Read Online The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge by Evelyn Shepherd - Free Book Online Page A

could see the happiness radiating off him as if the sun had begun to rise inside him.
    Elina passed it to him and swept her hair over her shoulder. Damir unhooked the necklace and slid it around her neck. Once it was secure, Elina let her hair fall into place and touched the jade stone.
    “It’s beautiful, Dammy. It really is! Thank you!”
    She rose to her feet and threw her arms around Damir’s waist. Damir hugged her close and looked at Balin.
    “Come; let’s get some lunch,” Damir said and patted his sister’s shoulder lightly. As they walked the short distance to the pub, Damir asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?” They approached the tavern, which was close to the town square. A wooden sign hung outside in the shape of a goose.
    “Yes. Did you get everything?” Elina asked.
    Damir nodded. “Medicus Ashwin sends her love.”
    Balin trailed behind them, listening contentedly as the two siblings chatted among themselves. While he had brothers and sisters of his own, Balin had never known the closeness that Damir and Elina had for each other. He had been the black sheep of the family. It was half the reason he had chosen his current career path.
    The Gooseneck was a lively tavern that smelled of cedar and stout. The boisterous laughter of men bounced off the steeple ceilings. A giant fire roared in a stone fireplace, and tables were situated all around the pub. A set of stairs led up to a second level, where a small stage sat empty.
    Balin slowly looked around the tavern. He took in the bar, which had only one empty stool, the rapidly filling tables, a group of men playing cards with large tankards of beer in their hands, and the nervous-looking man in the corner fiddling with a meat pie. Pelts and animal heads were hanging on the walls from various hunts, and beside the door on a board were posters of wanted men and listings for bounty hunters. Balin approached the wanted board and glanced over the listings.
    “We got a table, Balin,” Damir shouted as he waved Balin over.
    He recognized a few familiar faces of other assassins and thieves, but his own mug was absent from the assortment of paper signs. There was a sign that read plainly: THE SHADOWWALKER, WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE, 100,000 SOVEREIGNS. Balin reached up and pulled down the wanted sign. He folded the paper up and slid it into his pocket without a word, silently making his way over to the table Damir had procured.
    A barmaid approached them, her breasts spilling from her blouse and her hair a tattered rat’s nest of black curls.
    “What’ll ya ’ave, dearies?”
    “A meat pie for me and some pumpkin ale and oh! Melon bread, don’t forget the melon bread,” Elina said eagerly, smacking her lips with hunger.
    Damir rolled his eyes. “Make that two, but instead of the pumpkin ale, I’ll have mead.”
    “What he’s having, but no melon bread,” Balin said. A nice strong draft of mead sounded fantastic.
    The barmaid swept past them and grabbed their tankards of ale and mead off the bar, setting them on the table with a frothy splash. Elina snatched up her sweeter drink and began to sip it. Damir took a few reserved sips of his beer. Balin held his mug in his hand but didn’t drink.
    “What is wrong?” Damir asked Balin.
    “Nothing,” Balin lied. His mind was a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts. He could still smell Damir around him and feel the warmth of the man’s skin, and his pocket burned with the poster with Shadowwalker plastered on it. He would have to keep his head down until they left. He had hoped word of his travels would not have made it to Pheor’s shores, but that had been a foolish hope.
    “Are you sure? You’re quiet.”
    Elina turned her gaze on Balin. “Are you tired? Or mad because you can’t leave?”
    Damir briefly looked crestfallen, but he covered it up before Balin could reassure him that he wasn’t upset.
    “Are you sure we cannot send you to Traum?” Damir asked, lowering his mead to the table.
    “Yes, I’m