The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  Yannick scoffed, still circling. “Brother? A brother wouldn’t have stolen my child from me. You knew that I loved her, Pentanimir. You knew!”

  “I—I’m sorry, please. I didn’t know. I only meant to free her, not take away your child. This isn’t about Gali, Yannick. This is about Nazil’s freedom. Please, don’t do this.”

  “I trusted you, Pentanimir. You alone knew my feelings, and you betrayed me. Now, you’re betraying all of Nazil!”

  “I’m saving Nazil.”

  “You’ve lived your life for the Zaxson and honor, now you want to die for the freedom of a few slaves?” he said, leveling his sword.

  Pentanimir’s heart ached, witnessing the hate in Yannick’s eyes. After a steadying breath, he dropped his Guardian sword, unsheathing his Xtabyren.

  “I don’t plan to die this day, Brother,” Pentanimir said, quick-stepping and swiping across with his blade.

  Yannick grunted, stumbling back, and clutching his side. As the blow landed, Danimore fled down the corridor.

  “Daracus isn’t fit to be Zaxson, Yannick. We both know this. Nazil will be destroyed if he’s allowed to rule,” Pentanimir said, lowering his sword. “Join with us and help to unite our great city, not divide it.”

  “Always the fool.” Yannick pushed off the wall, attacking.

  Pentanimir’s adrenaline soared, spinning and countering each of Yannick’s desperate attempts. Yannick lunged again, the two Chosen of Nazil trading deft parries and thrusts, with neither gaining an advantage.

  Pentanimir wouldn’t take the offensive, instead moving defensively against his friend, praying their conflict would end. Yannick’s assault was unrelenting, his punishing swipes fueled by a rage that diminished their effect. Pentanimir parried the onslaught of thrusts and jabs, while fighting the anguish assailing his heart and mind.

  Yannick roared, moving in to riposte. Pentanimir swatted the sword from its intended mark, his leg coming up, landing a kick to the side of Yannick’s face.

  Yannick staggered back, spitting the mouthful of pooling blood onto the floor. With a pained grin, he drew his dagger, resuming his stance.

  As he charged, Pentanimir forced his sword high, landing another kick to his exposed torso. When Yannick stumbled back, Pentanimir leapt forward, delivering a slash before a backward roll distanced him from his opponent. Springing to his feet, Pentanimir relaxed his posture, facing his friend again.

  “We don’t need to do this, Yannick. Please.”

  “I should’ve anticipated that move, old friend. Always you favored it.” With a deep growl, he pressed the attack. Pentanimir parried each fleet-footed, but poorly aimed attempt. The fatigue showed on Yannick’s face as Pentanimir halted, holding his Xtabyren at the ready.

  “We’ve fought together long,” Pentanimir said. “My father trained you as a son. Don’t allow Oxilon’s evils to cover you. Daracus isn’t worth the blood of either of us. Don’t continue this. I’ll always be your brother. Always.”

  “Your father honored his position of First Chosen, as do I. Never would he betray Nazil, betray me!” Yannick shouted, shifting his dagger in a reverse cut position. Pentanimir noticed the move and half-twisted, blocking the blade with his own. With a sudden burst, Yannick spun around, attempting a glissade, but Pentanimir proved the quicker, retreating instead of the parry that Yannick expected, then advancing, reversing the grip on his Xtabyren. With a loud roar, Pentanimir countered with an upward swipe, slicing Yannick’s chest wide open. Pentanimir dropped into a crouch, anticipating a sideswipe that didn’t come.

  “No, Brother!” Pentanimir cried out, his anguished voice cracking with the words.

  Yannick’s sword and dagger clanked to the floor as he clutched his chest, realizing the fatal damage that the Xtabyren had done. With a sickening thud, his head contacted the wall as he fell backward, revealing his agony.

  “And…that’s…why you are First Chosen.” Yannick coughed, gasping between each syllable with blood oozing from his mouth.

  Kicking the blades from his reach, Pentanimir knelt at his side, grasping his hand. “Forgive me, Brother,” he said. “I didn’t know, Yannick, I didn’t. I’ve always loved you as my brother…I still love you. Why…why did you force this fight? Why did you force this grief upon me?” he asked, cradling Yannick in his arms.

  Yannick’s eyes rolled, meeting his. With a slight smile and labored breaths, he weakly grasped Pentanimir’s hand.

  “For…Nazil…Brother. I—I’ve lost my child, but I kept my honor,” he managed before a weak and final exhalation.

  Pentanimir closed Yannick’s eyes, wiping the wetness from his own. The dolor pervading him was nearly incapacitating as he rested his forehead on his.

  “I would have never hurt you…never,” Pentanimir whispered, picking up Yannick’s dagger and tucking it in his belt. After many long moments, he pushed up on wobbly legs, attempting to regain his composure. Wiping his eyes again, Pentanimir sheathed his Xtabyren, retrieving his Guardian Sword. As he began to walk away, he turned back, removing his cloak and draping it over Yannick.

  “You’ve always had honor,” he said, weakly.

  A loud shout and clash of steel startled him, and he spun around, bringing his sword to the ready. Pentanimir’s heart leapt in his chest, seeing Symeon towering over a dying guard. Symeon’s eyes burned with fury, as he wrenched the sword away, watching the guard’s twitching body on the floor.

  Sweat beaded Pentanimir’s brow, assuming a defensive posture. After sparring with Symeon in Spero, he knew that Symeon’s prowess outmatched his. He could only stare into his eyes, desperately attempting to keep the fear from his own.

  “Sy—Symeon…of the Jasiri,” he said, lowering his sword to the man.

  Symeon inclined his head, lowering his weapon as well. “He tried to take you from behind,” he said, glancing down at the dead guard. “That’s the way of cowards.”

  Pentanimir returned his nod, feeling relieved. “I have no cowards with me, my friend. Will the Jasiri stand with the Guardians and free these lands?”

  “The Jasiri always answer the Guardians’ call,” Symeon said, bowing, and then disappearing down the corridor.

  “Move to your safe room, Zaxson!” Nakaris shouted, turning and facing the approaching warrior. He held his sword at the ready, standing in perfect formation. When he saw that it was Danimore, his sword lowered as he pulled the helm from his head.

  “Nakaris?”

  “Is it truly you, Dani? You’ve joined with the pythonesses to destroy our home?”

  Danimore shook his head, sheathing his sword. “I’d never destroy Nazil, Nakaris. We’ve come to free Nazil from Daracus’ grasp. If he’s allowed to rule, all our lives will be forfeit. You know as well as I of the evil within him. He’ll lead us to ruin if allowed to take command of Nazil’s forces.”

  “The beasts and giants are murdering our people, Dani! They defiled the temple of the gods!”

  “No, our hearts have been filled with lies and our heads filled with fallacious honor. I’ve seen the true gods of these lands, and they’re merciful and filled with love, not hate, as the Cha would have us believe. Their Protectors fight for all our freedoms as I do. The Chosen continue this fight, not us.” Danimore removed his half-helm, stepping forward.

  “Pentanimir now battles against one he calls brother as you are to me. Yannick wouldn’t listen to reason, and forced this fight upon them. Please, Nakaris, stand aside. I’d rather be taken from these lands now than be forced to raise my sword against you.”

  His eyes narrowed, dissecting Danimore’s words. This was his brother, and he loved him. Nakaris met Danimore’s eyes as his sword clanged to the floor.

  “I won’t fight against you, Dani. I pray that your words are true.”

  “I’ve never lied to you,” Danimore said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re here to protect Nazil, not destroy it. Please, go to your wife and son, and ensure that they’re safe. We’ve already lost too much,
and I’d have your family well protected.”

  After a quick embrace, Danimore continued his pursuit, running to where he’d last seen Daracus. Unsheathing his sword, Danimore rounded the corner, immediately ducking as a shadow appeared above him. A hail of small stones rained down on top of him as he shielded his eyes, noticing Daracus fleeing down the hall.

  Hushar adjusted the dagger at her waist, keeping an arm around Jahno as they crept through the citadel. He was sweating with fever and fatigue, still mending from his injuries.

  “We can make it, Jahno,” she whispered, straining under the additional weight. “We just need to get to the cells, and the door that leads to the outside. With the battle, we can sneak into the stables. Please, find your strength.”

  Jahno inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself while they slowly rounded the corner.

  “Hushar! Watch out!” Danimore warned as Daracus collided with her, sending Jahno plummeting to the ground as she slammed into the wall.

  Daracus clutched her arm, edging his sword against her throat.

  “These humans make you weak, son of Manifir ,” he sneered. “Your uncle was right about your thin blood! Take another step and I’ll slice her to the bone!”

  Danimore halted, raising his sword in the air. “You needn’t kill her, Daracus. Stand and face me as a true man of Nazil.”

  Sweat poured from Daracus’ face, the beast’s poison sending agonized waves throughout his body. Blood oozed from Hushar’s throat as his hands shook, edging the sharp blade closer. “You joined with pythonesses and savages against your people. I’ll see you die for your treachery! All of you will die!”

  Danimore inched closer, speaking softly. “We didn’t come here to harm you, Daracus. You raised your sword against me, and I only raised my own in defense. We’re both honorable men of Nazil, let’s prove that honor and speak as men, not enemies. Enough people have died, and no more blood needs to be shed.”

  “Honorable? You use dark magic and winged demons to slay my father and name it honorable? How dare you speak about honor to me!”

  “I made no move against your father. I respect him as I do you. Draizeyn was an honorable man and a just ruler. Honor him now and stay your hand. The city has been taken, and there’s no need for either of us to die. Neither you nor your sister will be harmed.”

  “My sister?” Daracus yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “My sister is dead!”

  “Apologies, my lord. I—I didn’t know. My brother loved Denotra, and we’ll all mourn her loss. But please, please, release Hushar. Too much has happened and we need to end this peacefully. You’re now last of your line, Daracus, don’t allow the Vereux name to end this day.”

  Daracus’ chest heaved, glaring at Danimore through narrow slits. “It’s not my line that’s ending. I’ve only begun shedding blood…starting with hers.” Hushar cried out as he yanked her head back, edging the blade closer. “You forsake the Nazilians for savages. First, I’m going to cut her throat, and then I’m going to kill—”

  Hushar’s screams resonated down the corridor as blood sprayed from the wound. Lunging forward, Danimore gripped her arm, wrenching her from Daracus’ grasp. Holding his sword aloft, he drew her into his chest.

  Daracus staggered, clutching the dagger’s tip protruding from his throat. His lips quivered, mouthing words he was no longer able to speak. With bulging eyes, he turned, nearly toppling to the floor.

  Jahno’s face was bereft of emotion, staring at his former master. As Daracus reached a quivering hand out to him, Jahno took a shaky step back, never turning from his eyes.

  “This is what I love, Daracus,” Jahno whispered. “Watching you die.”

  Daracus’ tear-filled eyes rolled back as he staggered sideward, and then thudded to the ground.

  As Danimore began to speak, his eyes widened, seeing the glint of an Xtabyren. Before he could ready his sword, a dagger whizzed past, embedding into the would-be assassin’s chest. Thalassa rushed headlong, retrieving the blade and plunging it into the guard twice more.

  “We must press forward,” she said, wiping the blood from the blade and replacing it in its sheath. “I’m scouting ahead, but Temian and Baldon aren’t far behind. The battle is nearly won. We—” Thalassa whirled around, steadying Jahno as he nearly swooned.

  “Tha—thank you,” he slurred, craning around to meet her eyes.

  “We must secure him in a room, Dani, and keep going. Our swords may be needed.”

  Danimore nodded, hoisting Jahno over his shoulder. “We need to keep your mother safe, too, Thalassa.”

  Hushar gasped. She stepped toward the two, mouthing the name as she walked.

  “Thalassa? Is it truly you?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Thalassa, this is Hushar…your mother,” Danimore said.

  “Mother?” Thalassa breathed, finding the truth of it in her eyes. “Mother!”

  “Thalassa,” Hushar cried, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “My daughter…Thalassa…my baby.”

  Danimore glanced down the hall, warily. “Where can we take him?”

  “Just there.” Hushar pointed. “Follow me,” she said, wiping her eyes and taking her daughter’s hand.

  After entering the chamber, Danimore laid Jahno on the bed, surveying the room. “Thalassa, secure the door and stay with your mother. I need to join with the others and bring this to an end.”

  “I can’t stay here while the battle yet rages. My swords are needed, Brother.”

  “Brother?” Hushar said, her tears beginning anew.

  “Your swords are needed here now. Protect your mother while I find the others. My return will be swift, I promise.”

  It wasn’t hard for Danimore to find where the fighting still raged. Most of the citadel appeared hauntingly still, with only the bodies and their smell testifying to the battle that had taken place. In the distance, faint clashes of metal pierced the quiet, accompanied by the calls of the Protectors.

  Danimore halted at the balcony doors, looking out over the city. Flames whipped from the temple, appearing as beautiful, dancing flares accompanied by billowing smoke intertwining with the glittering snowflakes wafting through the air. His gaze rested on the gods of Nazil, cracked and ruined upon the ground. His thoughts turned to his father then, and the carved figurines he’d gifted to his children. “It began with your father,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “We’ve freed the city, Father. It started with you, and ended with your children.”

  “Dani! It’s done! The city is ours!” Temian shouted, wrenching him from his thoughts.

  Danimore’s smile was wistful, nodding at the news. Though he was gladdened, his heart also ached for his home…for all that he knew. It wasn’t his people’s fault. The fault lay in Nazil’s rulers. When he turned to face Temian, he noticed the blood oozing down his arm.

  “Brother, you’re wounded.”

  “It wasn’t a blade,” he said, nursing his arm. “My own negligence caused it. A wound well-earned for not seeing the danger from above. Had the stone fallen differently, you’d be mourning me as well.”

  Danimore returned his smile, draping an arm over his shoulder as they walked toward the Protectors positioned in the corridor. They exchanged a curious look, seeing Pentanimir leaning over a bed in a small chamber.

  “What’s wrong, Brother? Who lies there?” Danimore asked, motioning to the bed.

  “It’s Beilzen.” Pentanimir’s expression was grim. “I’ve given him some herbs, but his wounds are severe. They found him tethered to a wall in the dark chamber. He’s lost a lot of blood, and I’m concerned that we were too late. I sent for Perrin, but he’ll need a healer soon. Didn’t you notice him when you freed the others?”

  Danimore shook his head, looking down at the bed. “I didn’t think anyone was there since Wosen. Why was Beilzen in the chamber?”

  Pentanimir collapsed in a chair. It was as if the weight of the entire lands hung about his shoulders. The strain of the battle had fina
lly taken its toll, and he could withstand little more. Clenching his eyes shut, he took a deep breath, slowly exhaling.

  “Daracus ordered it. The Guard used Beilzen brutally, and then severed his manhood. What little remained, they split into two, leaving him to bleed out from the wound.”

  Both Danimore and Temian peered down at the broken man, whimpering upon the bed. Beilzen’s body shook horribly with both pain and misery.

  “There’s more,” Temian said. “When we took the temple, both Draizeyn and Denotra were in the crypts.”

  Pentanimir’s mouth dropped, a gasp escaping before he could speak. “I didn’t intend for them to die. I only wanted to free the lands…to free Nazil.”

  “Daracus, too,” Danimore said, solemnly. “Don’t take on this blame, Pentanimir. Daracus was beyond reason. I even lowered my sword and promised that he wouldn’t be harmed, but it didn’t matter. He wanted us all dead and attempted to do so until Jahno stopped him.”

  “Jahno?” Temian said. “Daracus had been torturing him for years. My mother spoke about him often, and lamented her inability to protect him. How was he able to stop Daracus?”

  Danimore met his eyes. “When Daracus threatened your mother, Jahno killed him.”

  “My—my mother?” His face paled. “Where is she, Dani?”

  “Don’t worry, she and Thalassa are in a chamber with Jahno. I’ll take you to them soon. They’re safe.”

  Temian nodded as Arinak ducked, entering the chamber. “It’s time, the people are gathering. You must speak to them, Pentanimir, and tell them of your rule. The rise of Nazil is at hand.”

  Pentanimir stood, splashing water on his face, washing away the signs of war. If only the same could be so easily cleansed from within.

  Pulling the long hair from his face, he glimpsed himself in the mirror. The eyes staring back at him appeared to be those of his father. For a moment, he wanted to look away, but instead, he stared more intensely at the reflection until he saw only himself.

  “Yes, Arinak. It is time.”