“Nakaris, Beilzen? What in seven hells is going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You must come, Dani! We’ve captured a savage! He’s shouting about a Chosen named Hosdaq, and carrying an Xtabyren,” Nakaris said, pointing toward the city’s center. Wavering torchlights dotted the darkness, nearing the citadel. “He’s there, with the guard. Your uncle has summoned you in Pentanimir’s stead.”
Danimore blanched. “Me? What about Yannick? He’s my brother’s second.”
“He’s coming, too. You must hurry. They’ve nearly reached the citadel.”
Danimore swallowed hard, attaching his belt and cloak. He couldn’t mask his welling fear as he took the reins from Nakaris, charging through the barren streets. Everything was a blur with the tumult of scenarios plaguing his mind. From meters away, the captive’s anguished cries echoed through the dark night.
When Danimore approached, he saw only entangled guards, yelling and kicking as the man’s pleas continued amongst the grotesque sound of cracking bone and sodden blows.
Oxilon stood over the captive, extending out a sword. His face contorted in disgust, disbelief, and rage. A chill coursed down Danimore’s spine as he forced his gaze downward. A wince immediately followed: one side of the man’s face was horribly swollen and bloodied, not resembling a man at all.
“Uncle. Who—who is this?”
Oxilon thrust the Xtabyren’s tip beneath the man’s chin. “It’s not a ‘who,’ Nephew. It’s a ‘what’,” he snarled, landing a hard kick to the man’s torso. “Take this filth to a cell,” Oxilon ordered. “He’ll regret the lies he’s spewed on the honorable men of Nazil.”
Danimore followed behind his uncle, with the man’s continuous cries reverberating off the walls as they dragged him down the corridor, leaving smears of his blood in their wake.
“Now do you see, Nephew? This is why they must die; all of them must die!”
“Uncle, is this man from Nazil? He looks human.”
“That’s no man. It’s an abomination.” He stopped, spinning Danimore around to face him. Oxilon’s eyes bulged, his face red with fury. “I’ll rip the damn eyes from his head. He dares to have the eyes of Nazil! He’s an abomination, and will suffer for defiling our great city!”
Danimore had never seen such rage, fearing for not only the man in the cell, but for Raithym and Zeta as well.
“Wait here,” Oxilon ordered, entering the Zaxson’s solar. The angered curses and shouts had Danimore taking a step back, fighting his urge to flee. As quickly as the voices rose, they lowered again, and the door creaked open. The expression on Oxilon’s face caused the hairs to rise on Danimore’s. The anger was gone, replaced with and expression that he’d never witnessed…an expression that evoked dread like he’d never known.
“The Zaxson has given me permission to put him to question. Now, you’ll learn what being a true man of Nazil is meant to be.”
Not only did Oxilon’s words give him pause, but also the way he’d spoken them. This was the first time that Danimore truly feared his uncle, and what brutalities he might be capable of committing. His father and brother had warned of his sadistic nature—the side of Oxilon that intrigued the Zaxson—propelling Oxilon’s rapid rise in Nazil. It was that same quality Danimore and his mother, Kitrin, feared. Howbeit, he’d never borne witness to such acts of barbarity, and hoped that gruesome reality would forever be kept from him.
As they descended the steep, narrow steps, hollers and cries resonated around them. Danimore swallowed hard, feeling a tight twinge in his gut. The smell of vomit and bile emanating from the dank corridor assaulted his nostrils. He stifled the powerful urge to retch, though his face surely told of his revulsion. When they turned the corner, guards encircled the naked man, shouting curses, and jabbing at him with cudgels and the hilts of their swords.
The captive was suspended by heavy irons attached to the ceiling, with a weight affixed to his manhood. His tortured body convulsed, hanging but digits from the ground.
Noticing Oxilon’s approach, the guards stood straight and silent, moving aside. For a moment, Oxilon just stared at the suspended man, saying nothing. Not verbally. What his visage conveyed, however, sent waves of dread cascading down Danimore’s spine.
When the captive raised his lolling head, Oxilon landed a hard, fisted backhand, causing the man’s head to whip sideward, followed by mucus-filled blood splattering the wall.
“Silence!” Oxilon said, landing another blow. “You’ll speak only when you’ve been questioned, and there will be many,” Oxilon spat before turning toward the guard.
“Favian, you’ll remain. The rest of you return to your duty, and send Beilzen.”
“Yes, Sir Benoist,” they said in scattered response.
“Heat the irons and pinchers, Favian. I have questions for this savage.”
The battered man wept, his naked body shaking with both terror and grief. Danimore turned away then, forcing down the lump amassing in his throat. I can’t bear witness to this madness. Gods, help us both.
“Danimore, fill the pail with water,” Oxilon ordered. “We may have need of it.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Oxilon strode over to the man, demanding his name.
“My—my—name is Wosen. Son of Hos—daq,” he said, struggling to breathe.
“LIAR!” Oxilon roared, slamming a cudgel across his chest.
Wosen’s pained scream and the loud crack of breaking bones sent a weakness through Danimore’s knees.
“How dare you defile the name of the honored dead! Hosdaq was a Chosen Guard and served this city with great honor. He’d never befoul himself or Nazil.” Oxilon shouted even louder, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ll ask you again, you piece of filth. Your name?”
“Wosen, my name is Wosen,” he wheezed.
“Why have you dared to enter our city?”
When he didn’t respond, Oxilon grabbed the hot poker from the fire, slowly stabbing it through his thigh. The smell almost made Danimore gag, as did the screams that filled the small cell, and then abruptly ended.
Oxilon lifted the pail, reviving the captive with the chilly water.
“Fill it again…” Oxilon said, pushing it toward Danimore. “…and bring back my flaying knives. Now, I ask you again, savage, why have you come to our city?”
Wosen would tell everything if it meant an end to his suffering. “I came to tell of a hid—den village,” he managed between shallow breaths. “Some escaped Hyorin and have hidden in—in—”
When darkness took him again, Oxilon wasn’t as quick to revive him. Instead, he lifted the Xtabyren from the table, examining it closely. His long, thick fingers passed over the etching in the blade and on the hilt.
“Uncle, what’s the matter? Where’d he get the Chosen blade?”
“I must speak to the Zaxson. Favian, you’re to keep watch over the savage. No one may enter without my consent. We must learn if his words hold truth.”
“Truth?” Beilzen asked, rounding the corner. “The savage is a liar. Everyone knows this.”
“Hold your tongue, Beilzen,” Oxilon said, raising the Xtabyren to his face. “Is this, too, a lie? This weapon is only awarded to select Chosen of Nazil. What name do you see etched across the hilt?”
“Sir?”
“What name? Can you not read?”
Beilzen moved in closer, squinting to read the aged lettering. “The name is ‘Neufmarche.’ I don’t know anyone by that name in Nazil.”
“There aren’t any, and haven’t been for many years,” Oxilon said in a calmer tone, his mind replaying past events.
“Surely, he could’ve read the name and given it as a means of providing credence to his lies.”
“Do you think me ignorant, Beilzen?”
“No, no, Sir Benoist, I—”
“The savage didn’t offer the name Neufmarche. He named his father, Hosdaq.”
Beilzen was confused, but wouldn’t speak.
&nb
sp; “That was the name of a former Third Chosen of Nazil, and one that I called a friend. Hosdaq Neufmarche was thought lost years ago. If there’s truth in the savage’s words, he’ll be found and brought back to the city.”
“Uncle, couldn’t he have found the remains of such a man and stole his belongings?” Danimore asked, hesitantly.
Oxilon nodded, considering the possibility. “This could be. If he has his Xtabyren and armor, surely other items could be in his possession. He could’ve learnt the name from those items.”
Danimore’s thoughts turned to the village Pentanimir had described. If this was indeed Wosen’s home, they were in great danger. He hoped that Pentanimir would return soon. Howbeit, he was also terrified that Wosen might mention him.
“There’s more to be learned. I need to speak with the Zaxson and council,” Oxilon said, moving to the steps, still holding the Xtabyren. “Beilzen, Danimore, gather his belongings and leave them outside the solar. You may take leave after.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
As they traversed the stairs, neither spoke. It wasn’t until they cleared the citadel did Beilzen feel free to question.
“From where do you think the savage came?”
Danimore shrugged, as if he gave no care. He was petrified. “It can’t be known until he reveals it.”
“I thought that all of the half-breeds were killed. We have a few left in Nazil, but they don’t show features of our people. Our slave, Lydia, is amongst them. Her mother was half-human with the eyes of Nazil. I think that’s why my father purchased her. He’d always spoken out against their deaths.” He shook his head. “He merely delayed the inevitable: they came for her within three seasons. The Zaxson won’t suffer these abominations. Lydia was allowed to remain because she looks fully human.”
Danimore regarded Beilzen, noting his peculiar expression. “My father thought highly of Perrin de Braose, as do I. I recall when he campaigned for the release of the human merchant. Your father has always been one of great integrity,” he offered, honestly.
“My father respected Sir Benoist the same. He still thinks much of your brother and you.”
“The sentiment is well received and returned, Beilzen,” Danimore said. “Did you come for me immediately after the captive was apprehended?”
“No. Not until your uncle commanded it. When the savage approached the gates, his eyes were the first that I noticed.”
“You discovered him, Beilzen?”
“The guard atop the ramparts called out to me. We didn’t see him until he was nearly upon us. But I did subdue him with help from other guards.”
“His eyes weren’t discernable upon my arrival,” Danimore said with disgust. “His treatment was too swift and brutal.”
“He should thank the gods that he’s not lying dead in the streets. Sir Oxilon showed him great mercy, but he’ll meet the sword before the end of it.”
“No one will know until we do. If the Zaxson believes him, he’ll want to find the traitors. In order to do that with certainty, they’ll need him. I doubt that his death will come soon.”
Once they reached the stable, retrieving their horses, Danimore tried to move off, but Beilzen caught up, still questioning.
“Danimore, your uncle won’t tolerate the abomination in the cells. If his death doesn’t come swiftly, he’ll wish it to be.”
“You may speak true, but that decision lies with the Zaxson. He’ll heed the council’s words,” Danimore said. “I take my leave now. I know you must resume your duty.”
Danimore put his heels into his mount, disappearing in the darkness. He left the horse in his stable, running through the rear door to find Zeta.
“Dani, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He lowered to his knees, placing his head in her lap. Thoughts of Raithym filled his mind. In place of the man in the cells, he envisioned Raithym hanging bloodied beside Zeta.
“Please, Dani, tell me what happened. You left with such haste that it frightened me.”
“We must leave this place, Zeta. I can’t keep you safe in Nazil. I can’t.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“I say it because it’s true. The village my brother told us about, the one of safety, it—it’s in great danger. They have one of the men from there in the cells. He has the eyes of Nazil, and mentioned the name of his father.”
“His father? Was he Nazilian?”
“Yes, and a former Chosen.” Danimore rose up, splashing water on his face. “I need to speak with Pentanimir. If he returns, and this man knows him, he could be in danger.”
“By the gods, Dani. What’re we going to do?”
“I must risk sending a bird. I’ll write something only he’d know. The need is too great, and he must send for us soon.”
Long-awaited Promise
Hosdaq lowered his gaze, awaiting the Elder’s and priest’s responses.
“If you wish it, it can be done,” Nzuri said. “Is Osmara in agreement?”
“I haven’t spoken with her yet, but I’m certain that she’d agree. I wanted to ensure that it was possible before mentioning it.”
Huname draped an arm over Hosdaq’s shoulder, smiling. It had been long since the Elder had seemed himself. Even with Wosen’s devastating attack, Hosdaq was more the man that they’d known from years past. The One god had healed his body just as surely as Osmara had healed his heart.
“We’re pleased with your promise, Hosdaq. It’s been long awaited.”
Olam chuckled. “Surely, no one is more pleased than Osmara.”
“I was a fool, Olam. Too much time was wasted lamenting a life that I thought was at an end. Looking back with clearer eyes, it should’ve been obvious. Osmara’s always attended my children and me, and Malkia has thought of her much as a mother. Truly, I’ve felt much for her over the years. I think myself an old man, and not worthy of such a wife.”
“Even so, you’ll have one,” Vot said. “And if Osmara has her way, you’ll be a new father before a year has passed.”
The Elders chuckled, and Hosdaq smiled, his cheeks reddening.
“You’re certain that you want to wed now, my friend?” Kuhani asked.
“If we’re going to leave Bandari, I’d like to wed before we do. This is where our love flourished, and this is where we’ll venerate it with our bond.”
“We hear your words, Elder, but such a ceremony can’t be rushed,” Yonas said. “It’s possible to have the bond made, but it’ll be without the customary procedures and adornments.”
“I’ll mention it to Osmara. If she’d like a full ceremony, we’ll wait until we’ve found a new home.”
“Well, I think that we’ve discussed the particulars. For now, allow Nzuri and me to see you home,” Vot said.
“I wanted to speak with Osmara.”
“I’ll go to the dawa after seeing you home,” Nzuri said. “Osmara will come to you.”
“Thank you,” Hosdaq said, straining to stand. His injuries still bothered him, but he wouldn’t allow that lingering discomfort to be known. He was feeling stronger, and he smiled, walking back to his home. Once Vot departed, Nzuri helped him disrobe.
“I’d like to apply the ointment that Saifu prepared,” Nzuri said. “I fear with your constant movement, you might aggravate your wounds.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve healed well and feel more myself again.”
“I’ve watched your movements. You’re still experiencing pain, and I’d see it end.”
“All right,” Hosdaq relented. “I thought that I was the one who took care of you.”
Nzuri tucked his hair behind his ears, looking up at him. “For many years, I’ve thought of you as a AvHotther. If not for you, we would’ve died in Hyorin with our mother. When our father died, Emet and I turned to you for guidance.”
Hosdaq watched Nzuri tending his wounds. He’d never known that the brothers revered him so. “Your AvHotther? Father? You looked to me as such?”
“There could’ve been no other. Of course, we loved all the men here. Kuhani has been the closest to me amongst them, and still is this day. But toward you, we felt a special bond. You gave up much to become a permanent part of our lives, and both our parents respected you. Our mother told us that you were a true Nazilian, and to look at no other. We’ve always remembered this, and you’ve proved the words true.”
“I thought Vot was better suited to guide you, and—and Kuhani offered you much. You followed in the footsteps of the warrior priest. Had I known, I would’ve given more of myself.”
“More? You’ve helped shape us into the men that we are. Elder, you blame yourself for Wosen’s actions, but you must release this guilt. My mother was Nazilian, and I was raised in Bandari. Neither my brother nor I will ever turn our backs on the people here. There’s honor, true honor to be had here in Bandari. You and the men of this village have given more of yourselves than anyone in the lands. You’ve sacrificed what you had to create this peaceful life for all of us. You are a former Third Chosen of Nazil, Hosdaq. My father, Vot, and Saifu are high lords, and you know the life and honors that Kuhani forewent to be here. So many have given so much. If your counsel were ill, Emet and I would also seek the white city.”
“You had the others to guide you, too.”
“We did, but Wosen had the same influence,” Nzuri said, resting a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t want to speak ill of Wosen: he only wanted to lift the guilt that his father felt. “We must continue to pray for your son. Nurul and his men haven’t found any recent traces of him in the wood. Three full moons have passed, and he hasn’t returned. I fear for him, Elder, and I weep for him as well.”
“I pray for him always. No one knows better than I what’ll be done with him if he’s discovered near Nazil. But I must keep my mind from such thoughts, or risk losing it.”
“You are wise. Now, I’ll send for Osmara. After such talk, it’ll be good to have your mind on more pleasant things.”
“Thank you, Nzuri, for all you’ve said and done.”
The Rise of Nazil Page 41