my turn to frown. “What do you mean, Erasmo ‘raised him’?”

  “The term is sufficiently descriptive,” she said. “It’s a rare occurrence, because it’s a difficult spell, but sometimes sorcerers who serve Old Father Night hold a grim threat over their minions. Namely, failure sometimes means returning as a dead-alive. Such creatures are driven with infernal desperation to perform their task. That being so, you should leave Perugia tomorrow.”

  “Are you suggesting I should have burned the man’s body?”

  “You couldn’t have known this would happen,” she said.

  My left eye only saw things in a blur, although my Darkling strength had almost returned. I lacked my former speed, although Lorelei had assured me it too would return.

  “You seem to be well informed,” I said. “Is my wife alive?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “What about my children?”

  Lorelei spread her hands, shrugged.


  “Where would Erasmo keep them?”

  “I can’t say for certain,” she said, with an evasive edge.

  “Can’t or won’t?” I asked.

  “A little suspicion is reasonable. But surely by now you should trust me.”

  “Knowledge is power,” I said. “How can I know that anything you’ve told me is true?”

  She stiffened. “Your bitterness is understandable, signor. But I think—”

  My hands clenched. I wanted to throttle Erasmo, smash his head against paving. He had my wife! And for all I knew, Laura thought he was me.

  “You must leave Perugia,” Lorelei said softly.

  I forced my hands open. “You suggested earlier that these sorcerers and Old Ones act like Italians. If I were to go to the priestess of the Moon, would she help me against Erasmo?”

  Lorelei gave me a shrewd look. “The priestess is brave, if foolhardy. An army of desperate soldiers gathers on the edge of Venice’s old swamp. It threatens Erasmo and surely diverts him to some degree. That helps you. You must beware of her, however. She is the Moon Lady’s servant, although she holds some articles dear to Darklings of the past. You must do as you think best.”

  I touched my bad eye. Tomorrow night, I would begin.

  -22-

  I stood on a crag of the northern slope of the Apennines Mountains. Pine trees spread out below me. Even farther north was the vast Po Valley.

  I’d left the ruins of Perugia several nights ago. My left eye saw shapes now, but not the details. I could defeat any man I met, but wouldn’t try a fifty-foot leap. In a few nights, perhaps I could.

  The Po Valley was formerly a lush land, rich in crops, industrious peasants, shrewd merchants and cunning princes. Milan was its greatest city, although it had others almost as strong. Venice stood to the east, on the edge of the Adriatic Sea. North of the Po stood the mighty Alps. It separated the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of France from the Po Valley. The notable thing about the Holy Roman Empire was that it was neither holy nor Roman and could hardly be called an empire. Instead, it contained princedoms, dukedoms and city-states each filled with sauerkraut-gobbling Germans, who only stopped bickering long enough to resist their feeble emperor. The French on the other hand….

  Englishmen with longbows and cunning tactics had repeatedly trampled the French in a series of off again, on again wars. The only sad aspect to that was that after thoroughly looting the French, many Englishmen had trekked over the Alps to enlist as mercenaries here. Ofelia for instance had hired a White Company captain and his ruffians to do her bidding.

  I sighed. The plague must have changed some of what I’d known. The unleashed magic would have altered things even more. I marveled now that I hadn’t asked Lorelei about it. Still, I knew the priestess had cajoled princes to raise an army against Erasmo. That surely meant dukes and barons of Milan, Savoy and other cities and surrounding regions.

  I glanced at the moon and began the trek down from the Apennines. The scent of pine needles dominated and my boots often crunched upon them.

  I knew too little of this Black Death world. The trouble was that most people locked their doors at twilight, barons raised their drawbridges and magistrates ordered town gates shut. Except in the larger cities, few people moved at night. There might be outlaws or daring knights who planned a dawn ambush, but those labored hard to remain hidden.

  I’d tramped through forest and over hill in the sight of wolves, owls and bats, but no people. During the day, I hid in caves or in a deep forest or dug a hole and crouched in it.

  The next night I left the foothills and strode through grasslands. I headed east as much as north. I avoided cultivated fields and walled hamlets and stuck to pasturelands, brush and forests.

  I made an exception the next night. I headed through a park. I knew because foresters had obviously cleared brush from the birch and oaks to make it easier for when his lordship hunted. The sight gladdened me. It meant that despite the plague and despite evil sorcerers, there was still some normality in the world.

  A breeze rustled leaves. The wind brought the odor of fire mingled with barbecued pork. Horrid shrieks salted the smells, and it reminded me that humans and swine often smelled the same when burned.

  A half mile later, I exited the tree line. Nearby lay a village-sized heap of embers. It was either a colossus’s campfire or the site of the atrocities that I’d sensed earlier. As I neared and felt the heat, my face tingled in remembrance of the living flame. I quashed any irrational fears—and the rational ones—and skulked nearer the burnt remains. I found mutilated peasants hung by their heels. I found fire-shriveled corpses nailed to burnt barns and I found headless, axe-hacked sheep.

  A large man tied to a post still stirred. Unspeakable acts had been committed upon his person. He had glazed eyes and blood oozed down the bridge of his nose.

  I crouched beside him. “Who did this do you?”

  He moaned. I cut him loose and laid him on his back.

  “Who did this?” I whispered. “Tell me, and I will avenge you.”

  His lips writhed.

  I put my ear near his mouth. “The Devil’s music,” he whispered. Then he died.

  When I’d been prince of Perugia, wars had been a regular occurrence. The usual strategy was to burn your enemy’s fields and slaughter his peasants. Without crops and peasants to grow new ones, he would lack money or the means to feed his troops. The thoroughness of the gutted village and the sheep carcasses were an ordinary hazard of war. These atrocities meant it was something more.

  A bloody footprint in the mud of a sheep-pen either implied the Devil or evilly altered men. The cloven-hoofed print was many times larger than what a ram could make.

  I followed the sinister tracks to a rutted road. The dirt road revealed nothing because it was nearly as hard as brick. I looked all around, glanced at the stars and listened. The man had spoken about the Devil’s music. I only heard the breeze. So I hurried north along the road.

  On a weedy hill, I heard the piping for the first time. It was eerie and yet compelling. It disgusted me and it stirred lusty memories. I left the road and hurried down the side of the hill, following the piping. I passed unkempt hedgerows and strode through oat fields thick with thistles. A fox yipped from the door of an abandoned hut. An owl winged overhead as it headed toward the piping.

  Images of Laura and me entwined in love, of maidens I’d known in my youth filled my thoughts. Was a Darkling still a man in that sense?

  I stumbled through an old grove, and I spied a bonfire ahead. It was then the Moon Lady whispered to me. I had run far tonight under her silvery influence. Her siren call dampened some of my lust. I stopped, shocked at myself. The piping remained, but I heard other sounds now. People shrieked. Others howled. There was a roaring sound of fire. The music had trapped me unawares.

  I crept through the grove as the piping fed my lusts. I wanted Laura. I wanted any woman. The need was powerful, but I steeled myself and slunk to the edge of the grove. A mighty bonfire crackled below. Around it cavorted all manner of altered men and human hounds. The shrieks came from the center of the flames. People in a great wooden cage burned to death. They screamed, writhed and sobbed as smoke billowed from their flesh.

  A huge creature stood upon a boulder with a flat top. He had hindquarters like a goat and goat-like legs and undoubtedly cloven hoofs. The upper half of his body was muscularly manlike and slicked with sweat. Goat horns sprouted from his forehead and he had a long, narrow beard like some obscene he-goat. Many of those cavorting around the fire were like him. The hounds that once were men barked joyfully. Naked women twirled around the fire with horror stamped upon their faces. The goat-men pawed and fondled them, and brayed laughter at their weeping.

  One group, however, stood motionless. They were dead-faced soldiers. Among them sat a horseman with a wide-brimmed hat that sprouted a black crow’s feather. He stared at the scene, occasionally snarling and reveling wolfish teeth.

  The w
retched spectacle revolted me. I understood then that the Old Ones were humanity’s enemies. For I believed I viewed what it had been like in the dawn world. The old legends…they but hinted at the evils that had occurred when sorcery reined. Erasmo wished to return to that time for his own nefarious goals. What prompted these altered men to torture normal folk, to terrorize them so?

  I was the Darkling. Maybe the magic worked upon me, had changed me, too. But I wouldn’t war upon humanity. I’d champion it against these vile predators.

  I took out my coin and held it between my thumb and index finger. I turned from the bonfire, raised my arm and held the coin in front of the moon. The moon’s rays seemed to penetrate the metal and give an appealing haze to the Moon Lady’s portrait. She kept her mysterious smile, the beautiful profile. Then the coin became warm and dizziness threatened me. The smile shifted. Her portrait—she turned, facing me. She was even more beautiful than I’d realized.

  “Moon Lady,” I whispered.

  “You must kneel.” Her words were throaty like a cat’s purr but with incredibly sensual overtones. She looked into my eyes. Hers were silver, without any pupils. Her dark hair was like a curly mane. She wore a low cut gown. I wanted to kiss her throat, her lips….

  “You must obey me,” she purred.

  My arm felt heavy. I wanted to say yes. Then I heard a shout. It sounded as if from faraway.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  I remembered my plan and aimed her coin at the vileness below. I saw Lord Cencio, Signor Fangs for Teeth, urge his horse through the throng. He shouted at the Goat Man piping from upon the boulder.

  I palmed the coin and looked down. Our eyes met.

  “I ask that you restore me, my lady. Heal my eye. Give me my former speed.”

  “I will,” she purred. “First bend the knee and vow me your soul.”

  Part of me longed to do just that. But I whispered, “I am Gian Baglioni.”

  She pouted, and she did it in a way that made me desire her above all things.