As he swayed to the ground, Temian replaced his shield, grabbing up the guard’s dropped sword, and then helped Wosen to his feet.
When they entered the citadel, the chaotic battle raged inside with tangles of guards, Protectors, and slaves. The bodies of dead and dying littered the corridor with the sound of clashing metal and shouts resonating off the walls. Temian and Wosen moved through the corridors, fighting to advance, noticing Thalassa and Baldon in an adjacent hall finishing off some guards.
“Here!” He tossed a sword to Wosen. “The bow won’t help us—”
Temian’s words ended in a gasp, pushing Wosen aside as he dodged a sword swipe. Temian struggled to regain his footing and bring his sword up to block, as Thalassa slashed the guard down his back with one blade, while sweeping up fluidly with the other.
“Behind you!” Wosen warned.
Temian brought his shield up, whirling sideward as Thalassa spun around, dropping into a side-split, crossing her swords above her. The Xtabyren of the Chosen clashed against her Guardian swords as she deflected his attack. Temian came in alongside his sister as more Chosen ran to the aid of their comrade. The first gave ground, and Thalassa rolled backward, deftly coming to her feet, meeting a guard’s blade.
She thrust with her right sword and then swiftly retracted it, swiping with the left. The guard’s reaction was too slow as he realized her feint. With her downward swipe, she took his arm clean off at the elbow.
Wosen’s eyes widened, trying to follow her lightning-fast movements. Drawing forth his bow, he took aim and released. The arrow barely missed Temian, piercing the neck of the Chosen he fought.
Thalassa crossed her blades in front of her, keeping her eyes fixed on two men moving strategically forward. With whitening knuckles, she tightened her grip on the hilts of her swords, releasing a slow breath. When the two guards were almost upon her, she turned, running in the opposite direction.
Wosen continued to loose arrows as more guards took up the chase. The two pursuing guards smirked when Thalassa’s retreat was halted by the stone wall. The guards roared, increasing their pace to cut down the seemingly trapped woman. Both men skidded to an abrupt stop when Thalassa didn’t end her run. Instead, she increased her speed, running up the side of the wall, and agilely performed a backflip, landing behind her pursuers.
Before the two men could move to counter, she crossed her swords with one pointed up to the right, while the blade held in her right hand shifted with a turn of her wrist pointed down and out. In one precise movement, both blades contacted the guard’s backs. One slash down and one up. When the guards screamed and spun toward her, she crouched, rolling forward, ending up again at their backs. Flipping her swords in her hands, the blades pointed behind her, she raised them high over her head and stabbed back with all of her force, completing a double backward thrust, impaling the thrashing guards.
Thalassa flipped and lowered her swords, espying a remaining guard. His blood-sodden arm shook violently, extending his Xtabyren toward her with lingering strength scarcely capable of bearing its weight.
With a whimpering grunt, he swung wildly, nearly toppling from the effort.
“You don’t need to die,” Thalassa said, locking eyes with him.
“But you do,” he muttered, pressing the attack, ignoring the futility of his efforts. As he thrust forward, Thalassa twirled, whipping her right arm upward, wrenching his weapon from his hand. Reversing her spin, she leveled her swords, plunging the venomous blades through his chest.
Wosen’s gaze was fixed until Thalassa’s cry of warning brought him from his trance. “Down!” Thalassa shouted, and he instantly dove, finding the floor. When he dared to look up again, he saw her crouched before him with her right arm extended. He followed her gaze behind him where lay three Nazilian guards, clutching the small blades she’d thrown into their chests. He gasped, scrambling to his feet.
Wasting no time, Thalassa pulled the blades from the Chosen, sheathing them across her breasts. She searched the corridor, looking for any sign of more guards, but only fleeing slaves remained. Leaping over the dead and dying, she followed the sound of clashing steel ringing in the distance.
“Brother, this way,” she shouted, charging ahead with her twin blades. The quickness and agility of her spins struck fear in the heart of the guards as they tried desperately to keep their eyes on the spinning swords. Her movements appeared a blur as she whirled, jabbing at one and then slashing at another.
“We must get Wosen outside, his arrows are needed in the air,” Temian called out, running up beside her.
They made their way along the stone hallways and up a narrow staircase to the roof. Temian was cautious, opening the small door and motioning for Wosen to follow. They provided cover for him until Tzadok and Jzardis descended on the roof, lifting Wosen upon the beast, and then immediately ascending again.
Temian closed the door, checking down the corridor. “Where are the others?”
Wiping her blades on her thighs, she pointed. “Come with me.”
“Get the Zaxson to safety!” Yannick yelled while leveling his sword toward the brothers.
Gesturing with his eyes, Pentanimir signaled to Danimore, and then focused on Yannick.
“I didn’t come here to fight you, Second Chosen,” Pentanimir said. “We’ve only come to free Nazil from Daracus’ grasp.”
Yannick began circling, never taking his eyes from Pentanimir. “Nazil is free, son of Manifir. If you’ve come for our Zaxson, then, you’ve come for me. I’m First Chosen now.”
“Too many lives have already been lost, Yannick. You’re my brother, and I don’t want to raise my sword against you. Bastian needs you, and so does Nazil. Please, don’t force this fight.”
Yannick scoffed, still circling. “Brother? A brother wouldn’t have stolen my child from me. You knew that I loved her, Pentanimir. You knew!”
“I—I’m sorry, please. I didn’t know. I only meant to free her, not take away your child. This isn’t about Gali, Yannick. This is about Nazil’s freedom. Please, don’t do this.”
“I trusted you, Pentanimir. You alone knew my feelings, and you betrayed me. Now, you’re betraying all of Nazil!”
“I’m saving Nazil.”
“You’ve lived your life for the Zaxson and honor, now you want to die for the freedom of a few slaves?” he said, leveling his sword.
Pentanimir’s heart ached, witnessing the hate in Yannick’s eyes. After a steadying breath, he dropped his Guardian sword, unsheathing his Xtabyren.
“I don’t plan to die this day, Brother,” Pentanimir said, quick-stepping and swiping across with his blade.
Yannick grunted, stumbling back and clutching his side. As the blow landed, Danimore fled down the corridor.
“Daracus isn’t fit to be Zaxson, Yannick. We both know this. Nazil will be destroyed if he’s allowed to rule,” Pentanimir said, lowering his sword. “Join with us and help to unite our great city, not divide it.”
“Always the fool.” Yannick pushed off the wall, attacking.
Pentanimir’s adrenaline soared, spinning and countering each of Yannick’s desperate attempts. Yannick lunged again, the two Chosen of Nazil trading deft parries and thrusts, with neither gaining an advantage.
Pentanimir wouldn’t take the offensive, instead moving defensively against his friend, praying their conflict would end. Yannick’s assault was unrelenting, his punishing swipes fueled by a rage that diminished their effect. Pentanimir parried the onslaught of thrusts and jabs, while fighting the anguish assailing his heart and mind.
Yannick roared, moving in to riposte. Pentanimir swatted the sword from its intended mark, his leg coming up, landing a kick to the side of Yannick’s face.
Yannick staggered back, spitting the mouthful of pooling blood onto the floor. With a pained grin, he drew his dagger, resuming his stance.
As he charged, Pentanimir forced his sword high, landing another kick to his exposed torso. When Yannick stumbled bac
k, Pentanimir leapt forward, delivering a slash before a backward roll distanced him from his opponent. Springing to his feet, Pentanimir relaxed his posture, facing his friend again.
“We don’t need to do this, Yannick. Please.”
“I should’ve anticipated that move, old friend. Always you favored it.” With a deep growl, he pressed the attack. Pentanimir parried each fleet-footed, but poorly aimed attempt. The fatigue showed on Yannick’s face as Pentanimir halted, holding his Xtabyren at the ready.
“We’ve fought together long,” Pentanimir said. “My father trained you as a son. Don’t allow Oxilon’s evils to cover you. Daracus isn’t worth the blood of either of us. Don’t continue this. I’ll always be your brother. Always.”
“Your father honored his position of First Chosen, as do I. Never would he betray Nazil, betray me!” Yannick shouted, shifting his dagger in a reverse cut position. Pentanimir noticed the move and half-twisted, blocking the blade with his own. With a sudden burst, Yannick spun around, attempting a glissade, but Pentanimir proved the quicker, retreating instead of the parry that Yannick expected, then advancing, reversing the grip on his Xtabyren. With a loud roar, Pentanimir countered with an upward swipe, slicing Yannick’s chest wide open. Pentanimir dropped into a crouch, anticipating a sideswipe that didn’t come.
“No, Brother!” Pentanimir cried out, his anguished voice cracking with the words.
Yannick’s sword and dagger clanked to the floor as he clutched his chest, realizing the fatal damage that the Xtabyren had done. With a sickening thud, his head contacted the wall as he fell backward, revealing his agony.
“And…that’s…why you are First Chosen.” Yannick coughed, gasping between each syllable with blood oozing from his mouth.
Kicking the blades from his reach, Pentanimir knelt at his side, grasping his hand. “Forgive me, Brother,” he said. “I didn’t know, Yannick, I didn’t. I’ve always loved you as my brother…I still love you. Why…why did you force this fight? Why did you force this grief upon me?” he asked, cradling Yannick in his arms.
Yannick’s eyes rolled, meeting his. With a slight smile and labored breaths, he weakly grasped Pentanimir’s hand.
“For…Nazil…Brother. I—I’ve lost my child, but I kept my honor,” he managed before a weak and final exhalation.
Pentanimir closed Yannick’s eyes, wiping the wetness from his own. The dolor pervading him was nearly incapacitating as he rested his forehead on his.
“I would have never hurt you…never,” Pentanimir whispered, picking up Yannick’s dagger and tucking it in his belt. After many long moments, he pushed up on wobbly legs, attempting to regain his composure. Wiping his eyes again, Pentanimir sheathed his Xtabyren, retrieving his Guardian Sword. As he began to walk away, he turned back, removing his cloak and draping it over Yannick.
“You’ve always had honor,” he said, weakly.
A loud shout and clash of steel startled him, and he spun around, bringing his sword to the ready. Pentanimir’s heart leapt in his chest, seeing Symeon towering over a dying guard. Symeon’s eyes burned with fury, as he wrenched the sword away, watching the guard’s twitching body on the floor.
Sweat beaded Pentanimir’s brow, assuming a defensive posture. After sparring with Symeon in Spero, he knew that Symeon’s prowess outmatched his. He could only stare into his eyes, desperately attempting to keep the fear from his own.
“Sy—Symeon…of the Jasiri,” he said, lowering his sword to the man.
Symeon inclined his head, lowering his weapon as well. “He tried to take you from behind,” he said, glancing down at the dead guard. “That’s the way of cowards.”
Pentanimir returned his nod, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’ve no cowards with me, my friend. Will the Jasiri stand with the Guardians and free these lands?”
“The Jasiri always answer the Guardians’ call,” Symeon said, bowing, and then disappearing down the corridor.
“Move to your safe room, Zaxson!” Nakaris shouted, turning and facing the approaching warrior. He held his sword at the ready, standing in perfect formation. When he saw that it was Danimore, his sword lowered as he pulled the helm from his head.
“Nakaris?”
“Is it truly you, Dani? You’ve joined with the pythonesses to destroy our home?”
Danimore shook his head, sheathing his sword. “I’d never destroy Nazil, Nakaris. We’ve come to free Nazil from Daracus’ grasp. If he’s allowed to rule, all of our lives will be forfeit. You know as well as I of the evil within him. He’ll lead us to ruin if allowed to take command of Nazil’s forces.”
“The beasts and giants are murdering our people, Dani! They defiled the temple of the gods!”
“No, our hearts have been filled with lies and our heads filled with fallacious honor. I’ve seen the true gods of these lands, and they’re merciful and filled with love, not hate, as the Cha would have us believe. Their Protectors fight for all of our freedoms as I do. The Chosen continue this fight, not us.” Danimore removed his half-helm, stepping forward.
“Pentanimir now battles against one he calls brother as you are to me. Yannick wouldn’t listen to reason, and forced this fight upon them. Please, Nakaris, stand aside. I’d rather be taken from these lands now than be forced to raise my sword against you.”
His eyes narrowed, dissecting Danimore’s words. This was his brother, and he loved him. Nakaris met Danimore’s eyes as his sword clanged to the floor.
“I won’t fight against you, Dani. I pray that your words are true.”
“I’ve never lied to you,” Danimore said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re here to protect Nazil, not destroy it. Please, go to your wife and son, and ensure that they’re safe. We’ve already lost too much, and I’d have your family well protected.”
After a quick embrace, Danimore continued his pursuit, running to where he’d last seen Daracus. Unsheathing his sword, Danimore rounded the corner, immediately ducking as a shadow appeared above him. A hail of small stones rained down on top of him as he shielded his eyes, noticing Daracus fleeing down the hall.
Hushar adjusted the dagger at her waist, keeping an arm around Jahno as they crept through the citadel. He was sweating with fever and fatigue, still mending from his injuries.
“We can make it, Jahno,” she whispered, straining under the additional weight. “We just need to get to the cells, and the door that leads to the outside. With the battle, we can sneak into the stables. Please, find your strength.”
Jahno inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself while they slowly rounded the corner.
“Hushar! Watch out!” Danimore warned as Daracus collided with her, sending Jahno plummeting to the ground as she slammed into the wall.
Daracus clutched her arm, edging his sword against her throat.
“These humans make you weak, son of Manifir,” he sneered. “Your uncle was right about your thin blood! Take another step and I’ll slice her to the bone!”
Danimore halted, raising his sword in the air. “You needn’t kill her, Daracus. Stand and face me as a true man of Nazil.”
Sweat poured from Daracus’ face, the beast’s poison sending agonized waves throughout his body. Blood oozed from Hushar’s throat as his hands shook, edging the sharp blade closer. “You joined with pythonesses and savages against your people. I’ll see you die for your treachery! All of you will die!”
Danimore inched closer, speaking softly. “We didn’t come here to harm you, Daracus. You raised your sword against me, and I only raised my own in defense. We’re both honorable men of Nazil, let’s prove that honor and speak as men, not enemies. Enough people have died, and no more blood needs to be shed.”
“Honorable? You use dark magic and winged demons to slay my father and name it honorable? How dare you speak about honor to me!”
“I made no move against your father. I respect him as I do you. Draizeyn was an honorable man and a just ruler. Honor him now and stay your hand. The city has been taken, and
there’s no need for either of us to die. Neither you nor your sister will be harmed.”
“My sister?” Daracus yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “My sister is dead!”
“Apologies, my lord. I—I didn’t know. My brother loved Denotra, and we’ll all mourn her loss. But please, please, release Hushar. Too much has happened and we need to end this peacefully. You’re now last of your line, Daracus, don’t allow the Vereux name to end this day.”
Daracus’ chest heaved, glaring at Danimore through narrow slits. “It’s not my line that’s ending. I’ve only begun shedding blood…starting with hers.” Hushar cried out as he yanked her head back, edging the blade closer. “You forsake the Nazilians for savages. First, I’m going to cut her throat, and then I’m going to kill—”
Hushar’s screams resonated down the corridor as blood sprayed from the wound. Lunging forward, Danimore gripped her arm, wrenching her from Daracus’ grasp. Holding his sword aloft, he drew her into his chest.
Daracus staggered, clutching the dagger’s tip protruding from his throat. His lips quivered, mouthing words he was no longer able to speak. With bulging eyes, he turned, nearly toppling to the floor.
Jahno’s face was bereft of emotion, staring at his former master. As Daracus reached a quivering hand out to him, Jahno took a shaky step back, never turning from his eyes.
“This is what I love, Daracus,” Jahno whispered. “Watching you die.”
Daracus’ tear-filled eyes rolled back as he staggered sideward, and then thudded to the ground.
As Danimore began to speak, his eyes widened, seeing the glint of an Xtabyren. Before he could ready his sword, a dagger whizzed past, embedding into the would-be assassin’s chest. Thalassa rushed headlong, retrieving the blade and plunging it into the guard twice more.
The Rise of Nazil Page 80