Assassin of the Damned (Dark Gods) by Vaughn Heppner Page A

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