Free Assassin of the Damned (Dark Gods) by Vaughn Heppner

spoke softly, cut her palm and squeezed out several drops. The water rippled, became darker. She took a shuddering breath, folded her knife and took out a handkerchief. She wrapped it around her palm and used her teeth to help tie a knot. Then she trudged up to the level area beside me. “Go ahead,” she whispered, sounding winded. “It’s safe. You didn’t have to drag me in with you. I’d have given you away before now if such had been my intent.”
    I crouched and slid my feet down the incline until the tips of my boots almost touched the water. A drop plunked from the ceiling. The oily water stirred. I stared greedily into the waters.
    …Images slowly formed under the rippling surface. I saw myself ride out of mountainous Perugia. I rode with armored men-at-arms in the dark along the Via Lavicana . Our lanterns rattled and Tuscan cypresses lined the road. The trees sheltered us from a cold wind. We galloped for the coast. Erasmo rode beside me. His father had been loyal to House Baglioni since before my birth. The underwater images blurred. They turned into—
    I saw myself wade through a swamp with a sword held in one hand and a torch in the other. Erasmo waded behind me, his cheeks slick with sweat. The soldiers had remained behind, frightened by Avernus’ wicked legends. Erasmo and I searched for deathbane. We sought it because—
    In the Pool of Memories, in the images underwater, I climbed out of the swamp and strode among hangman trees. Erasmo struggled out of the muck and hurried after me. His jeweled fingers gripped a heavy bag. Ahead of him, I found a huge tree stump. It had iron bolts riveted into the ancient wood, with rusty chains attached to the bolts. On the ends of the chains were manacles. I remembered thinking that the legends were true. Sorcerers committed hideous sacrifices in the grove of hangman trees. Here was an ancient altar of wood.
    Standing above the Pool of Memories, I clutched my head and moaned. Dizziness gripped me. I lost my sense of perspective. It seemed as if the “I” of myself whirled around in a mental twister. I lifted out of my body. I plunged down into those images in the water, down into lost memories.

-11-

    I had the sense of falling, and then grew aware of new surroundings. I was young again, a nine-year-old lad. I ran upslope among towering pines. I slipped and slid over a carpet of brown pine needles.
    “Come and look, Gian. You have to see this. It’s lost treasure.”
    I ran after Erasmo della Rovere. He was young again like me, nine. My father the prince of Perugia had taken us with him as he inspected country estates. Erasmo sprinted up a steep slope. He was a reed of a boy and wore a costly tunic with black leather boots.
    “Wait for me!” I shouted.
    Erasmo slithered through a giant bush and disappeared. I barreled through a moment later, and twigs and branches clawed me.
    “Look out, Gian,” Erasmo said with a laugh. He darted aside.
    I stumbled out of the bush, past him and smacked my forehead against a granite cliff.
    Erasmo laughed shrilly and slapped my back.
    “That was a dirty trick,” I muttered, tasting bits of granite between my teeth.
    Erasmo only grinned wider. He had sandy colored hair and bright blue eyes. He had a narrow face and was clever like a fox. His parents were nobles. His father was my father’s closest friend. Between us, Erasmo was taller, but I was stronger.
    I shoved him, and thought about clouting him a good one.
    “Look at that, Gian.” Erasmo pointed at a small cave.
    I shrugged moodily. I had scratches on my arms and face.
    “There’s treasure in there,” Erasmo whispered.
    I looked at him with wonder, all my bruises forgotten.
    Erasmo darted into the cave, and a moment later, I followed. It was dark and narrow.
    “Come on!” Erasmo shouted, and his voice echoed.
    I felt my way forward and marveled at his courage.
    I found him with a candle, with flint and tinder. Soon he had the candle lit, and in the flickers,