The hall erupted with cheers as Saifu approached the Elders’ table.
“It’s with great pleasure, Elder Hosdaq, that I present my sister, Lady Osmara Voney, for promise. May your happiness be eternal, your want be for nothing, and your home filled with children.”
Messages from Afar
“Should I send a return message?” Nohek Glennon asked, rearranging the scrolls on his desk.
“Of course, we’ll respond,” Hacom said. “But what to say? All the lands have gone mad! Demands from Nazil, invitations from Noraa, and now a message about the Zaxson’s caravan nearing Spero.”
“Yes, there’s much activity in the lands, Hacom. I fear this is only the beginning.”
“The beginning of what? Should I prepare the sentries for war? What do you fear?”
The old man shrugged, pouring two cups of dark liquor. “It isn’t fully known. However, I’ve learned over the years to take seriously the feelings within my heart. The 75th year of Kehldaron is upon us, and these lands may bleed before the end of it.”
“There’s been no mention of war.”
“You speak true, but one doesn’t usually announce a plan to destroy. We’ve seen this with Hyorin. When the killer of babes comes, it won’t be under banner or bird. They’ll come as a thief travels by night and in silence.”
“Speak plain, Glennon. Is there a threat coming from Nazil?”
Glennon sighed, setting his cup on the desk. “I’ve had a dream for many suns that disturbs my sleep. It’s a strange thing, because the content doesn’t change.”
“A dream? Of what do you dream, Nohek?”
“The images are as vivid this day as when the dream first came. It’s a great war. Not like any other that we’ve heard tell of. The gods themselves will descend from the heavens.”
Hacom shifted in his chair, listening intently.
“Much will be lost and gained,” Glennon continued. “Humans and Nazilians will fight as brothers.”
“The Nazilians aiding the humans? Impossible.”
“Within dreams, anything is possible, my old friend.”
“What else does your dream reveal, Nohek?”
“Migration: fleeing these lands in search of another. I’ve seen you as well, Caretaker, fighting with honor beside your son.”
“Julaybeim? I don’t understand, Glennon.”
“It’s plain, my son, if you’re a believer in dreams,” he said, taking another drink.
“I discount nothing, Nohek, and your words are never in doubt. But seeing the future in your dreams? This is a blessing that you’ve never professed.”
“I’m not asking for you to accept my dream as truth. You asked what came to me as I slept, and now I’ve told you. Knowing the future doesn’t make you wise, Hacom. It only gives you a glimpse of what might come to pass. What you do with that knowledge is what reveals the worth of a man.”
“Might come to pass? If it’s a glimpse of what’s to come, how could it not happen?”
Nohek Glennon leaned back, stroking the hair on his chin. “It’s possible that the gods allow you a glimpse of what’s to come. They could possibly allow this vision to give you the opportunity to make a different decision, to alter what could be.
“Our lives are merely a series of choices: should I turn right or go left, should I speak or hold my tongue, and so on. Each choice manifests a series of consequences. Whether good or bad, we must live with those consequences. And from those, new choices are made. Therefore, I could tell you that if you don’t accept the Caretaker’s invitation that Cazaal would suffer repercussions. After hearing my counsel, you’d alter your choice and graciously receive him. The wrath shown in the vision would no longer be. Due to that glimpse, you would have the opportunity to make a different choice.”
Hacom nodded. “Is it possible that altering the decision could only delay the inevitable, and not truly change the outcome?”
“Mayhaps. The workings of the gods will forever be a mystery. No one can truly know until the time our spirit joins theirs, and we can ask of it ourselves.”
Hacom drained his cup, slumping back in his seat. “I’ve grown weary, Glennon. The threat from Nazil always looms about our heads. The humans won’t unite as they should, and end the Nazilians’ reign. Haven’t we lost enough to those who would see us wiped from these lands?”
“We are all of us fallible. There are none without fault but the gods themselves. The humans in high positions don’t truly care for the others in the lands. As long as their purse is fat and their servants many, they’re satisfied. Nazil gives them scraps, and with great alacrity, they’ll turn on their own to protect them.”
“What about me, then? I’m the Caretaker of this village. We have many attendants and treat them well. I, too, must answer to Nazil and send them our gold. Does this make me corrupt and a traitor to my people?”
“Your skin grows thin, Hacom. It’s not you of whom I speak. Unlike those of Noraa and Kaleo, you don’t bend to Nazil’s will. You do only what’s necessary to protect this village. Everyone here knows your heart. It can never be said that you hold yourself in higher regard than anyone else. You’ve proven that again with Brahanu’s marriage to Itai. Many in Noraa were angry about the arrangement. It was argued that Brahanu should be wed to someone of higher birth and station, but you weren’t moved by that. Your concern was the measure of the man selected for her, not the size of his purse.”
“Yes. Lord Estenbrook wasn’t pleased when I refused his first-born, Janshai. I wouldn’t have Brahanu suffer so at the hands of such men. It would be the same for anyone in this village, Nohek. You are all my family, and I’d give my life in defense of you.”
“This is why you’re unlike the others. Cazaal is a blessed and unique village. The other Caretakers might not approve of the manner in which you oversee our affairs, but you’re loved and respected by those around you.”
As Hacom reached to refill his cup, a knock claimed their attention.
“Enter,” the Nohek said.
“Pardons, Nohek. Lady Ravenot requests that the Caretaker return to the citadel.”
“Thank you, Nohek Berinon. He’ll be with you momentarily.”
“Thank you for your honest counsel, Glennon. My father was wise when he spoke so highly of you,” Hacom said, standing to leave.
“Your father was not unlike yourself. He would be very proud of the man that you’ve become.”
“Thank you. Until the morrow, Nohek.”
After returning to the citadel, Hacom was surprised to see Itai and Brahanu awaiting him.
“Amani, what was of such importance that you’d interrupt my meeting with Glennon? We had more to discuss.”
“I know, but we needed you here.”
Hacom grabbed his pipe, leaning back in his chair. “All right, if there’s a need, I’ll see it met. What would you have of me?”
“Father, everything is fine,” Brahanu said. “We just needed to talk to you.”
Hacom glanced at the three, noting their peculiar expressions. “What’s going on?”
“Pardons, Hacom,” Itai said. “Our wives tend to appreciate the dramatic.”
“No,” Amani said. “Brahanu wasn’t feeling well, and Briac came to tend her.”
“Then why in seven hells are you all smiling?” he asked, turning toward Brahanu. “How are you feeling, little dove?”
“I’m fine now, Father,” she said, resting a hand on her abdomen. “Both of us are fine.”
“Good, good,” Hacom said, dumping the ash from his pipe. When he considered what she said, he paused, looking over at her. “Both of you?”
“Yes. Lakaar Briac confirmed what Mother suspected. I wasn’t ill, our child was making itself known.”
“Child? You’re pregnant?”
“Yes, husband! Our daughter is pregnant. Was this news not worth interrupting your meeting?”
“Ho ho! A babe? When? We must celebrate! Your father must come, Itai. Indeed, this is m
uch-needed news.”
Hacom leapt up, embracing his daughter and his wife. Reaching for Itai, he first firmly shook his hand, and then pulled him into a hug, too.
“Did Briac tell you when?” Hacom asked.
“He estimates five or six full moons.”
“Have you told Julaybeim and Ameya?”
“Not yet,” Brahanu said. “Mother will tell them when they return. For now, we need to tell Father Tioch and Naji.”
“Yes. Tell them and invite them for evening meal on the morrow. This news must be celebrated!”
“We will,” Itai said, helping Brahanu stand. “We’ll see you on the morrow.”
When they left, Hacom lit his pipe, taking a long drink of ale. He smiled, enjoying the warmth of the drink, but more so, the announcement of his grandchild.
“What did Glennon have to say?” Amani asked.
Hacom waved his hand in the air, disturbing the smoke that hung there. “I don’t want to think about that now. With such blessed news from Brahanu, it moved the other from my thoughts.”
“From your thoughts, mayhaps, but not from existence.”
He released a heavy sigh, tapping his pipe on the hearth. “We received word from Lord Vaughan and the Neema Outpost, reporting a caravan from Nazil. They weren’t the usual tradesman carts they’ve been sending to Spero. These were the Zaxson’s carriages.”
“Spero? Has the city been completed?”
“I’d doubt they’d send the Zaxson’s caravan if it wasn’t.”
“Do they know who was traveling, Hacom? Was it the Zaxson?”
“Draizeyn probably wouldn’t trouble himself to come. Most likely Daracus or some of his council members are coming for an inspection. That’s what they did when Dovak was completed.”
“It doesn’t bode well to have another Nazilian city so close, Hacom. Except for the outposts, we’re surrounded.”
“I share your concern, and Cazaal will stand ready.”
Son of Nazil
Danimore peered at Beilzen from the corner of his eye, pulling on his gloves. Since telling Oxilon about his interest in a pledge, Beilzen hadn’t bothered him. That alone was worth the ruse.
“There’s nothing of note to report. Just stay alert and your duty should pass quickly.”
Beilzen nodded. “The nights grow longer and colder, Danimore, yet we do our duty for Nazil with honor.”
“Well said. I’ll leave you to it then.”
Your duty is to spy for my uncle. I’d have you sing the song of Nikolina without end, Danimore thought, smirking as he walked away.
Before he’d opened the door to his home, the aroma of his evening meal hit his nostrils. He inhaled again, enjoying the delicious smells, and more so, the thought of the woman and child awaiting him.
“I’m glad that you’re home, Dani,” Zeta said, standing to greet him. “How was your duty?”
“Long and cold, and I’m growing weary of the task.”
Zeta leaned in for a kiss, setting a mug on the table with one hand, while rocking Raithym with the other. “I’ll put Raithym to bed, and we can enjoy evening meal.”
He smiled, taking a seat at the table. His fingers continued to tap, thinking about Spero. With no word from Pentanimir, he worried that their plan was in jeopardy.
“Dani, are you all right?” Zeta asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about Spero and being able to leave this place. Pentanimir hasn’t sent word and I’m beginning to worry.”
“He could’ve sent a message to the Zaxson, but wouldn’t risk sending one to us directly. Don’t worry, Dani. Everything will work out just like he said.”
“How do you always know what I need to hear?”
“Because you desire the truth. No matter what it may bring, you want truth over anything else. To speak it sounds like wisdom, but I only tell you what’s already known in your heart.”
“What I know is that I love you, Zeta. And soon, we’ll take Raithym and leave Nazil far behind.”
“I want that, too, Dani,” she said, finding a place on his lap. “And to bear your child.”
“In time. Once you’re fully healed, many wonderful things will come to pass.”
“I am healed, and there’s no longer any pain. I’m ready to experience all of you.”
“Your outer wounds, yes. However, the ones I speak of can’t be seen. We won’t rush what you’re not truly ready to experience. It’ll take more time, and I understand that,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Besides, isn’t Raithym my son?”
“He is, but I want to please you, Dani. I—it—”
“You do please me. Let’s learn about Spero and Pentanimir’s plan first. Once we’re allowed to wed, things will be different, all right?”
Zeta only nodded, standing and spooning some stew into his bowl. She couldn’t argue. No matter how much she loved Danimore, she still suffered from memories of her abuse. At times, she could push it from her mind, yet, at other times, it was nearly debilitating.
“Are you afraid that Pentanimir’s plan might fail?” she asked.
“I hope not, but the variables are many. The Zaxson could change his mind and appoint Daracus as the Caretaker. If this were so, we’d have to contemplate an alternative. Either way, we must take care, Zeta.”
As she lifted his cup, loud, rapid thumps from the door caused it to tumble from her hand. When she staggered back, Danimore took her arm, motioning down the corridor. He glanced at the door, the knocks sounding louder and longer. When he heard Zeta’s door close, he moved to answer it.
“Nakaris, Beilzen? What in seven hells is going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You must come, Dani! We’ve captured a savage! He’s shouting about a Chosen named Hosdaq, and carrying an Xtabyren,” Nakaris said, pointing toward the city’s center. Wavering torchlights dotted the darkness, nearing the citadel. “He’s there, with the guard. Your uncle has summoned you in Pentanimir’s stead.”
Danimore blanched. “Me? What about Yannick? He’s my brother’s second.”
“He’s coming, too. You must hurry. They’ve nearly reached the citadel.”
Danimore swallowed hard, attaching his belt and cloak. He couldn’t mask his welling fear as he took the reins from Nakaris, charging through the barren streets. Everything was a blur with the tumult of scenarios plaguing his mind. From meters away, the captive’s anguished cries echoed through the dark night.
When Danimore approached, he saw only entangled guards, yelling and kicking as the man’s pleas continued amongst the grotesque sound of cracking bone and sodden blows.
Oxilon stood over the captive, extending out a sword. His face contorted in disgust, disbelief, and rage. A chill coursed down Danimore’s spine as he forced his gaze downward. A wince immediately followed: one side of the man’s face was horribly swollen and bloodied, not resembling a man at all.
“Uncle. Who—who is this?”
Oxilon thrust the Xtabyren’s tip beneath the man’s chin. “It’s not a ‘who,’ Nephew. It’s a ‘what’,” he snarled, landing a hard kick to the man’s torso. “Take this filth to a cell,” Oxilon ordered. “He’ll regret the lies he’s spewed on the honorable men of Nazil.”
Danimore followed behind his uncle, with the man’s continuous cries reverberating off the walls as they dragged him down the corridor, leaving smears of his blood in their wake.
“Now do you see, Nephew? This is why they must die. All of them must die!”
“Uncle, is this man from Nazil? He looks human.”
“That’s no man. It’s an abomination.” He stopped, spinning Danimore around to face him. Oxilon’s eyes bulged, his face red with fury. “I’ll rip the damn eyes from his head. He dares to have the eyes of Nazil! He’s an abomination, and will suffer for defiling our great city!”
Danimore had never seen such rage, fearing for not only the man in the cell, but for Raithym and Zeta as well.
“Wait here,” Oxilon ordered
, entering the Zaxson’s solar. The angered curses and shouts had Danimore taking a step back, fighting his urge to flee. As quickly as the voices rose, they lowered again, and the door creaked open. The expression on Oxilon’s face caused the hairs to rise on Danimore’s. The anger was gone, replaced with and expression that he’d never witnessed…an expression that evoked dread like he’d never known.
“The Zaxson has given me permission to put him to question. Now, you’ll learn what being a true man of Nazil is meant to be.”
Not only did Oxilon’s words give him pause, but also the way he’d spoken them. This was the first time that Danimore truly feared his uncle, and what brutalities he might be capable of committing. His father and brother had warned of his sadistic nature—the side of Oxilon that intrigued the Zaxson—propelling Oxilon’s rapid rise in Nazil. It was that same quality Danimore and his mother, Kitrin, feared. Howbeit, he’d never borne witness to such acts of barbarity, and hoped that gruesome reality would forever be kept from him.
As they descended the steep, narrow steps, hollers and cries resonated around them. Danimore swallowed hard, feeling a tight twinge in his gut. The smell of vomit and bile emanating from the dank corridor assaulted his nostrils. He stifled the powerful urge to retch, though his face surely told of his revulsion. When they turned the corner, guards encircled the naked man, shouting curses, and jabbing at him with cudgels and the hilts of their swords.
The captive was suspended by heavy irons attached to the ceiling, with a weight affixed to his manhood. His tortured body convulsed, hanging but digits from the ground.
Noticing Oxilon’s approach, the guards stood straight and silent, moving aside. For a moment, Oxilon just stared at the suspended man, saying nothing. Not verbally. What his visage conveyed, however, sent waves of dread cascading down Danimore’s spine.
When the captive raised his lolling head, Oxilon landed a hard, fisted backhand, causing the man’s head to whip sideward, followed by mucus-filled blood splattering the wall.
The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 40