The Rise of Nazil

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  Pentanimir met Danimore’s eyes, contemplating what to say. “Dani—”

  “I know. You’ll tell me when the time calls for it. I know your heart, Pentanimir. If this is something that you must do, I’ll not hinder you. Do what you must, and I’ll do as you’ve asked. Go now before the guard returns.”

  Pentanimir embraced him quickly and then moved back toward the coppice. Although he worried about his brother, he couldn’t stop thinking of Brahanu. She was a beautiful woman, but he’d seen other beautiful women, yet none of them captivated him like she did. He hadn’t ever felt the warmth or connection that he did with her. Making Brahanu understand these feelings would be difficult. Firstly, he’d have to understand them himself.

  “I’m glad that you’ve returned.”

  “Brahanu, you startled me. I didn’t expect to find you here. Why did you leave the coppice?”

  “I heard something and wanted to see what it was. My vantage is greater from here. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Releasing the reins, he grabbed some items from the saddlebag. “Please, wear this. I’m certain that you’re chilled. I apologize for not having anything more befitting you, but this’ll keep you warm.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pentanimir gathered the damp cloaks, draping them over his horse. “We need to travel into the woods a short distance. This’ll only be until we clear the sight of the guards, after which we’ll head west toward the mountains. Once we reach the path, we’ll continue until the sun’s rise. We should arrive at the mountains pass by that time. I know that you’re tired, but we must continue throughout the night. There are falls and a small lake where we can rest on the other side. Do you have the skin that I gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It would be wise to drink from it before we leave. The road is long.”

  Brahanu nodded, taking a long drink from the skin. “I understand. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be able to endure as long as you need.”

  A Pledge

  “No!” Surma snapped. “Place the olives near the Zaxson’s setting. They are his favorite. How many times must I remind you of placement?”

  “For—forgive me,” Zeta said. “I won’t forget again.”

  “See that you don’t. Elsewise, I’ll send you for redirection. Is that what you want, Zeta?”

  Her face blanched, staring wide-eyed. Many that he’d sent for redirection never returned.

  For Zeta, the transition was exceedingly difficult. Unlike Surma, she wasn’t born into servitude. She was taken captive after her ship was ambushed on the Great Sword. When the soldiers first arrived, she’d thanked the gods for saving her. However, once she realized they were Nazilian, she was terrified. The screams of the carnage were unbearable. One by one, the Nazilians slaughtered most of the men onboard. She ran aft, trying to escape, but a soldier grabbed her, tossing her back onto the deck.

  “Just like a rat, tryin’ to flee a sinkin’ ship,” he sneered, landing a hard kick.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded. It was the first time that she’d seen a Nazilian, but tales of their cruelty preceded them. She would’ve rather that the gelid currents of the Great Sword consumed her than be captured by the ruthless ghosts of Nazil.

  “No, not a rat, a mouse!” he said, turning Zeta on her back. “Oh, and a pretty little mouse ya are. Ya gonna show me some gratitude fer savin’ yer life, mouse?”

  Zeta couldn’t respond. She drew her knees up to her chest, weeping. The soldier only laughed, forcing her arms wide and ripping her thin covering.

  “Hmm…those look like ripe little plums to me. Mayhaps I should sample their sweetness,” he said, lasciviously.

  Zeta screamed, kicking out at him. She grappled at her torn clothes with one hand, while slapping at him with the other. His laughter faded, as he clutched a fistful of her hair, slapping her one way and then the other. She lurched sideward, her head meeting the wooden deck.

  Reaching a rough hand down to her, he drew her up to her knees, edging a dagger beneath her chin.

  “Heed my words, ya human piece of filth. If ya give me anymore trouble, I’ll cut your worthless throat. Not enough to kill ya, no, no. That’d be too easy. Just enough to stop yer whinin’. Then, I’ll take ya in every way possible. But ya be a good little mouse, and I’ll be easy with you,” he said, jerking her up, and forcing her over the rail.

  Gods help me, she begged, feeling his growing excitement. He roughly fondled her chest, his pungent breath heavy in her ear.

  “Did ya like that little mouse?”

  Zeta yelped when he wrenched her trousers down, probing with his calloused hand.

  “Oh, a tight little thing ya are,” the man sneered. “Mayhaps I’ll be the first to give ya a taste of womanhood. Ya should thank me,” he said, as he took her.

  Zeta couldn’t count how many times they’d used her. At some point, she was unconscious, and they still persisted. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t walk: they wanted her on her back. Once a beautiful maiden promised, now, she felt merely a collection of holes used to pleasure her captors.

  A hard backhand across her face brought Zeta back from the painful memory. “Didn’t you hear me? Mayhaps some re-direction is needed, or I could send you back to the Cha for their purge.” Surma said.

  “No, please, don’t send me away. I beg of you, please.”

  “Then know this: if I need to remind you again, your fate will be as Maya’s, except your suffering won’t end so quickly.”

  “Yes, Surma,” she said, repositioning items on the table. “I’ll remember.”

  “See that you do. When Jahno brings the wine and cheeses, ensure that they’re placed properly. I expect no less than perfection.”

  “Yes, Surma.”

  When he left the hall, Hushar stepped closer, draping an arm over her shoulder. Zeta immediately flinched, cowering away from her.

  “Forgive me,” Hushar said. “I shouldn’t have touched you without permission.”

  “Permission? It’s the Zaxson’s permission that’s needed. This body no longer belongs to me. I’m just the one forced to endure the pain inflicted upon it.”

  “Zeta, it’s more difficult to be born free and then made to serve. We’re not like Surma, and I think that he hates this more than us being human. He’s never known what it means to be free, and enjoys reminding us that we’ll never experience that freedom again. Even so, you must try to make the adjustment. It’s not easy, and I know that more than most, but it’s necessary. When you do, you’ll find that some things here can bring some happiness,” Hushar said, dabbing the trickling blood from Zeta’s lip. “When you first came, I didn’t think I could save you. They threw you in my cell battered and bleeding. I cried and prayed to the Guardians to save you.”

  “You should’ve prayed for my death.”

  “No. I wouldn’t do such a thing. You were special then, just as you are now. It was good that you weren’t conscious for many suns. With the limited supplies allowed me, I sewed tears and mended what wounds I could. They gave me nothing for your pain, only healing ointments to ready you for work. It’s been seven full moons now. You have to think of your babe as well as yourself.”

  “My child will be a slave, too. It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or girl. They use them both for ill, and I hate them for it. Why have the gods done this? Why not allow me to die and take this child from me. I shouldn’t love it, yet I do. How can I love it and know what they’ll do to it? I can’t protect it or myself. I love it, Hushar. I can’t believe the words as I speak them, but I do.”

  “Shh…I know, child, I know. Please, stop this, stop this now,” she said, wiping away her tears. “If Surma returns, you’ll be punished.”

  Zeta stifled her tears, smoothing her thick, red hair.

  “Hushar,” Jahno said, entering the room. “Surma told me to bring this for you. He says there’ll be eight now. Lord Daracus should sit opposite his father. He’ll need some mulled
wine as well. He’s still ailing, and I’ve been ordered to serve him.”

  Hushar sighed, giving him a quick hug. “It’ll be all right. Does he need anything else?”

  “Surma doesn’t want Zeta here. She’s to leave before the Zaxson comes and help Micah in the kitchen.”

  “As you say. Bests help me rearrange the table then. Zeta, go on down to the kitchen before Surma comes looking for you. Might be better anyway,” she said, resting a hand on Zeta’s abdomen. “There are always good scraps that you can eat. You and your babe could use a good meal. Go on, now, Micah will make sure you have your fill.”

  Soon after Zeta exited the hall, voices echoed against the stone walls. Hushar and Jahno rushed to their place near the door, as Surma straightened his doublet and bowed.

  “Greetings, Zaxson, Nakshij, and wise council,” Surma said.

  Draizeyn ignored the greeting, pushing past him. As the councilmembers took their seats, Hushar brought cleansing bowls and Jahno followed, filling their goblets. Draizeyn took a long drink and then popped an olive into his mouth.

  “So, Oxilon, update me on the pledge,” Draizeyn said.

  “As per our last discussion, the best candidate for the lovely Lady Denotra’s hand is our First Chosen, Pentanimir Benoist. He’s from a pure and honorable line, and holds one of the highest positions in the city. Only his father, Manifir, had been held in such high regard. As is our custom, your daughter must be pledged to one of a great house and station. Pentanimir’s standing is above any other in Nazil.”

  Draizeyn nodded, glancing over at the other councilmembers.

  “You speak true, Oxilon,” Cha Reaglen said. “That’s our custom, albeit who’s to say that Pentanimir is the best match for Lady Denotra? There are many Chosen not yet wed. They, too, come from great houses. Why not consider one of these men? Nazil isn’t the only city in Faélondul, what about Yarah, Dovak, or Leachim? There are some fine Chosen awarded with high honors.”

  “I agree,” added Grimmish. “While Pentanimir is well suited, mayhaps there should be a contest of worthy candidates to win our lady’s hand.”

  “Contest?” Daracus protested, coughing through the words. “My sister isn’t some prize to offer for a contest.”

  “Daracus, no one is implying that Denotra is a mere prize,” Draizeyn said. “The contest would eliminate those unworthy of her hand. Still, I’d rather choose her husband myself than allow some sword play to decide her fate.”

  “Agreed. As Cha Asham, I have dealings with all the Chosen,” Cha Lymbach said, pointing a crooked finger toward Oxilon. “I’m aware that you’re familiar with them through their training, but my interactions are more intimate than most. They come to me in crisis and for blessings. It’s the heart of the man that’s exposed to me, not the skill in which they wield a sword. It’s the heart you must know.”

  “And what do you know of the heart?” Bisdan asked.

  “I know that the nature of a man is better learned through his interaction and knowledge of faith than by how many he can leave dead on the battlefield.”

  “Your words are pleasant, Lymbach, poetic even. Mayhaps someday a paean can be composed from them. Nonetheless, riddles and rhymes aren’t why you’re here. I called this meeting to finalize a pledge for my daughter. She’s eight and ten, and it’s past time that she wed.”

  “Father, Oxilon has the right of it,” Daracus said. “Pentanimir is well suited, and he leads our Chosen. His prowess can’t be matched, and his father held the position before him. You stated that Grandfather referred to him as the best he’d ever trained. You also said that had he a daughter, she would’ve been pledged to one of Manifir’s line.” Daracus’ hoarse cough returned, struggling through the words. After Jahno brought his mulled wine, he continued. “Father, Denotra holds Pentanimir in high regard. I know that isn’t a necessary element when considering a pledge, yet it would please her.”

  “No, it isn’t a necessary element, nor should it be considered,” Cha Temian said, glaring at Oxilon. “The matter isn’t whether she finds him acceptable, it’s whether he’s the best candidate. We must give this careful consideration. Whoever is chosen could hold the future rule of Nazil. No offense to Oxilon, but he stands to gain much with a nephew pledged to the Zaxson’s daughter. His counsel mustn’t be considered. It isn’t without prejudice that he offers it.”

  Oxilon stood, pounding a fist on the table. “How dare you speak contumeliously to me, priest! If not for ones like Pentanimir, you wouldn’t sit safely in this hall. Our family is one of the most revered and prosperous in all of Faélondul. My brother, Manifir, might’ve held you in high regard, but I don’t. Your youth makes you foolish. Whether my blood or no, Pentanimir is the best and obvious choice for Lady Denotra. Mayhaps you should take a slave abed and purge your fleshly desires so that your muddled mind can clear. Isn’t Hushar still your favorite?” he said, smirking over at her. “It was good in her youth, but it’s worn out now. No wonder your mind won’t clear.”

  Temian scowled. “Unlike some, Sir Benoist, I have no need to abuse slaves to focus my thoughts,” he said as much to the other Cha as to Oxilon. “My mind is clear, and my assertions sound.”

  The room fell silent as Oxilon and Temian locked stares. The young Cha flipped his waist length hair over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the bullish man.

  “Cha Temian, your concern is duly noted, but Oxilon does speak true. The fact that Pentanimir is his brother’s son is of no consequence. I don’t feel that his judgment is biased. Pentanimir has won the last five tourneys, he’s been First Chosen for twelve seasons, and my daughter would appreciate his selection. This may be of no interest to some, but if Denotra can fulfill her obligations and find happiness, I’m pleased. Pentanimir Benoist will serve Nazil with honor,” Draizeyn said, standing and raising his goblet, prompting the council to do the same. “It’s been decided. Denotra is pledged to Pentanimir, Son of Manifir, and First Chosen of Nazil.”

  After toasting the announcement, Draizeyn sat, regarding Lymbach. “On the morrow, you’ll send the appropriate proclamations to all the cities and villages. They’re to ready their best wares and livestock, and I’ll require five hundred additional gold pieces from each.”

  “As you say, Zaxson.”

  “Good. Then leave me to speak with my son. It’s late,” Draizeyn said.

  Bowing, the councilmembers left the chamber. Draizeyn leered over at the slaves, and they followed quickly behind. When Daracus’ cough returned, his father looked on distastefully.

  “Mayhaps if you spent less time slinking around in the dampness of the cells, your cough would be gone.”

  Daracus’ head snapped up. “The cells? What do you mean?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Daracus. Did you think that I wouldn’t learn of your proclivities? You’re my heir and the Nakshij of Nazil. I’ll no longer tolerate the whispers of your visits to the slaves. You’re a man of Nazil and will carry yourself accordingly.” When Daracus began to protest, he was silenced with Draizeyn’s upraised hand. “Don’t bother denying what we both know is truth. If you need to satiate your appetites, do so in Noraa’s pleasure houses. You’ll not do so here. Am I clear?”

  Hypocrite, Daracus wanted to shout. His alleged proclivities would pale in comparison to those of his father. “As you say,” he said simply, struggling to calm his anger.

  Without further words, Draizeyn stood, abruptly exiting the chamber. When the door clanged shut, Daracus pulled a tiny pellet from a pocket of his waistcoat. Placing it under his tongue, he closed his eyes as the euphoria from the pellet consumed him.

  Long Way from Home

  Brahanu glanced over at Pentanimir. The silence was deafening, and she wanted to learn more about him.

  “May I ask you a question?” she said.

  “Ask anything you wish.”

  “I—I don’t want you to misunderstand, I mean, I’m grateful for what you’ve done. I just don’t understand why. Why would you
risk so much for someone like me?”

  “Someone like you?” he asked, halting. “I’ve never known anyone like you, Brahanu.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I can’t explain it anymore to you than I can to myself. I just know what and how I feel. When first I saw you, I knew this. Just know: I’ll do whatever is needed to ensure your safety.”

  Brahanu met his eyes, feeling much the same. There was something…something that she couldn’t comprehend, but it welled inside of her, struggling to break free.

  “I could never repay your kindness, Pentanimir, and I don’t mean to question. All of the stories about Nazilians don’t describe a caring people. After being with you, I can’t understand why.”

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard about us, but by your reaction when first we met, it wasn’t adulation. I won’t come false: such a reputation is well-earned. The immoralities and edicts of a few have infested and plagued the whole. Please don’t think that all the Nazilians are the same. I’m proud of my people. We’ve accomplished great feats and overcome trials that would destroy lesser people. But I don’t condone what some do. We’re not alone in these lands, Brahanu, we rule them, but we’re not alone.

  “In these very mountains, there’re said to dwell men—no, giants of men,” he said, gesturing to the towering peaks. “The beasts they command, and the wonders they perform are mysteries to all in the lands. Are we greater than they? The Cha Asham would have us believe so.”

  “The Cha Assheam?”

  “The Cha Asham,” he corrected. “The Cha are those who speak for the gods. They interpret the holy book of Sulos, the ancient scrolls, and translate and teach their meaning. Draizeyn Vereux is our Zaxson, but the Cha guide us. The Cha Asham is one who has received the highest honors and leads all of the Cha.”