The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “I know. When I was first brought to Nazil, I was in constant fear, and remained so until my children helped liberate the city. But in all that time, I never feared you. There weren’t many in Nazil that my son held in high regard. You were one of the few.”

  “I feel the same of him. Temian was always dissimilar from the others, and now I understand why. The sons of Manifir are honorable men.”

  “They are,” she said, her gaze lowering. “What’s happened between Nikolina and Danimore is a tragedy.”

  Allister’s eyes closed as he nodded, fighting through the memories. “I didn’t blame Danimore for the failed pledge. The blame was mine alone. I can’t fault him for taking another wife, but I was angry when I first learned about it.”

  “Because she was human?”

  “Because she wasn’t my daughter.”

  “Zeta didn’t mean any harm, Allister. She didn’t know about Nikolina or the pledge. Zeta is caring for your grandson, and she loves him, despite losing her own son. You should at least meet her once, and try to mend the past for Ihnat’s sake.”

  His visage saddened. “I’d like to meet her. Danimore has always been a man of integrity. As with his father before him, I can understand how he could love her.”

  “Could you ever love a slave, Allister?”

  “No. But…I could love a person.”

  “After your meeting with the Zaxson, I can bring Ihnat for a visit.”

  “I’d like that.” He smiled. “When Nikolina told me what she’d done, I was infuriated, but no longer. No one can erase what she did, but Ihnat is a blessing for all of us. When Nikolina is well enough for a visit, I plan on telling her the same, and help right the wrongs we’ve done.”

  A pang erupted in her chest as she met his eyes. He had to know.

  “Allister,” Hushar began. “I need to tell—”

  The knock on the door silenced her.

  “Good morrow, Sir d’Garrion, how are you feeling?” Pentanimir asked, stepping into the room with Danimore.

  “Better, thank you. Hushar has been taking good care of me. I still feel some pain, but it’s tolerable.”

  “Good. If you’re feeling up to it, we’d like to ask you more about Sanctium.”

  “Of course,” Allister said. “Will Ahvixx be joining us.”

  “Ahvixx isn’t in the city. You can meet with him upon his return.”

  “I’d like that. It’s been years since I’ve seen him or Droxahn.”

  “You knew them when they were in Nazil?” Danimore asked.

  “Not only them, I knew their parents, too. As I told Ahvixx, his parents and I were friends. When the Zaxson executed them, I tried to find Ahvixx and Droxahn. I couldn’t do anything to help his parents, and feared the worst for the children. I’m just glad that they found someplace safe and away from Nazil.”

  “I’m interested to learn more about this, Sir d’Garrion, but first we need to talk about Sanctium.”

  Allister shifted in his seat. “Had I known what awaited on that cursed isle, I would’ve never gone there. It was the pain that she felt, Zaxson, the betrayal. I couldn’t change her mind and I wouldn’t send her alone.”

  “Who?”

  “Nikolina,” Allister said, looking at Danimore. “When she learned about your wife, everything changed. She blamed you even though I told her that the fault was mine. She wouldn’t listen, Sir Benoist, and then, the—the violation.”

  Danimore shifted uncomfortably. He thought of the way that Nikolina had used him, and the overwhelming pleasure he experienced and yet remembered. Not before or since had his satisfaction been so complete and profound. The amplified sensation was caused by the serpent’s venom, but knowing that didn’t lessen his guilt at taking pleasure in the violation. That truth, he kept to himself.

  “When I learned about this, I couldn’t contain my anger,” Allister said. “I came to the citadel to berate you for her dishonor. But when I looked at you and your brother, I had to admit the truth.”

  “What truth?” Pentanimir asked.

  “That your brother hadn’t violated my daughter or shamed our family. It was my daughter who wanted your child and she made that happen. There isn’t anything that I can offer to erase such an offense. My only hope is that in time you can forgive Nikolina. Despite her actions, she’s still a good person, Nakshij, and your relationship will be important to Ihnat.”

  “I forgave her long ago. Never did I think myself innocent in Nikolina’s decisions. This is why we wouldn’t move her to the cells.”

  “Your restraint was appreciated. You had no cause to bestow such kindness upon us. I’ll forever remember it.” He took a deep breath, meeting Danimore’s eyes. “When she came for your son, it wasn’t Nikolina, not as we know her. It was the darkness…the darkness inhabiting her.”

  “Of this, you’ve spoken before. What darkness?” Pentanimir asked.

  “The mage, Lilinth, called it Mah’saahc.”

  Leopard of the Sky

  Kuhani tautened his stance, clasping his hands behind his back. Though he’d donned the garb of a warrior, still his stance was that of a priest. Never shifting, he peered toward the Black Water, awaiting the arrival of the Jasiri.

  Since learning of the summoning, his thoughts stayed on his home. He hadn’t journeyed back to K’ohshul since crossing the threshold into Faélondul. The Guardians needed him here, but he’d miss the home of his youth, and Drah’kuu Malachi’s guidance.

  He nearly smiled as he thought of the aged Drah’kuu, recalling the first that he’d met him. The passage to K’ohshul’s levitating temple could only be accessed through the Xatari Mountains. He missed the mountain’s splendor, and the clarity he attained whilst under Malachi’s tutelage. In truth, Kuhani thought of him as more of a father than his mentor, and he wished that he could see him again.

  Howls from the jaenitu pulled him from his contemplation. He focused on the Black Water again, and the sun waving on the water’s surface. Symeon stood at his side, his hands a hair’s breadth from his weapons. The two hadn’t spoken since taking their positions, both reminiscing silently, while anticipating the arrival of their brothers.

  The jaenitu’s howls were harmonious, growing in intensity as a massive shadow shone above them. Both shielded their eyes, awed by the crowned eagle soaring gracefully through the air. The fierce predator squawked, circling their position. It swooped in towards them, and then leveled off, banking toward the Black Water.

  “The leopard of the sky,” Symeon said.

  “They’ve arrived.”

  Releasing a powerful screech, the crowned eagle ascended, its massive wings extending more than two meters, as it spiraled toward the sun, leaving streams of sand-dust swirling behind it. The sand wafted back to the ground, appearing like glitter-adorned tulle caught in a gentle breeze.

  Symeon took a step forward, observing a glimmering archway form from the hovering sand crystals, twinkling like a canopy of stars.

  With a magnificent eruption of light, the warriors began to emerge. In straight marching formation, the Jasiri crossed the threshold: each brandishing their assegais in their right hand, outfitted in black boiled-leather.

  Symeon was in awe, witnessing the magnificence of the Jasiri. It had been years since he’d seen the warriors en masse. At that moment, he wondered why he’d left K’ohshul. But when he glanced at the warrior priest beside him, clarity returned. Had they not been in Faélondul, they wouldn’t stand here now. Kuhani would’ve reminded him about the significance of choice, and the absurdity of coincidence.

  When the Ze’Nahd [97] blared, Symeon straightened his posture, marveling at the warriors’ advance. More than he could count stepped through the shimmering archway, as if materializing from another realm or time.

  Without speaking a word, Kuhani drew his assegai, walking to greet them. The armored crowned eagle swooped low, its lethal beak and talons enhanced with sharpened obsidian. Any others would’ve feared the massive flesh-eating bi
rd, but Symeon and Kuhani knew the true meaning of its presence. Never were the eagles seen in Faélondul unless they marked the coming of the Jasiri.

  With a clash of their assegai against their elongated leather bucklers, the Jasiri ceased their march. The Ze’Nahd sounded one short note as the crowned eagle descended, landing on the protected shoulder of its drahgodeage . [98] As the Uzon moved from position, Symeon and Kuhani lowered to one knee.

  “Blood of my blood,” Turahn said, resting his weapon on Symeon’s shoulder.

  He repeated the same, never raising his gaze.

  “Loss is death,” Kuhani added, feeling the sharp tip of the assegai.

  “Loss is death,” Turahn said. “Rise, warriors of K’ohshul.”

  Both men stood, assuming their warrior posture.

  “Kuhani Nwosu?” Turahn said with a deep K’ohshulian accent. “The warrior priest dons the liveries of the Jasiri?”

  “Yes, Uzon.”

  “You chose the path of a Drah’kuu. Why then do you stand with warriors of K’ohshul?”

  “My heart will forever be that of a warrior. Regardless of my path, Jasiri, I remain.”

  Turahn adjusted his kytrahwan , [99] addressing Symeon. “You summoned us, son of Karesh.”

  “I did, Uzon. The need is urgent for the great warriors of K’ohshul.”

  “Always the call is heeded. The ti’embre was delivered to you for such a time. Twenty-five of the strongest warriors from each region have answered the summons. State that which is of importance and I alone will decide if we shall remain.”

  “The lands are in peril, Uzon. Many Nazilians conspire against our Zaxson and threaten those under my protection. If the warriors do not remain, a darkness will cover Faélondul.”

  “The Jasiri care not for the protection of Nazilians. It’s due to their evils that the lands suffered. Why then do you guard those who would see you enslaved or dead?”

  “That Nazil is no more, Uzon. The new Zaxson is honorable and heeds the Guardians’ teachings. I am his First Chosen, and train the entire guard.”

  “He trusts a K’ohshulian?”

  “He does, Uzon. I assisted in Faélondul’s liberation, and now have taken a wife. Her safety, as well as that of our coming child, also falls upon my shoulders.”

  “A wife?” Turahn paced in front of the men. “And what about Kuhani Nwosu? Does he aid in their protection?”

  “I stand with Symeon, now and always. The darkness comes, Uzon Osei. Symeon prepares for the physical battle, as I do the same for the spiritual. In this, both are needed.”

  “Darkness? The fracture in the seal?”

  “You were aware, Uzon?” Symeon asked.

  “The Drah’kuus have always known about the Doh’mahn Vwazi Tr’Eon . Our diminished presence in Faélondul hasn’t lessened our connection with Afferea.”

  Symeon bowed. “The AsZar warned us about the sycophant and eidolon. If the breach cannot be sealed, a battle will be imminent.

  “I am to prepare my wife’s firstborn, Ayrmeis, to pierce this coming darkness. The Guardians have linked our lives as one. Uzon, I am a warrior of K’ohshul, but even I can’t effectually protect our leaders and prepare Ayrmeis alone. I need my brothers beside me, aiding in this defense. With the Jasiri in Nazil, its borders and citadel will be protected.”

  The Uzon nodded, looking at Kuhani. “Shintao and his brothers?”

  “They prepare, Uzon. More will arrive in Faélondul soon. Many already have.”

  “The need is greater than either of you know. This is why Natelegé and the Brother’s Xaahn have been absent. As with you, they must also prepare.”

  “Natelegé?” Symeon asked.

  “You’ll learn more about her and the Tresahnege in time. The brothers will contact you again soon.”

  Turahn motioned to his sons, Hanif and Jishnu, and the two approached, resting their right hands on Kuhani and Symeon’s hearts, greeting them accordingly.

  “The shard has left the isle and is in place. Soon, the key will be whole. Hanif and Jishnu carry the rod.”

  “Did Satvik accompany you, Uzon?”

  “Drah’kuu Malachi has selected him and five others to complete the trials and ritual of T’reGuhn.”

  “T’reGuhn?” Kuhani breathed. “There’s no higher honor. The trials and ritual of final markings are the apotheosis of the warrior. I haven’t known anyone selected for such honor.”

  “Not in my lifetime nor that of my father has it been so,” Turahn said. “The Guardians have alerted us to their need, and we have answered.”

  “The T’reGuhn?” Symeon asked.

  “They are beyond any other Jasiri,” Kuhani said. “The T’reGuhn will have abilities that transcend their physical form. From what is told, there are no more powerful mortals other than the Affereans.”

  “There is more, Drah’kuu Kuhani, but Malachi will explain the intricacies when you return to K’ohshul.”

  “Me? I’m the High Priest of Spero.”

  “You are a Drah’kuu and Jasiri warrior before any other thing.” Turahn paused, locking eyes with him. “You have been chosen as the seventh to complete the trials and rituals of the T’reGuhn.”

  “I’m not worthy of such an honor.”

  “The Guardians believe otherwise,” he said, resting a hand on Kuhani’s shoulder. “As does Drah’kuu Malachi. Do you refuse the honor they’ve bestowed upon you?”

  Kuhani was overwhelmed. The T’reGuhn were powerful beings with abilities far beyond that of any corporeal creature: they weren’t bound by the limitations of their physical forms. They were more…much more.

  With that realization, Kuhani took a steadying breath, inclining his head. This was far beyond the threat of Mah’saahc—far beyond the furthest reaches of the Shadokyn.

  This was his destiny.

  “Forever will I serve the Guardians and my Drah’kuu, Malachi. I am honored.”

  The Uzon nodded, moving back to the orderly line of warriors.

  “Will the Jasiri journey to Nazil at our side, Uzon Osei?” Symeon asked.

  “We will, Warrior Yego. Jasiriaah.”

  “Jasiriaah,” Symeon repeated, bowing.

  Nzuri was slumped over the table at Nigel’s bedside. He’d been awake for several suns, keeping vigil over the wounded guard.

  When Nigel finally awakened, he was relieved to see the priest.

  “Nzuri?” His voice was hoarse and weak.

  “Nigel? Nigel, have you awakened?”

  He offered a mewling moan, blinking his heavy lids.

  Nzuri wiped the weariness from his eyes, dipping a ladle in the caldron, and scooping some broth into a cup.

  “Drink of this,” he said, raising Nigel’s head. He managed a few sips before leaning back, wincing while cradling his bandaged wrist.

  After checking his condition, Nzuri stepped over to the door. “Wosen, tell the Zaxson that Nigel’s awake. Make haste,” he said, rejoining the guard.

  “Nigel. Can you tell me what happened?”

  He nodded, licking his dry lips. “Mo—lag. It—it was Molag.”

  “Molag Bomgaard of Yarah?”

  “Yes.”

  Nzuri sat back, unsure. They were aware that Molag had fled Yarah, yet alone, he couldn’t have inflicted Nigel’s injuries. Nigel was a Chosen of Nazil, and one of the finest swordsmen on the guard. How could such a man defeat him so easily?

  When Nigel began to cough, Nzuri moved forward with the cup.

  “Please, Nigel, you must finish the broth. Your injuries were grave, and I didn’t know if I could be of any aid to you. If you are to heal fully, you must drink.”

  Nigel reached for the cup, resting a hand over Nzuri’s. Slowly, he finished the broth, and then lowered back to the cushions.

  “Has he spoken?” Pentanimir asked, entering with Danimore and Temian.

  “He’s said little, but he’ll reveal more once his strength returns.”

  “Mo—Molag,” Nigel said.

&n
bsp; “Molag? What does he mean?”

  “Nigel named Molag Bomgaard as the one who attacked him, Zaxson.”

  “How’s that possible?” Temian asked. “Molag can wield a sword, but his skill pales in comparison to Nigel’s.”

  “I thought the same,” Nzuri said. “But he insists that it was Molag who attacked him.”

  Pentanimir looked down at him as divergent thoughts assailed his mind. Nigel was yet weak, and his sickly pallor spoke much of his condition. He didn’t doubt his recollections, but he didn’t wholly believe them, either.

  “Sir Branston, are you certain that it was Molag Bomgaard who attacked you?”

  “Y—yes.”

  “Why? Why would he have cause to do so?”

  “The isle…we—we went to Sanctium,” Nigel said, breathlessly. “We were sent to meet the mage.”

  “Lilinth? Was it Lilinth that you met?” Temian asked.

  Nigel nodded, taking a ragged breath. “Molag went to her alone, but when he returned, he wasn’t the same.”

  Temian’s thoughts immediately returned to Angelaris’ parting words. “The AsZar warned that the mage had merged with the disrupter. Could she have been speaking about Molag?”

  “Yes,” Pentanimir said, nodding. “She also said that the creators of false gods were rising against us.”

  “But who?” Nzuri asked. “What gods?”

  “The Cha—the Cha of Nazil,” Nigel said as darkness consumed him.

  Blessings of the Faithful

  Beilzen held Dalia’s hand as they descended the steep stairs from the roof. They still didn’t completely understand everything, but visiting the Animus Wood was life-changing for all of them.

  “Is Wosen still expecting Fáelán?” Ahvixx asked, cradling the sleeping boy in his arms.

  “He is,” Beilzen said. “Would you mind taking Fáelán to his suite?”

  “Not at all. Will you be staying in your former quarters or returning home?”

  “I think it would be best if we remained. I’m certain the Zaxson will want to speak with us on the morrow. I’d rather stay in my chamber here rather than waking my father.”

  “Very well, I’ll have an attendant sent to you after I deliver Fáelán.”