The Rise of Nazil

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  Diverse Epic Fantasy with an EDGE

  Aaron-Michael Hall

  © 2015 Aaron-Michael Hall, aaronmichaelhall.com

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book or parts thereof may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  P.O. Box 2586

  McDonough, GA 30253

  Xtabyren@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Artist: Upied

  Cover Designer: Julie Nicholls

  Editor: JB Lazarte

  Editor: Morgan Smith

  Proofreader: Michael Moon

  ISBN: 0692518894

  ISBN: 978-0692518892

  LCCN: 2015914400

  CURRENT TITLES

  The Rise of Nazil

  Seed of Scorn

  Piercing the Darkness

  Rites of Heirdron

  Orbs of Trenihgea

  UPCOMING RELEASES

  Kurintor Nyusi

  Tamesa

  Keepers of Nine

  Blood of Oisin

  For Aaron-Michael, Dawntaylesha, Saba, and Shumiaye.

  Forever our angels.

  Frankie, Mudville Dames

  “The Rise of Nazil is an epic fantasy that should be shelved next to the works of R.A. Salvatore and J. R. R. Tolkien. With sweeping love stories, intense battles, theological struggles, and modern sociological themes, this book was the best read of 2015.”

  Amazon

  “The Rise of Nazil is a complex work, combining the cadence and richness of "old school" fantasy with the violence, intricate treacheries, and modern sensibilities of The Game of Thrones. If Michael Moorcock were writing for today's audience, he might well have written this kind of work.”

  Readers’ Favorite

  “The Rise of Nazil by Aaron-Michael Hall is the novel for anyone who craves great action and drama. This is a complex plot at its best. The character development is perfect.”

  BookViral

  “Faélondul is a world imbued with good and evil, that permeates through a richly layered social strata, but few facets of human nature have changed, and he captures them all. Desire, ambition, greed, each masterfully manifested in a host of vividly rendered characters that make for a riveting read whilst neatly sidestepping the pitfalls of predictability.

  Crafted like a mound of gems picked from the best in genre, The Rise of Nazil makes for a scintillating read. Boding well for future releases from Aaron-Michael Hall, it is recommended without reservation.”

  Goodreads

  “At a little under 600 pages, The Rise of Nazil definitely deserves the title ‘Epic.’ Not simply for its length, but the sheer intricacy of the plot and the superb imaginative musing of its author. Central to its success for me is the way he has created not only fabulous fantasy worlds but a complex geo political structure which breathes a refreshing breath of authenticity into a genre which too often than not has become trite and predictable.”

  Midwest Book Review

  D. Donovan

  Fantasy readers may be used to epic battles and confrontations, but it should be noted that even the most seasoned reader of such sagas will find an unusually complex, well-detailed plot to this story, which covers numerous characters, special interests, lost connections between generations, and challenges to long-established beliefs.

  From slaves and political alliances, romance and war, and the presence of ethereal Guardians who promise hope and promote faith in a time of conflict to the ongoing contrast and struggles between love, personal interests, and the greater good of the wider world, Pentanimir and others face choices and consequences not always of their making as they watch the Nazilians threaten everything they have known and built.

  Where other authors might create black-and-white delineations between good and evil forces, Aaron-Michael Hall adds much food for thought on all sides, introducing sets of circumstances which are neither cut and dried nor clear. Fast-paced action and drama is tempered by the moral, psychological, and spiritual dilemmas of many of the characters, while layers of angst, lust, and confrontation make for a story that may dismay some with its sexuality and violence, at points, but which will delight readers who want all kinds of perspectives and approaches under one cover.

  Many epic fantasies eschew such undercurrents in favor of acceptably clean focuses on action, politics, and light romance; but one of the strengths of this story is its different and overt inclusion of all kinds of forces at work in the kingdom.

  Readers who like epic reads who aren't put off by graphic descriptions of violence in the course of an action-filled story line will find The Rise of Nazil a gritty, absorbing tale that winds the lives of its characters into the reader's mind until the story becomes gripping, passionate, and hard to put down.

  Readers’ Favorite Award-Winner 2017

  Haunted by his past. Trapped by his heritage. Led by his heart.

  Faélondul is destined for war. A world ruled by Nazilians and their indomitable Chosen Guard, led by Pentanimir Benoist: a battle-seasoned warrior driven by honor and devoted to his people.

  When his ruler, Draizeyn Vereux, plots to exterminate the humans, Pentanimir’s life is thrust into a vortex of unspeakable conflict. Haunted by ghosts of his past, Pentanimir struggles to honor his vows while retaining his soul.

  His forbidden love for Brahanu, a human, is the catalyst for this war. Betrayed by his allies, bound by his honor, and led by his heart, Pentanimir leads a battle for the whole of Faélondul: a battle that resurrects an ancient threat that can consume both Nazilian and human.

  What victory can you claim when the enemy you must defeat lies within you?

  Chapter 1 The Coming Storm

  Chapter 2Forbidden Love

  Chapter 3Bandari

  Chapter 4Gift of Sight

  Chapter 5The Search

  Chapter 6Return to Nazil

  Chapter 7Oxilon

  Chapter 8Road to Cazaal

  Chapter 9Fête

  Chapter 10After the Feast

  Chapter 11Bonding of the Promised

  Chapter 12Two are Made One

  Chapter 13New Beginnings

  Chapter 14Time for Healing

  Chapter 15Hosdaq

  Chapter 16Visit from Spero

  Chapter 17House Benoist

  Chapter 18Wounds that Heal

  Chapter 19Change in Plan

  Chapter 20Gali

  Chapter 21Encroachment

  Chapter 22Invidious

  Chapter 23Life, Death, and Pain

  Chapter 24Confrontation

  Chapter 25Seat of Power

  Chapter 26Return of the Zaxson

  Chapter 27Strategy

  Chapter 28The Rise of Nazil

  Author

  Index

  “I’m not asking for you to accept my dream as truth. You asked what came to me as I slept, and now I’ve told you. Knowing the future doesn’t make you wise, Hacom. It only gives you a glimpse of what might come to pass. What you do with that knowledge is what shows the worth of a man.”

  -Nohek Glennon

  75th year of Kehldaron

  Coming Storm

  Brahanu awoke disoriented on the freezing ground. Her hands trembled, reaching out into the darkness that surrounded her. Her
vision was as obfuscated as her mind, the dizzying dots causing her to nearly sway back to the ground. Pelting rain stung her face as she clenched her eyes shut, crying out in the darkness.

  Brahanu had traveled far beyond the borders of Cazaal in an effort to replenish the diminishing supplies. Now, she wished that she hadn’t. Her father didn’t want her to leave the safety of their village, but she’d convinced him otherwise. She assisted the lakaar, and persuaded her father to allow her leave. But she wasn’t supposed to travel this far, or be gone this long.

  Brahanu nursed her side, attempting to push up to her feet. The piercing pain that followed caused her to cry out again, staggering back a few steps. Gods, help me, she thought, trying to gain control over her mounting fear, and force the pain from her mind.

  “Where—where am I?” she asked, wiping the wetness from her eyes. Her surroundings were still a blur as she desperately tried to see through the murky haze encompassing her.

  “Ared?” When the horse didn’t return, she called for him again. “Ared?” Brahanu repeated louder. “Please. Ared!”

  She was alone.

  “Gods be good, please help me,” she said, limping forward. Brahanu searched the darkness for any indication of where Ared had taken her. She couldn’t remember anything past the storm…past him charging through the wood. Then, there was nothing. Never had Ared behaved so, and she feared as much for him as she did for herself. She didn’t know how long she’d lain in the gelid pool, but she had to find Ared, and her way back home. Her motion slowed at the thought, and she paused, noticing the familiar scent wafting through the air. Ignoring the pain, she inhaled deeper.

  “Smoke! That smells like smoke. I must be near the village.” Brahanu wondered aloud, ignoring the voice of reason calling out to her. The voice that would send her far from the scent of hope in the air. Instead, she convinced herself that she was home, back in Cazaal, safe and near her family and her promised. If she could only reach the burning fires that led the way.

  Wincing, Brahanu reached down for a branch to steady her stance. With each step, the pain stabbed at her, and the increasing downpour made it nearly impossible to see. She continued to pray, moving forward slowly at first, but when the scent became stronger, she hastened.

  “I can see the fires now. Thank the gods! I can make it,” she said, still denying the obvious truth. When the fitful light came into view in the dark distance, Brahanu slowed again, still struggling to see through the intensifying downpour. She shielded her eyes, squinting.

  “Wait, there’s more than one light. There’re three, no, four fires. This isn’t Cazaal. Where am I?” she asked. “Is this the Neema Outpost? Surely, this couldn’t be.” Her fear escalated, but her desperation kept her moving.

  As she emerged from the haze of the storm, a guard took notice. A shadow, he thought, examining the form emerging from the darkness. No, not a shadow. An enemy. Raising his arbalest, he readied the bolt, not taking his eyes from the figure.

  Brahanu continued toward the flames, seeing the man’s obscure outline in the darkness. The gods are good. I’ve made it!

  The dancing flares whipped through the air, casting a luminescence over Brahanu as she approached. The guard’s mouth gaped, and he staggered back a step, concealing himself within the shadows of the stone brazier. Drenching rains saturated Brahanu’s raven hair, making a perfect frame for her face. He could see wounds on her forehead and cheek, but her beauty is what drew him. With each step, her features became more visible. He licked the sudden dryness from his lips, admiring the fullness of hers. Brahanu’s eyes were as dark as the night sky, yet a thousand times more beautiful. Her smooth mahogany skin glistened in the firelight, with the trickling rain making it appear even more so. Never had he seen a woman so beautiful. An ethereal beauty. “By the gods,” he whispered, trying to regain himself. When she was nearly upon him, he secured his cowl, concealing his features.

  “Sir? Sir, please can you help me?”

  Gods, she’s beautiful. Such beauty. Not here, no, not here, he thought. When he adjusted his cowl, she was but a few strides away.

  “Sir? Can you help me? My horse was frightened by the storm and I’ve lost my way. I—I followed the light of your torches. I thought that I was heading in the direction of my village, of Cazaal. My father is the Caretaker and would know your commander. Can you help me?”

  He tried to speak, but no words came forth. He continued to stare for a few moments more, ensuring that she wasn’t an illusion manifested from his deepest desire.

  “Sir?”

  “I—I—beg pardon, my lady, I didn’t intend to be discourteous. It’s—may I ask your name?”

  “My name is Brahanu. I don’t mean to cause you any trouble, but you’re the only person that I’ve seen. Is there a lakaar on duty or can I speak with your commander?”

  “Brahanu,” he whispered. “What a beautiful name. The sound is almost as lovely as the one who owns it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, flattered, yet bemused. “And your name, Sir?”

  “My name is Pentanimir Benoist, son of Manifir. What are—”

  When the guards atop the ramparts called out, he gripped Brahanu’s arm, pulling her toward a copse of trees.

  “Sir, sir you’re hurting me,” she protested. “Please, let go of my arm. Gods! My leg, please, stop.”

  “You must quiet yourself, Brahanu, for both our sakes,” he warned, checking their surroundings before lowering her to a stump. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at her leg. Brahanu grimaced, slightly raising her long skirts.

  His hands trembled as he knelt in front of her, inspecting the wound. “Brahanu, it isn’t safe for you here. Your leg is bruised and cut; it’s not broken. I can tend to your wounds and provide provisions, but you mustn’t remain.”

  “What? I’m no stranger to the wood. If not for the storm and my horse being frightened, I wouldn’t be lost. I’m tired and need to rest,” she said, pulling back her cloak and revealing the dagger tucked in her belt. “I can defend myself when the times require it. My father has trained many men stationed here, and me as well.” As she stood, a feeling of lightheadedness caused her to stumble. Pentanimir steadied her stance, lowering her gently back to the stump.

  “Your bravery isn’t in question, Brahanu, but you aren’t well, and indeed need rest and care. I’ll see to these things if you allow. However, the wood isn’t what you should fear. There are far worse dangers closer than you realize.”

  “I don’t understand. If you’re attempting to scare me with tales of creatures unknown, it’s not necessary. I only need a place to rest until the storm passes. If I can’t find that here, I’ll leave.”

  “No,” he said. “My intention isn’t to frighten or drive you away. I’m offering you my help, and trying to protect…” He sighed wistfully, knowing he’d have to reveal himself. Without speaking another word, he rose, sliding the cowl from his head. His pale, ice-blue eyes studied her face, fearing her reaction.

  Brahanu gasped, realizing what he was…where she was. Pentanimir’s long, silvery-white hair blew in the chilling breeze as he met her eyes. Her voice caught in her throat as if something tangible was lodged there. She shook her head, with terrifying screams echoing in her mind. When he reached out to her, she swung wildly, falling back onto the ground. Brahanu kicked, pushing away from him, feeling the ictus of her heart thumping in her chest. Staggering to her feet, she continued to fight. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t stand, and soon, darkness crept in from the corners of her eyes.

  Pentanimir caught her as she swooned, cradling her in his arms. “Brahanu,” he whispered. When she didn’t respond, he stroked her cheek. You’re so beautiful. The gods have brought you to me. Only the gods could create such beauty.

  Pentanimir lowered her to the ground, covering her with his cloak. “I need to return before they look for me. But I’ll come back for you soon, my beautiful Brahanu.”

  Brahanu blinked her eyes open, awakening in th
e darkness. Her surroundings were distorted, and she clenched her eyes, attempting to clear the fog from her mind. Was I dreaming? she thought, sitting up and inspecting the tree-lined area. Gradually, her vision and remembrances came into focus. She noticed the cloak covering her, and another one spread beneath her on the ground. “It wasn’t a dream,” Brahanu said aloud before realizing it. She pushed to her feet, and then paused. Wait, the pain...the pain is gone, she noticed, gazing down at the fresh bandages on her hands.

  As she raised her skirts, rustling branches claimed her attention. Her eyes widened, and she drew the dagger from her waist, crouching beside a bush.

  “Who’s there?” she demanded. “Who are you?”

  Her heartbeat quickened, hearing the light footfalls and snapping branches beneath them. She gripped the handle on her dagger, listening closely. As she began to rise, someone grabbed her wrist, wrenching the dagger from her hand. Brahanu whirled around, punching with her left while struggling to reclaim her dagger. She cried out, landing a hard kick, followed by a back-fist as she twisted away. Before she could move to run, he clutched her arms, pulling her back in toward him.

  “Please stop,” Pentanimir pleaded. “I’m not going to hurt you, Brahanu, please don’t fear me. I’m only trying to help you. Others may come if you—”

  She slammed her head into his nose, still trying to break free. “No! Release me now,” she said, slamming her head back again.

  “Gods! Brahanu, stop, it’s me, it’s Pentanimir, please.”

  “Let me go! I know what you are. No. You’re…you’re Nazilian—a ghost. I’ll die before I let you take me.”