I didn’t know if the silk line would hold us both, although I expected it would.
“Hold onto my neck,” I said. “If you slip, you’ll die.”
She climbed onto the windowsill. I turned. She wrapped her arms around my neck. If I’d breathed, she probably would have choked me because she held so tightly. Then I stepped outside the window and began to unwind the spindle.
— 32-
I cut the line. Above, the flames roared with greater fire than before. Heat billowed around us and a terrible feeling of expectancy filled the castle.
Signor Orlando had brought Erasmo through to Perugia with a similar pattern as was presently laid between the towers. Now Erasmo brought something worse through to here. Orlando had burned candles. The smaller towers would burn souls, sacrifices such as the woman running beside me. It came to me then the priestess’ prophecy about the Trumpet of Blood. An angel had blown it on the dead Earth, what was now a dead Earth. Maybe Erasmo lacked the power to blow the trumpet. He was still human, not an angel and probably lacked an angel’s might. Maybe the flames, the powers flickering over the castle, lacked the power to sound the trumpet. What grim being could blow the Trumpet of Blood? The answer was one that took awesome magical strength to summon.
Erasmo played with the very fabric of our Earth. He would slay millions, had already slain millions, in order to gain immeasurable might. If he was still human, still mortal, he already had the appetite of a god.
“We must get inside,” the woman said. “It’s forbidden now for anyone to be out. It might anger the powers. We were told they could slay us with a glance.”
“Do you know where the feeding area is to for the sea monsters?”
“That way,” she said, pointing.
“Go there.”
“Alone?” she asked.
We stood in the shadows of a two-storey barracks. A road was nearby. If I squinted, I could see haze, haze that moved along the road. That was magical power. It pumped like blood between the towers. Did the powers above supply that?
“Where does Erasmo keep his wife and children?” I asked.
“They’re likely in the central tower with him,” she said. “Why, are you going to kill them, too?”
“Wait here,” I said.
I ran from her, and I crossed a road. It made my teeth ache. The woman followed. She screamed. It was a pitiful sound. She stood frozen in the road. I hesitated. Her skin began to shrivel. She seemed incapable of moving, although she implored me with her eyes. I dashed back, endured the awful ache, grabbed her hand and yanked her off the road.
She gasped. Her hair was soaked. Perspiration caused the yellow robe to cling to her skin.
I pulled her to another building. She collapsed against it. She panted, and she drew up her knees and hugged herself. She brushed back lank hair and gave me a brave smile.
“Listen to me,” I said. “You must run to where they feed the sea monsters. I killed the guard there. It should be safe. I’ll take you with me before I leave. But you must stay where I know you’re safe.”
“You’ll truly come back for me?” she asked in a small voice.
“I swear, madam, as the former prince of Perugia.”
She touched my arm. “My name is Ippolita Conti. And I meant what I said before. You’ll be very glad you saved me.”
Then she heaved herself onto her feet, and ran for the sea monster’s building.
I arose and headed for the building near the central tower.
***
The altered men in this three-storey building huddled in terror. I found that out when I smashed through the front door. They whined and shrank back. One barked at his brethren. They rose half-heartedly and snatched their axes. I slew them, four in this room and three in the next. I took the stairs. On this pregnant night, other altered men behind other locked doors wisely remained where they were.
I had the feeling there were other things than altered men in the central tower, the monstrosity that reached for the stars. Maybe the flame powers would interfere. Maybe Signor Orlando stood guard there.
I flipped up a trapdoor and hurried across the roof to the edge nearest the tower. Orange, red and purple colors flickered upon me. The fiery cackles sounded like a storm. I thought then to hear shrieks. The noises came from the roads. Foolishly, I glanced at the nearest one. The haze had solidified into something more ghastly. They looked like ghosts, wraiths in agony. Many shrieked. Many twisted their faces into painful masks. They flew along the road, hundreds in the same direction. Some resisted to no avail.
Were they yet more sacrifices to Erasmo’s ambitions? If I had left Ippolita Conti on the road, would her soul have joined the evil pilgrimage? Why could I withstand what had almost slain her?
I hooked my skeletal crossbow together. I selected a bolt and tied the line to it. The tower loomed above. The crisscross of roads below might tax even my strength crossing each in turn. There was a window across from me, to the side and a little above. Just how good was a Darkling?
My lips peeled back. It was hot, and the roar in my ears threatened my confidence. I knelt, sighted and squeezed the trigger. The bolt sped hard, and it drilled into the tower. Once it hit, the bolt popped out spines to anchor itself into place. I tugged. The line held…for now. I drilled my last bolt into the edge of my building. Then I unhooked the crossbow and stuffed it into my bag, hooked the bag to the belt and knelt once more. I tied the line to this bolt. I made it snug.
I was the Darkling. I was the master assassin. I was insane, and I knew it. High up on the tower-impossibly high-Erasmo’s window blazed with light. Maybe he chanted even now. This was the final lap. With the roar of flames in my ears, I stepped onto the silken line. Then I began to tightrope-walk across.
***
The riot of changing colors threatened to disorient me. That the roars of the giant flames began to transform into words almost shattered my concentration.
I’d always possessed wonderful balance. It had helped my swordplay and while thundering with a couched lance. I’d seen before in my days as prince trained acrobats and jugglers. Their more daring tricks had delighted and amazed me. I’d never walked across a tightrope before. I would never have thought to try as a prince. It was the last time in Perugia, while slithering across the rotted roofs that I’d learned about this particular Darkling ability. My balance was better than good. It had become fantastic.
The silken line quivered. It swayed because I hadn’t tightened it enough. I raised my arms to either side. I shifted, bent my knees and bit my lower lip. Through it all, I advanced one foot ahead of the other.
The ghostly road-lines seethed with movement below. It was a caldron, a raging river of souls. The powers above thundered words. Some of the words seemed addressed at me. Others seemed aimed at the open window high above. The words were in an alien language, maybe one that demons spoke to each other. I expected a flame hand to come and scoop me up. I cringed at the thought of fire licking down from the sky and shriveling me into a blackened corpse.
The heat became unbearable. Greasy droplets oozed from my skin. It wasn’t normal sweat. It felt like an oven. My boot slipped-
I balanced on one leg. The line quivered. I swayed. My inhuman strength helped. I set down my other boot, slid it ahead and continued as before. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I yearned to sink my blade into Erasmo della Rovere.
Soon the window loomed near. The shutters were closed. They looked locked. It wasn’t Erasmo’s high window near the top of this colossal tower, but one of several dotted throughout the tower’s length. A sill afforded less than a foot of ledge, about two feet long. Wet pigeon guano stained it. The terrible heat had kept it soft, maybe semi-liquefied it. Unfortunately, my bolt had drilled to the side and a little below the window.