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

our faces glowed with perspiration. “Look there,” he whispered.
    There was a hole in a dirt wall. Erasmo’s thin arm shoved the candle nearer. I crouched, peered in. At the back was the corner of a small chest sticking out of the dirt.
    “It’s buried treasure,” Erasmo whispered.
    My young heart pounded with excitement.
    “I’ll hold the candle.” Erasmo shoved a dagger at me. “You crawl in and pry it out.”
    I took the dagger, hesitated only a moment and then squeezed into the narrow confines. I jabbed dirt. I sweated, and I heard earth shift around me. I would have backed out, but Erasmo might have called me a coward. So I dug, and all of a sudden, the hole collapsed. It surprised me, and I found myself unable to move or breathe. I screamed. I sucked down dirt. Then I felt hands on my feet and Erasmo tugged. I slithered hard and he must have dug like a dog. Soon I was out, my face wet with tears and stained by dirt.
    “Were you crying?” Erasmo asked amazed, the candle by my face.
    I glared. We both wanted to be knights. Knights were brave. They certainly didn’t cry.
    “Are you hurt?” Erasmo asked.
    I brushed past him and rushed out of the cave, desperately trying not to hiccup as children sometimes do after they’d been weeping. If he ever told anyone about this….
    ***
    The situation changed. I was powerless to halt the leap in time. The dizziness returned, motion, and then there was a sudden halt and I found myself in a new place, several years older. Erasmo and I mock battled with axes. We were twelve. He was thin as a reed. I had thicker shoulders. I laughed as I saw him clearly.
    Erasmo wore a quilted jacket made by his mother. She worried that he might bruise himself training with weapons. She doted on him, fed him pastries and pies and bought him canaries, cats and dogs. She couldn’t understand why the animals kept disappearing. Erasmo did secret experiments with them: cruel, boyish pranks that often went too far.
    Today we mock fought, practiced in a sandy training area. A smith banged an anvil in a nearby shed, likely straightened a knight’s sword. Whitewashed walls surrounded the area. Older squires sat on benches, idly watching us.
    We swung, but never to hit, just to pretend. We yelled mock insults. We clouted the axes together, liking the sound. They were old axes, but still too sharp for young lads to be using like this. We were too young to know better.
    “Soon I’ll be a squire,” Erasmo panted.
    “Me too,” I said.
    We clashed the axes together. Erasmo grinned. So did I.
    “I’ll certainly never cry in a cave,” Erasmo said.
    I frowned. He darted around me, and he used the flat of his axe to thump me in the back. He laughed as I stumbled.
    “Remember?” he shouted. “Don’t let insults get the better of you.”
    I whirled. He faked a chop at my head. I flinched.
    “Oh-ho!” Erasmo laughed. And several of the squires laughed from the benches.
    I swung hard. He darted aside and swung his axe down against mine. The blow shocked and numbed my hands. The axe dropped free and thudded onto the sand.
    “I win!” Erasmo shouted.
    My face blazed with shame. I snatched up the dropped axe. “Let’s try that again,” I said between clenched teeth. I swung, but Erasmo was ready. He did exactly the same thing, clouted my axe hard with his and knocked it down. This time I hung on tightly with both hands. I stumbled forward, and my sharp blade chopped into Erasmo’s extended left foot. Bones crunched. He screamed, and toppled like a felled tree.
    I let go of my axe-handle, horrified. Erasmo, my best friend—what had I done?
    ***
    My father whipped me for that with a belt. Erasmo della Rovere was crippled for life. He would never run again and would certainly never become a knight. I begged Erasmo’s forgiveness. He gave it sullenly at his father’s prodding. His mother glared at me every time I entered her presence.
    The years passed. I become a squire, a knight and finally