The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “This is true, but why can’t you continue your studies as you have?” Olam asked. “Your presence at the citadel and your trips to Nazil are invaluable. We thought that you enjoyed your time with us.”

  “I—I have. They’ve been some of the most memorable in all my life. Albeit, I need to serve the Guardians as I was meant to. No longer can I allow outside distractions to keep me from my purpose. I’m studying to be a priest, and need to be in the temple to do so effectually. Only here can I truly fulfill that which the Guardians would have of me.”

  “The Guardians?” Asmaa said. “Have you had a vision about your purpose then?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Then why are you certain your future is here with us?”

  “I’ve prayed, and I’ve asked what I’m supposed to do…who I am to be.”

  “Oh, I see,” Asmaa said. “What did the Guardians reveal?”

  Ahvixx shook his head, running his hands over his tangled, uneven hair. “Nothing,” he murmured.

  “I don’t understand, Ahvixx. If you aren’t led by the Guardians to return, then why are you here?” Asmaa asked more forcefully.

  “This is where I need to be, Nohek.” His voice cracked. “This is where I belong. I’m safe here, and everything makes sense. I’m allowed my solitude and I serve the Seven. This is what I want.”

  “Is it truly?” Olam asked, turning to face him.

  “Yes. My life is here in the temple, and I was foolish to think otherwise.”

  “Does your decision have anything to do with Sahma?” Olam asked.

  “Only in that she helped me realize where I truly belong.”

  “I don’t think you believe that,” Asmaa said. “I believe that you aren’t willing to face what awaits you beyond these walls. Here, in the temple, you have no distractions. There isn’t anything but your worship, studies, and duties. That’s tempting to you now as it was before. Not because it’s a life you choose, but because it allows you to hide…to ignore the life you should be leading and the one you truly desire.”

  “Nohek, please allow me to stay.” He met Asmaa’s eyes for a moment, trying to keep the dubiety from his. “I’ve failed. I thought—I thought. I’ve failed,” Ahvixx said, lowering his head.

  “No, you haven’t failed,” Olam said. “You’ve given up. What you fear is what lies in your heart, Ahvixx. Had you come to me, I would’ve told you the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “A truth you needed to hear. Your dedication to the Seven has never been in question. Even after you left the temple, you didn’t stray from this path. When your relationship and love for Sahma grew, you still remained committed to your faith.” Olam paused, allowing his words to penetrate. “Had you come to Saifu or me you would’ve known.”

  Ahvixx’s brow knitted.

  “When you informed me about your interest in a promise, I told you that I’d speak to Saifu. I did just that after we returned from Nazil. Both Saifu and Yeshe were receptive, but your interest had waned. You stayed locked in your chamber and wouldn’t even allow Sahma to visit. And now, this radical change with your hair, too. It’s as if you’re attempting to cut away a part of yourself, a part connected to her. If it hadn’t been for our sessions, I wouldn’t have seen you.

  “Ahvixx, what you wanted was right there before you, yet you didn’t have faith in me, Saifu, Sahma, or yourself to claim it.”

  “The—they accepted me for their daughter?”

  “They not only accepted the promise, they were pleased that you’d offer it. Both are very fond of you, and more so, the joy you bring to their daughter.”

  Ahvixx shook his head, lowering it again. “Sahma isn’t interested in my promise. Jarin Swayne is a high lord, and he makes her happy.”

  “More than you?” Olam asked. “Have you even asked her?”

  “In Nazil—”

  “I didn’t ask you about Nazil. Would you truly allow the limited time spent there to have more meaning than the seasons you spent together in Noraa? Do you accept defeat so readily?”

  Ahvixx flinched, shocked by the harshness of Olam’s tone. “No…I mean, I don’t know, Sir Ojarz. If I’m a priest, I can do what I know is right. This makes sense to me.”

  “Of course, it does,” Asmaa said. “You take no risk by serving the Seven. Naturally, there are always trials, but not as significant or life altering as the one from which you flee. Are you certain the Seven aren’t testing you now?”

  “Testing me? Why?”

  “That answer doesn’t lie with me. The Gods don’t order our steps, Ahvixx, they bring people into our lives to help guide us, or complement what we are. We choose what will become of such associations, not the gods.

  “What I know is that your wont isn’t that of a priest. I mean no slight by that, Ahvixx, you’ve always served faithfully and are an asset to the temple. Howbeit, becoming a Nohek is more than a whim…it’s a true calling. You could take no wife or sire any children, and must remain chaste.” Asmaa paused. “You must be pure of heart and body. This you cannot do because you aren’t called to do so. It’s not a failing. Serve the Seven as you are now, and guide others to them so that they, too, may learn. But don’t come here proclaiming your earnest in turning your life over to their service when you know it isn’t a commitment you can truly make.”

  “You won’t allow me to stay?”

  “You may stay, Ahvixx, temporarily. I’ll pray with you, and you may commune and seek your true path. But your life lies beyond these walls, and I won’t permit you to run from it.”

  First Stone

  “Symeon will soon announce the candidates selected for public challenge in the melee,” Nakaris said to relieve the tedium of the lengthy trip.

  “Are there any candidates you feel unworthy of such an honor?” Wosen asked.

  “It isn’t for me to say. Symeon alone has choice over such matters.”

  “Agreed, but you must have an opinion about the candidates. You’ve known most of the men for years.”

  Nakaris nodded, regarding Wosen from the corner of his eye. Not so long ago, such a sight would be unheard of. No person with a blended heritage would’ve ever been allowed to hold such a prestigious position or escort the Zaontras of Nazil. Yet, there Wosen sat, proudly wearing the liveries of the Chosen.

  Without realizing, Nakaris shook his head. He didn’t dislike Wosen, contrariwise, he thought much of him and his father, Hosdaq. However, it would take time for him to become accustomed to the numerous changes in Faélondul.

  One significant change was Symeon. It wasn’t merely his presence, although most men would shrink away at the indomitable man. Symeon towered over the guards and appeared twice as muscled. With his smooth onyx complexion, warrior marks, and braid, he was even more remarkable. Now, he was First Chosen over all others in Nazil, and the collective cities and villages. A former slave was the fourth most powerful man in Faélondul. How could such a thing be? Symeon was respected by those who knew him. But the others—the other Nazilians knew only the slave, and wouldn’t suffer such a slight.

  Now, Nakaris sat beside Wosen, an abomination to those of the white city. A half-human tortured in the dark chamber due to his blended heritage. Nakaris couldn’t stop the grin that creased his lips.

  “What are your thoughts?” Wosen finally asked.

  “My thoughts are many, Sir Neufmarche,” he said with a chortle. He wasn’t humored by Wosen’s title, but rather at the ridiculousness of his own contemplations.

  “I have to admit,” Nakaris continued. “My respect for many Nazilians has waned of late. Men that I once held in high regard no longer deserve such a position. There are others I thought were less, who’ve proven what honor is meant to be. What I thought I knew was not what truly was.”

  Wosen’s brow furrowed. “So, you have no opinion, then?”

  He laughed, clapping Wosen on his back and turning his attention on the road.

  “Conversation for another time, my young f
riend. Let us focus on our duty and deliver the Zaontras safely to Yarah,” he said, taking closer note of the riders ahead of them. Nakaris glanced at Wosen and then beyond, scrutinizing their surroundings more carefully.

  “What is it?” Wosen asked.

  “I’m not certain. Our pace is slowing, but no one has come to give the reason.”

  “Mayhaps the road ahead has sustained damage from the recent storms. It was reported that some were in near disrepair.”

  “No, not this road. It’s always maintained,” Nakaris said, twisting around to see the trailing carriage, widening the gap between them. He looked back at Wosen.

  “Ready your bow, but do so inconspicuously. There’s something amiss. Notice the distance of the trailing carriage?” he asked, motioning with his eyes. “The other riders are too far ahead of the lead carriage and shouldn’t be out of range. Only the scouts travel well ahead. And where are the flanking guards?”

  Wosen peered around, noticing the absence of the guards. His expression hardened, seeing the trailing carriage far off from position, while the lead carriage kept them at an ever-slowing pace.

  “Should we take up a defensive position?” he asked.

  “No, give no hint to our knowledge, but stay aware. We’ve nearly reached Yarah, and these dense trees offer coverage for raiders. Give the sign to Lady Benoist and her guard so that they’re aware of possible danger. Be ready. I’ve already ascertained our best route for a strategic retreat if it becomes necessary.”

  With that, Wosen sat taller. After scanning the area, he leaned back, knocking three times on the wooden partition behind them, and then twice more.

  This was the fifteenth escort they’d provided for the Zaontras. When he thought of that, he cursed at the consistency of their trips. Frustrated, he turned, bringing his guardian bow strategically to his lap. He reached for his quiver, wedging it between his legs, and pulling one arrow from inside.

  “The nectar of the beast,” he whispered, admiring the pinkish hue on the arrow’s tip.

  “Left,” Nakaris said.

  Wosen shifted his gaze, noting subtle movement in the trees.

  “To the right and near the ground, too,” he said.

  Nakaris slid one hand from the reins, drawing his Xtabyren from its scabbard. He laid the weapon across his lap, slowing the carriage’s pace. Just as his hand gripped the reins, a loud shout claimed their attention. Immediately, the two guards commanding the lead carriage sprang from either side, running into the surrounding trees. Before Nakaris could pull up the reins as not to hit the idle carriage, a flash of light from the left caused him to turn.

  “Archers!” Wosen warned a second too late as fiery arrows impaled the slowing carriage. Nakaris yanked the reins, forcing the horses unsteadily around the lead carriage, and lashing them feverishly into a gallop. More flaming arrows followed the first, and Brahanu shrieked when the carriage nearly capsized from the strain of the movement.

  Wosen rose up then, sending a barrage of poison-tipped arrows toward the forms on the ground, and then at the men dropping from the trees.

  “There are too many!” he said, dropping many as they advanced. But for every man who took an arrow, two seemed to appear in his place.

  “Keep them safe!” Wosen said, grabbing his quiver and diving from the carriage.

  “No! Wosen!” Nakaris yelled. He grunted, gritting his teeth under the strain of the tugging horses. Taking a glance behind, he saw nearly a score of attackers descending on Wosen’s position. He continued unleashing his arrows, offering prayers to the Guardians with every release.

  Wosen ran toward the idle carriage, tossing his bow upon the bench. He drew his twin swords, howling as he met the charge of two attackers. He noticed instantly that these men were no warriors, and poorly armed for battle. Whatever relief that knowledge brought quickly dissipated as he jerked back, dodging a slashing sword. Even with their lack of skill, their sheer numbers could easily overwhelm him.

  Wosen stepped back, simultaneously swiping up with his sword, forcing the first attacker’s sword high. Regaining his footing, he parried the second sword, thrusting forward with a riposte, nicking his second attacker.

  With a quick side-step, he dodged another thrust, but fell back when a third attacker emerged. Wosen roared in protest, feeling the bite of the blade down his arm as his parry came too late. Assuming a defensive crouch, he rolled sideways, springing to his feet as he slashed out, surprising his first attacker.

  Twirling away from the trio, he flipped backward, widening the gap between them. Wosen’s blades worked feverishly, keeping the two remaining attackers off balance.

  ♦

  Brahanu screamed, cradling Eytan to her chest as the flaming projectiles continuously battered the carriage. Sickening gurgles bubbled from her personal guard’s throat from the arrow piercing his neck. She closed her eyes, wedging herself between the seats, shielding her son with her body.

  ♦

  Wosen’s breath stopped when a barrage of fiery arrows exploded inside the carriage. “My lady,” he breathed, momentarily catatonic. All motion seemed to stop as the flaring fireball charged down the winding road. His face felt aflame, hearing Brahanu’s screams resonating around him. Everything was a red-tinged blur with surging rage igniting every receptor in his body.

  Releasing a feral roar, Wosen launched a vicious assault. He thrust forward, impaling the man nearest him. Before the others could riposte, he lunged with a feint, and then spun around, both swords spinning with preternatural precision. Another would-be attacker grasped his freshly slashed throat, writhing in his death throes on the ground.

  Wosen’s chest heaved, crossing both swords down in front of him. Lowering his head, he traced the approaching attackers’ movements with his eyes. When they were nearly upon him, he took in a deep breath, clutching the hilts of his swords. Loss is death, he thought, assuming a defensive posture.

  He grunted, batting away the oncoming attack with his left blade. Wosen fell away, half spinning, positioning himself behind another man. He screamed when Wosen’s blades found their mark, both embedding in the man’s back, and protruding through his chest.

  Planting his foot against the dying man, Wosen kicked out, sending him careening into his comrade.

  Shouts from an approaching horde lifted the obfuscating rage from Wosen’s mind. He ran to the abandoned carriage, cutting a horse free and charging toward Yarah.

  ♦

  Nakaris’ face paled, seeing the caravan scouts approaching with soldiers outfitted for battle. He pulled back hard on the reins, attempting to slow the flaming carriage. When they continued their run, he slashed his Xtabyren repeatedly, detaching the frightened horses.

  The wheels split on the rough road, causing the carriage to sway and veer uncontrollably. His heartbeat quickened, looking back at the red and yellow blazing spikes licking wickedly around the frame. He debated his best course, but the roar of the ensuing explosion decided for him. As the flaming carriage plunged toward a copse of trees, Nakaris leapt from the bench, diving to the ground in a roll, and absorbing the impact of his landing.

  He sprang to his feet, sprinting toward the rolling fireball. The intensity of the flames had abated, as did the screams of the Zaontras inside.

  He inhaled a stinging breath, reaching a shaky hand toward the scorched door with the tip of his dagger. Clasping it with two hands, he wedged it in a gap, yanking the smoldering door free from its frame.

  The heated door screeched in protest, as it swung free of its hinges, landing near Nakaris’ feet.

  “By the gods,” he breathed. He wiped at his eyes, focusing on the carriage again, and the muscular figure defensively draped over Brahanu and Eytan. An amethyst hue emanated from the man, intensifying as it pulsed, extinguishing the remaining flames. Nakaris stared in wide-eyed disbelief as the man’s head rose, his grey-blue eyes meeting his.

  “Protect my wife and son,” he said in an otherworldly tenor, lowering his head to
kiss Eytan. His voice reverberated around Nakaris, but not like that of an echo, but more a harmonious merging of voices, undulating through the wind.

  Before Nakaris could respond, the figure slowly evanesced, never lessening his hold on Brahanu and the babe. When the light faded, Eytan released an ear-piercing cry as his lungs filled with oxygen.

  “By the gods,” Nakaris repeated, dashing forward. He nearly leapt from his skin when Wosen appeared at his side. After carrying Brahanu and Eytan to safety, Nakaris shook his head, pointing at the destroyed carriage.

  “Did—did you see it?” he asked.

  “I know not what I saw. It—it couldn’t be. It isn’t possible.”

  Nakaris stared at the scorched shell. No one should’ve survived the fiery coffin. No one.

  “The scouts are approaching,” Wosen said. “Ready your weapon, Sir Middleton.”

  Nakaris cradled Eytan closer, still shaking his head.

  “More men are coming,” Wosen said, spinning him around to face him. “We must protect the Zaxson’s wife and son.”

  “Yes, that’s what he said to me.”

  “He? What are you talking about? We don’t have time, Nakaris. Leave Eytan with his mother and follow me to the road. We must protect the Zaxson’s family.”

  “The…the thing in the carriage,” Nakaris said. “He told me to protect his wife and son. HIS wife and son, Wosen. He was there, yet he was not. A shield of pellucidity surrounded him as he protected them. You had to see the…the light…the purple light. Please, tell me you saw it.”

  “Stay here!” Wosen commanded, drawing his twin blades. Gripping his swords tighter, he dashed through the trees, meeting the oncoming horde.

  “Stand down, Sir Neufmarche,” a man said, trotting to the front of the line.

  Wosen assumed a defensive posture, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Lord Swayne? Why? Why have you attacked us?”

  Jarin leapt down from his horse, flipping open his cloak, exposing his sword. “We didn’t attack you. We came to assist and ensure your safe passage. Your scouts met our patrol and warned us of possible danger. We’d received information regarding an ambush, and left Yarah in search of you. Are Lady and Lord Benoist unharmed?”