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

the prince of Perugia after my father’s death.
    Much to Erasmo’s chagrin, he entered the Church, the priesthood. For a noble there were two courses, knighthood or the Church. Before long, because of his father’s station and wealth, Erasmo left for Avignon, Provence. Provence was technically a part of old Gaul, but presently belonged to the King of Naples. The popes had fled Rome many years ago and had held court or the papacy in Avignon.
    Something happened to Erasmo in Avignon. He left the priesthood, went to the University of Paris and soon become a noted lawyer. He’d learned clerking in the Church, but he’d read dubious texts and arcane lore stored in Avignon’s catacombs. Men said the pope himself had taken him to task, and the two had spoken privately for hours. After Paris, Erasmo returned to Avignon, where he remained until his mother died. He returned to Perugia for the funeral.
    I’d become prince, and for old time’s sake, I begged him to stay here with his friends. The truth was I could use a keen lawyer. I’d become engaged in the violent struggles between the quarreling city-states of the Romagna, which was part of the Papal States. With the papacy in faraway Avignon, it gave all of us a freer hand, which we freely took.
    To my surprise, he agreed. Then an incident occurred, a small thing. The vortex of these memories remorselessly took me to it.
    ***
    I burst into the upper study, my spurs jangling. I wore a sword, mail and a scowl. Laura, my wife, had wept in my arms. She’d told me how Erasmo had secretly leered at her, how he’d obscenely wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. She’d begged me to dismiss him. When I’d told her to use her haughty airs on him—it was then she’d given me her secret fear. There was something evil in Erasmo, she said. I must rid myself of him today.
    I strode across thick carpets, Persian rugs. Erasmo had followed the newest trend of unhooking the expensive rugs from the walls and using them on the floor. It was a quaint custom. Laura was a true noble, normally sure of herself. Something had keenly upset her regarding Erasmo and I intended finding out what.
    Erasmo sat at an ornate table with an open book. There were hundreds of books around us, a treasure of inked words between thick leather covers or on ancient vellum scrolls. A robin tweeted at the ledge of an open window. Lanterns flickered from several corners.
    I halted before the table.
    Erasmo looked up. He wore thick furs and a velvet hat. A silver chain with a ruby pendant hung from his neck. He had aged poorly for so young a man, becoming heavier than his boyhood frame had suggested. There were circles under his eyes. He had keen eyes, very dark and piercing. That was strange. I thought his eyes used to be blue.
    Erasmo wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. He had a rather disgusting way of doing it. “Milord,” he said.
    “Erasmo,” I began.
    He held up a thin hand, one heavily encrusted with expensive rings. It caused me to tighten my mouth.
    “Do you recall the affair with Velluti?” Erasmo asked.
    I nodded brusquely. Velluti was a village that I’d laid claim to. Clerks in Rome had disputed my claim and now marshaled troops and arguments against it.
    Erasmo tapped the book. “Did you know that the Baglioni line goes back—” he gave me a thin-lipped smile, almost eerie “—it goes back beyond the time of Ancient Rome?”
    I knew there were some preposterous tales. They were old stories told us as children when we’d been bad.
    “Oh, this is very interesting, milord. This is an arcane book filled with ancient lore. Your line—” Erasmo shrugged. “My point, milord, is that Velluti is your old ancestral home. I’m in the process of writing a devastating argument. I can guarantee your victory against Rome and then Velluti will belong to you.”
    “Oh?” I said.
    “I’ll need to make a brief visit to Avignon, however. When I return…things will go much differently, I