The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (27 page)

Side by side they brushed their teeth and finished preparing for the day. Damir pulled on his cloak before they went out. They left their bags in the room just in case they needed to rent it another night.

Damir could hear the market come to life. Just down the boardwalk, where the ships bobbed on the water, sailors prepared to head to sea.

They returned to the restaurant over the water and ordered breakfast. Damir was glad that war gossip wasn’t being murmured through the tavern so early. Instead the chatter was on the restless creatures of Nocte Forest.

“I wonder how Israel is feeling,” Damir said offhandedly as he poked at his eggs.

“No doubt Zephyr has been pampering him,” Balin said with a chuckle. He took a good swig of the juice they had ordered with their food.

Damir took another small bite. He wanted to speak with Israel, to probe him with questions that had been rustling around in his mind since they’d confronted Belladonna.

“Eat,” Balin ordered and gestured to his plate. “You need to keep your strength up. You can speak with Israel when we return to the ship.”

It should have unnerved Damir that Balin knew his thoughts so easily, but he found it comforting to be in sync with him. He turned to his food, savoring his eggs and simmered potatoes. It was a heavier breakfast than what he usually ate, but it was delicious nonetheless.

A woman crashed through the restaurant doors, panic in her eyes. “A beast has broken through the wall!”

Damir and Balin exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They flew from their seats and pushed past the stricken woman. Terror filled the once-calm streets. Screams echoed in the sky, tore through the fabric of life with brutal viciousness.

“My blade-bow is at the inn,” Damir said.

“STAY BACK, THEN,” Balin ordered as he brandished his dagger. He would not have Damir go defenseless into battle.

Like a deluge, villagers ran toward the ocean. Balin and Damir pushed against the fray to the source of the madness. Several men stood against the beast that had broken past the village barrier, spears raised uselessly in the air.

Balin slid to a halt, faced with a behemoth that would take more than a dagger to bring down. The bull-like creature was as wide as the length of a grown man, body built of thickly corded muscle that bulged and writhed with every angry step. Grotesque horns curled up from the sides of its head, and its long pig snout snorted globs of snot and hot breath. It scraped a hoof against the dirt road, stamping a foot as it turned left and right. Beady black eyes glared as it looked around, confused rage clouding them.

“Why is it here?” Damir shouted.

“Who knows, but we have to stop it before it tears through the village!” Balin shouted. He had encountered a
beslag
only once before and had barely gotten away with his skin intact.

The beslag let out a deep warning blare and ran toward the lookout post. He slammed into it. The wooden poles snapped like twigs beneath the beslag’s weight and onslaught. A guard let out a scream as the lookout post careened toward the earth.

Damir grabbed a bow from a weapons stand. He slung the quiver over his shoulders and drew an arrow.

The guard struggled to push the heavy wooden planks off his body. Damir drew the string back until he kissed the arrow. When the shot was lined up, he released it. The arrow cut the air and slammed into the beslag’s side.

The arrow was a pebble against the beslag’s thick red hide, though. Damir sprinted across the field and helped throw the wooden planks aside. “Hurry! Get out of here!”

Balin adjusted his grip on the dagger and observed his surroundings with calm calculation. The aggravated beslag spun around.

A shot exploded, and the beslag let out a pained cry. He wobbled unsteadily on his legs for a moment before jerking to the right.

“Having a party without me?” Zephyr called from the balcony of one of the huts.

Balin looked up at the sky pirate. Smoke curled from the barrel of one of the guns. “Why don’t you stop showboating and get your ass down here?”

A guard hurled a spear unsuccessfully toward the beslag. The weapon flew well over the beast and slammed into the ground. Fear tinged the air, as tangible as the sea salt carried on the breeze.

Balin ran on instinct. He moved left toward Zephyr. He lunged forward, grabbed the banister, and flipped himself onto the balcony in a seamless stride. Zephyr stepped aside and aimed another shot.

“Now who’s showboating?” Zephyr jested. His eyes were lit with excitement.

Balin waited as Damir released another arrow. It struck high, close to the beslag’s well-muscled neck. When the beast turned his backside, Balin leaped over the banister and landed on the beslag’s back. He had to grab on to the unruly black mane to keep from being hurled off as the beslag bucked, trying to force Balin from his back. Balin slammed his dagger into the flesh of the beast and used it as a grip. The beslag let out a roar of pain.

Damir quickly drew another arrow and fired. Balin drew his dagger up and drove it down into the beslag’s shoulders, earning another agonized scream from the beast.

Zephyr released a shot and jumped to the ground, dust kicking up around him as he landed. The guards had scattered like cockroaches, the last of their spears broken in the backside of the beslag. Balin bounced up, wrenched his dagger out of the beast’s flesh, and slammed it down hard again. Blood coated the side of the beslag, and a sharp metallic scent filled the air.

“Stop horsing around and kill the fucking thing!” Zephyr shouted to Balin.

DAMIR FELT A familiar crackle of power roll over him. It was the rush he’d experienced when he’d watched Elina fall to the ground—the panic of loss, the realization of being a few seconds too late. His hands shook as he fired another arrow, which flew past the beslag and hit the post of the second lookout tower.

Balin pulled his blade out and maneuvered his arm around to strike again. The beslag gave a hard buck, and Balin went flying. He sailed over the front of the monster, head over ass, and slammed into the wall.

Damir’s panic and fear released in a hot rush down his arms. It burned, sizzled, and crackled as he dropped his weapon and threw his hands forward. He just wanted to release the pain, to let go of the fire that swelled inside him like a slumbering volcano. He let out a scream, expecting his arms to catch on fire.

Heat rolled over his skin, and in a flash, an inferno shot from Damir’s hands. The dragon’s breath engulfed the beslag. Zephyr released an onslaught of bullets. The beslag roared, kicked up its heels, and dashed forward.

Balin picked himself up, grabbed a broken post, and rushed after the running beast. The flames flickered madly from the sizzling flesh of the beslag and threatened to consume the village. Damir watched in silence, blue vines dancing on his arm and his hands still tingling from the power that remained.

A cacophony of screams filled the morning air. Damir watched as Balin planted his feet to ground himself and then hefted the pike into the air. His muscles bulged as he aimed the spike and hurled it forward.

The beslag let out a howl of pain as the jagged edges of the post pierced his side. His legs staggered, tangled, and sent him crashing. The ground shook as the beslag slammed into the dirt. He kicked his legs out, struggling to rebalance himself. Blood seeped from its wounds, the flames eating at its fat and muscle, its flesh. Plumes of black smoke rose, scented by the seared meat.

Damir watched the beslag plant two hooves on the ground and start to push up. A flash of light cut through the smoke, an iridescent streak of salvation that slammed into the skull of the beslag in a final fatal blow.

Silence rolled over Silas in a consuming wave. Damir jogged up to Balin and grabbed his arm, breathless as he watched the dead beslag burn. His gaze broke away from the charred beast and focused on Israel, who stood several feet away. He had one hand clasped along an intimidating metal staff, the other still raised in the air. A new set of glasses sat perched on his nose. Gloves covered his hands, but Damir knew there were writhing blue vines on his arm.

Balin turned to Damir. “Are you okay?”

Damir nodded, even though a tremor had begun to course through him. He wrapped his arms around Balin’s neck and hugged him closer. Balin buried his nose in Damir’s golden hair and inhaled deeply. There were moments that Damir was afraid it would all vanish, that he would wake up and Balin would be gone. He held the man a little tighter.

“Holy malltod,” Zephyr said as he jogged up. Qualerin and Zwist had been reholstered. “Did you know you could do that, Damir?”

Damir shook his head, reluctant to pull away from Balin. Israel lowered his hand, hit a switch, and collapsed the staff. He clipped it on a belt around his waist and walked up to Zephyr, who gave Israel a scolding look.

“You weren’t supposed to get out of bed until we left,” Zephyr stated.

“And let you have all the fun?” Israel smiled and brushed a smudge of ash from Zephyr’s cheek.

Villagers edged their way back into town and murmured as they stared at the beast. Someone brought water and began to douse the flames. Damir disentangled himself from Balin. He turned to Israel, and with more accusation in his voice than he meant, asked, “What
are
you?”

What am I?
The unspoken question hung suspended in the air, as smothering as the acrid smoke.

Israel turned to Damir and let his hand slide away from Zephyr. His violet eyes were filled with a knowledge and truth Damir craved. They held in their dark depths the answers Damir felt beyond his reach, a light he had sought since the day he’d become conscious of his difference. Israel laid his hand on Damir’s shoulder.

“I think it’s time you learn control.”

Damir didn’t know what to say. He nodded.

“Well, who’s ready to get the fuck out of Dodge?” Zephyr inquired.

Damir snapped his gaze away from Israel and looked past him toward the sky pirate. Zephyr had clasped his hands behind his head, a lazy grin on his face.

“Come on,” Balin said and tugged Damir’s arm.

Zephyr stopped short of the beslag. The leathery flesh of the monster had gone black, peeled back to reveal layers of shiny meat and bone. A gaping wound split his skull, and a gush of congealed gray matter had spilled out like too much head on a mug of beer.

“Shit, he’s ugly,” Zephyr said. Damir glanced around and into the faces of the wide-eyed villages. Gratitude slowly swept over their horror-stricken faces.

What could have caused such a creature to run heedlessly into the village? Damir wanted to leave, to continue on their journey, but he felt tethered to the island village. If he walked away, would they be leaving them exposed to another attack? Something inside him told Damir that there was more to the beslag’s rampage.

“Has this happened before?” Damir asked a guard who held an empty bucket. He was young, green around the ears, most likely sent from the mainland.

“No, not since I’ve been here. The forest is usually peaceful, the creatures subservient, thanks to the elves,” he answered.

“Aye, but the forest has been different,” a fisherman shouted.

“Something has blown in, something from the sea that is not of this world. Malevolence has fallen upon our island, and even the elves have grown silent,” an elderly woman said from somewhere in the melee of people, her voice cracking with every other word. She stepped from the crowd, balanced on a gnarled walking stick.

“What do you mean, the elves?” Damir asked.

“The Kingdom of Myrm is on the other side of the island, home to the elves of Kalrune,” Israel answered.

“For centuries, we have been at peace with them,” the old woman explained. “They allow us to live on the island, as long as we keep our distance. They protect Nocte Forest, and if we do not disturb their land, they keep the creatures at bay. But the airs of the forest have changed, and I fear that something has fallen upon Myrm. Without their protection, who knows what could come of us?”

Damir turned to Balin. “We can’t leave, not like this.”

“This is not our problem. We must reach Lumixander as soon as possible,” Balin replied.

“I won’t see any more pointless deaths, not when I could prevent it. We must try.”

“Cessna hasn’t finished her repairs,” Israel added.

Balin turned to Zephyr as if searching for help. Zephyr eyed Israel and Damir. He snorted and clamped a hand on Balin’s shoulder.

“Give up; they’ve set their minds to it. It’s better to just let them do as they like. Besides, we can’t go anywhere until Cessna finishes.”

Balin released a sigh and nodded. “Fine, we’ll take a look. How do we get to Myrm?”

“Head straight through Nocte Forest. The Kingdom of Myrm lies on the other side of the bluffs,” the old woman said.

“I suggest we arm ourselves. Who knows what we’ll encounter?” Zephyr said.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Into Nocte Forest

They stood at the edge of the forest, reequipped with sharpened weapons. Damir held Drachenseele in his hand, his quiver of arrows strapped to his back. Zephyr had reloaded and packed additional aether-tipped bullets, elemental ammo that upon impact exploded into an inferno. With a mixed sense of trepidation and curiousity, Damir stared down the darkened path of Nocte Forest, preparing himself for a fool’s errand.

Nocte Forest was rich with tropical fauna, which created a barrier between the village of Silas and the Kingdom of Myrm. Trees like giants towered over them, mixed with thin palm trees that had vibrant crowns of waxy leaves. Flowers that Damir had never seen before carpeted the ground. They were the colors of gems, a trove of jewels that spilled over the island in a radiant testament to life.

The morning sun glinted overhead, a golden sphere that lit the forest. They stood in a paradise surrounded by a sapphire sea, and somewhere within the heart of the island was a darkness that threatened to devour the serenity.

Damir began to walk down the narrow path that cut through the brush, the only passage that led into the forest. He had expected to hear songbirds singing, but all remained silent. Not even the mosquitoes buzzed around them. Nocte Forest was a silent tomb.