The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “What do you mean?”

  “Please, don’t tell Father. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want anyone to know. Please.”

  “Everyone will know when Pentanimir finds you used. You think he wouldn’t know the difference between a virgin and a whore? This pledge will be nullified due to your lust. You’ve shamed our entire line with your perversions,” Daracus spat.

  “No…no, it wasn’t me. He forced and wouldn’t stop. I begged, and still he wouldn’t stop.”

  “Forced? No one would dare place a hand on the Zaxson’s daughter.” Daracus glared at her with narrowing eyes. “Who?”

  Shaking her head, she covered her face, overcome with grief.

  “I said who,” he shouted, wrenching her hand away from her face with a grip that made her cry out.

  “It—it was Beilzen,” she squealed. “In the guest chambers.”

  “Beilzen? He dared to put a hand on you? I’ll kill him!”

  Daracus’ eyes bulged, as he stood, staring at his sister. An immediate haze of rage blanketed his mind, with visions of Beilzen defiling her. The ictus of his heart beat in rhythm with each brutal thrust he envisioned, accompanied by Beilzen’s feral grunts of exertion. As the horrific scene continued in his mind, a flicker of clarity caused the veins to swell in his neck, darkening his features.

  Rushing forward, he clutched Denotra’s chin, forcing her to look at him.

  “Liar,” he sneered. “That’s why you sent for Hushar and not Arilian, isn’t it? You wanted his hedgeborn cock. Did he satisfy you, Sister,” he said, gripping her throat. “Did his tongue and cock make you squeal like the whore that you are?” The backhand that followed nearly knocked her off the bed.

  “Every slave must’ve heard about it by now, and you’ll forever be known as a whore.” He stormed away and then paused, looking over his shoulder. “We’ll see what your lover has to say. I’ll flay every inch of skin from his bones if necessary. If his story strays one iota from what you’ve told, you’ll regret ever lying to me,” he said, slamming the door in his wake.

  “You!” Daracus pointed to a guard. “Fetch Sir Merrimont and have him meet me in my solar. Now!”

  “Yes, Zaxson.”

  As the guard hurried off, Daracus glanced frantically around the corridor. With clenched fists, he rushed away, his anger mounting with each step. His breathing was erratic as he reached his chamber, flinging the doors open with such force, they clanked loudly against the wall.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Gods, help me , Jahno thought, backing away. He hadn’t seen such a look in Daracus’ eyes in nearly a season, but the memory and scars of his treatment after the last time hadn’t faded. Jahno continued backing up, his gut wrenching with fear as his heartbeat escalated.

  “I’m sorry, milord. You’d asked for a soak after noon meal. I—I was bringing the oils you requested and fresh tunics.”

  “Then why are you sorry?” Daracus asked, closing the gap between them. His eyes narrowed, flaring with hatred. “If you’re merely following your commands, why apologize?”

  “Because I’ve angered you, milord, and never wish to do so. I’m here to serve you as I always have. Please forgive me.”

  “Forgive you? What have you done that requires my forgiveness? Are you keeping secrets from me, too, Jahno? Is the love you profess a lie? What would you speak if given the proper motivation?” Daracus’ arm shot forward, clutching his hand tight around Jahno’s throat. His face contorted from displaying rage, to euphoria, and back again as Jahno gagged, struggling to breathe. Veins protruded from his reddened face, Jahno’s pleading eyes rolling back as his knees weakened, with the darkness creeping in from the corners of his eyes.

  Daracus grinned, releasing his hold and watching Jahno collapse on the floor. With each intake of air, Jahno coughed, wheezing, adding to Daracus’ excitement.

  When Jahno heard the lock click, he watched in horror as Daracus removed his thick belt, tossing his sword aside.

  “Please, milord,” Jahno pleaded. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I only want to please you.”

  “This does please me.” Wrapping the leather around his hand, Daracus rushed forward, slashing wildly. Each lash from his adorned belt resulted in a scream, accompanied by streaks of blood, adding to Daracus’ pleasure. He lashed again, drawing back further, and coming down with all the strength that he could muster.

  Jahno huddled on the floor, protecting his head from the innumerable punishing blows. His mind couldn’t register the pain or recall the prayers that he desperately attempted to recite, begging, pleading, all the gods and Guardians to save him from this fate.

  Daracus flogged him with abandon, not caring where his blows landed. Each sound from his lash served to feed his need for more, while causing a rise beneath his trousers. Tossing the belt aside, Daracus staggered back, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes.

  Jahno convulsed, the excruciating agony radiating through every part of him. Gods, help me , he thought, bracing a hand on the floor to steady himself.

  “Stay on your knees,” Daracus shouted, untying his laces. “That’s where you belong.”

  Jahno’s eyes widened as Daracus gripped the back of his head.

  “Please, milo—” he gagged, clenching his eyes with each brutal thrust. Warm tears streamed from his eyes, gasping between the short intervals before Daracus held in place, completely filling Jahno’s throat while pressing himself forward. With a slight moan, he pulled away, not allowing the completion.

  “Get up,” Daracus shouted, landing a savage kick.

  Bile and blood spewed from Jahno’s mouth, as he heaved in hoarse breaths, while being dragged across the room.

  “You think me a fool,” Daracus said, still dragging Jahno toward the bed. “You think to deceive me…to hurt me like this? You don’t want my love, you only want pain. I’ll make you feel the pain that you’ve caused me. All of you!”

  Jahno cried out, pulling himself up to the bed. When he was level with it, Daracus forced him over, ripping his thin trousers.

  “Please, milord, please,” Jahno begged between pained coughs. I’ve never lied to you. It wasn’t me. I love you, please.

  “You love cock, not me,” Daracus yelled, spitting, and then thrusting forward. “This is all you want,” he cried. “It’s all you’ve ever wanted!”

  Agonized screams echoed through the chamber as Daracus gripped Jahno’s groin, squeezing and twisting while continuing his brutal thrusts. As Jahno’s screams escalated, so did Daracus’ vigor, sounding more a beast than a man. His cries intermixed with shouts, one less coherent than the last. When Jahno began to bleed, Daracus’ enthusiasm grew, enjoying the red hue coating his pale flesh and lessening the friction.

  He stared down at their joining, his eyes wide with exhilaration and his heart raging with fury. Jahno’s cries faded, yet still rang in Daracus’ mind, fueling his brutal assault and pleasure as he expelled a bestial moan with a thunderous, lingering completion. His entire body trembled, grasping Jahno’s hips and pushing forward at the same time. His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back, experiencing a euphoria like none other.

  Daracus’ chest heaved, while wobbling back and nearly falling over the divan. He steadied his stance, still deep in the haze of his satisfaction. After catching his breath, he found his footing, moving over to the basin and splashing the cool water on his face. A shudder of pleasure waved through his body, causing a wider smile. Daracus cupped the water in his hands, bringing it up to his face. He enjoyed the lingering vestiges of his gratification, feeling an enlivening since of lucidity and calm befalling him.

  As he stared at his reflection, Daracus retrieved the small pouch from his tunic pocket, and placed a pellet beneath his tongue. The euphoria amplified, causing his smile to broaden as he dried his face, admiring his reflection. When he lowered his towel, his brow creased, noticing the blood splatter on his golden tunic.

  “What in all hells?” he said,
raising up his tunic to see the blood smeared across his abdomen and staining his white hairs.

  “What?” he gasped, stumbling back a step. Thoughts swirled through his mind as he frantically searched his room. “What?” he said again, turning around and falling back.

  “By the gods! Jah—Jahno?” Daracus said, running to his side. “Jahno?” Daracus’ tears were immediate as the violent scenes assailed his mind, stabbing at his heart and piercing his soul.

  “No. Jahno? Jahno?” he said, gently shaking him. “Oh, gods!” Daracus wept, cradling Jahno in his arms. “Forgive me. It wasn’t meant for you, it’s never meant for you. I love you, please, I love you.” He kissed Jahno’s blood-stained lips, caressing his face and hair.

  After wiping away his tears, Daracus lowered Jahno to the floor, carefully removing his clothing. He wiped the stains from the ground, tossing both of their clothes into the hearth. Once he’d hastily dressed, he draped a cover over Jahno and rushed to the door.

  “Take him to his chamber immediately and fetch Hushar,” Daracus commanded. “Jahno is her only duty until he’s well. Ensure that she has whatever she needs to take care of him. Move quickly and with great care,” Daracus ordered.

  As the guards hurried down the corridor, Daracus pulled out the small pouch again. He looked at the tiny pellet for a moment before sticking it beneath his tongue. Closing his eyes, he collapsed onto his bed, weeping irrepressibly.

  Hushar smiled, chatting with Perrin as he accompanied her to the kitchen. Since Draizeyn’s leave and Denotra’s ailment, some of the tension in the citadel had eased. Although the guards looked at them distastefully, she ignored their glares. They were more aimed at Perrin than her, as he carried her basket, walking at her side. Perrin was one of the few Nazilians who always treated her like a person, and reminded her why she’d fallen in love with Manifir.

  “Come, Hushar!” a guard shouted, rounding the corner.

  “Gods!” Perrin said, falling back a step as they approached with Jahno.

  Hushar couldn’t move. She stared wide-eyed at the body they carried beneath the blood-stained cover. No, not again, Jahno.

  “We said now,” another guard said, kicking the chamber door open and rushing inside. Hushar’s heart raced, following behind them and hastening to the bed. As they laid Jahno down, tears spilled from her eyes, caressing his bruised face.

  “The Zaxson wants us to bring what you need,” the guard said, abhorrently.

  “I—I need my large basket, and have Micah heat water and bring honey, and as much clean cloth as he can. Please have him make haste,” Hushar said, dipping a cloth in the basin and dabbing blood from Jahno’s face.

  The guards left the chamber, shaking their heads. “He’d have us treat this slave like he’s a Nazilian,” the first guard said with disdain.

  “Everyone knows why that filth is in the citadel. Our new Zaxson found this one too pretty to leave in Noraa,” the second guard scoffed. “He’s been pining over that savage for years.”

  “Even so, he ain’t used no different than any other slave. It’s this special care that gives me pause. How can we trust Daracus’ judgment when this human remains his focus? The humans are beneath us, and not deserving of such treatment.”

  “Doesn’t look like he was treated too well to me,” he chuckled.

  “Then why are we fetching supplies to tend him? Daracus has us receiving orders from a slave.”

  “Watch your tongue,” the second guard warned. “Daracus will send us both to the dark chamber if we’re overheard.”

  Jahno winced, moaning from the stabs of searing pain.

  “I’m going to take care of you, my dear boy,” Hushar said. “I’m going to make you well.”

  With trembling lips, he attempted to speak, only to grasp his throat with the pain that followed.

  “Shh…No. Don’t try to talk, Jahno. You’re hurt far worse than the last time, and it’ll be a bit before you heal.”

  Tears streamed from his eyes as he reached out to her, crying in her arms.

  “It won’t last, Jahno, it won’t. We’ll be free again and back with our families. Remember how thinking about your promised brought such joy to you? Think about that now. Think of your bond day, how beautiful your wife will be, and the love that you’ll share. Bring thoughts of your family forward in your mind and push this misery from it,” she said, rocking him in her arms. “They can’t take that from you or any of us. Our minds are ours alone, Jahno, and they can’t control our thoughts. Leave this place and be free in your mind. There’s no pain. None,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him. “I love you, my dear boy. I love you.”

  Burying the Past

  Most of the fallen had finally been laid to rest, and the remaining villagers worked tirelessly to remove any evidence of the battle before the women and children returned. The Nohek offered prayers over those that had fallen, especially their former Nohek Karab, Glennon.

  Although the Nazilians set their village ablaze, most of the steadings remained untouched. Even so, their lives were irrevocably changed, and nothing could soothe the devastation wrought by the Nazilians’ hatred and evils. That painful truth permeated the air and was splayed across the faces of every denizen, picking up the pieces of their lives, and attempting to restore some semblance of what they once were.

  Tioch stood, gazing at his son’s home. Against the backdrop of smoldering stables and the pervading fetor of war, it looked out of place, untouched by the Nazilians’ cruelties. His smile was wistful, resting a hand on the door before pushing through. His knees weakened then, and he braced himself against the frame, unable to move forward. After many long moments, Tioch took a sobering breath, taking a step inside. That movement was arduous, and his knees wobbled beneath his weight.

  Though the sun shone full in the sky, darkness filled the rooms. Not only from the lack of light, but also from knowing that his son would never enter his home again.

  Tioch lumbered to the hearth, taking a flint from his waist. After rummaging about in the dim light, he found kindling and set it ablaze. He then opened the shutters, allowing the sun’s rays to fill the room.

  Sorrow and contentment imbued him simultaneously as he glided his calloused hands over the carved surfaces. Reflexively, Tioch closed his eyes, an image of Itai causing a pained smile to crease his lips. For a moment, he refused to reopen them, clenching them tighter with the memories of his son.

  Taking a steadying breath, Tioch allowed that image, that harrowing remnant of his only child to dissipate.

  The unsteady clicking of his boots echoed in the deafening silence, filling each vacuous room. There was nothing…nothing occupying the space but the heartening memories and profound sense of loss hanging densely in the air. That feeling weighted down his heart and his steps, feeling more a tangible entity, nearly causing him to topple.

  Tioch’s posture waned, staring at the door to the nursery. He tried to reach out, to grasp the handle, but he couldn’t. His body swayed, and he slumped against the wall, unable to move forward. He’d help Itai design and build the nursery as a surprise for Brahanu. Itai didn’t want anyone to see it until their child was born. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to look…he wouldn’t.

  “It’s for Brahanu alone,” he whispered, turning and walking down the corridor.

  When Tioch opened the door to their bedchamber, his emotion surged through him like a deluge. The special tub Itai had designed stood elevated in the decorative corner, surrounded by a painted wooded background with flowing curtains, appearing more as a graceful waterfall cascading from the ceiling. Of everything that he’d created, this was the most special. The one item his son worked the hardest to please the one that he loved so dearly. Tioch drifted to his knees. His large hands covered his eyes as he wept for his son.

  “Pa-Tioch?” a voice called out from another room. He didn’t respond, his mind was on Itai and his grandchild. Tioch lingered on all the words that were spoken before the village was att
acked, and the ones forever left unsaid…of the contentment and joy his son experienced after marrying Brahanu. Tioch envisaged Itai’s countenance and elation as he announced the coming of his first child…his only child. All of it came rushing through Tioch’s mind, and it was consuming him.

  Tioch heard the approaching footsteps as he knelt upon the floor, but he couldn’t move. He stayed affixed to that one spot, lamenting his loss, and the inextinguishable dolor threatening to devour him.

  “Pa-Tioch,” Aschelon said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Nohek Berinon would like to speak with you. There’s much he needs to discuss.”

  “Don’t have no need for prayers, Aschelon,” Tioch said, weakly. “The ones I offered returned empty. Them bastards took my son from me.”

  “My prayers as well,” Aschelon said, kneeling beside him. No one in this village meant more to me than Itai, and I’ve come for him, too.”

  When Tioch slowly met his eyes, Aschelon nodded, wiping away his tears. “I promised Itai that I’d look after you and Naji if he was no longer able to do so, and I mean to hold to that. When my father passed, you took me as your own. If not for your family, I wouldn’t have had anyone. Itai was more my brother than a friend. If not for him speaking to Hacom on my behalf, and you taking me in, there’s no telling where I’d be now. Please, allow me to honor Itai and do what he asked. Itai wouldn’t want you here mourning for him, and you’re knowing that. I’m not saying you shouldn’t grieve for your son, I’m grieving for him, too. But he’d tell you to remember how much he loved you, and how proud he was to have you as his Pa. Come with me, Pa-Tioch,” he said, standing and reaching down to him. “Don’t sadden yourself more than is already felt. After talking with the Nohek, I’ll escort you home and we’ll make plans to rebuild it…together. There are enough memories there without embracing the ones here as well.”

  “It—it ain’t just Itai, Aschelon. Don’t nobody know ‘bout Brahanu or my grandchild. I can’t lose no more than I already have. I ain’t strong ‘nough.” His voice cracked with the words, as he attempted to stifle his emotion. “I—I promised to look after them…I gotta find them and make sure theys all right.”