The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (7 page)

“She is young and adventurous.”

“I guess that means I’m old,” Damir said with a faint chuckle.

“No, it means you’re cautious.”

“It’s fine, Damir,” Balin said as he laid his hand on the man’s arm. “You just love her. She’s lucky to have a brother who watches after her.”

Damir smiled up at him. “Maybe you’re right.”

Balin suspected Damir didn’t fully believe him. He glanced over at Ashwin, who watched Damir sympathetically. Damir seemed to hold a great deal of guilt inside him, guilt that Balin didn’t fully understand. But it didn’t change the fact that he wished to dispel it for Damir.

“There’s no need to worry about such things,” Ashwin said finally. “Enjoy the rest of the day. It’s far too beautiful out to be fretting over senseless problems.”

“Of course,” Damir agreed and gave Ashwin a hug. “Thank you again.”

“Come by sooner. I do miss your face. And bring back your friend. We don’t get such handsome men in here often,” Ashwin called out after them.

Balin smirked, and from the corner of his eye, he caught Damir passing him a sideways glance. Was it his imagination, or did Damir glimpse upon him longingly?

“We shall see,” Damir said, and a small part of Balin hoped that it was a possibility.

Chapter Six

Gooseneck Tavern

After they left Ashwin’s, Damir went over his list to make sure everything was checked off. Their wagon was officially loaded down with supplies. With nothing left of importance to get, Damir turned to Balin. “Why don’t we take a look around the market, find Elina, and then grab some lunch?”

“If that is what you’d like to do. Sounds good.”

They walked through the booths, taking their time to look at each one. A woman thrust a giant Nazarian bass, its scales the color of mud, into Damir’s face and shouted at him as if he were ten miles away.

“You buy fish?”

“No, thank you,” Damir said as he steered them away from the woman’s foul stall.

“What is it you do in Civitatem Aurum, Balin?” Damir asked as they slowly roamed past a stall selling pieces of jewelry. He stopped to finger a long pendant that would look beautiful around Elina’s neck.

“It is not important,” Balin said as he stopped beside Damir. He laid his hand on Damir’s shoulder. “I just have business there. But it can wait.”

Damir looked up. He wanted to press for an explanation, but he decided to let it pass. Damir knew that the truth would come in due time, and that some things were better left unrushed.

Balin dropped his hand and fingered the necklace Damir studied. “It’s pretty. Were you thinking of getting it for Elina?”

The merchant moved from the customer he was speaking with to stand in front of them. “A lovely necklace. It is made of pure jade, excavated from caverns deep in Terrasolis.”

A thin silver chain was strung through the teardrop pendant, the polished stone a pale milky shade of green. The merchant lifted it with thick fingers and dangled it in front of his face. A bushy mustache twitched beneath his crooked nose.

“It’s lovely. How much?” Damir asked.

“One
sovereign
,” he said.

“One sovereign? You must be insane. A jade that size is not worth an entire sovereign!” Balin snapped furiously.

Damir glanced anxiously at Balin and then looked at the necklace. “A sovereign is too much. I’m sorry.”

The merchant scowled at Balin. “For a stone this fine and rare, a sovereign is a steal. Jade is a commodity here.”

Balin snorted. “I have seen jade larger than that go for a sovereign. That is worth no more than five
sil
—if it is pure jade. You could be lying.”

“I do not lie!” The merchant snapped and slammed the necklace down, his face purple with anger. “If you do not want the necklace, then go! Before I call the guards!”

Balin scoffed. “So we can inform them you are cheating the citizens of Canaan?”

“Cheat! I do not cheat!” The man’s thick eyebrows rose high on his head, and his pupils dilated with rage.

“Then five sil is more than generous,” Balin said.

Damir watched the exchange between them with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

The merchant let out a sputtered squawk, spit flaking his lips and mustache, before saying, “Six sil, no less!”

“Deal,” Damir said, handing the coins to the man before he keeled over with heart failure. Balin plucked the necklace from the table and passed it to Damir, steering him away from the vendor. He had a smile on his face.

Carefully Damir pocketed the pendant in the bag with his dwindling money and continued on down the market. He loved the life that surged around them. He and Elina spent so much time in isolation that it was good to be out among other people, even if he had to be in disguise. Balin stopped in front of a stall selling an assortment of knives and blades. He picked up one with an ornate hilt and turned it slowly in his hands.

“Do you like it?” Damir asked as he stopped beside Balin.

Balin set the knife down. “It’s a lovely weapon but far too ostentatious. A knife does not need to be covered in so many frivolous jewels; it just needs a solid blade.”

“Perhaps you would like this one, then,” the merchant offered. She picked up a simpler dagger with a plain silver pommel and cross guards. Its grip was wrapped with strong but pliable leather.

Balin took the weapon from the woman and balanced it in his hand. “It is indeed a fine dagger.”

“It’s only a hundred lamnas,” the merchant offered.

She had a pleasant smile across her face that Damir found very agreeable. Unlike the other merchant, she seemed at ease with her wares. Damir pulled the pouch from his side and checked to see how much he had left. They still had to go to Gooseneck like he had promised Elina, and he didn’t want to spend everything he’d brought with him, but there was enough to spare.

“That is a fair price, but we shall pass,” Balin said and set the weapon down.

“You said one hundred lamnas?” Damir asked as he pulled the correct amount from his leather pouch.

“Damir, it is all right. I still have my dagger,” Balin said.

“I want to. You’ve helped us so much around the farm.”

Balin shook his head and set his hand down on Damir’s, giving it a quick squeeze. “No, I insist. Put your coins away. Save it for something more important. Thank you, madame. You have a fine assortment of weapons. But we shall have to pass.”

The merchant bowed her head, ringlets of blonde hair sliding down around her face. “Thank you, good sir.”

“Come, let us find Elina and get some lunch.”

Balin took Damir’s arm in his hand and guided him away from the merchant stalls. Damir tried not to focus on the contact, but his mind seemed to fritz out at the feel of Balin’s hands on his body—even when it was in the most mundane of ways.

Damir opened his mouth to argue but let it die. There was no point in arguing with Balin over something trivial. He looked through the crowd. “Elina is probably by the fountain. It’s her favorite spot.”

“Let’s start there first.”

As they pushed their way through the throng of townsfolk, Damir was knocked sideways by a small band of teenagers. Balin caught him before he could topple to the ground, and for a brief moment, he cradled Damir against his chest. Damir’s breath hitched. He’d fallen with his ear over Balin’s heart. He closed his eyes. Warmth seeped into Damir’s body, wrapped in Balin’s strong arms and warmed by the sunlight. Nothing existed in that moment but the two of them.

“Are you all right?”

Damir straightened up, reluctant to pull away. “Yes, thank you.”

BALIN STUDIED DAMIR’S face, wishing he had another excuse to draw the man back into his arms. His heart raced with desire. The feeling of butterflies dancing in his stomach was alien. He was the type of person who went out and took whom he wanted. He didn’t court, nor did he get nervous. Yet here he stood, as tongue-tied and bent as a schoolboy who’d just struck puberty. He felt like a horse’s ass.

“Be more careful,” Balin said gruffly. Damir blinked and looked away, his cheeks turning as red as iron skillets. Balin rubbed the back of his head and looked around the square. “Come on.”

Damir followed Balin toward the fountain where Elina sat. He caught Balin’s attention, then held a finger to his lips to signal Balin to remain quiet, and carefully extracted the newly bought pendant from his leather pouch. With the chain wrapped around his fingers, Damir sneaked up behind Elina. She sat with her back to the crowd, one hand dipping down the side of the fountain into the water.

Elina never noticed her brother until he dangled the necklace in front of her and said, “Boo!” into her ear.

Elina let out a shriek and snatched up the jewelry. “Oh Dammy! It’s beautiful!”

“Let me put it on you.”

Damir grinned from ear to ear, and Balin could see the happiness radiating off him as if the sun had begun to rise inside him.

Elina passed it to him and swept her hair over her shoulder. Damir unhooked the necklace and slid it around her neck. Once it was secure, Elina let her hair fall into place and touched the jade stone.

“It’s beautiful, Dammy. It really is! Thank you!”

She rose to her feet and threw her arms around Damir’s waist. Damir hugged her close and looked at Balin.

“Come; let’s get some lunch,” Damir said and patted his sister’s shoulder lightly. As they walked the short distance to the pub, Damir asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?” They approached the tavern, which was close to the town square. A wooden sign hung outside in the shape of a goose.

“Yes. Did you get everything?” Elina asked.

Damir nodded. “Medicus Ashwin sends her love.”

Balin trailed behind them, listening contentedly as the two siblings chatted among themselves. While he had brothers and sisters of his own, Balin had never known the closeness that Damir and Elina had for each other. He had been the black sheep of the family. It was half the reason he had chosen his current career path.

The Gooseneck was a lively tavern that smelled of cedar and stout. The boisterous laughter of men bounced off the steeple ceilings. A giant fire roared in a stone fireplace, and tables were situated all around the pub. A set of stairs led up to a second level, where a small stage sat empty.

Balin slowly looked around the tavern. He took in the bar, which had only one empty stool, the rapidly filling tables, a group of men playing cards with large tankards of beer in their hands, and the nervous-looking man in the corner fiddling with a meat pie. Pelts and animal heads were hanging on the walls from various hunts, and beside the door on a board were posters of wanted men and listings for bounty hunters. Balin approached the wanted board and glanced over the listings.

“We got a table, Balin,” Damir shouted as he waved Balin over.

He recognized a few familiar faces of other assassins and thieves, but his own mug was absent from the assortment of paper signs. There was a sign that read plainly: THE SHADOWWALKER, WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE, 100,000 SOVEREIGNS. Balin reached up and pulled down the wanted sign. He folded the paper up and slid it into his pocket without a word, silently making his way over to the table Damir had procured.

A barmaid approached them, her breasts spilling from her blouse and her hair a tattered rat’s nest of black curls.

“What’ll ya ’ave, dearies?”

“A meat pie for me and some pumpkin ale and oh! Melon bread, don’t forget the melon bread,” Elina said eagerly, smacking her lips with hunger.

Damir rolled his eyes. “Make that two, but instead of the pumpkin ale, I’ll have mead.”

“What he’s having, but no melon bread,” Balin said. A nice strong draft of mead sounded fantastic.

The barmaid swept past them and grabbed their tankards of ale and mead off the bar, setting them on the table with a frothy splash. Elina snatched up her sweeter drink and began to sip it. Damir took a few reserved sips of his beer. Balin held his mug in his hand but didn’t drink.

“What is wrong?” Damir asked Balin.

“Nothing,” Balin lied. His mind was a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts. He could still smell Damir around him and feel the warmth of the man’s skin, and his pocket burned with the poster with Shadowwalker plastered on it. He would have to keep his head down until they left. He had hoped word of his travels would not have made it to Pheor’s shores, but that had been a foolish hope.

“Are you sure? You’re quiet.”

Elina turned her gaze on Balin. “Are you tired? Or mad because you can’t leave?”

Damir briefly looked crestfallen, but he covered it up before Balin could reassure him that he wasn’t upset.

“Are you sure we cannot send you to Traum?” Damir asked, lowering his mead to the table.

“Yes, I’m just tired. Do not concern yourself,” Balin said as he took up his beer. He wanted his conflicting thoughts to leave him. He felt cursed. He took some large gulps from his mug and hoped the alcohol might numb both his desires and his fears.

Damir eyed Balin skeptically, and Balin braced for him to insist, but Damir picked up his own drink and said not another word on the subject. The barmaid brought out their food, and Elina dug in with vigor.

Damir speared his fork into the flaky crust and split open the pie. Steam wafted up from the gravy, chunks of meat and vegetables spilling out onto his plate. Damir took a bite, his pink tongue darting out to lap up the stray drops of gravy on his lips. Balin could barely repress a groan as Damir turned a simple act into an erotic display.

One bite after the next, Damir ate his pie with the occasional flick of tongue against his lips. Balin had to force himself to eat his own meal. His cock throbbed hard in his pants. If he didn’t get himself under control soon, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

Balin focused on his surroundings and not on Damir’s sensuous mouth. Forks scraped against plates as the patrons ate. Beneath the smacking of lips was busy chatter. Balin could make out snips of conversation from the neighboring table.

“I hear the king of Kalrune declared war on us,” one man said.

“No, you moron, nothing has been declared yet,” his companion argued. “They’re still in peace talks.”