The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (36 page)

Damir looked out the window. It was a whiteout. Even from within the cockpit, Damir could hear the howl of the wind. It was a frigid cry that lanced straight through his body. They had a long night ahead of them if the storm didn’t die down soon.

“I guess if there is nothing else to do, I’ll go clean the kitchen and fix dinner,” Damir said.

“I have to straighten my office.” Israel walked away from the table. Elma turned to Israel, her face ashen.

“I’ll help.”

They broke off, Balin joining Lazarus to take a look at the engines. They’d just wait and pray the storm wouldn’t turn
Bahamut
into an icy grave. As the hours passed and the winds didn’t let up, Damir worried that the blizzard would be never ending, but when daybreak came and the sun peeked over the distant Khamaree Mountains, the winds dropped to a lazy breeze.

Zephyr called everyone into the cockpit at first light. Lazarus gave the all clear for the engines, and Cessna turned to fire her back up.
Bahamut
shuddered and groaned, a sickening metallic sound racking through the corridors of the grounded airship. Zephyr clenched his hands.

“What is going on?” he barked.

Lazarus went topside with Pyxis and returned with a grim expression. “She’s iced all the way through. We’ll have to clear her out before she’ll fly.”

“Fuck me raw!” Zephyr slammed his fist onto the table. Israel squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s fine. Let’s figure out where we are,” Israel said, trying to soothe him.

Time was of the essence. Breaking the ice would chip away at all the precious seconds they had left. Zephyr twisted his lips in an aggravated snarl but nodded. “Right. Well then, you land bastards, gear up. We’re heading out.”

It took approximately fifteen minutes for everyone to gather their weapons and heavy fur coats. Zephyr decided to take Pyxis, a master of cartography, with them to scout.

Damir watched as Elma slid her rapier into her scabbard and pulled on her heavy fur coat made from caribou. Zephyr held his hand up when she approached him on the bridge.

“Hold on, Princess. You ain’t coming. Last thing I need is you breaking your royal ass.”

“Excuse me?” She glared at him. “I have as much a right to go out there as you.”

“Not when you’re a liability,” Zephyr pointed out.

She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. “I’ve trained since I was nine years old. I think I can handle my own. Now, I’m going, and that isn’t a request. That’s an order.”

Zephyr moved to lunge for Elma. Israel grabbed Zephyr’s arm.

“Let her come, Zephyr.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Ramiro said.

Elma glared at Ramiro, who simply smiled. Her cheeks instantly flared up.

Zephyr furrowed his brows, wanting to argue, but they didn’t have the time to spare. “Fine. She’s your responsibility, Ramiro.”

Damir adjusted the straps of his quiver and said, “Come on. We’re burning daylight.”

They rode down to the hatch and stepped out into the frozen world of Netherlune.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Blood of the Wolf

Netherlune was an arctic wasteland, a white field that extended on forever until it finally met the treacherous mountains of Khamaree. Snow drifted on the breeze as it cut through the Ice Fields. Balin pulled his coat closer in an attempt to beat the growing cold. He secured a scarf firmly around his neck and used a hand to shield his eyes as he looked around the surrounding area.

They had crashed into a snowfield. In the distance he could see a small cluster of scraggly evergreens blanketed almost entirely in snow and sharp spires of ice that had been wind blasted into arches and swept up into hazardous curves.

It was the closest man could come to the ninth circle of malltod.

“Over there.” Ramiro pointed toward the distant peaks of Mount Khamaree. The behemoth of a mountain covered over 30 percent of the continent; the rest was a fluctuating surface of ice.

“Shit,” Zephyr hissed.

“We’ve got two choices: get supplies and head out, or try to cut through the ice stranding
Bahamut
,” Balin said. His breath came out in fat white clouds.

“That ice has to be over ten feet thick. It looks like it got into the jets,” Pyxis said with a grimace.

Balin felt a prickle of unease. He scoured the sky, searched for the lumbering shadow of a sky ship. The air felt wrong; it stirred the snow with the frigid touch of danger and heralded in an encroaching hunt. He shifted closer to Damir. His hands hovered at his side, prepared to draw Magiertøter.

Damir looked up at him. “What is it?”

“We’ve got company,” Balin announced, his eyes trained straight ahead. A hundred yards out and moving in fast was a pack of Niflheim wolves. Their white coats shrouded them in the snow dunes. A few were tinged a shade darker, in ash and deep gray.

“I really fucking hate wolves,” Balin grumbled. He took a step forward. Something crunched beneath his foot. He dropped his gaze and kicked some of the snow out of the way. From beneath the snowdrift a bone—a rib, perhaps—jutted up.

Balin crouched down and pulled out the sharp bone, cracked in half from where his foot had crushed it. Balin scanned around the surrounding area, spotting the random chunks of structures that poked up from beneath the piles of snow.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Balin hissed and threw the rib down. “You landed us on a damn feeding ground!”

Zephyr jerked around, his eyes torn from the stalking wolves. “What?”

“This is their den! We crash-landed on their den!” Balin pulled Magiertøter from its scabbard on his back. “So unless we can get this ship moving, we’ve just met our neighbors.”

“So what do we do?” Elma asked, her hand on the hilt of her rapier.

Balin could remember the rush of tree branches, the terror of fighting to not succumb to the rabid nature of a Pheor wolf. Nilfheim wolves would be far less merciless, hardened by desperate climates and circumstances. He shuddered at the thought of facing yet another ferocious pack. Had he not shed his pound of skin to the wild beasts already?

“We fight.” Balin’s gaze hardened, and his body tensed with adrenaline. “Damir, you and Zephyr move to higher ground. You’ll be more use to us up there.”

DAMIR AND ZEPHYR returned to
Bahamut
, emerging moments later on her deck. The Nilfheim wolves were only a few hundred yards out and closing fast. Damir grabbed an arrow and lined up a shot with Drachenseele.

He waited, allowed the adrenaline to rush over him and flow like a steady river.

Just a little closer.

Only a few more yards.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Release.

Damir fired the arrow, watched it soar. The arrow slammed into a wolf, which let out a high yelp as it fell to the ground. Damir drew another arrow and lined up a second shot. The wolves picked up speed, closed the distance.

The alpha headed the pack, a pure white wolf the size of a pony. He moved with lightning speed, cutting across the field and zeroing in on Balin. Damir began to fire off shots, attempting to take out the alpha. Every time he released an arrow, the wolf seemed to know, always dodging it with a quick step or jump.

Balin swung his broadsword wide and cut a deep gash into the chest of the alpha as the wolf closed in.

Zephyr fired off some rounds, his back pressed to Damir’s as they swept the perimeter with bullets and arrows. On the ground, Israel expanded Barat and swung hard. The metal slammed into the side of a wolf’s head; a loud crack thundered. He released a sharp bolt of light. The wolf’s cry was cut short.

Elma dodged an attack. Her back was pushed against Ramiro’s, who brandished a katana. The blade dripped with blood, a wolf at his feet.

“How are you holding up, Princess?” Ramiro called over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact with the stalking wolf in front of him.

Elma dashed forward, blade out. With a rueful grin, she shouted, “Great!”

The wolf in front of her jumped back, pivoting out of the way as she slashed down. Ramiro swung behind her, his offending wolf yelping and dropping to the ground in a bloody heap beside his comrade. Elma’s foot caught something in the snow, and she fell forward, the sword knocked from her hand. She struggled to find it.

The wolf let out a low growl and dived in for the kill. Damir quickly drew an arrow. Ramiro shot forward before Damir could fire, his body coming down over Elma’s. Teeth tore into Ramiro’s forearm. He shoved the wolf off and slammed his sword down. The blade sliced through the side of the beast. Pure white snow turned a shade of red so dark it was almost black.

Damir turned to Israel, who faced off with two rather large Nilfheim Wolves. Elma found her sword and joined Israel’s side in the battle.

As quickly as Damir drew his arrows, he was firing them off. He’d run out soon. He swung around, spotting Balin below still in a struggle with the alpha. Behind him, a second wolf slunk in, crouched low to the ground. Its ashen fur made it nearly invisible, but from Damir’s bird’s-eye view, he could make out the black eyes that gleamed beneath the wintery sun. He drew his final arrow and aimed.

“Balin!” Damir shouted.

As if sensing Damir’s command, Balin pivoted left and out of the way. Damir released the arrow and watched it whistle through the air. The lunamant tip plunged into the forehead of the wolf.

“I’m out,” Damir announced.

Zephyr reloaded Qualerin and Zwist with a nod and returned to firing. Damir dropped his empty quiver to the ground and swung Drachenseele in his hand. He twisted the handle, and a soft glow emitted from the aether stones embedded in the arced blades of the weapon. A pool of energy was released that snapped the cord that strung the bow and allowed the weapon to be twisted into a double-blade.

Damir descended the ladder and rushed into the cockpit.

“Cessna, open the hatch!” He ordered and ran out, hurtling through the hatch once the door slid open. Damir looked back briefly to see the door close, then turned to the battle.

The numbers were dwindling on both sides. Ramiro held up his weapon, but he was losing blood fast. Israel fired off bolts and swung his staff hard, but his energy looked to be draining. Pyxis’s shoulder was a bloody mess, the fur of his coat matted down.

The sky captain took out one of the few lingering pack members. Balin jumped forward and attempted to drive Magiertøter into the alpha’s side. The alpha sank his teeth into Balin’s shoulder.

Damir rushed forward. He spun as he ran, allowing the blade to glide through the air and slice into each wolf he came across. He moved on pure fear, his heart pumped by a dread-filled adrenaline. The double-ended blade twisted in his hand, alternating between a double grip and a single grip, each one allowing Damir to cut down every wolf.

“Balin!” Damir shouted. Balin swiped Magiertøter up in an arch, the lunamant blade gliding past the wolf’s tender underbelly.

A powerful paw slammed into Balin’s side and sent him hurtling into the snow. He hit the ground with a grunt and pushed himself up on unsteady arms. Around him the snow turned crimson.

Damir let out a war cry and twisted his weapon in his grip, masterfully spinning it until he could slice through the wolf with both blades in a full arc. The alpha hit the ground, a whine escaping its throat. He pushed himself up, his body covered in bleeding lacerations. The wolf didn’t bow down, though. Damir drew in short gasps of air that came out in tiny clouds.

His eyes locked onto the alpha’s. Black met blue, two souls fierce and ready to defend. Damir tried to will the creature away, tried to urge him to go, much in the way he had garnered Chipo’s trust. The alpha let out a low growl, blood and saliva dripping from its massive canines.

Damir braced for impact.

A hot beam shot through the air, slammed into the wolf, and burned through fur and skin. There was a cutoff yelp before the mighty Nilfheim wolf fell, half its body charred. Damir turned to Israel, who shook his head, then looked up to where Allen could be seen celebrating from one of
Bahamut
’s cannons.

Damir gave him a thumbs-up and rushed to Balin’s side.

“Are you okay?”

Balin nodded with a grunt. “Flesh wound.”

Damir gave him a skeptical look but decided not to argue. It was nothing he couldn’t heal.

Israel collapsed Barat and rushed to Pyxis to help the crewman up. Elma sheathed her rapier and turned to Ramiro, who nursed his injured arm.

“You…saved me.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

Ramiro flashed her a rakish smile and attempted a bow without jostling his arm. “Anything for you, my princess.”

* * * *

Zephyr fussed over Israel as he staggered into the med ward, minus his coat, and set Pyxis down on his workbench. Israel turned to the sky captain, pressed a kiss to his lips, and said, “I assure you I’m all right. Now, unless you have an injury, leave. I need to tend to Pyxis and the others.”

Zephyr left with a pout, but only after he pressed a final kiss against Israel’s lips. Zephyr walked past as Damir helped Balin sit. Ramiro stepped in, his face pale with blood loss and cold.

Damir turned to Elma. “Can you heal?”

She nodded.

They each turned to their own patient and gathered energy. The room filled with a collective blue glow, blinding with the combined power. Balin shielded his eyes as Damir focused his energy on Balin’s wounded shoulder.

Damir’s heart had felt like it would burst out of his chest when he’d watched Balin go toe-to-toe with the mighty Nilfheim wolf. He could still feel the residual fear lingering over his flesh like a slug that had crawled over him, a trail of slime dripping down his back. He concentrated on knitting the flesh back together.

When the wound healed, he released his hold on the power. Balin tapped him under the chin with a crooked finger.

“Hey, look at me.”

Damir hesitantly looked up. Balin pressed a kiss against his mouth and murmured, “Everything is okay.”

Damir let out a restrained sigh that had been lingering in the back of his throat the moment he had laid eyes on the hungry pack. He wrapped his arms tightly around Balin’s waist and hugged him.