Thalassa
“The Protectors are keeping watch over the city, and our brothers are meeting with some of the new council. There’s time, Thalassa,” Danimore said. “I’ve told them where we are, and they’ll come soon.”
“Where’s Temian?”
“He’s coming, too. We need to take care of your mother now.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Hushar said. “I need to get some supplies for Jahno. I’ll be all right.”
“Are you certain?” Danimore asked.
She nodded. “The wound stopped bleeding a while ago.”
“Thalassa, I’ll need to take your mother with me. She knows what’s needed for Jahno and where to find it.”
“What? No. There could be guards in the corridors. It’s not safe.”
“The Guardians aren’t cruel, Thalassa. It’ll be all right, I promise.”
Thalassa sighed, reluctantly loosening her grip. As she turned the door’s lock, a whimper from Jahno claimed her attention.
“Water…please…water.”
Thalassa hurried over to the bed, gently lifting his head, and helping him to drink. “That’s good. Would you like some more?”
“You,” he breathed in a hoarse whisper. “It’s you. You—you saved me.”
“You’re safe now, Jahno. They’re getting some herbs for you. Just rest and save your strength,” she said.
“Hushar told me that you’d come,” he mumbled. “She told me to envision you and you’d be here. You’re just as I imagined you,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hushar told you about me?”
“Yes. She told me about you and our future together. You’re here with me just as she said you’d be.”
Thalassa pulled her hand away, standing up from the bed. “Jahno, Hushar didn’t know that I was coming. She couldn’t have been talking about me.”
“It—it has to be you. My heart wouldn’t come false,” he said, slipping away again.
“Jahno?” she said softly, sitting back on the bed. “Jahno? I’m sorry, but it wasn’t me,” she said, more to herself than to him.
Thalassa watched his fluttering eyelids, while tracing the faint bruises still visible on his face. She couldn’t sort out her feelings at that moment. With the battle, finding her siblings and mother, and coming to Nazil, it was too much. She’d spoken with Angelaris regarding what awaited her here, but this couldn’t be what she meant. Could it?
Thalassa jerked, startled by the light tapping from the door. With a final glance down at Jahno, she raised up to answer it.
“How is he?” Hushar asked as she opened the door.
“He—he awoke for a moment, asking for water.”
“That’s good,” Hushar said, hurrying to the bed. “Thalassa, I need you to help me take off his clothes so I can apply some herbs.”
Her eyes nearly leapt from their sockets. “All of his clothes?”
“Yes,” Hushar said, unlacing his trousers.
Thalassa swallowed hard, fumbling with his tunic. Her hands trembled, releasing each clasp and exposing his bare chest. When Hushar slid down Jahno’s trousers, Thalassa tried to avert her eyes. She failed. Her mouth dropped, stealing a glance and then looking away again.
“Here, Thalassa,” Hushar said, handing her a bowl and knotted cloth. “Start with his face and continue down his torso. Keep the cloth wet and cover him completely. I’ll start with his feet.”
Thalassa nodded, saturating the cloth and dabbing at his face. The more she watched him, the more intrigued she became. She soaked the cloth again, paying more attention to the man than applying the herbs. There was something that she couldn’t discern. Who are you ? she thought, leaning over him.
Jahno’s eyes fluttered open, meeting hers. “It’s you,” he whispered, reaching up, and drawing her down for a kiss.
“Jahno,” Hushar gasped. “What’re you doing? Let go of my daughter.”
Hushar’s words were a muddle, fading from time and space. Thalassa closed her eyes as the new sensation sent tickles of warmth throughout her body. When she eased away, Jahno merely smiled, his hand falling back to the bed.
“Forgive him, Thalassa,” Hushar said. “It’s just the fever.” Taking the knotted cloth, Hushar dabbed at his face again, and then draped a moist cloth over his groin. “Jahno’s still healing from Daracus’ abuse,” Hushar said, holding his hand. “There’s an evil in this citadel like nowhere else in the lands.”
“Mother, he said that you told him I was coming and we’re supposed to be together. He said he was waiting for me. What does he mean?”
“It’s just the fever. It’ll take a bit for him to become himself again.”
“No, it’s more than that. He mentioned seeing me and…and our future together.”
“What? Oh, my sweet boy.” Hushar stroked his face. “It always helped when he thought about his wife and children before. We were only free in our minds, and I wanted to ease his pain and help him heal.” She sighed. “Daracus hurt him so badly this time. I—I didn’t want him to think about the pain. Not anymore. His fever just brought those visions to the surface. It’s helping him heal.”
Thalassa sat on the bed, taking his hand in hers. “It’s more than that, Mother. Something Angelaris said keeps repeating in my mind. I’m supposed to discover something or someone in Nazil. When I asked how I’d know once I’ve found it, she said that my heart would let me know.”
“You think she was talking about Jahno?” Hushar shook her head. “It don’t seem possible with everything that’s happened to him. It can’t be.”
“Forgive my intrusion,” Danimore said. “But why not? I’ve married Zeta despite what she endured here. None of that mattered to me, Hushar, and it never will. I love my wife and our son. You shouldn’t cast Jahno aside so easily due to his treatment.”
“That’s not what I mean. I love Jahno like he’s my own son. It’s just…what Daracus did to him. I don’t know if he could or even wants to love a woman. Even if he did, he might not be able to love one proper anyhow. I don’t know, Thalassa. Might be best to just wait and see.”
“I can’t dismiss it.” She paused, gazing down at him. “He said that he was waiting for me. That’s what Angelaris said, too. Regardless of what he’s suffered, it doesn’t diminish who he is, not to me. I have to know, Mother.”
Hushar sighed, looking at Jahno again. When she began to answer, a knock on the door silenced her.
“Who’s there?” Danimore said, lowering a hand to his sword.
“It’s me, Brother. Temian.”
After opening the door, Temian winced as Danimore greeted him with a tight hug. “Sorry, mayhaps your mother should take a look at that.”
“Temian?” Hushar rushed to the door, covering him with kisses.
“Oh, Momma,” he said, nearly going weak in her arms. “I never thought I’d be able to ever love you openly.” He tightened his grasp, burying his head in her shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. I knew the time would come. No matter the years, I’ve got my children again,” she said, leading him to a stool near the bed.
“I’m sorry, Momma. I’ve been so powerless and afraid. Father thought my being in Nazil would be an aid to you, but it didn’t feel that way. I could only have you during the purge, and I was sickened at the thought. What they did to you…I hated Father for allowing it, but I hated myself most of all.” He lowered his head. “I was powerless. I could do nothing.”
“Manifir tried to protect you, Temian. He visited me when he could, but it wasn’t easy with Oxilon trying to get evidence against him. It was all he could do to bring you to Nazil to be with me. He did it as a comfort, but I suffered, fearing that someone might find out you was mine or notice how much you looked like your brother. Don’t you fret over what’s in the past. As foul as the purge was, it was the only time that I could show any love for you. That’s what I think about, Temian. I got to spend time alo
ne with my son each full moon. I forced that other from my mind, and you should do the same.” She kissed his cheek, and then grabbed a knife, cutting away his sleeve to inspect his wound.
“I am,” Temian said. “Our life begins now. A good life.”
“For all of us,” Danimore said.
Transition
Pentanimir pushed up from his seat, clasping the hands of each man before thanking and excusing them. Everything appeared surreal, and he had difficulty grasping hold of what was, while contemplating what would be. This was merely the beginning, and Pentanimir was already feeling the weight of his new position. Many Nazilians wouldn’t accept their new Zaxson or his edicts willingly. The Vereuxs had strong allies, and those allegiances wouldn’t easily shift. Most would reject their new leaders and the proclamations that would accompany their rule. His rule.
Taking a deep breath, Pentanimir opened the balcony doors, staring out over the city. The intermittent screeches of Desu Beasts resonated around him as Baldon and Gavriel circled the city. Michau and Brukin guarded the main citadel gates, deterring any remaining guards or denizens wroth with a compulsion for revenge.
Although the battle was at an end, this war would linger in the hearts and minds of many, festering like a cancer, attempting to systematically imbue the whole. They were the true danger, not only to the Benoists, but to all Faélondul.
There were too few guards remaining that Pentanimir could entrust with maintaining the city after the devastation of their attack. Most of the Chosen Guard were either killed or wounded, unable to assist in protecting the citadel or its denizens. Even then, his options appeared limited. Pentanimir hadn’t thought beyond the need to liberate Nazil. Now, he had to find a way to protect it.
“There are thirty-two, Zaxson.”
Pentanimir didn’t respond, not hearing anything over the intermixing voices in his mind: demanding, pleading, foreboding. Each voice separate and distinct, yet merging with the next, as conflicted as his heart. He stared as the billowing smoke rose from the temple, swirling through the air, rising above the city, and dissipating into the wind. That smoke mixed with the burnt cedar from the Kadul . Both a reminder of what Nazil had been, and what it needed to be. From his vantage, the workers clearing the debris appeared more as rodents, scampering over a field rife with blood-sodden offerings. Men he’d trained, respected, and killed.
“Sir Benoist?”
“Par—pardons?” Pentanimir said, closing his eyes, forcing those images from his mind. Taking another sobering breath, he turned, walking back toward the table.
“Symeon reports that there are thirty-two former sentries capable of assisting the guard,” Nakaris said.
“Capable, but are they willing to help fortify our defenses?”
“What do you mean?”
Pentanimir sighed, sitting again. “Before we liberated Nazil, these men were captives, taken after their homes were attacked and their people killed. How can I be certain that they aren’t feigning their allegiance in an effort to gain an advantage? I don’t know what I’d do in their place, Nakaris. We are their enemy, regardless of what’s transpired or the reassurances that I’ve made. You don’t assist the enemy, you await the most opportune time to defeat them.”
“You’re not wrong, Zaxson, but we also have nearly one thousand loyal First and Second Nazilian guards who refused to join this fight. They’ve respected your family and you for years, and they’re ready to die to protect the new peace you’ve ushered in.”
Pentanimir smiled wistfully, shaking his head. “Must death always be a precursor to peace?”
“I’ve never known any occurrence of this magnitude where it hasn’t been.”
“Nor I, but enough people have died already. I need trustworthy men to maintain order, secure the citadel, and organize the workers in the city. I’m leaving with the sun’s rise, and might not return until the next. Much can be lost in less time.”
“Indeed, but much can be accomplished as well,” Symeon said, stepping into the room. Nakaris took a step back as Symeon walked over to the table, inclining his head. “I’ve stationed sentries in the main two corridors with four at each exit. Others are willing to assume positions on the outer wall and gates. I’ve known eleven of them from years past, and trust them with my life.”
Pentanimir nodded. “If you’re in agreement, I’d like you to continue organizing the former human captives and sentries, Symeon. Nakaris is doing the same for the Nazilians. Both of you would be equally charged with the citadel’s protection in my absence. Sarroh and Gavriel will remain in Nazil with my siblings and you. Have chambers been assigned?”
“I’ve asked Sarai to assist Micah and Ceron in assigning appropriate accommodations. Most of the former attendants have elected to stay for the time being,” Symeon said. “If it’s allowed, I’d like Sarai to share my chamber. As with many, she’s apprehensive about this transition and is still healing from recent abuses.”
Pentanimir’s gaze lowered, recalling some of those abuses and the ones who suffered them. “My permission isn’t needed. Your lives and decisions are yours alone. Sarai and any of the others can remain here with us or return to their homes. Once the stables are organized, we’ll schedule transports to the surrounding villages and cities.”
“Gerhma could help organize the stables. He’s a good man with exceptional skills.”
“We need good men, Symeon.” Pentanimir paused, looking from one to the other. “I need men of honor standing with me. Are you willing to lay aside the past and come together for the good of Faélondul?”
Nakaris nodded. “Honor above all.”
“Honor?” Symeon said, flipping his warrior’s braid to his back, and unsheathing the Xtabyren. As he held the sword aloft, Nakaris lowered a hand to his pommel, pivoting around to face him.
“Honor above all,” Symeon said, tracing the lettering etched into the Xtabyren. “No disrespect to either of you, but honor isn’t something that you can earn. Honor comes from within.” He laid the Xtabyren on the table, meeting Pentanimir’s eyes. “It’s not a material thing, awarded to the best swordsman. Honor lives within our hearts and minds, manifested through our actions and words. In my time in Nazil, I’ve seen hundreds of Chosen adorned with Xtabyrens. Those weapons were awarded after swordplay, or bought with favor and gold. Most of these men proudly displaying the Xtabyren lack the wisdom to understand the meaning of the words. They coveted the prestige of the position, they didn’t seek or endeavor to comprehend the fundamental wisdom imbedded within that affirmation.
“These same words are etched above your temple, yet none of the men occupying it displayed the principles of honor or taught the importance of it to the multitude.”
“Do you think the same of all Nazilians?” Nakaris asked. “Are we less due to your assessment, lacking in both honor and intelligence?”
Symeon smiled, turning to face him. “Intelligence isn’t the same as wisdom, nor is an unbiased perspective intended to reflect the disposition of an entire people.”
“What is the intent, Symeon?” Pentanimir asked.
“Honor is more than an affirmation. As a Jasiri, we’re taught much about honor and the depths of its meaning. It’s that same honor that caused me to protect you rather than allow one of your Chosen to plunge their sword through your back. It’s honor that caused me to join in your fight to liberate your home, rather than killing your men as I returned to my own. It’s honor that’s allowed me to unite former captives and inspire them to protect the home of their past oppressors as if it was theirs.
“It’s honor that I’ve recognized in the both of you, and many others who’ve fought at your side. And you honored me in Spero. I hadn’t felt the warrior I was trained to be in years, until sparring with you. In the practice yard, I felt myself, unencumbered by the shackles that bound me for so long. I was free again, Zaxson, and that’s no small thing. If that same sense of freedom is to resonate throughout Faélondul, show the populace your heart,
your strength, your perseverance, and your candor. By doing so, you’ll demonstrate what ‘honor above all’ means.”
A genuine smile found Pentanimir’s face, recognizing the truth in his words. He stood, offering a respectful bow. “Symeon, of the Jasiri, Nazil is in desperate need of men like you and Nakaris. This transition won’t be swift or without difficulties, but with men like you two at my side, we’ll succeed in eliminating the disparity in the lands. Together we can restore and evince what ‘honor above all’ was meant to be.” Pentanimir unsheathed his Guardian Sword, handing it out to him. “Mayhaps a blade of the Guardians is more befitting a Jasiri Warrior.”
Symeon nodded, admiring the exquisite weapon. “My uncle, Turahn Osei, was presented with such a weapon upon accepting his elevation to an Uzon of the Jasiri. I haven’t earned the right to wield my own, but I’d be honored to wield this one in your stead until you return. Nazil and its denizens will be protected, Zaxson, you have my word.”
“And you, Nakaris?” Pentanimir asked.
He peered up at Symeon before regarding Pentanimir again. “I’ve shown you my allegiance long before this battle. Whether a man is human or Nazilian makes little difference. I’m in agreement with Symeon…integrity isn’t inherent in one or the other. Integrity comes from within, and shows without. Together, we’ll protect the city.”
“Pentanimir,” Temian said, tapping on the open door. “Beg pardon, Arinak and Baldon have returned. They’re ready to take Dani and Thalassa to the wood.”
“So soon? I know the flight is swift, but they’ve made several trips already. Are they certain they’ll be able to return them by this evening?”
“They are. Once Dani and Thalassa meet with Angelaris, they’ll return and remain here. You and Wosen will be the last.”
“Thank you, High Advisor .” Pentanimir smiled. “How’s your arm?”
“Much better now. A welcomed wound for all that we’ve been able to accomplish. Are you ready?”
“Almost. Were you able to speak with Perrin and Velnic?”
“I did. Perrin and Arilian are with Beilzen now. We had him moved to a suite on the third floor.”
The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 81