The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (4 page)

Damir gestured to the small wooden table set up in front of the fire. Balin glanced down at the sheet still wrapped around his lap and then to Damir and his sister. “As much as I would love to join you, there is just one slight problem.”

“Yes?”

Confusion drew the man’s brows together. Balin found he liked how the tip of Damir’s nose tilted up.

“Clothes. I have none.” Balin stated and chuckled softly when Damir’s face turned a rosy shade.

“Oh, of course. Elina, fetch some of Father’s clothes and bring them down. They should fit him just fine,” Damir ordered.

Elina nodded and rushed upstairs. When she returned, she brandished a pair of simple brown cotton trousers, a plain shirt, and a pair of old leather work boots. She passed them to Balin with a smile.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Balin took the clothes and looked between them. When neither of them moved, he said, “I may not be the most modest person, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to change in front of a lass.”

Elina colored brightly and turned her back to him, finding something to busy herself with in the kitchen. Damir abruptly turned on his heels and whisked away the bowl of water that had sat on the nightstand. His ears pinked at the top. Balin smirked to himself and let the blanket fall away. He pulled on the pants and shirt and shoved his feet into the boots. The leather was soft and well-worn.

Balin had worn worse, but he had also worn better. The cotton of the shirt scratched against his skin. He patted the old clothes, and some dust escaped. “Finished.”

Damir turned around and peeked at him from beneath his long lashes, his eyes sparkling brightly. Balin’s breath caught. The man truly was striking.

“Let’s eat,” Damir said, then coughed into his hand.

Balin moved toward the table and took a seat. He inhaled deeply as Elina set a bowlful of broth in front of him.

“It may be a bit before you can eat solids. It’s important to get some fluids in you,” Damir explained.

Days without food and water had left his body wrung out. Balin knew it would be some time before he rebuilt his stamina and strength.

Damir sat across from him, and Elina nestled herself between them, a spoon in her hand. Damir shook his head at his sister.

“Elina, prayer.”

Elina set her spoon down and clasped her hands together. Damir bowed his head, and after a quick glance up at Balin, he said, “Lar, thank you for the bounty in front of us. We thank you for the blessings of today and pray that you give us strength. Please look over our friend’s injuries and help him regain his strength. Thank you, Lar; in your name we pray. Amen.”

“What is your name?” Elina asked as she dropped her hands and picked up her spoon.

Balin picked up his spoon and dipped it through the broth. “My name is Balin Cor.”

He paused to wait and see if there was any recognition of the alias, but neither Damir nor Elina showed any. Elina probed further with her questions.

“You aren’t from Pheor, are you?”

Her eyes were round with curiosity. The soft pucker of her mouth was endearing and reminded Balin so much of his own sisters.

“Elina, don’t ask so many questions,” Damir reprimanded, though Balin could see the same curiosity in his caretaker’s eyes. Damir looked up at him and then dropped his gaze to his bowl of stew and returned to eating.

Balin chuckled. “It’s all right. I am more than happy to answer her questions. No, I’m not from here. I come from Terrasolis. Have you heard of it?”

“That’s to the south, right?” Elina’s face split into a large grin.

“Yes, it is.” Balin took a spoonful of broth and moaned with appreciation. “This is delicious.”

It might have been from the fact that it was his first meal in days, but it tasted like heaven. At Balin’s compliment, Elina’s face glowed with pride.

“What of you? Have you always lived here?” Balin asked, his gaze briefly taking in the blue vines that wrapped around Damir’s neck.

“Yep! It used to be our parents’ farm,” Elina answered.

Balin wished he could get a response from Damir. He addressed him directly. “And you, Damir? Have you ever left? Perhaps trained at the Royal Academy in Civitatem Aurum?” Balin asked before he took another spoonful of broth.

“No,” Damir said as he poked at his food. “I only venture to Canaan when necessary. Otherwise, neither I nor Elina leave the farm.”

“But surely you’ve trained in magic. You healed me, did you not?” Balin frowned, taken aback that they had never left their farm.

“I did. But as I told you before, I am no medicus, nor have I ever trained as one.” His reply was stiff.

“An Album Mage, then?” Balin asked. While he had never seen a mage with such markings before, it was the only explanation he could think of to explain how he’d been healed.

“No,” Damir replied, “and I’d rather not discuss it, please.”

Balin opened his mouth to ask some more questions but snapped it closed a second later. Damir had been gracious enough to take Balin into his home. The last thing he wanted to do was overstep his welcome. “Of course. My humblest apologies.”

“It’s all right.”

Although Damir assured him all was well, Balin thought he heard an uncomfortable edge to Damir’s voice.

Balin returned his attention to his broth and finished it without further questions. He managed to put away two bowls before they cleared off the table. Elina chatted the entire time, and while Balin tried to remain attentive to the girl’s questions, he found both his gaze and his mind drifting over to a rather demure Damir.

When the meal was over and the dishes washed, Elina stretched her arms over her head. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Damir. Balin.”

Damir watched her go. As she climbed the stairs to the second level, he said, “Good night, Elina. Sleep tight.”

Balin leaned against his seat and studied Damir as the man put the last of the dishes away. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Damir turned to face him and pressed his lips together. Balin could feel the desire pooling in his stomach. This man was dangerous. His powers were unknown, and his beauty was unparalleled, a combination that was always deadly. Many kings and politicians had fallen under the double-edged blade of a vixen such as Damir.

“You should return to bed. You need to rest,” Damir replied.

Balin rolled his eyes. “That is the most I’ve gotten from you all evening.”

Damir gestured to the bed. “You must regain your strength.”

“Where will you sleep?” Balin asked as he returned to the bed.

“The floor.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Balin quickly argued. He would not be averse to having Damir beside him. The thought pulsed hot in his blood and made his heart shudder pleasantly.

“It’s all right. Please, rest. I’ll be fine on the floor.”

Balin didn’t argue, though he wanted to. Damir provided a spare set of pajamas for Balin to retire in. When they were prepared for bed—Balin had been forced to look out the window when Damir changed—Balin stretched his arms high to work out the kinks in his muscles and slid under the blankets. He watched Damir move around the room, extinguishing the candles as the moon climbed above the horizon, and then shut the window shutters to keep the moonlight out. The last thing Balin saw before his eyes closed was Damir engulfed in a pale silver glow.

Chapter Four

Angel of the Moon

Balin woke to a cold breeze and the sound of wolves chasing him. His eyes shot open, and a strangled gasp clawed its way up his throat. It was as if he were still stuck in that damnable forest. He could feel the trees closing in on him, the vines reaching down to wrap around his neck like a noose.

It took him a moment to realize that the wolf howls were a figment of his imagination, but that the biting cold was real. It kept him frozen on the bed, trapped within the memory of death and despair. He seemed to be incapable of purging the nightmare.

A movement to the right drew Balin’s attention from his thoughts. He pushed himself up on the bed and looked toward the window where Damir stood. The man didn’t seem to notice he was awake. Damir remained fixed in front of the open window, bathed in a pale beam of silver. Sharp shadows defined the contours of Damir’s jaw and the dip of his nose.

He’d stripped his shirt off at some point in the night, and Balin could make out more of the vines. They encased Damir’s arm, spiraling around and tracing paths to his shoulder. The blue lines coiled around his throat.

A warm sterling light glowed softly from Damir’s chest, spreading along his skin until it was as if Damir radiated beneath the moonlight. Balin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ethereal sight. He had thought Damir was an angel with his kind aquatic eyes and golden hair. Now Balin was positive the man who’d rescued him was indeed a winged deity.

Damir didn’t notice Balin. He continued to stare out into the night and up at the sky, barefoot and bare-chested. His simple cotton pants hung low on his narrow hips in a way that tempted Balin from bed. He carefully swung his feet around and set them on the floor. Being mindful of the spare blanket and pillow beside the bed, Balin stood up. “What do you see?”

Damir didn’t respond. He continued to stare into the sea of stars. It was a galaxy’s worth spilled out over the treetops. From where he stood, Balin could make out the constellation Draco.

Balin stepped behind Damir, hovering his hands above Damir’s shoulder but not quite touching. He couldn’t seem to find the courage to close the distance. He, who’d faced a pack of man-eating wolves, couldn’t touch the shoulder of another man. But Damir was far from just another man. Balin had only been within his graces for two days, and already he knew that he had come upon someone far beyond the mortal realm.

Balin clamped his hand down on Damir’s shoulder, but before he could utter his name, Damir spun around and stared up at him with terrified eyes, his mouth limp.

“Y-you’re awake.” Damir accused. The vines that covered Damir’s arm in a sleeve extended across his chest and created a starburst over Damir’s heart.

“I am,” Balin whispered. Face-to-face, Balin could see the powerful light emitting from Damir’s chest.

As if caught completely naked, Damir shoved Balin away. “Don’t look!”

Damir snatched up his blanket from the floor and dragged it around his shoulders, trying to hide the light. Balin had seen it, though, and he would never be able to erase that beautiful image from his mind.

“What
are
you?” Balin asked. He ached to brush his fingers down Damir’s cheek.

Damir shook his head and stepped around Balin. “Excuse me.”

Balin snatched Damir’s arm before Damir could get far. The blanket fell to the ground as he spun him around. Balin’s blood pounded between his ears. Damir’s radiance called to him. He had never felt such a strong desire to touch and hold, to claim. He barely knew Damir, and all he wanted was to watch him light up the night sky.

“This is no magic I’ve ever seen before,” Balin said, his grip a vise around Damir’s bicep. He was pleased to feel the tight bulge of muscles. Damir was strong, built from sturdy work and good genes. His abdomen was distinguished by the sharp carve of abs and defined pectorals. Any other time, Balin would have been coaxing a man like Damir into his bed for the night. But Damir was far from the average man.

This was far from any average situation.

“Let go,” Damir ordered and tugged at his arm. He may have been strong, but Balin was stronger.

“You’re glowing. That isn’t normal. Tell me, what are you? You are no medicus or mage!”

“I told you I wasn’t,” Damir snapped. “It’s none of your concern. Just be grateful I saved you and leave it be!”

He was right. Balin should have been showing his gratitude by dropping it, but he couldn’t. This beautiful stranger was of some magic he did not know, and he refused to let it merely slip by unknown.

There was a frightened look in Damir’s eyes, the same look a cornered rabbit got. His eyes jumped around, never lingering more than a small handful of seconds on Balin’s face. The glow around his body had faded as he’d moved into the shadows, and soon it was gone, extinguished.

“I’ll not hurt you,” Balin swore.

Damir looked skeptical, his gaze remaining fixed on the large hand wrapped around his arm. Balin instantly let go and stepped back.

“Sorry,” Balin whispered.

“PLEASE, JUST LEAVE it be. Forget what you have seen,” Damir begged. He chewed on his lower lip and turned around to hunt for the shirt he’d foolishly shed earlier in the night. He always got hot when he slept, even when it was cold outside. It was like a fire would start inside him every day at sundown. He had foolishly hoped Balin would remain asleep all night. How stupid he’d been.

Balin picked up the nightshirt tossed beside the bed and handed it to Damir. “Your skin glows like the moon. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

Damir gratefully took the shirt and tugged it over his head. He looked at Balin, his stomach knotting anxiously. Balin watched him. Damir couldn’t gauge the truth behind the man’s words, but he couldn’t deny the fact that his skin tingled all over.

A howl pierced the night, and Damir cursed under his breath. Setting aside the alien emotions blooming in his stomach, Damir turned and rushed over to a chest shoved against the wall beneath the steps. He opened it and pulled out a long blade-bow and a quiver of arrows.

“What is it?” Balin asked.

“A loner. We get them every now and then, hunting for food.” Damir said as he rushed out the front door. Balin followed close on his heels.

Damir stopped at the rear of the house and lifted his elegantly designed blade-bow called Drachenseele. The weapon had been his father’s, and when his father had passed away, Damir had taken it up.

Inside the arced blades were two polished aether stones of celestite. Aether was the magic of Zoria, the energy that mages could channel at various levels. Aether was capable of being infused with stones to generate certain magical properties within items, but only those beings who carried a high level of aether within themselves could properly wield the objects.