The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (29 page)

As if expecting an endless flood of spiders, Balin looked skyward. When not a single insect appeared, they gathered their bearings and continued through the dense jungle. While the spiders seemed to be at bay for the moment, Damir didn’t doubt they could appear again.

“Do we even know where we are?” Zephyr asked.

They had been knocked off course after their river and waterfall plunge and now seemed to be aimlessly wandering. No one answered Zephyr, and Damir had a bad feeling it was because they were lost.

For what seemed like hours, they trekked through the forest, the sun baking them from above. Damir stumbled and fell against a tree, exhausted and wet, his clothes seeming to weigh a ton now that they were waterlogged. The humid heat of the forest didn’t help any. Balin stopped.

“We have to keep moving.”

Damir bit back a groan and pushed away from the tree. Israel placed a comforting hand on his arm. With a weak smile, Damir stomped through the muck, his boots covered in mud.

“I hear waves,” Zephyr announced. As if summoned, the trees parted, and they stepped out of the jungle and stopped in front of the gates of Myrm.

The mountain that cut down the middle of Isle de Silvanus came to a high peak along the eastern seaside and then dropped in a dramatic cliff. Carved into the mountainside was an elegant castle draped in moss and vines, a waterfall cascading down the center. The castle of Myrm was stacked upon itself in wondrous layers of carved, gleaming stone. Hollowed spires speared the sky with delicate grace, and flags billowed from the tops in the hot breeze.

A scar of snowy-white sand stretched along the coastline. Damir walked to where the waves rolled up, the tide washing over his boots. He wanted to feel the water rushing around his toes, his soles sinking deep into the sand. He held Drachenseele loosely, the tip of the blade carving a line into the wet sand.

Myrm was built over the sea, with a stone bridge connecting the city and the shoreline. The city was still partially draped with cobwebs the size of sails. Damir turned to the others. “What do we do now?”

“Continue on, and see what could have caused this,” Balin said, though Damir saw fear in his eyes.

“What is it?” Damir asked.

Balin closed his eyes briefly, then walked over to the shoreline and crouched down in the shifting sand, trailing his fingers in the foam that washed up. Pieces of seaweed and shells dotted the beach like forgotten treasures. Balin lifted a rose-colored shell and rolled it between his fingers like a coin.

“He knows what this is,” Israel commented.

“He does? You do?” Damir looked from Israel to Balin, who stared out across the waters at Myrm.

Israel removed Barat from his belt and expanded it, a sign that what they were to face would not be easy. Balin rose and tossed the shell into the sea.

“Darkness has swept over the island. I have heard of other villages falling prey, desolated by the shadows that devoured them.”

Damir remained silent, watching Myrm. Balin released a curse.

“Something is plaguing Zoria, and one by one, cities have begun to fall.”

“Let’s move,” Zephyr said.

They followed the shoreline to the city entrance. The arched bridge was braced at both ends by statues of four elven kings. Abutments supported the bridge, decorated with rust-colored stones and shells. Spun from abutment to abutment, and along the statues of the kings, were spiderwebs. Standing in front of the bridge, frozen in place, was an army of elven soldiers. They were caught with their weapons high, arrows and swords drawn, blanketed in a glimmering white cocoon.

Anxious without his arrows, Damir activated the aether stone in Drachenseele. The delicate cord that was laced between the blades dissolved into a glimmer of starlight and dust, and with ease, the blades twisted to a double-ended sword.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Balin ordered as they approached one of the petrified knights. Balin attempted to pry the sword from his grip, but it would not budge.

“Heavenly Lar,” Damir whispered. He stepped up to one that he presumed was the leading general, a tall figure of six-foot-five, and caressed a hidden arm. The figure grasped a beautifully crafted bow fused of mithril and bamboo. His arrow was tipped with a strange azure-tinted stone.

“Are they dead?” Zephyr asked, poking one in the side. Israel smacked him in the shoulder.

“Probably,” Balin replied.

Damir shook his head, set his blade down, and tugged at the threads, attempting to unravel and tear the cocoon. With desperate hope he released a small pulse of power, his fingertips glowing blue. The webbing began to smoke and sag, allowing Damir’s fingers to hook and pull a small hole over the face. He could make out plush lips.

“Israel, come help!” Damir shouted.

Zephyr and Balin turned as Damir cupped the general’s face in his hands, releasing another warm light. It felt like all his energy was being drained out of him, but he willingly poured it into his hands. Israel slid his hands onto the elf’s shoulders, and working together, a vibrant corona of sapphire soon formed around them. The light they produced was blinding. Damir’s attention was focused on the general, but he saw Zephyr and Balin turn their faces away out of the corner of his eye.

Damir coughed at the plume of smoke that billowed into his face. It was acrid, smelling of vile poison and despair. He dug his fingers into the spiderweb cocoon and began to pull at the gossamer strands, tearing at the layers. As he pulled the webbing apart, it evaporated in a puff.

Soon the last of the webbing vanished in a black cloud. Left in its wake was a regal elf of androgynous beauty. He stood fiercely, dressed in imperial silks and armor, brandishing an intricate circlet of mithril leaves and peridots upon his head. Damir dusted a finger across the elf’s cheek, mesmerized. Never had he seen skin so pale, the color of alabaster, and hair like golden wheat stocks that whispered down the elf’s back to midwaist.

Listless eyes glared out at Myrm, slightly milky in color. Damir looked across the elf’s sharp shoulder to Israel. “I think we can heal him.”

“If you aren’t careful, Damir, you’ll have no energy left,” Balin warned.

Damir ignored him. He dusted the pads of his fingers over the elf’s rose-petal lips.
I can do this
. He laid his hand over the elf’s heart and tapped into a hidden well of power, where a star burned furiously. The blue light of his hand expanded, engulfing his body.

Darkness began to tinge Damir’s vision, and his hands started to slip. Israel stepped up behind him and pressed his hands over Damir’s. As if calling the constellations, they glowed with the intensity of the sun.

The light faded, flickering like a candle, and then vanished. Damir fell into Israel’s open arms, and the bow fell from the elf’s limp hands.

“Shit,” Balin hissed, rushing to gather Damir from Israel. Damir stared up at Balin, his vision blurred. He could make out a halo of sunlight behind Balin. It was too bright.

Israel sagged to the ground, panting. Zephyr moved quick, catching the collapsing elf before he could hit the ground.

“I’m okay,” Damir murmured, attempting to right himself.

A cry resonated from the city and threatened to bring down the sky. It was a thousand screams of agony and souls burning, a million cities crumbling into oblivion, and a single darkness that could tear through Zoria.

The last thing Damir heard before the world went black was Zephyr shouting, “Everyone in the castle, now!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tamesis the Spider Queen

“What in the nine levels of malltod was
that
?” Zephyr demanded as he carried the elf in. Israel staggered behind him, and Balin brought up the rear with Damir in his arms. The castle had been left unsealed during the attack, allowing them to take shelter. Guards and servants were frozen in place. The room they were in was empty of spiders.

Balin set Damir down on the floor, his hand resting on Damir’s cheek. Sunlight trickled into the cold room through a stained-glass window and cast a blade of rose-tinted light over Damir. His chest steadily rose and fell; it was a soothing sign for Balin, meant he was not harmed and should be well after rest. He turned from Damir to the conscious elf, who Zephyr laid beside Damir.

“Are you well?”

The elf lifted his gaze to meet Balin’s. Clarity had returned to his eyes, which were alive with the colors of the jungle. He nodded.

“Yes, I thank you.”

“What happened here?” Israel asked. He had moved to the opposite side of Damir and took a seat.

The elf looked around the castle, realization dawning in his eyes as he rose to his feet. Damir woke with a pained groan and shuddered, his eyes blinking open blearily. Balin helped ease him to a sitting position. “Shh. Slowly. You passed out.”

Damir pressed a hand to his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “My head…it hurts, as if someone split it open like a rotten watermelon.”

“You need to rest. You’ve overtaxed yourself,” Israel said.

“You should heed your own words,” Zephyr pointed out. Israel shot him a silencing look.

“There should be some medicine somewhere. Perhaps it will restore some of your energy,” the elf said and rose to his feet. He paused and stared down at them, his expression pensive.

Balin wrapped an arm around Damir’s waist and lifted him, letting him lean against him. They followed the elf through the halls of the castle.

“What’s your name?” Zephyr asked. Balin kept his eyes trained on the shadows that seemed to multiply around them.

“Øyavind of Myrm, son of Elven King Haldis,” Øyavind replied. His voice was the eloquent chime of silver bells.

“Oya—what? Never mind.” Zephyr shook his head. “I’m Zephyr.”

Øyavind paused long enough to listen as each man shared his name, and then said, “I thank you for your aid, men of Lar. I only wish times were different.”

“Can you tell us what happened here?” Balin asked.

Øyavind led them to an apothecary along the upper west wing. They passed countless bodies and a few midsize spiders that were disposed of swiftly by Israel. Balin carried Damir’s weapon in his free hand, Damir not having the strength to wield it yet, much less carry it.

“Please, sit,” Øyavind offered with a grand sweep of his hand.

The large chamber he’d led them to was filled with various minerals and herbs, as well as other precious metals used for alchemy. Glass tubes and jars were set up on a work desk. It vaguely reminded Balin of a medicus’s shop, holding the earthy aroma of burned incense.

Øyavind opened a drawer from a wooden chest and pulled out some sweet-smelling dried herbs and flowers and began to prepare an elixir.

“Truth be told, I do not know how this came to be,” Øyavind began as he worked, his expression guarded. “We noticed the forest was growing sick, and that the animals had begun to act strange, growing agitated and falling into a berserker state without provocation. It was as if something—a nefarious shadow that is not of this world—had taken over the land.”

He paused, a white-knuckle grip on the pestle. His eyes glazed over. Balin couldn’t imagine the horrors Øyavind had seen. Øyavind began to studiously work again, his stare trained on the mortar.

“The first wave we managed to ward off. It was small. But the second one followed rapidly behind.”

“Do you know what did this, what could have brought it on?” Damir asked.

It was as Balin predicted, a darkness born from despair.

“I do not know. We lived in peace, and then this fell upon us like a great tsunami. We could not defend ourselves. Our weapons were powerless. Tamesis the Spider Queen has risen and turned her poisonous fangs on us. I fear she will devour the entire kingdom soon.”

Damir exchanged a pained look with Balin. The beslag was just the beginning. If they did nothing, Silas would fall under the same fate as Myrm.

“Why have you come here?” Øyavind poured his concoction into two glass beakers and passed them to both Israel and Damir, who, after sniffing the contents, drank them down.

“Silas was attacked by a rogue beslag, and we came to investigate,” Balin answered.

Damir set his empty beaker down. Balin noticed color was returning to his cheeks.

“If we destroy Tamesis, will that restore Myrm and the forest?”

“Perhaps,” Øyavind said, then shrugged. “But it will take a great force to bring her down. She is an ancient beast of malltod, spawn of Buer.”

“We can’t simply walk away,” Damir said.

“And I would not,” Øyavind said, his thin brows set in a proud line. His shoulders were pulled back, angled like defiant swords. “But this would be no easy feat. Our entire kingdom has fallen prey to Tamesis’s venom. But if you were able to heal me, perhaps you have the power to defeat her.”

“We’ll need to restock our weapons if we are to fight. I lost my dagger, and Damir his arrows,” Balin said.

“Aye, and Qualerin and Zwist are useless wet. They’ll need to dry and won’t be anytime soon, so I’ll need a sword as well,” Zephyr announced.

“I can see what there is,” Øyavind agreed.

“Good, then we can decide on the best attack,” Balin said.

“This way. The armory is on the other side of the castle,” Øyavind said. Hastily he led them to the east wing, then down to the lower level where the armory and training hall were located. Israel and Damir took the front, clearing away any spiders that crept from the shadows.

Øyavind paused beside a petrified knight and placed his hand on the man’s chest. He shook his head and swept into the armory, finding flint to light the torches. Israel and Damir swiftly cleaned the room of spiders, kicking the dead bodies into the dark corners when they fell.

“I do not know if the armor will fit or what you need, but take what you like,” Øyavind offered.

Lined along the walls were swords of various sizes and designs, each crafted with the greatest of care. They gleamed in the torchlight. Bows were hung on the walls, and barrels of arrows were stacked around the room. It was a vast chamber, stocked full.

Balin lifted a shield, testing its weight. It was forged with mithril and
artem
diamond, interlaid with gold threading, which formed a laurel of leaves. He moved to select a broadsword from the wall. It was sleek in design and whispered as he sliced it through the air.