The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (37 page)

If he wanted to save the world, he would have to come to terms with these feelings, but he wasn’t prepared to face how grand they were. He wasn’t prepared to find the courage to say good-bye to Balin if he ever had to.

Balin tangled a hand in Damir’s hair and cradled him close. Israel smiled knowingly, and when he finished on Pyxis, he ushered everyone out and closed the door behind him.

DAMIR’S MOUTH BRUSHED against the curve of Balin’s neck. Balin gave an approving grunt and turned his head so their lips met. It was a rush of heat, warmth that started in Balin’s toes and climbed straight up to his heart. Balin pushed his tongue past Damir’s lips and savored his sweet taste. Damir shifted beside him, the hard bulge in his pants pressed tight against Balin’s thigh.

“Come on,” Balin said huskily as he broke away. He was reluctant to let Damir go, to release his hold. All he wanted was to throw Damir over a table and have his way, but he managed to exercise some restraint. He deserved a medal for it.

“Where are we going?” A disappointed look crossed Damir’s features. Balin pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips and tugged at his hand.

“Back to the room,” Balin said over his shoulder and pulled Damir out of the clinic.

Need strummed through Balin. They returned to their room, barely able to keep their hands and mouths to themselves. Balin kicked the door closed and pushed Damir against it.

A fire had been ignited, one that refused to go out. Damir arched into Balin’s touch and fisted his fingers in Balin’s damp locks.

Every touch made Balin’s body come alive. He didn’t know if it was from fear or desire, but it felt as if he was going to lose himself in Damir’s touch.

“I need you,” Damir groaned. With shaking hands he unfastened the straps of his pants and pushed them down. Balin seized his stiff cock and fisted it encouragingly. His own cock rose in salute, pushing against already damp pants with gluttonous hunger.

“Stay put,” Balin ordered. Damir shivered and nodded, his mouth open in a breathless moan.

Balin let go and turned away. As he shifted through their bags, Damir asked, “What are you looking for?”

After a bit of cursing, Balin returned with a vial of gralui oil. Damir wrapped his hand around his dick, squeezing out droplets of glimmering precum.

“Let go before I tie you up,” Balin warned, the illicit threat hanging in the air. Damir’s cock twitched.

Damir turned around, his arms braced against the door. Balin coated his fingers in the sweet oil and probed at the tender ass presented in front of him. His stomach clenched at the sight of the muscles in Damir’s thighs tensing. It felt like butterflies had begun to migrate in his veins and tickle his nerve endings.

He buried his face into the curve of Damir’s neck and inhaled. “You were so brave.”

Slowly, Balin worked Damir’s tight channel. Damir pressed his forehead against the door.

“Not—
ah
—as brave—
oh
—as you.”

Balin wrapped his lips around Damir’s earlobe and nibbled. Damir whined, bucking into his hand. Balin could feel the silky heat of Damir’s channel clench around his digits as he added a third finger.

“I thought I’d lose you,” Balin whispered. He couldn’t lose his angel. His light. The sight of Damir facing the wolf, double-blade swinging, had stopped his heart.

Damir looked back, meeting Balin’s eyes. He smiled, his face softening, and whispered, “I’ll never leave you.”

Balin pressed a kiss against his temple. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes, please,” Damir groaned.

Balin hastily undid his pants and shoved them down to his thighs. His cock bounced up and slapped into his stomach. He poured gralui oil over his aching member and lined his head up with Damir’s clenching hole. He took his time; he rubbed at the puckered entrance, glided below it so he pressed against Damir’s scrotum, and pushed the tip in and out of Damir’s asshole, earning stammered pleading.

“Fuck. You’ll feel so good.” Balin panted. He pressed his head against the stretched muscles and eased in. It never failed to amaze him how right it felt, like he had returned to the farm—to home. He pushed in until his sac nestled against Damir’s thighs.

“Hold on. I got you,” Balin murmured and began a shallow thrust. He wanted to take it easy, but as soon as he felt the glide of Damir’s walls, he knew he couldn’t. He pulled back as far as he could without coming out and slammed in.

Damir spread his legs wide and flattened his hands against the door to help take the brunt of the thrusts. They worked into a fever pitch. Sweat dripped down the bridge of Balin’s nose as he drilled into Damir.

“Go on, touch yourself. Come for me, darling,” Balin moaned as he watched his cock vanish into Damir’s asshole. He slapped Damir’s ass cheek to encourage him, earning a moan that nearly destroyed Balin’s control.

DAMIR WHIMPERED, A sharp whine escaping as his stomach squeezed tight. He slid a hand down his abdomen and took ahold of his leaking cock. The muscles shifted beneath his skin, strung up as he prepared for release.

Balin drove relentlessly into him. Hot white flames shot from Damir’s balls and up his shaft. Strings of cum splattered over the door

Damir screamed in rapture. His eyes squeezed shut, his face flushed in exertion. “Ah! Balin! I-I lo—”

The words cut off, turned into a high groan.

Balin tightened his hands on Damir’s hips, his grip bruising. It only took a few more hard thrusts before he came.

He fell forward onto his forearms. As Damir focused on catching his breath, he heard Zephyr’s voice over the speaker.

“Balin, Damir, if you two are done fucking, get into the cockpit. Lazarus thinks he knows how we can make it to Mount Khamaree.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Clash of the Scions

Snow blew up behind them as the small aircraft cut across the ice fields. Lazarus had revealed the pet project he’d been working on over the years, aptly named
Wyvern
. The air carrier was large enough to hold five members. He hadn’t finished working on the aether unit, so it could only hover over the ground with a set of three tiny aether rings that circulated along the bottom. It would take them to Mount Khamaree, but from there they would have to set out on foot.

Ramiro volunteered to remain behind. The group set out immediately, rearmed and loaded with supplies. Israel held the map as Zephyr piloted
Wyvern.

“Turn here; we want to be farther east. A path will cut through the mountains and lead to an opening, where it looks to turn into an unnamed forest. Methuselah should be in that forest,” Israel instructed. The ancient map was torn further from its rough handling as they’d crossed the ice fields.

Zephyr raced to the mountain, sheers of ice and scraggly clusters of trees so small they couldn’t be considered forests. Zephyr pulled
Wyvern
to a stop at the foot of the mountain. Damir stared up at the gigantic peaks. Zephyr started back up, coasting along the edge until they discovered the narrow path that began at the base of Mount Khamaree.

Zephyr cut the engine to the
Wyvern
. The ship lowered to the ground with a small whine. The winds had died down. Damir wrapped his scarf tighter and looked up the path, just wide enough for a single person to pass. He swallowed and adjusted his grip on Drachenseele, which had been reverted back to a bow.

Israel passed the map to Zephyr, who took the lead. Elma followed behind Damir and Israel, and Balin brought up the rear. Zephyr wanted to try and make it through the mountain, but with so much daylight already burned, he didn’t know if they would be able to.

Tall peaks surrounded them. Razor-sharp drop-offs formed as they rose higher. A cold wind whistled through the mountain, weaker compared to the steady jet stream that had blown across the Ice Fields.

“It’s so cold,” Elma said after an hour of climbing. She pulled her coat closer and came to a stop with Damir. The path curved into a naturally formed bridge of ice. Snow drifted off to the side. Helictites had built down the cliff of the mountain, sheered teeth of ice and limestone that could tear through flesh and bone. Mount Khamaree was a monster all its own, riddled with crumbling rocks and ice columns, icy slopes, and deadly stalagmites.

Zephyr eased across the narrow bridge first. Once on the other side he said, “It’s steady but go slow.”

Israel crossed easily enough, followed by Damir. Elma stared down at the bridge and then to the steep drop below it.

“Princess Elma?” Balin asked. She glanced at him.

“You go first,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“I think it’s better if you go first, in case something comes from behind,” Balin stated.

“It’ll be okay, Princess. I’ll be on the other side waiting for you,” Damir called to Elma. A cold wind tore through the channel and blasted against Damir’s face. Elma let out a weak yelp and grabbed onto Balin’s arm. Once the wind had passed, Elma inched her way across the path.

Damir waited at the opposite end as Elma eased along the icy bridge. Another hard wind blew, snow falling in curtains. Elma threw her arms out, held her balance, and waited for the breeze to die down. She hurriedly continued across the bridge, releasing a sigh when she reached solid ground.

“See? It wasn’t so bad,” Damir said as he patted her arm. Elma rolled her eyes.

Balin set a heavy boot down on the bridge and prepared to cross. Just as he made it halfway, another wind whistled through, a strong blast that slammed into him. His body rocked to the side. Frantically he swung his arms out. His feet slipped in the snow and slid out from under him. Damir could only watch in slow-building horror as Balin was pitched backward, his arms flailing, desperately grasping for something—
anything
—to hold onto.

Damir let out a cry and threw his body down on the ice, slid across the snow, and reached out. He locked his hand around Balin’s. His grip was a bind that would not break. Balin outweighed him, and Damir could feel the muscles in his arm burn as they stretched.

“Hold on,” Damir pleaded.

Balin dangled perilously for a moment. His free hand hung behind him. Damir gritted his teeth and dug his feet into the snow, tried to gain traction. Balin swung his hand up. His fingers grappled the side of the ice bridge. Zephyr and Israel grabbed ahold of Damir’s legs and pulled. Damir hauled Balin up with a grunt of exertion.

Damir dragged Balin across the bridge to the other side. His heart pounded furiously, threatened to burst in fear. He scrambled over to Balin, didn’t think as he ran his hands over Balin’s body, pushing his coat aside to inspect for any wounds.

So close.

Too close.

Twice they had come to the cusp of finality, the edge of death. Damir felt a sob thicken in his throat, form a rock that choked him. Balin smoothed his hand over Damir’s cheek.

“It’s okay. Shh, I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Damir shook his head. His mouth sought Balin’s. Balin continued to pet Damir’s hair, murmured against his lips reassurances that didn’t seem to penetrate Damir’s walls. Balin drew back, and Damir followed, refused to break their kiss for even a second.

A dark shadow crawled across the horizon and blotted out the sun. It was a giant airship, a sword that sliced through the clouds.

“I hate to break up the moment, but we need to move,” Zephyr said, looking at the sky.

Damir pulled away from Balin, swallowing his anxieties. He looked up and watched the infamous Pheorian airship float by. The massive aether ring was like a ring of fire that circled in the rear.

He swallowed and looked at Balin, pressing one final kiss against Balin’s lips. Damir climbed to his feet and helped Balin up.

“Well, we best get going if we want to make it there before General Gaius,” Zephyr said.

* * * *

The sun slid over the sky in a slow drag of light. There was no reprieve from the cold, even as the sun reached its peak.

The path led to an ice cavern. Along the chamber ceiling, stalactites hung, crystals as sharp as spearheads. Balin could see his reflection in the shiny surface of one of the cavern’s walls. Ice needles swooped elegantly like a spider’s web from various places. Deeper in the cavern was a large ice waterfall, stopped in time. Icicles clustered together like massive diamonds around giant ice columns. It was a wonderland of permafrost, a frigid paradise Balin knew could kill them just as easily as any wolf or man.They took naturally formed stairs down and crossed a small frozen stream. Balin spotted a white
foxbat
hung upside down from the ceiling. The cave ran deep, taking them down the mountain until the ice cleared and gave way to limestone and a spring as bright as Damir’s eyes. Damir crouched beside the pool of water and dipped his hands in. Steam rolled along the surface of the water.

“A hot spring,” Balin commented as he looked over Damir’s shoulder.

“If we weren’t on a time crunch, I’d say let’s get naked,” Zephyr said. Balin shook his head, and they kept moving.

The cave opened to a clearing where a massive forest stood. Balin held a hand over his eyes and looked up at the cinereous trees that stood almost as tall as Mount Khamaree. Beside him, Damir murmured.

“It isn’t a forest.
Methuselah
is the forest.”

Methuselah was built above the frozen land. Four branches extended from giant white trunks, a hut resting on each that was disguised as foliage. A single hut rested at the top, a slightly larger canopy over it. From the trees, vine-like bridges extended, connecting them all together. There were seven trees that formed a ring around a great tree in the center.

“Is that…is that the Dwerynef?” Damir asked as he looked at the massive tree in the middle, vines extended up, leading to the canopy of ashen leaves. Crystals glittered along the treetops.

No. It was a replica. A temple, if the banners that extended down from it were any indication.

“Come on,” Balin said as he began to cross the field. A shadow blackened the sky and cast the village in darkness. The airship came to a stop over Methuselah, opened its hatches, and released a smaller ship that plummeted to Zoria.