Assassin of the Damned (Dark Gods) (5 page)

“Why should I come back if there are no profits?” Ofelia spat.

“How you spend your money is your own affair,” the priestess said.

“He’s a man!” Ofelia shouted.

“He’s the Darkling,” the priestess said in her calm manner. “He is beloved of the Moon Lady.”

The words made me shiver. I did not like them.

“You’re one of them?” Ofelia whispered in horror.

“Keep counting,” I said.

Ofelia paled, and she counted faster. When she’d finished, she tied her single depleted sack and turned her wagon around. She hunched in fear, shook the reins and took her creaking, squealing vehicle away. She never glanced back or waved goodbye.

-9-

“Why did you stay away so long?” the priestess asked.

I’d followed her into a nearby chamber. Silver water spewed from a fountain and tinkled like chimes into a wide basin. Shadowed archways tempted me with mystery; we’d moved in a maze to arrive at this chamber. I was determined to learn as much as possible before I decided on my next move.

The priestess regarded me from within her hood. It was full of shadows, and I began to wonder if she lacked features.

“We’ve waited a long time for your arrival,” she said.

“We?” I asked.

She laughed softly. “The Moon Lady and her maenads.”

I nodded.

“You’re filthy from your journey,” she said. “You must bathe and don proper clothing. Then we can complete the ceremony.”

“Which one is that?”

“Your pledge of soul.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Do I detect hesitation?”

“Madam,” I said. “If you detect hostility, it’s because of the rush of events. I’ve just arrived after a painful journey. It has taken much longer than I anticipated. Certainly, I desire a bath and garments worthy of my station. Then I must gather myself and learn what has transpired in my absence.”

“You serve at the Moon Lady’s bidding,” she said.

I inclined my head even as I plotted. If I had pledged service to evil before, I would foreswear myself in an instant. Had I somehow brought this state upon myself?

“Surely you understand the concept of pledging,” the priestess said. “As prince, you must have often taken fealty. Is that the correct term?”

“It is,” I said, wondering that she needed to ask.

“Do you have the coin?”

“It’s secure.”

The priestess inclined her head. Then she laughed in her superior manner. “You’re playing a role. No. You no longer need pretend here. You’re the Darkling, the Moon Lady’s chosen instrument. These are dangerous times. One misstep…well, I needn’t tell you about that. Old Father Night’s minions abound and they’ve waxed powerful on death. They are fat with spells and they’ve become bloated with arrogance.”

“Magi Filippo learned about the folly of arrogance,” I said.

“Who?”

“A minion of the Lord of Night, the one patrolling around your castle.”

“That one,” the priestess said, with a flick of her fingers. “He was a gadfly.”

“Ofelia feared—”

“Yes!” the priestess said. “Why did you ride in with her? I fail to grasp the need.”

I smiled because I had no idea how to respond.

“Have a care,” the priestess warned. “You may be the Darkling, but the Moon Lady will punish you if you snub her maidens.”

“Madam, there is no snub intended. I thought it obvious why I rode in with the gravedigger.” Nobody liked to be thought a fool. They even less liked to look like one. I suspected priestesses of the Moon were no exception, nor was I wrong.

“Hm,” she said. “I see. I suppose you thought it clever.”

I allowed myself a broader smile.

“Yes,” she said, “and you wished to strike back at Erasmo della Rovere.”

My features stiffened and I took a menacing step closer.

The priestess chuckled. “Did you think I didn’t know?”

Guile, guile, I needed to use guile. I nodded brusquely.

“He suspects, of course,” the priestess said. “Why otherwise leave a minion on patrol?”

“Magi Filippo?” I asked.

“It’s a false name. We both know that.”

“Yes,” I said. “He called himself Filippo and wore a medallion of the Cloaked Man.”

“Did he?” she said. “Erasmo must be more worried than I’d realized. What did you do with the medallion?”

“I left it.”

“On the body?” she asked sharply.

I shrugged.

The priestess began to pace. She shook her cowl. “Rash. Did you slay his bondlings?”

“Most.”

“Oh, rash, very rash,” she said. “You mustn’t let your enmity blind you to reality. The Lords of Night are drunk with death. They expand exponentially because of it. We hope they overreach and quarrel among themselves. But it was rash to tweak Erasmo’s nose, as it were. We can only hope he is too involved in other matters to take notice of this.”

I nodded blandly. I wanted to know what these Lords of Night were and what they had done to gain their exalted station.

I cleared my throat. “I’m unclear on several matters. A few of my memories seemed to have faded. For instance—”

“After the ceremony all will become clear. It’s time you bathed and donned fresh clothes. Your foul mail stinks like a sty. Afterward, we shall approach the inner sanctum where you will pledge your soul. Come! Time is no longer your ally.”

***

I bathed in a silver tub in a room resplendent with paintings. In some, a maid with a bow hunted stumbling men. The full moon hung in those. One showed the maid in a frilly tunic astride a stag. Panthers trailed like pets. In the nearest, a naked maid strode toward a smiling man in black. He held a dark knife in one hand and a goblet in the other. That painting troubled me most. The maid wore the beguiling smile of the Moon Lady, the same as my coin and dream. The man, he wore my features, but without the beard.

I’d shaved before entering the tub. Now I wished I hadn’t.

I toweled myself and found dark garments, dark boots and a midnight-colored cloak laid out. Whoever had deposited them had also taken my rusty mail, soiled padding and sword. I put on these and ran my fingers through sodden hair.

Pledging my soul—I’d never do it. I’d palmed the coin earlier without the priestess noticing and now regarded it. It glowed, and the Moon Lady’s smile was as enigmatic as ever. I studied her. There was something faint in the air…it seemed like laughter.

I flipped the coin in anger. Perugia. The engraved moon shone above the mountain city. I turned the coin back to the Moon Lady. I concentrated. The faint connection strengthened. I sensed a mild scrutiny, curious, amused.

“Why am I here?” I demanded.

You are the Darkling. You are mine
.

I clenched the coin in my fist, and cut off the ethereal thoughts.

I was unarmed, and I disliked it. I began to pace. My new cloak flapped at every turn. An image came to mind, a leopard, a caged beast. Moors had captured it in North Africa, in the hinterlands, and sought to sell it in Rome. The leopard had paced as I did now. It had been caught, a thing for the amusement of others.

I scowled. No one caged me, at least not without a fight. I strode from the room and hurried through a corridor. It merged into others. I chose one at random, another and found that this corridor had side rooms. They were empty…unless I stared into them. Then ghostly shapes took form. Men and women danced in one. In another room, tormenters wheeled a rack and broke a ghost’s bones. The worst showed a priestess with a silver knife as she hacked a sacrifice’s chest and withdrew his ghostly heart.

This place was evil.

I soon found stairs leading down. I took the steps four at a time, raced through another corridor. I spied a large hall with moonlit chandeliers. Filthy corpses rose from boards laid on the floor. They were all too solid, all too real. Clods of dirt fell from some. Others had half-gnawed faces. They shambled across the giant hall, to an archway that roared with flames.

I ran from it, desperate now to escape the castle.

Someone shouted “Darkling,” behind me. I looked back, spied a silver robe and darted through an archway. I took corners, found a passage with an arch and ran through it. I was back in the courtyard where I’d unloaded corpses. Were those the same corpses that now shambled across a hall? Here in this place of sorcery, the dead walked again.

I chose a different archway and found myself in a bright corridor. I fled through it. Near the end, an odd feeling warned me. I slowed, and peered into a large room.

A mural of the Moon Lady filled a wall. Tripods with braziers wafted scented odors. The mural, it showed the same portrait as my coin. On the wall, however, the portrait of the Moon Lady slowly turned as if to face me. There was something ominous in that.

I noticed a dais before the mural and a pad or cushion, one often used in the custom of fealty. One knelt to a stronger in fealty, put his hands in the stronger person’s hands and pledged service. The stronger one pledged to protect the weaker, the server. The cushion on the dais was the type used for an older man’s knees, to soften the act of kneeling. I had the feeling I was supposed to kneel on the pad and pledge away my soul. The fact they desired this pledge made me believe I still had my soul. That proved I was alive in some fashion.

I entered the room. In the portrait of the Moon Lady, in the mural, was a slit window behind her. She was in a castle, I supposed. It was night in the mural. Several stars showed in the window, and then a large blue moon. I did not understand a blue moon’s significance. I suppose only an artistic genius like Giotto would have understood.

Beyond the kneeling pad was an ornate stand. Upon it lay a black belt and a sheathed dagger.

They had taken my good if rusty sword. I strode within and stopped, surprised. Torches burned in alcoves. In them were statues of the Moon Lady. No, those were idols. Many were salacious.

I strode onto the dais and kicked the kneeling pad, sent it shooting across the room. I grabbed the belt and buckled it to my waist. I drew the blade. It was black and oily, an assassin’s knife, but it would have to do.

I heard footsteps from the corridor. I leaped from the dais and ran to an alcove. There was an archway in the rear.

“Come back, my Darkling.”

I whipped around. The voice was sensuous and seductive. The portrait of the Moon Lady still turned. Her lips moved in slow motion. With her voice came a terrifying sense of presence, as if lightning had life and bolted the earth like a goddess taking steps.

I fled.

“Darkling…”

I clamped my hands over my ears. The voice was too beautiful. I took corridors, leaped down flights of stairs. Yes, I wanted my memories, but I wanted to keep my soul more.

I ran down a steep wooden ramp that kept curving. I wondered if it was for wine merchants or for peasants trundling vegetables up to the kitchen. Then I realized that no peasant or merchant would come here. The ramp led into the earth, into a dimly glowing cavern. I paused. No one thudded down the ramp after me, at least not yet. The cavern’s ceiling was higher than I could reach. The rocky sides glittered with mica. I scowled and peered into the hateful depths. Then I gripped my resolve and hurried into them. It was then I noticed that my boots were noiseless as a cat’s paws. Although they were made of leather, they never creaked as regular knight’s boots did.

I passed smaller cave openings, but the thought of negotiating them made my skin crawl. My tunnel cooled, and I noticed wet patches on the ceiling. I was deep underground and slowed because of it. The passage ahead curved sharply.

Then something ahead roared. I would have sworn its echo made the mica glitter. The hidden beast snorted and licked its chops. I thought of an elephant-sized lion and took a step back. Massive chains clinked, and leathery sliding sounds made my imagination cringe. I backed up. I hoped the chains meant it was leashed. It snuffed wetly. Had it heard me, smelled me? I wanted to turn and run, but forced myself to move quietly in my cat-silent boots. The chains clinked again, but it was a softer sound. I think the beast lay down.

I soon reached a small side tunnel. I tested its air, and with a slow step, began to explore. The grade rose. With luck, I might reach an exit in the hill. But as the grade continued to rise and curve, I feared it returned to the castle. Before long, the cave walls merged into brick. My muscles loosened with relief. I was out of the Earth, although I’d surely reentered the castle.

Soon I spied flickering shadows and light. I moved softly like an assassin, peered around a curve and saw a massive fireplace. There was a table where a woman rolled dice. To my shock, the dice rose into the air. They rattled as if shook in an invisible fist. This was a place of horrors indeed. The dice dropped onto the table, one with green felt.

The woman laughed and snatched up the dice, and coins appeared. They slid across the table to her side. Did a ghost push them from an invisible pile? By the stars, I hated this place.

The woman was small. She wore bright garments of yellow, blue and red. She wore a jester’s hat with bells and she wore curly toed shoes in the modern style. Tapestries and Persian rugs hung on the walls. The tapestries showed ancients dressed like Greeks. They sported at play or played lyres. At least these weren’t
moon
tapestries, and the woman wore colors other than silver or pale white. I inched nearer. It was time to get proper directions one way or another.

She stiffened, and it appeared as if she listened to an invisible ghost across the table. She turned, and her eyebrows rose as she saw me. She had an oval face and tanned, maybe wind-burned skin. In the paintings before, Moon maidens had been unearthly pale.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” I said. “I appear to be lost.”