The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (13 page)

That only made the bells laugh more.

“Best just to ignore them. They’ll stop eventually.” The crone seemed undisturbed by the incessant giggling. “Come to see the forbidden, have we?”

The question hung in the air as if it were a breath of magic. The crone slipped off her stool and hobbled over to him. She wasn’t an inch over five feet, with thin dishwater hair and jaundiced eyes. She chewed on something that distinctly smelled of lyta weed.

The entire shop was perfumed by the sour, woody scent. Candlelight gleamed off glass cases filled with oddities and baubles Balin had never seen before. Jars were filled with everything from blinking eyeballs to bottled mist the color of nightshade. Exotic herbs unlike those found in an apothecary were strung from the rafters and laid out to dry.

The most interesting things on display, though, were the colored-glass penises. They were displayed in a locked case. Of various lengths and girths, some were smooth while others were studded with small bumps. The thought of using one on Damir warmed Balin.

“Come here; come here,” the crone said and waved Balin over with a toothy grin. “Let’s see what it is you need.”

She smacked her lips and chewed her lyta weed like a camel, then leaned so close Balin was forced to inhale the acrid scent.

“Ah, yes,” she breathed. Her eyes were swimming in liquid, her bottom eyelids swollen. Deep wrinkles cratered her face, shrinking her head down. “Child of shadows, walker of the abyss—but what’s this? A light? Hmm. No, not for long.”

Balin bristled. “What are you sputtering, witchhag?”

The cherub bells roared with laughter. The crone spun to face them, spitting as she snapped, “Hush! Before I grind you into powder and make a curse out of you.” The bells went silent. She turned to Balin with a wide, open grin. “Witchhag, hmm? I much prefer Yvonne. Now, shut up, chin up, and arms out. No tongue, or I’ll cut it from you.”

He didn’t doubt Yvonne would steal his tongue. Yvonne made a long piece of red string materialize and began to take what appeared to be measurements from him. She held the string from finger to finger, crown to toe, eye to mouth, and groin to breast. Yvonne murmured the entire time.

“Such blackness—wretched—”

“Vile, but yes, such potential. Poor soul, poor soul—”

“Oh! But unfortunate, I see. Well, that is it.” She snapped the string into a ball and tucked it away into her dusty violet robes.

Balin watched her shuffle around, hunting for something. “Care to explain what all that muttering was?”

“Finding out what it is you’ve come for, of course.” She looked at him like he was daft. She appeared beside him, brandishing silver scissors. “Here we go.”

“I need nothing. It was a mistake and a waste of time to come here,” Balin said but couldn’t seem to move from his spot. It was as if the hag had cemented his feet to the floor. “What did you do?”

Yvonne crouched beside him and began to snip at the air. “Everyone that comes here seeks something; you just don’t know it yet. Now shut up and be still, or I’ll cut you.”

She sounded eager to chop his toes off. She rose to her feet a moment later, a vial of dark matter in her hand. Balin finally was able to step back. “What is that? What
are
you?”

Only Virdi Mages could manipulate shadows like that. If the crone known as Yvonne was a Virdi Mage, master of time and alchemy, Balin wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Shadows,” she answered simply, “but I suspect you don’t need this just yet.”

The bottle vanished with the scissors into the folds of her robes. She walked over to the case with the crystal phalluses and selected a medium-sized one with light studding and aqua swirls spiraling through the glass. “This is what you seek now, correct?”

“You tell me, since you seem to know all.”

“Cheeky.” Yvonne clucked. She returned to the counter and wrapped the toy discretely in some brown paper and string. She passed him the bag. “You can pay for this when you collect the other.”

“It’s your loss, hag. I won’t be back for more,” Balin promised. She merely smiled knowingly, watching him with a feverish stare. Balin tucked the package under his arm and left, the cherub bells laughing in farewell.

When Balin stepped out of the store, it was nearly sundown. The reclining sun was slowly burning itself out over Canaan. None of the festivities had slowed down, however. Balin turned a corner toward the Silver Elf Inn and came to an abrupt stop.

A man stood in front of him, leaning against the wall of the alley. His gaze was trained on Balin. The man was dressed in an open, black-leather jerkin that revealed a loose white blouse underneath. Balin could make out leather cuffs hidden beneath the billowing sleeves of the shirt that were covered by long black needles known as barbs.

“Yazuka,” Balin said by way of greeting. “What brings the Poisoner to Canaan?”

Despite the tension that tightened his body like a bowstring, Balin kept his expression passive. Yazuka pushed away from the wall. The grin that spread across his lips was fit for a shark.

“I could ask the same of you. I could barely believe my eyes when I saw you going into that shop. I come for business. But what of yourself? Rumor has it you vanished. Have you been playing nursemaid here?”

Yazuka’s venomous gaze narrowed, the absinthe green of his eyes glowing in the red of the sun. Balin matched his glare. “That doesn’t concern you. It would be wise for you to remember that.”

“Ah, so terrifying. This is the Shadowwalker we fear?” Yazuka leered at Balin.

Balin didn’t like the appearance of the assassin. Had Emperor Folken sent another?

“What business do you have here?” Balin demanded.

“Tut, tut! Secrets are a two-way street,” Yazuka chimed.

Balin clenched his jaw. Keeping company with Yazuka was the equivalent of pulling his nails out. Yazuka brushed past Balin.

“I see even lions can be tamed. It was a pleasure seeing you, Shadowwalker.”

Balin turned to watch as Yazuka walked off. He waited until Yazuka was gone before he continued on. He couldn’t shake the cold, skeletal fingers that clutched at his heart. The day had taken a nosedive, but Balin hoped he could bring it back on track.

The matters of the land had no concern to him, not when the freedom he sought could be found in Damir’s arms. But General Gaius and Yazuka appearing in the same day could not bode well, especially when Yazuka had a tendency to talk as much as he killed. The last thing Balin wanted was others realizing where Shadowwalker had vanished to.

He would have to keep his ears opened to any news on the king.
Not that it matters. I’ve cast that aside. I didn’t go to Civitatem Aurum. Whatever fate happens with the king and the other countries is of no concern of mine. As long as Yazuka stays away.

Balin paused and looked down at the delicate package tucked beneath his arm. Would Yazuka stay away? He should track the assassin down and be done with it. Then there would be nothing to trace him back to Canaan.

Damir’s beaming face flashed in his mind’s eye, and his breath hitched.
He would not want it.

Had he truly gone soft?

Damn these thoughts, and damn Yazuka
. He shoved the worries out of his mind. He would deal with Yazuka when the time came. Balin was not concerned about ridding himself of the Poisoner. Right now, he wanted to focus on a more pleasant dilemma: when he could use his new purchase.

Chapter Eleven

Before the Storm

Balin arrived at the inn shortly after Damir and Elina had received their drinks. He ordered a beer as soon as he sat down and set the package he had with him aside.

“What’s that?” Elina asked immediately.

“Nothing for you,” Balin replied, leaving it at that.

Damir eyed the carefully wrapped parcel. What could Balin have gone off for? The man never asked for anything. Damir had made several attempts to buy him daggers and clothes when they came to town, and Balin refused each time. He seemed fine with the clothes Damir found him to wear that used to be his father’s.

Elina set her pinwheel aside. “Dammy, may I go to the dance tonight? Please?”

Damir paused midsip and looked across the table at his sister. Her face was flushed with the thrill of the festival. She swept a strand of wayward hair aside and leaned across the table, her eyes anxious. Damir looked to Balin for help. Balin merely shrugged and turned his focus on his beer. He was no help when it came to Elina.

“I don’t know, Elina. It’s dangerous at night,” Damir replied. He could not be there to watch over her. He knew some children still stayed up, even after the sun went down and the alcohol flowed a bit more freely, but that didn’t mean Damir wanted Elina to be out in the merriment. Accidents could happen. What if he wasn’t there to prevent her from getting hurt?

Elina’s face instantly fell. She collapsed into her seat and dropped her gaze to her lap. “Oh.”

Balin set his beer down. “It should be all right for the early half of the evening, before the drunks get too rough.” He looked over at Elina. “You had some friends you were playing with earlier, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Elina said, “There is a girl, Becca. You know her, Damir.”

“Well…” Damir hesitated.

“I’m sure she’ll have her parents with her,” Balin said and added with a smirk, “And that gives us time for ourselves.”

Damir licked his lips and glanced between Balin’s and Elina’s hopeful gazes. Balin presented them with a good opportunity to have a couple hours of uninhibited passion. A tingle of desire unfurled at the base of Damir’s spine as he rolled the images of their tangled limbs in his mind. But Elina had to take precedence, as she was his ward. He shoved away the exhilarating thought of Balin’s strong hips thrusting forward.

“Please, Dammy? Just this once? I’m having so much fun,” Elina pleaded, her hands clutched before her in prayer.

Damir hesitated. Around him the inn was alive with chatter. Gossip of General Gaius’s arrival circulated like flies. But his mind was tangled in doubts and worries. He let out a deflated sigh. “Fine. We’ll eat, and then I’ll meet her parents. Only for two hours, understood? Then you’re back at the inn and off to bed.”

Elina nodded. A barmaid stopped by to take their orders and refilled their beers. She brought out a mug of cider for Elina and three plates of roast beef and vegetables. Elina began to wolf her meal down but slowed when Damir chastised her. She chatted happily between mouthfuls about the games she’d played with Becca.

“Are you done?” Elina asked when she finished her meal.

“Slow down, squirt,” Balin said.

Damir could practically see the excited energy that buzzed around his sister. He pushed aside his plate, which only had a few morsels of food left on it. “Yes, I’m done. Do you know where she is?”

“Becca said they would be eating dinner at the Wild Clover Café.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Damir pushed to his feet and said to Balin, “I’ll be just a moment. Finish your meal.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?” Balin queried.

Damir nodded, patting the man’s shoulder as he passed. He guided Elina out of the inn and followed her to the café, which was only a few blocks away. The festivities were in full swing, seeming to grow louder as the sun faded into the horizon. Damir frowned as he watched a couple of men stumble past them, hands clasped around their bottles.

“Elina, I don’t know…” Damir began, earning an imploring look from Elina.

“Oh please, Dammy. Just talk to her parents before you say no.” She grabbed his hand, and his heart skipped a beat. He heaved a sigh and, after squeezing her hand, allowed himself to be pulled along.

“She’s still there,” Elina announced gaily, tugging Damir over to the family. He recognized the pigtailed girl, who was the same age as Elina. They seemed to meet up whenever Elina came to town, which Damir supposed was a good thing. He knew Elina was isolated on the farm.

“Elina!” Becca called as she waved her arm excitedly, signaling for them to come over.

A woman smiled up at Damir, her soft brown eyes warm in the dimming sunlight. The man beside her reminded Damir of a bear with his heavy brown beard. He pushed himself away from the table they sat at outside the café.

“Hello.”

“I’m sorry to intrude; my name is Damir. I’m Elina’s—”

“Brother?” the woman provided with a faint laugh. “Elina has mentioned you. I suspected you might stop by. Becca said she was hoping Elina would join her tonight.”

Damir looked down at his sister, who still held on to his hand. He was torn; he knew she needed her freedom, that she should have the chance to be a child, but he was terrified of what could happen when he wasn’t there to protect her.

Perhaps we could both use the chance, though
. The temptation of Balin’s naked body certainly called to him. But could he put his selfish needs before Elina?

“Elina said she wanted to go to the dance,” Damir said, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t usually let her, but she is getting older and…if she were to have supervision, I don’t see there being any harm. You will be with them the entire time, correct?”

“Of course,” the woman assured him. “I won’t let them out of my sight. My name is Claudette, and this is my husband, Sansford. Elina will be in good hands. Becca absolutely adores her.”

Damir gave a stiff nod and cast a final look down at Elina. “You’ll be on your best behavior, understand? You know what you’re allowed to do.”

“I know,” Elina said with a huff, her cheeks flushed.

Damir sucked in a sharp breath. Before he could change his mind, he said to Claudette, “I don’t want her out too late. Would you please bring her to the Silver Elf Inn in about two hours?”

“Of course,” Claudette said.

“Thank you.” He offered her a smile, though he was sure it didn’t reach his eyes. He said a final good-bye to Elina and then returned to the inn. Once he returned to the Silver Elf, he collapsed into his seat across from Balin and said with a weighted sigh, “Maybe I should call her back.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Balin said with a chuckle.