“I don’t ride alone.” Pentanimir smiled. “All the children of Manifir are at my side.”
With that, they continued to the main gate, passing numerous Nazilians cluttering the streets, wondering why the warning horns sounded so loud and so frequent.
As the Jasiri approached the main gate, the rhythmic striking of their assegais against their shields resonated off the outer walls of the city. The guards opened wide the gates, staring in amazement at the formidable men of K’ohshul.
The Zaxson and his siblings stopped at the entrance. When the eagle screeched and soared overhead, each of them looked up, shielding their eyes to glimpse the massive bird. Once their gaze lowered, the men were a few strides away.
Pentanimir dismounted, gesturing to his siblings. Each, in turn, did the same, as Symeon rode forward with Kuhani and Turahn.
“There are many,” Thalassa whispered.
“Hosdaq said the same. There are five score,” Temian said.
“Yes, but until you see them, you can’t know.”
Pentanimir agreed, staring out over the multitude. Being a part of the Chosen, he was accustomed to having formidable soldiers around him. He recalled when his father held the position, and the pride and veneration that he’d felt whenever the honorable men marched through the city. However, Chosen were vastly different than the men approaching the gates.
The elite Nazilian guard was feared throughout Faélondul. Their skills were unmatched, and when in formation, they awed all who bore witness.
This was different. The Jasiri were like no others any of them had seen. Separate, the appearance of such warriors wouldn’t cause one to tremble. Together, however, the opposite was true. At that moment, Pentanimir gave thanks to the Guardians for sending such men to his side. With the Jasiri and the human sentries, Nazil would be secure.
The loud crash of shields and a resounding “Jasiriaah!” brought him from his thoughts.
“Zaxson, may we enter?” Symeon asked.
“We would be honored to receive the Jasiri of K’ohshul.”
With that, the Uzon leapt down from his horse, joining the priest and First Chosen.
“Zaxson, may I present Uzon Osei of the Northern region of K’ohshul, Jasiri Uzon by blood and by deed,” Symeon said.
“I’m honored, Uzon Osei.” Pentanimir bowed.
“The honor is mine, Zaxson. No one could’ve convinced me that I’d willingly enter Nazil. It has never been my wish to see the white city.”
“Then we are honored all the more.”
Turahn nodded, glancing around. “Will the Ke’ohnzi be joining us?”
“The Ke’ohnzi ,” Pentanimir said, surprised. “Do you have need of him, Uzon?”
“No, the Ke’ohnzi has need of me. I carry items for him alone.”
“Then he’ll be told of your arrival immediately,” he said, motioning to Temian who reclaimed his mount, riding away.
“Uzon Osei, allow me to introduce my brother, Danimore Benoist, Nakshij of Nazil, and my sister, Thalassa Ishida. Thalassa was trained by the Protectors.”
The Uzon moved forward, scrutinizing the petite woman. “Desse K’ohshul, qu’elae de’ ganalo godeage lea’aah suu’ya.” [101]
Thalassa smiled, inclining her head. “In the Dessalonian Mountains, Uzon, there was little else to do but train.”
“Indeed. We know of you, Thalassa, daughter of Arinak. Your twin blades and urumi are blessed by the Guardians themselves,” the Uzon said, and then stepped back to his horse.
Pentanimir motioned to his siblings, mounting his own. With one long and two interrupted blasts of their Ze’Nahd, the crowned eagle took to the skies as the warriors marched to the citadel.
♦
“Again!” Molag ordered.
The first guard raised the scourge, slashing across the trussed man’s back. As the curved tips ripped through his flesh, blood and bits of skin splattered across the room. Molag smirked, licking the warm droplets from his face.
The man screamed, a guttural cry, convulsing as he hung suspended.
“What say you now, Eithrig?” Molag said, gripping his chin, as the man gasped for breath, still twitching from the lash.
“He could speak true, milord,” the second guard interjected. “Ain’t seen no one wit’ stand the lash. Could be he knows nothin’ ‘bout them men.”
Molag’s eyes flashed, swaggering toward the guard. “Mayhaps you’d like to take his place.”
“No. No, milord. Wha—what ‘bout Shyla,” he said, quickly. “We could fetch Shyla or—or his son. He’d tell all he know’d then.”
Molag smiled at the thought.
“Please. No,” Eithrig struggled to speak. “I—I don’t know anything. Aronin only mentioned the human sentries to me. Please, I speak true, I—” His words ended as his head lolled to his chest.
“Ladir said the same, milord. Only them savages get near the Benoists now.”
“Yes. The Zaxson thinks the savages can keep him safe behind those double walls. But walls can be breached,” Molag said. “Where are the men who reported seeing the warriors?”
“The inn, last I knew, milord. They await ya there.”
“Good.” He grinned. “I have some tasks suited to their talents.”
“What of him?” The first guard asked.
“Wait until dark and toss him into the lowers.”
“Milord, he saw yer face. If he tells ‘bout this, they’ll come for ya.”
Molag’s eyes flickered, losing their pale coloring. As he moved toward Eithrig, they backed away.
His hands moved rhythmically, before stabbing his fingers into Eithrig’s chest. The guards gagged, the smell of charred flesh permeating the room.
“Let him tell anyone who’ll listen,” Molag said, taking a step back. “I want them to come.”
Uncertainties
“You’re certain that you don’t want to spend the day together? We’ve had so little time of late,” Wosen asked.
“I’d like to, but I’m needed in the nursery. With Hushar’s added duties, her time is limited, and Allister seems to occupy what free time she does have. I’m needed here, Wosen. Dalia and Arianna can’t tend the babes alone. They also need time with their husbands.”
“I thought Sahma helped in the nursery.”
“She does, but she tires easily of late, and can’t seem to hold food. She doesn’t want to make the children ill.”
“I hope she’s well. Truly, the days have grown colder,” he said, halting in front of the nursery and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“The nights as well.”
“This is why I desire the closeness of my wife.”
“Then you shall have it,” she said, drawing him down to her. “As often as you desire.”
He smiled at that, giving her a kiss. “I’ll come for you after noon meal, then.”
“Not before? We won’t dine in the hall?”
“I will dine, but it’ll be in our chambers.” When he leaned to kiss her again, she whispered in his ear.
“I’ll enjoy your taste, too.” She teasingly nibbled his earlobe, sending a pleasurable chill down his spine.
Wosen didn’t turn until she’d entered the nursery, relishing what they’d soon enjoy. He smiled, needing the practice now more than he had before.
It had been some time since he had the opportunity to practice in solitude. Though he enjoyed sparring, he also needed to focus his mind and concentrate on the repetitive movements of his dance. Both Symeon and Kuhani had taught him the importance of such practice.
He rubbed the hilts of his swords, turning the corner into the corridor lined with practice rooms. He’d only gone a few steps before hearing low grunts and shouts. Wosen paused, noticing a constant thud that sounded as if a club was meeting the wall repeatedly.
He crept forward then, following the sound. When he neared the door, he peered in, seeing Thalassa spinning toward the thick pole in the corner of the room.
He smil
ed, watching her work her twin blades. With a roar, Thalassa leapt from a crouch, running toward the inanimate opponent. Instead of offering a thrust or slice as he expected, the agile woman ran up the side of the vertical pole, initiating a backflip and landing in another crouch. Within a split second, she thrust her right sword forward in rapid succession, causing Wosen to lean against the bars, as not to miss a moment.
In a blur, her left arm swept across, slashing the pole before rolling to her side and coming to her feet. Instead of completing the double thrust, she abruptly discontinued the move.
She stood motionless for a moment, and then whirled around, throwing a shuriken toward the door. Wosen could only jerk back in response. Before he could consider his next move, she pulled the door open.
“You watch me,” Thalassa said. “Next time, make yourself known, young Wosen, or my aim will be higher,” she added, reaching the thrown shuriken from the wooden door.
He couldn’t miss the fact that she’d aimed the speedy projectile just beneath the opening in the wood. Had she moved her wrist but a fraction, his eye surely would have been lost.
Thalassa tossed her long black braid to her back, grabbing a cloth, and wiping her sweat-soaked face and neck. “Why have you come?”
“Beg pardon, Lady Ishida, I didn’t mean to intrude upon your privacy. It’s been some time since I’ve witnessed your prowess. It’s exceptional, as always.”
“From what I hear, your prowess is to be feared, Sir Neufmarche. Once I’m myself again, mayhaps you’ll show me.” She winked.
“Why not this day?” he asked, tapping his swords.
“You’d spar with me weakened and unpracticed? Truly the advantage would be yours.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’ve lost none of your skill, my lady. You appear even fiercer than I remember.”
“You may call me Thalassa as you always have. I’ve been known by that name much longer than I’ve been carrying this title. Besides, you’re a son to my mother and a brother to me. It will forever be Thalassa.”
“I’m honored.” He bowed.
“Now, how could I hope to defend against you? Symeon has trained you well, and I’ve been unable to test my strength.” She patted her toned abdomen. “I delivered Suravi not long ago. Don’t you recall?”
“That time is long past, and your build is even stronger than when I came upon you in the mountains. Do you use Suravi as an excuse?”
“You goad me?” she said, adjusting the whip dangling from her side.
“I offer for you to learn of my teaching first hand,” he said with an exaggerated bow.
Before he could rise from the position, she snatched the whip from her side, unfurling it with a crack in the air, and then brought it down around his ankles. In one fluid movement, she yanked hard, sending him thudding to the floor.
“Then choose your weapons, Sir Neufmarche.”
The look on his face caused Thalassa to chuckle. As he disentangled his legs from her whip, he stood, shaking his head.
“A move that I should’ve anticipated from our time in the mountains.”
“And one that you’ll see again, my young friend.”
Wosen grinned, removing his swordbelt. She watched as he went to choose his practice swords. He was testing their balance when he heard a roar from behind. He spun around, crossing the blades in front of him.
“You advance without warning, Sister,” he said with a growing smile.
“I gave a warning. Had I wanted to land a hit, you wouldn’t have heard anything but the swish of my blades through the air,” she said, spinning away.
They locked stares, readying their defenses. Wosen was the first to strike. He came at Thalassa with his swords out wide. She bent low and sidestepped, swiping out her right sword, batting his harmlessly aside.
“You tease,” she said, advancing. He managed to raise his sword and block as she came in with a series of cuts and slashes. When she attempted a strategic withdrawal, Wosen sideswiped, and then whirled around, slamming into her, and knocking her off balance. Before Thalassa could regain her equilibrium, he came on again, thrusting forward with his right sword while simultaneously swiping with his left. She smiled, noticing the move, the same one she’d used against him.
Unable to parry both blades, she fell into a roll, coming back to meet his swiping blade with hers. The swift thrusts and parries continued as the pair taunted each other. Neither could hide their growing smiles, nor wanted to. It had been long since either of them sparred with only enjoyment in mind. It wasn’t a contest to prove who was the better fighter, nor were they truly attempting to improve their prowess. They loved the dance, and together, it was even more pleasurable.
Thalassa sheathed one sword, taking her whip from her hip. She snapped it several times as Wosen attempted to gain an advantage at the removal of one of her deadly blades. She rotated the whip above her head, as she circled around her prey.
“I told you that you’d see it again, did I not?”
“Indeed, Sister, but you’ve lost one blade. The advantage is mine, I think.” He lunged forward.
Thalassa dropped into a side split, lashing out with the whip. When he noticed the stinging leather strap, he lowered one blade to block. That was precisely what she’d wanted. She retracted the whip hard, wrenching the blade from his hand, and sent it flying across the room.
Wosen skittered to a halt, flipping backward just in time to prevent being slashed by her remaining sword. She laughed, springing to her feet, and replacing her whip.
“Now your advantage is no more,” she teased, reaching for her second sword.
Before she could bring it forward, he lunged, tackling her to the floor, causing her to lose her second sword. They rolled, fighting over her remaining blade. Thalassa couldn’t stop laughing as Wosen would gain the advantage, and then she’d roll atop him, locking her knees about his waist.
With a final, powerful thrust, he forced the sword from her hand, straddling her waist, and pinning her wrists.
“I believe the match is mine.”
“When the rules of engagement are ignored, only then can you gain victory,” she taunted.
He moved a hair’s breadth from her face. “The only rule is: there are no rules.”
Both laughed aloud, catching their breath. Thalassa didn’t notice when his laughter faded. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her.
“Are you all right, Wosen?”
“Always, you were beautiful.”
“What—”
He leaned down, kissing her. She tensed, feeling his warm tongue encircle hers. When she attempted to turn, he mirrored her movements, deepening the kiss. For a moment, she gave into the feeling, until she felt his growing arousal.
“Release me, Wosen, let me up,” she demanded, wriggling her wrists free.
“For—forgive me,” he apologized, moving from atop her and extending out his hand. “I didn’t mean to—never would I—”
“The fault lies with me as well. Don’t speak of it again. It was the passion of the contest and nothing more,” she said, speaking only a partial truth. She had always found Wosen handsome, but had never thought of him in such a manner. At that moment, everything was different. She desired him, though she loved her husband. That both surprised and scared her, showing her truths that she didn’t wish to face.
“I didn’t mean to offend or overstep. It’s—”
The opening chamber door startled them as Jahno entered, carrying Suravi.
“Your daughter misses her mother, so I thought I bring her to see you.” Jahno chuckled.
She rushed over to him, pulling him down for a kiss. Jahno smiled, glancing at Wosen curiously.
“Mayhaps you should spar together more often, Wosen. My wife hasn’t been this passionate since before Suravi was born,” he joked.
Wosen forced a chuckle, replacing his practice swords.
“The fervor of the fight, my friend,” he said, looking at Thalassa. “It raises
a heat in you.”
“Indeed. It may be time for me to learn the sword as well.”
Thalassa slid an arm around Jahno’s waist. “Anyone can learn the sword, only you possess the more important skills that I desire.” She lowered her hand, caressing his firm arse. “I think Suravi needs to visit the nursery, and you and I need a hot bath.”
“Then that’s what you shall have,” Jahno said, leading her from the room.
When the door closed, Wosen pounded a frustrated fist on the table. He couldn’t understand why he’d kissed her, why this sudden longing had surfaced. His love for Hibret was unending, yet he’d allowed his attraction for Thalassa to compromise both their honors. He’d always found her beautiful, but that hadn’t ever affected his respect for her. Now, this heat, this burn, consumed him. He wiped the sweat from his face, fighting against his intense arousal.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
Thalassa was a sister to him, so why then would he place the kiss? Why did his body yearn for her?
He took another deep breath, trying desperately to remove the memory from his mind. Just the thought of her in her leathers caused the throb to worsen.
He scolded himself for his foolishness, but found himself picturing her in the bath. He wanted her and didn’t understand why.
Wosen hurried from the practice chamber, trying to clear his mind. His throb hadn’t calmed, and his arousal was evident.
“Forgive me, Hibret,” he muttered.
Abeyance
Velnic’s eyes blinked open as he winced, gagging and reaching for his throat. Everything was a blur, and the pain erupting from his neck nearly caused him to lose consciousness again.
“You must remain still,” Nzuri said, gently lowering him to the cushions. “Once you settle, the pressure from the bandages will lessen. Please, don’t aggravate your sutures.” Nzuri adjusted his blankets and then lifted a cup from the table.
“Drink this. It’ll ease your pain and speed your healing.”
Velnic looked around, confused. Several hazy figures were surrounding him, but he couldn’t make out their faces. His eyes darted back and forth, not certain if he was alive or dead.
The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 141