“We must press forward,” she said, wiping the blood from the blade and replacing it in its sheath. “I’m scouting ahead, but Temian and Baldon aren’t far behind. The battle is nearly won. We—” Thalassa whirled around, steadying Jahno as he nearly swooned.
“Tha—thank you,” he slurred, craning around to meet her eyes.
“We must secure him in a room, Dani, and keep going. Our swords may be needed.”
Danimore nodded, hoisting Jahno over his shoulder. “We need to keep your mother safe, too, Thalassa.”
Hushar gasped. She stepped toward the two, mouthing the name as she walked.
“Thalassa? Is it truly you?”
“Who are you?”
“Thalassa, this is Hushar…your mother,” Danimore said.
“Mother?” Thalassa breathed, finding the truth of it in her eyes. “Mother!”
“Thalassa,” Hushar cried, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “My daughter…Thalassa…my baby.”
Danimore glanced down the hall, warily. “Where can we take him?”
“Just there.” Hushar pointed. “Follow me,” she said, wiping her eyes and taking her daughter’s hand.
After entering the chamber, Danimore laid Jahno on the bed, surveying the room. “Thalassa, secure the door and stay with your mother. I need to join with the others and bring this to an end.”
“I can’t stay here while the battle yet rages. My swords are needed, Brother.”
“Brother?” Hushar said, her tears beginning anew.
“Your swords are needed here now. Protect your mother while I find the others. My return will be swift, I promise.”
It wasn’t hard for Danimore to find where the fighting still raged. Most of the citadel appeared hauntingly still, with only the bodies and their smell testifying to the battle that had taken place. In the distance, faint clashes of metal pierced the quiet, accompanied by the calls of the Protectors.
Danimore halted at the balcony doors, looking out over the city. Flames whipped from the temple, appearing as beautiful, dancing flares accompanied by billowing smoke intertwining with the glittering snowflakes wafting through the air. His gaze rested on the gods of Nazil, cracked and ruined upon the ground. His thoughts turned to his father then, and the carved figurines he’d gifted to his children. “It began with your father,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “We’ve freed the city, Father. It started with you, and ended with your children.”
“Dani! It’s done! The city is ours!” Temian shouted, wrenching him from his thoughts.
Danimore’s smile was wistful, nodding at the news. Though he was gladdened, his heart also ached for his home…for all that he knew. It wasn’t his people’s fault. The fault lay in Nazil’s rulers. When he turned to face Temian, he noticed the blood oozing down his arm.
“Brother, you’re wounded.”
“It wasn’t a blade,” he said, nursing his arm. “My own negligence caused it. A wound well-earned for not seeing the danger from above. Had the stone fallen differently, you’d be mourning me as well.”
Danimore returned his smile, draping an arm over his shoulder as they walked toward the Protectors positioned in the corridor. They exchanged a curious look, seeing Pentanimir leaning over a bed in a small chamber.
“What’s wrong, Brother? Who lies there?” Danimore asked, motioning to the bed.
“It’s Beilzen.” Pentanimir’s expression was grim. “I’ve given him some herbs, but his wounds are severe. They found him tethered to a wall in the dark chamber. He’s lost a lot of blood, and I’m concerned that we were too late. I sent for Perrin, but he’ll need a healer soon. Didn’t you notice him when you freed the others?”
Danimore shook his head, looking down at the bed. “I didn’t think anyone was there since Wosen. Why was Beilzen in the chamber?”
Pentanimir collapsed in a chair. It was as if the weight of the entire lands hung about his shoulders. The strain of the battle had finally taken its toll, and he could withstand little more. Clenching his eyes shut, he took a deep breath, slowly exhaling.
“Daracus ordered it. The Guard used Beilzen brutally, and then severed his manhood. What little remained, they split into two, leaving him to bleed out from the wound.”
Both Danimore and Temian peered down at the broken man, whimpering upon the bed. Beilzen’s body shook horribly with both pain and misery.
“There’s more,” Temian said. “When we took the temple, both Draizeyn and Denotra were in the crypts.”
Pentanimir’s mouth dropped, a gasp escaping before he could speak. “I didn’t intend for them to die. I only wanted to free the lands…to free Nazil.”
“Daracus, too,” Danimore said, solemnly. “Don’t take on this blame, Pentanimir. Daracus was beyond reason. I even lowered my sword and promised that he wouldn’t be harmed, but it didn’t matter. He wanted us all dead and attempted to do so until Jahno stopped him.”
“Jahno?” Temian said. “Daracus had been torturing him for years. My mother spoke about him often, and lamented her inability to protect him. How was he able to stop Daracus?”
Danimore met his eyes. “When Daracus threatened your mother, Jahno killed him.”
“My—my mother?” His face paled. “Where is she, Dani?”
“Don’t worry, she and Thalassa are in a chamber with Jahno. I’ll take you to them soon. They’re safe.”
Temian nodded as Arinak ducked, entering the chamber. “It’s time, the people are gathering. You must speak to them, Pentanimir, and tell them of your rule. The rise of Nazil is at hand.”
Pentanimir stood, splashing water on his face, washing away the signs of war. If only the same could be so easily cleansed from within.
Pulling the long hair from his face, he glimpsed himself in the mirror. The eyes staring back at him appeared to be those of his father. For a moment, he wanted to look away, but instead, he stared more intensely at the reflection until he saw only himself.
“Yes, Arinak. It is time.”
Thalassa
“The Protectors are keeping watch over the city, and our brothers are meeting with some of the new council. There’s time, Thalassa,” Danimore said. “I’ve told them where we are, and they’ll come soon.”
“Where’s Temian?”
“He’s coming, too. We need to take care of your mother now.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Hushar said. “I need to get some supplies for Jahno. I’ll be all right.”
“Are you certain?” Danimore asked.
She nodded. “The wound stopped bleeding a while ago.”
“Thalassa, I’ll need to take your mother with me. She knows what’s needed for Jahno and where to find it.”
“What? No. There could be guards in the corridors. It’s not safe.”
“The Guardians aren’t cruel, Thalassa. It’ll be all right, I promise.”
Thalassa sighed, reluctantly loosening her grip. As she turned the door’s lock, a whimper from Jahno claimed her attention.
“Water…please…water.”
Thalassa hurried over to the bed, gently lifting his head and helping him to drink. “That’s good. Would you like some more?”
“You,” he breathed in a hoarse whisper. “It’s you. You—you saved me.”
“You’re safe now, Jahno. They’re getting some herbs for you. Just rest and save your strength,” she said.
“Hushar told me that you’d come,” he mumbled. “She told me to envision you and you’d be here. You’re just as I imagined you,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hushar told you about me?”
“Yes. She told me about you and our future together. You’re here with me just as she said you’d be.”
Thalassa pulled her hand away, standing up from the bed. “Jahno, Hushar didn’t know that I was coming. She couldn’t have been talking about me.”
“It—it has to be you. My heart wouldn’t come false,” he said, slipping away again.
<
br /> “Jahno?” she said softly, sitting back on the bed. “Jahno? I’m sorry, but it wasn’t me,” she said, more to herself than to him.
Thalassa watched his fluttering eyelids, while tracing the faint bruises still visible on his face. She couldn’t sort out her feelings at that moment. With the battle, finding her siblings and mother, and coming to Nazil, it was too much. She’d spoken with Angelaris regarding what awaited her here, but this couldn’t be what she meant. Could it?
Thalassa jerked, startled by the light tapping from the door. With a final glance down at Jahno, she raised up to answer it.
“How is he?” Hushar asked as she opened the door.
“He—he awoke for a moment, asking for water.”
“That’s good,” Hushar said, hurrying to the bed. “Thalassa, I need you to help me take off his clothes so I can apply some herbs.”
Her eyes nearly leapt from their sockets. “All of his clothes?”
“Yes,” Hushar said, unlacing his trousers.
Thalassa swallowed hard, fumbling with his tunic. Her hands trembled, releasing each clasp and exposing his bare chest. When Hushar slid down Jahno’s trousers, Thalassa tried to avert her eyes. She failed. Her mouth dropped, stealing a glance and then looking away again.
“Here, Thalassa,” Hushar said, handing her a bowl and knotted cloth. “Start with his face and continue down his torso. Keep the cloth wet and cover him completely. I’ll start with his feet.”
Thalassa nodded, saturating the cloth and dabbing at his face. The more she watched him, the more intrigued she became. She soaked the cloth again, paying more attention to the man than applying the herbs. There was something that she couldn’t discern. Who are you? she thought, leaning over him.
Jahno’s eyes fluttered open, meeting hers. “It’s you,” he whispered, reaching up, and drawing her down for a kiss.
“Jahno,” Hushar gasped. “What’re you doing? Let go of my daughter.”
Hushar’s words were a muddle, fading from time and space. Thalassa closed her eyes as the new sensation sent tickles of warmth throughout her body. When she eased away, Jahno merely smiled, his hand falling back to the bed.
“Forgive him, Thalassa,” Hushar said. “It’s just the fever.” Taking the knotted cloth, Hushar dabbed at his face again, and then draped a moist cloth over his groin. “Jahno’s still healing from Daracus’ abuse,” Hushar said, holding his hand. “There’s an evil in this citadel like no where else in the lands.”
“Mother, he said that you told him I was coming and we’re supposed to be together. He said he was waiting for me. What does he mean?”
“It’s just the fever. It’ll take a bit for him to become himself again.”
“No, it’s more than that. He mentioned seeing me and…and our future together.”
“What? Oh, my sweet boy.” Hushar stroked his face. “It always helped when he thought about his wife and children before. We were only free in our minds, and I wanted to ease his pain and help him heal.” She sighed. “Daracus hurt him so badly this time. I—I didn’t want him to think about the pain. Not anymore. His fever just brought those visions to the surface. It’s helping him heal.”
Thalassa sat on the bed, taking his hand in hers. “It’s more than that, Mother. Something Angelaris said keeps repeating in my mind. I’m supposed to discover something or someone in Nazil. When I asked how I’d know once I’ve found it, she said that my heart would let me know.”
“You think she was talking about Jahno?” Hushar shook her head. “It don’t seem possible with everything that’s happened to him. It can’t be.”
“Forgive my intrusion,” Danimore said. “But why not? I’ve married Zeta despite what she endured here. None of that mattered to me, Hushar, and it never will. I love my wife and our son. You shouldn’t cast Jahno aside so easily due to his treatment.”
“That’s not what I mean. I love Jahno like he’s my own son. It’s just…what Daracus did to him. I don’t know if he could or even wants to love a woman. Even if he did, he might not be able to love one proper anyhow. I don’t know, Thalassa. Might be best to just wait and see.”
“I can’t dismiss it.” She paused, gazing down at him. “He said that he was waiting for me. That’s what Angelaris said, too. Regardless of what he’s suffered, it doesn’t diminish who he is, not to me. I have to know, Mother.”
Hushar sighed, looking at Jahno again. When she began to answer, a knock on the door silenced her.
“Who’s there?” Danimore said, lowering a hand to his sword.
“It’s me, Brother. Temian.”
After opening the door, Temian winced as Danimore greeted him with a tight hug. “Sorry, mayhaps your mother should take a look at that.”
“Temian?” Hushar rushed to the door, covering him with kisses.
“Oh, Momma,” he said, nearly going weak in her arms. “I never thought I’d be able to ever love you openly.” He tightened his grasp, burying his head in her shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. I knew that it’d come to pass. No matter the years, I’ve got my children again,” she said, leading him to a stool near the bed.
“I’m sorry, Momma. I’ve been so powerless and afraid. Father thought my being in Nazil would be an aid to you, but it didn’t feel that way. I could only have you during the purge, and I was sickened at the thought. What they did to you…I hated Father for allowing it, but I hated myself most of all.” He lowered his head. “I was powerless. I could do nothing.”
“Manifir tried to protect you, Temian. He visited me when he could, but it wasn’t easy with Oxilon trying to get evidence against him. It was all he could do to bring you to Nazil to be with me. He did it as a comfort, but I suffered, fearing that someone might find out you was mine or notice how much you looked like your brother. Don’t you fret over what’s in the past. As foul as the purge was, it was the only time that I could show any love for you. That’s what I think about, Temian. I got to spend time alone with my son each full moon. I forced that other from my mind, and you should do the same.” She kissed his cheek, and then grabbed a knife, cutting away his sleeve to inspect his wound.
“I am,” Temian said. “Our life begins now. A good life.”
“For all of us,” Danimore said.
Transition
Pentanimir pushed up from his seat, clasping the hands of each man before thanking and excusing them. Everything appeared surreal, and he had difficulty grasping hold of what was, while contemplating what would be. This was merely the beginning, and Pentanimir was already feeling the weight of his new position. Many Nazilians wouldn’t accept their new Zaxson or his edicts willingly. The Vereuxs had strong allies, and those allegiances wouldn’t easily shift. Most would reject their new leaders and the proclamations that would accompany their rule. His rule.
Taking a deep breath, Pentanimir opened the balcony doors, staring out over the city. The intermittent screeches of Desu Beasts resonated around him as Baldon and Gavriel circled the city. Michau and Brukin guarded the main citadel gates, deterring any remaining guards or denizens wroth with a compulsion for revenge.
Although the battle was at an end, this war would linger in the hearts and minds of many, festering like a cancer, attempting to systematically imbue the whole. They were the true danger, not only to the Benoists, but to all of Faélondul.
There were too few guards remaining that Pentanimir could entrust with maintaining the city after the devastation of their attack. Most of the Chosen Guard were either killed or wounded, unable to assist in protecting the citadel or its denizens. Even then, his options appeared limited. Pentanimir hadn’t thought beyond the need to liberate Nazil. Now, he had to find a way to protect it.
“There are thirty-two, Zaxson.”
Pentanimir didn’t respond, not hearing anything over the intermixing voices in his mind: demanding, pleading, foreboding. Each voice separate and distinct, yet merging with the next, as conflicted as his heart. He stared as t
he billowing smoke rose from the temple, swirling through the air, rising above the city, and dissipating into the wind. That smoke mixed with the burnt cedar from the Kadul. Both a reminder of what Nazil had been, and what it needed to be. From his vantage, the workers clearing the debris appeared more as rodents, scampering over a field rife with blood-sodden offerings. Men he’d trained, respected, and killed.
“Sir Benoist?”
“Par—pardons?” Pentanimir said, closing his eyes, forcing those images from his mind. Taking another sobering breath, he turned, walking back toward the table.
“Symeon reports that there are thirty-two former sentries capable of assisting the guard,” Nakaris said.
“Capable, but are they willing to help fortify our defenses?”
“What do you mean?”
Pentanimir sighed, sitting again. “Before we liberated Nazil, these men were captives, taken after their homes were attacked and their people killed. How can I be certain that they aren’t feigning their allegiance in an effort to gain an advantage? I don’t know what I’d do in their place, Nakaris. We are their enemy, regardless of what’s transpired or the reassurances that I’ve made. You don’t assist the enemy, you await the most opportune time to defeat them.”
“You’re not wrong, Zaxson, but we also have nearly one thousand loyal First and Second Nazilian guards who refused to join this fight. They’ve respected your family and you for years, and they’re ready to die to protect the new peace you’ve ushered in.”
Pentanimir smiled wistfully, shaking his head. “Must death always be a precursor to peace?”
“I’ve never known any occurrence of this magnitude where it hasn’t been.”
“Nor I, but enough people have died already. I need trustworthy men to maintain order, secure the citadel, and organize the workers in the city. I’m leaving with the sun’s rise, and might not return until the next. Much can be lost in less time.”
“Indeed, but much can be accomplished as well,” Symeon said, stepping into the room. Nakaris took a step back as Symeon walked over to the table, inclining his head. “I’ve stationed sentries in the main two corridors with four at each exit. Others are willing to assume positions on the outer wall and gates. I’ve known eleven of them from years past, and trust them with my life.”
The Rise of Nazil Page 81