The lycanthropes had quit muttering. They lay by the fountain, their necks stretched as they watched the proceedings.
The knight lit each candle in turn, maybe in a special sequence. He shook out the lit stick and picked up the scroll. The massive horse clopped to him and peered over his shoulder.
I caught a whiff of the candles. They smelled like burnt human. Worse, I heard faint screams, and I thought in one of the flickers to see a tortured ghost-face.
The knight cleared his throat and read aloud from the scroll. A flame whooshed from the tallest candle. It flickered high and the wax melted and flowed into the etched lines. Then the air above the etching became hazy and filled with billowing smoke. The smoke began to take shape as if under a sculptor’s chisel. A forehead appeared, the bridge of a nose, lips, chin-no, it was a spade-shaped beard.
With a start, I realized it was my face, although I presently lacked a beard. Had the knight used a spell to locate me?
Before I could flee, the smoke-face opened its eyes. It smiled. What a sly smile. What an arrogant stare. Then it came to me. The smoke-face wasn’t mine. Well, it was. But it showed Erasmo in my likeness. The lips parted. He spoke with a puff of smoke as on a wintry day.
“The ruins are secure?” Erasmo asked.
The knight bowed his helmeted head as one does to a high official. “The lycanthropes have prowled Perugia, signor. They found a silver knife, but no traces of a woman’s trail.”
“Indeed,” Erasmo said. “And…?”
“They smelled a faint trace of what they called ‘a dead thing’.”
The smoky lips compressed and the smoky eyes narrowed.
“The lycanthropes refuse to track it, signor.”
“Is it the Darkling?”
“The lycanthropes say it is a faint scent.”
“You doubt the lycanthropes?” Erasmo asked.
“They fear these ruins, signor.”
A smoke-hand appeared and stroked the rippling beard. “Can I trust you, Signor Orlando?”
“I desire Durendal and Angelica’s whereabouts, Your Excellency.”
The wavering face broke into an evil smile. “I must live for you to gain those,” Erasmo said.
“You will live, signor. This I assure you.”
“How long will the portal burn?”
The knight glanced at the etching, shrugged.
The smoky hand vanished. The head nodded. “Give me ten minutes.”
“That will be cutting it very near,” the knight said.
“I need to gather an amulet and a key. They’re in the high tower. Make certain I face no unwarranted surprises.”
“How many will you bring, signor?”
“I have you and you have the lycanthropes. That will be enough.”
“They won’t dig,” the knight said.
The head laughed, and then the smoke dissipated.
Erasmo came to Perugia? I flexed my hands as a bitter smile stretched my lips. I would throttle him until his face turned purple.
The black knight called the lycanthropes. They raced to him. He spoke urgently, but too quietly for me to hear. A lycanthrope glanced up at my building. The knight spoke curtly. The lycanthrope lowered his head.
In seven swift strides, I stood before another window ninety degrees from the one I’d just used. I leaped and landed in a crouch atop a two-storey ruin. Unfortunately, the wall complained.
Lycanthropes shouted from within my former building. They were fast, but I’d been faster.
I scuttled like a crab on all fours. My foot shot through rotted roofing. I lay flat, slithered out of danger and made it to the other side. I leaped again, dangled from the new roof and dropped into the alley. I dodged around corners and shimmied up a lead pipe attached to a church. The church had angled roofs. I hid among them and listened, but heard nothing.
Had I lost them? Possibly.
Erasmo was coming. And he had called the knight Signor Orlando. That was flatly impossible. Yet they had spoken about Durendal. Durendal was the name of Orlando’s magic sword. I’d often read about it in the poems concerning the greatest of legendary knights. Was the black knight the same paladin then who had fought in Charlemagne’s host? If so, how had he survived the centuries? Was he immortal like Lorelei? Whoever this Orlando was, the lycanthropes feared him and Erasmo employed him.
Erasmo was coming to Perugia.
I eased from my position and soon dropped into another alley. I had to act before Erasmo came. Now more than ever, I needed to whittle down the odds.
— 19-
I peered around a corner into the piazza. The knight sat on his horse near the fountain. Both mount and rider scanned back and forth. The lycanthropes troubled me because they remained hidden.
I watched from a distance, and found myself glancing at the candles circling the pattern. With a start, I heard paws padding. The sound came from around the corner. The footfalls paused. Someone sniffed. I swear I heard dust fluff and resettle onto the ground. The lycanthrope had to be just around the corner, hidden in that dead spot as concerned my vision. The candle and pattern were across the street at an angle from me. He sniffed again as if not daring to believe his first scent.
Several candles leaped with flame, consumed in an instant. A boot and trouser appeared out of nowhere and stepped onto the pattern.
The night grew dimmer, a chill made me tremble. I drew my blade and stepped around the corner.
A lycanthrope in beast form had turned his head to watch Erasmo’s arrival. Something must have alerted him. The beast’s head began to whip about. I thrust as if my dagger were a rapier. The oily blade entered his neck. I could feel skin, gristle and muscle come apart. The lycanthrope’s turning forced the knife deeper. Smoke curled from the wound. The lycanthrope’s jaws parted. He began to howl, and his hindquarters tensed. I slashed downward, ripping his throat. He leaped. Claws flicked out of his paws. I dove, hit the dirt with my shoulder and rolled. My bloody knife was free and tucked near my chest. The claws flashed past me by inches. The lycanthrope’s body followed his claws. I continued the roll. My feet hit the ground. I stood and pivoted. The lycanthrope’s front paws hit the ground. His body followed, and it crumpled as blood jetted from his neck. His ghastly howl tore at my soul.
I looked right, left. The other lycanthropes burst into view across the street. The black knight was in mid-shout. I leapt over the fallen lycanthrope as a hard grin stretched my lips. I’d whittled down the odds.
The knight shouted. Lycanthropes howled, and Erasmo della Rovere joined us in the Perugian ruins.
***
I dreaded the idea that Erasmo would retreat to the Tower of the East.
I gazed at the gibbous moon as I stood on my palace. I could have soaked in its rays for hours. Instead, I pinned on my cloak and began the descent. On soft boots, I returned to the piazza, although from a new direction.
Erasmo stood before a flickering brazier. He looked like me, a big man in blue and gold garments, with a blue cloak and golden boots. An amulet hung on his chest, a black gem with a flame deep in its center. He chanted loudly. The black knight waited nearby, hunched upon his horse. The remaining lycanthropes padded back and forth on the street and snarled to each other, watching everywhere.
Erasmo poured blood from a golden cup into the brazier. It sizzled and a rank vapor whooshed skyward. His chant rose to a shriek.
The horse neighed. The lycanthropes cringed.
A dread sense of evil rooted me. I looked at the stars. Several had become cold like icicles. The twinkles became sinister like a lone heart beating on a table. Erasmo sang high octaves in a language never meant for human throats. The brazier cracked. Half-clotted blood oozed from it.