The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (15 page)

Damir had never felt this way before; his heart was overcome with a great weight, a burden he carried close to his chest.

Balin pulled Damir into an ardent kiss. The candied nuts slid from Damir’s hand and fell forgotten to the ground. Damir tangled his fingers in Balin’s hair, desperately returning the kiss until it felt like every ounce of air was sucked from his lungs. Balin twisted him around and walked him backward until he bumped into a brick wall.

“Someone might see us,” Damir managed to voice as their lips parted. He could barely draw in enough air—not that Balin was making it easy on him. Balin’s hot mouth trailed along the curve of his neck, finding the junction of his collarbone.

Balin froze, his heavy pants warming Damir’s skin.

“OH MY! LOOK how he shines.” The low, familiar voice scraped across Balin’s mind like nails.

He turned around, keeping Damir behind him. Balin had known Yazuka was there even before the assassin had spoken. He could feel the shift in the air, the slight stir as the other man moved through the shadows. Yazuka wasn’t as light on his feet, and he moved floridly, as if the world were nothing more than his own personal stage.

“Who’s that?” Damir asked. Balin could feel Damir trying to move around him to look, but he held his hands out and prevented Damir from stepping away.

“Stay back,” Balin ordered Damir and then demanded from Yazuka, “What do you want?”

“Oh, there are many things.” Yakuza spread his hands out with a devilish grin. “But right now? Well, I want
you
, Shadowwalker.”

“Shadowwalker? Why did he call you Shadowwalker?” Damir asked.

Balin could feel Damir’s hands fisted in his shirt.

“Balin, let’s go,” Damir pleaded.

Yazuka tsk-tsked. “Sorry, afraid I can’t have that.”

Balin moved his hand to his side, preparing to reach for his dagger. “So that’s why you’re here? Why’d you wait this long? Why not earlier?”

He risked a glance to Damir, who watched him with wide, confused eyes. Balin’s heart wrenched painfully; he hadn’t wanted Damir to find out this way—he hadn’t wanted Damir to find out at all.

Adrenaline ran through Balin’s body like electricity—he became a killing machine in that instant, his only purpose to eliminate Yazuka.

“You could say the opportunity wasn’t right. I wanted to see what could possibly tame the Shadowwalker. I must say, I’m surprised. I never would have thought a tight ass would domesticate you.” Yazuka leaned forward, his head tilted to the side as if he were trying to get a better look at Damir. “Well, he is cute and certainly unique. Is he one of the whores at this brothel?”

Balin looked up briefly; he hadn’t even noticed that they had stumbled past one of the few brothels in Canaan. He had been so inebriated by Damir, drunk on the taste of his lips and the feel of their bodies pressed together, that he had completely lost track of his surroundings.

Yazuka launched forward. Balin’s head snapped back, and without a second thought, he shoved Damir out of the way. Yazuka’s fist glided past Balin’s cheek; he had tucked between his knuckles three deadly needles. Balin brought his arm up and deflected the punch, following through with a strike to Yazuka’s solar plexus.

The Poisoner stumbled back with a strangled gasp. He regained his footing and hurled his needles at Balin.

Balin dived to the left, barely avoiding the poisoned tips of the needles. He unsheathed his dagger and rushed Yazuka. He had to finish the fight. There was no time to waste. Not when Damir was at risk—when everything was at risk.

Yazuka leaped away as Balin slashed out. He fired another round of needles at Balin. The thin spikes blended into the night, becoming threads of moonlight that Balin barely caught glimpses of.

Balin spun out of the way of the line of fire. He briefly caught sight of Damir, huddled against the wall. His eyes were wide with terror, the pupils dominating his irises. A brilliant aura emitted from him.

Thunder crackled in the distance. The alley seemed to grow darker as clouds rolled in. Balin used the shift to his advantage, melting into the blackness. He walked among the shadows, part of the night.

Yazuka jerkily swiveled around. Lightning ripped the sky, briefly illuminating the street.

Balin lunged out. He drove his dagger into Yazuka’s side.

Yazuka drew in a sharp gasp. For a moment his eyes were wide, filled with wonder and confusion, but then his visage smoothed into a triumphant grin.

Yazuka leaned in close and whispered into Balin’s ear, “Got you.”

Balin felt a sharp prick in his right side. He ripped the dagger out and stumbled back. His heartbeat became impossibly loud. It resonated between his ears, maddeningly vibrating in his brain. He looked around for Damir, but he couldn’t see him. He was gone.

Perhaps that was fair.

A wretched soul like his deserved to die alone.

But he would have wanted to see his angel one last time, before the darkness took him.

“PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP me!” Damir shouted. He had abandoned the fight and ran into the brothel. The girl behind the counter looked up at him in fright. Damir rushed over to her and pleaded, “Outside, there’s a man. He’s going to
kill
him!”

“Who?” the girl asked. Had they not heard the scuffle? Perhaps fights were commonplace around the brothel, but it didn’t matter. This was more than a simple brawl between two drunk men.

Damir didn’t know who the man was that had confronted Balin, but he was more than a stranger off the street. He had called Balin
Shadowwalker.

Why?

“Outside, please. We have to send for the guards,” Damir begged.

“Sir, are you all right? Y-you’re…
glowing
!” The girl gasped.

Damir shook his head with a low growl and pushed away from the desk. He would have to find a guard himself.

“What seems to be the problem?” a familiar voice asked.

Damir turned to see General Gaius, who stood in the doorway of a hall. His expression was neutral, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks—Damir didn’t have to guess what he was doing at the brothel.

Thunder shook the building. The storm had swept in out of nowhere and took Canaan hostage.

Damir glanced toward the door and then pleaded earnestly, “My lord, outside—a fight, please. You must help.”

“You’re the farmer from earlier.” General Gaius’s eyes narrowed. He gestured toward the door as he briskly cut across the room. “Lead the way.”

Damir threw open the door to the brothel and ran outside. The scene in front of him stopped Damir in his tracks; Balin convulsed on the ground, and crouched a few feet away, holding his side, was the man he had been fighting.

“Balin!” Damir cried and ran to his lover’s side. All his fear vanished as he knelt beside Balin’s thrashing body. “What happened?” Damir glared up at the man, who watched with a satisfied grin. “What did you do? Tell me!”

Damir stamped his panic down. He couldn’t lose his head.

“Stay where you are,” General Gaius ordered. Damir looked up for a moment to see that general was speaking to the other man, who had begun to rise to his feet. General Gaius had drawn the sword at his side and leveled it at the man. “Tell him what you’ve done.”

The man’s grin twisted into a vicious snarl. “What does it look like? He’s been poisoned, and you won’t get him to a medicus in time to save him. You should be thanking me, General.”

Damir laid his hands over Balin’s heart and, with all his strength, summoned the aether inside him. Fervent blue light emitted from Damir’s hands. He could feel the power pulse through his veins. He forgot about the others around him—all that mattered was Balin.

The energy flowed from Damir to Balin; aether flushed Balin’s veins, dispelling the toxin that ran through him. When Damir couldn’t feel traces of the poison anymore, he drew his hands away. The light went out, pitching them back into the darkness.

“Sweet Cythra,” the injured man groaned, still clutching his side. He dropped to one knee.

“Can you heal him?” General Gaius asked. He had moved over to where the man stood and gripped him by the shoulder.

Damir hesitated. He looked down at Balin, who remained unconscious, and then to the other man, who had begun to pant heavily. He was losing blood quickly. Damir wanted to say no. He wanted to pull Balin into his arms and leave them both behind.

But Lar wouldn’t want that.

Damir caressed Balin’s cheek, then rose to his feet. For a second he swayed, slightly woozy from the energy loss. He waited until his head stopped spinning, then crossed the street to the other man and reached for his wound without hesitation.

The man slapped his hand away. “Do you think I’ll trust you?”

“Do you wish to go to malltod so soon? I can let you, but I think we both know you would prefer not to,” Damir said calmly.

The man grimaced but moved his hands away. Damir inspected the stab wound—it was a clean cut but deep. Damir could already see his skin begin to take on the sickly pallor of blood loss.

Damir pressed a hand over the stab area, and once more, his hand began to glow like he gripped a star. The man’s pained expression smoothed into a look of relief as the damage knitted itself together. Damir pulled away when the last bit of flesh melded and returned to Balin’s side.

Damir wiped his bloody hand on his pant leg. Balin stirred with a groan, his eyes blinking open. Moonlight spilled over his face, encompassing his body in a pale beam. The thunderclouds had rolled past, leaving Canaan behind with only a distant memory of their abrupt arrival.

“Hey,” Damir said. Relief spread through him, warming his cold body. The terror that had held on to his heart with a vise grip finally loosened its hold.

“Explain to me what transpired,” General Gaius said, causing Damir to glance up. He looked like he had the man’s hands bound in front of him with his belt, and he still had ahold of the man’s shoulder.

“He attacked us. I don’t know why,” Damir answered honestly.

“You and Shadowwalker?” General Gaius watched Damir with a scrutinizing gaze. The unnerving stare made the hairs on Damir’s neck stand. Suddenly and harshly, he became aware of what he had done and what General Gaius had seen.

“Yes, I mean no.” Damir shook his head. “His name is Balin. Whoever that man thinks he is, he’s wrong. Balin lives with me on my farm. He’s a merchant.”

Damir wasn’t sure about that last part.

“A merchant?” The man laughed bitterly and tried to jerk out of General Gaius’s hold, but the general’s grip seemed to be made of steel. “He is no merchant.”

Balin started to push himself up, and Damir quickly slid an arm behind him, helping him sit.

“You glow with the might of a star. What are you?” General Gaius asked.

Stillness settled over them, suffocating in its thickness. Damir tightened his grip on Balin, unable to break eye contact with General Gaius. He forced a timid smile. “I’m nothing, sir. Just a farmer.”

“A farmer who can heal?”

“I need to get him back to our inn to rest,” Damir said. “May we go?”

General Gaius looked down at Balin, who watched him with a distrustful glare. Damir helped Balin to his feet, letting the man lean on him.

“Of course,” General Gaius finally said. The man he held captive tried once more to pull away, but General Gaius seized him by the neck. “Until we meet again, Damir Rosen.”

Damir watched General Gaius lead his prisoner off, praying he never came across the general again. A coldness blew through him like an arctic wind. It was only when Balin said his name that Damir snapped from his daze.

“Can we go?” Balin asked.

“Yes, come on,” Damir murmured, not sure if Balin even heard him. He guided Balin to the Silver Elf, unable to shake the forboding feeling that his nightmare had only just begun.

Chapter Twelve

Rise of the Dragon

One week had passed since the Ides Tres. Damir hadn’t forgotten his and Balin’s run-in with the stranger or General Gaius’s departing words.

His mind was in a constant state of swirling thoughts, caught up in vivid memories and vague questions. When they returned from Canaan, Elina none the wiser of the events that had transpired, Damir had contemplated what he should do about Balin.

Damir spent his nights lying awake and listening to Balin’s breathing as he slept. He’d wanted to ask who their assailant was and why he’d called Balin Shadowwalker, but every time Damir built his courage up, the words became stuck in his throat. He wasn’t prepared to know the truth, so he allowed himself to fall into the ebb and flow of daily life.

Today proved to be smoldering. The sun was high and full. Damir almost expected the fields to burst into flames, the heat was so oppressive. He could feel the rays play on his skin and bake his flesh. He and Balin had both stripped off their shirts as they worked on mending a fence. Sweat poured down his back and weighed his hair down. He tugged the unruly gold strands behind his head and tied them with a leather string.

Balin’s muscles bunched as he hefted the wooden post up and dropped it down into the hole. Damir had stopped several times to appreciate the sight of Balin bare-chested and glistening with sweat. The only thing that kept Damir from dragging the man to the ground and riding him like a horse was the fact that it was the middle of the day and Elina was in the house.

Damir swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’ll get us some water.”

If they continued on much longer in this heat, they would work themselves into an early grave. Balin rubbed his hands against his thighs and nodded. “That would be good.”

Damir walked past the freshly filled crater and toward the farmhouse, using the distance to do some thinking. When they’d returned from the festival, Balin had been like a caged wolf. He’d continuously watched the windows and doors, paced the floors, and snapped at the slightest shadow. It had taken a couple days for him to finally return to his normal routine, but even with him less agitated, Damir could sense a tension that was constantly coiled throughout Balin’s muscles. He didn’t know if it had to do with Elina or the man named Yazuka, but he hoped Balin would soon realize all was well again.