The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (12 page)

In a straight column three men wide, soldiers marched out with armor the color of sapphires. The royal family’s insignia, a bear, was embossed on the azure chest plates. Vibrant crimson plumes of horsehair fanned the helmets. They stood proud, led by a man of raw power. He was as solid as a mountain, shoulders thick with muscles and arms like redwoods. His long chestnut hair escaped from beneath his regal helmet, the plumes at the top dipped gold. A closely trimmed beard covered his granite jaw, and eyes the color of upturned mud stared out at the crowd.

The people of Canaan wove and bobbed, their breaths held, struck in a mix of fear and awe as they laid eyes on the infamous General Gaius. He was the child of earth, a man rumored to be born from the womb of a bear. Whispers of godly power floated around him. He was a man of both deadly strength and sagacious wisdom.

A wine-colored cape billowed out behind him. He rode a handsome black steed decked out in full regalia. The horse snorted and turned its head slightly to the right. It made eye contact with Damir and stopped.

Standing right next to Damir, Balin watched in wonder as the horse refused to budge. A ripple of murmurs shuddered through the crowd. General Gaius did not lose his temper. Instead he directed his attention to the object that had drawn the steed’s attention. Damir looked as if he wanted to shrink behind Balin, but instead he kept his position and stared up at the General. He made Balin proud.

“You,” General Gaius said as he stared pointedly at Damir. His voice was like the cracking of a million oaks. It crushed the hushed chatter and demanded attention, loyalty. A hundred sets of eyes turned to Damir.

Balin adjusted his stance so that he stood slightly in front of Damir. General Gaius might have been able to command the servitude of weak-minded civilians, but Balin would not bow to the Pheorian general.

“Severius seems to find something alluring about you,” General Gaius said. His gaze flicked briefly to Balin. He dismissed him.

Damir did not respond. He stared fixedly at the general.

“What is your name?” General Gaius asked. He guided Severius closer to Damir.

“Damir Rosen, my lord.”

General Gaius observed him with astute scrutiny. His eyes were spears that cut through the air. Balin clenched his teeth but remained silent beside Damir. Causing a pointless row would do no good.

Severius did not help Damir’s cause either. The steed nudged closer to him and tipped his nose toward Damir. Severius let out another snort.

“I have never seen Severius take to anyone but myself. Are you a stable handler?” General Gaius asked.

Balin saw up close that his eyes, while cold, were not cruel.

“No, my lord, but I am a farmer.” Damir said.

Balin watched as General Gaius eyed Damir, who reached out and stroked his hand gently down the top of Severius’s nose. The horse closed his eyes and nudged Damir’s palm.

“Good boy,” Damir whispered.

Severius neighed and nosed Damir’s cheek, his lips twitching. Balin noted that General Gaius’s expression remained an iron mask, smooth and impenetrable. Damir finally stepped away. The only thing that kept Severius from following him was General Gaius’s tight hold on his reins.

“He is a beautiful horse, my lord.”

General Gaius nodded. “Thank you. If you ever tire of farm work, you could make a fine living caring for Severius.”

“I shall keep that in mind, my lord.” Damir bowed his head. Balin remained stiff beside Damir, his fists clenched white at his sides. General Gaius briefly flicked his gaze again in Balin’s direction. He then turned Severius around and returned to the front of the line. They marched on, flags of the Kingdom of Pheor raised high. They proceeded until they vanished around the corner, leaving wonder and terror in their wake.

“They’re staying at the House of Argus. Lord Argus is hosting them,” a woman beside Damir said to all those who were standing by.

“The grand manor in the northern district, correct?” a girl, perhaps eighteen years of age, asked with a dreamy expression. “It’s so beautiful, with all its steeples.”

A man of ruddy complexion turned to the graying woman. “From here they’re supposed to meet with General Pallaton. They say Ehrlinger may join us.”

Balin spun to face them. “If King Solomon was to join King Vasilis’s holocaust, then he would be a fool,” he snapped.

“Who are you to speak of King Vasilis?” The man snarled and then paused, taking a closer look at Balin’s dark skin tone. The ruddy man sneered. “Foreigner. A Terrasolian has no place to speak of Pheorian politics! Go back to your sandpits, you savage.”

Balin gnashed his teeth together in a vicious snarl. His nerves were frayed with Damir’s close encounter with General Gaius, and such talks of battle were tearing at his conscious. Before Balin could sink his knife in the man’s tender throat, Damir grabbed his arm and hauled him away.

“Calm yourself,” Damir said as they turned the corner. He glanced around to see if anyone lingered in the shadows, then pressed his hand to Balin’s cheek. Though homosexuality was not outlawed, some things were still frowned upon no matter where a person was. “Why are you so angry?”

“I don’t like General Gaius looking at you, nor do I like the ignorance of civilians who know nothing of the world. Do they not realize that your king is on a fool’s errand, one that will cost the lives of innocents?” Balin barked out like a rabid dog, but Damir did not flinch. He stroked his hand down Balin’s cheek, calmed him with his gentle touch.

“He may be, but your brash words will only inflict harm on yourself.”

Balin frowned, and his brow wrinkled. Damir pulled Balin’s head down and pressed a kiss to the wrinkle.

“Why does this upset you so much?”

There was a tension in Balin that hadn’t been there in months, a tension that had begun to build slowly again and was now an angry knot in his back like a thorny rose vine.

This war was why he’d come here. Emperor Folken had sent him to put an end to the senseless slaughter before it could even begin—which he’d failed to do, having ended up on Balin’s farm instead—and now here he stood, idly standing by on the sidelines and watching it happen. He felt a newfound sense of regret, an emotion he had never experienced before. He had had the means to stop it all, yet he remained beside his angel—living in the light—instead.

“Speak to me,” Damir pleaded.

“It’s nothing.” Balin turned from Damir, but Damir refused to release him.

“Do you need to go to the city? I have kept you from your work long enough,” Damir said in a rush.

Balin looked at Damir. His obligation in Civitatem Aurum had long passed. The chance to sneak in and make a clean break was long gone. He would not abandon Damir now, not even for a warring nation.

“No, it’s not that. I just hate to see such senseless slaughter. King Vasilis is a senile, greedy bastard. He wants things that no man should have.”

Damir didn’t know of what King Vasilis’s intents were. Balin had never shared them with him. He had hoped he could keep Damir shrouded from the war—he had hoped he could shield
himself
from the embers of war.

“Lar shall see fit to serve him justice in the end,” Damir assured Balin, clenching his shoulder.

Chapter Ten

Yvonne’s Antiquities

Damir and Balin returned to the town square and found Elina catching fish at a game booth with a group of girls. When they approached, Elina passed over the small net to one of her friends.

“Dammy, isn’t this great?”

Balin gave her a contented smile, then said to Damir, “I’ll be back.”

Damir glanced over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“There was something I saw that I wanted to look at. I’ll only be gone a few minutes.” His mind still swirled with the frustration he felt from General Gaius’s visit, and Balin didn’t have faith in the Child-God bringing justice to King Vasilis. The life he had left behind had suddenly come terrifyingly close to the new life he was building for himself. He had walked away from his lifelong career of assassinations—and now it seemed the one job he had not taken of was the one that could potentially bite him in the ass.

He needed to think and clear his head. Now felt like a good time to look at the unique shop he had passed on the way to the air stadium.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Damir asked, pulling away from his sister.

Elina latched on to Damir’s arm. “No, don’t go. I want to show you something!”

Balin shook his head. “No, stay. I’ll be back shortly. I’ll meet you at the Silver Elf Inn at sunset.”

BALIN WAVED HIS hand at Damir to signal for him to remain put and walked off, vanishing within the crowd of townsfolk. It always amazed Damir how Balin could so easily blend into the shadows, as if they were a part of him.

“What did you want to show me?” Damir asked, turning to Elina.

“There’s a game I can’t win. Will you try it? Please, Dammy?” Elina asked, already tugging him in the direction of the stall.

Damir allowed himself to be coerced toward a stall where milk bottles had been stacked in a pyramid. An assortment of prizes was strung onto the wooden posts of the stall; there were floral crowns, wooden swords, colorful paper pinwheels, and bags full of candies.

“Care to try?” the elderly gentleman manning the stall asked. He stroked his gray beard and glanced over at Elina. “Back for another try? Brought your brother, did you? Well, it’s only two trolics.”

Damir glanced down to his sister, who rocked eagerly on her heels. The sun kissed her face, brightening the apples of her cheeks. He smiled fondly and passed the man the coins and took the basket of balls.

Elina had only been six when their parents passed away and left Damir with both the responsibility of tending a farm and raising his sister. He had been lucky that there was enough money to keep the debt collectors away, but it hadn’t changed the burden of becoming both surrogate parent and sole breadwinner.

There were some nights Damir thought about that fateful day when he’d waited for his parents to return and they never had. In that moment, when he’d realized he would never see his father and mother again, Elina had become his world. His only purpose had become to see that she would never go without, that she would never be burdened by the pain of being left alone.

Damir weighed the wooden ball in his hand, dispelling his thoughts, and then threw the ball at the milk bottles. He missed and hit the red curtain secured to the ground behind the bottle stand.

“You can do it!” Elina cheered.

Damir picked up the second ball and gave it another try; he missed by a mile. He set his brow into a determined line and threw the third, knocking one bottle down.

“Too bad, but you’ve got to knock them all down. Care to try again?”

Elina gave him such a despondent look that Damir huffed and pulled out another two trolics to waste away. This time, he wouldn’t miss.

As he took aim, Elina asked, “Do you think Balin will stay with us forever?”

Damir nearly knocked the stall attendant out with his eschewed throw. He mumbled an apology and shot his sister a glare. “Not funny.”

Elina clasped her hands in front of her and tried to look contrite. He didn’t buy it. Damir hurled the second ball and knocked down all the milk bottles with a loud clatter.

“We have a winner! What’ll it be, darling? Perhaps a pretty floral crown or maybe some sweets?”

“The pinwheel, please.” Elina pointed to a delicate pink one she wanted. The man pulled it down and passed it to her.

“Thank you,” Damir said as he directed his sister away from the stall, lest she want him to win something else. A breeze cut through the festival, and the pinwheel spun dizzyingly, much to Elina’s amusement.

“Why do you ask about Balin?” Damir queried as they migrated to a bench to sit down and wait until it was time to meet the other man.

“He’s been with us for months now. But sometimes, I see him watching the road.” Elina held her prize in the air, waiting for a wind. “Isn’t it lovely? I wish I could fly. To see the world like the birds do.”

Damir watched his sister sadly. Sometimes she stole his breath away; she was far too beautiful for the world, which seemed to be growing increasingly darker every day. He feared he was smothering her light by keeping her hidden on the farm, tucked away from harm, not allowing her to grow.

He shook the thoughts from his mind.

He’d caught Balin more than once walking toward the door, as if he meant to leave, but then Balin would catch himself and return to whatever it was he’d been doing. It was like something invisible called out to Balin, trying to beckon him away from them. No matter how hard Balin fought against that invisible string and remained with them, though, he couldn’t seem to ignore it completely.

“I don’t know if he will. That will be Balin’s decision. I…I would like him to stay,” Damir admitted, looking down at his lap.

Elina leaned forward and tipped her head so she could stare up at him. “Cheer up. I don’t think he’ll leave anytime soon. He looks at you, Dammy, as if you are the sun and he a flower. He turns to you, even when you don’t see it.”

Damir ruffled Elina’s hair, causing her to squeal and bat his hands away. “When did you get so wise?”

She huffed indignantly. “I’ve always been the wise one!”

Damir laughed and rose to his feet, cupping a hand over his eyes. The sun had begun to hug the rooftops. It would be time soon to meet Balin at the Silver Elf Inn. He wondered what Balin had gone to look at. Damir would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

* * * *

The purple shop sign was cunningly phallic in design. Gold script scrawled out the name YVONNE’S ANTIQUITIES. No one seemed to pay much attention to the strange shop, which was cast in a much darker light than its neighbors.

Balin stepped inside. Something giggled above him as he opened the door. When he looked, he only found some hanging silver bells.

“Cherub bells,” an old crone explained from behind a tall counter. “They think everything is funny.”

As if for emphasis, the bells began to childishly chortle. Balin didn’t know how to handle the bells, so he yelled at them. “Shut up!”