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 wretched 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….