“I’ll train with him as well,” Temian said. “Raithym hasn’t taken his training as seriously as Ayrmeis and Tardison. He doesn’t understand why he must train so vigorously and so often. He’s nine and ten now, and his interest is centered around the ladies in the citadel, not the sword.”
Danimore shook his head, rising from the table. “It’s difficult to believe that my son is a man grown. It’s natural for him to have such desires, but I agree that he must focus on what’s truly important.”
Pleasant Surprises
Velnic walked over the covered bridge, peering down into the courtyard. When he saw Danimore and Zeta, he stopped, staring at the two. Velnic had always thought of Danimore and Pentanimir as friends. The Benoists had aided him numerous times, even recently when Ladir had attempted to kill him.
Albeit, even with all Velnic knew of their heart, he had to question it. He’d asked Danimore and Allister about Nikolina’s pregnancy and their possible relationship. Both men had spoken the same. In his heart, Velnic was certain that Danimore wouldn’t have committed such an offense. Even so, the child his wife cradled in her arms was Nikolina’s: the woman that he was supposed to marry. The opacity surrounding Ihnat and Nikolina plagued him, and he couldn’t reconcile his thoughts.
“Pardons,” a soft voice said, bringing him from his contemplation. When Velnic turned, a woman was approaching.
“Pardons,” she said again, offering a curtsy, while lifting her long sapphire gown. “I fear that I’ve lost my way. Could you direct me to the dining hall?”
Velnic’s mouth went slack. He’d seen countless human females, but few had caught his eye. Not like this one. He didn’t find their appearance displeasing, but he’d never thought of them in an alluring manner, either. Much had changed.
Natasha was a comely young woman. Her sister, Maisha, would be considered beautiful, yet Natasha had a charm all her own. Her soft carob-colored hair hung down her back, flowing elegantly over her bare shoulders. When she drew nearer, he noticed her eyes sparkling, beautifully matching the color of her thick tresses.
Natasha’s skin was flawlessly smooth, appearing much like the marble statues lining the corridors. The hint of blush to her lips and cheeks complemented her features, just as her low-cut bodice accentuated her womanly physique. He found her breath-taking.
Velnic bowed, adjusting his winged collar, ensuring the jagged gashes from Ladir’s assault were concealed.
“Greetings, my lady. My name’s Velnic Meagher, son of Loren, and a Chosen of Nazil.”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Velnic Meagher, son of Loren, and a Chosen of Nazil.” She smiled. “I’m Natasha Estenbrook of Noraa.”
“The pleasure is mine, my lady,” Velnic said, raising her hand to his lips. “It would be an honor to escort you.”
Natasha accepted his offered arm, walking at his side.
“Did you arrive with the High Priest’s brother?”
“I did. His name is Emet, and my sister, Maisha, is his promised.”
“They’re going to wed?”
“Yes, and soon, if my sister has her way.”
“And what about you, my lady? Was the gentleman who accompanied him your husband?”
Natasha smiled, glancing up at the guard. “No. Aizen is the Caretaker’s son, and he’s promised to Lady Ahllendale.”
Velnic halted. “Sir d’Garrion’s niece?”
“The same. This is the first time that she’s met Sir d’Garrion. I adore Droxahn. Even with my father’s death, I hold no malice toward the Nazilians. The men responsible have been punished for their crimes.”
“Your father was killed during the war?”
“He died in Nazil after being taken captive,” she said, resuming their pace.
Velnic swallowed hard, feeling much less confident than he had just moments before.
“Please accept my condolences, my lady. I lost my father some time ago. No matter the circumstance of the separation, the loss and pain are interminable.”
“You speak true, Velnic Meagher, son of Loren, and a Chosen of Nazil.”
At that, he smiled. For many silent moments, they traversed the corridors, with Velnic glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t approach her in any direct manner, but he did want to learn more about her.
“How long will you be in Nazil?” he asked, as they descended the final flight of stairs.
“Droxahn would like to remain a while to be with her brother. This is his first child, and she wants to share in their joy.”
“Indeed. Children are a blessing. I have seven brothers, and all of them have children of their own.”
“Seven!”
“Now you sound like my mother.” He chuckled. “Yes. Seven, and of them, I am the last.”
“With how many children have you and your wife been blessed?”
He smiled wistfully, halting in the corridor. “None as yet, my lady. I’m also the only one of my brothers who isn’t wed.”
She blushed, although she knew not why. Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she looked up, meeting his eyes.
“Then we are much the same. However, I’m certain that we, too, will be so blessed in time,” she said, nibbling at her bottom lip. “Mayhaps sooner than either of us could’ve thought.”
He nodded, considering not only her words, but more so, the way she offered them. His smile widened, and he kissed her hand again.
“I believe that we will,” he said. “The dining hall is just there.”
“You’re not partaking in the median meal?”
“No. Guards don’t dine in the hall. Besides, my duty begins soon, and I wanted to walk the grounds. With the dangers ever present, it’s prudent to do so.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing at the guards stationed in the corridor. “Would I be permitted to accompany you, Sir Meagher? The citadel is grander than Noraa’s, and I fear that I’ll never learn my way.”
“You’re not hungry?”
“No. I was going to take noon meal to meet more of the Zaxson’s family. But I can meet them at the evening meal.”
“What about the others in your company?”
“My sister and her promised are meeting with the priests regarding their ceremony, and Aizen and Droxahn are visiting her brother with Sir d’Garrion. So, I’m very much alone, and would appreciate the company, and the direction, of course.”
“I’d be honored to escort you. The citadel is vast, and I’d have you learn your way.”
“Then, where shall we begin?”
“The gardens are quite beautiful, but popular of late. There’s also a small grove, too. The blossoms aren’t as numerous or as colorful, but it’s more peaceful. I often visit, especially with the increased guard rotations and activities.”
“Yes. There’s much talk in Noraa regarding the rogue and the mounting dangers in Nazil. That’s why the Zaxson sent Jasiri to escort us here.”
“Had I only known, certainly I’d have asked to join the warriors.”
Natasha’s cheeks reddened, staring up at the intriguing man. “I would’ve enjoyed meeting you then, Sir Meagher, just as I’m glad to have met you now. Have you ever visited my city?”
“Please, call me Velnic, and yes, I’ve visited Noraa, but it’s been some time.”
“Mayhaps once this crisis passes, you might visit again. You’d be well received, I assure. There are many Nazilians in the city now. In fact, Emet’s mother was Nazilian, and he’s going to wed my sister. Many things have changed since Lord Benoist became Zaxson.”
“They have,” he said, only beginning to realize how much. He extended his arm again. “If the Zaxson allows, I’d like to escort you upon your return to Noraa. I mean, if my service would be acceptable to you.”
Her smile broadened. “Not only your service, Sir Meagher.”
Connections
Ayrmeis brought his blade up, blocking his brother’s swipe. Tardison grunted, pushing forward to knock him off balance.
A grin creased Ayrmeis’ lips as he gave ground enough to complete a backflip, pulling a shuriken from his belt. When he faced his brother, Ayrmeis launched the projectile, following quickly behind.
As Tardison ducked the shuriken, Ayrmeis came around with a side-kick, followed by a combination of jabs and cuts.
“Gods!” Tardison yelled, throwing up both arms to block the devastating onslaught.
He staggered back another step, and Ayrmeis dropped low, sweeping Tardison’s legs, sending him sprawling to the floor. Tardison’s sword fell as he landed hard, grimacing. Before he could move to counter, Ayrmeis plopped down on his stomach, positioning a dagger on his groin.
“The match is yours! The match is yours!” Tardison sucked in his breath, raising both hands in the air.
Ayrmeis laughed, tapping his brother’s groin with the blade. He stood, pulling him to his feet as Tardison clutched his stomach, regaining his breath.
“The contest wasn’t fair,” Tardison said.
Ayrmeis flipped his long braid to his back, wiping down his sword. “Not fair? Were the rules established before we began?”
“The rules remain the same: we fight with honor.”
“Indeed. So, I did. Where did the honor lack in my technique?”
“You sat on me, Ayrmeis!”
He laughed aloud, clapping Tardison on his back. “I used whatever means available to subdue you, yes.”
“And the dagger in my groin?”
Ayrmeis laughed even louder. “Advantage, Brother, advantage,” he said, patting Tardison’s cheek.
“Dagger in the groin? Mayhaps it’s good that I’m late.” Raithym yawned.
They turned, regarding their cousin as he took a seat on the bench, drinking from his wineskin.
“Late?” Tardison repeated. “Our practice is at an end. Where have you been?”
Raithym waved dismissively. “There’s more than practice on my mind.”
“Not Ceron again, I hope.” Ayrmeis rolled his eyes, replacing the practice swords.
“Not all of us are Jasiri warriors,” Raithym said. “Unlike you, there’s more than fighting on my mind.”
“Well, I’m not a warrior,” Tardison said. “And I still take our training seriously. Your father asked us to train together, and he expected you to be here improving your prowess.”
“Is that right? So, are you going to tell him that I neglected my duties, Tardison?”
“Of course not. Still, we were waiting for you. You could’ve told us of the delay.”
“I didn’t know myself,” Raithym said, walking across the room, and draping his arms over their shoulders. “I didn’t know that the ladies were enjoying a hot bath in the common room.” He winked. “After they finished, they rubbed each other with oils. You should’ve seen their perfect glistening bodies: the round hips and full breasts. Ceron’s would fit perfectly in my hands and my mouth. That sight was more pleasing than looking at the two of you.”
Ayrmeis slid his arm away, turning to face him. “You need to focus on what’s important, Raithym. Finding a place to stick your cock isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing. Our parents are struggling to maintain our family’s safety. Molag might be in custody, but his allies aren’t. Your mother is concerned about you. Don’t you understand the enormity of what’s taking place here?”
“Please.” Raithym scoffed. “I’m not afraid of some old and withered man. He means little and less to me, and Mother worries without cause. My prowess is sufficient enough for one as he.” Raithym grinned. “But Ceron…now she’s a project worth pursuing. If I need training anywhere, it’s between her thighs,” he said, licking his lips.
“Your mother wouldn’t think so,” Tardison said. “Ceron is nearly six years your senior, and she’s cared for you since you were a babe. That alone should stave off your desires.” He shook his head. “Considering everything that’s happened to us, Raithym, you must be sagacious.
“Once the dangers have passed, your parents will seek a pledge for you. You’re the eldest, and there’re many young maids who’d desire having you as a husband.”
“Pledge? Why in all seven hells would I want to be tethered to a wife with so many delectable offerings to sample within these very walls? I’ve seen Ceron looking at me when she thought I didn’t see. She wasn’t looking at me like she would a child. She desires me as a man. I’m going to have her as many times as my cock will rise.”
Ayrmeis and Tardison laughed aloud, shaking their heads.
“If your mother finds out that you’re bedding the attendants, it’ll rise no more,” Ayrmeis japed. “Save your seed, Cousin.”
“For what, a warrior-ess of the isle like you? I’ll be well satisfied now, and when I decide to finally marry, my wife will know pleasure like none other.”
“If I’m fortunate enough to earn a wife, I would like her to be a daughter of K’ohshul. Sir Yego has told me about the maids there, and how to gain their interest. I hope to complete the trials and take part in the N’gohne of selection, but now isn’t the time.”
“Ayrmeis is right, Raithym,” Tardison said. “Why aren’t you taking the shift seriously? Look at us,” he continued, holding his arms wide. “We’re nearly the age of our parents. This alone should raise a fear in you? Our entire lives have been manipulated by this…this wraith possessing Molag.”
“I’m the only one of us who has taken it seriously, Tardison. How are we supposed to be certain that we won’t soon shrivel like old men? I’m not going to spend all my time in the practice chamber. I plan on enjoying my life now, while it’s still mine to live.
“If you never want to taste a woman’s sweetness or experience being inside of her, so be it. I’m not of the same mind. I’m going to have my fill now while my cock can still rise and my tongue is eager to please.” Raithym turned, walking away, and grabbing his wineskin from the table.
“Raithym is a fool, Brother,” Ayrmeis said as the door closed.
“Indeed. However, not everything he said is without merit. We don’t know what the next season will bring. If the shift persists, what will become of us?”
“Ahvixx explained how this came to be and why. Our age progression is over, and we’ll continue to mature naturally. The Guardians would do nothing to our detriment. This, you know. It’s not the time to slake hedonistic desires. All of us must prepare for coming dangers. There’ll be ample time for other things once our objectives are realized,” Ayrmeis said, upraising his hand.
Tardison smiled, meeting Ayrmeis hand with his. When their palms met, the Guardian marks glimmered, sending tingling pulses of energy throughout their bodies.
Their eyes closed, as the mystical connection merged them with each other, and the Guardians. Once the light dimmed, they released a heavy breath, taking a step back.
“This is our purpose,” Ayrmeis said.
Changing of the Guard
Nzuri gently manipulated Nigel’s wrist, testing its mobility. After ensuring no swelling remained, he began wrapping it again.
“Your wounds have healed well,” Nzuri said. “I did what I could to set the broken bones, but some were fragmented or crushed. I removed the smaller particles and flushed the cavity with herbs before setting the bones in place. For now, keep it bound, and after a fortnight, remove the wrap daily and flex the muscle, before binding it again.”
Nigel watched intently as Nzuri wrapped his wrist. It had been much the same since he’d been healing in the citadel. Although Nzuri’s only Nazilian trait was his hair, his features reminded Nigel of his father: the shape of his face and eyes were the same.
When first Nigel learned about their relation, he wasn’t merely incensed, but disgusted as well. Nigel thought that Sidra Merrimont had attempted to belittle him and despoil his family’s name with the stinging slight. Now, he was of a different mind. Nzuri hadn’t treated him ill, or pressed him regarding their possible relation. It had been Nigel, after all, who’d mentioned it when the guards del
ivered him to the temple. Now he wasn’t certain how to proceed.
“What’s your father’s name?” Nigel asked.
“My father?”
“Yes. We haven’t spoken much regarding our families.”
“Lord Gayu Karidian,” Nzuri said, rising and tossing his long hair over his shoulder.
“Your father was highborn?”
“Yes. The same as yours. His brother, Xavion still resides in Noraa as does my grandfather.”
Nigel squinted, tilting his head. “I recall a First Captain named Karidian.”
“That’s my grandfather, Lassiter Karidian. He built a home near the banks of the Great Sword.”
“Home? If it’s the one I picture, it’s nearly as large as the citadel itself.”
Nzuri chuckled, gathering his supplies. “It’s large, indeed. However, hardly as vast as Noraa’s citadel. But my family is quite comfortable.”
Nigel regarded the pensive priest with interest, examining him from toe to head. Nzuri stood taller than he did, but he wasn’t as well muscled. His features were human, yet strangely not unattractive. The more he studied Nzuri’s face, the more he recognized small parts of his father.
Everyone in Nazil knew the name Karidian. Even Nigel’s late father had spoken well of the wealthy captain. Nigel wouldn’t have ever believed that this plain-clothed priest was the heir to such wealth or came from such a prominent family.
“If you have such a fine home and position in Noraa, why do you serve as a priest in Nazil?”
“Why? Because I’m called to do so.”
Nigel’s eyes rolled as Nzuri set a caldron over the flames, adding herbs and roots. After the liquid had warmed, he poured it in a cup, handing it to Nigel.
“So, you were called by these Guardians of yours?” Nigel asked, sipping the herbal broth.
“The Guardians belong not to me. I am in their service, helping to heal the lands through their guidance. It’s by their grace that you were healed when Molag left you to die.”
The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 160