The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (19 page)

Damir dropped his arms to his side and reached for the water. He wanted to hold on to the man looking at him. Maybe he’d understand then what he was, what it all meant. His body began to tip forward, and he felt the cold spit of the sea on his face.

“Hey, kid! What the hell are you doing?” a man shouted from the deck of the schooner.

Damir snapped back before he could fall into the water, shaken from his daze. He looked at the scraggly-toothed man and then made his way down the pier. He returned to the wagon to wait for Balin.

Balin returned ten minutes later with a grim expression.

“There are no ships heading to Terrasolis. The harbormaster says there haven’t been any in years. Let’s head to the air stadium. They might have a few airships that travel south, or possibly some merchants there,” Balin said as he swung onto the wagon beside Damir. Balin studied him for a moment as Damir took the reins.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Damir whispered.

Balin reached over and set his hand down heavily on Damir’s shoulder. Damir shook it off dismissively and turned the wagon around. They headed toward the eastern end of Traum. The air cleared the farther they went, but there was always a fishy odor beneath the surface.

The air stadium looked like a bronze globe on a pedestal with a pair of steps leading up to it. Airships moved in and out, taking to the sky at various points of the compass. Standing watch at the entrance was a set of guards.

A third guard stepped out and changed places with the guard on the right. Balin pulled the wagon to the side of the road. “I’ll check here. Wait.”

“Damn it, I can go too,” Damir growled out before Balin could walk away.

“THE GUARDS MAY recognize you, and we can’t risk that. I’ll only be a moment.” Balin knew Damir wanted to be productive, but he couldn’t risk anyone noticing him.

“And you’re wanted,” Damir pointed out with a scowl.

“I also have experience in blending in and avoiding detection,” Balin said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. Damir looked away, and Balin took that as a signal to go. He quickly entered the air stadium, his head down as he passed the guard.

Balin moved unobtrusively through the spacious area. He walked to the set of counters down the main hall where people bustled about and shouted for help. There were six, three on each end. Above the stations were shifting boards that announced the possible voyages. At the end was a gate that gave entrance to the docks. Several soldiers milled about, and Balin could see a new battalion coming out of the docks from where a fleet ship had taken port.

Balin cursed under his breath, turned away from the soldiers heading toward him, and looked at the signs. There’d be no way to sneak in and check out the ships with so many soldiers around. None of the pleasure voyagers were bound for Terrasolis. Most of them were shuttles between cities, a few to Kalrune and Ehrlinger.

Fuck me nine ways to the twelfth moon
. Balin quickly sidestepped a brutish man with a bloated belly and sweat on his forehead. He made his way outside to Damir. “Too many soldiers inside. We’ll have to stay the night. There was an inn not too far from here.”

Damir nodded and snapped the reins when Balin took his seat. They headed toward an inn three blocks from the stadium. A wooden sign, carved in the shape of roses with the name PRIMROSE INN elegantly written across it, hung at the entrance of the red-brick building.

Balin paid the stable boy a few trolics to tend to the horse and wagon and unloaded their bags. Damir climbed down and carefully hauled his bag over his shoulder, not wanting to spill Elina’s ashes.

They entered the inn and moved to the front desk. A warm fire crackled to the left where some occupied tables were set up. The innkeeper’s wife swung out from behind the counter.

“What can I do for you fine gentlemen?”

“A room, please,” Balin said and drew out two lamnas for the woman. She pushed a book under their nose. Balin signed it under the name Leon van Cor and added, “We’ll have a bath drawn in the room too, if it isn’t much trouble.”

The woman closed the book with a snap. “Not at all. I’ll have one of my girls send up the copper tub and some hot water. A hot meal while you wait?”

Balin looked at Damir, who stared absently at the wall. Balin bit the inside of his cheek and looked at the woman. “A meal would be grand, but we’ll take it down here. A fire is just what we need.”

The woman smiled; the laugh lines were deep around her mouth. Balin nudged Damir and gestured toward the stairs that led up to the second level. Damir gave an acknowledging grunt and went up.

Once inside their small room, Balin set down the two bags he carried. “A bath will help chase away that cold sea air, and then we’ll get some proper food in your stomach.”

“Okay,” Damir murmured.

His bag slipped from his fingers to the floor. Balin crossed the room, his hands finding Damir’s shoulders before he could think twice about it. Damir stiffened, his spine becoming as rigid as an oak branch. Balin pressed his lips to Damir’s ear. “Talk to me. Let me in.”

Damir sucked in a sharp breath and let it out in a shudder. Balin could feel Damir’s resistance. He tried to pull away, but Balin tightened his grip and pressed a kiss to Damir’s temple. “Please,” he pleaded.

“I can’t,” Damir whispered, his hands clenched at his sides.

Balin nuzzled Damir’s temple, inhaled the scent of his hair. “I can fix this; let me fix this.”

“How? How can you fix this? She’s dead. Nothing can change that.” Damir ripped himself away. He spun around and glared at Balin, his rage vibrant in his eyes. “Let me grieve. Give me this! You wish to help? Then find me a way out of here and teach me to kill! I am numb. I do not know who to blame anymore. My heart aches; my mind trembles. All I understand now is agony. All I crave is vengeance and blood.”

Balin closed the distance between them and gathered Damir in his arms. Damir struggled, pressed his clenched fists against the solid muscle of Balin’s chest. Balin shook his head.

“That is not how you want your life to go. I can teach you, but do not let this consume you. Elina would not want that.”

“You know not of what she would want. You know nothing,” Damir spat.

“I know that a life dictated by blood is a life lost to darkness. It was you who told me there is light in the darkness; find the light now.”

“That light is gone. It went out when Elina died.”

Damir’s voice cracked, and his body sagged against Balin’s, his face pressed into Balin’s chest.

“I don’t even know what I am. I feel as if Zoria has spun into a different world.”

“I can help you, but do not shut me out.”

Tears damped Balin’s shirt as Damir pressed his forehead to Balin’s heart. Brokenly he sobbed.

“I can’t, not now. It’s too soon.”

Balin closed his eyes and smoothed a hand down Damir’s back. A knock at the door drew them apart. Balin answered it as Damir swept the tears from his cheeks. Two country girls hauled a copper tub into the room. The one with the curly brown hair dropped a curtsy.

“You requested a bath, sir?”

“Yes,” Balin replied.

“We shall fill it for you. When you’re ready for the second one, all you need to do is call,” the brunette said with a smile, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at Balin.

“My companion and I shall be downstairs for dinner while you fill the tub,” Balin replied, gesturing for Damir to follow him.

“As you like, sir,” the brunette said and curtsied alongside the fair-haired girl.

Balin dragged Damir downstairs and pressed him into a chair at an empty table he found. Damir’s stiff body relented to the weight of Balin’s hand. Words hung between them, unspoken but cruel, and Balin wanted to tear them away. Unable to find the right thing to say, he ordered two pints of beer.

A nice roaring fire crackled to the right of where Balin was sitting. The air was sweet with the scent of roasted meat and strong ale. Boisterous laughter rumbled behind him like a clap of thunder.

“Damir,” Balin said. Damir didn’t respond immediately. He vapidly stared down at the table. Balin bit back a sigh and repeated his name two more times.

Damir snapped his gaze up to meet Balin’s. Balin gestured to the beer the waitress had delivered while he’d attempted to get Damir’s attention. Balin watched as Damir picked up the tankard and took a long drink as if it were a lifeline and every drop was an inch farther from the ledge.

“We’ll need to find another way to get passage. I should be able to slip past the soldiers and see if there are any merchant airships southbound.”

“No,” Damir said.

Balin raised a brow.

“That’s too dangerous,” Damir quickly explained, his cheeks hot.

Was that concern in Damir’s eyes? It made hope bloom in Balin’s chest. If Damir was worried about his safety, perhaps all was not lost. “It’ll be fine. I’ve done far more dangerous things.”

Silence settled over them as plates filled with steamed fish, lemons, and vegetables were placed in front of them. Balin looked at the trout on his plate, its belly split and stuffed with herbs and lemon rinds. The fish’s glassy eye stared up at him.

Balin wanted to urge Damir to ask all his unspoken questions, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to answer them. And Damir didn’t seem ready to ask. Balin sucked in a sharp breath and picked up his fork and knife. He pressed the blade of his dinner knife to the fish and steadied himself. “Whatever you ask, I will answer.”

Damir glanced up. Wisps of golden hair fell in his eyes. When Damir opened his mouth to speak, laughter from the table behind them grew louder. Balin strained around Damir to see who it was and quickly pushed away from the table.

“Where are you going?”

Balin walked over to the table two rows behind them. “You featherbrained scoundrel!”

The man at the table craned his head around. “Who the bloody Cythra— Well, fuck me sideways if it ain’t the shadows themselves.”

The man rose to his feet and clapped a large hand down on Balin’s shoulder. A wild mane of russet-colored hair was pulled back from his weathered face with a faded blue bandana. A crooked smile split his face.

“How have you been, Zephyr?”

“Good as anyone in these times,” Zephyr replied. His voice was gritty and rough. He dropped his hand from Balin’s shoulder, then scratched at his own well-trimmed beard, which covered his granite jaw. “Yourself? I didn’t expect to see you in these parts.”

“I’m as good as can be in these times.” Balin turned to Damir. “Damir, come here.”

Damir pushed his barely touched plate aside and rose to meet Zephyr.

“This is Captain Zephyr Skywae, an old friend. Zephyr, meet Damir Rosen,” Balin said.

Zephyr held his hand out to Damir, who took it with a confused look on his face. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. You’re not with the Imperial Army, are you?”

Balin smirked; he could understand why Damir would be bewildered by the idea of Zephyr being a captain. The man wore brown pants and a raggedy-looking blouse with billowing sleeves. The elegant vest he wore was slightly worn, some of the golden threads faded against the maroon fabric. His leather boots were caked with dirt and cracked. At Zephyr’s hip were a pair of twin ivory-handled pistols Balin knew to be Qualerin and Zwist.

Zephyr laughed. The laugh was deep, like two rocks grinding together. Zephyr shook his head.

“Not that kind of captain, my boy.”

Damir drew his brows together. “Then what?”

Zephyr grinned, showing all his teeth. “Sky pirates,” he said with a natural flow and ease, as if he were simply breathing and not stating he belonged to the scourge of the air.

Chapter Fifteen

The Strangers from Primrose Inn

Zephry gestured to the two other men sitting with him. Balin dragged two chairs over to the table and retrieved their plates of food. Damir sat between Balin and a man with a pair of elegant silver specs perched on his nose. A thin whisper of chain hung from the right side of the specs and connected to a cuffed
mithril
ear clip. He had short-cropped, silken black hair with long bangs that fell past his sharp chin. He was lovely. His slim neck, wrapped in a high black cravat, reminded Damir of a swan, and he could see the man’s slender limbs lending him grace on the dance floor.

“This is Israel Locke, the medicus for our ship,” Zephyr said, gesturing to the man on Damir’s right.

Israel tipped his head in Damir’s and Balin’s direction. Zephyr pointed to the man beside Israel. “And this is my first mate, Ramiro Villaamil.”

Ramiro was regal. His long blond hair stretched down his back like a honey waterfall. Every tapered inch of his body was covered in a three-piece suit, including a royal-blue, double-breasted waistcoat and a dove-gray frock coat. The buttons on the vest were made of lapis lazuli. A cravat of layers of fine silk was tied around his neck. His cold stare, the color of night mists and blades, watched them with predatory curiosity. Ramiro bowed his head in a similar fashion as Israel.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He spoke with a deep brogue that Damir had never heard before.

“What brings you here? It’s been, what, three years since we’ve last seen each other?” Zephyr asked as he waved for another round of beers.

Balin nodded and took the mug of chilled, frothy beer the maid handed him. “Aye, at the least. It is great fortune that we’ve crossed paths again.”

“It is? Why do I have a feeling that isn’t just because you’ve missed my charm?” While his eyes were warm with laughter, there was a trained caution to Zephyr’s words.

“We need passage to Terrasolis.”

Damir jerked his head around and stared at Balin. Zephyr leaned back in his chair and wrapped his hand around his mug.

“Who’s to say we’re heading to Terrasolis?”

“You head where the winds take you,” Balin replied. “Let them guide you there.”

“Why Terrasolis? I thought you could not return.”

“You can’t?” Damir asked. His voice sounded small.

Balin shook his head, dismissing the questions. “Things have changed. We need passage there, and there are no ships or airships bound south. Will you help us?”