The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  As he heard the scratches and squeaks around him, he reminded himself that this wasn’t the first time that he’d ventured into the depths. Many times past, he’d taken the tunnel to the temple and explored the caverns underneath the great structure. But Raithym missed having his cousin with him. He and Ayrmeis had enjoyed discovering the citadel’s secrets together. Another smile graced his face at the memory.

  His and Ayrmeis’ features were so alike, many thought they looked like brothers. In truth, he felt the same. Ayrmeis favored Raithym more than either Tardison or Eytan. Even their size and build were nearly identical. They’d always been close, and Raithym wished that he was with him now.

  Nonetheless, he could never ask Ayrmeis to accompany him for something such as this. His cousin wouldn’t ever disobey a command from his father or Symeon, and Raithym wouldn’t put him in a position where he’d have to consider doing so.

  He took a deep and steadying breath, pausing as he reached another door. Placing his ear against the rotting wood, he listened for any sounds coming from behind. For many long moments, he sat motionless, considering his plan. He’d struggled with the same for several suns before deciding upon this course. Raithym didn’t want to defy his parents, but he couldn’t sit idle, either. This, he had to do.

  Removing the wood panel, he lowered himself to the ladder, counting each step just as he’d done the first time they’d discovered the passage. When he reached the bottom, he turned east, continuing to the wall at the corridor’s end. It appeared as stone, but he’d found the lever to rotate the false wall and allow his passage.

  He breathed a relieved sigh when he stepped into the former bath chamber. Setting his torch aside, he removed his soiled clothing, and changed into something more appropriate for his meeting.

  Once he’d replaced his boots, he glanced around the room, recalling its significance. Many things had changed in Nazil since his uncle became Zaxson, and there were more challenges ahead of them.

  Raithym walked over to the door, peering through the bars at its top. He didn’t need to stand on his tiptoes now. Not like before. He was a man grown, and he’d face his enemy to end his mother’s anguish while protecting the whole of Faélondul.

  From this vantage, he could see down the cell-lined corridor. It was empty, just as the room in which he stood. Empty.

  Taking another sobering breath, Raithym doused his torch before stepping through the door. By the Zaxson’s order, no guards were stationed near the cells. He wasn’t certain of the reasoning behind it, but Raithym felt blessed that it was so.

  As he walked along the line of cells, he halted, feeling a presence beyond anything that he understood. When he turned, only his shadow lingered behind him.

  “I’m allowing my mother’s warnings to make me trepidatious.”

  “She warns of me,” a strange voice responded, drawing Raithym to the locked cell.

  The stench greeted him before he saw the bound man, sitting naked on a stool. The bucket for his fluids overflowed, and the rancid smell nearly caused Raithym to retch. He took a step back, covering his nose, and leering at the filthy man with disgust.

  Molag’s beard had grown long and bedraggled. Though once portly, his belly lay flat and loose. When he grinned, Raithym noticed oddly shaped teeth, however, he couldn’t discern much through the unkempt hair overhanging Molag’s lips.

  “You don’t look like much of a threat to me, Molag Bomgaard,” Raithym said, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I don’t fear you.”

  Molag smiled again, gazing down with flashing eyes. “You haven’t anything to fear from me. Never would I harm one so important to these lands.”

  Raithym squinted toward the man, unsure. “You’ve mistaken me for my cousin, Tardison. He’s the one of importance.”

  Molag cackled, causing the hairs on Raithym’s neck to stand on end.

  “Tardison’s so-called importance is nugatory. It’s you, descendant of Oisin, and rightful ruler of Faélondul.”

  Raithym’s expression was bemused, considering the manipulator’s words. “I don’t know any Oisin. I’m a Benoist, and my father’s the Nakshij of Nazil.”

  Molag cackled again, taunting him without uttering a word. “Their lies are ever mounting. Pentanimir always wanted to be greater than his brother. He’d even raise his son above the true line of Nazilian rulers.

  “Oisin, Satanicus, Naughton, Nikolaj, Draizeyn, Daracus…and you.” He smirked. “All men of honor—all came from the first.”

  “My uncle is the true ruler. Your perfidies might inspire lesser men to treachery, but I’m a Benoist,” Raithym said, unsheathing his sword. “Hold your tongue or see it removed from your lying mouth!”

  Molag lowered his head as a broad smile creased his cracked lips. He suddenly shot up toward the bars of his cell, causing the manacles around his wrist and ankles to rattle as they held him in place.

  Raithym jerked back, nearly dropping his sword.

  Molag rattled his chains, laughing louder. “You’re a fierce warrior, indeed,” he mocked, taking his seat.

  Raithym was disgusted with himself. Had Ayrmeis stood in his place, he wouldn’t have flinched. His cousin would’ve pierced Molag’s heart with movements so swift that no one could’ve registered them. With that thought, he glared at Molag, feeling suddenly vulnerable before the filthy man.

  “I know your thoughts,” Molag teased. “Your jealousy is plain, son of Oisin.”

  “I’m the son of Danimore!” Raithym shouted, extending his sword.

  “You are the son of Danimore, but in your veins courses the blood of Oisin: the first and founder of Nazil. Leader of Faélondul and beyond. His greatness is within you.”

  “Oisin? You know not what you speak, old man. I wasted my time coming here. My mother might fear you, but I don’t. You’re pathetic, and the headsman will soon have his day,” Raithym sneered, sheathing his sword, and turning away.

  “They didn’t tell you about your true father? You weren’t trusted with the truth of your birth or the integrity of your sire.”

  When Raithym faced the cell again, Molag met his eyes.

  “Your mother was pregnant with you when she and Danimore met. He didn’t care that she carried a bastard or that she’d bedded every guard in the citadel. That virgin fool loved the human whore and accepted you as his own. Just as Pentanimir isn’t Ayrmeis’ sire, nor is Danimore yours.”

  “You know not what you speak,” Raithym said, fearing some of his words might hold truth. “My mother is no whore!”

  “Ask your honorable parents and see if they’ll tell you the truth. They know your true father, and Ayrmeis’ as well. If you doubt my words, look at the mark of your birth. Is it not the same as Ayrmeis’?”

  That question set Raithym back on his heels. He and Ayrmeis had commented about the similarities in their birthmarks, but their parents dismissed it. They’d believed it was common with the Benoist line, but neither their fathers, Ihnat or his cousins shared the same. Only he and Ayrmeis bore the mark. With those truths in mind, Raithym scrutinized Molag more closely.

  “You lie,” he said, his voice cracking with the words.

  Molag’s smile grew, knowing that he’d drawn him in. “No. They are the ones who’ve lied.”

  “Watch what you speak about my blood.”

  “Your blood? Your blood doesn’t flow in the veins of the usurpers occupying the citadel. Your blood is of Oisin, and your mark of birth attests to the same.” He stood. “Oisin was the first and the greatest of all in his line. Through him, Nazil was created.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “No, young Raithym, I’m the only one telling you the truth. Because of this, I’m shackled like an animal,” he said, rattling his chains. “You’re a descendant of Nazil’s creator: Oisin Vereux. You should be ruling over all of Faélondul.” He smirked, stepping closer to the bars. “After all, the pythonesses in the cursed wood murdered your father, and Jahno murdered his son.”
/>   Raithym’s eyes nearly jumped from their sockets, knowing that the Guardians had killed Draizeyn Vereux, and Jahno was responsible for Daracus’ death.

  “No! No! You lie! I’m no son of Draizeyn! You take back your words or I’ll cut the lying tongue from your mouth!”

  He cackled, tilting his head back, and then wriggled his tongue. “If you think you’re man enough to take it,” Molag said, opening his mouth wide and extending his tongue again.

  Raithym roared, slashing forward and through the bars with his sword. Molag’s eyes whited over, his jaws contorting obscenely like the maws of some unspeakably monstrous thing. Raithym tried to retract his sword, but his moment of hesitation betrayed him.

  Releasing an otherworldly shriek, Molag spewed forth a milky substance, splattering Raithym. He stumbled back, thrashing and slapping at the burning, viscid material, leaving febrile welts on his skin. Smoke wafted from Molag’s open mouth, snaking toward Raithym, and encompassing him in a gelid fog.

  As he opened his mouth to scream, the fog swirled, funneling down his throat as the wraith’s essence suffused him.

  Raithym plummeted to the ground, releasing an agonized shriek, writhing on the floor as Mah’saahc took full possession of him.

  His screams resonated down the barren corridor, causing the guards to rush down the stairs. Neither of the men noticed Molag motionless in his cell, as they sheathed their swords, reaching down to Raithym.

  “Lord Benoist! Lord Benoist! By the gods, are you all right?” the first guard said, gently lifting his head. When Raithym began to snigger, the guards exchanged a perplexed glance, leaning further away.

  “Lord Benoist?” the second guard said, moving to stand. Before he could fully rise, Raithym clutched their throats, lifting them as he stood.

  “I’m afraid your young lord is no more.” Raithym flashed a jagged grin, sending the guards careening into the wall. Their heads hit with a sickening thud, as their bodies slumped to the floor.

  Raithym licked his lips, gliding his hands down his toned body. He grinned with satisfaction, taking a step forward, but when Molag moaned, he pivoted back around, walking to his cell.

  Wrenching the door from its hinges, Raithym grabbed a fistful of Molag’s hair, jerking his head back. When he met Raithym’s eyes, all color drained from Molag’s face. He brought his hands up, struggling against Raithym’s grasp.

  “No. No.” Molag wheezed. “Please, I’m—” His pleas ended in a gag as Raithym bit through his throat, crushing his windpipe. Escaping air and gurgles echoed in the cell while Raithym fed, syphoning the life from the man.

  Once he’d had his fill, Raithym glanced down at Molag’s seizing body, whispering arcane words before stabbing his hand into Molag’s chest.

  “I was pleased,” Raithym hissed, turning away, and heading for the postern door.

  Deception

  The helding’s eyes widened, taking several steps back. He glanced over at the guard, and then back to the hooded man.

  “Are you mad?” the guard said.

  The man stalked closer, checking the corridors, and ensuring they were alone. “Now is the time,” he whispered. “Molag is being held in the cells and Ladir is ready for transport. With everyone’s attention on Molag Bomgaard, this is our best opportunity,” he said, looking from the guard to the helding.

  “What about the Jasiri?” the guard asked. “I’m not going to risk my life for you.”

  He grabbed the guard’s collar, not breaking his gaze. “You’ll do everything that you agreed to,” he sneered. “I don’t care if the Jasiri cut you to shreds. This you will do.”

  “You’re mad.” The guard’s mouth gaped. “How are we supposed to remove him without being discovered? You devised this plan before the Jasiri joined the Chosen’s ranks. They miss nothing, and their aim is true.”

  “This, they won’t see. We’ve been charged to transport Ladir to Rhoyden for the remainder of his sentence. The Jasiri won’t consider our movements suspicious. They’ll ensure the proper escort is in place to ferry the prisoner, nothing more.

  “No one cares about the well-being of that treacherous piece of filth other than the usual security procedures already in place. You can easily conceal the other one beneath the tarp with our equipment and supplies. No one will know or care. Their attention is solely on Molag.”

  “That’s easy to say when you’re risking nothing,” the helding accused in a loud whisper. “Both the High Priest and Zaxson have been suspicious since we asked to join the temple. Guards remain stationed in the dortor’s corridors and common areas. They suspect me. I know it.”

  The man’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. “Silence, you mewling wandought! Why do you think that you were ordered to join the temple of these…these pythonesses ? Everything was meticulously arranged for this very time: the ambush on the Zaxson, your allegiance to that abomination who calls himself a priest, and your assignment here.” His eyes flared, taking a step forward. “Crafting this plan has been arduous, and you’ll complete the tasks you agreed to.”

  “When I agreed, the Jasiri weren’t in Nazil. They’ve already killed Ingemar. You remain protected while we’re the ones they’ll see and apprehend. This is madness. I don’t care about who you claim to serve. I won’t risk myself for this. It’s sacrilege.”

  The man’s hand shot forward in a blur, grasping the helding’s throat.

  “You were placed here for this task alone,” he said through gnashed teeth. “My allies won’t tolerate cowardice or sedition. If you’d rather be released from your obligations, I’ll gladly grant that request.”

  The guard gasped, taking a shaky step back as the man’s other arm came up around the helding’s neck. He watched in horrified disbelief as the helding flailed helplessly for air while the man increased the pressure on his throat, twisting his neck around.

  His face darkened with bulging eyes, as his body seized, jerking spasmodically before finally going limp. The man released his hold, and the helding’s lifeless body thudded to the floor.

  “How are we supposed to explain this? You’ve killed him. He’s a Cha, and you killed him.” The guard’s voice trembled.

  “Don’t be a fool. Had I not, he might’ve reported our plans to his superiors. We would’ve been apprehended before we reached the city’s gates. I don’t plan to share a cell with Molag Bomgaard.”

  “Wh—what are we to do now? We can’t hide his body here, and we don’t have enough supplies to warrant a second cot.”

  “We’ll move him to the crypts.” He smirked. “It’s fortuitous for us, is it not? Make haste. The High Priest will return soon from the citadel, and I need to retake my post.”

  “What if I’m seen leaving the city?”

  “Do exactly what you’ve been instructed to do. I’ll rendezvous with you near the Nazil Bridge and relieve you of him there. After he’s secured, I’ll rejoin you before you arrive in Rhoyden. You mustn’t delay, or the herbs Ladir ingested will have run their course. He needs to remain unconscious for the entire trip.”

  “And if I come upon a patrol?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “So be it. We’re on orders to transport Ladir to Rhoyden. Firstly, we’ll move him to the crypts.” He kicked the corpse at his feet. “Then, you’ll fetch the other guard.” The man moved forward threateningly. “My allies don’t accept failure,” he said, glancing down at the helding’s lifeless body. “Nor do I.”

  Warriors

  Ahvixx vaulted up, hearing Odahg and Tika howl. His eyes glimmered, sensing the shift, and receiving the extrasensory communication.

  “Raithym. No,” Ahvixx said, rushing from the room. After retrieving his staff, he went to the nursery, kneeling beside his wife.

  “Ahvixx, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

  “It’s time. She’s taken Raithym, and Ayrmeis and I must follow.”

  “She?” Sahma’s mouth gaped, looking at him wide-eyed. “The—the wraith? You’re going to San
ctium?”

  “Don’t fear. The Guardians are with us, all of us,” he said, kissing the crown of Naomi’s head, before finding Sahma’s lips. “Odahg and Tika will remain here with you and Naomi.”

  She wiped away her tears, hugging Ahvixx close. “Come home to us, husband. Please.”

  “Nothing will keep me from it.” He kissed her again, and then hurried to the stable, retrieving his mount.

  Before he’d passed beneath the portcullis, the Desu Beast’s screeches sounded overhead as Arinak and Xandi descended on the roof.

  ♦

  “Mah’saahc,” Ahvixx said, rushing through the doors of the audience hall.

  Ayrmeis nodded, standing at Symeon’s side. He appeared both the opposite and the mirror-image of the K’ohshulian warrior. Ayrmeis donned the Guardian Armor, yet beneath he wore the black leather breast covering and trews of the Jasiri.

  “He couldn’t be stopped,” Tardison said. “The wraith speeds his way. Mah’saahc means to destroy the seal and release the Zon’Tuls.”

  Ahvixx’s eyes glimmered, peering at the audience hall’s double doors. “The Protectors are here,” he said, turning to Ayrmeis. “It is time.”

  Pentanimir went to Ayrmeis’ side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been prepared for this, just as the Guardians prepared me. They’re with you always. Trust in them and do not be deceived.”

  Ayrmeis nodded, accepting Pentanimir’s offered hand. When Brahanu stepped forward, she enfolded him in her arms.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “And I, you, Mother. Do not fear, I’ll return to you,” he promised, kissing her cheek.

  Symeon watched the exchange, feeling the tug of his own emotion. He reached for the acacia chest, extending it out to Ayrmeis.