The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “Nigel,” he said, nursing his weeping wounds, and continuing his doddery pace. Once he’d reached the camp, Nigel turned, and then staggered back a step.

  “By the Gods! Were you attacked?” he said, drawing his sword and taking up a defensive posture.

  “No, I must return to Nazil. We have to leave now.” He peered behind him warily, limping forward.

  “If you weren’t attacked, what in hells happened to you? You look like a wild cat ripped you to pieces.”

  “Now, Nigel,” Molag screamed, his eyes flickering.

  Nigel narrowed his eyes, staring into his. Sheathing his sword, he stepped over to Molag, stopping an arm’s breadth away.

  “You think to order me? I’ll leave you were you stand, Molag Bomgaard. I take no orders from you.”

  As he tried to turn, Molag clutched his arm, jerking him back around.

  “You know not to whom you speak, guard of Nazil. If anyone will be left behind, it’ll be you, and the carrion birds will feast on your carcass.” Molag sneered, slamming him on the ground.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Nigel drew his dagger, lunging toward him. With scarcely a movement, Molag appeared at Nigel’s side.

  After regaining his footing, Nigel spun around, his eyes nearly leaping from their sockets.

  Molag cackled, wearing a serrated smile. His eyes flickered again, losing all hint of their usual coloring. Slaver oozed down his chin as his hand whipped out, clasping Nigel’s throat. His other hand gripped Nigel’s wrist, squeezing and twisting until the bones shattered and the dagger fell to the ground. Nigel yowled, peering down with fear-filled eyes to the creature who had hold of him.

  “I could crush you with a mere thought, guard of Nazil ,” Molag rasped, squeezing his throat tighter. “Yet, I might have need of you,” he said, tossing him to the ground.

  Nigel grunted, landing hard and grasping his limp and twisted wrist. He rolled to his back, trembling as he stared up at Molag. “Wha—what are you?”

  Molag laughed, looking down at the puddle of fluids beneath him. “I await you in the boat. Make haste: our benefactor awaits.”

  Clandestine Incantations

  The sun had barely pierced the overcast sky when Ihnat began to stir. Zeta moaned, turning over in the warm bed. She’d hardly had time to rest after soothing Raithym to sleep. She’d rocked him for hours, finally taking him to her breast. Draping an arm over Danimore, she snuggled closer, enjoying the feel of his bare back.

  Ihnat’s mewling cry caused them both to stir. Danimore craned around, glancing at his wife. When she didn’t respond, he held her hand, pressing it closer to him. “Ihnat’s awake,” he said. “Should I bring him?”

  Zeta rubbed her eyes, sighing. “No, Dani, I’ll go. He needs to be dried and fed.” She tossed the covers aside, immediately grabbing her robe.

  “The hearth needs tending,” she said, shaking Danimore’s arm.

  He yawned, sliding from the warmth of their bed.

  Zeta smiled, watching him rub his bare arms as he tended to the fire. At that moment, she knew how blessed she was to have him in her life. Regardless of what they’d endured, they loved each other.

  Picking up a small basket, Zeta started across the room. She giggled when Danimore dove back into the bed, pulling the blankets over his head.

  As she neared her son’s beds, her smile broadened. Ihnat was wiggling about, trying to break free of his swaddle. When she looked down at Raithym, she gasped, stumbling back and falling over the stool.

  “Zeta!” Danimore said, vaulting from the bed. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” He lifted her from the floor, studying her face. “Zeta? What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes were wide with fear as she shook her head, pointing across the room. “Dani!” she screamed. “No! Gods, no!” she repeated, backing away.

  He looked across the room and then back at her. “Zeta?” he murmured, resting a hand on her cheek. Her skin had lost all coloring as she continued to tremble. When he tried to draw her closer, she shook her head, backing against the wall.

  “Zeta?”

  He wanted to go to her, to hold her in his arms and comfort her, but he couldn’t make his feet move. The hairs standing on his arms sent prickles down his body, causing him to shudder.

  He heard Ihnat again, and managed to turn toward the beds. Sweat beaded his brow, dripping down his face and stinging his eyes. The only sound he could hear was the thrumming of his heart, intermixed with Ihnat’s gurgling laments.

  Taking a sobering breath, Danimore prayed silently, feeling as if all the life had drained from his body. He had to move, to go to his sons, but the fear was almost paralyzing.

  His bare feet felt weighted, and he dragged them across the floor, hoping, pleading that his sons were unharmed. Danimore couldn’t stop the rampaging images from assaulting his mind as he drew nearer, clenching his eyes tight. Resting one hand on each bed, he inhaled a steeling breath, opening his eyes.

  “By the gods! Zeta,” he shouted, stumbling away. “Zeta!”

  Heavy knocks came from the door as the guards called out to them. Danimore stood catatonic, staring at his son’s beds in horrified disbelief.

  Ihnat’s screams broke his trance, and Danimore leapt forward, scooping him from the crib. As the guards charged through the doors, he huddled on the floor, protecting his wife and son.

  “Nakshij! Shijahn! We heard screams,” the first guard said, searching the darkened corners of the room.

  “My—my brothers,” Danimore managed. “You must bring my brothers and sister with haste,” he said, handing Ihnat to Zeta. “I need them now. Right now!” The men exchanged a look, offering a bow. As they hurried from the chamber, Danimore grabbed his clothing, quickly dressing.

  Zeta remained tethered to the floor with Ihnat at her breast. After eyeing Raithym’s bed again, he lifted his wife from the floor, cradling her in his arms.

  “What is it Dani? What is it!”

  “It—it’s our son, it’s Raithym.”

  “No! No it isn’t. That isn’t Raithym. It can’t be. By the gods! It can’t be!” she screeched with tears streaming down her face.

  He turned again, staring at Raithym’s bed. When he began to stir, Danimore sat Zeta on the divan, and then edged toward the bed. Looking back at Zeta with each step, he tried to calm his mind and focus on his son. It was his son…it was Raithym. It had to be.

  When Raithym cried out, Danimore gasped, jerking back a step.

  “Don’t, Dani. Don’t. That isn’t our son. Please, wait for the guards to return and call for the priests. Get it out of here, please. Gods help us!”

  His breathing became labored, looking from Zeta to the bed.

  “Father?”

  Zeta screamed as Danimore staggered back again, falling over the stool.

  Her screams resonated around them as the door banged open and their siblings rushed into the room. Before anyone could question, Zeta screamed again, clutching Ihnat to her chest and fleeing through the open door.

  “Dani—” Pentanimir started, but once he saw Raithym climbing out of the bed, he pushed Brahanu protectively behind him, moving further away.

  “What in all hells,” Pentanimir breathed, helping Danimore from the floor. The siblings backed toward the door as Raithym walked forward.

  “Father?” Raithym said again, reaching out to him.

  “Is—is it Raithym?” Thalassa whispered.

  “It can’t be, Sister,” Pentanimir said, putting more distance between them. “That can’t be Raithym.”

  Danimore didn’t move. He stared, wide-eyed, analyzing his every feature. Whatever this was, he couldn’t turn from it as it kept stepping closer.

  “Father,” Raithym spoke clearly, reaching out to hug him.

  “Don’t, Brother,” Temian warned.

  “How can I not? This is my son…it’s Raithym. By the Guardians, it’s truly Raithym,” he said, enfolding him in his arms.

  “What’s wrong, Father?
” Raithym asked with unnatural clarity. “Have I done something wrong?”

  Danimore glanced back at his siblings, desperately attempting to mask his fear.

  “Of—of course not, my—my son, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Danimore eased Raithym’s torn tunic aside, revealing his birthmark, and then turned him toward his siblings.

  “It is Raithym.”

  “How?” Pentanimir asked.

  Danimore could only shake his head, turning his face from Raithym so he couldn’t see his expression.

  Hibret and Wosen entered the room with Zeta in between them. As she was escorted inside, Raithym smiled, reaching out to her.

  “Mother?”

  Symeon lunged forward, catching Zeta and Ihnat as she collapsed. After carrying her to the bed, he handed Ihnat to Danimore, and took a defensive position near the door.

  “What is this?” Hibret asked, clutching Wosen’s arm.

  “It’s Raithym, our…our nephew,” Pentanimir said.

  “Raithym?”

  When Brahanu spoke his name, Raithym turned, smiling sweetly.

  “Aunt Brahanu,” he said.

  As his arms slid around her waist, she stifled the urge to scream, wanting to force him away. Gingerly returning his hug, she forced a smile, until he moved away.

  “How is this possible?” Temian whispered.

  “I—” Danimore started, but a crescendo of Desu Beasts’ screeches echoed through the night sky.

  “The Protectors,” Thalassa breathed, drawing Jahno nearer.

  Pentanimir’s heartbeat quickened, glancing over at Danimore and Raithym. “I’ll go and greet them,” Pentanimir said, gesturing to Symeon. “Everyone, remain here and don’t let anyone else in this room.”

  Pentanimir and Symeon rushed down the corridors, waving the concerned guards away. After ascending the stairs to the roof, Symeon flung the doors open, watching the guards scrambling away.

  “What?” Pentanimir said, his mouth going slack. All seven Protectors were poised atop their beasts, drawing their doubled-sided axes from their backs. Arinak stood in the center, encircled by the rest. The illumination of his helm intensified as he continuously searched their surroundings. After completing his scans, Arinak dismounted, and Pentanimir immediately understood his precaution.

  “AsZar,” Pentanimir gasped, lowering to a knee.

  She glided over to the men, resting a hand on their shoulders. “Please, rise,” she said, melodiously.

  “AsZar, you don’t ever leave the protection of the Animus Wood. It isn’t safe for you here.”

  “The Guardians and their children are with me,” she said, moving down the stone steps. “My well-being is infinitesimal compared with what’s happened to Raithym. Mah’saahc is unhindered, Zaxson, and this threat supersedes my significance.” She paused. “And my life.

  “It has begun.”

  THANK YOU FOR READING SEED OF SCORN: THE RISE OF NAZIL BOOK II

  PIERCING THE DARKNESS

  THE RISE OF NAZIL: BOO K III

  CHAPTER LIST

  ​ CHAPTER ONE

  ​ CHAPTER TWO

  ​ CHAPTER THREE

  ​ CHAPTER FOUR

  ​ CHAPTER FIVE

  ​ CHAPTER SIX

  ​ CHAPTER SEVEN

  ​ CHAPTER EIGHT

  ​ CHAPTER NINE

  ​ CHAPTER TEN

  ​ CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ​ CHAPTER TWELVE

  ​ CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ​ CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ​ CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ​ CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ​ EPILOGUE

  ​ AUTHOR

  ​ GLOSSARY

  “Not the netherworld, only the Doh’mahn Vwazi Tr’Eon. There are many realms, Zaxson, and many more who claim dominion over them. We speak of but one, and the seal that binds the dark gate no longer remains.”

  77 th Year of Kehldaron

  -Angelaris: AsZar of Afferea

  DEDICATION

  To my readers.

  Thank you for taking a chance on a new author.

  You’re appreciated.

  naidisia

  Déshì shifted, pressing his middle fingers and thumbs together while lowering his hands to his thighs. He sat cross-legged, relishing the heat from the lava caves, and inhaling the fragrant smoke and steam hissing from the pools.

  Regardless of his prior resistance to returning, he felt a serenity here, a uniformity that engulfed the very essence of his being. Naidisia was his home, and as his lungs filled with the nourishing brume, he was gladdened to have returned.

  His brother, Weisheng, didn’t enjoy that aroma or heat the way Déshì did. Weisheng preferred the forest-filled landscape of Syahndru, with its glistening lakes and twining hillocks. The island was beautiful, but Déshì found Naidisia even more so.

  Only Naidisians, and those of their choosing, could traverse the threshold into the Fire Lands and walk amongst the erupting volcanos and splintered terrain. That is, if Naidisians chose to walk. Mostly, they merged amidst the lava pools, communing both extrasensorily and kinesthetically.

  That’s where Déshì would be, too, if he were wholly Naidisian. Howbeit, only his father, Ahgelon, was a Fire Walker, which limited Déshì’s abilities. He could wade into the warmth of the pools, but not coalesce with the others, not entirely. He’d hear whispers of their thoughts and feel their contentment, but the merging was limited. Ofttimes, he couldn’t establish a fervent extrasensory connection to communicate sufficiently. Only with his father did such a link exist.

  Déshì inhaled again, bringing forth images in his mind. He focused his thoughts, concentrating on the fires surging within him. Natelegé had been right: his abilities were evolving. He’d known the same, but he didn’t want to forswear his obligations to Faélondul, or abandon the friends that trusted and depended upon him.

  When he’d learned about the AsZar’s leave of the Animus Wood, Déshì’s first inclination was to traverse the threshold near Nazil. Although the Protectors were there, he felt an obligation to the AsZar. With both Weisheng and he returning to their parents, Faélondul was vulnerable. Howbeit, in Déshì’s current state, his abilities were unpredictable. That was why he’d returned. Just as Weisheng sought the guidance of their mother, Iya, Déshì needed the same from their father.

  He’d been communing for several full moons. In truth, Déshì realized that being here now would benefit Faélondul more than had he stayed. There was a maleficence pervading the light world, and he and a few others were capable of aiding those preparing to defeat it.

  “Déshì Tân.” A voice sounded as a whisper on the wind, melodious and soothing as it wafted over him.

  “Déshì Tân.” The voice repeated, urging Déshì’s eyes to open, but he clenched them tighter, not relinquishing the flame’s euphoria. He wanted to remain tethered to the precipice, detached from the confines of corporeal time.

  When the voice sounded again, Déshì drank in the suffusing fumes, and then slowly opened his eyes, staring into the cave’s entrance. He observed the deliquesced form effusing, its red and orange tinged edges releasing coils of acidic fog into the air.

  The magma began to effervesce, disjoining from the whole, metamorphosing into something disparate. The edges flared, its ascending curls intertwining into varying shapes. First there was one, and then, two emerged, increasing in stature as it continued to morph, mutating into a corporeal form.

  Gradually, the magma’s appearance diminished, its nascent flesh mirroring the dark bark in the Animus Wood. In contrast to the flaring tips of its straight raven hair and flamed-filled eyes, it was exquisite.

  “Déshì Tân.” The tone lowered in pitch as it continued to advance. Its movement was fluid, as if it were still a part of the magma, yet not so.

  Déshì inclined his head in respect, feeling the febrile blood igniting in his veins, that now appeared as red-tinged lightning snaking beneath his skin.

  “It is tim
e.” The voice wavered over him. “Rise and come to me.”

  Déshì pushed to stand, lowering his hands to his sides with upraised palms. When he drew near, the emblems on his hands glowed, sending flaring tendrils enwrapping the form before him.

  “Father Ahgelon,” Déshì said, relishing the intensity of their shared energies.

  “It is time,” Ahgelon repeated. “The threshold awaits.”

  “I’m not ready to return, Father. There’s more for me to learn, more for me to experience.”

  Ahgelon’s hair flared again. “I am the first and shall be the last. Through me, you will learn, and I am eternal.”

  Déshì groaned with the proliferation of their merging.

  “Deliver the ti’ehmbe and return to Afferea. The Guardians await.”

  When Déshì began to respond, Ahgelon released his hold, his arm’s extended, sending blazing projectiles into the cavern wall. As the last burst against its surface, a flaring archway emerged, beckoning Déshì forward.

  “It has begun,” Ahgelon said as his form phased, engulfing in flame and smoke. “As you summon the flames, so do you summon me.”

  Pursuit of the Disrupter

  “No one knows where he’s fled. How are the Chosen of Yarah supposed to apprehend him? We aren’t even certain that Molag planned the attack on the Zaontras’ caravan. Your search is premature.”

  Urdan leaned back, looking over the faces of his council members. Since the attack on the caravan, they couldn’t find agreement.

  Half the council felt that the perpetrators had been justly punished, wanting to do nothing more. The other half urged assigning most of the guard in pursuit of this disrupter.

  Urdan sided more with the latter. However, many Yarahians disagreed. Had the attack been against a Nazilian, it would be different.

  “You speak only a partial truth, Sir deGrey,” Urdan said. “One of the guards disclosed Molag’s part in this. He planned the attack on the Zaontras’ caravan. The guards were part of her usual escort, and they contacted Molag’s resistance, verifying their departure. Molag orchestrated the ambush. Of this, there’s no doubt.”