part0006

As they approached the citadel entrance, Wosen stood between Jahno and a guard, awaiting the Zaxson. The ictus of his heart increased, watching the Zaxson advancing. Wosen took a steadying breath, forcing his shoulders back. He could hear whispers from the surrounding guards, but he kept his father’s words in his mind, repeating them until they drowned out everything else.

When they were but strides away, Wosen lowered his gaze, bending his knee. The constant click…click…click… from their boots reverberated, distorting the sounds around him. Once he stood again, Jahno rested a hand on his shoulder, noticing the trembling that Wosen couldn’t suppress. That simple gesture was enlivening, bringing back some semblance of hope where all else appeared despairing. Standing in the vestibule of the Nazilian citadel, there was one that he called friend.

“Move yer arse, savage,” a guard said, shoving Wosen forward. As he stumbled, Hushar’s words replayed in his mind. His old mum had done her best to prepare him for what was to come. But could he ever truly be prepared for what awaited him? If he survived this trek, escaping into the mountains would be arduous. Taking another sobering breath, he stepped out onto the stairs.

Wosen’s eyes widened, gazing out over the white city. This was the first time that he’d seen it in all its glory. Father’s words didn’t do the city justice , he thought, staring at the magnificent home that his father once loved.

The temple stood near, with the commanding stone statues of the Nazil gods. They towered over all in the city with their fierce faces and intimidating stance, casting great shadows over the gathering crowd. Even with their ferocity, the temple was the most exquisite edifice that he’d ever seen. His mouth nearly gaped, looking at the white city’s grandeur as he descended the marble steps. It had been long since he desired to experience the wonders of Nazil. Though he found the city beautiful, Wosen yearned for the true beauty of his village.

A faint sun lit the orange and pink streaked sky as the carriages moved from the citadel. The air was full of the sweet smell of hickory from the fires of the Kadul that had burned throughout the night. The men tended the flames of the ceremonial pit, striking a tocsin that seemed more a menacing, pulsating heart than a pronouncement of the Zaxson’s coming. The Kadul’s fires would burn until the heroes of Nazil returned.

Murmuring voices swelled as the leader’s carriages rolled toward the city’s center. One after another, families emerged, their voices rising in a crescendo. With seamless precision, they began chanting the name of their Zaxson. From every corner, the name “Draizeyn” echoed off the hard marble surfaces and white stone buildings.

Upon seeing the regal headpieces of the Cha, the crowd began to divide, their voices lowering in reverence. Each of the enrobed men of the Brotherhood harmonized passages from their holy book of Sulos . As they ambled through the crowd toward the platform, the Nazilians bowed in respect.

Fathers hoisted their sons upon their shoulders in hopes of getting a glimpse of their leader. Draizeyn emerged, riding haughtily through the multitude: his head raised high with his right hand firmly pressed against his chest. He didn’t look right or left, his carriage advancing him through the crowd. Flowers of admiration cushioned the steed’s clopping hooves as it cantered by. Daracus stood proudly at his father’s side, marveling at the crowd’s adoration. Such a noble stance , he thought, envisioning the day he’d stand in his father’s place.

One by one, the carriages progressed through the extoling crowd, shouting sentiments of honor and veneration. It wasn’t until Wosen came into view did the jeers and insults begin. Wosen groaned, feeling jabs and punches as he struggled to keep pace with the horses.

The Nazilians roared when Draizeyn and Daracus mounted the platform. Glancing over at his son, Draizeyn grinned, raising a hand to silence the crowd.

“My good people of Nazil, the time has come to purge our lands and make Faélondul great once more. The humans have infested our lands and corrupted the decency and morality that we’ve cultivated over these many years. We founded and enriched these lands into a viable and peaceful home for Nazilians. The humans were permitted to inhabit these lands merely through the kindness of our people. Now they’ve abused the privileges that we’ve so mercifully granted to them. They’ve committed the most egregious of offenses. They’ve taken what’s pure, sacrosanct, and preeminent, our blood, and infested it with theirs. They are savages!” Draizeyn paused, relishing the eruption of angered shouts.

“The savages are animals, robbing and stealing from Nazilians who’ve worked the land, and built up Faélondul from ash. This land belongs to all of you, and we’ll not allow them one more sun’s rise to destroy what’s rightfully yours.

“The humans ravish and abduct our women, forcing them to become slaves to their barbaric and sadistic desires. Our once maiden daughters, sisters, and nieces are forced to bear their children. Rather they be slaughtered than adulterated with the filth of a human. These children are abominations: diseased mongrels contaminating the purity of Faélondul. They must ALL be destroyed! This genocidal attempt won’t go unanswered.”

The furious uproar from the crowd fueled his ravening ego. Men raised their swords as the denizens sang praises for their Zaxson and home.

“Their conspiracy isn’t unknown to me,” the Zaxson continued in an orotund voice. “They are attempting to weaken us by infusing the young with their blood. They steal our women to hinder the procreation of our people, the rightful rulers of the lands. It stops this day! I, Draizeyn Deaglan Vereux, have been called by the gods themselves to dispose of this threat. I will lead our elite Chosen Guard to vanquish this evil and destroy it!”

With that proclamation, the Nazilians began screaming his name again. Draizeyn stood tall with his Xtabyren raised to the heavens, allowing the praise of the crowd to wash over him.

They exited the platform with their swords still raised. As they strode through the crowd, the people stretched out their hands, attempting to touch their leader. He returned to his carriage, addressing his guard. “Today, we will make these traitors understand what it means to be Nazilian!”

The spirited chanting continued as the gates of the city closed behind them. Draizeyn scrutinized his men, exiting his carriage. The golden armor and pearl cloaks of the Chosen glinted majestically in the sun’s light. It had been long since his men stood before him so adorned.

The archers and foot soldiers donned their silver armor and black cloaks. Thousands stood at attention with their liveries standing in contrast against the white gates of the city. Draizeyn gave an approving nod, mounting his massive destrier.

“Put him on a rouncy, and attach the rope to my saddle,” he ordered, gesturing to Wosen.

The men led the old worker horse forward, helping Wosen to mount. There was no saddle or reins, only a long rope that tethered him to the Zaxson.

Two of the guard fell in on either side of him as the ranks closed in.

“Daracus, you’re to send word to Nazil when you’ve reached Mahlum,” Draizeyn said, looking over his soldiers. “You’re all to do the same. The guards stationed at the outposts have taken their positions. In three suns, as Faélondul awakens, make these lands bleed!” he shouted, kicking his heels into his horse.

Their pace was slow, traversing the hidden pass between the covered knolls. Stopping only to rest and water their horses, the men trekked on, following the commands of their leader. Once the wood enveloped the winding trails, tensions rose with the crescendoing howls of the jaenitu resonating around them. As the sun diminished, Wosen was shackled to a tree as slaves erected the tents and prepared the evening meal.

Draizeyn’s cupbearer, a boy no more than five or six years old, came to Wosen, bringing bread and water. The young boy sat, staring as Wosen struggled to feed himself while heavily chained.

“What’s your name?” Wosen asked, tearing off a piece of hard bread.

At first, the boy didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the strange man with the pale eyes. He hadn’t ever seen anyone like Wosen. Only Nazilians had such eyes, but Wosen wasn’t one of them. The hue of his skin and his light brown curls confused the young boy. When Wosen tore off a large piece of bread and handed it to him, the boy brightened, taking it happily.

“I’m called bastard,” he finally said, tearing into the bread.

“Bastard? What sort of name is that for a young boy?”

“The only one I got.” He shrugged, unaffected by the meaning that lay beneath.

Wosen handed him the water, allowing him to drink his fill. He looked at the boy, trying to perceive any Nazilian heritage. With straight, sandy-colored hair, sun-kissed skin, and green eyes, he looked human. However, appearance alone meant little. All the children of Bandari had different features.

“Who’s your mother?” Wosen asked.

“She was a slave at the cit’del, but I don’t ‘member her,” he said, staring down at Wosen’s bread. He tore off another piece, handing it to the slight boy.

“Don’t they feed you in the Zaxson’s tent?” Wosen smiled, close-mouthed.

“Sometimes I get leavins’ after evenin’ meal. Been a sun tho’.”

“Well, I’m pleased to share my meal with you at any time.”

The boy looked at Wosen, inching closer. Reaching a small hand up, he stroked Wosen’s cheek. After finding no difference in the feel of his skin compared to his own, his brow furrowed. “What’s a savage?” he asked, searching for anything different that would give Wosen the name.

The boy’s lips moved, testing the pronunciation of the name. “Can I call ya Wosen, too?”

“Only when we take our meal together. The secret will be ours alone. And I’ll call you…hmm…what would be a pleasing name for such a handsome boy?” Wosen said, tucking one hand beneath his chin. “I know: Fáelán. It’s a much better name than bastard. But it can only be between us, okay, Fáelán?”

The boy stood, wiping the crumbs from his mouth. “I like how it sounds. Thanks for the bread. I gots to get back.”

Just as quickly as he’d arrived, the boy was gone. Wosen appreciated the company, no matter how brief. Since leaving Nazil, no one would speak to him. It was just as well, it would only be an insult or abuse. He missed his old mum and Jahno.

“Bastard,” Wosen said, quietly. The thought of the young boy saddened him. He, too, was a captive in Nazil. For him, it had always been, and that truth distressed Wosen even more. “You’ll be Fáelán to me,” he said aloud.

He listened to the laughter from the camp, longing to be back in his village. Yet, he was leading the Nazilians to destroy all that he’d ever known. Those who birthed and nurtured him would be put to the sword, just as his father had warned, only much worse. The torture he’d endured at the hands of those he’d idolized was devastating.

“I’m sorry, Father. The Guardians must’ve been merging, just like old mum said. I’d never wish you from me, any of you,” he said, still quietly speaking to himself.

The smell of meat roasting on the spit caused his stomach to ache. Wosen missed his home, and knew he’d never look upon it again. He yawned then, pulling his cloak tighter, shivering against the mountain winds. Draizeyn wouldn’t allow harm to befall him while he was of use, but he wouldn’t treat him as well as the slaves either. He wouldn’t be permitted the warmth of the fire, yet he didn’t mind. Drawing the cowl over his head, Wosen closed his eyes, drifting off into a fitful sleep.

“Get up, savage!” the guard called out, kicking him again. “Ya done slept long enough. Get up and get ready to meet with the Zaxson.”

Wosen looked around disoriented, feeling some relief as the guard removed one of his shackles.

“If ya need’n to piss, best do it now,” he said, snatching him up to his feet.

Wosen turned, clumsily emptying his full bladder. He’d been tethered so long, releasing his water was almost pleasurable. He barely had time to finish before the guard yanked him again, binding his wrist, and shoving him toward the camp.

Though the lands were growing warmer, it was still cold in the mountains. A light snow had fallen, blanketing the grass and trees. He admired the quiet beauty of it, almost smiling. These were his woods, and he knew them like none other. The Guardians will provide the opportunity. You must take advantage of it. Hushar’s words repeated in his head. I will, old mum , Wosen thought. Not only for me, but for you and Jahno as well.

The men were loading the carts as Wosen approached. The scent of the dawning meal still hung heavy in the air, causing his empty stomach to churn. Draizeyn sat cross-legged, enjoying a large cup of steaming tea, while speaking with some of his guards. Wosen noticed Fáelán at his side and offered a caring wink at the boy, causing him to smile.

The Zaxson’s armor shone majestically in the rising sun as his silvery-white hair blew about in the wind. Wosen scrutinized the men, his eyes resting on the Xtabyrens hanging from their belts. How he’d admired his father’s armor and the honor of the Chosen of Nazil. Now he understood that it wasn’t the adornment that evinces honor: the honor belonged to the man alone.

When Wosen drew nearer to the Zaxson, the guard forced him hard on his knees. It wasn’t necessary, but they couldn’t forgo an opportunity to be cruel. You flee at first chance, young one. You hear me? Flee.

“So, savage, where do you lead this day?” Draizeyn asked in an almost pleasant tone.

“We make for the red trees, Sir.”

Draizeyn peered up, noting the slightest hint of red in the distance. “And the village lies beyond?”

“It does, Zaxson, just past the red trees.”

Draizeyn rose then, edging his Xtabyren against Wosen’s neck, its keen edge drawing a line of blood. Wosen sucked in his breath, clenching his eyes shut. Though consumed by fear, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing it. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared down at the golden buttons lining the Zaxson’s boots. Even with such finery and position, Draizeyn meant less to Wosen now than the mud staining his soles.

“If our path is known, what further need have we of you?” The Zaxson asked, cruelly.

“My lord, we haven’t entered the densest part of the wood. Once there, the trees will swallow the sun, and only faint light will break through the darkness. There are platforms high within the trees and traps to avoid. The thick roots and vines could ensnare the guard and your horses. The jaenitu are prevalent as well, and we need to stay far from their dens. I’ll lead you through safely, Sir.”

Draizeyn sheathed his sword, turning. “Prepare to take leave. We make for the village.”

Wosen felt a hard tug on his shoulder as they yanked him to his feet. The guard shoved him toward his mount, leaving him to struggle. He dreaded riding the poor beast, contemplating which of them suffered the most. His arse had grown painfully sore, riding the bare horse, and sitting on the cold, hard ground. Hushar would have me well tended with her ointments and herbs, Wosen thought, struggling to mount the horse. His lips creased with the slightest smile as he thought about Hushar. That remembrance steeled his resolve, realizing the importance of his survival. Some way, somehow, he’d see her again.

The usual guard fell in beside him as Draizeyn gave the call to leave. Steadily, they moved through the hidden pass, traversing the dense wood. As they passed beneath tall trees, Wosen would point up after ensuring no one occupied the guard platforms.

Glancing around, he looked for any signs of the villagers. By the trail’s appearance, no one had visited the wood in some time. Even the usual woodland creatures were silent. Never was this so, especially with the large packs of jaenitu spread throughout. Wosen found this peculiar and comforting at the same time.

Every seventh sun, Nurul led the young men on the hunts. But there was no evidence they’d come recently, or any sign of guards mounting the platforms.

When the arching trees masked the sun’s light, Wosen halted his mount. His vision was barely impaired, but it wouldn’t be the same for his captors. The thick roots and ground coverings could cause a horse to stumble. Sliding down from his mount, Wosen turned, bending a knee toward Draizeyn.

“The path is more easily traveled by foot, Zaxson.”

Draizeyn scrutinized the dimly lit wood. Everything appeared the same with only a few reddish leaves in the distance giving an indication to their destination. He nodded, gesturing over at a guard.

“Light some torches and keep him close.”

As the men followed their commands, Wosen reacquainted himself with the wood. He needed to find the best path for his escape. He continued leading his old horse toward the edge of the wood, nearest to the mountains, anticipating his opportunity.

Peering from the corner of his eyes, Wosen noticed that the guard’s attention was more on the greatness of the wood, rather than the one who led them through it. Their hands were on their swords and the archers weren’t far behind. I must find a way to avoid their arrows, he thought as they drew nearer to the village’s entrance.

Biding time, Wosen knelt, pretending to examine some protruding roots. The guards observed him closely, moving his hands over the thick foliage. When he stood again, Wosen took a deep and steadying breath. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his trepidation from overwhelming him. As he pivoted, he stopped, his eyes widening. He noticed something in the air, or, more accurately, something missing from it. He breathed in again, closing his eyes. There’s no smoke in the air. The eternal fire doesn’t burn.

“What’re you doing?” the guard nearest him demanded.

“Well, get moving!” the guard said, angrily nudging him forward.

They had nearly reached their destination when a familiar howl caught his attention. The guards around him drew their swords, but Wosen only listened. His eyes closed in recollection, knowing the jaenitu were near. As he turned toward the sound, he espied a small drop-off, not understanding how he’d forgotten about it. Not long ago he’d slid down the embankment, chasing his prey. Aizen and Ahni laughed when Nurul had to help him from the pit. This might be the opportunity the Guardians have provided, he thought. I only need to distance myself from the guard. If I can make it through the brush and down the hill, their arrows won’t reach me.

Wosen offered a silent prayer to both the One god and the Guardians to keep him safe.

“Zaxson,” he said, kneeling. “The village lies beyond. There’re ropes attached to the center trees that’ll create the passage.”

A profound look of pleasure washed over Draizeyn’s face. Pulling on his gloves, he pointed to the nearest two guards, gesturing toward the trees. Time seemed to stand still, with only the guard’s footfalls and the sound of the torch’s flames, whipping in the air. Wosen peered up, watching the guard’s golden liveries subsuming into the darkness.

Releasing a steadying breath, Wosen eyed the drop-off again, nervously rubbing his fingertips against one another. He counted the guards at his sides, noticing them move closer to the Zaxson’s position. He didn’t move, studying his captors’ demeanor and focusing his mind. One chance , he thought, licking the sudden dryness from his lips.

Wosen didn’t flinch when the guards pulled the ropes, bathing the area with light. He waited, listening to the constant shifting around him. Taking another deep breath, he expelled it slowly, readying himself for what was to come.

“He speaks true, Zaxson,” one of the guards reported. “There’s a village just beyond.”

Wosen tapped his fingers on the ground as if keeping time. His right foot raised, leaving only the ball of it touching the ground. Though his head remained down, his eyes stayed fixed on Draizeyn. Wosen saw the wicked smirk on his face, and slightly ground his foot into the dirt, testing the strength of his wrapped ankle.

When the Zaxson raised his hand, Wosen pivoted, pushing hard off the ball of his foot, propelling himself through the brush in a forward roll. He used his momentum, not stopping until he’d cleared the embankment, landing in a crouch.

“After that savage!” Draizeyn shouted. Moments later, a barrage of whizzing arrows streaked above his head.

Wosen sprang to his feet, ducking low. Running toward the towering peaks, he prayed his legs wouldn’t give way. The stampede of approaching guards took all else from his mind. Wosen pressed the shackles against his chest, leaning forward in a dash of desperation.

Visions of the dark chamber cascaded through his mind, echoes of his screams fading as the jaenitu’s howls resonated again. He turned, following the prints left in the fresh snow, knowing that if the Nazilians caught him, his suffering would be unending.

Draizeyn’s boney face burned with rage. “Find that savage!” he yelled at the trackers. “The torture he endured will be infinitesimal compared to what awaits!”

While the trackers moved off, Draizeyn led his men through the large reds. His approach was measured, gazing over the steadings and fields. Sliding down from his mount, he drew his Xtabyren, staring over Bandari. He was both awestruck and infuriated that this village existed without Nazil’s knowledge.

“Why are you just standing there?” Draizeyn yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “Search them, search them all! Bring the filth to me!”

The guards roared, brandishing their weapons while rushing toward the steadings. Splinters flew in all directions as they smashed their way through the village.

Caressing the hilt of his Xtabyren, Draizeyn stepped forward, relishing the guards’ ferocity. He peered out over the Raphar, not able to see past the thick line of trees. He nodded, casting his gaze westward, and then north to the towering peaks of Dessalonia. When he noticed the temple, he smiled, grabbing a torch from a slave. He strode toward the sacred building with the music of breaking wood and glass sounding sweetly in his ears. With an awesome thrust, Draizeyn kicked open the door, slamming it against the inner wall. For a moment, he was still, his eyes adjusting to the darkened room. The faint scent of sage perfumed the air as he stepped down the narrow aisle, inspecting each section.

Draizeyn’s smile soon turned to scathing disappointment. “Filthy savages,” he murmured, lowering the torch, igniting the long brazier that lined the aisle. When he moved to the exit, he turned, kicking over the flaming pit, causing the glowing embers to explode, setting all they hit ablaze.

Hordes of guards raided the homes, destroying everything inside. With every passing moment, Draizeyn’s fury escalated. Each report was the same: the village stood empty.

“What do you mean deserted?” he shouted. “They can’t all be deserted. They must be here! Find them, find them now!”

The guard stepped back, glancing around nervously. “Sir?”

“Burn them! Burn them all!”

Flaming arrows streaked the sky, setting the steadings ablaze. In an instant, the entire village was engulfed in flames.

“Zaxson, Sir!” Krishon said. “There are tracks leading south. They traveled through that narrow pass.”

With narrowing eyes, Draizeyn spotted the small pass between the rivers. “You’re certain of this, Krishon?”

“Yes, Sir. There were horses and carts. Many of them.”

Draizeyn’s lips disappeared as his smile returned. “To the horses!”

“We must stop, Julaybeim,” Gali shouted.

“We can’t risk stopping now. She must endure a while longer, please, we’re nearly there,” Julaybeim said, lashing out at the horses.

Gali shook her head, wiping the sweat from Brahanu’s face. She gripped her hand tighter, unsure of what to do.

“Gali, please! Help me.”

Gali lifted the wineskin, helping Brahanu drink the tincture. She felt helpless, unable to do anything but ease her pain, not relieve it. For two suns, Brahanu writhed in the carriage, nearly mad from the incessant pain. She screeched again, shooting up from the cot as a gush of fluid poured from between her legs.

Loud clangs echoed through the smoke-filled air as the multitude of swords clashed amid the burning village. Pentanimir’s eyes widened in disbelief at the devastation already wrought upon Cazaal. Quickly scanning the battlefield, he leapt down from his mount, clutching the cloth around his arm. Pentanimir had barely unsheathed his Xtabyren, before raising it up in a parry, and then sidestepping another man’s sword. Pentanimir thrust forward, stabbing one guard in his chest, and immediately ducked, parrying the sword of another, while coming around with a slash.

The yells of Nazilians emerging from the wood penetrated the veil of angst prevalent in Cazaal. Glinting swords reflected the sun’s rays, blinding some as they defended their homes and lives. It was becoming difficult to tell friend from foe, and only Brahanu’s purple cloth attached to his arm kept Pentanimir distinct from the mass of sword-wielding Nazilians. All around him, men were screaming and dying, writhing in death throes on the blood-sodden ground.

Pentanimir ran full on into a horde of fighting forces approaching the temple. The priests’ bodies swung above him while he ascended the bloodied platform. He didn’t have time to mourn, slashing and slicing while leaping from the stone steps. With cat-like reflexes, Pentanimir was forced into a backbend, avoiding a huge doubled-sided axe of an attacker. With a quick side roll, he barely dodged the second strike, as the axe sparked on the ground but digits from his head.

Leaping to his feet, Pentanimir feigned a thrust, and then retracted the blade, spinning to the man’s side, deftly delivering a side-swipe with brutal precision, before rolling forward out of his reach. The man was too stunned to react as Pentanimir grabbed up a fallen sword, advancing again. He delivered a double spin kick, causing the attacker to stagger backward. His hands were a blur, edging both swords beneath the man’s chin. In one fluid movement, his swords crossing, Pentanimir jerked them away, decapitating the man.

“Please, gods!” Brahanu cried. “He’s killing me!” Brahanu’s pleas continued as the carriage finally stopped. Julaybeim and Danimore leapt down, rushing to the rear of the carriage.

“I need some hot water now,” Gali said. “Can we risk a fire, Julaybeim?” she yelled over Brahanu’s screams.

“Is she all right, Gali?” Julaybeim asked, his face pale in shock. “Are they all right?”

Gali grabbed up some items, turning to Danimore instead. “Dani, please. I need the water now.”

When Danimore rushed to start a fire, Gali clutched Julaybeim’s arms, turning him away from Brahanu, and shaking him. “Look at me! I need your help. They’re both in danger if I can’t get the babe out. Do you hear me, Julaybeim?”

He trembled, looking at his sister again. Brahanu’s face had lost all coloring, her dress blood-sodden and ripped. She appeared more a corpse than his sister, with only her constant shrieks and writhing alerting them to the contrary.

“Zeta has set water to boil, Gali. What else do you need?” Danimore asked, rushing back to her side.

“I need you and Julaybeim to get her out of here. I need Brahanu on the ground near the fire,” she said, tossing him some furs. “Lay these on the ground and take this basket. Everything I’ll need is inside. Make haste, the babe’s crowning.”

Both Pentanimir’s hair and breastplate were blood-stained as he fought to advance nearer to Itai and Hacom’s position. Nazilian guards attempted to surround the two, with Itai heaving his axe while taking up a defensive posture. Hacom stood aslant, his shield drooping in one hand, and his sword working feverishly with the other. Whether fatigued or injured, they needed his help, and Pentanimir increased his efforts to level the attacking guard.

Hearing a loud, resonate whistle, Pentanimir’s heart stopped. He made short work of the remaining guard, turning in time to see the barrage of arrows streaking toward Hacom and Itai. With a grunt, Hacom brought his shield around, blocking most of the deadly projectiles. But a thunderous yell from Itai, signaled the accuracy of at least one of the arrows from the onslaught. After scanning their surroundings, Hacom steadied Itai’s stance, while swiping out his sword. When the guards gave ground, Hacom snapped off the fledged end of the arrow, pulling it through Itai’s thigh. Itai dropped on one knee, groaning as the poisonous venom radiated throughout his entire body.

Pentanimir kept fighting his way forward, trying to keep focus on the men. As he neared Itai and Hacom, more Nazilian guards were in pursuit. Itai staggered, shaking his head, fighting against the effects of the serpent’s venom . With languid movement, he swung his axe at one guard and then the next, before nearly toppling to the ground. When Pentanimir noticed a guard raising his Xtabyren, he leapt from the stone platform, landing in a forward roll, and coming up to his feet, delivering a high kick that sent the Xtabyren tumbling from the guard’s hand.

“Traitor!” the guard tried to yell, but his words were cut short by another staggering kick beneath his chin. Pentanimir followed through with a powerful thrust, impaling the guard through the chest.

“You must get up, Itai,” Pentanimir shouted, taking up a defensive posture beside him. “More guards will come. Help him, Hacom,” he yelled, engaging two more Nazilian guards, defending Brahanu’s husband and father.

“I—I can’t,” Itai breathed, still swinging his axe on shaky knees, and fighting against the burning venom assailing every part of him.

“You must, Itai! Please!” Pentanimir commanded, arm locked with another guard.

Itai struggled, trying to stand on legs that would no longer support him. Sweat poured from his brow as his knees shook uncontrollably, causing him to nearly drop to the ground. Try as he might, his limbs would no longer respond to the commands of his mind.

Pentanimir fought against three guards, moving them further away from Itai and Hacom. As he finished off the third, his uncle appeared from the wood, astride his massive warhorse. Oxilon’s sword swipes were swift and powerful as he galloped full speed, beheading all in his path.

Pentanimir’s gaze fell on Hacom as Oxilon came up speedily behind. The Xtabyren glistened in the sun’s light as Oxilon raised it high, bringing it down fluidly, slicing through Hacom’s neck. Pentanimir’s breaths stopped, watching in shocked silence as Hacom’s head tumbled to the ground. Hacom’s body twitched, still standing, unaware that the head had been severed from it.

“No!” Pentanimir shouted, running back toward the men. Oxilon jumped down from his horse, turning on Itai. He struggled to find his feet, grappling for his axe. With great force, Oxilon slashed downward across his chest. Itai howled as the blood from the blow spurted in every direction. When he didn’t fall, Oxilon plunged the blade through his neck. Pentanimir roared. All the rage he had toward him came boiling to the surface as he watched the life drain from Itai. Visions of his father took the place of the huge man as Itai’s body slowly drifted to the ground.

Pentanimir’s eyes bulged, as the noise around him seemed to shift. All he heard were distorted echoes of distant cries as he peered into Oxilon’s face. When he gazed at the decapitated body at his uncle’s feet, the rapid pulse of his heart replaced the distorted voices. He saw his father, Manifir, murdered and dying there, not Hacom. Anger—insane, blinding irrational fury—wrapped its fierce, burning wings around Pentanimir’s being as he leapt toward Oxilon, his Xtabyren gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with the force of his grasp. The rage inside of him came spewing forth.

Pentanimir reversed his grip on his Xtabyren, increasing his pace. Oxilon was just turning toward him—a move that was too slow, too late—only to see Pentanimir’s sword glinting in the sun, just before its blade went cleanly through his gut. Oxilon would’ve screamed, yet his mouth only fell open. His now puny hands attempted to choke the throat of his nephew. The First Chosen pushed hard, forcing his uncle against a wall. Pentanimir’s eyes never left his as he retracted the blade and thrust again.

“For all the evils that you’ve committed, you should die slowly,” Pentanimir sneered, retracting the blade. “My father’s death,”—a stab, retract— “abusing my brother”—another stab—“and raping Zeta”—a final, deeper stab, burying his Xtabyren into Oxilon’s chest.

Oxilon continued to fight against him with weakened strength. He clasped Pentanimir’s wrist, pulling him down to him.

“My father did have other children, Uncle, half-human children,” he whispered. “One of my brothers was in Nazil and you never knew. Their mother was in Nazil, too. Temian and Hushar were in Nazil for years, and yet, you couldn’t see.” Oxilon’s eyes bulged, his face darkening as he gasped for air.

When Zeta handed Gali the bladder of oil, she pulled out the stopper, pouring it over Brahanu’s opening.

Brahanu screamed, rearing back against Danimore as she pushed again.

“Good, good, Brahanu, the head is out,” Gali said. “I know that you’re tired, but I need you to endure a while longer. The pain will end once the babe is free. Take a deep breath, now, push.”

Ear-piercing screams wrenched his attention from Oxilon’s bloodied body, twitching at his feet. Pentanimir’s mouth gaped, seeing Ameya and Amani being dragged from the citadel. The guards ripped Amani’s skirts, slamming her to the ground. “No,” he nearly whimpered, turning toward them. Feeling a tug on his leg, he spun around, bringing his Xtabyren to the ready. Itai weakly gripped his boot, struggling to form his words. His lips trembled, the steel embedded in his neck creating gurgles and rushes of air escaping from the wound. Pentanimir forced back his emotion, kneeling beside him.

“Brahanu. Eytan. Protect—” was all that Itai could manage before a final, weak exhalation.

Pentanimir rested a hand on his shoulder, feeling heated tears lining his eyes. “No one will keep me from it. I promise to protect them both.” He clutched the hilt of his Xtabyren, his body shaking with surging rage.

Pentanimir turned back toward the citadel. All around him, flames and smoke billowed through the air accompanied by the cries of wounded and dying villagers playing a violent tune, assaulting his very being. A scream from Amani wrenched him from that agony. The guards surrounded her, spurring the two who were using her on. The horrid scene seemed to move in slow motion.

He leapt on Oxilon’s horse, galloping toward the crowd of soldiers raping Amani. When he drew near, he saw Ameya cowering on the ground behind the stone wall. Amani’s eyes bulged, her face darkening from the lack of air, and body bloodied and seizing as two men took her at once. He drew his sword, plunging it through her back, killing her quickly. In another swift move, he grabbed Ameya from the ground, snatching her up on the horse.

“Take the prisoners back to Nazil!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I’m securing the Caretaker’s daughter in Spero.”

“Is she all right?” Julaybeim’s voice quivered, dabbing at his sister’s face.

“She will be,” Zeta said.

As Gali cut the babe from his mother, the word “Tardison” sounded as a whisper on the wind.

Julaybeim leapt to his feet, drawing his sword. “Did you hear that?”

Danimore nodded, lowering Brahanu on the furs, and then unsheathed his sword. The wood seemed eerily quiet: even the birds and insects had fallen silent. Danimore gasped, ducking as a shadow passed overhead. When he looked again, there was nothing. His breathing quickened, extending his sword out in front of him.

When the babe let out a powerful cry, Brahanu’s eyes blinked open, attempting to see through the haze covering them.

“He needs your breast to quiet him, Brahanu. Do you have the strength for it?” Gali asked, cradling the babe in her arms.

Brahanu reached a hand out for her son, but swayed back down on the furs.

“Zeta, will he take your breast?” Danimore asked, sheathing his sword and lifting Raithym from her arms. He glanced around warily, praying the babe’s cries hadn’t alerted anyone to their position.

Zeta nodded, loosening the ties of her dress. As soon as Gali nestled the babe in her arms, she turned him toward her nipple, and he latched on immediately.

“Oh, he sucks harder than even Raithym does,” Zeta winced.

“Thank you, Zeta,” Gali said, moving back between Brahanu’s legs. “She’s still losing a lot of blood, and I fear if I can’t stop the bleeding, she’ll…gods!” Gali gasped, her eyes widening. “There’s another one.”

“Another?” Julaybeim said, rushing back to her side. “Another what? Babe?”

“Wake her up, Julaybeim, wake her now.”

Julaybeim shook Brahanu’s shoulder, repeatedly calling out her name. Nothing.

“Keep trying, Julaybeim. Dani, I need more oil. I have to pull it from inside of her.”

He grabbed the warm bladder, kneeling at her side.

“Pour it over my hands, quickly.”

Danimore licked the sudden dryness from his lips, forcing back his trepidation. Slowly, he began pouring oil over Gali’s hands, watching her every movement. She slid them into the sides of Brahanu’s opening, cradling the babe. Maneuvering them carefully, she drew the babe forward, until his head slid free. Reaching for more oil, she supported the head with one hand, while sliding the other beneath the still babe, pulling it completely free.

“Another son,” Gali said, clearing his mouth and cutting him from Brahanu.

As she wiped the film from his face, she noticed that he wasn’t breathing. Gali roughly rubbed his chest and back, desperately trying to stimulate the small infant. When he didn’t respond, she prayed, placing her mouth over his, and forcing her breath into his lungs. His chest moved, and then stopped, in response to her efforts. She kept at it—at times frantically, muttering a prayer—then finally the babe let out a puling cry. Gali raised him to her breast, kissing the crown of his head. Thank the gods , she thought, nestling him close. After his breathing appeared steady, she regarded Zeta.

“Do you think that you can manage both of them?”

“I’ll try,” Zeta said, exposing her other breast.

Danimore lifted his nephew from Gali’s arms and nuzzled him into Zeta’s. After getting the babe acclimated to her breast, he gradually began to suckle.

“Gali, can you check on my sister,” Julaybeim pleaded, rocking Brahanu in his arms.

Gali took a sobering breath, trying to focus her thoughts. After glancing at the babes again, she rose up, retrieving the pail of hot water from the fire. She poured some in a bowl, mixing in some herbs and roots. As the tincture steeped, she grabbed a thick root, breaking it in half. She waved the pungent aroma away, handing one half to Julaybeim and plunging the other half in the pail.

“Pass this beneath her nose,” Gali said. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll awaken. This birth was worse than any other that I’ve witnessed, and it’s drained all the strength from her.”

They watched as Gali skillfully tended Brahanu’s wounds, removing the remainder of birth, and ensuring her womb was clear. After pouring the warm water between her legs, Gali sewed the massive tear and applied some ointment and dry cloth.

“Julaybeim, can you bring the cot? We need to move her from these wet furs, and there’s clean cloth and covers beneath.”

Gali kept a close eye on Brahanu, while they retrieved what she needed. Her mind couldn’t calm as she played with Raithym, keeping him from under foot.

“How are the babes?” Danimore asked, when they returned with the cot and supplies.

“Hungry.” Zeta grimaced, looking at Brahanu’s first son. “My breast aches from the strength of his pull.”

Gali handed Raithym back to Danimore as she gathered the soiled cloth, tossing it into the flames. “I’ll need to get more water to wash.”

“Wait, Gali,” Julaybeim said. “I’ll come with you. It’s still not safe and the babes’ cries could’ve caught someone’s notice.”

When they left, Danimore sat next to Zeta, admiring his nephews. The larger of the two fluttered his lids, opening his puffy eyes.

“Where—where are we going?” Ameya cried.

“It’s far from here, little one.”

“Please, don’t kill me. Please. My father is the Caretaker of Cazaal. I want my mother, please take me back to my mother.”

Pentanimir’s heart ached. She’d never see her parents again in this life. He shook those painful thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead. They were nearing Spero, but couldn’t stop until they reached the pass. He prayed to all the gods that the horse would endure.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m a friend, and fought beside your father, not against him. Don’t you remember me?”

“You…you helped Brahanu.” He heard Ameya say as she clung to him tighter.

“Yes, little one. I helped your sister return to Cazaal, and I’m going to help you, too.”

The cold was numbing as Wosen continued to run, slipping on the ice: each desperate footstep sending waves of agony through his body. The bitter wind rattled his lungs, stinging with every gasping breath. He’d never ventured this far north, and soon, the cloak and boots would scarcely protect him. Each step became more difficult as he watched the heat leave his body, hanging heavily in the air. He couldn’t stop. Though his body ached with exhaustion, and his lungs burned, if he stopped, he feared that he’d never rise again.

For the first time, Wosen quickly glimpsed behind. He hadn’t heard his pursuers in some time, but that was little consolation.

“I must continue,” he panted, focusing on the remnants of sunlight glimmering through a narrow cavern slit. “I can make it.”

Bringing his arms into his chest, Wosen leaned, attempting to keep the heavy manacles from scraping the flesh from his throbbing wrists.

When the glimmering hope in the distance drew closer, his prayers became more fervent. They began with the One god, and as he felt his resolve waning, he called out to the Guardians as well.

“Please,” Wosen begged, stumbling to his knees. “If you truly have watch over these lands, please help me! You’re the Guardians of us all!”

He cried out, bracing his hands against the frozen ground, trying to push up to his feet. When he righted himself, a low, feral growl sounded amongst the howling wind.

Wosen froze, his eyes darting around the rocky pass and crevices. The howl sounded again, shifting with the winds. Is that a wolf? They’re never seen alone , he thought, clearing the wind-blown snow from his eyes. “Please, Guardians, save me from this death.”

Wosen backed up, the howls drawing nearer. He could feel his heart quicken, frantically searching the growing darkness. He spun around, screaming, coming face to face with an enormous, snarling beast. Falling back in paralyzing terror, he couldn’t take his eyes off the creature. Its teeth, longer than his forearm, were razor sharp, and slaver dripped from them hungrily as it stalked toward him.

“Gods!” he yelled, not caring which would answer. “That’s NO wolf!” He continued pushing away, staring at the three eyes of the massive, horned beast.

“Get away! Stay back,” Wosen shouted, swinging the irons hanging from his wrist. He prayed for a bow, a sword, even a dagger. Anything to keep the hellish creature from sinking its teeth into his skin. “Get away,” he yelled again, his arms weakening from his exertion. The more he fought, the closer it advanced, not intimidated by his shouts or the ersatz weapon he wielded. Standing thrice the height of a horse, Wosen posed no threat to the daunting creature. Within moments, it had leaned down toward him again, its nose scrunching as it sniffed.

Wosen closed his eyes tight, turning away from its gaping maw. The heat of the beast’s breath stung his face while escalating his fear.

“Guardians, see me safely, please see me safely!” he whimpered in desperation.

“Meh’tol haet!” [2] The voice boomed again. Wosen pressed himself against the cavern wall, throwing his hands up as the beast growled but digits from his face. After many long moments, he peeked out of one eye, glimpsing only darkness.

“What?” he whispered, searching his surroundings while pushing off from the wall. There wasn’t any sign of the beast or the voice in the darkness…he was alone.

With trembling knees, Wosen forced himself forward, struggling to find his footing. When the sliver of light shone through the mountain’s crevice, he hastened through the deep snow, until the ground quaked, shifting the snow beneath him. He grappled at the empty air, falling and sliding down the icy embankment.

As he fought to pull himself free, the light between the peaks disappeared. “No,” he said, clearing the snow from his face. “Please, no.”

“By the gods!” Wosen yelled, falling completely within the mound.

The figure advanced, a massive hand extending toward him.

“No! Guardians, help me!”

“Guardians of the wood,” Wosen replied, despondently, still moving away.

“Guardians of the wood?” it asked in the common tongue. “Who are you?”

Wosen’s fear escalated, searching frantically for any escape. “I—I’m Wo—Wosen. My people live at the foot of the mountains.”

“Your people?” The figure reached down, jerking Wosen from the snow.

“Meh’tol haet.” [4] Wosen heard it say, while thrashing futilely against its indomitable grasp. Within moments, the three-eyed beast returned. Wosen fought harder, being lifted into the air, and then tossed upon the back of the fearsome creature. Before he could move to flee, the voice boomed in his ear.

“Tennish!” [5] With that command, the beast began running toward the light. Wosen cried out, his body lurching and bouncing clumsily atop the beast. With flailing hands, he clutched onto a hard, jagged plate behind the beast’s head.

“Ah! No!” Wosen yelled as the beast lifted from the ground, soaring over the tall peaks. He pressed himself down, hugging the massive animal, reciting every prayer that he’d ever learned, while ferocious laughter erupted from behind him.

Wosen’s fervent prayers ended as the beast landed hard, jarring him from its back. He rolled on the ground, greeted by deep and throaty laughter.

Wosen groaned, rubbing his bruised arse. As he rolled on his side, his face blanched, frozen in a fear-filled mask. He was surrounded by enormous shadowy creatures, outlined in the fire’s light. Pairs of glowing eyes stared down at him, paralyzing both his words and his movements.

The figures stepped closer, the ground shuddering beneath them. With each step forward their features became more discernable and terrifying. Each of the many had pierced flesh adorned with heavy chains. Their heads were bald, but each had some embossed crest upon their brow. When Wosen met the eyes of one, his own widened: they were violet and identical to the beast that had assaulted him earlier.

As they spoke, the three-eyed beast sniffed at Wosen, nudging him with its nose. Wosen clenched his eyes when its massive paw raised, batting at him with such force that he spun in a complete circle.

“Ar’raat!” Arinak commanded. “Ruan’schooc me’ol ,” [11] he said, causing the beast to sit obediently at his side. “Beaz gon’neesa. Beaz gon’neesa ,” [12] Arinak said, stroking its muscled neck.

Wosen prayed silently, easing away from the beast and its owner. As he rose to his knees, a smaller figure emerged from a cave. Wosen fell back again, unable to make it out beneath the dark cloak and cowl.

Wosen shielded his eyes, laboring to his feet.

“They don’t believe that you’re from the village,” it continued. “The Nazilians laid waste to your Bandari. The deserted village brought them no prize.”

“Deserted?” Wosen’s voice cracked. “It’s deserted. Thank the gods and Guardians!” Wosen cried, overcome with emotion. “My family is safe. They’re safe.”

“You speak of the Guardians,” the figure said, advancing. “What do you know about them?”

Wosen glanced around nervously, licking the dryness from his cracked lips. “I was told that the Guardians are the true gods of the lands.”

“Is this all you’ve been told, man of Bandari? What about the mountains?”

“I don’t understand—”

“If you have knowledge of the Guardians, you should surely understand.” The figure stepped closer, leaning over him. “Or was that a lie?”

“No,” he offered, quickly. “I—I was told about creatures, great creatures who dwell in the mountains. They—they’re said to have once protected the Guardians until they were forced from the Animus Wood.”

“You say that you’re Bandarian, yet the eyes of Nazil are staring up at me.”

“Yes. If—if you know about my village, you know who lived there. It’s the only place in Faélondul where humans and Nazilians lived in peace. My father, Hosdaq, was Nazilian, but my mother was human.”

“It would seem so,” the smaller figure responded.

Wosen could hear his heart drumming in his ears as the creatures encircled him. His eyes darted from one to the other before looking back up at the smaller figure leaning over him.

Wosen gasped, pointing up as she removed her cowl. “Your eyes! You’re Nazilian.”

“No. My father was Nazilian, just like yours,” she said, walking away. “Bo’Halla fainz aut ainshinc mea’keyna, Brukin [15] . Debanah resh majadil,” [16] the woman said, returning to the cave. As Wosen moved to follow, he was grabbed around his waist and hoisted over someone’s shoulder.

“Wait. Stop,” Wosen shouted, until noticing they were entering the cavern. The narrow entrance betrayed the enormity and beauty of what awaited inside.

The warmth was immediate, radiating from a great pit, carved in the cavern’s center. He blinked, acclimating his eyes to the brightness of the orange and yellow flares nearly erupting to the ceiling. Around the circular pit stood seven large wooden structures, at least, they appeared to be wood. He’d never seen such dark wood in all the lands. The surface was smooth and nearly black, engraved with art of some kind, depicting majestic beings, and soaring creatures, standing taller than great columns in the temples.

The cavern walls were adorned with ornate shelves. Some displayed massive weapons: swords, axes, urumis, halberds, kamas, flails, and many he’d never previously seen. The armor and shields attached to the adjacent wall appeared more as delicate and wondrous artwork than implements of war. As he drew nearer, he noticed a smaller shelf with large, rounded objects, silvery links dangling from one edge, with markings identical to the crest he’d seen on the creatures’ foreheads.

The young woman smiled, removing her cloak.

When he observed what appeared to be shiny stones, his eyes followed their source upward. His mouth fell open. The walls of the cavern seemed to glitter, and the ceiling sparkled with the crepuscular splendor of infinite stars. Wosen looked on, astonished, wondering what could cause such a breathtaking effect. It was as if they were beneath a canopy of stars in the heavens, yet not so.

Wosen espied several large archways, and wondered what mysteries lay beyond. On either side, water lightly trickled down into wooden canals, causing a palliative, harmonic resonance that eased some of his trepidation.

Wosen followed the intriguing woman until she took a seat beside the pit. One by one, the huge creatures followed, taking a seat on the massive wooden structures around it. Baldon reached a two-sided axe from the wall, gesturing at him.

“He wants to strike your irons,” the woman said, noticing his terrified expression.

Wosen nodded nervously, stepping closer to the stone nearest Baldon. He draped the heavy irons over it, closing his eyes. With one fluid movement, Baldon released him from his bondage. He grabbed the small attachments, pulling them apart effortlessly. The flames leapt to the cave’s ceiling as he tossed the irons into the pit.

Baldon grunted, and replaced the axe before moving to his seat.

“Come, sit with us, son of Nazil,” she said.

Wosen raised his head, scrutinizing the mysterious woman. She had a petite, lean frame with long black hair worn in a braid that hung well past her arse. The boiled leather she wore fit tight against her body, accentuating the curves that had been hidden beneath the cloak she’d removed earlier. Her deep, olive complexion glistened, enhanced by the warm glow of the pit. Wosen swallowed hard, trying desperately to calm the excitement she aroused in him. Even amongst the fierce giants, her beauty was unmistakable, possibly even enhanced in contrast to the huge men. He pondered how she came to be among them, and what they would do with him.

“I’ll tend your wounds soon. After, you can tell us why you were in irons and fleeing the Nazilians,” she said, noticing his stare. “Firstly, would you like something to eat?” She handed him a platter of fish, and a cup of dark liquid. Wosen thanked her, attempting to eat slowly, but his hunger wouldn’t allow.

Arinak’s laugh nearly shook the cave. “He eats as you, Sarroh. Never stopping to chew.”

“Pardons. I haven’t eaten in several suns.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” she said. “When I arrived here long ago, it was much the same.”

“Where are you from?”

“If you’re speaking about the myth of great giants dwelling in the mountains, yes. These are they.” She smiled, continuing. “Next to Arinak is Baldon, then there’s Brukin, Tzadok, Sarroh, Gavriel, and Michau.”

The men nodded respectively, causing the chains attached to their faces to rattle. In the entirety of his life, he’d never seen anything or anyone like the giants. The tales didn’t mention their ominous appearance: the hooded, violet eyes, triangular irises, a raised crest amidst their brow, and their pierced faces. His head cocked, following the path of the heavy chains from the giant’s ears to their noses, wondering at the significance.

He continued his appraisal, marveling at their size. One of their arms would be the same as ten or more of his. Even their powerful legs looked to be thicker than his entire body, with hulking muscles bulging beneath their leathers.

“Forgive me,” Wosen stammered. “I didn’t mean to give offense. My—my name is Wosen. Wosen Neufmarche. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Yes, Wosen Neufmarche,” Gavriel said. “It’s good you’re friend and not enemy.”

Michau chuckled. “Náelon won’t be happy. She wanted to feast upon him.”

They all joined in his mirth as Wosen’s faced paled. When he met the woman’s eyes, she smiled broadly. “Náelon is the Desu Beast who brought you here,” she said, resting a hand on Wosen’s shoulder. “They jest. The Desu Beasts don’t have a taste for human flesh. They look fierce, but they’re quite gentle…just like the Dessalonians.”

Arinak filled a barrel with water from the falls, setting it on the floor near Wosen. “If you have thirst, drink,” he said, handing him the cup. In Wosen’s hands, it appeared more like a large pot. He dipped it into the barrel and drank down the iced water, smiling through missing teeth. “It’s sweet.”

“All things blessed by the Guardians are,” Arinak said.

“Do the Guardians still bless you?” Wosen asked.

Tzadok turned, the protruding hoods over his eyes wrinkling. “The Guardians, no matter what form, will always bless those in these lands, even ones as us.”

“Is it true? Did you truly attempt to rule the lands?”

Brukin stood, advancing on him quickly. Wosen cowered, throwing his hand up to protect himself from the hulking giant.

“You speak much for one so small. Mayhaps respect isn’t taught in Bandari, but we’ll have it here.”

“R’ryn Sha’low , [17] Brukin,” Arinak said in the arcane Mehlonii language. “We can’t be quick to anger. He speaks true, and the fault belongs to us. We’d dwell amongst the divine if we hadn’t allowed the corruption of the lands to inveigle us. The manipulations of the wraith and Z’brachieyn shouldn’t have been able to penetrate our minds and hearts. It was our weakness and failure, not Wosen’s mention of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Wosen said. “It wasn’t an admonition, and I meant no disrespect. I—I only wanted to know if what I’d been told was true. Forgive me.”

“None was perceived,” Arinak said. “We desire to return to our home…to the wood where we were birthed. All who dwell there are family to us, and the Guardians’ absence leaves a void within our souls that can’t ever be filled.”

“Not only the Guardians,” she said, looking at Arinak with sadness. “The absence of your love as well.”

“Can’t you ever return?” Wosen asked. “Have they told you that?”

“No, but we cannot.”

“The Guardians are divine beings, and you’re their children. From what I’ve learned, their forgiveness is eternal. Wouldn’t they forgive your transgressions if you asked of it?” Wosen said, considering the same for all the people that he’d wronged.

“How would you know of such things, man of Bandari?” Arinak asked.

“I don’t, but I’ve also made great errors and committed unthinkable acts. Because of this, I suffered in the Nazilians’ hands, and my family was forced from their home. My—my father might be dead because of me. I’ve put everyone and everything I’ve ever loved in jeopardy. Those are my sins, and I must live with this and more with each rise of the sun. If I didn’t believe in forgiveness, I’d throw myself from the highest peak in Dessalonia. The Bandarians are my family, and I’ll find them. When I do, I’ll beg for their forgiveness, and wrong them no more. Surely, if a mere man can offer such toward another, the divine will do that and more for you. Their love and patience are endless.”

“He’s not wrong,” the woman said. “You’ve spoken about returning to the Animus Wood, mayhaps you should see it done. The Guardians love you, and lament your absence.”

Arinak turned swiftly, grabbing something from a shelf before moving to the exit. “Mayhaps in time. For this night, “K’aun ein’ zan’ner aut h’rocs r’aymed jacqai ,” [18] he said to the others, donning his helm.

Wosen reached to steady himself as the enormous men took helms from the wall, joining Arinak. Loud screeches resonated off the peaks and the ground rumbled, sounding as if the mountains were shaken to their foundations.

“Did I anger them?” he asked, taking a seat beside her. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No. It was time for their watch. They do so with each moon’s rise.”

“Where are they going?”

“They take to the heavens, Wosen, keeping watch over the lands.”

“But the moon barely shows. How can they see in such darkness?”

“Darkness is but the absence of light, Wosen. The Desu Beasts and Dessalonians are the light. They have no need for sight in the customary sense. The crests upon their brows is of the Guardians, allowing them sight beyond seeing,” she said, handing him more food.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s difficult to explain, but there’s a spiritual connection between the Dessalonians and their beasts. The Desu Beasts’ third eye and the crest are symbiotic. When they merge, they possess sight beyond mere vision.”

“They’re much more powerful than anyone has ever said.”

“Aye, they are, and they’re growing weary amongst the rocks. They yearn for their home and their families in the Animus Wood. They long for the Guardians most of all.”

“Families? Are there other giants in the wood?”

“No. You’d have to witness it for yourself. Their families are…dissimilar than what you’ve experienced, but the love is the same. In Arinak’s case, it’s even greater, growing and deepening for hundreds of years.”

Wosen’s brow creased, staring into her eyes. He wanted to learn about the Dessalonians, but the longer he looked at her, the more curious he became.

“Pardons,” he said. “I’ve given you my name and that of my father, but you’ve neglected to share your own.”

Zeta and Danimore exchanged a look, and then left the two alone.

“I have a lot to tell you,” Brahanu said.

“What’s there to say? The lands are at war, and I’m concerned about our family. We’re safe for now, but we can’t linger here. If Pentanimir doesn’t arrive soon, we’ll have to leave and hope he finds us.”

“Brother, you must listen. With all that’s happened, I need to tell you the truth. Itai already knew, but we wouldn’t share it with anyone else.”

“Truth? What’re you talking about?”

“My son…Eytan. Itai has accepted him, but he isn’t his natural son.”

Julaybeim’s brow knitted, glancing from his sister to his nephew. Julaybeim stared at the babe’s plump, caramel-colored cheeks, and noticed the one patch of white hair amidst his thick, raven curls. He shook his head, confused. “Not his son? What’re you talking about, Brahanu? He looks like you and his father.”

“He does,” Brahanu said, detaching him from her breast. She positioned him facing Julaybeim, gently patting his back. He wriggled, his bottom lip turning down as his eyes fluttered open.

Julaybeim fell back, pointing, wide-eyed as Gali approached the two.

After handing Julaybeim a cup, she lifted Eytan from Brahanu’s arms. “I need to clean him properly while you rest. Be sure to drink all the broth, you need the herbs.”

“Thank you, Gali, I will.”

Julaybeim handed her the cup, edging closer. He fought to keep his visage from betraying his thoughts, but the anger surging within him couldn’t be wholly contained.

“What in seven hells is going on, Brahanu? Is this Pentanimir’s son?”

“How could you do this? With this…this…damn ghost! Itai loves you. Why?”

Brahanu met his eyes with tears rimming hers. “It was like what you described with Gali, only one thousand times more powerful. We were overtaken by our feelings and didn’t think of consequences. I confessed everything to Itai, and he chose to wed me despite that.”

“Why lie about it, then? Once they see him, everyone will know. By the gods! How could you do this?”

“Even with the love I have for Pentanimir, I’m committed to Itai. I love him beyond any other, and I’m returning to him at this war’s end.”

“What about your son? His eyes…you can’t hide his eyes.”

“I don’t intend to. My son has a purpose beyond my understanding, and Itai will accept him as he is. Once healed, I’ll have as many children as he desires. Don’t doubt the love I hold for my husband. It’s the greatest love that I’ve ever known. Please, Brother, don’t despise any of us or turn your back on your nephew for our failings.”

“What about your other son? Does he have the eyes of Nazil, too?”

“Your other son. The one Gali delivered after Eytan. What about him?”

“Another? I—I didn’t know. Please, bring him to me, please, bring me my son.”

Julaybeim shook his head, retrieving the babe from Zeta. After setting him in Brahanu’s arms, he gently lifted one of his eyelids. “Greyish-blue? They look the same as Itai’s, but it’s hard to tell,” Julaybeim said, sliding the cloth from the babe’s head. “His hair appears the same: dark gold like Itai’s. How? Could it be possible?”

Brahanu’s tears began anew, twirling the thick, golden curls between her fingers. “I won’t question it, I won’t. I thank the gods for such incredible blessings. Both Pentanimir and Itai will be pleased. This little one will be called Eytan, Eytan Gael, second of his name,” Brahanu managed through heavy tears.

“Pardons,” Danimore said. “I’m going to patrol our borders now. Keep everyone near the fire, Julaybeim, and get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

“As you say, Dani. Will you be all right for a while, Brahanu?”

“Yes, Eytan’s hungry,” she said, wiping her tears. “Will you check on his brother while I feed him?”

Julaybeim nodded, still seething. After gathering supplies from the carriages, he joined Gali near the fire.

“Would you like to rest now?” he asked, kneeling beside her. “You’ve done more than any of us, and I know you’re tired.”

Gali smiled over at him, rocking the sleeping babe in her arms.

“He’s Nazilian,” Julaybeim sneered.

“He’s your sister’s son. You saw what she suffered to deliver them, Julaybeim. Don’t look at him or her that way. They’re your family…all of them.”

“What about Itai? He’s her husband, not this damn ghost. How can we take a half-Nazilian back to Cazaal after what we’re enduring right now? They’re killing our people and my sister is having their damn children!”

“Shhh…” Gali warned, glancing around. “It’s not for us to decide. Nazilians are attacking, but not Pentanimir or Danimore. It’s because of them that all of us are safe and were able to prepare for this attack. Don’t do this, Julaybeim, please. Be thankful that your sister and both of her sons are safe and healthy.”

“I’m thankful for that, truly. I knew there was something between them, and no one would listen. Now, we have this…this…my…nephew . She gave herself to him willingly,” he said, his face scrunching in disgust. “Could you have done so? Would you want a child of a ghost?”

Gali saddened for a moment, thinking about the child she’d carried when they’d met. Could she have loved it? Sitting there cradling Brahanu’s son, she wasn’t certain. But this was Pentanimir’s son, not Yannick’s, and that made all the difference.

“If I loved the man who fathered it, yes. Not all Nazilians are vile, Julaybeim, just as not all humans are virtuous. I’d love that child just as I’d love one from you.”

“Mine?” His eyes widened. “Are—are you with child? My child?”

“No, but if I ever am, I’ll love it, just as I love its father.”

Julaybeim leaned in for a kiss, and then caressed his nephew’s cheek. “I welcome the time when you hold our child in your arms.”

“Do you truly wish it to be?”

“More than you know, Gali. Once this war ends, I’ll prove that and more to you.”

Gali smiled, kissing him again. “I should take him to Brahanu and wash the other one. He’s beautiful, Julaybeim, just like your sister. Don’t think of him as Nazilian, think of him as your blood, your nephew.”

“I know that it’s a blessing that they’re well. The lands are burning around us and I’m complaining about the color of my nephew’s eyes. Death surrounds us, but here, we brought forth life.”

The temple bells’ continuous tolls resonated throughout Nazil, signaling the arrival of messages regarding the war. Denizens rushed through the streets, crowding around the temple, awaiting word from their Zaxson and Chosen Guard.

Denotra stormed through the temple doors with her guard trailing behind. She wasn’t waiting another moment to hear about her family and pledged. The Cha moved too slow for her liking, and she planned on conveying those sentiments as well.

Reaglen and Lymbach flinched, the sound of wood meeting stone echoing down the corridor. When they saw Lady Denotra, they exchanged a nervous glance, hurrying down to greet her. After they passed Beilzen’s chamber, he poked his head out, smiling when he saw Denotra.

“My lady,” Reaglen bowed. “You shouldn’t have left the safety of the citadel. Bisdan is en route to inform you of the news. You should return and receive him.”

“Why would I do that when I’m standing in front of you now? You’ll update me on what you’ve learned about my family and Pentanimir. I’ll wait no longer.”

“But Lady Denotra—”

“Cha Lymbach,” Beilzen interrupted. “Lady Denotra isn’t making a request. Our Zaxson, Nakshij, High Advisor, and First Chosen are fighting to protect our great city. In their absence, Lady Denotra is next in command. It’s your duty to honor her as if she were our Zaxson.”

“No, no, my lady. We didn’t intend to give the appearance of ordering you. It’s due to your importance that I made the suggestion. If it pleases you, I’ll give you a full report in the hall where you can be comfortable,” he said, motioning to the double doors across the corridor.

The servants rushed around, setting out delicacies for them to sample as Denotra sat at the head of the table, gesturing for Beilzen to join her.

“My lady, we’ve indeed received a bird from Mahlum,” Cha Lymbach said. “Lord Daracus and Sir Merrimont report favorably concerning Noraa, and are en route to Nazil with captives.”

“My brother is returning?”

“Yes. If the weather holds, they’ll arrive soon. They sent the message before leaving Mahlum.”

“What about Pentanimir and Father? Have you received any word from Dovak or Spero?”

“Yes, well, we’ve had news from Spero. The siege was successful and the guard is regrouping now.”

“Was the message from Pentanimir? When is he returning to Nazil?”

“As of yet, we haven’t heard from your pledged,” Reaglen said. “He was reported taking one of the Caretaker’s children captive. He was supposed to return to Spero, but we don’t have any verification of his arrival.”

“What do you mean he hasn’t arrived? Where is he?”

“He hasn’t yet ,” Reaglen clarified. “During war, birds don’t always reach their destination. From his latest message, we know that he misses you, my lady. He’ll get another message to you soon. I’m certain of that.”

Denotra nodded. “Yes, he did say that. I miss him terribly. Did…did you receive a message from my father?”

“We did,” Reaglen continued. “He sent two guards back to the city. They found the savage’s village, but it was deserted, and they’re tracking them south.”

“Deserted?” Beilzen asked. “What about the savage?”

Reaglen shot him a look and then regarded Denotra. “The savage escaped into the mountains. Some trackers went in pursuit, but his return is unlikely. He’ll either freeze or be killed.”

Beilzen scoffed. “Pity. If only I’d been allowed the opportunity to deal with him myself.”

Reaglen’s eyes narrowed. “The Zaxson and Sir Benoist assigned you to the temple. Surely, you don’t find their judgment flawed?”

Beilzen was seething, yet managed a smile, turning his attention to Denotra. “I would never think my judgment above that of such great men. It was merely the presence of such a creature among us that caused the thought to form. Never should a savage be so near a fair beauty as our Lady Denotra.”

She blushed, standing and straightening her skirt. “I couldn’t rest while that filth was in the citadel. I had dream-scares of him breaking free and ravaging me during the night. Isn’t that what those disgusting savages and abominations do?”

“It is, my lady,” Beilzen said, extending out his arm. “They aren’t like you and I. More like animals, these savages are. It’ll be welcome news once your honorable father returns victorious.”

“Indeed. I’m returning to the citadel now, Reaglen, don’t keep me in wait again. When a bird arrives, send Beilzen immediately with the news. He understands how the First Lady of Nazil should be treated.” With a flip of her hair, she turned, exiting the chamber.

“Beilzen, I’d like for you to return to the citadel with me. There’re some matters I’d like to discuss. With my father and brother away, it will be comforting to have you with me.”

“I’d be honored to accompany you, Lady Denotra. I’m at your service in whatever capacity you’d have me.”

“Good,” she said, as he helped her into the carriage. “You can join me for evening meal. It’s been some time since you’ve visited with me…several seasons at least. Come, join me, and we’ll remedy that oversight.”

Beilzen inclined his head, masking his growing smile. Now, with the lands at war, his opportunity had finally presented itself.

“I heard that you defied Sir Benoist’s orders and administered some much-needed punishment to that savage. Is the word true?”

“To some extent. His presence in our citadel angered me greatly. However, when I learned about your fear, I could no longer stay my hand.” Although his actions had been meant to impress Oxilon, anything done in or for Denotra’s honor stroked her already enormous ego.

“You defied Oxilon Benoist for me?”

“Only for you, my lady. I would do much and more if you commanded it. Pentanimir doesn’t fully appreciate his pledge. He knows the honor of it, but there’s far more that our First Chosen refuses to realize.”

“You think Pentanimir is an ill match for me, Beilzen?”

“Not at all, my lady. Pentanimir is a fine match. His sense of duty and honor are well known throughout the lands. He’ll make a fine husband and Caretaker of Spero. I’m speaking of more intimate matters.”

“Intimate?” Denotra repeated as the carriage halted.

“Yes, we were both men of the guard. My position wasn’t as prominent as his, but I was no less a guard. As such, we spoke about many things while doing our duty for Nazil. Pentanimir admires you, and is honored by your pledge.”

“Yet, I fear what you aren’t saying is more what I need to hear.”

Beilzen helped Denotra from the carriage, escorting her into the citadel. “Think of it no more. Had I the position and status, mayhaps my name would’ve been considered for your pledge. I’ve found you beautiful since we were children. Could be merely my jealous heart that causes me to find fault where there is none. We should focus on your honorable brother’s arrival. There’ll be much activity in the citadel this night.”

Denotra feigned a smile, glancing over at him. Beilzen was never attractive to her. He stood shorter than Denotra: barely reaching three and a half cubits. With his slight build and tight eyes, she would’ve never considered him even if he had a proper position. However, while scrutinizing him, she envisaged other things. She had a growing need that he might be able to satisfy.

“You speak true, Beilzen. With the lands at war, our focus should be on more important matters.” Denotra paused, addressing her guard. “I’ll have no further need of you. Await me near the dining hall,” she ordered, continuing down the corridor.

“I recall your admiration when we were younger, Beilzen. I never gave it or you much thought. As you’ve stated, neither your house nor your father holds much prominence or stature. Even so, you’ve always been willing to help me when I asked. Has that changed?”

Beilzen’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “Whatever you’d have of me, my lady, I’ll do. Always.”

“Well said.” Denotra pushed open the door to a guest chamber, locking it behind them. “Are you good at games?” she asked, removing her cloak.

“Games? As well as anyone, I’d imagine. Of which games do you speak?”

Denotra smiled, lighting a lantern on the table. “A game of the most pleasurable kind. Pentanimir has awakened something within me. Out of honor, he’ll not see it satisfied. I need an experienced man who knows how to keep his mouth shut.” Her words were stern, but well received.

“Do you want me to pleasure you?” Beilzen’s heartbeat quickened, longing to hear her say the words.

“No,” she retorted, harshly. “I want Pentanimir to pleasure me. That’s the game. You’re good at following directions, right? Although your appearance is lacking in comparison to Pentanimir’s, it must do.” She paused, looking at him from toe to head. “I hope that your manhood is more sizable than the rest of you. This night, you are he, and will answer by his name, and you’ll call me Denotra. Do you think you’re capable of satisfying such a need?”

Beilzen forced back the sting of her rough rebuke. “As you say, Denotra,” Beilzen said, grabbing her arms, drawing her down for a kiss. When she jerked away, he clutched her arms tighter. If it’s a game you want, then you’ll have it. This night, I’ll be first, and Pentanimir will be second to me. But the game will be mine.

“Surely, you wouldn’t deny your pledged the pleasure of tasting your mouth,” he said, kissing her again while his hands searched her body. He suckled her tongue, and then glided his over her chin, tickling down her neck. Once he freed her breasts, he tasted them, causing her to moan Pentanimir’s name.

He clutched her arms again, spinning her around, and then pushed her down on the bed. When she attempted to rise, he held her in place, tossing the long skirts over her head.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Have you lost your wits? Stop.”

“I’m doing exactly what you commanded me to do,” he said, holding her with one hand while untying his laces with the other. “I’m pledged to you, Denotra. I’m the only man in which the word ‘stop’ holds no meaning.” He dropped to his knees, parting a way for his tongue.

The unexpected pleasure made her tremble. She buried her face in the soft cushions, muffling her uncontrollable shrieks. Not even Pentanimir had pleasured her so. The eruptions were continuous, growing almost painful.

After her third completion, Beilzen stood, joining with her easily.

“Is this the game you wanted?” he grunted. “You desired your pledged inside of you. Does the reach of my cock cause you to tremble?”

Beilzen moved away, flipping her over on her back.

He wanted her to feel the same agony that she’d forced upon him, but when he looked down at her, he couldn’t. That’s not who he was, or who he wanted to be.

Denotra moaned as his movements became more pleasurable. Lowering one hand, he stimulated her, both inside and out. She cried out at the peak of pleasure, clutching at his back. No, not his back, he realized as her fingernails dug into his skin. Pentanimir’s back.

After her satisfaction was known, he leaned down, kissing her passionately, while allowing his own completion. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, moaning as she did so.

“Is that what you’d have of your Chosen, Denotra?” he whispered, sliding away from her.

She didn’t answer, still writhing on the bed, enjoying the lingering waves of pleasure.

“I’ll ready myself for the evening meal,” he said, wiping himself clean and lacing his trousers. “Tell me: should I still pretend to be your pledged, or the man who had the pleasure of taking your maidenhead? My stature might not match Pentanimir’s, but I know how to please a woman. Mayhaps, even more so than him.”

He removed the bar from the door and then turned back around, meeting her wide eyes. “You must ask Arilian about the maiden’s tears . We certainly wouldn’t want our bastard to thwart your plans to marry the First Chosen,” he said, exiting the chamber.

Even though he had the pleasure of her maidenhead, he wasn’t pleased. At that moment, he realized what he’d felt had nothing to do with Denotra, and everything to do with his own feelings of inadequacy. He’d finally bested Pentanimir, but it wasn’t a victory, and his stomach soured at the thought.

Denotra’s face lost all coloring, staring at the door as if she expected something to emerge from it. When she considered what she’d done, she buried her face in her hands, weeping. Her tears increased, still feeling twinges of pleasure from Beilzen’s lovemaking.

“The maiden’s tears ,” she said, straining to stand. She gathered the soiled blankets, wiping herself clean, and trying desperately to control her emotions. After stuffing the covers beneath the bed, she straightened her hair and retied her laces. What have I done? she thought. He’ll pay for this. I’ll… Denotra stopped, her eyes frantically scanning the room. “I can’t let anyone know. Gods help me.”

She wiped her face again, taking a deep and steadying breath. Once she peered into the corridor, she silently rushed to her room, collapsing on the divan.

“Milady? You all right?” Ceron asked.

“I’m fine. My—my blood, it’s early. Heat water for a bath and fetch Hushar immediately.”

“Yes, milady,” Ceron said.

When the door closed, Denotra removed her gown, tossing it into the hearth. Once she glimpsed her reflection, she gasped, staring at the dark bruises on her arms and thighs. As she grabbed up her robe, a soft tapping came from the door. She covered herself quickly, lying across the bed.

“Milady,” Hushar said, apprehensively. “You have need of me?”

Hushar nearly took a step back, her heartbeat quickening. “The—the tears? Yes—yes, milady. Do you need anything else?”

“Pain. My brother returns this night and he can’t know about any of this. Mix herbs for pain.”

“I’ll mix them immediately,” Hushar said, hurrying toward the door.

“Hushar. If anyone finds out about this, I’ll have your tongue ripped from your mouth, and watch while Symeon splits every one of your holes. Once I’ve had my fill, Oxilon will flay every speck of skin from your body,” Denotra said, reminding Hushar of the iniquitous woman she truly was.

“No one will know, milady.” Hushar closed the door, clenching her eyes shut. Denotra meant what she said, and she prayed that whoever she’d lain with would take that knowledge to their grave.

When Ceron and Leanta returned with the water, Denotra didn’t speak. She continued to stare at the steam rising from the water, thinking of her recent pleasure and the pain that could surely follow.

“Your bath is ‘bout ready,” Ceron said. “Would you like me to brush your hair?”

Denotra nodded, feeling the massage of the brush. She could only envisage Pentanimir then, and felt the ache of his absence. Had he been with her, this wouldn’t have happened. She couldn’t lose him…she wouldn’t.

“Your bath is ready,” Leanta said. “I put some oil in for you. Would you like refreshments?”

“No, leave me,” Denotra ordered. “I don’t want anything from you. Just send my guard to take their place and don’t return unless you’re summoned.”

Both women bowed to their mistress, relieved that they didn’t have to stay with her. The door had barely closed when she began crying again. Denotra cradled her bruised arm, wincing at the pain radiating from it. Never had anyone dared to place a hand upon her. Now, this, this she caused.

Denotra soaked in the hot water for nearly half a glass before Hushar returned. When she tried to push up in the tub, her arms weakened, and she fell back into the water.

“Gods!” Hushar rushed to her side, helping her from the tub. Wrapping her in a robe, she led Denotra over to her bed, fluffing the cushions behind her.

“Here, milady,” Hushar said, handing her the small, wooden cup. “Drink the tears while I tend your bruises.”

For a moment, Denotra only stared down into the cup. While swirling the liquid around, a look of bemusement crossed her face. “Such a small amount to achieve such a devastating end.”

“It’s the tears of all the young maids whose innocence was taken from them,” Hushar said, thinking of Zeta, Sarai, and Ceron in that moment. “Although their tears are endless, only a small amount falls into the cup and mixes with the herbs. Drink all of it, and have it done.”

Denotra drained the cup and handed it back to Hushar, lying across the bed. Hushar tossed it into the hearth, not turning until the flames consumed it.

“I need you to check between my legs, too,” Denotra said. “I’m still having pain.”

“Lie still, and I’ll see to it. Most women have a bit of pain at first, but the herbs and ointments will soothe you.”

Time seemed to stand still while she carefully tended her. When she was finished, Hushar wiped her hands, handing Denotra a small ewer.

Denotra managed a few swallows. After setting it on her side table, she thanked Hushar. She’d never expressed any gratitude toward the slaves, and Hushar pitied her then. Any woman, even the Zaxson’s daughter, was vulnerable.

“Would you like me to help you dress, milady? Evening meal was near ready when I came.”

“Yes. I’d like my jade and gold gown,” she said, standing and removing her robe.”

Once she’d dressed, Hushar began brushing her hair, and pinning it up out of her face. When the door opened, Denotra turned, her tears returning.

“Brother!” she said, rushing into his arms. “Thank the gods, you’re back! You’re back.”

“It’s good to see you so soon,” he said, returning the tight hug. “The battle wasn’t long, but it was tedious. I didn’t want to await the rest of the guard. I wanted you to know that I was all right.”

“I’ve missed you, Father, and Pentanimir. When will this end? When will Pentanimir be back with me?”

“We’ll speak about that and more, I promise. They were still battling in Kaleo and Cazaal stands nearly in ruin. I haven’t received a report from Pentanimir or Danimore.”

“It’s too soon to worry. We have others who haven’t reported. It’ll take time. Pentanimir loves you, and he’ll be with you soon.”

Denotra nodded, accepting the kiss on her cheek.

“Hushar,” Daracus said. “There’re nearly seventy new slaves being transported to the cells. I need you and Micah to begin tending them immediately. Some of their injuries are severe, and I want them presentable before my father returns.”

“Yes, milord,” Hushar said, moving out the door. “Guardians help me.”

Brahanu leaned against the tree, enjoying the warm breeze and scented air. Even with the conflicts in the lands and those still plaguing her heart, she focused on her blessings. At that thought, she gazed down at the babe suckling her breast, resting a hand on Eytan nestled at her side. Regardless of what they had yet to face, she wouldn’t lose sight of what was in front of her.

A soft yawn from Eytan caused her to giggle. He was so small compared to his brother, but it didn’t matter. The fact that he favored his father in every other aspect was heartening. She pictured him in Itai’s arms then, relishing that image in her mind. After learning about the difficulties during his birth, she loved Eytan even more.

“You’re a blessed child,” she whispered. “And you are a most precious blessing.”

Looking at her other son, she repeated the same, leaning down for a kiss. His eyes fully opened and stared into hers.

She flinched, hearing the whisper in her ear as soft as fluttering butterfly wings. After glancing around, she shook her head, focusing on her sons again.

The sound was louder this time, accompanied by a chilling wind. Goose prickles raised on her arm and she cradled her son closer, lowering a hand back to Eytan.

Brahanu screamed as the misshapen shadow appeared, wrenching her son from her arms.

“No! No!” she yelled, unable to move from the tree. She lashed out wildly, trying to reclaim her son. “Help me! No!”

“Brahanu,” Julaybeim said, shaking her awake. “Brahanu, wake up, you’re having a dream-scare. Wake up.”

She continued to swing until the haze encompassing her mind cleared. Immediately, she looked down, ensuring that her sons were safe.

“Brahanu, are you all right?” Gali asked, dabbing at her face and neck.

“My sons…are my sons all right?”

“They’re fine,” Julaybeim said. “We’re concerned about you. What happened?”

“It was my sons,” Brahanu said, still flustered. “My sons.”

“What about them?” Danimore asked.

“Eytan was sleeping while I fed his brother. He—he opened his eyes and looked at me as surely as I was at him. I remember a cold, no, a chill and…and a shadow. A...a living shadow, whispering in my ear. It said a name, I think. ‘Tardison.’”

“Tardison?” Julaybeim and Danimore shared a look. “Are you certain about the name?”

“Yes, Brother. At first, I thought it was just a whisper of the wind, but when the shadow emerged, it spoke the name while stealing my son from my arms.”

“You’re still healing, Brahanu,” Gali said, handing her a cup. “This will help calm you.”

“Sister, this isn’t the first that we’ve heard this name. Considering it now, I doubt that it’s happenstance.”

Danimore nodded. “In Nazil, they speak of the Animus Wood as cursed by pythonesses, but your Elders believe otherwise. Either way, we must contend with whatever might dwell within these borders.”

“What happened?” Brahanu asked.

“We’re talking about the name,” Julaybeim said. “Danimore and I heard the same as you birthed him…when Gali cut him from you. We thought it was a whisper on the wind, too.”

“This makes no sense. My son’s name was chosen before he was born. How can the wind speak that which has already been decided?”

“No, it wasn’t, Brahanu,” Gali said. “Only one name was chosen, yet you bore two babes: one of Nazil, and the other of Cazaal. Only your son with Itai has been named. Mayhaps the whispers you hear are for the son of Nazil. Didn’t you say that these Elders spoke of him before you even knew you were pregnant?”

“They did, but he didn’t mention Eytan, only Pentanimir’s son. What does this mean?”

“It could mean nothing or everything,” Danimore said. “We’ve heard the name and not taken heed of it. Could this be some sort of message from the Elder’s visions?”

“Hushar used to talk about the woods, too,” Zeta said. “She believes there’re creatures here, blessed creatures with extraordinary power. Guardians, she called them. She said that they’re divine beings who protect the wood.”

“I don’t know much about Guardians, but the name is certain. Twice now, we’ve heard it, and I don’t believe in coincidence,” Danimore said.

“Tardison,” Brahanu said aloud, testing the sound of it. “It’s a handsome name, but how am I to know if it would be a blessing or a curse?”

“Sister, the choice is yours alone. It’s a fine name and suits him well.”

She picked up her son, studying his face. “You’re said to be of great importance. Even the wood comes alive in your presence. If such a force has watch over you, how can I ignore what they’ve spoken? This day, you’ll be called Tardison. Tardison Manifir Benoist, first of your name.” As she leaned down to kiss him, his eyes opened, staring into hers.

“Tardison Manifir Benoist,” Danimore repeated. “You honor our father, Brahanu. It’s a fine and honorable name. Pentanimir will be pleased.”

“He will,” Gali said. “It’s getting late, and we need to be ready to leave with the sun’s rise. I’ll finish the stew and pack what we don’t need.”

“I’ll help you,” Julaybeim said. “We’ll bring you back something to eat, Brahanu.”

Danimore slid closer to Brahanu, stroking Tardison’s balled fist. “Pentanimir wanted us to continue west. I hope that he’ll come soon, but we’ll need to leave on the morrow either way.”

“He’ll come.” She smiled. “He’ll want to see his son.”

“Yes, and you as well. My brother loves you more than anyone in these lands, Brahanu. No one has ever owned his heart, but you. When we were in Nazil, his only thoughts were of you and his son. I understand the depth of his love now, and I’m pleased that he has someone to share his heart.”

“I’ve loved him from the beginning. We both knew that it would be difficult, but our love remains.”

“Dani, Zeta is preparing a bowl for you,” Gali said, kneeling on the ground.

“And I’ll eat that one and another,” he said, leaving them to talk.

“Here you are, Brahanu, I know you must be hungry.”

“Thank you, I’m famished.”

“Birthing and nursing babes drain your strength. Zeta will assist whenever possible, but they need your breast.”

“I understand.” Brahanu took another bite, looking at Gali from the corner of her eye. A twinge of guilt erupted in the pit of her stomach, remembering how she’d spoken about her. “Gali, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for both my sons and me.”

“It’s why I came. This is where I was meant to be, and I’m thankful that I was able to assist. I’ve never experienced a birth like this. It was phenomenal.”

“Mayhaps the gods and Guardians led you here as well. If not for your skill, neither of my sons might’ve survived. You breathed life into Eytan when he lay limp in your arms. Julaybeim told me how you guided him from my womb, and shared your life with his. My husband and I both owe you more than we could ever repay,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I also ask your forgiveness for my failings and ignorance.”

“I think you’re aware of how fond Julaybeim is of you. From what he says and his manner, he might be in love. I’ve never seen him with anyone else the way he is with you. It’s in his eyes, his smile, every part of him livens when you’re near. But when he asked me what I thought about your relationship, I didn’t speak favorably at first.”

Gali nodded. “It isn’t a failing to protect and guide those you love. I probably would’ve done much the same in your place. It isn’t an easy thing to accept someone like me.”

“I don’t profess to know what you’ve endured, Gali, and I’ll not minimalize it by saying that I understand. What I know is: whatever happened in Nazil isn’t who you are. They might’ve tried to destroy that person, but they only made you stronger, fortifying you with the resolve and wisdom many twice your age lack. I’d be honored to welcome you as my sister.”

“The honor would be mine. I—”

“Swords, Danimore,” Julaybeim said. “Someone approaches.”

“Zeta, take Raithym into the carriage,” Gali said, leaping up and drawing a dirk from her waist.

Danimore and Julaybeim unsheathed their swords, easing toward the approaching horse. Signaling with his hand, Danimore widened the distance between them, taking cover within the shadow of a tree. They stood motionless, listening as the hoof beats grew closer, and the whinnies that accompanied them.

“Now, Julaybeim,” Danimore said, leaping out with his sword at the ready. The horse nickered, rearing back as its rider struggled to regain control.

“Brother!” A shaky voice screeched.

“Ameya?” Julaybeim gasped. “Is that you, Ameya?”

Julaybeim sheathed his sword, rushing forward as Pentanimir quieted Rajon.

“It’s good to see you, Brother,” Danimore said, wrapping Pentanimir in a crushing hug. “Much has happened.”

“For me as well, Dani. I have a lot to tell, but first, Ameya needs to eat and rest.”

“Brahanu needs to see you,” he said, meeting his eyes. “Brahanu and your son.”

The sun crested over the glistening peaks as Wosen tended the fire outside the cave. His pain was significantly less, and his mobility was better after Thalassa treated his wounds. He was thankful for the heavy furs she’d provided as he pulled them tighter, shielding himself from the chilling winds.

He paused, smiling as he thought about her. Thalassa was a mystery to him, and the more they spoke, the more intrigued he became. It was as if she was from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

He couldn’t deny his attraction to her either. He’d never seen a woman outfitted so, and the sight of Thalassa in her leathers aroused him even then. He hoped that after she learned more about him, she’d share more about herself.

Wosen grunted, gripping a large log, and dragging it near the fire. He didn’t understand why she’d assign him the task: the Dessalonians could lift such weight with their fingers. Even so, he wouldn’t complain. They’d surely saved his life, and he could never repay such a debt. In fact, he was honored just being allowed amongst them. That was an honor that he might not have recognized several full moons past. Being a captive in Nazil had sobered his mind and righted his heart.

As he neared the fire, a great rush of air nearly caused him to lose his footing. Wosen dived to the ground, and crawled toward the cave, struggling against the eddying wind. When shrill shrieks echoed off the peaks, he stood, dashing forward, and running into the cave. Thalassa was exiting, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her back inside.

“Wosen? What’re you doing?”

“There’s something out there,” he whispered, glancing around. “The darkness is shielding it, but it’s there.”

She moved the protective arm that blocked her, walking out of the cave. “Yes, the Dessalonians are returning from their watch. You’re hearing the Desu Beasts’ wings. Come, they’ll be hungry,” she said, grabbing a torch.

He glanced around again, quickly trailing behind her. She led him to a smaller cave just beyond the fire, and he wondered how he’d missed it before. As soon as the torch illuminated the cave, his eyes widened. Everywhere he looked, huge cuts of meat were suspended.

“Remove these from the hooks and put them in the cart,” she said, securing the torch in its holder. “I’m going to get the hearts.”

“The—the hearts?”

Wosen struggled to fill the cart, still weakened from his escape. Once he stacked the last, Thalassa returned with a full basket of cold, darkened animal hearts. He almost retched.

“What’s wrong, son of Hosdaq? You don’t have the stomach to feed the beasts who serve you?” She winked.

“They’re here.”

Wosen grabbed the cart, following behind Thalassa. One by one, the majestic beasts descended, their wings sending gusts of air around them. Wosen shielded his eyes, marveling at the violet hues illuminating the dark sky. When Arinak removed his helm, the glow dissipated, and his eyes appeared completely black, before shifting to their original purple and gold coloring. When he regarded Thalassa, she smiled.

“This is how they see through the darkness,” she responded to his unspoken question. “The connection between the Dessalonians and their beasts. It’s not their eyes that provide the sight, Wosen, it’s the eyes of the Desu Beasts. The sight that their third eye provides is beyond our comprehension, and is symbiotic with their masters. Come.”

AvHotther? Arinak is her father? Wosen thought, unable to break his stare. Even with their massive size, their movements appeared almost light, although the vibrating ground spoke to the obvious weight of the men.

Thalassa approached a Desu Beast, raising a heart into the air. Wosen’s head cocked, hearing a sound akin to a purr as it leaned down, taking it from her hand.

Lifting a heart from the basket, Wosen cautiously approached one of the beasts. Unlike Thalassa, his hands shook terribly, unsure of what to do or how he’d be perceived. When he drew nearer, his confidence waned. Its expansive wings unfurled as it stood to its full imposing height. Wosen sucked in his breath, taking in the full measure of the creature: the spiked projectiles on its sides and crown, its massive maw lined with razor-sharp teeth, and the thick-corded muscles in its legs and tail. He backed away, both admiring and fearing the creature.

“Wait,” Thalassa said. “Only approach them from the front. They need to wholly see you, Wosen, not merely sense your presence. Stay clear of their tails,” she warned, pointing. “Do you see the barbed end? Poison excretes from there. Once struck by this, no herbs in all the lands could heal you.”

Wosen backed up, swallowing hard. After a deep, steadying breath, he met the beast’s eyes, lifting the heart into the air. When it snarled, flattening its ears, he nearly moved away. The beast’s snout scrunched, baring teeth longer than his forearm. The slaver oozing from them trickled over his hand, saturating his glove. Once its mouth opened, Wosen instinctively closed his eyes, but a smile soon followed, feeling a soft, warm tongue, licking the remains from his hand.

Thalassa patted the beast’s side and said, “She likes you.”

“Yes, that one is Jzardis, and this is Xandi. She belongs to Arinak. All the Desu Beasts are female, Wosen. Couldn’t you tell?” Thalassa smiled, flipping her long braid to her back. “Now, leave them to eat while we join the others. They’ll have a report from the lands.”

Wosen pushed the cart forward, rushing to follow behind her. When they entered the cave, the Dessalonians were finishing their meal.

His chains rattled, nodding his head. “Faélondul burns. The Nazilians have waged a war against the humans.”

“They’ve grown bold, these ghosts,” Sarroh said. “We’ve seen some approaching the Animus Wood.”

“The wood? I thought they feared it. Why would they go there now?”

“What? They’re following my people?”

“Be still.” Arinak’s voice boomed. “The Bandarians have crossed into the wood. They haven’t reached the Guardian, but Tesu will lead them safely.”

Wosen’s brow creased. “Who is Tesu?”

“He’s the messenger, yet appearing merely shadow,” Thalassa said. “Your people have found favor with the Guardians, Wosen. If Tesu guides them, the Guardians will keep them safe.”

“Are you certain? Have you ever seen this Tesu?”

“Tesu led me here…my brother and me.”

“Yes. We arrived here together, but I haven’t seen him in years. I’ve been here since I was a young child. The Dessalonians are my family. If not for Tesu, we would’ve been lost.”

“All of Faélondul burns, yet you care only for your people.”

“I’m concerned about all of the people,” Wosen said. “I was a captive in Nazil and know the depravity they’re capable of. Draizeyn didn’t stop with Bandari: my village was only the beginning. You saw for yourself the havoc they’re wreaking throughout the lands. Aren’t you protectors of the people, too?” Wosen asked, not awaiting an answer. “There aren’t any greater beings than you, save the Guardians themselves. Please. I’m a survivor of Nazil’s sadistic cruelties. Such evil can’t be permitted to cover the lands.”

“The Guardians protect the lands, man of Bandari. It was our onus to protect the Guardians,” Baldon barked.

“Don’t you understand that the people need you? I need you. The humans can’t defeat a force like Nazil, not alone. They’ll always have the advantage because they don’t see us as equals. We’re nothing to them, and our pain is their strength. Our pain and suffering doesn’t matter to them because we don’t matter. Even their animals are slaughtered with mercy, but not us. We’re insults to all that they are, without feelings or worth. How many must die or be captured before you understand your importance…your greatness?” Wosen said, looking at each.

“What I suffered in their hands was worse than death. I prayed to all the gods and Guardians to release me from my pain and torment, to allow my death. But each time I awoke, it was in agony. That agony brought joy to those who inflicted it. They laughed and jested as they tortured me, peeling flesh from my bones as I cried out for mercy.” Wosen stood, tossing his furs aside, and raised up his tunic, revealing the healed cuts, burns, and deep scars beneath. Nearly every inch of his body showed evidence of his abuse. Thalassa cringed, gasping and turning away.

“This is what Nazil did to me. They wrenched teeth from my mouth, cut me, burned me, beat me, flayed my skin from the bone, and some things, the worst of it, I dare not speak, but can never forget.” He forced back his emotion, pulling down his tunic. “This is what awaits the people of these lands, Arinak. Not only the wounds you see on my body, but what they’ve done to my heart, my soul, and my mind. You remain here in your mountains far removed from these horrors. You fly over the lands in darkness, inspecting all beneath you. But the connection to the people has been lost. Don’t you protect us as well? Don’t our lives have worth to you? Please, I beg of you, return to the wood, join with those who gave you life, those which you long for. They haven’t left you, Arinak, they’re with you even now.”

“His words are true, and we spoke of the same not long ago,” Brukin said, resting a hand on Arinak’s shoulder. “Our protection has always extended beyond the Animus Wood. We’ve remained and kept watch over these lands, yet we do nothing to protect them. Had the Guardians wished it, we would’ve diminished long ago. Tesu did lead Thalassa and Crissu to Dessalonia…to us. There’s always a purpose, and it’s time that we return and complete that which we were created to do.”

“Our sins were great!” Arinak retorted.

She walked over, putting her tiny hand in his. When he met her eyes, the little girl that she once was appeared to stare back at him.

“Return to the wood and humble yourself before them,” she continued. “If Faélondul truly burns, the people need you, just as Crissu and I did. As I still do. This is a prison maintained only by the captives, and you need to leave your confinement. Through you, I’ve learned about the Guardians and their greatness. You are their children, AvHotther, they’ll welcome you home as you welcomed me.” She reached up, and he lifted her onto his lap. After clasping the three chains on his face, she drew him down, kissing his cheek. “She has forgiven you, too, AvHotther . The love you share is eternal. You’re not merely castigating yourself, you’re castigating her as well.”

“I’ll return with you and offer whatever assistance that I can,” Wosen said. “I understand much about sins and sinners: no one is free of transgression…myself most of all. But we couldn’t subsist if we carried that weight with us. Even for those who have no belief, there must be a means for expiation,” Wosen said, looking at each of them.

“You’ve dwelled amongst the divine. For you, there’s never been any doubt of their existence, not like for me. Why would you turn from them now? You were there in the beginning, Arinak, and know of their forgiveness and love. If they offer this to all of us, to me, why wouldn’t they do the same for their children?

“It’s not only for my people that I ask this. I’m pleading for the whole of Faélondul, and you, most of all. My faith in the Guardians is all that sustains me now, just as my faith in you.”

Arinak’s head lowered, feeling Thalassa grip his finger. “I’d ask of your minds,” he said.

The Dessalonians exchanged glances and then nodded to their leader.

“He’s beautiful, Brahanu, they both are,” Pentanimir said. His emotion nearly overwhelmed him, cradling Tardison for the first time. For those brief moments, he wanted to remove the thoughts of war from his mind. He’d soon need to disclose the horrors he’d witnessed, but in this moment, he enjoyed the love that surrounded him and the blessing of not only his son, but Itai’s son, too.

He observed Brahanu holding Eytan to her breast. When he looked at the small babe, he could only see Itai. Pentanimir struggled with the love he held for Brahanu then. It was his selfishness that had caused Itai’s death. Although he knew it wasn’t so, his guilt wouldn’t allow him to believe otherwise.

“Brahanu. Eytan. Protect—” repeated in his mind accompanied by his last image of Itai. He nearly succumbed in that instant, lowering his head to shield the anguish consuming him.

“Pentanimir, can you hold Eytan while I feed Tardison?”

After several deep breaths, he stifled his emotion, forcing a smile. He handed Tardison to his mother, caressing the patch of silvery-white hair atop his head. Once he’d nestled Eytan in his arms, he fought against his surging emotions. “He has his father’s face,” he thought, trying not to notice.

Pentanimir lifted Eytan to his shoulder, gently patting his back. He rocked him soothingly, holding him close as his father certainly would’ve.

“I’ll take him, Pentanimir,” Julaybeim said. “Ameya is sleeping in the carriage and I’m certain you’d like to do the same.”

“Everything is nearly packed,” Danimore said. “You should get some rest before we have to leave.”

“Yes…yes, I’m tired,” Pentanimir said, absently.

Danimore looked at him, noting the distance in his eyes. Pentanimir hadn’t given them a full report on Cazaal, and he didn’t know how or if he should ask about it.

Julaybeim took the opportunity with Brahanu to question her of the same.

“Sister, did Pentanimir mention anything about the battle?”

“Only what he’d told everyone. The battle still raged when he saved Ameya, and I’ll be forever grateful. All we know is that the Nazilians set our village ablaze.”

“That’s the way of caitiffs. They can’t meet us in battle openly. Only through treachery and subterfuge can they gain ground against us.”

“That’s not true of all Nazilians, Julaybeim. Ameya wouldn’t be here with us if it were. I just wish that we knew that Mother, Father, and Itai were well. That plagues my heart most of all.”

“Mother wouldn’t be moved when I asked her to come with us. I pray that the gods protect them and return us safely.”

Brahanu nodded, noticing Pentanimir and Danimore speaking near the carriage. “I wonder what he’s saying to him that we can’t all hear?”

Julaybeim glanced over his shoulder. “I wonder the same.”

“Pentanimir, please, your visage and mood betray you. Please, tell me what happened,” Danimore urged a second time.

Pentanimir met his eyes with silence. The sounds, visions, and smells of the battle erupted through his heart and mind as if he were still standing amidst the turmoil. He had yet to work through the actualities of what took place and what they meant for each of them. Too many faces and debilitating truths: Manifir, Oxilon, Temian, Hushar, Hacom, Amani, Itai. All of them cascaded through his mind, screaming at him, reaching for him, crushing him. Not even the joy of seeing his son could replace the anguish he felt.

“Brother.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “They’ve all fallen.”

“All? What do you mean, Pentanimir? Who’s fallen?”

“Don’t you understand? All of them, Hacom, Amani, Itai, and Uncle. They were all lost in the battle. How am I supposed to tell them? I have no way to offer such news.”

Danimore’s face paled. He gripped Pentanimir in a tight embrace, feeling his body weaken against him.

“I’ve failed them,” Pentanimir said. “I was supposed to protect them, and I failed.”

“No, you didn’t fail,” he said, holding him out at arm’s length. “You warned them, fought with them, and saved Ameya. You couldn’t have done any more, Pentanimir. If not for you, none of us would be safe. This was your purpose. Don’t you recall the words of your Elder? Your son and Brahanu are safe due to your efforts. You’ve protected Itai’s son as well. He died defending his home, his wife, and his village, but you remain. You’ll continue to protect Eytan and raise him to know about his father’s honor and sacrifice.”

Pentanimir shook his head. “If I hadn’t fallen in love with Brahanu, he’d still have his father.”

“That’s not true, Brother. Your grief is too near for you to think clearly. It wasn’t your love that caused his death. That was by Draizeyn’s order alone. Don’t allow your grief to confuse your mind and heart.”

“She did love him, Dani. Brahanu was torn between us, and I took advantage of that. Even as she protested, I wouldn’t remove my lips from hers. In the beginning, she initiated our closeness, but it was me in the end. Now, her husband is gone.” He clenched his eyes, before meeting Danimore’s again. “Both Itai and Hacom died by Uncle’s hand.”

“I witnessed their deaths and could do nothing to prevent them. Then, Amani and Ameya’s screams drew my focus. I’ve never seen such savagery, Dani, never. I thank the gods that Ameya was shielded from it…they raped her mother mercilessly.” He took a deep breath, attempting to keep the quiver from his voice. “I—I killed Amani. I couldn’t save her, but I wouldn’t leave her to their brutalities. She wouldn’t have survived it.”

Danimore blinked back his forming tears, grasping his brother’s arms. Pentanimir had always been the stronger of the two, and now, he needed comfort.

“They would’ve continued to use her until every hole was violated and torn to shreds. Then, they would’ve tortured her slowly, not allowing her death until they had their fill. If she were taken back to Nazil, you know what she had yet to suffer,” Danimore said. “What you did was a kindness, Pentanimir. You knew so then, and must remember that now. You saved her from the cruelties that we know too well.”

“So, I’m like our father…I kill to prevent suffering.”

“Isn’t that what he did to Crissu? To our brother? He killed him quickly so that he couldn’t be tortured. I’d believed that Father murdered his son to protect himself, but I understand differently now. The pain of killing our brother weighed too heavily upon him, Dani. I know, because the weight I feel now is crushing me.”

“You won’t carry it alone. Both of us will shoulder this burden. You can’t tell anyone else about what happened. Brahanu and Julaybeim could never understand like we do. Tell them only about Itai and Hacom’s bravery and honor defending the village. Never speak of Amani. Never. Promise me, Pentanimir.”

He nodded. “You have the right of it.”

“Go to her now, Brother. You need Brahanu and your son. Try to focus on the love that surrounds you, and leave the other far behind,” Danimore said, embracing him again before walking back toward the fire. After several sobering breaths, Pentanimir returned to Brahanu’s side.

“Gali sits alone, Julaybeim,” Pentanimir said, sitting on the ground. “She’d like your company?”

Julaybeim peered at him curiously and then back to his sister. When she nodded, he laid Eytan in his basket and stood. “I’ll leave you to your words then.”

After he left, Pentanimir slid closer to Brahanu, hesitantly draping an arm around her. When he leaned to caress his son, her unexpected kiss caused him to jerk away.

“Pentanimir, what’s wrong?”

“For—forgive me, the—the battle is still fresh in my mind, and I’m thinking about those yet defending the village.”

She tucked Tardison in his basket, turning back to face Pentanimir. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

“In time. I’d rather speak about you and our son. There isn’t any way to conceal his parentage, Brahanu. What are we going to do?”

“I’ve been discussing the same with Julaybeim. When I return to Cazaal, I’m going to leave Tardison with you.”

“You mean to return?”

“I must, Pentanimir. My life has always been in Cazaal. Itai will want to see Eytan as soon as possible, as will my family. I know that it can’t be soon, but once the lands are safe, I’ll return to my husband.”

His heart ached, not only due to her words, but more so for the truths she had yet to learn. “What about Tardison? He’s also your son.”

“Yes, and yours. It won’t be easy to leave him, but he’ll be with his father and family. I know that Zeta and Gali will take the greatest care of him. Itai allowed me to come to the wood for safety, not to stay. Once this war is at an end, I must return to him.”

“Am I to be without you always? I love you, Brahanu, and our son. Has your love for me withered?”

“My love for you is endless, but it can’t supersede that of my husband. Without his love, the entire village would’ve known about my shame. I love him, Pentanimir, and more than before. This doesn’t erase my love for you, but it must come first.”

When he attempted to respond, she shook her head, caressing his face. “The love and passion that I feel for you will forever remain. When I come to see Tardison, I’m coming to see you, too. Firstly, I must return to Cazaal and my husband.”

The more she spoke, the more he understood the importance of revealing the truth. He met her eyes, desperately attempting to keep the anguish from his. When he leaned down, he kissed her passionately, allowing her love to fill the emptiness pervading his soul. For this moment, one moment, he needed to submerse himself in that love. If only this moment could last…but it couldn’t, and despondency and heartache would replace that which he now felt.

As he moved away, his face betrayed his thoughts.

“Pentanimir, what’s wrong?”

Without permitting her time to respond, he stood, walking away.

“We’re nearly ready, Brother,” Danimore said as he approached. “Are you certain that you can manage the second carriage?”

“Yes, but first, I need to tell them about Cazaal.”

“They have the right to know, Dani. Waiting until we’re deeper in the wood won’t lessen their pain. Where’s Ameya?”

“She’s still asleep,” Zeta said, coming to their side.

“Good, she doesn’t need to hear this.”

Pentanimir gathered everyone together, returning to Brahanu. “You’ve questioned me regarding the battle, and there’s much to tell. When my contingent arrived, the battle had already begun. They’d taken the temple and—and—the Nohek, those that remained, were killed.”

“Gods,” Gali said. “All of them?”

“There were but a few who remained in the temple. I fought my way through the village, searching for Itai and Hacom. Once I reached them, they were surrounded by men of the guard. I fought my way through, killing all in my path. Guards of Nazil that I trained with for years lay dead at my feet, but it wasn’t enough.”

Brahanu wiped away her tears, straining to sit up. “What’s that to mean, Pentanimir, what happened?”

“I—I was too late. There was a fusillade of arrows loosed in their direction. Hacom barely escaped being hit.”

“Father?” Julaybeim said.

Pentanimir nodded, never raising his eyes. “We…we fought together, the three of us. But the…the arrow pierced Itai’s thigh, and I couldn’t, he couldn’t—”

“No, Pentanimir,” Brahanu pleaded. “He’s all right. My husband is all right. Tell me that he is, please, tell me.”

“What honor is there in using such poison!” Julaybeim spat.

“There’s no honor, young lord, not in war. There’s only advantage.”

“What happened to my husband,” Brahanu demanded. “Where’s Itai?”

“He fought bravely, but the poison incapacitated him. Even with my sword and Hacom’s, we couldn’t protect him.”

“No, no!” Brahanu screamed. “It can’t be! Please, not Itai, not my husband, please. No, Pentanimir, tell me that you saved my husband as you did my sister!”

Pentanimir wanted to comfort her, to hold her against him and relieve the pain that she felt. But his arms couldn’t soothe such an ache when it was by his people’s hands that it happened. He could only watch as Julaybeim enfolded her into his arms as she mourned for her husband.

He turned, struggling against the debilitating emotions welling inside of him. As Pentanimir lumbered toward the carriage, he fought to compose himself. It wasn’t merely grief that plagued him, but anger as well.

“Brother,” Danimore said, rushing up from behind. “It isn’t your fault; you know that. You didn’t kill any of them. You tried to protect them.”

“Did you see her anguish, Dani, the scorn? It—it exuded from her like a tangible thing. Her heart will never heal, and it was Nazilians who caused such pain. I couldn’t save them, and she’ll forever blame me. She only knows about Itai. When she learns of her parents, what blame will be thrust at my feet?”

“Just because the blame is placed there, doesn’t mean you have to take it from the ground and bear its weight. Leave it where it rests and walk away. It isn’t yours to carry.”

Pentanimir shook his head, wiping the tears lining his eyes. “You must think me weak. It’s just too much, Dani. I can’t bear the weight of everything thrust upon my shoulders.”

“No. I’ve never thought that about you, but I did of myself not long ago. Your words freed me from such misconceptions. You are in love with Brahanu, and her pain causes the same for you. Instead of celebrating the birth of your son, you must mourn the death of her family.” Danimore moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Weak? No, Brother. If you had no emotion regarding this war and the deaths wrought from it, you’d be guilty of being the monsters that we’re accused of. This isn’t either of us, and you can’t allow Draizeyn’s cruelties to plague your heart and mind.”

As he finished, Julaybeim rushed up from behind them, seizing Pentanimir’s shoulder, and spinning him around. Danimore looked on in disbelief as Gali ran to their side.

“You think me capable of such an act, Julaybeim?”

“I know that you’ve been lusting after my sister. You couldn’t have her while her husband lived. Now that he’s fallen, you could ravage her again just as you did when you forced your seed in her womb.”

“Julaybeim, please, don’t do this,” Gali said, stepping between them. “Pentanimir would never do anything like that. Don’t allow your grief to betray you.”

“He’ll answer my question or I’ll force it out of him,” he said, pointing. “Look at my sister. Her husband is dead. If the ghost standing in front of me is responsible, I’d have it known. There’s one man of Cazaal still within his reach.”

Pentanimir’s gaze fell on Brahanu, weeping in Zeta’s arms. “This is what you think of me?” Pentanimir asked, turning full to face him. “You believe I’d wound Brahanu so terribly to satisfy my desire? You think I could murder her husband?”

Danimore stepped forward, his eyes narrowing pejoratively. “You dare to insult my brother,” he snapped. “He risked everything to save your family and your village, and this is how you come to him? If not for Pentanimir, Ameya would be a captive in Nazil and Brahanu would’ve never returned to Cazaal at all. It’s by his hand that they yet draw breath! He’s why we all live.”

Pentanimir’s face was an emotionless mask as he raised a hand to Danimore, advancing on Julaybeim. “The young lord posed a question, Brother, and I’ll answer it.” His icy tone and stare caused Julaybeim to take a step back.

“If it’s truth that you want, then you’ll have it. I didn’t kill Itai, I protected him. Both your father and I killed my Nazilian brothers to aid Brahanu’s husband. Itai couldn’t stand or see, and we stood at his side, killing anyone who came near. It wasn’t enough.

“More guards approached from the wood, and I nearly succumbed defending him. As I slew the last, a guard put a sword through Itai’s throat. I killed that guard, too. When Ameya screamed, I saw the men taking her. She would’ve been raped repeatedly and taken as a slave.

“As Itai lay dying, I promised that I’d protect his son and his wife, and I’ll hold true to that promise, even if I need to go through you to do so,” Pentanimir said, taking another step forward. “In defense of your home, I beheaded my uncle as he bore down upon your father. My father’s brother lay dead at my feet, yet you stand here very much alive. That, too, could change if you force a conflict where none should be. I’ll suffer your invectives no longer.

“What about my parents?”

Pentanimir walked away, not looking back. “Only the gods know.”

Daracus moaned, clenching his eyes shut as the waves of his gratification escalated. His time away from Nazil only increased his yearning and the intensity of his completion. His body jerked, enjoying the lingering sensation and the warmth of his love. As the pleasure eased, he leaned down, kissing every inch of exposed skin while easing himself away. He merely stared for a moment, overcome by surging emotion and desiring more.

“I was in great need of that, and you, my love,” Daracus said, leaning down for another kiss. “Now, get dressed, and gather my clothes. My sister and the Council are awaiting me, and I fear my need for you has kept me too long.”

“Yes, milord,” Jahno said. After quickly dressing, Jahno dipped the cloth in the basin, gliding it over Daracus’ body. Jahno could feel him flittering through his hair as the cloth moved down his abdomen, and over his thighs. When Daracus clutched his wrist, Jahno swallowed hard, looking up to see a familiar expression and dreading what it meant.

“Well, we have a little time,” Daracus said, resting his hands on Jahno’s shoulders, and lowering him to his knees. In but moments, he called out again, entangling his fingers in Jahno’s long hair, drawing him in closer. “Gods, how I’ve missed you,” he breathed.

Suppressing his urge to retch, Jahno merely nodded, dipping the cloth in the basin. After cleaning his master, and helping him dress, Jahno knelt again, pulling on Daracus’ boots.

“The next time that I leave Nazil, I’m taking you with me. Would you like that, Jahno?”

He glanced up, feigning a smile. “Yes, sir. If your father allows, I’d be pleased to serve you,” he lied.

“To all seven hells with what father will or will not allow. I’m a man grown and the Nakshij of Nazil. I’ll have who I love at my side, and care little for what he thinks. Father wants pledges and heirs, but I need your cock and arse.”

“Yes,” Daracus relented. “I can’t keep my sister in wait. However, at the meal’s end, you’ll return with me. I hate being rushed, and I miss feeling the thickness of your cock.”

Inclining his head, Jahno begun brushing Daracus hair. The scent of his assault still lingered in the air, and the taste soured his stomach. He’d been in service to the citadel since Daracus abducted him from Noraa. Unlike some, Jahno’s father could afford the ransom, but it was never sought. Daracus had desired him since first they met in Jahno’s father’s curio shop. If he’d known then of his true desires, Jahno would’ve left his family for another village, any village to be free from such torture. Although most of the physical pain of his abuse subsided, the mental anguish was forever mounting. That could change in an instant, and he shuddered then, recalling his injuries from such encounters.

“Would you like a cloak as well?” Jahno asked, forcing the painful thoughts from his mind.

“What I want is you, but I’m needed elsewhere,” Daracus said, standing and placing a pellet beneath his tongue. “When you attend your duties, remove the olives from the table. Father isn’t here, and I can’t stand the smell of them.”

The councilmembers stood and bowed as Daracus entered the hall. After taking his father’s seat, Jahno came into the room, removing the olives and replacing them with dates.

“Where’s my sister?”

“We’ve sent Micah to fetch her, my lord,” Reaglen said. “She should be joining us shortly.”

“My lord,” Bisdan said. “We’ve received a bird from Leahcim.”

“Tell me of it then. Did birds arrive from Kaleo or Cazaal?” Daracus asked.

“Kaleo has been defeated, and Cazaal is much the same. Erandi and Gudrun are en route now. There still isn’t any word from Pentanimir.” He paused, grief covering his visage. “We learned some distressing news, however, Sir Pentanimir’s uncle died with honor in Cazaal.”

“Oxilon has fallen?”

“He has, my lord, and all of Nazil will mourn such a loss.”

“My father as well,” Daracus said. “Sir Benoist served our house and Nazil with great honor. What about the human whore? Is she amongst the captives?”

Reaglen shook his head. “There’ve been no definitive reports. From the news thus far, she wasn’t in Cazaal.”

“What? Her capture should’ve been guaranteed. Didn’t they report that she was heavy with child?”

“Indeed,” Reaglen said. “She could’ve taken leave before the attack. It wouldn’t be the first time that spies have warned of our maneuvers. There’re yet places in Faélondul that our hands don’t reach.”

“You speak true,” Beilzen said, signaling for more wine. “That’s why the Zaxson is wise to expand our reach. There shouldn’t be any place in Faélondul that Nazil can’t touch.”

Daracus stared at Beilzen and then glanced around the room. “Agreed, but I don’t recall your appointment to this council.”

“No, my lord. I’m here merely at your sister’s behest. She extended the invitation before we knew of your arrival. Our lady didn’t wish to sup alone.”

“I see. Well, it’s appreciated that you’d comfort my sister at such a time as this. Then again, you’ve always acquiesced to Denotra’s commands with great alacrity, haven’t you?”

Before he could respond, the guards opened the doors, escorting Denotra in. As she stepped toward the table, Beilzen rushed to her side, pulling out a chair.

“You’re lovelier now than when last I saw you, my lady,” Beilzen said.

“Ah, Sister, we were just speaking of you.”

“Forgive my tardiness,” she said. “My stomach has been a bit disagreeable.”

“Are you all right?” Daracus asked.

“It’s merely the excitement of your return and my concern for Father and Pentanimir. It’ll pass.”

“Yes, we spoke about that as well,” Daracus said. “A bird arrived not long ago with word of Kaleo and Cazaal.”

“Did it mention Pentanimir?”

He shook his head, reaching for her hand. “Not yet. It told of our victory and unfortunately, his uncle’s honorable death.”

“Sir Oxilon? Gods, Pentanimir will be grief-stricken. He and his uncle were very close.”

Beilzen scoffed. When he noticed the council regard him, he cleared his throat, taking a drink of wine. “Pardons. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Denotra’s eyes rolled, shifting away from him. “If not Pentanimir, who sent the message?”

“My lady,” Reaglen started. “Erandi sent word from Leahcim before he and Gudrun left for Nazil.”

“Then, who sent word of Cazaal? If Oxilon has fallen and no one has heard from Pentanimir, who made the report?”

“Sir Garin,” Reaglen said, handing her the scroll.

When she reached out for it, she lurched sideward, expelling a heavy cough. Her face scrunched, as she clutched her stomach, turning away from the table.

“Are you certain that you’re well?” Daracus asked.

“Yes, Brother. I—I’m fine.”

“Lord Daracus,” Beilzen said. “With the battle nearly at an end, will you start preparations for Lady Denotra’s pledge? Well, upon your honorable father’s and Pentanimir’s return, of course.”

“That’s Denotra’s wish. Why do you ask of it?”

“Our lady and I spoke at length about it before your return,” he smirked. “She much desires the company of her pledged.”

Daracus peered at him warily. “And she shall have it.”

Denotra glared at Beilzen until her cough returned. Covering her mouth, she turned away again, continuing to cough. When she moved the cloth away, her eyes widened, staring down at the blood staining it.

“My lady!” Bisdan said, pushing up from the table.

“Surma, fetch the healer immediately,” Daracus ordered, rushing to her side.

Beilzen’s breath caught in his throat as he backed away from the table, staring at her thrashing in Daracus’ arms.

“Denotra…gods…Sister, look at me.”

Grasping her throat, Denotra struggled for air as her face darkened from the lack of it. With widening eyes, her hands grappled at Daracus, grasping and pulling him down to her. She tried to speak, but a raw, guttural scream echoed throughout the chamber before she gagged again, panting for air. Denotra sucked in a hard breath, shooting up from her chair, only to plummet backward to the floor.

“Sister,” he shouted, cradling her in his arms. Denotra continued to thrash, with blackening veins protruding beneath her pallid flesh.

“What’s happened,” Arilian said, entering the room. “Lady Denotra!”

“You must help her, Arilian. Help my sister.”

“We must get her to her chamber,” Arilian said. “She’s burning with fever…I must tend her immediately.”

Daracus motioned to the guards, and they lifted her up, hurrying down the corridor. His frantic eyes darted around, unable to calm his thoughts. Pulling the pouch from his pocket, he grabbed some pellets, swallowing them whole.

“Jah—Jahno, fetch Ceron and Leanta,” Daracus said, continuing his run. “Make haste,” he said, rounding the corner to Denotra’s room.

“Get out! All of you get out of here!” Daracus ordered the guards, as he stared at Denotra screaming and writhing on the bed.

They hurried from the chamber, nearly knocking Ceron and Leanta over. When Daracus gripped Ceron’s arm, she yelped, being dragged across the room.

“What happened to my sister?” he commanded, pointing over at the bed. Ceron’s face blanched, fearing not only the look in Daracus’ eyes, but the condition of his sister.

Daracus snarled, landing a hard punch that sent Ceron crashing to the floor.

“You’re her damn slave! Tell me what happened or you’ll face more than Symeon’s cock! Every horse in the stable will have a go!”

Ceron struggled to rise, holding her swelling face. “Her—her blood,” she nearly cried. “When—when she got back from the temple, she said her blood came early and felt sick from it. We fetched Hushar as—as she commanded and left them be.”

“Hushar?” Daracus said. “She was here when I returned. Why didn’t Denotra send for Arilian?”

“I didn’t question, milord. I only did as milady said. We filled the tub and left her be.”

Daracus glared over at Leanta and she nodded.

“Get out of here, the both of you.”

“What’s wrong with her, Arilian? You must help her,” Daracus said when they were alone.

“I’ll do all I can, my lord, but I need to examine her to be certain. I’ve never seen an illness take hold so quickly. The tonic has calmed the coughing, and will help her rest. With your permission, I need to check her womanhood. If her blood has come, I’ll learn of it.”

“Do what you must, just make her well.”

Daracus turned as Arilian began his examination. After removing her garments, he dipped his hands in the basin. As he brought the lantern near, he gasped, nearly dropping it on the bed.

“What is it, Arilian? What in hells is wrong with you?”

Clasping a hand over his mouth, he shook his head, gazing back down at Denotra. As he set the lantern back on the table, he noticed the small ewer sitting there.

“Answer me, Arilian!”

“My lord. I—I—don’t believe that it was merely your sister’s time. Mayhaps you should look for yourself.”

“She’s my sister,” Daracus said, disgusted.

“Yes, but this is something you must see, my lord. Please, I pray you come quickly.”

Daracus’ jaw tightened, apprehensively peering between her legs. “What in seven hells is this? What happened to her?”

“Lord Daracus, your sister, Lady Denotra, she wasn’t, I mean, she’s no longer maiden. She—”

“Liar! How dare you befoul my family’s name!”

“Forgive me,” he said, pulling up the blankets and pointing to the ewer.

“I—I didn’t intend to offend or imply things that aren’t. Mayhaps your sister fell and—and hurt herself. This could explain the bruising, swelling, and early blood. Yes, she fell, my lord. But the ewer, who brought this?”

Daracus walked over to the table, inspecting the small bottle. As he gave it a shake, the liquid inside sloshed. “Tell me of the contents,” he demanded, thrusting it to Arilian.

Pulling the cork, he sniffed the mixture. With a curious look, Arilian dipped his finger inside, bringing it to his lips. “Hmmm…” he muttered, taking another taste. “There’s some helba, sumac, and kuzbarah mayhaps. There might be some lavender, too, judging by the smell.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means, Arilian?”

“No, my lord, pardons. This tincture is for pain and infection. Whoever left it did so in hopes of aiding your sister’s healing.”

“I want you to drink the mixture and prove that it’s safe, Arilian. After we’ve determined the contents, remain here with Denotra. Use whatever you need to make her well.”

“Yes, Nakshij. She’s resting now, but her breathing is still labored. I’ll mix a tincture for her, but without knowing the cause, I can only treat the symptoms.”

“Know this, old man: whatever happens to my sister will also happen to you. Drink the mixture and treat her as if your life depends upon it. In fact, it does,” he said, moving toward the door. When he paused, leering back at him, Arilian turned up the ewer.

He leaned against the stone bench, enjoying the peace that surrounded him. The burdens clouding his mind appeared to ease as he closed his eyes, allowing the music of the falls to wash over him.

His heart ached for Brahanu and the love that they shared. But his old wounds emerged as well with remembrances of his father and Crissu. Too many images, voices, and memories beset his mind. Now, with learning about his siblings, there was much for him to contemplate. Lost moments, seasons, years spent apart and unaware of his brothers and sister. A brother so close, and yet a world away. In retrospect, it appeared so clear. Pentanimir and Temian were nearly identical when standing alongside each other. It was obvious why Temian kept his distance from not only Oxilon, but him as well.

He sighed, offering a silent prayer. How he wished that the remembrances, dubiety, truths, pain, all of it would fade from memory. Here, in the Animus Wood, it could be so. At least, that was his prayer. Not truly to forget, but to be able to subsist, to find a peace, a happiness again that he once felt long ago. The weight he now carried was too much for one even as him, and he felt it consuming the vestiges of his soul.

He turned, smiling as the Elder approached.

“Pentanimir,” Olam said again, looking down at the babe he cradled in his arms.

He glanced at his sleeping son and then stood, facing Olam. “Tardison,” he said, holding the babe out to him. “He’s my son…mine and Brahanu’s.”

Olam’s brow furrowed, lifting Tardison from Pentanimir’s arms. “I know him,” Olam breathed. “Both you and he were in my vision.”

Pentanimir nodded, caressing Tardison’s thick curls. Apart from Kuhani, Olam was the only one who truly knew his heart. He helped Pentanimir to see beyond logic, and learn more of faith, and what that truly meant.

“It’s good to see you again, Olam. When I learned about Wosen’s capture, I feared the worst for Bandari.”

“As did we. After getting your message, I received another vision. Have you had any other word of Wosen?”

Pentanimir sighed. “His fate is uncertain, Elder. If the gods are good, we’ll see him again.”

“That’s our prayer. With the lands at war, we can’t risk anyone leaving the safety of the wood.”

“You can’t, Elder, but I can.”

Olam looked at him curiously, handing Tardison back. “You? What about your son and Brahanu? Aren’t you remaining here with them?”

“No. Brahanu is mourning her husband and places his death on my shoulders.”

“I don’t believe that. From what we’ve heard about the battle, the contrary is true.”

He nodded. “I fought against my people in defense of hers, but that doesn’t matter. Itai’s fate remains the same, regardless of my actions.”

“Don’t confuse your feelings with Brahanu’s. I’ve known you long, First Chosen, and know your heart. You’re not capable of such an act,” Olam said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Brahanu knows the same. Now, what about your son? I saw Brahanu with another babe.”

“That was Eytan, Tardison’s twin.”

“A brother? The Guardians didn’t show me a twin, Pentanimir.”

“Eytan isn’t my son, but he shared Brahanu’s womb with Tardison.”

“What? How is such a thing possible?”

“Is anything impossible for the gods?” he said, wistfully.

“The gods and Guardians are good, Pentanimir. Her husband’s sacrifice didn’t go unnoticed or unrewarded,” Olam said, gesturing them forward. “Now, come, your brother has asked about a bonding ceremony.”

“He and Zeta did seem most eager.” Olam smiled. “We’ll rest here for one more sun. If they’d like the ceremony, we only need to speak with Kuhani. After all that has happened, it would be welcomed.”

“I haven’t seen the priest. Do you know where they’ve gone?”

“When you arrived, they’d gone to the furthest falls for cleansing and prayer. They’ll return for noon meal.”

Pentanimir shifted Tardison to his other shoulder as they entered the encampment.

“I’ll leave you to rest now, and alert you when the priests return.”

“Thank you,” Pentanimir said, noticing Brahanu seated with Gali and Julaybeim. Every part of him longed to be with her, but he sat with Danimore and Zeta instead.

“Don’t worry,” Danimore said. “She desires it as well. I’ve seen her watching your movements the same as you. Give it time.”

Pentanimir offered the best smile that he could manage. “Elder Olam mentioned a bonding ceremony.”

“Yes, we spoke with the Elder Vot about it earlier. Seeing the people of this village gives us hope.”

“I’m pleased that you have each other, Dani, both of you deserve such happiness.”

“As do you, Pentanimir,” Zeta said. “Brahanu loves you, but Itai’s death won’t allow her to show it. Her heart was split between you, and now, half of it has withered. Give her time and she’ll again be yours.”

“Brahanu was never truly mine. Her heart always belonged to him. It was for the briefest of moments that she permitted me to become a part of it.”

As he finished, Gali was approaching, leading Julaybeim behind her. His expression was both aggrieved and trepidatious as she released his hand, and he met Pentanimir’s eyes. Although Julaybeim had apologized for his recent behavior, he still felt uncertain of how to approach him.

“Pentanimir, you should speak with Brahanu. She—she needs you with her.”

“Need? I doubt those are her words.”

“They are,” Gali said. “Her guilt and her love confuse her heart. Brahanu doesn’t want to betray the memory of her husband by showing her love for you. But it’s there, Pentanimir, and she needs you more than you know.”

Pentanimir was hesitant, but pushed to his feet in spite of it. As he moved to where she sat, Hosdaq was arriving.

“Pentanimir, we’re glad that you made it safely,” Hosdaq said, embracing him.

“I’m pleased as well, Elder. All of Faélondul is at war, and too few of us are free from it.”

“I yearn for my son, Pentanimir, yet I’m ashamed as well. His actions caused this to be, and there’s nothing I can do to right it.”

“Don’t be like me, Elder. Don’t carry such weight upon your shoulders. Wosen was merely the catalyst for what Draizeyn had already devised.”

“That’s not the only cause for my shame,” he said, sliding an arm around Osmara’s waist. “I owe you and Brahanu an apology.”

“Me? Why?” Brahanu asked.

“I need to apologize to you most of all. When you arrived in Bandari, I perceived you as a complication to Pentanimir’s obligations in Nazil. But it wasn’t my place to offer such an opinion, nor did I consider that the One god’s will might differ from either of ours.”

“What do you mean?” Pentanimir asked.

“I understand now that seeing you together brought back memories of my past and the decision that I made. I was bitter, and even more so when I learned about your son. It wasn’t malice or disregard for either of you. I’d forgotten how it felt to be in love and share your heart with another. I’m sorry, truly.”

Brahanu gazed at Pentanimir then, interlacing their fingers. Even suffering the loss of her love, she still loved Pentanimir, and couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, too.

“Your counsel was sound, Elder, even if your heart wasn’t,” Pentanimir said. “I did need to return to Nazil, however, I didn’t have to remain.”

“No, you didn’t, and you still don’t.” Hosdaq smiled, drawing Osmara in for a kiss. “Don’t allow yourself to become bitter and miss the love that’s right before you. I did that with Osmara, and in a way, Wosen made our happiness possible. I was prepared to leave this world, but the One god sent her to pull me back from the misery of which I’d grown so accustomed.”

“I don’t want to be without you, Pentanimir,” Brahanu said. “My heart aches for Itai, but my love for you is unchanged.”

“We’ll leave you now,” Hosdaq said. “Seeing the two of you together is heartening.”

Pentanimir watched them leave, lowering to the ground next to Brahanu. He recalled his time in Bandari and Hosdaq’s counsel. He smiled despite that, gladdened that Hosdaq had reclaimed his life and started to truly live.

“I don’t blame you for anything that’s happened, Pentanimir,” Brahanu said, laying her head on his shoulder.

“I promised Itai that I’d protect you and Eytan. Will you permit me to remain true to my word?”

“Ask what you will.”

Julaybeim glanced over at Gali, clearing his throat. “I heard that you asked the Elders here about your marriage.”

“Yes, as we said in Cazaal, Zeta and I are promised. We’d like to wed as soon as possible.”

“When is your ceremony?”

“We won’t know until the priests return,” Danimore said.

“Julaybeim, why are you asking about their bond?” Gali asked.

He turned, taking her hands. After a steadying breath, he met her eyes. “Gali, if Danimore and Zeta would allow, I—I’d like to marry you, too.”

Zeta gasped. “We’d be honored to share our bond day with you.”

Gali’s eyes widened, unable to even move.

“Gali! Did you not hear?” Zeta squeaked. “Julaybeim asked to take you to wife!”

“I—I thought I heard the words, but I believe my ears have deceived me.”

“Believe my words,” Julaybeim said. “I told you of my heart when we were in Cazaal, and you thought yourself unworthy to be my wife. I intend to not only prove my words, but my love as well. If you feel only part of what lies in my heart, honor me by becoming my wife.”

“But—but your parents, they wouldn’t accept me as your wife, and I don’t want to offend them.”

“When they see the joy you’ve brought to their son, they’ll embrace you as their daughter.”

“Are—are you certain?”

“Do you love me, Gali?” he asked, moving closer.

“That’s all that matters to me. I don’t care about the past, only our future. Now, I ask you again: will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

“Yes, yes, Julaybeim, I’ll become your wife.”

Zeta screeched as Danimore chuckled, patting him on the back.

“Dani,” Pentanimir said. “Everyone is gathering for noon meal. Come, the priests will return soon.”

After receiving a bowl of stew, everyone assembled around the eternal fire as the Elders blessed the meal. Once they were seated, Danimore leaned, speaking quietly to Pentanimir.

“Are those the Elders?”

“They are, and the first builders of Bandari.”

“Which one of them is Nazilian?” Julaybeim asked.

“The one to Vot’s right,” Pentanimir said. “Elder Emet looks fully human, but his mother was Nazilian. His father, Gayu Karidian, helped to build the village. When he passed, Emet took his place as Elder. He has a brother, Nzuri, that you’ll meet soon.”

“The Karidians of Noraa?” Julaybeim asked.

Pentanimir smiled, nodding. “One and the same.”

“Brother, I didn’t doubt you, but I couldn’t truly appreciate the Bandarians until I met them. To see humans and Nazilians coexist in such peace is phenomenal. Why can’t this be the way throughout the lands?”

“It may yet be, Dani. If both sides can release their prejudices and accept one another as they are, anything is possible. But there will always be those who want to place themselves above others. They are the true dangers to these lands.”

“You’re right, Pentanimir,” Julaybeim agreed. “It’s hard to admit your failings and change your heart after hatred has filled it for so long. Even as you begin to experience things contrary to what you’ve known, it’s difficult.”

“It’ll take time,” Gali said. “I’ve had to learn such lessons and I’m thankful that I didn’t assign the evils of a few Nazilians to the whole. If that were so, I wouldn’t be here now.” She smiled, taking Brahanu’s empty bowl. “I’ll get your herbs from the carriage. You yet heal, Brahanu, and I’d see you well before we reach the western wood.”

“Thank you, Gali.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Julaybeim said, taking her hand.

“Is Brother going to marry Gali?” Ameya asked when they’d gone.

“That’s his wish, little dove.”

She smiled, sliding closer to her sister. “Good. I like Gali.”

“Pentanimir!” Nzuri said.

Pentanimir rose up, meeting his strong embrace.

“The One god is good,” Nzuri said.

“Indeed,” Yonas added. “We’ve been praying for you and the lands. Will you be staying with us?”

“I’ll see you safely to the western wood, but there are many traveling with me.”

“Many? Who are they?” Kuhani asked.

“My brother Danimore, his promised, and their son, Raithym, are among them. Also, Brahanu has returned with her brother, Julaybeim, his promised, their younger sister, and our sons.”

“Your sons?” Nzuri asked.

“There’s much to tell, my friend.”

“We must bless the babes in the falls before we take leave,” Kuhani said.

“I have another request, Kuhani. My brother and Brahanu’s would like to wed before we leave.”

“They want to wed now?” Nzuri asked. “We don’t have what’s needed for a proper ceremony.”

“If it’s possible, they would. My brother couldn’t wed before since his promised is human.”

“And the other?” Yonas asked.

“Julaybeim is most eager. He’s the Caretaker’s son and needs to return to Cazaal. When you’re safe in the western wood, we’ll travel east together.”

“He would leave his wife behind?” Yonas asked.

“Only until he’s certain that it’s safe. He loves her well, and only traveled west to keep her and his sister from danger.”

“I see,” Kuhani said. “If the Elders agree, it can be done. Only the oils and the flame from the eternal fire are truly needed.”

“Thank you, they’ll be grateful for such favor,” Pentanimir said, noticing Julaybeim’s return. “May I introduce you to them before you take noon meal?”

When Kuhani nodded, Pentanimir gestured them forward. “If it pleases you, allow me to introduce my brother, Danimore and Brahanu’s brother, Julaybeim.” After they exchanged greetings, Pentanimir motioned to their side. “This is Zeta; she’s promised to my brother. And this is—”

“Gali?” Yonas gasped.

Gali leaned away, peering at the bearded man. “Yes, I’m Gali.”

“Release her,” Julaybeim demanded, gripping his arm.

Gali met Yonas’ eyes, as hers filled with tears. “Brother? Yonas! Brother! How? I thought you lost! How?”

“Brother?” Pentanimir muttered, bemused.

“Yes, I told you about him, Pentanimir. When you asked me about my arrival in Nazil, I told you of my brother. I thought he drowned in the Great Sword, but he survived!”

Yonas cupped her face, staring intently into her eyes. “Nazil? You were taken captive, Gali?”

“I was, but no more,” she said, wiping her tears away. “Pentanimir and Danimore saved me from them. Now, I’m promised, and I’ve found you.”

“I—I didn’t know, Gali. I wouldn’t have ever left you in Nazil. I thought they’d killed you…you and Father.”

“I don’t want to think about any of it now. I refuse to allow the horrors of the past to steal away my joy,” she said, pulling Julaybeim closer. “This is my promised, Julaybeim, and his father is the Caretaker of Cazaal. I’m going to be married, Brother. Isn’t this news worth celebrating?”

“It is. I’ve never been as happy as I am in this moment.”

When Yonas regarded Kuhani, he nodded approvingly.

“You’ll be married this day,” Yonas said, kissing her again. “We’ll call for you soon,” he said, hugging her before moving off with the priests.

“Gali, I’ve known and respected your brother for years. When he first arrived in Bandari, he was broken and grief-stricken. Kuhani and Nzuri helped him heal, and he offered prayers for his family often. I never realized that you were one for which he prayed. Forgive me for not reuniting you sooner.”

Gali hugged him, kissing both of his cheeks. “You don’t owe me an apology, Pentanimir. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.” She kissed him again, hugging him tightly.

He smiled. “You need to gather some cloth and tunics and await them at the falls. You’ll be attended to shortly.”

After accepting a hug from Zeta, Pentanimir sat down next to Brahanu. “Our brothers’ elation with their coming bonds is apparent.”

“Everything is happening so fast. I only wish our parents could witness Julaybeim’s ceremony. I’ve never seen him like this before. They are truly a good match.”

“Last I knew, you were promised to another.”

“I’d remain here with you if you’d have me. It might be too soon for our bond, but know that I’m prepared to do so at your word. This pledge is an onus that I’d gladly forgo if you’d have me as your own. These lands would be a memory as I build a life with you and our son. That’s all I’ll ever need, Brahanu.”

Her gaze lowered, wanting to speak the same. Regardless of what lay in her heart, she couldn’t abandon her family. Tioch had already lost his son, she wouldn’t keep his grandson from him.

“It is too soon, Pentanimir. My heart aches for Itai. I won’t betray my husband in death as I did in life. I’ll mourn for him and present Eytan to Tioch as Brahanu Gael, not Brahanu Benoist. Our time will come. If we’re truly meant to be together, the gods will make it so.”

He offered an accepting nod, leaning in to kiss her.

“You’re needed at the falls,” Huname said, approaching with Osmara and Hibret. “Ahni, Aizen, and Antenah are preparing shelters for the bonding night. Will you and Brahanu need one, too?”

“No, Elder, Brahanu will stay in the carriage, and I’ll sleep near the fire. Only our brothers will wed this day.”

“As you say,” Huname said, moving off with the children.

Pentanimir sighed, helping Brahanu to stand. After sliding an arm around her waist, he led her to the falls. He did his best to think of Danimore’s happiness and not of the anguish threatening to consume him.

As they came upon the falls, the couples were standing before the priests and remaining Elders. Pentanimir lowered Brahanu to the bench before taking his place with Danimore. Kuhani’s words were muffled, sounding more a distant echo through the thoughts and regrets besetting Pentanimir’s mind. Hearing cheers from behind him, Pentanimir forced a smile, celebrating their bonds. He trailed behind the couples, as the priests led them to their bonding shelters.

“You’re now released to continue your bond. Let no one disturb this blessed day,” Nzuri said, handing them their cloths.

“You’re now my wife, Lady Ravenot,” Julaybeim said, tenderly kissing her lips. “There’s no greater honor in these lands than the one you’ve bestowed upon me.”

“The honor is mine, my love,” Gali said, and then grinned mischievously. “But our bond isn’t complete.” After hugging everyone, she raised the drape, disappearing behind it. Julaybeim’s smile was broad, offering a nod to the others and following quickly behind.

“I hold no high position, Zeta, but this day we are made one.”

“I’ve never cared about position. All I’ve longed for was you.”

Danimore lifted the drape, allowing her to enter. “Thank you, Brother. You spoke true, all the lands aren’t Nazil, and I’ve married the one I love.”

“It pleases me to see you happy. Go now and complete your bond, you’ve both awaited this time together.”

Before they’d even turned, Julaybeim’s pleasured shouts erupted from the shelter. Pentanimir chuckled, as Julaybeim continuously called out Gali’s name.

“Your brother wastes no time completing his bond. I hope that Gali is easy with him.”

“He’s as his sister.” She smiled. “Had it been our ceremony, it would’ve been much the same.”

“I welcome that time, Brahanu. It’s been too long since I could offer myself to you without haste. You deserve more than I’ve been able to give.”

The men roared, thundering across the landscape, following Draizeyn’s charge. Trackers led the pursuit, pausing only briefly to verify the Bandarians trail. It appeared as quickly as the dawn had come: the sun surrendered to the moon. The darkening sky did little to halt the fervor burning in Draizeyn’s heart. He urged his men faster, thirsting to capture the savages that had eluded him for so long.

Lashing feverishly at his horse, Draizeyn shouted, his eyes aflame with both anticipation and rage. The foot soldiers struggled to keep pace, but neither of them dared to give an indication of the anguish assaulting them. Their bodies ached from the abuse by the terrain, their throats burning for water as the ictus of their heartbeats thrummed loudly in their ears. Some of the soldiers’ boots were blood-sodden, yet they steeled their resolve, forcing the pain from their minds, knowing that if they faltered, Draizeyn’s punishment would be far worse than anything they now suffered.

With a resounding call, the trackers paused, discovering a clearing in the wood. Raising one hand in the air, Draizeyn pulled hard at the reins, ceasing their charge, and examining the new area. His massive warhorse snorted, stomping as the trackers leapt down from their mounts.

Nothing but a statue stood amongst short bushes, encircled by the dense foliage they’d just passed. The soldiers slowed, instinctively readying their weapons as if preparing for an attack. A dreadful heaviness came over every man, although each thought he alone felt it. The Animus Wood was no place for a Nazilian, and the warnings from the Cha cascaded through their minds as the feeling of foreboding encompassed their being.

Draizeyn’s eyes narrowed, urging his mount on toward the effigy, glittering in the fading light. The horse paced forward slowly and deliberately until drawing within ten cubits of the statue. No matter how furiously Draizeyn lashed at his destrier, the horse stayed tethered to the ground.

Draizeyn slipped from its side, striding arrogantly toward the statue. Although infuriated, his visage displayed curiosity. He stared at the statue admiringly, transfixed by the majestic image carved into the black marble.

Slowly, he raised up a hand, but stopped, removing his glove. His fingertips grazed the surface, tracing the exquisite outline of the figure. It was the likeness of a beautiful woman: every feature and curve etched meticulously in the rich dark marble. Even in the fading light, he couldn’t help but appreciate the majestic beauty and countenance of the silent lady.

Draizeyn’s visage became almost tranquil, unable to turn from the woman’s likeness. The exquisite statue was so rich and unblemished that it seemed to be newly made, but the thick flowering vines and creepers surrounding it testified to untold years of exposure. The garment and mantle she wore were as regal and filled with authority as one of the Zaxson’s family might wear, yet not so. Her face appeared to be at once intimately caring, and serene in some remote and untouchable way. Draizeyn had never seen such an image depicted so majestically. He stood both awed and enamored.

“Where have you led us?” he demanded, taking a step back and regaining his composure.

“Sir, this is where their trail led,” the tracker, Cusab said.

Draizeyn straightened his posture, returning to his horse. He couldn’t discern the eruption of emotions flooding his soul, or the disquiet trickling down his spine. “We must proceed with caution. The Cha has warned us about the pythonesses inhabiting these woods. There are powers here, dark powers that are unknown to us,” he said, facing his men. “But our power is greater than anything that might dwell in these woods.” Draizeyn mounted his horse, gesturing forward. “Quickly, find their tracks and bring this to an end. The savages will fall this night.”

Cusab surveyed the area as trackers moved off in opposite directions.

“They went west,” Zarath pointed, peering down at the ground as he walked. When he approached where the statue stood, he stopped, staring down in bemusement.

“Wait, something isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?” Draizeyn asked, dismounting again.

“I’m not certain, Sir, their—their tracks lead in that direction, but do you see here,” he said, motioning to the ground. “These tracks just end.” Zarath shook his head, lowering to his knees. His fingers flittered through a patch of loose dirt, scooping a handful up and bringing it to his face. Before he could inhale, his body tautened, and he collapsed backward to the ground.

“Get up, fool!” Draizeyn shouted.

Zarath’s mouth gaped, his lips trembling to form words that he couldn’t speak. With nothing more than a squeak, he pointed toward the heavens.

Immediately, Draizeyn and his guard backed away, noticing a violet luminescence descending from above them. The men stared in disbelief after the light dimmed, assuming a corporeal form.

The woman was breathtaking: her onyx eyes appearing to look through them as her ebon skin glistened beneath the moon’s light, outlining her form with a radiance.

“I welcome you,” Yemala said. “Why have you come to kneel before the Guardian?”

The sound of her melodic voice was mesmerizing, captivating the guards as they stood motionless.

“Who are you?” Draizeyn demanded. “Nazilians kneel before no one.”

“My name is Yemala, and I’m the pillar of the Guardians. One has knelt before my effigy and summoned me to them. Why have you come?”

“We are of Afferea, and do not acknowledge any ruler other than our own. We, the Guardians, ensure peace throughout Faélondul. Those who dwell within our borders have no ruler other than that of our line. The authority of which you speak doesn’t pertain to anyone beyond my effigy.”

“I’m the Zaxson of Nazil and ruler of all. You’re nothing but a barbaric female, and I’ll waste no more words on you.”

Draizeyn turned, addressing his men. “We came in search of traitors and savages that have fled to the west. We’ll find those defiling our lands and end their treachery. This barbarian will be the first to die if she dares stand in our path. Zarath, lead us to them.”

His guard roared, raising their weapons, but when they stepped forward, Yemala’s gaze halted them and they moved further away.

“We won’t permit you to enter our wood,” she said as quietly as her footfalls on the ground. “The malevolence within your heart radiates through both your demeanor and your words. We know of you, Draizeyn Deaglan Vereux, and all those of your line. The same malefic essence imbued in the first, Oisin, exists within you as well. Angelaris has assured safe passage and protection to those you seek. No one may enter our woods with the intent of doing harm. This you should’ve learned from those who came before you. The Animus Wood isn’t yours to command: we will not allow it.”

“Allow it?” Draizeyn spat. “Allow? Your idiocy is believing that I need your permission.”

He spun around, facing his guard, but before he could issue a command, his men staggered further away. Seven women appeared where there’d been merely one.

Draizeyn whipped around, sneering as he leapt back onto his horse. With a feral shout, he spurred his mount into a gallop that quickly ended.

Raising their hands, the Guardians projected an intersecting numinous energy, halting the horse in full charge. Draizeyn’s teeth gritted, struggling to remain astride as the horse bucked furiously.

The Guardians’ eyes glistened, staring out over the guard, sharing in the thoughts of each.

“Why does your hatred penetrate so deeply?” they asked in unison, the harmonious sound of their ensorcelled voices undulating through the air. “Leave now and no harm will befall you. Remove those you pursue from your memory and return to your homes.”

Draizeyn blinked languidly, shaking his head. An obfuscating haze threatened to claim his mind, invading his every thought. “I don’t know what enchantments you’re attempting to cast, but we’ve come here with one purpose. Those you profess to protect have broken our laws and shall answer for their crimes against Nazil! This doesn’t concern any of you...Guardians . Heed my warning: if you persist in the disruption of our affairs, your fate will be as theirs. These lands now bleed for the greatness of Nazil, and if you don’t stand aside, you’ll bleed as well. It matters not to me if you’re taken as a captive or a corpse,” Draizeyn sneered, leveling his Xtabyren. “Choose well, for either outcome is within your grasp.”

Oloran: “You speak of laws and judgments...” Ahdessa: “…yet you stand before us without regard to our edicts.” Yemala: “We’ve communed with those you pursue...” Zoya: “…and they’ve committed no crime.” Behanish: “Your rule doesn’t extend to them, or to us.”

In unison: “Angelaris has given them safe passage and we, the Guardians, agree with the pronouncements of our AsZar.”

“Who is this Angelaris?” Draizeyn said. “Another barbaric female who believes she can order the Nazilians? Have her show herself if the fear of Nazil doesn’t have her cowering like a mewling child,” Draizeyn mocked, sheathing his sword.

“We will summon her,” Yemala said, diminishing from their perception.

“These barbaric females have wasted time enough. I only allowed them to remain to ascertain their intent. The Cha’s warnings weren’t absent of truth, and these pythonesses have proven that,” Draizeyn said, walking the ordered line of his Chosen. “We mustn’t permit them to speak. Once their voices join, it strengthens whatever spell they attempt to cast. We must act quickly before they can use their dark powers against us.” He stopped, pointing at one of his Chosen.

“Loehring, what form of attack would prove most efficient?” Draizeyn asked, gauging the man’s tactical aptitude.

“Sir, if we must attack, the crossbow would be most effective. If the men ready their quarrels, when the Guardians, I—I mean women return, we can take them unawares.”

Draizeyn nodded, approvingly. “I had thoughts on the same.”

“But Sir, it might be wise to hear what their leader would say. We’ve never dealt with such beings and don’t know of their full capabilities or influence over us. Not even the Cha could speak of that. Without knowing more, I can’t suggest a sure attack against them.”

Draizeyn’s smile faded, glaring at Loehring with narrowed eyes. “And you, Krishon,” he said. “What of your thoughts?”

“I—I believe as Loehring, Sir. These women have caused a stir within me. I’ve never been apprehensive regarding my duty to you or Nazil. Yet I’m finding it difficult to hold the moment, Sir.” His head lowered. “I’ve lost control over my emotions.”

Draizeyn’s face burned with rage. “You’re supposed to be the most seasoned of my guard!” he spat. “You stand here trembling in fear of these barbaric females, these savages! You are two of my finest Chosen,” he shouted, pointing to Krishon and Loehring. “Only Pentanimir and Yannick stand higher. There should be NO fear within you! You speak of emotions: the only emotion you should have is hate.

“Hate for those who defile our people and bring these abominations to our lands. Hate for those who obstruct our path and oppose our laws. The images you should have are those of victory over our enemies, ALL our enemies, not just those of your choosing. You should see these betrayer’s bodies laid out before us!” Draizeyn pounded a fist into his open palm. “These lands now bleed for the greatness of Nazil. This wood will bleed, too.”

Shouts of agreement and chants of “Nazil” sounded throughout the wood. When the Guardians reappeared, Draizeyn motioned to his men.

“Now! Loose them now!”

As the crossbowmen took aim, the guard dropped to one knee. In perfect synchronicity, they unleashed a rain of quarrels, darkening the sky.

“R’ryn sha’low,” [23] the Guardians said in unison, upraising their hands. Their combined voices hung heavy in the air, slowing everything within their vicinity. The Nazilians held in place, witnessing the quarrels hover in mid-air before drifting uselessly to the ground.

Leaning down, one of the women picked up a fallen quarrel. She held it in her palm, turning it over gingerly with her thumb. As she looked up, her gaze rested on Draizeyn, and she stepped forward, never turning from him.

“Is this the one you call a leader?” Draizeyn said.

“Neither your weapons nor words can do us harm, Zaxson of Nazil,” she said, tossing the quarrel at his feet, unaffected. “I’m Angelaris, the AsZar of Afferea. I needn’t hear your words, for I know your heart,” she said, gliding closer. “Those you pursue are beyond your grasp, and have been granted asylum within our wood. We’ve vowed to keep them safe, and it’s a vow that we’ll keep.”

“Those that you claim to protect are traitors to Nazil. The rule of these lands is mine, and I alone decide the fate of those who dwell here. If you stand in our way, your fate will be as theirs. This is a vow that I make.”

Angelaris drew nearer to his position, until they stood but cubits apart. “You speak of traitors. What offense did they commit against you, against Nazil?”

“They’ve broken our laws, corrupted our people, and infect our lands that were once pure. They bring abominations to steal our heritage and taint our future. These are crimes punishable by death!”

Draizeyn’s knuckles whitened, gripping the hilt of his Xtabyren. He thirsted to slit their throats, but the powers they’d already shown momentarily stayed his hand.

“You sit in false rule of these lands, son of Naughton. The corruption of which you speak is found only in your heart and that of your line. Long has the malfeasance entrenched within you covered these lands, sullying all that we’ve cultivated with a pall of darkness. The people of these lands have called out to us again, and you’ll no longer be allowed the power that you’ve usurped.”

Draizeyn ground his teeth, glaring at Angelaris and the seven standing behind her. “False? How dare you speak so to me! I’m the Zaxson of Nazil and the only ruler of these lands. There is none greater than me, and you’ll learn your place just as the savages you’ve attempted to shield.”

“I’ve been the AsZar of Afferea since the 71st year of Xahntas. In that time, never have I borne witness to such detestation. There’s nothing that separates you from those that you hunt. No, these are not your people, Draizeyn Deaglan Vereux. However, through them, a new line of rulers will emerge. The time of your rule and the evils inculcated through it is at an end.”

Draizeyn hollered, raising his Xtabyren high, intending to bring it down across Angelaris’ neck. With merely a wave of her right hand, an emblem upon her palm pulsed, sending the Xtabyren soaring from his grasp. He lunged forward then, his hands aiming for her throat. A radiant burst sent him sailing backward, crashing into his guard. The men charged forward in a rage, only to be driven back by the energies Angelaris projected. With waning courage, many guards fled the clearing, fearing what they couldn’t comprehend.

“Forget the path that led you here, Zaxson of Nazil, and usurper of power,” Angelaris said. “Be gone from these woods lest your people be returned to the depths from which they came. These lands are no longer yours to rule, and another shall take your place as Zaxson, and serve the lands with honor.”

As Angelaris and the Guardians moved further from them, Draizeyn grabbed his Xtabyren from the ground, leaping back to his feet.

“My rule is forever,” he yelled, lunging toward them. “Attack!”

Everything slowed as his guard charged, causing Angelaris and the Guardians to turn.

Resting one hand atop the other, the Guardians rotated them outward, exuding tendrils of deflecting energy. Their eyes closed as their heads raised to the heavens, and with each revolution, the men lost ground.

When the crossbowmen raised their weapons, loud screeches erupted from seemingly every corner of the wood. The Guardians’ motion stilled, recognizing the conversant sound. The Nazilians and slaves alike screamed, running, and ducking from the massive, hovering shadows.

“Are you mad?” Draizeyn roared. “Release them now!”

As the men took aim, a huge beast swooped down, knocking them hard to the ground. Bolts flew through the air without aim, killing the guards nearest to them. Cries of pain and confusion rang out as Arinak and Baldon protectively landed their beasts between the Nazilians and the Guardians.

Draizeyn couldn’t mask his escalating terror, witnessing the enormous creatures’ descent. He struggled to his feet, only to see his men fleeing the wood with the remaining Dessalonians in pursuit.

“K’dulak wyansoon! ” [25] Gavriel shouted, his Desu Beast, Ailis, diving, and clutching the guards with her massive claws. His booming voice echoed through the wood as she flew above the tall trees, releasing the struggling guards to plummet to their deaths. With a resonant screech, Ailis’ maw opened, discharging a luminous miasma. Once it enveloped the fleeing Nazilians, their pace slowed, as if something tangible held them in place. All those ensnared within her mist, moved with stuttered steps, seemingly tethered to the ground.

Angelaris smiled as Arinak and Baldon removed their helms, kneeling before her.

“Children of the Guardians,” Yemala said. “You’ve returned to us.” Resting her palm over the emblem on Arinak’s brow, Yemala combined their marks, merging with him completely. Extending out their arms, the remaining six Guardians drew from their connection, merging their minds with his.

“He is there,” Arinak said, rising and lifting Wosen from Náelon. He immediately lowered to his knees, not meeting the eyes of the deific beings.

The commotion of battle continued in the distance as Yemala rested a hand on Wosen’s shoulder, sharing her energy with him.

“You may rise, my children, all of you,” Yemala said. “You needn’t fear me, son of Hosdaq. I am Yemala, pillar of the Guardians.”

“You—you know me?” he breathed.

“I knew you before the beginning of time, as I yet know your father.”

“He lives? My father lives?”

“As do all those of Bandari,” the Guardians offered in unison.

When Arinak approached Xandi, Thalassa stood, understanding the AsZar’s request. As he lowered her to the ground, she drew him near in a tight embrace.

Thalassa kissed his cheek before kneeling to the ground.

“Arinak, Baldon, join your brothers and quell the Nazilian threat. They’ll destroy all in their path as they flee back to Nazil. Destroy them, as they would’ve destroyed those they hunted.”

Angelaris smiled, motioning for Thalassa to stand. “I’m pleased that you’ve come, Thalassa. The Protectors have prepared you for what might lie ahead.”

“I’ll do whatever you command.”

“Everything will be revealed in time,” Angelaris said. “The Guardians do not command, they merely guide. You must choose your path as the ones who came before you. Come, my children.”

As Angelaris gestured sideward, a large copse of trees appeared to flitter, before giving way for their passage. Angelaris flicked her wrist, summoning an amethyst disc that rested beneath her feet, lighting their path. Once they entered a small cove with wooden benches encircled by bushes and polished black stones, the disc diminished, but Thalassa and Wosen’s curiosity and veneration piqued.

“Thalassa,” Angelaris said, bringing them from their observations. “Though your time with the Protectors has been long, never have you been from our hearts and minds. The great Protectors are your family, and your connection with Arinak is profound.”

“Yes. And you’re his m’eloahnte ,” she said, motioning for them to sit. “The Protectors were removed from our presence, but weren’t absent of our love and guidance. They’ve nurtured you as the Guardians have done to them. At times, you felt your isolation a penance, but that was never so. We protected you as we did Crissu.”

“Crissu? Did my brother come here, AsZar? Does he await me in the wood?”

“Not as you would desire,” Angelaris said as the Guardians appeared from the thicket. “As with each of us, Crissu chose the path he wished to walk. We couldn’t turn him from that desire, and understood that choice. We mourned for him then, as we do so now.”

“Crissu has come to us and gone as all do who’ve fallen in these lands.”

“Fallen?” Thalassa shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “No, he can’t be dead. Please.”

“You’ve mourned for what you knew, but your heart wouldn’t accept. Crissu has found the peace in death that eluded him in life. He awaits you now, at your father’s side.”

“But why?” Thalassa wept. Wosen enfolded her within his arms as she cried into his chest. “Why were we taken from our mother?”

“It was necessary. When the Nazilians destroyed Hyorin, Tesu guided you to the Protectors. Your importance to these lands is immeasurable, Thalassa. We didn’t take your mother from you. The Nazilians captured her and she serves them still.”

“My importance? What about my mother? Where is she?”

Before Angelaris could answer, Wosen spoke up, equally confused. “Nazil? Her mother is a captive, AsZar?”

“She is, and many others that you know. We’ll speak of her liberation and the part you’ll have in it if you elect to do so.”

“I’ll do whatever you command. Please, tell me what to do, and I’ll see it done.”

“In time, young one,” the Guardians harmonized.

“Young one?” he gasped. “Only one person calls me that. Is she Thalassa’s mother?”

When Angelaris nodded, he weakened, overcome by desolation. “No. No. My old mum? No,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Have you seen my mother?” Thalassa asked, clutching his arms. “Do you know Hushar Saussai?”

“Thalassa, I didn’t know. Hushar took care of me after the Nazilians’ abuse. She told me about the Guardians and Dessalonians. When—when she said I reminded her of her son, I didn’t understand, I—I didn’t know.”

“Wosen, you’ve become greater than we once believed. The suffering you endured has formed you into what you should’ve always been.”

“You caused my suffering?” he asked.

“No,” Angelaris said. “The choices you made caused your suffering. It wasn’t the Guardians will or desire to have it so. We warned of the danger, but when the pale serpent beckoned, you did answer.”

“I—I didn’t know, AsZar, I didn’t understand then.”

“You do now, and because of you, the Protectors have returned. Had Nazil not taken you, your words mightn’t have reached them. The anguish you suffered was due to your sins and disobedience. However, through that suffering, you’ve become the man that you were destined to be. Once you are ready, you’ll join Thalassa’s brother and return to Nazil.”

Thalassa’s brow creased, raising up on the bench. “My brother, AsZar? You told me that he died.”

“Crissu wasn’t your only brother. Did he not tell you about the others?”

“There are two who have come with the Bandarians. Of them, the Chosen will lead.”

“I don’t understand,” Thalassa said. “Who are they?”

“The first is Pentanimir, son of Manifir, and First Chosen of Nazil.”

“Pentanimir?” Wosen’s asked, dumfounded. “Pentanimir is Thalassa’s brother?”

“And he’s not alone.” As she motioned behind her, a hooded man stepped into the clearing. When he removed his cowl, both Thalassa and Wosen stood.

“He’s Nazilian,” Wosen said, pushing Thalassa protectively behind him.

“No, no wait, wait, Wosen.” She stepped forward haltingly, examining his every feature. “I know you,” she breathed. “I—I remember your face. I was very young, but I remember. You came with Father. You came to Hyorin.”

“Yes. It was long ago, Thalassa, too long, and I’ve searched for you endlessly.”

Temian reached into a pocket, pulling the dark wooden figure from inside. As her eyes fell upon it, she rushed forward, drawing him into a hug.

He covered her face with kisses, returning the tight hug, nearly going weak from it. “I offer myself to you completely,” Temian said. “You’ve reunited me with my family and I’ll be forever grateful.”

“It was your purity of heart and determination that led her to you, Temian. There’s a great need for all the children of Manifir,” the Guardians said. “Your father beseeched us long ago, and in turn, we’ll do the same of you.”

Wosen’s head cocked in confusion, approaching where they stood. “Temian? By the gods, you look like Pentanimir. Your face is the same.”

Temian smiled, nodding. “He’s my brother.”

As Wosen moved closer, a fierce wind nearly caused him to topple. The surrounding trees gave way, allowing the Desu Beast’s descent.

“The Nazilians have been destroyed,” Arinak said as they removed their helms, bowing before the Guardians. The Desu Beast’s wings extended as they screeched, offering obeisance to the divine beings.

“You’ve suffered in your exile, Protectors of Afferea,” Angelaris said. “The sin that weighs heavy upon your heart was forgiven long ago. Rise now and merge again with the ones who gave you life.”

“We’ll serve you with honor and forever be at your side,” they vowed.

Pentanimir drew Brahanu closer, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. They sat near the fire, barely speaking to each other. However, words weren’t needed. Just sharing this closeness and allowing him to hold her was enough, and more than he felt he deserved. Although he longed to be with her, he refused to burden Brahanu with such desires. Their fates were abundantly clear, no matter how much he wished it otherwise. After witnessing his brother’s bond, Pentanimir lamented what awaited him. Brahanu was his love, yet he was pledged to another. His breath nearly stopped at the thought, until Vot’s voice claimed his attention.

“It warms us that your brother and his wife will join us, Pentanimir,” Vot said. “Will the others remain as well?”

“Julaybeim is going to return to Cazaal, but Gali will remain a while longer. He needs to inspect the village and begin to rebuild.”

“Aren’t there men to complete the task in his absence?”

“There are, but as the Caretaker’s son, Julaybeim must meet his obligations not only to his village, but also to his family.”

Huname nodded, glancing at the two. “What about you and Brahanu?”

“Our obligations also take precedence over our desires. Brahanu will return home with Eytan. She’s needed in Cazaal, and I’m needed in Nazil.”

“Obligations, needs, desires,” Huname began. “Most things of the greatest importance also take great effort. We sacrifice some desires for what appears to be the greater good. At times, if we’re patient, a different path might present itself that we hadn’t yet considered.”

Pentanimir feigned a smile. “Perhaps, Elder Huname. We’ll take leave and allow you to continue your preparations. The babes need their mother, and I promised to assist Nurul with the watch.”

“You need to drink the herbs, Brahanu, and I’ll bring Eytan and Tardison. Do you want me to send Ameya as well?”

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

“Rest now, and I’ll bring them to you. If Osmara is available, I’ll ask her to come while I assist Nurul.”

Brahanu didn’t speak, she reached for his hands, searching his eyes for the answers welling in her heart.

“Rest,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips, and then walking away from the carriage. Though he yearned to be near her, he needed to accept the truth. His place was in Nazil. After reporting his uncle and brother’s honorable deaths, he’d fulfill his pledge. This was his duty, and he’d see it done.

The smell of frying fish caused Pentanimir to stir. His back ached from the hard ground as he rose up, stretching his tired limbs. Only he and a few other guards still slept near the fire after their watch. With a deep yawn, he stood, shaking the leaves from his pallet.

“Good morrow, Brother, how was your night?” Danimore said.

“Not as good as yours.”

Danimore blushed. “It—it was like nothing that I’ve ever known.”

“I’m pleased for you. I’ve always wanted your happiness above even my own.”

“And I, yours. Why aren’t you sleeping near Brahanu?”

“It wasn’t my place to do so,” Pentanimir said, folding up his blanket.

“Not your place? What about Tardison?”

“Dani, you know that I love Brahanu and our son, but I’m not her husband. She needs to heal, and I must return to Nazil and answer the pledge. This war hasn’t altered my obligations.”

“Nazil? No, Pentanimir, you should stay here with us. No one knows that we’re here. Let them think we died during the war. There’s nothing left for either of us in the white city but misery.”

“It’s always been my duty to return. Even if Brahanu had accepted me, I couldn’t ignore what I’ve pledged to do. If the gods are good, I’ll return to the wood in three to four seasons.”

“Ah, good morrow, Pentanimir,” Antenah said, handing him some fried fish and bread, unaware of his interruption. “There’s mead in the barrel and my mother has tea. It’s good that you’ve awakened, we’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Thank you, Antenah. I’ll ensure our carriages are ready.”

“Brother, you don’t truly mean to return to Nazil,” Danimore said.

“I do,” he said, pensively. “It’s my sacrifice. Now, tell me about Zeta and Raithym. How are they?”

Danimore’s eyes rolled. “Zeta and Gali are helping Brahanu with the babes while we load the carts.”

Pentanimir laughed, wiping grease from his mouth. “Tending the babes and talking about their husband’s skill as lovers, no doubt. You and Julaybeim were quite loud. I’m glad that your shelters were far from the camp.”

“It—was—enjoyable.”

“Indeed.” He winked. “You’re blessed, Dani, all of you,” Pentanimir said, tossing his bone in the fire. “Now let’s get our carriages loaded and assist with the carts.”

“All right, but I want to discuss your return to Nazil.”

Pentanimir spun around, causing Danimore to nearly collide with him. “There’s nothing to discuss. Brahanu made her choice, and I have my duty. You’re to stay here and keep them safe. This is your duty.” His tone brooked no debate. “I’m not merely returning to answer my pledge. Do you understand?”

Danimore sighed, nodding.

“Good. I’d like you and Zeta to command Brahanu’s carriage and I’ll take Gali, Julaybeim, and Ameya in mine.”

“What? Brahanu would want you with her.”

“It’s not for her to decide,” Pentanimir said louder than he intended. “Forgive me, Dani. Brahanu told me of her heart and her inability to share it with me. It’s taken time, but I understand and accept her decision. She needs time, Brother, time to heal. My love for her will never fade, but I’ll not cause either of us to suffer needlessly. You’ll command her carriage.”

“As you say, Pentanimir.”

After the carts were loaded and tied, Vot ignited a torch from the eternal fire. He walked to each, lighting their torches from his. Snuffing the fire, Aizen and Ahni mounted their horses, trotting to the front. The twins upraised their hands and began moving toward the west wood.

The constant bumps and jerking from the uneven ground awakened Brahanu from her sleep. She glanced around woozily, checking her son’s baskets.

“Did you rest well?” Zeta asked, nursing Eytan.

“Too well, I fear. Are we moving again?”

“We’re heading deeper into the wood. Eytan was hungry, but I didn’t want to wake you. Would you like something to eat?”

“I’m thirsty, but have no appetite for food.”

“We have some fresh water,” Zeta said, handing her the skin.

“Thank you. I thought that Pentanimir would wake me before we took leave.”

Zeta looked at her with empathy, rocking Eytan in her arms. “Pentanimir isn’t driving the carriage.”

“Why isn’t he with Tardison and me?”

“He didn’t think that you wanted him to. Dani says that he’s returning to Nazil soon, and no one can turn him from it.” Zeta rested a hand atop hers, sharing in her grief. “Pentanimir doesn’t feel that you share his feelings, and he doesn’t want to complicate your life with his desires. He’s—he’s going to fulfill his pledge to Denotra.”

“What? No, Zeta, No. He can’t, not now, please. He took my words contrary to their meaning. I want to marry Pentanimir, but needed time. It’s too soon after losing Itai, and I must return to Cazaal with Eytan. I don’t want to lose Pentanimir, surely, he must realize this.” Tears lined Brahanu’s eyes with the dolor pervading her.

“He promises to return within three to four seasons. Mayhaps you could wed at that time. He loves you, Brahanu, and doesn’t want to be without you and his son.”

“No. Don’t you see? If he marries Denotra, I’ll be without him always. What about our son and Eytan? Did he mention them?”

“Dani is going to keep all of us safe. When you return to Cazaal, we’ll take care of Tardison. We’re going to take care of each other. I promise—”

The carriages abruptly stopped, causing Eytan to almost tumble from Zeta’s arms. Steadying herself, she handed him to Brahanu and then stepped out of the carriage.

“Gods,” Zeta said as Danimore protectively pushed her behind him.

“Remain calm!” Vot shouted, stepping down from his cart with upraised hands. “Don’t draw your swords! Remain calm!”

“What are we to do?” Hosdaq whispered, staring at the dozens of archers surrounding the caravan.

“I don’t know, Elder. If these are the people said to dwell in the wood, they won’t harm us.”

“Father,” Aizen said. “Here. Someone approaches.”

A small hooded figure advanced toward the caravan, stopping in front of the twins.

“Do not fear, people of Bandari. I am Yemala, pillar of the Guardians. You are now within the borders of Afferea.”

Jahno leaned back, clenching his eyes shut, struggling against the pleasures of Daracus’ intimate kiss. He was adept at his oral pleasuring regardless of how Jahno fought against it. Gods, why must this overwhelm me so. I mustn’t take pleasure in this , Jahno thought futilely.

“I’ve longed for this, Jahno,” Daracus said, bestriding him. “I love the feel of you.” Daracus moaned, moving Jahno’s hands up to his chest. As he began his stimulation, Daracus called out his name, increasing his motion and bringing them both to completion.

With a staggered breath, Jahno turned his head, refusing to look at his master. Shame covered him as it always did. Not only in committing the act, but more so, the pleasure he received from it.

“Do you require anything else of me, milord?”

Daracus smiled, snuggling in beside him. “I desire you with me.” Laying his head on his chest, Daracus caressed him tenderly, enjoying their closeness.

“There’s much taking place in the lands, my love,” Daracus said. “I’m concerned about some of our men. Oxilon has already fallen, and my father has yet to return. Now, with my sister’s illness, I have only you at my side. You don’t understand how much that means to me, Jahno. I need to portray my strength to our people, but you know of my weaknesses,” he paused, rising up to meet his eyes. “If Father would allow, I’d keep you with me always. I love you, Jahno,” he whispered, drawing him down for a kiss. When a loud thumping sounded from the door, Daracus’ face immediately darkened.

“I said no one should disturb me!” Daracus shouted, rising in the bed.

“Pardons, Sir,” a guard called from the corridor. “We’ve received word about your father. A great threat approaches Nazil.”

Daracus leapt up from the bed, pulling the drapes closed. “Stay here and remain silent,” he ordered, covering his nakedness.

“What news of my father?” Daracus demanded, flinging the door open. After reclining on his divan, he sipped from his cup, watching the guard’s apprehensive approach.

“My…my lord, if the reports are true, much has happened near the cursed wood.”

“I asked about my father, Rowan.”

He bowed nervously. “Yes, Sir, a—a bird arrived from Lempol. They—what they report seems impossible. Slaves—Nazilian slaves fled to Lempol, slaves that once accompanied your father. They tell of great winged beasts, pythonesses, and our men being dropped from the skies. Some were trampled or mauled. I—what—it’s your father, my lord. They say that he’s among them.”

“What do you mean, Rowan? Do we now take the words of slaves as fact?”

“No, Sir, you don’t understand. They, the Caretaker of Lempol, they have your father—his—the Zaxson, my lord, he’s fallen.”

“No…you lie! My father will return to Nazil victorious. There aren’t any in these lands who can defeat him!”

Covering his mouth, Jahno suppressed a gasp. He didn’t know whether to rejoice or mourn the Zaxson’s death. He listened intently, grabbing up his clothes and dressing. Daracus would be in no mood for him, and he feared what might happen.

“The Cha sent the message, my lord.” Rowan’s hand trembled, extending out the parchment and then quickly moving away. “They’re searching for more fallen guards and bringing them back to the village. Only the Zaxson and Chosen were brought to the temple. There’s no doubt, my lord. All of Nazil mourns with you.”

Daracus crumpled the scroll into a ball as tears welled in his eyes. The anger and pain surged up from the pit of his stomach, expelling in a feral yell. Snatching the bottle of wine from the table, he hurled it across the room, just missing the guard’s head.

“Get out!” Daracus shouted. His body trembled with copious emotion, struggling to maintain control.

After the guard fled his chamber, Daracus dropped to his knees. He couldn’t stop his tears or contain the sorrow overwhelming him. Daracus’ cries filled the chamber, causing Jahno to pause. He’d never witnessed anything like this from Daracus, and even knowing his character, his grief touched him.

Jahno pulled back the drapes to see Daracus kneeling on the floor, wailing like a lost child. His heart ached not for the man, but for the pain welling inside of him. He does have a heart after all, Jahno thought. I must do something, or everyone in the citadel could suffer. Jahno finished lacing his trousers, going to Daracus’ side.

He was hesitant, but lowered to the floor, drawing Daracus into a comforting hug. What am I supposed to do? What would ease the heart of someone I truly loved? Jahno contemplated, desperately needing a way to calm Daracus and keep his pain from turning into anger.

After reciting a silent prayer, Jahno leaned away, cupping his face in his hands. When Daracus met his eyes, Jahno kissed him, feeling Daracus give in to that closeness. This is what he wants, Jahno thought, embracing him again.

“I’m sorry, milord, and I grieve with you. Your father was a great and honorable man. We’ll find those responsible and they’ll pay for what they’ve done,” Jahno whispered in his ear.

“They’ll suffer for this,” Daracus wept. “All of them will suffer.”

“Come, milord, we must make you ready. The Council will arrive soon and you must appear unflappable when you face them,” Jahno said, helping him to stand.

“You’ve always been there for me, Jahno. I know that you didn’t desire me in the beginning, but I’ve always loved you. It was never my intention to hurt you in any way. If I could, you alone would be mine as I’m truly yours,” Daracus said, wiping his eyes and kissing him again. Daracus removed his robe, nearly collapsing on the divan.

Jahno couldn’t speak, not now. Pouring a glass of wine, he contemplated what would soothe and comfort Daracus’ heart. As he washed and dressed him, Daracus continued to weep.

“Milord, when you first revealed yourself to me, I didn’t wish it. But my refusal was wrought from fear and the heartache I felt for my family. I’d never experienced such emotion or sharing myself with another, and...and the punishment for my refusal haunts me still this day. But over time, I enjoyed becoming one with you. Although I’ve been afraid to speak the words, I do love you. I didn’t want to admit that due to your relationship with Micah. It angered me to share you with another when my heart is for you alone. I know my words mean little, but I offer them to you anyway,” Jahno said, hoping his deception was convincing.

A wistful smile crossed Daracus’ face as he clasped his hand. “Your words mean more than you know. Micah could never replace you in my heart. He was only with me for a short time until I found you. The thought that you’d share my heart warms me in ways I can’t express. With everything surrounding me now, this news offers my heart hope.”

Pentanimir sat alone, listening to the soothing sounds of the falls. He was desperate to understand his true purpose, what the Guardians would have of him. He struggled with his love for Brahanu and his duty for the lands and Nazil. As his eyes closed, he thought of Denotra. She wasn’t who he wanted, but he was pledged and had agreed to honor it.

“Honor,” he whispered. A word spoken too often in Nazil, yet never truly having meaning.

His eyes reopened with Brahanu’s words repeating in his mind. He understood her apprehension about their marriage, and agreed with the sagacity of her choice. It wasn’t for him to force his desires upon her. Their son was safe, but he’d soon be forced to leave them both. Could his heart endure such a separation? Could he truly leave them here and marry someone as vile as Denotra? Pentanimir decided that the choice was no longer his. For too long, he’d put himself and their love at the forefront of his life. With Itai, he regretted it most of all. In truth, he respected Brahanu’s husband. Howbeit, could he have truly, yet still made love to his wife? The uncertainty of it pained him.

Pentanimir thought himself a different person…a better person. He was First Chosen, and a true man of honor as was his father. He, too, loved another, yet did his duty for Nazil. “Were you as tormented and conflicted as me, Father?”

A small sigh escaped his lips while he contemplated the decisions made, and honor lost. “Brahanu. Eytan. Protect,” he said aloud, as if needing to hear the words from his own lips.

He’d keep the promise that he made to Itai, to his friend, to Brahanu’s husband. He’d never consider him as any less. Pentanimir recognized that returning to Nazil was a way for him to honor that which he’d promised. Only with accepting his rule could he keep Brahanu safe. That rule could only be established through his pledge to Denotra. The irony of that made him laugh aloud. The two were incongruous, yet this is his reality. The first of many sacrifices , he told himself. He had to know where the Nazilian’s hand would next move to keep those he loved from harm. If that meant being without Brahanu and Tardison at his side, he’d make that sacrifice.

He closed his eyes again, feeling the weight of his obligations hang heavy about his shoulders. He wouldn’t continue to fight against the truth or torment himself with thoughts of love and happiness. Hosdaq was right when he talked to him in Bandari. It was Pentanimir’s duty to return to Nazil, his onus alone, and he’d honor that which he agreed.

When he turned, a smile found his face, although a wistful one. Seeing Hibret solidified his contemplation. She reminded him of the importance of his return to Nazil and the cruelties of his people. It took but one to begin a change. He endeavored to be that one.

“I’ve found you,” Hibret said.

“It wasn’t my intention to hide,” Pentanimir said, motioning for her to sit. “Do you need me?”

“Well…uhm…I’ve heard that you’re returning to Nazil. Is that true?”

“It is. Is something wrong?”

Her eyes lowered before she met his again. “No, not wrong. I—I’m just asking because of Wosen. I know what he’s done, I do, but—but that’s not him. I should’ve seen how troubled he was. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone or—or cause this war.” She sighed. “That’s not the man that either of us know, not the one I love. My heart is still his, Pentanimir, and I don’t care what’s happened, I still want us to marry.”

He draped an arm around her, lifting her face to his. He could feel her desperation and love as if it was his own.

“If Wosen is in Nazil, I promise to find a way to bring him back to you, Hibret, but it won’t be as you remember him. He’s suffered in the hands of the Nazilians, and their methods are…brutal , especially with those of a blended heritage. The scars you’ll see without will be infinitesimal to those he’ll carry within.”

“My father warned me of the same. Beneath it all, whatever they’ve done, he’s still my love. I’ll remember him as he was, and accept him as he is.”

“I promise. A love like yours isn’t often found in these lands,” he said, mourning the loss of his own. “Come now, evening meal will be ready soon, and your mother will look for you. We mustn’t worry her.”

Hibret accepted his offered arm, returning to the encampment. As they arrived, Pentanimir paused, observing the villagers’ preparations: marking the ground for their new homes, digging a pit for the eternal fire, cutting wood, and preparing meals. Was this how it was in the beginning? When they first built Bandari, he thought, walking toward Julaybeim. Hibret kissed his cheek, and then moved off to find her mother.

“What are you working on, Julaybeim?”

He gazed up at him, wiping the sweat from his face and chest. “The Elder Vot needs wood for fencing to contain the animals.”

“Indeed,” Pentanimir said, grabbing planks and stacking them.

Julaybeim slowed his pace, peering at him from the corner of his eye. “Pentanimir, will you be visiting Brahanu soon?”

Pentanimir paused, tossing the plank. “Not this day. Your sister is healing and needs to rest. The babes tire her, and I’ll allow her this time. There’s much on her mind and heart, and I won’t complicate it with my presence.”

“Complicate? What’s that to mean? Even I know that her heart is yours. When I learned about her betrayal, it angered me…it does still, but Itai isn’t here, you are. I mourn for him, but I mourn for Brahanu, too. How can you ignore her pain and reason your way out of her life?”

“What I know, young lord, is that your sister needs time. She’s told me the same, and I’ve finally agreed. Here, she’ll have that time. As she returns to Cazaal and meets her obligations, I’ll do the same in Nazil.”

Julaybeim dropped his saw, standing to face him. “I’ve heard what awaits you in Nazil. How are you supposed to care for my sister and your son when you’re married to the Zaxson’s daughter?”

“Don’t allow your tongue to overrule your mind.”

Julaybeim’s jaw tightened as he took a steadying breath.

“Julaybeim, Denotra isn’t the only reason why I need to return to Nazil. If Faélondul’s edicts are to change, we need people in place to implement those changes. I know many men of influence that could aid me in this. The Animus Wood is a haven for the people here, but what about the multitude in the lands? Doesn’t their fate matter to you?”

“It does,” he conceded. “If this is something that you can truly bring to fruition, tell me your plans and receive my aid.”

“I couldn’t think of anyone better to assist me. Firstly, you must return to Cazaal and aid the people there.”

“What about my parents? Surely, they’ve already begun repairing what’s been destroyed. My aid might come sooner than you’d think.”

“As you say, young lord,” he relented, unable to meet his eyes in that moment. “You’re right, and I’ll visit with Brahanu and Tardison for a while. Regardless of anything else, they’re the most important in my life.”

Julaybeim nodded as Pentanimir proceeded toward the carriages. He wasn’t certain what to say to Brahanu, but he couldn’t be moved. At that moment, he realized that he’d kept his distance more for that reason than any other. But the absence of her and his son only compounded his sorrow and feeling of loss. Being apart from them hadn’t made him stronger, it weakened him.

“Your son has a good appetite, Pentanimir,” Yeshe said as he approached the carriages. “He’s going to be strong like his father.”

Pentanimir returned her smile, reaching for Tardison. “Thank you for helping to care for him. You’re more a blessing than you know.”

“As are you,” Yeshe said, stepping from the carriage. “I appreciate you speaking with Hibret. She’s been inconsolable since learning about Wosen. You’ve given her heart hope, and that means much to her father and me.”

He nodded, gripping her hand. “I meant what I said, Yeshe. If Wosen is in Nazil, I’ll ensure that he’s reunited with Hibret. After what he’s suffered, it’ll take the whole of Bandari to assist in his healing. He’ll never be the same, but the love that permeates this village will aid in his recovery, and help him reclaim what he once was.”

“We’ve already forgiven him and pray for his safety.” She smiled, motioning for him to sit. “Sahma is looking for you, too. She spent nearly three turns of the glass braiding Brahanu’s hair. Now, she wants to braid yours.”

Pentanimir was finally able to laugh, considering the young girl and the purity of her heart. “I’ll find her once I’m finished. There’s no other that I’d want to groom my hair. She’ll give it a good washing and brushing, too. It’s grown longer than I like, and she’ll need to tend it.”

She smiled, nodding. “I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

“Thank you, Yeshe,” he said, moving to sit next to Brahanu.

Her entire face brightened as she reached for his hand. It had been too long since they could be alone. Seeing her smile made him long for her touch…for all of her.

“I’d hoped to see you, Pentanimir. Gali says that I’m getting stronger and should be able to walk without help soon.”

“Your color returns as well,” he said, admiring her smooth, mahogany complexion. When his eyes rested on her lips, he moistened his own, fondly recalling the taste and feel of them.

“Your hair looks beautiful,” he said, admiring the small braids. “You look like your mother.”

Brahanu blushed. “She wore hers like this often,” she said, stroking a stone dangling from one of the ends. “I miss them.”

“I know,” he said, turning away. “How—how is Eytan? He looks to be feeding better now.”

“He is, and growing stronger with each sun. He’s looking more like his father, too. I hope that’ll bring some joy to Tioch’s heart.”

“Me as well. Once Julaybeim returns to Cazaal and ensures it’s safe, he’ll come for the both of you with a contingent of sentries. They’ll see you home safely.”

“Julaybeim? What about you, Pentanimir?”

“It’s not my place…not this time. I doubt that the Cazaalians would welcome me so soon after this war. I’ll visit Spero and then return to Nazil. I’ve told you about my plans and what lies ahead.”

“Yes, you told me, but you never asked my opinion on the matter. How can you leave me and your son so easily?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Pentanimir kissed his son, caressing his patch of silvery-white hair before lowering him into his basket. He dreaded his next words, but needed to speak them.

“On this, Brahanu, neither of our opinions truly matter. I’m the Caretaker of Spero and pledged to the Zaxson’s daughter. I offered to forego all of this for you, to remain here with you and our son, and you didn’t want that. It took time, but I realized the wisdom in your words. I’ve done all that I can here, and need to return to Nazil. Nothing in these lands will ever change without those willing to initiate that change. I love you more now than ever before, but my heart can’t bear being near you and not with you,” he said, standing to leave.

“Doesn’t our love have meaning?”

“Brahanu, our love is what drives me to honor my duty. Just as you were to return to Cazaal and leave Tardison and me, I must return to Nazil. Learning about Itai doesn’t alter what you said. That’s where your heart truly leaned, and I’ve accepted that.” Pentanimir leaned forward, kissing her softly. “My love for you is everlasting, and it’ll never leave my heart. What I do for Faélondul, I do for our family most of all. Denotra awaits our bond, and I need to see it through.”

“No, Pentanimir, marry me. I’m ready now. Please. Don’t leave me here alone.”

As the sun surrendered to the moon, Pentanimir returned to the encampment. His hands and back ached after harvesting trees throughout the evening. He did whatever he could to keep his mind from Brahanu and her expression when he left her.

“May I join you, First Chosen?” Hosdaq asked, handing him a water skin.

Pentanimir nodded, turning up the skin and sitting near the fire.

“When do you plan to leave, Pentanimir?”

“No longer than two suns. Julaybeim and I will travel together as far as Spero. I’ll ensure he arrives in Cazaal safely before taking the Great Sword toward Nazil.”

“Will it be safe for you to travel alone? The humans will be wary of Nazilians.”

“If my guard has returned to Spero, I’ll have them accompany me. The Cha will send a bird to alert Nazil of my coming. Denotra should be pleased.”

“Will you truly fulfill your pledge? Even after everything that’s happened?”

“Elder, not so long ago, you alone opposed my remaining in Bandari. You reminded me about my duty to Nazil. How can you now question me honoring it?”

“I’ve been a fool regarding many things. Duty and honor plagued my mind and wiped all else from it. I told you of my heart when you arrived in the wood. Now, tell me what lies in yours, son of Manifir?”

“My heart? Again, you speak of hearts, Elder. My heart aches for these lands. It aches for those not within the wood. It aches for my son and his mother. My heart tells me to return to Nazil, and my mind knows the same.”

Hosdaq’s gaze lowered. “You speak true, and I can’t deny what I said, however, I know that you love Brahanu. Both of you share a special connection that shouldn’t be allowed to wither. Tardison is here, and he’ll need both of his parents.”

“My love for one can’t supersede my love for the many. What I do for Nazil, I do for Tardison, Eytan, and all others of Faélondul. My love for Brahanu can no longer keep me from my purpose, nor can I keep her from hers.”

“Pentanimir—” Hosdaq’s words caught in his throat as a chilling zephyr swept over them. Flaming tendrils from the eternal fire lashed out, whipping around them as they attempted to stand, only to be forced back by the powerful gusts.

A cacophony of panicked cries echoed through the darkness when loud screeches resonated throughout encampment.

“Hosdaq!” Osmara shouted, clutching Malkia’s hand as she struggled to his side. He labored to his feet, drawing them defensively against him.

Pentanimir unsheathed his Xtabyren, and then staggered back, witnessing a luminous orb drifting toward the fire.

“Do not fear, people of Bandari,” the Guardians spoke melodiously, the orb encasing them diminishing, and revealing the seven held within. “The Guardians are among you: we here before you, and those from above.”

As they cast their gaze upward, the faint, violet hues of the Protectors shone brightly in the darkened sky. The winds swept over them again, as the beasts began their descent.

Shrieks of horror pierced the darkness when the beasts came into view. Bandarians fled in droves, only to topple as the ground trembled beneath the beast’s weight. As they scurried to their feet, Ilka’s powerful screech skittered them to a stop, before she rested at the feet of her master.

“Be still, people of Bandari, no harm will come from the Protectors,” the Guardians said in unison. “Afferea is their home, and they’ve returned to us.”

As the villagers began to quiet, Arinak dismounted Xandi, lowering Angelaris to face them.

“I am Angelaris, AsZar of Afferea. “Do not fear those who’ve come in aid to you. The Protectors are of the Guardians, and they’ll assist in ending the turmoil present in the lands. Long have you spoken of the great Protectors as myth and legend. See now that they’re real, and stand before you.”

Pentanimir sheathed his sword, moving forward in awe. Slowly, the Bandarians returned, their fear dissipating, being replaced with a palliative, serene warmth.

The Guardians glided forward with Angelaris as she motioned to Pentanimir. “There’s much to be revealed,” Angelaris said. “Son of Manifir, bring forth your son.”

For a moment, he said nothing, only staring at the enchantingly beautiful woman. “Tar—Tardison?” he finally asked.

“There is no other.”

When he turned, rushing to the carriage, Angelaris regarded Hosdaq.

“Son of Wesleyon, come forth with your wife.”

Hosdaq’s eyes didn’t leave hers as he squeezed Osmara’s hand, stepping forward.

“We’ve watched over you and known your hearts. Release the guilt of your past and embrace the blessings of the future,” Angelaris said. “That future began as you felt your life at its end. The choices you’ll soon make will shape not only your life, but also many in the lands. With you, son of Wesleyon, a new line can begin.”

Angelaris smiled, gesturing to Osmara. “The life that grows within you.”

“I—I’m going to have a child?” Osmara breathed.

“You’re going to have many. It’s not merely what will be, it’s also what has been.”

Baldon nodded, lifting someone from Náelon’s back. The villagers shielded their eyes from the fire’s light, attempting to make out the figure in the darkness.

Hosdaq released Osmara’s hand, squinting toward the fire. His steps felt weighted, the ictus of his heart thumping in his chest as he walked forward, matching the figure’s pace.

“It—it can’t be.” Hosdaq gasped. “By the gods, it can’t be. Wosen? Is it truly my son? Wosen!” he shouted, running forward and gripping him in a crushing hug.

A cacophony of voices erupted all at once, as the Bandarians converged on the two.

Hosdaq covered Wosen’s face with kisses. “Gods…my son…my son,” Hosdaq muttered. “Forgive me, Wosen, please, forgive me. I was wrong. I should’ve done more and told you everything from the beginning. It’s my fault, and I don’t blame you for what’s happened. I love you.”

Wosen shook his head, hugging him tighter. “No. You didn’t fail with me, I failed the both of us. I’m sorry, Father. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I beg for it anyway. I’m sorry for what I’ve done, and everything I’ve caused. I love you and Malkia. Please forgive me.”

“We forgave you long ago,” Hosdaq said, and then looked up to Angelaris. “Thank you for bringing him back to me. Thank you.”

“Wosen?” Hibret called out over the clamor of the crowd. Forcing her way through, she continued her call, trying to be heard over the others. “Wosen!”

As Wosen bent to hug his sister, Hibret’s voice froze him in place.

“Go to her,” Hosdaq said. “She still loves you, Wosen, as we all do.”

Wosen blanched, rising to see Hibret pushing forward. She was more beautiful than he’d remembered, and that beauty caused him to think of his own appearance. Raising a hand to his face, he felt the deep scars upon it. He took a step back, but Hosdaq nudged him forward and into her arms.

“I’m sorry, Hibret,” he whimpered in her ear. “I never meant to hurt you. Thoughts of you kept me whole when…when I was in Nazil. I’ll never stop loving you,” he said, pushing back from her grasp. “I’m not the man that I was, and know that I’ve lost you. I didn’t know then what I know now, and I’m sorry. I wish I could change it, and be the man that you love, and not the monster the Nazilians created.”

As he lowered his head, she lifted it back up to hers, leaning in to kiss him. “I don’t care about anything but you, Wosen,” she said, kissing the scars on his face. “You’re going to be my husband, and I’m grateful that the Guardians returned you to me.”

“AsZar,” Pentanimir said, kneeling with Tardison.

“Sons of Manifir,” Angelaris said, looking over at Danimore and moving forward with the Guardians. We’ve been awaiting this time. Extending out their right arms, the Guardians rested a hand on Tardison. The subsequent illumination was nearly blinding, flooding the encampment with ambient light. Pentanimir’s knees weakened, struggling to remain upright. He kept hold of his son, his eye’s clenched tight until the light began to dissipate.

When he regarded Tardison again, his mouth gaped, staring down at the mark embossed on his palm.

“You were told about your son’s importance,” Angelaris said. “Tardison is of the Guardians, and needed at their side.”

“What?” Brahanu said. “What does that mean?”

“Be at ease, Brahanu. You’ve done well, and will continued to be blessed. You were chosen as Tardison’s mother as Pentanimir was for his sire. Until the lands are prepared, Tardison will remain in Afferea with us.”

“Afferea? No. Tardison needs to be with me and his brother. You can’t take my son?”

“Your place is in Cazaal, wife of Itai,” the Guardians said. “Tardison will remain with us.”

Brahanu shook her head, lifting Tardison from Pentanimir’s arms. “No, he’s my son, no.”

“You’ll always be his mother,” Angelaris said. “We’re not taking Tardison from you, we’re preparing him for what lies ahead. For now, he must remain here with the Guardians.”

“Tardison,” undulated through the air accompanied by a gelid breeze.

“No,” Brahanu shrieked. “No, you can’t take him.” When she tried to turn, a shadow scooped Tardison from her arms, carrying him away on the wind.

Pentanimir stood in shock, staring into the trees that had engulfed his son.

“Why?” Julaybeim demanded. “First, you take her husband and now her son. Why?”

Gali clasped his arm, spinning him around to face her. “Do you question the divine? Are you this foolish? Hold your tongue or see us all to ruin.”

“You haven’t seen the last of your son, Brahanu. He’s with those who made your meeting with his father possible,” Angelaris said.

“No, you’ve taken him from me. I’ve lost my husband and now my son.”

Pentanimir embraced her tenderly, fighting against the dolor besieging his heart and mind.

“No harm will come to him. When the lands are safe, Tardison will join his father. It’s for you to return to Cazaal with Eytan. There’s one who awaits you, and you’ll see him soon.”

Angelaris paused, looking curiously at Gali. “The pain and scars of your treatment will fade in time. Your husband will have great need of your wisdom and strength in the times ahead. Julaybeim will soon lead in Cazaal, and he’ll need you at his side. Together you’ll rebuild what’s been lost, and prepare a home for your children.”

“Children?” Gali asked, turning to her husband.

“Much lies ahead for each of you.”

“What about us, AsZar? What would you have us do?” Vot asked.

“You’ve led the Bandarians well, Elder. As the lands heal, there’ll be much asked of each of you.”

“Of who, AsZar?” Olam said. “Will you have need of me?”

“The sagacity and rectitude imbued within you will forever be prevalent in this world and the next. Although your visions will diminish, the need for your profound gifts will not. There’s one with phenomenal abilities and importance that you’ll soon encounter. You must choose to offer guidance to him and others who come to you. You’ll know of whom I speak when he’s among you in Noraa.”

Two of the Protectors mounted their beasts, fading into the darkness.

“I’ll need both sons of Manifir,” Angelaris said.

“What?” Zeta said, clutching Danimore’s arm.

“It’s all right,” Danimore said. “They’re not going to harm us.”

“But what about Tardison? They took him like in her dream.”

“They won’t hurt him either. Brahanu told us herself about his importance. Now, we’ll learn what he’s meant to do,” he said, kissing her cheek before walking to Angelaris.

“You mustn’t worry for the flesh, Wosen,” Angelaris said. “Hibret only sees your heart and the love that you share. Don’t hide from her, young one. Complete that which you promised to do.”

“Thank you, AsZar, I’m not worthy of all that you’ve bestowed upon me.”

The councilmembers bowed when the doors opened to the hall. For a moment, there was merely silence as Daracus stared over at his father’s seat at the head of the table. The memories that cascaded through his mind at that moment were nearly debilitating. His father was dead, and seeing his seat empty, only amplified the sense of loss and heartache already assailing him. He’d overseen Nazil in Draizeyn’s absence numerous times…this was the first time that he was taking that seat as the Zaxson.

With a shaky step, he reached a hand forward, caressing the jeweled adornments embedded in the chair. His hands trembled, tracing the carved grooves and raised Nazilian crest.

“Would you like me to remove your cloak, milord?” Jahno asked, bringing him from his trance.

After a sobering breath, Daracus nodded, afraid that if he attempted to speak, the sound would be more akin to a cry than words. At that moment, he needed Jahno’s embrace, his strength to fortify what he’d lost. But he couldn’t. The Zaxson needed to be strong, and he’d give his people no less than his father had before him.

“Jahno, please bring a fresh bowl of olives and some sweet red,” Daracus finally said, gingerly taking his seat. All appeared still as he composed himself, glancing around at the council. “Sir Merrimont, I’m pleased that you’ve joined us. I’d like for you to remain as a permanent member of this council.”

“It would be an honor,” Yannick said.

“Cha Reaglen, have you received any updates on our men or…my father?” Daracus asked.

“The Caretaker of Lempol is accompanying your father personally, my lord. He’s taken the fastest ship on the Great Sword and should arrive in Nazil within three suns. Once they’ve completed their search, the Chosen will be brought by land.”

“What are they doing with our slaves, Reaglen?”

“Some were punished for their cowardice, but the Caretaker is returning them with haste.”

Daracus nodded. “I’ll need to question them upon their arrival.”

“If it pleases you,” Yannick said. “It would be my pleasure to put the slaves to question.”

As Jahno returned with the olives and wine, Daracus studied the faces of his councilmembers. He needed younger and stronger men around him, and soon, he’d make that so.

“Is there any word from Spero or our First Chosen?”

“Leahcim reported seeing a Chosen matching Pentanimir’s description being pursued by a horde of humans, but when reinforcements arrived at the location, neither remained in the vicinity.”

“I’d hoped for better news, Sir Merrimont,” Daracus said. “Sir Benoist’s return to Nazil might aid my sister’s recovery. We’ll have to pray that he arrives safely.”

“Yes, Zaxson,” Yannick said.

Daracus froze, hearing the title used in reference to him. But he remembered himself, and inclined his head.

“My lord, when would you like to address the people?” Bisdan asked. “By now, rumors of your father’s death have no doubt reached the masses. They’ll need to hear from you.”

Daracus’ head cocked, his visage displaying both uncertainty and grief. The sudden upsurge of memories threatened to overwhelm every part of him. Tears lined his eyes as he stared blankly, unable to respond until Jahno tapped his tray, wrenching Daracus from his troubling contemplations.

“Yes…yes…I’ve been considering the same. I won’t make such a bold proclamation without seeing my father first.”

“You are wise, Zaxson,” Reaglen said. “Yet, it isn’t wise to permit the conjecture and speculation to continue. In troubling times, people look to their leader. You’ll be able to calm their fears and assure them of their safety.”

“Indeed, but I’ll be certain before making such a solemn proclamation to my people,” Daracus said, glaring over at him. “Besides, I haven’t received a complete report. What about these pythonesses and giant beasts?”

“I’ve inquired about the same,” Lymbach said. “The Animus Wood has always been cursed, and the slaves’ reports corroborate the teachings in our sacred texts. The mention of these flying beasts is evidence of the sorcery transcribed in the Sulos .”

“Are you saying that you believe our men were dropped from the sky, Lymbach?” Daracus asked, not attempting to disguise the sarcasm in his voice.

“Zaxson, I’m merely outlining the correlation of this accounting to what’s archived in our histories. We’ll learn the truth of it when our fallen are returned to us. What I do know is that it would take a great force to defeat one as your father. Do you not agree, my lord?”

Daracus paused, dissecting that truth. If his father was dead, there must’ve been some ethereal power used against him. And if it were so, would he, too, be compelled to confront that force? The questions continued to mount, yet the answers were few.

“You’re quite right, Cha Lymbach,” Daracus said. “Didn’t the message mention a threat?”

“It did. Your father meant to mount a precipitate and devastating blow to the humans. However, due to these tragic occurrences, many feel that this war isn’t at an end. Your lord father didn’t expect the siege to last more than two to three suns. I fear that these pythonesses said to be in the wood might have their eyes fixed on Nazil. In that case, the war might be brought to us,” Lymbach said, meeting the eyes of each man in the room.

“When we learned about this threat, I visited Sanctium to consult the mage. She wasn’t pleased by my recent lack of communing, and the propitiation for such disregard was severe,” he said, stroking the healed lacerations and bruises beneath his cassock. “Lilinth still offered her guidance as she always has. Trust when I say: her words mirror mine. Lilinth warned me of coming danger and possible devastation.”

Yannick waved dismissively. “I’d rather return to the wood in force. Most of our guard is back from the siege and would need little time to prepare. We shouldn’t wait for these witches to come to us; we should destroy them and that damn wood.”

Daracus grinned. Yannick was a powerful and respected member of the Chosen Guard. He believed like his father. They were both men of war, and he respected that in him. With Yannick and Pentanimir at his side, his rule would be a great one.

“To what end, Sir Merrimont?” Bisdan asked. “Mayhaps whatever power these pythonesses might possess is void past the wood’s borders. Why risk going there now? Your knowledge and understanding of the mage isn’t that of the brotherhood. Since the beginning, Lilinth has guided our leaders and the Cha.” He raised a hand to silence the coming retort. “More importantly, our Zaxson has yet to grieve for his father.”

Daracus sighed, draining his goblet. As he stood, Jahno rushed to his side, draping his cloak about his shoulders.

“I’ll consider everything we’ve discussed. We’ll reconvene three suns hence, after my father is returned to the city. At that time, I’ll inform you of my decision.”

“Yes, Zaxson,” they bowed.

Waving his guard away, Daracus motioned to Jahno, continuing down the corridor.

“Is there something you need, milord?” Jahno asked, dreading the answer.

“You know of my true need, Jahno, but I haven’t the time for such pleasures just now. I want you to fetch Hushar and await me in my solar. I’ll meet you after checking on Denotra.”

Jahno stiffened, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Though Daracus appeared calm, that could change in an instant. He’d become far too unpredictable of late, only adding to his cruel and volatile temperament. Now with losing his father, there wasn’t anyone left to curtail his behavior or abuses.

“Yes, milord,” Jahno said as Daracus proceeded to his sister’s chamber.

“Allow no one entry,” Daracus ordered.

Daracus smirked, pushing through the door, and enjoying the sound of his new title.

“Has there been any change, Arilian?”

“There has, my lord. Your sister has managed a few words. She’s aware of my presence, but can’t seem to hold the moment.”

“Has she mentioned anything of note?”

“You know what I mean, Arilian. It’s apparent that someone was with her upon my return. I want their name.”

Arilian shook his head, causing his hanging chins to wiggle. “Lady Denotra has only spoken of her pledged.”

“If the gods are good, he’ll return to her soon. This alone might bring her from her sleep.”

“It might, but I still haven’t discovered a reason for her ailment.”

“I’m going to speak with Hushar about the same. She was with Denotra after she became ill, and could offer some insight,” Daracus said, bending to kiss his sister’s cheek. “No one but us will know about her condition. Ensure that she’s fully healed and there’s no indication of her shame. If Pentanimir does arrive soon, I’d keep him ignorant of her state.”

Arilian’s eyes widened. “He isn’t going to be told?”

“Are you a fool, old man? Do you think the First Chosen of Nazil would want to marry a whore?”

“My—my lord, I’d never think of Lady Denotra that way. I—”

“Yes sir, Zaxson. There’re thin skins that can be filled with pigs’ blood, and positioned inside. I could ensure to place one after their ceremony. If she’s careful, the skin won’t rupture prematurely and Sir Benoist would be none the wiser.”

“Good. You alone will know of this, Arilian. I’ll make arrangements for an informal ceremony upon Pentanimir’s return, and a public one next season. Gather what you need and be ready.”

“I’ll see to it immediately, my lord.”

Pentanimir and Danimore exchanged a look as they reached a clearing near the falls. Two people sat with their backs to them, on a bench near the water’s edge. Their curiosity piqued, noticing that one of them was Nazilian.

“Join your brothers,” Angelaris said. After offering low bows, the Protectors mounted their beasts, disappearing within the cascading ribbons of water.

“Come, we must join the others. There’s much to discuss,” Angelaris said, motioning to them.

The brothers continued staring at the falls, following behind the AsZar. They didn’t turn until the two visitors stood to face them.

“Cha Temian?” Danimore’s brow creased, as he stopped, staring at the two. This was the first time he’d seen the Cha without his liturgical vestments. Temian wore a black leather vest and trews with a long cloak. Danimore eyed him warily as Pentanimir went to greet them.

“I’m glad to see you so soon, Temian. I was worried that I wouldn’t see you before I left for Nazil,” Pentanimir said, embracing him.

“I appreciate you giving me leave to go. If not for the Protectors, I wouldn’t have returned so soon. This is Thalassa.” Temian smiled, nudging their sister forward. Pentanimir returned his smile, looking at his sister. Unlike Temian, Thalassa resembled her mother. With thick black hair and olive skin, only her pale eyes told of her Nazilian heritage.

She nodded, wrapping him in a tight hug. Pentanimir was filled with emotion as he greeted his sister for the first time.

“Cha Temian, what’s going on?” Danimore said. “Why are you here, and who’s this?”

“Come, sit, and learn of it, Dani. It’s time that we truly knew each other,” Temian said. Danimore tossed a glance at Pentanimir, before moving to the bench. After hearing the detailed recounting, he sat in near disbelief, until Temian and Thalassa showed him the wooden figures.

“Why would you keep this from me, Pentanimir?”

“I only learned about it recently,” Pentanimir said. “Temian met with me in Spero before I left for Cazaal. I didn’t have time to tell you everything, but I was going to before leaving for Nazil.”

“Father should’ve told us about them. And what about Hushar? We could’ve arranged to move her to Spero.”

“I tried the same,” Temian said. “They wouldn’t release our mother, but we’re going to ensure that she’s freed.”

“We will,” Pentanimir said, going to his side. “I won’t allow Hushar to remain a captive any longer.”

Danimore’s mouth gaped, staring wide-eyed at them side by side. “By the gods,” he finally said. “You’re one unto the other. How didn’t anyone notice?”

“We’ve thought the same,” Pentanimir said.

Angelaris stepped forward, inclining her head. “Now that the children of Manifir have been reunited, much lies ahead for each of you, and the son of Hosdaq is ready to add his strength to yours.”

“Not only, but yes. As with each of you, he possesses what’s needed to usher in the change you’ve fervently beseeched the gods to manifest. It’s not from the gods that such shifts can come forth, it begins and ends in the hearts of men. The Guardians will aid each of you, but they won’t control or alter the aspects of your lives. The greatness is within you to be the change that you want to see in the lands.”

Pentanimir glanced at his siblings’ agreeing nods before regarding Angelaris again. “We’ll do whatever is necessary to free the lands and its people, but Wosen doesn’t have any experience with such things, AsZar. I won’t endanger him.”

“Wosen is more capable than you know, and you’ll have the Protectors as well. They’ll see you safely to Nazil, and aid in removing the threat from these lands.”

“That’s not enough,” Danimore said. “Are you planning an attack on Nazil? They have thousands of well-trained Chosen ready to defend the city. We’ll need more than a handful of warriors to even breach their walls.”

Angelaris smiled. “You won’t breach their walls…you’ll soar above them. Don’t allow what you perceive to become your reality, Danimore. It isn’t numbers that will win this war, it’s perseverance, conviction, and faith. A thousand men can fall before one who’s greater. Most battles aren’t fought upon an open field, children of Manifir. They’re won or lost in the heart and mind before one’s sword is even drawn.”

Temian stepped closer. “Who else will join us?”

“That can’t be revealed until he makes a choice.”

“Yes, as is was with each of you. He must reconcile his heart with his mind. Once he decides to confront what he fears, he’ll be of great aid to you.”

“Wait,” Danimore said. “What about Denotra and Daracus?”

“They’ll have the same opportunity as every denizen of Nazil,” Pentanimir said. “I’ve asked about the future of Faélondul and my place in it, and now, the Guardians have revealed that to me. When I return to Nazil, I won’t be answering a pledge, I’m joining with my siblings to liberate the lands.”

“That and more,” Angelaris agreed. “The Protectors will leave in seven suns. You must prepare not only physically, but also mentally. Once Nazil is secured, the Protectors will descend on the Nazilian villages and outposts. If they raise arms against them, they’ll be destroyed.”

“All of them?” Pentanimir asked.

“The Vereux’ rule must end. It’s through them that darkness descended upon the lands and continues to fester. The people have called out to the Guardians, and they’ve answered. The whole will not be damned to save the few.”

Arinak and Baldon’s return silenced any forthcoming retorts. The siblings watched as the Protectors emerged from the falls, dismounting and kneeling before the AsZar.

“Brahanu and Eytan?” Pentanimir asked. “Will you return Tardison to us?”

“In time. Tardison needs to be with the Guardians now. After you return from Nazil, we’ll present him to the both of you. Brahanu has one who awaits her,” Angelaris said curtly, walking into the falls.

The trek back to the encampment was silent, each contemplating what Angelaris had revealed and Faélondul’s future. Pentanimir contemplated even more as he walked to the carriages to confront Brahanu.

“Brahanu, Angelaris has asked to see you. There’s someone you need to meet.”

“Is it Tardison? If not, I don’t want to leave Eytan.”

“She’s asked for you to bring Eytan, and promises to return Tardison to us soon.”

“No, he’ll be returned to you. My body was used to bring him forth, and now that the pain has been suffered, I’m not allowed the joy of my son.”

“He’ll be returned to the both of us, Brahanu. Neither you nor Eytan will be without Tardison.”

“What could I be to him, his wet nurse? You’ll be wed to Denotra, and I’d be nothing more than a slave. Tardison won’t even be allowed through the gates of your city. They’d torture him just as they did Wosen.”

“Brahanu, I don’t have time to explain everything now. Changes are coming to Faélondul that will alter everything that we’ve known. If I wasn’t certain that our son was safe, I wouldn’t make it appear otherwise. The Guardians are protecting him just as they are us.”

With that, she accepted his offered hand, rising from the cot. That feeling, that closeness, caused an eruption of emotion to fill him. He steadied his stance, relishing the completeness that she brought to him.

“Brahanu, no matter what might lie ahead for me, my love is unchanged,” he said, drawing her nearer. “We have much to discuss upon your return.”

“Nor has mine,” she said, gripping him tighter and walking to where Baldon waited. She couldn’t keep her mind from that love, yet lamented what had already been lost. She was conflicted, and didn’t want to lose the relationship they shared or relinquish the memories and love she shared with Itai. Brahanu looked down at Eytan then. She grieved for his loss most of all.

“It’s good that you’ve come,” Baldon said, dismounting Náelon. “Come, Brahanu, the AsZar awaits.”

She nearly took a step back, gazing up at the fiendish-looking beast and the enormous man beside it. Náelon’s eyes shimmered in the dim light as she pawed at the ground. Brahanu had never been this close to the Desu Beasts, and although they looked akin to a creature from the abyss, it wasn’t fear that she felt.

“It’ll be all right,” Pentanimir whispered as Baldon reached for her.

Brahanu merely nodded, taking a deep breath as Baldon cradled her in his arms, mounting Náelon.

“Where are we going?” Brahanu asked.

“We’re going beyond the falls.”

“Beyond? What do you mean?”

“Beyond what you perceive, Brahanu. The Animus Wood is but the border to our home. Afferea lies beyond the falls.”

Brahanu nestled Eytan closer, leaning into Baldon’s arms. As they approached the cascading falls, she nearly called out, raising a hand up to shield her son. Only a warmth followed, with twinkling variegated ribbons seeming more like a rainbow than water. Her mouth gaped, looking up at Baldon and then back to the light encasing them.

“Did—didn’t we just pass through the falls, Baldon?” Brahanu asked as they emerged in a thicket. “What happened?”

“The falls are merely what you see, but there’s always more that cannot be seen.”

She didn’t speak again, marveling at the beauty that surrounded them: paths of creeping vines and flowering bushes laced around the hillocks, winding up beyond where she could see. The sweet melody of the falls chimed softly, soothing and filling her with a serenity that she’d never known.

“It’s time, Brahanu, the Guardians and the AsZar await.” He motioned to a flowering hillock where seven falls merged into one. An earthen stair carved into one side was draped with flowering vines interwoven on either side, giving the appearance of a balustrade. Brahanu followed the stairs’ path upward to a platform surrounded by the harmonic tendrils of glistening streams. It was beautiful.

“I—I can’t walk, Baldon.”

“You’ve passed beneath the falls of Afferea, Brahanu,” he said with a smile seemingly uncharacteristic for a being of his size and appearance.

Looking at him curiously, Brahanu released his fingers, taking a step forward. When she didn’t feel any pain, she took another step, and then turned back to Baldon.

“They await you,” he said, gesturing her forward again.

Turning back around, Brahanu flinched, seeing the AsZar and the Guardians at the base of the stairs. She repositioned Eytan, increasing her pace.

“We’re grateful that you’ve come, Brahanu.”

“Pentanimir said that someone was here to see me.”

“There is, and our time grows short,” Angelaris said, motioning toward the falls. The Guardians glided up the earthen stair, positioning themselves around the curtain of water. After joining hands, they raised their heads, emitting rays of luminescence reaching nearly to the heavens.

Brahanu couldn’t move, staring at the dappling facets glistening in the stream. The sound from the falls was tranquil, beckoning and soothing her all at once.

She gasped. The voice was familiar, yet it wasn’t. At that moment, she wanted to return to the carriage, but she remained tethered to the ground as her heartbeat quickened.

Taking a deep breath, Brahanu ascended the stairs, timidly reaching a hand through the falls.

“Brahanu,” he said again, gently grasping her hand. Though she attempted to pull away, he tightened his grip, guiding her through the stream.

“By the gods!” she said, nearly toppling down the stairs. “Itai? How? Itai!”

She wept, both joyous and fearful. “It can’t be. My eyes only show me what my heart desires.”

Brahanu nearly collapsed in his arms, never wanting to be free from him again. “Itai? How can this be?”

Itai embraced her tighter, looking down at his son.

“He looks like you, husband, he looks just like you,” she said, removing his swaddle.

Lifting him from her arms, Itai kissed his son, hugging him against his chest. His tears joined hers, holding his son for the first time.

“Our son is beautiful, Brahanu, just as you are beautiful.”

“Gods, I love you, Itai.” Brahanu pulled him down to her, kissing him more passionately than she ever had before. If this were a dream, she never wanted it to end. She’d stay with her husband and son, leaving the rest of the world behind.

“They—they told me that you fell in battle,” she finally managed. “How can you be with us now?”

“The Guardians have blessed us, but our time won’t be long. Once their light fades, so, too, will I.”

“What? No, stay with us, please, don’t leave us, Itai. I love you.” Her tears increased, clutching on to him.

“I’ll always be with you, my love, but I can’t remain. What you know of me has passed from the realm of the living. Only through the Guardians are we allowed this time. I’m here this moment, but also with those who fell at my side in Cazaal.”

“No…I…I can feel and smell you. You’re here with us, and I’ll never let you go. Eytan and I need you, Itai, please don’t leave us.”

He leaned in, kissing her again. Never had his touch been more intense or satisfying.

“In this state, this existence, my understanding is beyond that which it was. Being within the T’reyUhm R’aFek has provided me with knowledge of things past, Brahanu. Many things unknown to me before.” Itai cradled his son, kissing his cheeks and hands. “I know about Tardison, too.”

Her mouth dropped, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Itai. I—I tried to tell you when I returned, but you wouldn’t allow it. I’ve never loved anyone as deeply as I love you. Please forgive me, husband.”

Lifting her face to his, he kissed her again, and more fervently than before. He wanted her to feel his love in that kiss just as veritably as he felt hers.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, kissing her softly and then moving away. “I know that your love for me is greater than any other, and I understand that it wasn’t your love for Pentanimir, but the need of the Guardians.” When a look of bemusement covered her face, he shook his head, caressing her cheek. “Through the Guardians I’ve gained not only clarity, but also peace. If I were with you in Cazaal, I wouldn’t be of the same mind. Being as I am here this day, only the love that I have for you and our son remains. It’s that love which permitted me to remain when the others passed through the T’reyUhm R’aFek .”

“Please, forgive me. Tell me what you want me to do, Itai, and I’ll do it. Regardless of what I’ve allowed, I never stopped loving you. You’ll always live in my heart, always.”

“I have forgiven you, as the Guardians forgave me. I pray that you offer that same forgiveness to yourself. My love for you is eternal, but that’s all I have left to give. If you can have the happiness you brought to my life with another, I’d have it so. I can no longer provide such happiness for you, though I wish it otherwise. Know that my heart never belonged to any other. Now, the love of you and my son will fill me as I await you beyond the falls,” he said, cradling Eytan closer, and kissing him again. “Eytan Itai Gael, second of your name.

“You must take him home, Brahanu, my papa and Naji await him there. They’ll need Eytan as they mourn for me.” As the light encasing them bedimmed, he stroked Eytan’s dark curls, kissing him again. Holding him against his chest, Itai fought against the anguish welling inside of him, and focused on his blessings.

“I love you, Eytan, forever will I love you,” he whispered in his ear, and handed him back to Brahanu. “It’s nearly time, my love, and I’ll be with you no more.”

“No. No, Itai, both Eytan and I need you. Please, I love you,” she cried, drawing him back down to her. “Gods, I love you.”

“I love you and our son, always,” he said, resting his hand on Eytan, and his lips on his wife. Brahanu continued to weep, clutching Itai in a desperate embrace. Feeling his grasp lessen, she opened her eyes, watching his image fade, and the warmth that his arms provided.

“There are few able to withstand the draw of the T’reyUhm R’aFek , Brahanu. It beckons them home,” Angelaris said as she descended the stairs. “Itai’s love for you transcends even death. This alone allowed him to endure. The Guardians granted the desire of his heart so that he could be at peace beyond the falls.”

“Will he ever return to us, AsZar?” Brahanu said, wiping her tears away.

“Once through the gate, no one can return. Only a residual vestige of the one you knew can be perpetual. And this won’t be if the connection is lost.”

“Connection? What connection?” Brahanu asked.

“Love. Forever he will know it. His last thoughts were of you and Eytan, and it will remain so as he awaits you beyond the falls. Only when your heart closes to him will you no longer feel his presence.”

“My love for him will never fade. If he lives within my heart, will that sustain our connection?”

“Not as you saw him this day, but you’ll feel his presence, and his voice will whisper in your dreams.”

“What about Eytan?”

“Eytan will have his father in ways that can’t be comprehended,” Angelaris said. “You must return to Cazaal, Brahanu. Permit Pentanimir to complete the path that he’s chosen. Once this is so, you’ll be reunited with Tardison. The Guardians are preparing your son.”

“Preparing him for what?”

“Tardison will be a great ruler of men. It’s for his father to prepare the path that he’ll walk upon. Pentanimir will have to sacrifice the love he holds for you in order to free the lands.”

“Sacrifice? Will I lose Pentanimir, too?”

“That’s a question that only he and you can answer. The Guardians placed you where you needed to be for you to meet. They didn’t force your love, they merely amplified the emotion that you already felt. It was necessary to ensure Tardison’s birth. The grief that plagued you when parted was due to that influence, and caused the fervor within you. The love that remains now is wholly yours, without our influence.”

Brahanu’s head cocked, remembering the night she’d met Pentanimir. She still couldn’t recall how she’d ridden to Nazil in such little time. When she regarded Angelaris again, she smiled.

“We placed you where you needed to be, Brahanu. Both you and Pentanimir decided what would become of that meeting.”

When Brahanu attempted to respond, Náelon’s screech claimed their attention.

“It is time, Brahanu,” the Guardians said in unison.

“The T’reyUhm R’aFek is the divine gate. All who fall in the lands must pass through this. Only when your time has come to dwell beyond the falls can you return,” Angelaris said, fading from her presence.

Arilian leaned over the bed, wiping the sweat from Denotra’s brow. Daracus’ threat hadn’t left his mind, fueling both his apprehension and resolve. Arilian begun tending the Vereuxs with his father, and continued after his death. However, of the three Zaxsons he’d served, he feared Daracus the most. His temperament was more volatile than his predecessors, and the pellets he consumed served to heighten his agitation, not calm it.

“What is it, Arilian?” Daracus asked, storming into the room.

Arilian flinched, whipping around to face him. “It—it’s your sister, my lord. She’s awakened again and asked to speak with you.”

Daracus looked over at Denotra, forcing a smile. After moving to the bed, he held her hand, sitting down beside her. “I’m glad that you’re feeling better, Sister. You must rest and become well. The council will arrive soon, and I’ll return at our meeting’s end.”

“No,” she said, hoarsely. “I need to talk to you.”

“Later,” he said, patting her hand. “I’ve much to tell you, but first, you need to heal. Arilian will see to your needs and update me on your progress.”

“Drink this, my lady,” Arilian said. “It’ll soothe your cough and any lingering discomfort.”

After drinking the broth, she gripped Daracus’ other hand. “I need to talk with you.”

Peering at the two, Arilian started replacing items in his satchel. “My lord, I need to gather some additional supplies. Mayhaps you could stay with our lady while I fetch what’s needed.” He glanced over at Denotra. “My return will be swift.”

Daracus sighed, caressing the pouch tucked in his tunic as he nodded. Once the door closed, Denotra met his eyes as tears lined hers.

“Arilian told you what happened? I—I—”

“Of course, he did. Certainly, you didn’t believe that you could hide such perversions from me.”

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It…I…”

“Didn’t mean to?” he said, gripping her hand tighter. “You didn’t mean to raise your skirts and sit on a cock? You’re pledged to the First Chosen of Nazil, yet you’re opening your legs like some common whore!”

Her tears increased, as did the pressure he applied to her hand. “I didn’t want it, I didn’t. I was afraid for you, Father, and Pentanimir. I only asked for his company, but he demanded more. If you’d been here, it wouldn’t have happened. He took advantage of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, don’t tell Father. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want anyone to know. Please.”

“Everyone will know when Pentanimir finds you used. You think he wouldn’t know the difference between a virgin and a whore? This pledge will be nullified due to your lust. You’ve shamed our entire line with your perversions,” Daracus spat.

“No…no, it wasn’t me. He forced and wouldn’t stop. I begged, and still he wouldn’t stop.”

“Forced? No one would dare place a hand on the Zaxson’s daughter.” Daracus glared at her with narrowing eyes. “Who?”

Shaking her head, she covered her face, overcome with grief.

“I said who,” he shouted, wrenching her hand away from her face with a grip that made her cry out.

“It—it was Beilzen,” she squealed. “In the guest chambers.”

“Beilzen? He dared to put a hand on you? I’ll kill him!”

Daracus’ eyes bulged, as he stood, staring at his sister. An immediate haze of rage blanketed his mind, with visions of Beilzen defiling her. The ictus of his heart beat in rhythm with each brutal thrust he envisioned, accompanied by Beilzen’s feral grunts of exertion. As the horrific scene continued in his mind, a flicker of clarity caused the veins to swell in his neck, darkening his features.

Rushing forward, he clutched Denotra’s chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Liar,” he sneered. “That’s why you sent for Hushar and not Arilian, isn’t it? You wanted his hedgeborn cock. Did he satisfy you, Sister,” he said, gripping her throat. “Did his tongue and cock make you squeal like the whore that you are?” The backhand that followed nearly knocked her off the bed.

“Every slave must’ve heard about it by now, and you’ll forever be known as a whore.” He stormed away and then paused, looking over his shoulder. “We’ll see what your lover has to say. I’ll flay every inch of skin from his bones if necessary. If his story strays one iota from what you’ve told, you’ll regret ever lying to me,” he said, slamming the door in his wake.

“You!” Daracus pointed to a guard. “Fetch Sir Merrimont and have him meet me in my solar. Now!”

As the guard hurried off, Daracus glanced frantically around the corridor. With clenched fists, he rushed away, his anger mounting with each step. His breathing was erratic as he reached his chamber, flinging the doors open with such force, they clanked loudly against the wall.

“What are you doing here?”

Gods, help me , Jahno thought, backing away. He hadn’t seen such a look in Daracus’ eyes in nearly a season, but the memory and scars of his treatment after the last time hadn’t faded. Jahno continued backing up, his gut wrenching with fear as his heartbeat escalated.

“I’m sorry, milord. You’d asked for a soak after noon meal. I—I was bringing the oils you requested and fresh tunics.”

“Then why are you sorry?” Daracus asked, closing the gap between them. His eyes narrowed, flaring with hatred. “If you’re merely following your commands, why apologize?”

“Because I’ve angered you, milord, and never wish to do so. I’m here to serve you as I always have. Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you? What have you done that requires my forgiveness? Are you keeping secrets from me, too, Jahno? Is the love you profess a lie? What would you speak if given the proper motivation?” Daracus’ arm shot forward, clutching his hand tight around Jahno’s throat. His face contorted from displaying rage, to euphoria, and back again as Jahno gagged, struggling to breathe. Veins protruded from his reddened face, Jahno’s pleading eyes rolling back as his knees weakened, with the darkness creeping in from the corners of his eyes.

Daracus grinned, releasing his hold and watching Jahno collapse on the floor. With each intake of air, Jahno coughed, wheezing, adding to Daracus’ excitement.

When Jahno heard the lock click, he watched in horror as Daracus removed his thick belt, tossing his sword aside.

“Please, milord,” Jahno pleaded. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I only want to please you.”

“This does please me.” Wrapping the leather around his hand, Daracus rushed forward, slashing wildly. Each lash from his adorned belt resulted in a scream, accompanied by streaks of blood, adding to Daracus’ pleasure. He lashed again, drawing back further, and coming down with all the strength that he could muster.

Jahno huddled on the floor, protecting his head from the innumerable punishing blows. His mind couldn’t register the pain or recall the prayers that he desperately attempted to recite, begging, pleading, all the gods and Guardians to save him from this fate.

Daracus flogged him with abandon, not caring where his blows landed. Each sound from his lash served to feed his need for more, while causing a rise beneath his trousers. Tossing the belt aside, Daracus staggered back, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes.

“Stay on your knees,” Daracus shouted, untying his laces. “That’s where you belong.”

Jahno’s eyes widened as Daracus gripped the back of his head.

“Please, milo—” he gagged, clenching his eyes with each brutal thrust. Warm tears streamed from his eyes, gasping between the short intervals before Daracus held in place, completely filling Jahno’s throat while pressing himself forward. With a slight moan, he pulled away, not allowing the completion.

“Get up,” Daracus shouted, landing a savage kick.

Bile and blood spewed from Jahno’s mouth, as he heaved in hoarse breaths, while being dragged across the room.

“You think me a fool,” Daracus said, still dragging Jahno toward the bed. “You think to deceive me…to hurt me like this? You don’t want my love, you only want pain. I’ll make you feel the pain that you’ve caused me. All of you!”

Jahno cried out, pulling himself up to the bed. When he was level with it, Daracus forced him over, ripping his thin trousers.

“Please, milord, please,” Jahno begged between pained coughs. I’ve never lied to you. It wasn’t me. I love you, please.

“You love cock, not me,” Daracus yelled, spitting, and then thrusting forward. “This is all you want,” he cried. “It’s all you’ve ever wanted!”

Agonized screams echoed through the chamber as Daracus gripped Jahno’s groin, squeezing and twisting while continuing his brutal thrusts. As Jahno’s screams escalated, so did Daracus’ vigor, sounding more a beast than a man. His cries intermixed with shouts, one less coherent than the last. When Jahno began to bleed, Daracus’ enthusiasm grew, enjoying the red hue coating his pale flesh and lessening the friction.

He stared down at their joining, his eyes wide with exhilaration and his heart raging with fury. Jahno’s cries faded, yet still rang in Daracus’ mind, fueling his brutal assault and pleasure as he expelled a bestial moan with a thunderous, lingering completion. His entire body trembled, grasping Jahno’s hips and pushing forward at the same time. His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back, experiencing a euphoria like none other.

Daracus’ chest heaved, while wobbling back and nearly falling over the divan. He steadied his stance, still deep in the haze of his satisfaction. After catching his breath, he found his footing, moving over to the basin and splashing the cool water on his face. A shudder of pleasure waved through his body, causing a wider smile. Daracus cupped the water in his hands, bringing it up to his face. He enjoyed the lingering vestiges of his gratification, feeling an enlivening since of lucidity and calm befalling him.

As he stared at his reflection, Daracus retrieved the small pouch from his tunic pocket, and placed a pellet beneath his tongue. The euphoria amplified, causing his smile to broaden as he dried his face, admiring his reflection. When he lowered his towel, his brow creased, noticing the blood splatter on his golden tunic.

“What in all hells?” he said, raising up his tunic to see the blood smeared across his abdomen and staining his white hairs.

“What?” he gasped, stumbling back a step. Thoughts swirled through his mind as he frantically searched his room. “What?” he said again, turning around and falling back.

“By the gods! Jah—Jahno?” Daracus said, running to his side. “Jahno?” Daracus’ tears were immediate as the violent scenes assailed his mind, stabbing at his heart and piercing his soul.

“No. Jahno? Jahno?” he said, gently shaking him. “Oh, gods!” Daracus wept, cradling Jahno in his arms. “Forgive me. It wasn’t meant for you, it’s never meant for you. I love you, please, I love you.” He kissed Jahno’s blood-stained lips, caressing his face and hair.

After wiping away his tears, Daracus lowered Jahno to the floor, carefully removing his clothing. He wiped the stains from the ground, tossing both of their clothes into the hearth. Once he’d hastily dressed, he draped a cover over Jahno and rushed to the door.

“Take him to his chamber immediately and fetch Hushar,” Daracus commanded. “Jahno is her only duty until he’s well. Ensure that she has whatever she needs to take care of him. Move quickly and with great care,” Daracus ordered.

As the guards hurried down the corridor, Daracus pulled out the small pouch again. He looked at the tiny pellet for a moment before sticking it beneath his tongue. Closing his eyes, he collapsed onto his bed, weeping irrepressibly.

Hushar smiled, chatting with Perrin as he accompanied her to the kitchen. Since Draizeyn’s leave and Denotra’s ailment, some of the tension in the citadel had eased. Although the guards looked at them distastefully, she ignored their glares. They were more aimed at Perrin than her, as he carried her basket, walking at her side. Perrin was one of the few Nazilians who always treated her like a person, and reminded her why she’d fallen in love with Manifir.

“Come, Hushar!” a guard shouted, rounding the corner.

“Gods!” Perrin said, falling back a step as they approached with Jahno.

“We said now,” another guard said, kicking the chamber door open and rushing inside. Hushar’s heart raced, following behind them and hastening to the bed. As they laid Jahno down, tears spilled from her eyes, caressing his bruised face.

“The Zaxson wants us to bring what you need,” the guard said, abhorrently.

“I—I need my large basket, and have Micah heat water and bring honey, and as much clean cloth as he can. Please have him make haste,” Hushar said, dipping a cloth in the basin and dabbing blood from Jahno’s face.

The guards left the chamber, shaking their heads. “He’d have us treat this slave like he’s a Nazilian,” the first guard said with disdain.

“Everyone knows why that filth is in the citadel. Our new Zaxson found this one too pretty to leave in Noraa,” the second guard scoffed. “He’s been pining over that savage for years.”

“Even so, he ain’t used no different than any other slave. It’s this special care that gives me pause. How can we trust Daracus’ judgment when this human remains his focus? The humans are beneath us, and not deserving of such treatment.”

“Doesn’t look like he was treated too well to me,” he chuckled.

“Then why are we fetching supplies to tend him? Daracus has us receiving orders from a slave.”

“Watch your tongue,” the second guard warned. “Daracus will send us both to the dark chamber if we’re overheard.”

“I’m going to take care of you, my dear boy,” Hushar said. “I’m going to make you well.”

With trembling lips, he attempted to speak, only to grasp his throat with the pain that followed.

“Shh…No. Don’t try to talk, Jahno. You’re hurt far worse than the last time, and it’ll be a bit before you heal.”

Tears streamed from his eyes as he reached out to her, crying in her arms.

“It won’t last, Jahno, it won’t. We’ll be free again and back with our families. Remember how thinking about your promised brought such joy to you? Think about that now. Think of your bond day, how beautiful your wife will be, and the love that you’ll share. Bring thoughts of your family forward in your mind and push this misery from it,” she said, rocking him in her arms. “They can’t take that from you or any of us. Our minds are ours alone, Jahno, and they can’t control our thoughts. Leave this place and be free in your mind. There’s no pain. None,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him. “I love you, my dear boy. I love you.”

Most of the fallen had finally been laid to rest, and the remaining villagers worked tirelessly to remove any evidence of the battle before the women and children returned. The Nohek offered prayers over those that had fallen, especially their former Nohek Karab, Glennon.

Although the Nazilians set their village ablaze, most of the steadings remained untouched. Even so, their lives were irrevocably changed, and nothing could soothe the devastation wrought by the Nazilians’ hatred and evils. That painful truth permeated the air and was splayed across the faces of every denizen, picking up the pieces of their lives, and attempting to restore some semblance of what they once were.

Tioch stood, gazing at his son’s home. Against the backdrop of smoldering stables and the pervading fetor of war, it looked out of place, untouched by the Nazilians’ cruelties. His smile was wistful, resting a hand on the door before pushing through. His knees weakened then, and he braced himself against the frame, unable to move forward. After many long moments, Tioch took a sobering breath, taking a step inside. That movement was arduous, and his knees wobbled beneath his weight.

Though the sun shone full in the sky, darkness filled the rooms. Not only from the lack of light, but also from knowing that his son would never enter his home again.

Tioch lumbered to the hearth, taking a flint from his waist. After rummaging about in the dim light, he found kindling and set it ablaze. He then opened the shutters, allowing the sun’s rays to fill the room.

Sorrow and contentment imbued him simultaneously as he glided his calloused hands over the carved surfaces. Reflexively, Tioch closed his eyes, an image of Itai causing a pained smile to crease his lips. For a moment, he refused to reopen them, clenching them tighter with the memories of his son.

Taking a steadying breath, Tioch allowed that image, that harrowing remnant of his only child to dissipate.

The unsteady clicking of his boots echoed in the deafening silence, filling each vacuous room. There was nothing…nothing occupying the space but the heartening memories and profound sense of loss hanging densely in the air. That feeling weighted down his heart and his steps, feeling more a tangible entity, nearly causing him to topple.

Tioch’s posture waned, staring at the door to the nursery. He tried to reach out, to grasp the handle, but he couldn’t. His body swayed, and he slumped against the wall, unable to move forward. He’d help Itai design and build the nursery as a surprise for Brahanu. Itai didn’t want anyone to see it until their child was born. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to look…he wouldn’t.

“It’s for Brahanu alone,” he whispered, turning and walking down the corridor.

When Tioch opened the door to their bedchamber, his emotion surged through him like a deluge. The special tub Itai had designed stood elevated in the decorative corner, surrounded by a painted wooded background with flowing curtains, appearing more as a graceful waterfall cascading from the ceiling. Of everything that he’d created, this was the most special. The one item his son worked the hardest to please the one that he loved so dearly. Tioch drifted to his knees. His large hands covered his eyes as he wept for his son.

“Pa-Tioch?” a voice called out from another room. He didn’t respond, his mind was on Itai and his grandchild. Tioch lingered on all the words that were spoken before the village was attacked, and the ones forever left unsaid…of the contentment and joy his son experienced after marrying Brahanu. Tioch envisaged Itai’s countenance and elation as he announced the coming of his first child…his only child. All of it came rushing through Tioch’s mind, and it was consuming him.

Tioch heard the approaching footsteps as he knelt upon the floor, but he couldn’t move. He stayed affixed to that one spot, lamenting his loss, and the inextinguishable dolor threatening to devour him.

“Pa-Tioch,” Aschelon said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Nohek Berinon would like to speak with you. There’s much he needs to discuss.”

“Don’t have no need for prayers, Aschelon,” Tioch said, weakly. “The ones I offered returned empty. Them bastards took my son from me.”

“My prayers as well,” Aschelon said, kneeling beside him. No one in this village meant more to me than Itai, and I’ve come for him, too.”

When Tioch slowly met his eyes, Aschelon nodded, wiping away his tears. “I promised Itai that I’d look after you and Naji if he was no longer able to do so, and I mean to hold to that. When my father passed, you took me as your own. If not for your family, I wouldn’t have had anyone. Itai was more my brother than a friend. If not for him speaking to Hacom on my behalf, and you taking me in, there’s no telling where I’d be now. Please, allow me to honor Itai and do what he asked. Itai wouldn’t want you here mourning for him, and you’re knowing that. I’m not saying you shouldn’t grieve for your son, I’m grieving for him, too. But he’d tell you to remember how much he loved you, and how proud he was to have you as his Pa. Come with me, Pa-Tioch,” he said, standing and reaching down to him. “Don’t sadden yourself more than is already felt. After talking with the Nohek, I’ll escort you home and we’ll make plans to rebuild it…together. There are enough memories there without embracing the ones here as well.”

“It—it ain’t just Itai, Aschelon. Don’t nobody know ‘bout Brahanu or my grandchild. I can’t lose no more than I already have. I ain’t strong ‘nough.” His voice cracked with the words, as he attempted to stifle his emotion. “I—I promised to look after them…I gotta find them and make sure theys all right.”

“The temple’s ravens have been destroyed, and mayhaps the damn ghost did the same in Noraa and Kaleo. We won’t have a full report until the scouts return, but you know that Brahanu is safe. Both she and your grandchild are safe, Pa-Tioch, Itai made sure of that.”

Tioch grasped his hand, and Aschelon helped him to his feet. “Once it’s safe, I’m certain that Julaybeim will bring Brahanu home. Until then, we’ve gotta take care of our people. Hacom charged you with overseeing Cazaal. The sentries have hitched the carts to retrieve the others, and I’ve divided our men into two contingents. The smaller will ride with you to the Black Water.”

Tioch nodded, walking toward the door. Once Aschelon opened it, the sun’s rays bathed the room, driving the lingering darkness and chill away. Tioch paused, glancing around the beautiful home. A reflective smile creased his lips, thinking of Itai and the man he had become.

The men of Cazaal were stacking broken boards and burnt wood near the edge of the village. There were still splatters of blood where the brave sentries once stood defending their home. He watched as the Nohek scoured the stone steps of the temple and raked at the ground, removing evidence of the Nazilians’ brutality.

“Has the citadel been cleared?” Tioch asked, trying to cast aside his loss and focus on the village.

“It has. There’s still a lot to do, but all evidence of what took place there is gone. No one will know of that wretchedness.”

“What ‘bout Ameya? Has she been found?”

“No. Manto thought he saw her riding off with the Chosen, but he isn’t certain. His attention was on the battle.”

“I’m needing to know before Julaybeim comes,” Tioch said. “It’ll be too much learnin’ ‘bout his parents. We needs to know where his sister is.”

“The sentries in the watchtower have been put on alert. There’s a small contingent searching the wood and we sent some riders to the Neema Outpost. We’ll find her.”

Tioch nodded again, riding beside Aschelon. Though he heard the words, his mind wasn’t on them. For many seasons, he’d spoken negatively regarding Cazaal’s leaders. Now, for however long or short, he was one of them. The issue he had with Hacom wasn’t of his making. Itai had the right of it, and now his son lay beneath the ground, alongside his siblings and mother. Tioch prayed for Julaybeim and his family. But most of all, he prayed for his grandchild, and the wisdom he needed to guide him as his father would have.

“Thank ya, Aschelon. I’ll speak with the Nohek later. First, we gotta bring the others back to the village. Tell them my plan. For now, I gotta see to the people and ready the village for the Caretaker’s return.”

Daracus stood alone in the cool chamber unable to move from the entryway. He’d been standing in the same spot, incapable of willing his legs to respond to his mind’s commands. They trembled, threatening to weaken beneath his weight. It had been years since he’d ventured into the catacombs, deep beneath the temple. He’d forgotten the chill of the crypts, but felt the goose prickles on his flesh as his expelled breaths hung through the air.

He couldn’t move. The vulnerability and angst he felt was overwhelming. He needed to know the truth, yet dreaded it at the same time. As he glanced around the room, palling shadows enveloped each corner with flickering torch flames casting eerie images against the walls. At that moment, he wished that he could disappear into that darkness, into himself, and be free of the realities awaiting him.

Daracus focused on the covered slab in the center of the room again. Braziers stood at each corner of the berth, illuminating the form beneath the shroud. Although he’d coveted the power of his new position, he hadn’t truly considered what that meant. Daracus and Draizeyn were never close, but he’d respected his father, and at that moment, he realized that he loved him, too.

Moisture rimmed his eyes, causing his vision to blur. That haze, that obfuscation matched the divergent aspects of his life. Daracus was the most powerful man in Faélondul, yet he felt as empty as the room in which he stood.

Taking a sobering breath, he was finally able to step forward, only to brace against the wall, feeling his knees buckling. The tears fell then, envisioning not only his father’s defunct form, but recalling Jahno’s bloodied body lying just as still.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. After taking another deep breath, he focused on his father again, approaching the stone slab.

The click of his boots resonated around him. The steps were hesitant, unsure, as he nearly stopped, wanting to turn away. Daracus continued to stare, willing what was left of his heart to move forward. He had to know. If this was his father, he had to know.

His hands trembled, reaching out to grip the fringe of the cloth. He tried to recite a prayer, but hadn’t committed any of them to memory.

“Strengthen me,” he said instead, sliding the shroud away.

Daracus gasped, stumbling back a few steps, unable to catch his breath. His tears began anew, staring down at Draizeyn’s lifeless body.

“Father,” he whimpered, resting a hand on his face. Daracus nearly withdrew, feeling the cold, rigid flesh beneath his fingertips.

Even with the preparation that the Caretaker and Cha provided, Draizeyn’s corpse testified to the suffering that he’d endured. The same suffering that Daracus vowed to inflict upon his father’s murderers.

“I’ll make them pay, Father,” Daracus whispered, tracing the long gashes down Draizeyn’s face. He unclasped his tunic, viewing the deep lacerations and punctures on Draizeyn’s neck and torso. His chest was sunken, as if he’d been clinched in a vice, with the sutures still evident where bones had protruded through his chest.

Daracus swayed to his knees, overcome by emotion. His father’s body was bruised and broken, nearly unrecognizable.

“I promise to kill them all, Father,” he wept. “All of them will die.”

Daracus continued to cry, draping his arms across Draizeyn’s corpse. In that moment, he felt like a child again, in need of his father’s guidance and love. That love was as distant now as it had been then, as it always was after his mother, Taréssah, died when he was but ten.

Daracus struggled back to his feet, clutching the stone slab to steady himself. He looked at Draizeyn’s misshapen face, leaning down to kiss him.

“I promise,” he said. Closing his eyes, Daracus slid the shroud back over his father, not looking back as he exited the cold room.

“We’re sorry, my lord,” Cha Reaglen said as he exited. “We all mourn with you.”

Forcing an unsuccessful smile, Daracus inclined his head. “Have the slaves arrived?”

“Only three have returned. The others will arrive with the Chosen, Zaxson.”

“Have they been taken to the citadel for questioning?” he asked.

“They’re in the cells, my lord, under heavy guard.”

“The cells? I gave no such order,” Daracus said. “Send word now, Cha Reaglen. I want to meet with them in the small chamber off the hall upon my return to the citadel. Have some trays prepared and delivered.”

“My father is dead!” Daracus shouted, pointing to the crypt. “He’s mangled and broken on a stone slab! If these slaves know who or what did this, I’ll learn of it in my own way. Do I make myself clear, Cha?”

Reaglen flinched, glancing nervously at the other Cha. Daracus had never spoken so to any of them, and he feared for not only the Brotherhood, but for Nazil as well. “Yes…yes, my lord, right away,” he said, quickly scurrying away.

Daracus’ breathing was erratic, watching them disappear up the stairs. A surging heat welled up from the pit of his stomach as he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails pierced his skin. He looked down at his palm, the drops of blood swirling into images of Jahno’s sodden tunic and trews.

“No,” he said, weakly, shutting his eyes. “Please gods, help me.”

Grasping the balustrade, Daracus labored up the stairs. It wasn’t merely what lay ahead, his most debilitating thoughts dwelled on what had already passed.

It appeared that half a glass had passed before he’d reached the main level, rejoining his guard. He attempted to project unflappability, but it was for naught. After managing to reach his carriage, Daracus collapsed on the cushioned bench, burying his face in a pillow. The images continued to flash through his mind: his father, Jahno, and Beilzen. It was an inundation of emotion, intertwining and assailing him all at once. He screamed, releasing some of the anguish pervading his heart and mind. He continued his screams, each one louder and more guttural than the last until the carriage stopped. Wiping his eyes again, Daracus smoothed his hair, forcing the vestiges of images from his thoughts, and regaining a modicum of control.

He didn’t acknowledge his guards, stepping out into the courtyard, fumbling with the pouch behind his belt. Once inside the citadel, he halted them in the corridor, entering a small room and closing the door. Slipping two pellets beneath his tongue, Daracus closed his eyes, allowing the pellets’ warmth to replace his grief and dubiety. He blinked languidly, enjoying the euphoria and a renewed sensation of assurance.

“I must have Arilian prepare more,” he said, flipping his hair over his shoulders, and rejoining his guard.

“Have the slaves been delivered to the chamber?” he asked.

“They’re en route now, Zaxson. Bisdan and Lymbach are seeing to them.”

“Good. When they arrive, you’ll wait in the corridor.”

“Yes, Zaxson,” they offered in tandem.

Daracus couldn’t keep Jahno from his thoughts as they continued down the hall. He cursed himself for what he’d caused, and prayed that Jahno would forgive him. He wanted to visit him now, and apologize for his anger. Jahno was the only one who truly loved him, and Daracus didn’t want to ever give him a reason to question his sincerity. I’ll buy him some special gifts and lessen his duties , he thought. Jahno knows how much I love him. He’ll forgive me again, and remain at my side.

As they reached the chamber, Bisdan and Lymbach were approaching with the slaves. They still wore the threadbare clothing and slippers, looking bedraggled and unkempt. Daracus paused, seeing a woman with them. His brow knitted. Draizeyn didn’t usually allow female slaves to accompany the guard. Once they drew nearer, he grinned. His bed wench, he thought, glancing at her from toe to head. Again, he chooses Sarai . He shook his head, stepping into the chamber. An immediate smile graced his face noticing the fine fare and a ewer of his favorite wine at the head of the table. He filled a cup to the brim, drinking it down quickly before the Cha entered the room.

“If it pleases you, Zaxson,” Bisdan said as he bowed. “This is Gerhma, Ahndargae, and Sarai. They accompanied the contingent that traveled to Bandari, my lord.”

“Thank you, Cha Bisdan. You may leave.”

When the doors closed, the servants knelt as Daracus moved in their direction. He looked at the two men first, and then to Sarai again. Despite the reason for their summoning, she intrigued him somehow. It wasn’t merely his father’s interest in her, he learned that Symeon fancied her, too. At first look, she appeared as more a boy than a girl, with her slight frame and short curly hair. That was appealing, but as he continued his stare, he recognized a unique beauty and almost delicate demeanor. He smiled at that, circling behind the three.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.

“Ain’t no reason needed, milord,” Ahndargae said. “We’re here to follow your commands.”

“Indeed,” Daracus said, sitting and motioning to the table. “Please join me for some refreshments. I’d like to hear about the happenings in the Animus Wood.”

They exchanged uneasy, confused glances, gingerly rising and sitting around the table.

“Please, eat, no one will disturb us, and I’m certain that you’re famished. The duck smells especially good.” Daracus gestured to the tray, forking some potatoes and duck onto a plate. “There’s tea, but I prefer a light wine with my meal.”

Their stomachs ached from the smells emanating from the delectable offerings. Neither had eaten in three suns, yet feared the reasoning and possible consequence for supping with the Zaxson. When Daracus began to eat, Sarai stood, moving around the table, and pouring tea for the others. After forking some food on each of their plates, her hand trembled, lifting the ewer and refilling Daracus’ goblet. He smiled handsomely, his gaze resting on her arse. He didn’t turn from her until she retook her seat, sipping from her cup.

“Now that we’re situated, who’d like to begin? You.” He pointed at Gerhma. “Tell me about the battle.”

“The—the battle, milord?”

“You had plenty to report in Lempol, did you not? I’d like to hear the same.”

Gerhma lowered his fork, forcing down the lump of food seemingly stuck in his throat. “Sir, weren’t truly no battle. Most ran to get away from them beasts and women.”

“Ran?” Daracus’ eyes narrowed. “My father doesn’t run from battle, Slave.”

“No, Sir,” he corrected, feeling sweat beading his brow. “The—the Zaxson didn’t run from no one. He led a charge and them other guards ran when the women attacked.”

“The Chosen Guard doesn’t fear women.”

Gerhma shook his head, looking at Ahndargae with desperation.

“It weren’t just the women, milord,” Ahndargae said. “Your—your father ordered the Guard to attack, but…but them women weren’t no natural folk. When them bolts came at them, they raised up a hand and stopped them. Heard the Cha sayin’ them woods is cursed, and I’m believin’ it. Ain’t no other way to explain it.”

Daracus scoffed. “So, now these women can stop flying bolts. What other tricks did they perform?”

“I ain’t knowin’, milord. Guards was runnin’ and shootin’ at nothin’. Them women knocked us down without movin’. The—the giants and beasts came then.”

“Now you want me to believe in myths and stories? Great beasts and giants? This is what you told the Caretaker in Lempol?”

“We only told what we seen, milord.” Gerhma’s light green eyes met his for a moment, before he stood, raising up his tunic. “Par—pardon,” he said, turning around to expose the huge pink and red gashes streaking across his back.

“Them beasts were fearsome and the giants who rode them,” Gerhma said, sitting back at the table. “Bigger than ten of them bears we caught in our traps. Them eyes, glowin’ eyes did the giants have, and them beasts had three. Ain’t never feared more in my life, milord. They chased us through the wood, grabbin’ at us with their claws. If’n I hadn’t fallen, they’d of got me, too.”

Daracus head cocked, recalling his father’s wounds. “They grabbed men with their claws?”

“Yes, milord,” Sarai said. “The beasts flew up over the trees and dropped Guards back to the ground. Their armor couldn’t even protect them. Everyone was screaming and running.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Guards loosed bolts, killing other guards. They couldn’t stop the beasts, milord.”

Daracus nodded, leaning back in his chair. He considered their report and then regarded Sarai again. “I’m not aware of any tactical expertise that you possess. Why were you with my father?”

“I—I had many duties, milord: cleaning and cooking for the men, and tending minor wounds.”

“I see. You appear learned to me. Where are you from?”

“From Kaleo, milord. My—my father was a barrister.”

“How many other slaves like you accompanied my father?”

“It’s not a difficult question, especially for one as you. Were you my father’s whore or not?”

“I—I was his alone, milord.”

Daracus licked his lips. “I’ve borne witness to some of your more intimate duties,” he said, enjoying the vivid memories. “My father liked you on your knees when Symeon took Ceron. You were always his favorite, you know? I recall your squeals when he buried his tongue between your thighs. I’ve never seen juices spray from a woman before. He’d lick and drink every drop until your voice was hoarse from the constant shrieks. Oh, I remember you well. My father enjoyed making you moan and twitch, to watch himself disappear inside of you. Of course, his shouts were even louder than yours when you straddled him. I’ve always wondered what you did that satisfied him so. Could it be that good? Then again, he satisfied you, too. It wasn’t merely his mouth, was it? You enjoyed that long, curved cock. The way your body moved and the pleasured expression when you reached your peak…” he smirked. “…you can’t fake that, my dear Sarai. Or your delicious moans that accompanied it.”

Sarai’s eyes widened, feeling disgusted, fearful, and ashamed. “Your—your honorable father al—always wanted me to enjoy our time together.”

“He wanted that and more. You’re certain that he didn’t share you with anyone else? Oxilon mayhaps?”

“I was his alone,” she repeated as tears streaked her cheeks.

“How long did you provide this particular service for my father?”

“Since I was taken from Kaleo…nearly eight seasons now.”

“How old are you?” Daracus asked, admiring her slight, boyish frame.

“I’m five and ten, milord.”

“I wonder what my father enjoyed when he had you alone in his chambers? Certainly, it differed from what he desired with others present. Mayhaps you’ll do the same for me. If you’ve been under his tutelage since you were three and ten, you should be quite skilled. You’re certain that he never shared you with any other, not even Symeon?”

Her head snapped up with the fear prominently in her eyes. “Never, milord, not Symeon. I—I was maiden, and your father was the only one I’ve known. He never shared me with Symeon, never. I—I’d be honored to pleasure you as I did him.” Sarai’s voice trembled, accompanied by a flood of tears.

“Well, I’ll ensure that you’re bathed and oiled before joining me this very night. I’m not my father, Sarai. My needs aren’t so easily sated.”

“Now, is that all you have to report about the Animus Wood,” Daracus asked, calming the rise in his trousers.

Gerhma looked up apprehensively. “Them women sent a warnin’.”

“Weren’t like nothin’ I’ve known. It—it was a shadow, and a—a voice. I tried to run, but couldn’t get away from it.”

“Speak plainly, or I’ll continue my questions in the dark chamber. Trust me: Sir Merrimont’s methods aren’t nearly as pleasant as mine.”

“Yes, Sir. They said that they’s comin’…them giants and beasts is comin’. If’n we don’t fight, they’ll be sparin’ us. But—”

Gerhma flinched, shrinking back. “If’n we resist, they’ll destroy us.”

Daracus leapt up, pounding a fist on the table. “A threat! They dare threaten the Nazilians? I’ll kill them where they stand!”

The slaves lowered to their knees as Daracus rushed to the door.

“Take the men to the cells and summon the council. I don’t want anyone speaking to the slaves without my permission. Take the wench to a servant chamber and have Ceron attend her. I have more intimate questions for that one.”

As the doors closed, Daracus placed another pellet beneath his tongue.

“If it’s death they want, I’ll bring it to them.”

The Bandarians cheered as Hibret and Wosen handed the empty cup back to Nzuri. Taking Hibret’s hand, Wosen leaned down, gently touching his lips to hers. Tears welled in her eyes as he looked at her, overcome by the love and forgiveness he saw in them.

“You are now released to your home to continue your bond.” Nzuri smiled, handing the cloth to Wosen. “Let no one disturb this very blessed day.”

Hosdaq quickly embraced them, as they turned and faced the crowd. “I can’t express the joy I feel at witnessing your bond.”

“And having you home with me,” Malkia said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Wosen chuckled, returning the tight embrace, and then leaned down to kiss Malkia. “I never want to be without you again, little one.”

“Now, let us lead the new couple to their shelter,” Vot said.

The Bandarians had worked the entire day to complete the shelter before their bonding. It was more a hastily constructed whare, with two framed rooms divided by a curtain and an entry door. The accommodation didn’t matter to them, only that they’d be sharing it together.

“It’s wonderful to see them so happy,” Brahanu whispered to Pentanimir.

“Indeed. They’ve spoken of nothing else for seasons. I’m glad that Wosen is amongst his people again.”

“But for how long? Isn’t he leaving the wood soon?”

“He is, and many more as well,” he said, interlacing their fingers. “We’ll meet with the Elders later to discuss what’s soon to come.”

Brahanu nodded as the procession came to a halt. The crowd dispersed, still celebrating after they’d entered their home to complete the bond.

Wosen sat on the lone chair in the room, watching Hibret remove the ribbon from her hair. He smiled as she released her curls, smoothing them down around her shoulders.

“I’ve always loved your hair, Hibret. The sweet oils would glisten in the sunlight when we took our walks along the shore.”

“I recall one such day when you said that you had a surprise for me,” she said, sitting on his lap. “When I closed my eyes to receive it, I felt your lips on mine.”

“Were you not surprised?”

“I was. Tell me: is a stolen kiss more pleasurable than one offered freely?” she asked, placing her lips on his. Wosen drew her nearer, enjoying the feel of her arms around him. It had been too long, and he held her tighter, ensuring this wasn’t a dream. He had visions of the same in Nazil, only to awaken in misery. Not this night. His breathing grew heavy as her hands searched his body, causing his desire to rise. He lost himself in that feeling, until her tongue slid into his mouth.

Wosen’s eyes blinked open, pushing Hibret from his lap. Raising a hand to his lips, he leapt up from the chair, repeatedly wiping his mouth.

“Wosen, what’s wrong?” Hibret asked. She wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head on his back. “What did I do?”

Wosen fought to keep the memories from his mind, but the images, voices, and the pain continued. He shook his head, going back to his chair. “You—you didn’t do anything wrong, Hibret, you never have. I thought being free from Nazil, and back with you…I hoped that I could…that we…” He sighed, shaking his head again. “I’m not free from them. I feel your touch, and it’s their faces, all of them flood my mind as if I were still chained in their cells. What they did to me, all of it takes the joy from us now. I desire your touch,” he said, looking up at her. “I love you more than anyone, but I can’t remove them from my mind. If you knew what they did to me, you’d understand.”

He wiped his mouth again, needing to erase the lingering memories of the taste of bile and seed from it. When he recalled their abuse, he nearly retched: the smells and saltiness assailing him now as it did then. Wosen rushed to the table, lifting the small cruse of wine and draining it.

“Wosen, I don’t know what happened in Nazil, and I won’t have you suffer the memory,” she said, hugging him again. “I’m here for you, my love. We don’t have to do anything but be together. I prayed to have you with me, and I’m grateful for that alone. That’s a greater pleasure for me than any other thing. I can wait as long as you need.”

He shook his head, pushing away. “You shouldn’t have to wait. We’re married now, Hibret, and have dreamt of this night together. I—I just can’t remove it from my mind. I’ll never be the man that you fell in love with again. They’ve ruined me: my mind, my body, everything. You’d be sickened if you saw me.”

Hibret stared at him for a few moments, feeling his pain as if it was her own. The anguish in his eyes nearly caused tears to fall from hers. She took a step back, reaching for her laces.

“If you’re plagued with visions of Nazil, mayhaps replacing them with something more pleasing would aid in your healing,” she said, sliding her dress and skirts to the floor. She didn’t turn from him as she stepped from her slippers, and then slowly removed her stockings.

Wosen licked the dryness from his lips, memorizing every alluring curve of her body. She was more beautiful than he’d imagined. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak, not now. He reached out to her, feeling the softness of her flawless skin. After cupping one of her breasts, his thumb gently caressed a nipple before sliding his fingertips down her stomach to the wisps of curly hair beneath. Hibret’s eyes closed as he continued the pleasurable movements.

“I’ve always dreamt of your taste,” he said, bringing a finger to his mouth, inhaling her sweet scent, and then licking the remains from it. “I want to please you, Hibret, more than you know. I just—”

“Look at me, Wosen, and remember what you see. This is all that matters now. If this is what you want, make me know it,” Hibret said, pulling him in for a kiss.

He closed his eyes again, returning her affections and sliding his hands down the curve of her back. His arousal was immediate as he moaned, cupping her arse, and bringing her tighter against him. As her tongue encircled his, Wosen froze, almost moving away. But she held onto him, whispering, “I love you,” against his lips.

“Wosen,” she breathed, continuing the kiss.

When his throb increased, he pushed away, not allowing her to approach. “No, please. If your longing is as strong as mine, I need to show you what they did to me. Once you’ve seen it, you might be of a different mind.” Wosen’s voice trembled through each word as he removed his boots and trousers, exposing the mutilated flesh beneath.

“That isn’t the worst of it,” he said, unclasping his tunic. He didn’t meet her eyes, but the gasp and soft cries that followed confirmed what he’d feared.

“You deserve more than I could ever give you, Hibret. I’ve ruined not only myself, but our future as well.”

She couldn’t respond, wiping her tears as she stepped closer. When he tried to replace his tunic, she took it from his hands, tossing it to the floor. Her eyes moved over his body as her fingertips rested on his chest. His breaths stopped, feeling her hands gliding across his body, her fingertips nestling in each groove, and caressing every scab and scar.

“I’m sorry, Wosen,” she said, barely over a whisper. “Your suffering was greater than anyone could’ve imagined.” Her lips gently kissed his, and then moved down his neck, to his chest, kissing each scar. As she kissed up to his lips again, she smiled wistfully, taking his hand.

“My heart aches at what you’ve endured, but I refuse to permit Nazil a place in this chamber. These scars don’t alter the love I have for you,” she said, bringing his hand towards her. “My body craves your touch, husband, and I need you to be a part of me.”

Without another word, she led him to their bed, lying in its center. Wosen stared at her, filled with the warmth of her love and visions of her beauty. Images of Nazil diminished, and only his wife remained.

As he enjoyed her breasts, a hand slid down her abdomen. Hibret’s subsequent moans drowned out the words of the Zaxson, the guards, all of them. Wosen relished the taste and feel of his wife, not removing his hand until her satisfaction was obvious. He met her eyes then, moving over her. She continued to twitch as he saturated himself in her essence. “I love you,” he said, kissing her, and joining them as one.

Hibret gasped, clutching his back and pulling him in closer. When her legs enwrapped his waist, he shuddered, unable to control the release.

“Hibret,” he said, breathlessly. “I—I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold it.”

“I’m not hungry. Mayhaps I’ll sit near the eternal fire and enjoy the peace of the wood. There’s too much on my mind.”

She glanced up at him, lifting Eytan to her shoulder. “Will you wait here for a moment?”

When he nodded, Brahanu hurried into the partial hall.

Pentanimir admired the beauty of the wood, attempting to sort through the conflicting thoughts and emotions inundating him. Although he portrayed a placid demeanor, the recent events and coming obligations weighed heavily upon them.

“Pentanimir?” Brahanu said, taking his hand. “Where’s your mind?”

He smiled pensively, gaining strength from not only her touch, but also the loving look in her eyes. “My mind was on many things, but you’ve changed its direction. “Did you need me?” he asked, when she began walking toward the carriages.

“When haven’t I needed you?” She smiled. “It’s been too long since we’ve had any time alone, Pentanimir. I don’t want to be apart from you now, but I understand if you’d rather be alone. If you’re leaving for Nazil, I don’t want to waste another moment with you.”

“No, Brahanu, I’ve missed having you with me,” he said, helping her inside the carriage. Not since their time in Cazaal had they truly been alone. As much as he wanted their closeness, he feared it, too. His love had only grown, and being apart from her intensified the emotion. As he stared into her eyes, the love exuded from them, taking all else from his mind.

Brahanu reached for his other hand, pulling him to her as she lowered on the cot.

Her kiss silenced him, igniting every receptor in his body. He gave into that feeling, returning her kiss with equal fervor.

“Pentanimir,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you. There’s been enough loss in these lands and my heart can’t bear another. I need to feel you inside of me and awaken my body as you have my heart.”

“I’ve always been yours, since first you came to me, it’s always been you,” he said, fumbling with his laces in the dim light.

“Promise me that I’ll be your wife. I don’t care if you’re in Nazil, I want only you.”

“I promise, Brahanu,” he moaned, sliding into the warmth of her body. “I’m yours alone.”

Lymbach and Reaglen jumped as the Chosen pushed through the temple’s doors. They paused, glancing around the sanctuary, scrutinizing the atoners. When Yannick motioned to his men, approaching another door, the Cha immediately blocked their path.

“Good morrow, Sir Merrimont, may we be of assistance?” Reaglen asked.

Yannick didn’t respond, pushing past and continuing down the corridor.

Lymbach and Reaglen exchanged uneasy glances, trailing behind them.

“Only those authorized are allowed beyond the temple sanctuary, Second Chosen. May I ask your business?” Lymbach said.

“My business is my own, Cha. I’m on an errand for the Zaxson.”

“Of—of course, Sir Merrimont,” Reaglen stammered. “We don’t mean to hinder you. If you could tell us of your duty, mayhaps we can assist and bring it to an end.”

“Where’s Beilzen.”

“Beilzen? He returned recently and in great haste. Wasn’t he with you at the citadel?”

“I didn’t ask from where he came, old man, I asked where he is.”

“Yes, yes, Beilzen is in his chamber.” Reaglen pointed. “The third door on the left.”

Yannick gestured to his men, moving forward. When they reached the door, he kicked it open.

Beilzen screamed, stumbling against the wall as the items he held crashed to the floor with a resonating clamor. Yannick glared at him, sweeping his eyes over the room until noticing a haversack on the bed, stuffed with clothing and personal items. There was a second one on the floor, only partially filled.

Beilzen’s face lost all coloring as Yannick stepped toward him. He picked up the bag, riffling through the hastily packed items. As he pulled each piece from inside, he flashed Beilzen an icy glare.

Beads of sweat dotted Beilzen’s brow, looking at the guards towering over him. His heart raced, fearing why they’d come, and cursing himself for returning to the temple. Glancing around the small room again, Beilzen silently prayed, looking for any means of escape.

“Were you planning a trip, son of Perrin?” Yannick asked with his deep and intimidating voice.

“A—a trip? No, I mean, yes—yes. I was only traveling to Yarah. We—we have family there, and I thought to pay a visit.”

“With the lands in such turmoil and our Zaxson’s death, you’re planning a holiday?” Yannick asked, still removing items from the bag.

Beilzen could barely breathe, searching the recesses of his mind for a response. “It—I would only be away for three suns. Most of my family is—is in Yarah, and I wanted to ensure that they were safe and unharmed. With—with the recent hostilities, my father and I are concerned about them.”

At that, Yannick paused. He dropped the empty bag on the floor, turning to regard the quivering man. “Unharmed? It’s interesting that you’d choose that particular word, caitiff.”

When Yannick reached for him, Beilzen lunged for the door, only to feel the agony of one of the guard’s knees. He screamed, thudding to the floor and grasping his chest.

“He sounds like a woman,” a guard laughed.

“He’ll know what it feels like to be one before I’ve finished with him,” Yannick said.

“No!” Beilzen shouted, scrambling to his feet. His eyes darted back and forth, wildly swinging his fist, trying to fight his way to the door.

Immediate laughter followed as the guards took turns slapping him. When one guard landed a hard punch, Beilzen cried out, slamming against the wall before crumpling on the ground.

“Enough,” Yannick said. “The Zaxson wants him conscious. You’ll have ample opportunity to make this one squeal.”

“Please, no, wait, please,” Beilzen pleaded. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Please! It wasn’t me!”

“Save it, caitiff. The Zaxson wants your words, I only await your blood.” Yannick motioned to his men, and they snatched Beilzen from the floor. The Cha watched in horrified disbelief as they dragged him kicking and screaming toward the postern door.

“Father! No! Father, help me, please!” Beilzen continued to scream, causing Perrin to rush out into the corridor.

“Beilzen?” Perrin asked. He ran after the men dragging his bleeding son down the hall. “What do you think you’re doing? Unhand my son,” Perrin yelled. When the Cha clutched his arms, he struggled against their tight hold. “Let me go! Beilzen? Unhand my son!”

“We didn’t come for you, Perrin,” Yannick said. “But know this: if you interfere with the Zaxson’s orders, you’ll hang beside your son in the dark chamber.”

“No, Beilzen, no. Please, gods, no,” Perrin screamed, falling on his knees.

When they exited the temple, the guards threw Beilzen in the back of the concealed cart, making their way back to the citadel. Beilzen cried and begged as they forced him through the slave entrance toward the cells. Many times, he’d escorted new slaves and prisoners through the tiny entrance. Now, the time was his.

His heart pounded in his chest, seeing the dark hood coming toward him. “No, no,” he yelled, struggling against the guards, biting, kicking, anything to break free.

Yannick raised his cudgel, jabbing him hard in the stomach.

“Shite!” he shouted as Beilzen retched on his boots. “You’ll pay for that,” Yannick sneered, delivering several devastating blows.

Beilzen’s shrieks seemed unending, resonating off the bare walls.

Daracus nervously ran his fingers through his hair, pacing outside Jahno’s chamber. He yearned to see his lover, and dreaded it all at once. He couldn’t express how deeply he loved him, and prayed that Jahno would forgive him. What do I say to him? Again, I’ve broken my promise . He fumbled with the packages beneath his arm, gazing down the empty corridor. He’d ordered the guards from this floor before his visit. After taking a deep and steadying breath, he knocked on the door, exhaling as he stepped inside.

“Zaxson.” Hushar’s eyes widened, releasing Jahno’s hand. After proffering a bow, she took a step back, lowering her gaze. Now, you’ve come to apologize for the unforgivable. Leave him be or I’ll do to you what I’ve done to your sister.

Daracus inclined his head, looking at Jahno with empathy. No matter how much he wiped his palms on his trews, he couldn’t keep the moisture from them. As he walked forward, forcing a smile, Jahno turned away.

“How are his wounds, Hushar?”

“They’ll heal in time, milord. Some are more severe than the last time I tended him. It’ll be a bit before he’s able to tend his duties.”

“I don’t give a damn about his duties. I want him well and back at my side,” he said. “Jahno? Jahno, please look at me.”

Jahno’s jaw clenched, not wanting to face him, but he was merely a slave, and couldn’t choose for himself. Gradually, he turned, facing his master.

Daracus winced, consumed with grief and regret. He couldn’t stifle his emotion, leaning down to kiss Jahno’s forehead and lips. Jahno’s eyes widened, his body tensing when Daracus wrapped his arms around him. Daracus kissed him again, sitting beside him while stroking his thick, raven hair.

“Jahno, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know that. It wasn’t you. It’s never you, my love...” He paused. “…I—I’m sorry. It’s the anger within me. Sometimes I—I can’t control it, but it’s not your fault. It’s me, and I promise to do better. You know that I’d never hurt you. Never. You’re my love, Jahno, and I’ll never have another.” Daracus laid his head on his bare chest, embracing him. When his tears began, Jahno peered over at Hushar with hatred and disgust covering his visage.

Hushar’s eyes saddened as she shook her head, gesturing toward Daracus, weeping on Jahno’s chest. She mouthed some words Jahno didn’t want to accept, but couldn’t ignore. Regardless of what happened, he had no other choice. Denying that truth would only lead to more pain, not only for him, but also for Hushar.

His face darkened, closing his eyes as he draped an arm around Daracus, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head.

“Have you forgiven me, Jahno?” Daracus said, rising to face him. “Will you allow me another chance to prove how much I love you?”

Jahno met his pale eyes and nodded, never changing his expression. There’s no forgiveness left within me. I loathe you, Daracus, and I’ll see you dead at my feet. Only the gods and Guardians will keep me from it.

“What’s the matter with him?” Daracus demanded. “Why won’t he talk to me or return my kiss?”

“He can’t, milord.” Hushar pointed. “He needed a few stitches at the corners of his mouth. He can’t open it well, and feeds through a tube.”

Daracus was horrified, noticing the sutures beneath the purple and black bruises. “I—I did this?” he asked, not needing the answer. “What other wounds, Hushar?”

You’re asking as if you’re not the one who did it. “There are many, milord. His throat is badly swollen and red. He’s stopped coughing blood, but it still pains him to swallow. The welts on his back, neck, and arse are swollen, but I stopped the bleeding. I’ve got some herbed cloth on them now, but the scars will remain. And…well…”

“What! I’ve given you everything you need to tend him. What is it?”

She flinched. “You—you have, milord, but the body heals in its own time. Some of his wounds, well, I left the tube in place, but his arse is badly damaged. I don’t know how it’ll heal, but I pray that it does soon.”

“Gods,” Daracus said. His heart ached, gazing down at Jahno with a look of contrition and despondency. “Is that all?”

“No, Sir. I’ve never seen such injuries. His—his member is bruised and swollen. The sac beneath is much the same. I’m not knowing if he’ll have proper use of it again. Even making water causes him pain. If he didn’t need the herbs to heal, I’d give him some dream wine until some of the swelling goes down.”

“His member?” Daracus said, as the memories flooded his mind. The pang in his chest intensified, and he couldn’t meet Jahno’s eyes. Slowly, he rose up, grasping the blanket. He didn’t want to see, but he forced himself to slide the cover away. Daracus’ eyes immediately widened.

“Jah—Jahno, I’m—I’m,” he said, turning away from him. “You’re to stay here with him, Hushar. I don’t care what you need, make him well. Do you understand? I want him well.”

“I’ve left some gifts on the bed,” Daracus said, rushing to the door. “The chocolates are from Noraa. I know they’re your favorites.”

As Daracus exited the chamber, he collapsed against the door, riffling through his pouch for a pellet. It was empty. “No. I must have them,” he said, panicking. “I—I need them.”

Daracus’ breathing was erratic as he spun around to face him.

“My lord, we have Beilzen in the dark chamber,” Yannick said.

“Beilzen? Yes, Beilzen.”

“Are you all right, my lord?”

“Yes, Sir Merrimont, I’m fine,” Daracus lied, straightening his hair and trying to control his breathing. “What’s that beneath your arm?”

“When you mentioned the guest chamber, I had my men search them for any evidence of an attack. They found this beneath one of the beds. It’s stained with blood.”

Daracus took the cover, seeing traces of Denotra’s blood. “He’ll choke on this! Take me to him.”

Wosen’s eyes blinked open, feeling the hand sliding down his abdomen. His mind was muddled, fighting against the tendrils of sleep blurring his vision. When he reached for the hand, Hibret’s soft moans halted him, and she caressed him again, nestling in closer.

Her continuing caress caused his excitement to grow, and he carefully slid from beneath her. Once she was fully on her back, he went beneath the covers, kissing as he went. Wosen’s fingers began to work, enjoying how quickly she responded to his touch.

“Wosen?” she exhaled in a moan.

He didn’t respond verbally. Wosen drew her in closer, increasing his efforts until she called out to him, clutching his shoulders as her body shuddered with satisfaction. He rose up then, sliding into the warmth. The feel of her was intoxicating, and he couldn’t control the release any more now than he could before.

“Gods, Hibret, gods,” he breathed. “Do—do you want me to continue?”

“Yes,” she said, covering his lips and bringing him in closer. When he thrust forward again, a loud knock interrupted them.

“Hells! It’s our bond day.” He ignored the knocks, attempting more thrusts, but his body wasn’t as responsive as his mind. He slipped from his wife, unable to continue.

“It’s all right, Wosen, we’ll try again once you’ve rested. No one would disturb us if it wasn’t important. Mayhaps you should see who it is,” she said, sliding from beneath him.

Wosen sighed, frustrated more with his inability to satisfy her than the interruption. Hastily pulling on his robe, he stomped to the door, snatching it open.

“Fa—father,” he said, wiping the perceived wetness from his face and mouth. “Pardons, I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“No, forgive the intrusion.” Hosdaq smiled. “I know that the morning after the bond can be just as pleasurable as the night.”

Wosen’s face flushed, smiling sheepishly. “Would you like to come in? I could make some tea.”

“Thank you, no. I’ve come to inform you about a meeting. After morning meal, we’re meeting at the clearing near the falls.”

“Pentanimir has mentioned a need for training, and I agree. If you’re going to Nazil, you’ll need to be prepared for it.”

“Yes, you’ve always wanted more sword training, and it’s past time that you had it. Our time is short, but I’ll teach you all that’s within me, Wosen.”

“But the Protectors will be with us. Surely, no one can defeat them.”

“You speak true, but the Protectors won’t always be at your side. Pentanimir and I have discussed strategy and the best way to take the citadel. It’ll be heavily defended, Wosen, and not easily breached. Both Pentanimir and I have served with the Chosen Guard, and there are many skills you must learn before we take the city.”

Wosen’s eyes lowered. “Father, I don’t have your Xtabyren. Draizeyn took it and your armor as a trophy.”

“They’ll be ours again,” Hosdaq said, clasping his shoulder. “If they are in the citadel, we’ll reclaim them. It’s time for me to instruct you as I should’ve long ago. We’re not only reclaiming my Xtabyren, we’re reclaiming our lives.”

“I promise to serve with honor and make you proud.”

“Wosen, you’ve always been honorable, and I’ve been proud of you since first I held you in my arms. I couldn’t make you understand that being a Chosen wasn’t the way to gain honor. True honor lies within, and you’ve always possessed it.”

Hosdaq hugged him quickly. “We’re meeting after the morning meal. Don’t delay: there’s little time left to prepare.”

When Wosen closed the door, Hibret came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Was it important, Wosen? I thought I heard your father’s voice.”

“It was. There’s a meeting after the morning meal. I’ll need to attend.”

“Are you leaving now?” Hibret asked, turning him toward her.

“No, I’d rather continue what we started earlier.” He glanced at the chamber door, cupping a breast in his hand.

“As do I, but I’d better rest for a while. A warm bath and some mulled wine will ease the discomfort.”

“Was it our lovemaking? Did I hurt you?”

“It’s merely discomfort, Wosen, it’ll pass. However, I’d like to soak in some herbed water for a while. If you could fill the tub, I’ll be ready for more of you when you return.”

He accepted her tender kiss, and then fetched water for the caldron. As he prepared the tub, he thought about the citadel and what he could recall of its layout. Wosen tried desperately to remember everything that Jahno and Hushar had told him. He hoped that they and other slaves would aid them in the battle. I’ll see you free, old mum. You and Jahno.

As Wosen approached the hall, he paused, hearing the laughter and voices of his family. Not since his return had he truly felt it. After being with Hibret, and speaking with his father, everything calmed. He was home. The gods and Guardians were good, and he was home.

“Wosen?” Julaybeim said, clapping him on the back. “Are you going to the falls?”

“The falls?” he asked, rejoining the moment. Wosen could barely meet his eyes. Although both he and Brahanu had accepted his apologies, Wosen was still repentant for what his actions had caused.

“For training. Pentanimir asked me to assist. My father trains the sentries in Cazaal, and I’m quite proficient with the sword and bow.”

“Oh, yes, I—I’m going to join them. I haven’t practiced in a long time, but it’ll feel good to hold a sword again,” he said, feeling anxious about his lack of skill.

“No worries. Once you’ve wielded a sword, time doesn’t affect your instincts. When you hold it in your hand, it becomes part of you, just like a woman’s body. Once you learn all its curves and hidden places, you no longer need your eyes. That memory is burned deep into your soul, guiding every part of you.” Julaybeim winked, moving his hands in the figure of a woman.

“Then I still have a lot to learn. Unlike you, I’ve been wed less than a sun.”

Julaybeim chuckled, nudging him forward.

“Wosen,” Pentanimir said, exiting the hall with Danimore. “Hosdaq said he informed you about our training.”

“Yes. Julaybeim and I are heading there now. Will it just be us four?”

“No, everyone going to Nazil will need to train. Your father and Drah’kuu Kuhani will assist with drills and technique. Come, the others will be waiting.”

Wosen swallowed hard. He’d already experienced Thalassa’s prowess when they sparred in the mountains. His face flushed, fearing that she’d tell everyone how badly she’d bested him. Thalassa was so petite: barely three and a half cubits and weighing no more than seven and a half stones. He’d thought for sure that he could win a match against her. But living with the Protectors had made her strong, and he didn’t want to face her again.

When they arrived at the clearing, the others were already hard at work. They paused, watching as Thalassa and Temian practiced. Pentanimir crossed his arms over his chest, observing their prowess.

Thalassa had donned her boiled leather and the half-helm given to her by the Protectors. The metal leaves dangling from her headpiece chimed with her fluid movements.

Temian’s prowess surprised them. He deftly blocked his sister’s advances, pushing her back with his blunted sword. She swirled from his reach, initiating a backward somersault, and tossing her buckler aside. Drawing her second sword, she assumed a defensive crouch. The technique had served her well sparring with the Protectors. Her small frame, speed, and agility gave her an advantage over the giant men.

Thalassa sprang up, whirling toward her brother. Temian’s eyes bulged, watching the swirling blades, and raising his shield to block. Anticipating the move, Thalassa dipped, side-sliding, and catching him in the ribs with the hilt of her sword. When he grabbed at the wound, she kicked high, sending his shield flying from his hand. As he turned, moving his sword up to block, she swiped her right hand up, forcing his sword high while her left hand came around, contacting his wounded ribs.

Temian grimaced, giving ground. Before he could assume a defensive posture, she roared again, spinning toward him. He blocked one thrust, but paid for it with a foot in his chest. When he stumbled backward, Thalassa crossed her blades, wrenching the sword away and launching it behind her. In a blur, she leapt forward, crossing both blades beneath his chin.

“You’ve lost your head, Brother,” she teased.

Temian raised up his hands, inclining his head. The match was hers.

They turned as Pentanimir began clapping. Thalassa replaced her swords, grabbing a cloth from the bench.

“Your skill is impressive, Sister. Many Chosen of Nazil don’t have half of your prowess.”

“It’s been nearly four seasons since I’ve trained,” he said, removing his vest, and inspecting the ripe bruise she’d given him. “I’ll give you a greater challenge once I’ve loosened up and practiced more.”

“Father trained you well,” Pentanimir said. “Had I known, Brother, we could’ve sparred together.”

Temian smiled. “Both he and Father Urdan were insistent. I relished our time in the sparring chamber after I came to Nazil. Mayhaps we can do the same once our duty is complete.”

“We’ll do that and more.”

“Indeed,” Danimore said. “The Protectors trained you, Thalassa?”

“Aye. Not only the sword, with many weapons and fighting techniques,” she said, removing her whip, urumi, and daggers. “In the mountains, there was little to do but eat, pray, and train. They made sure that I’d be able to protect myself. Arinak was a father to me, and relentless with martial and weapons training. I have the scars and memory of broken limbs to prove it.” She chuckled, wiping sweat from her face and chest.

“There won’t be much we can teach you after such brutal training,” Pentanimir said. “But I’m certain that there’s much you could teach us.”

“I’m honored to help in any manner that I can.” She grinned, looking at Wosen. “Wosen is already one lesson ahead. We had the pleasure of training in the mountains. It was…interesting , was it not?”

He blushed. “That it was, and painful if I recall.”

“Pain?” Hosdaq said, entering the clearing. “No one will know the meaning of pain until this day is at an end. The time to train is short, and you’ll be ready.”

Kuhani inclined his head, setting an assortment of swords and shields on the long bench. When he noticed Thalassa’s weapons, he stepped forward, lifting the urumi in the air.

Thalassa’s smile broadened, approaching Kuhani and then rested a hand over his heart. “He has, but my prowess is lacking compared to the Jasiri.”

Kuhani merely nodded, returning the gesture.

“Jasiri?” Pentanimir asked, eyeing them curiously.

“Warriors with a like heart,” Hosdaq said, quickly, as Kuhani stepped away. “The boiled leather is fine for sparring, Thalassa, but you’ll want chainmail and armor before leaving for Nazil. Their archers are fierce, and the poison arrows will easily pierce the leather.”

“Yes, the AsZar is providing liveries from Afferea. However, the Nazilian’s weapons won’t be the only ones with poison. The Protectors harvest a deadlier substance from the tails of their beasts. My swords will drip with it as well as our arrows.”

Julaybeim’s head cocked in confusion. “What if you’re struck with your own blade? Won’t the poison kill you, too?”

“No, the Protectors and I ingest it daily. Even Wosen has partaken, but he didn’t know.”

“Me? You didn’t give me anything like that.”

“Don’t you recall the sweet, dark liquid you drank upon your arrival? Each day after, you partook of the same. This was the poison of the beasts…their nectar. It was needed to help you heal and remain strong.”

“You fed me poison?”

“Yes, and you commented on how much you enjoyed the taste.” She winked. “We didn’t know how long that you’d be with us. There’re medicinal purposes to it as well. The healing properties of the nectar are found nowhere else in all the lands. The beasts are of the Guardians, Wosen, no harm will come from them.”

“You’ll have time to explain more to them later, Thalassa,” Kuhani said. “For now, we must ready both your bodies and mind for what lies ahead.” Kuhani gestured to the bench, nodding to Hosdaq.

“Firstly, we’ll match you and see how you fight. Studying your technique will help us determine your skill and know how we can help you master it. Meditation will follow,” Hosdaq said. “Thalassa and Pentanimir, Temian and Danimore, and Wosen and Julaybeim. Choose your sword and your shield.”

After selecting their weapons, they assumed their positions and fighting stance. When Hosdaq dropped his hand, the sparring began. Thalassa and Pentanimir were well matched as they traded lunges and parries. Pentanimir’s dance seemed well rehearsed and flawless, while Thalassa’s agility and speed sometimes gave her the advantage.

“Keep your muscles loose and regulate your breathing. Wosen, study Julaybeim’s movements and learn when he’s coming in to attack and counter it. Your movements are sluggish. Extend your sword toward him, not your arm,” Hosdaq shouted.

Wosen struggled against Julaybeim as they continued their assessment.

“Keep your opponent on point and be ready to anticipate and counter his strike. Your physical prowess is secondary to that of your mind. Envision your victory and then achieve it,” Kuhani said. “Your footing and proper placement are key for balance. Find your flow and control it.”

“Gods!” Wosen said, thudding to the ground. Julaybeim stood over him with the point of his sword at his throat. When he raised a hand, Julaybeim extended out his arm, pulling him up.

“Wosen, you must improve your stance. Balance is key,” Hosdaq said, reaching for his sword. “Keep your feet apart and have them ready to move with the flow of your hands, not against it. Balance. Don’t just lunge at your opponent; study them, and be ready to move against them. Like this. Come at me, Julaybeim.”

When he thrusted forward, Hosdaq easily batted his sword away, and then used his foot to throw him off balance. Julaybeim regarded him differently, advancing again with his sword high. Hosdaq nearly grinned, noticing Julaybeim’s shifting foot. He raised his sword as if to parry, then side-stepped when Julaybeim reversed his momentum, attempting a sideswipe. Hosdaq anticipated the feint, thrusting his sword against his, forcing it out wide, then swiftly spun sideward to dodge. Before Julaybeim could counter, Hosdaq shoved him hard, forcing him off balance again. He was surprised, feeling Hosdaq’s sword at his neck and the ease of his defeat.

“You see, with practice, it’ll become as second nature,” Hosdaq said, handing the sword back to Wosen. “Again!”

They continued training until the sun began to set, only taking short breaks to rest and refresh. As they returned to the encampment, they nursed their fresh bruises, but all of them would return at the sun’s rise. Kuhani merely inclined his head, walking back toward the clearing.

Pentanimir draped an arm over Danimore’s shoulder as he limped toward the eternal fire. He grimaced, rubbing the raised bruise on his chin.

“Dani, your movement was stiff, elsewise, Temian wouldn’t have been able to catch you with his shield. Mayhaps your constant bonding has weakened you, Brother.” Pentanimir laughed aloud. “Zeta is small, but her appetite seems large.”

Danimore’s face reddened. “I’ll be certain to rest this night. Not even her closeness could stir me.”

“You grow older than your years, Dani,” Julaybeim said. “My wife’s closeness serves to strengthen me. On the morrow, I’ll be fiercer than this day,” he said, flexing his muscle.

Thalassa chuckled, shaking her head. “No doubt because you leave all of the work to your wife, Julaybeim. By the sounds of your squeals each night, it appears like she’s the one possessing the strength and control.”

They roared with laughter as Julaybeim’s face flushed, unable to suppress his own mirth.

“She speaks true, Julaybeim. Mayhaps you should take your shelter further away from the camp. Those of us who sleep beneath the stars can barely rest with your constant shrieks. Only two suns past, I thought to come and ensure you weren’t being attacked by some fierce creature,” Temian jested, slapping him on the back.

“Even so, I’ll be ready to face you on the morrow. My wife’s closeness won’t hinder how I wield my sword.”

“Nor will it let me rest!” Temian shot back.

“All right, enough,” Hosdaq said. “The training went well, but you’re far from ready. Thalassa will spar with Julaybeim on the morrow, and we’ll put his words to the test. Now, go and enjoy the evening meal. After which, rest well. You’ll need it.”

“Yes, Elder,” they said, moving off toward the hall.

Hosdaq rested an arm over Wosen’s shoulder, walking toward his shelter.

“You did well, Wosen, don’t be discouraged. It’ll take time to learn and apply these techniques.”

“I spent more time on the ground than on my feet. How am I supposed to defeat the Nazilians if I can’t even defend against Julaybeim?”

“It’ll come. Just give it time.”

“Father, there isn’t time. We’re riding to Nazil soon, and…and I won’t be able to assist them. I’m nothing but a liability.”

Hosdaq’s guilt was overwhelming as he met his son’s eyes. Had he trained Wosen when he was of age, no one could’ve stood against him. He’d never allowed his own skills to wane, practicing endlessly with Kuhani and Nurul. Yet, he let his fear keep him from properly training his son.

“Wosen, you aren’t a liability. The Guardians wouldn’t have asked for your assistance if they didn’t believe in your abilities. They know what lies within your heart, just as I do.”

“Mayhaps I should use the bow. That’s truly where my strength lies. On the back of a Desu Beast, my arrows could make a difference.” He looked down. “You were right, Father. I should’ve listened to you in Bandari. The bow is extremely important, and one of us needs to wield one.”

Hosdaq gripped his shoulder, causing him to face him. “We were both right, Wosen. I’m guilty of not hearing your words as much as you were deaf to mine. That’s no longer the case, and we’ll do this together. Your skill as an archer will be an asset when you take the city. You’re the best bowman that I’ve known.”

“But if I take up the bow, we’ll be less a sword on the ground.”

Hosdaq shook his head, pulling him into a hug. “No, you won’t. I’m riding to Nazil with you.”

“I thought you told them to stay their hands, Yannick?”

“Indeed, they were given very specific commands. No one will beat or seriously injure him until you order them to do so.”

As they rounded the corner, Daracus stopped. His eyes were fixed on the trussed and hooded man bent over in the corner.

“However, I did tell them that they could have a go at his arse,” Yannick said. “I was certain that you wouldn’t mind, my lord. Given his offense, I thought that this was a necessary experience and one he wouldn’t soon forget.”

Daracus grinned, stepping closer. His eyes danced at the sight and smell in the room. Beilzen struggled against the much larger guard, bending him over the table.

“Who has yet to have a go?” Yannick asked.

“Ladir is the last, Sir Merrimont.”

A loud roar of pleasure claimed their attention as Ladir held Beilzen tight, lifting him from the ground. His loose limbs flailed in the air, as he released a nearly unending scream, feeling his insides give way to the force. With a final moan, Ladir shoved Beilzen onto the floor. He crumpled in a heap, convulsing, while cries and whimpers escaped his lips.

“I was the last because my cock stood thicker and longer than any other. I should’ve been the first.” Ladir’s voice boomed as he wiped away the wetness, lacing his trousers.

Daracus’ eyes didn’t leave Ladir’s manhood until he’d tucked it away.

“Impressive indeed, Ladir. Had I only known,” Daracus said in a joking, yet serious tone.

“Zaxson! I—I didn’t mean to offend. Our orders were to—”

Daracus waved dismissively with one hand, while calming his member with the other. “You’ve committed no offense. Sir Merrimont’s orders mirrored my own. Now, pick up that filth and secure him to the wall.”

Beilzen continued to cry and moan as they forced his hands and feet far apart, fettering him to the wall. Foul-smelling refuse secreted from his arse onto the earthen floor as his slight, naked frame shuddered with both fear and pain, straining against the pull of the heavy manacles.

“You should remember this chamber, Beilzen,” Daracus said. “Were you not present when the savage once stood where you do now?”

“Please, please, I didn’t mean to. I was only doing as I was commanded. I couldn’t refuse. Please, my lord, have mercy,” Beilzen cried through the stained hood covering his head.

“Mercy? Is this what you offered my poor sister? Mercy.”

“Sir, I only did what she commanded. Ask her, please.”

Daracus glanced at the guards, not wanting them to learn about Denotra. “Are the pinchers and tools in the fire?”

“They are, my lord.”

“Good, fill two pails with water and resume your duties. Only Sir Merrimont will remain.”

Once the three men were alone, Daracus took the tip of his dirk, sliding the dark covering from Beilzen’s head.

“You know, some feel that removing senses from a man increases his fear. Perceptual isolation is how I think the honorable Sir Benoist referred to it. Is that correct, Sir Merrimont?”

“Aye, I believe it is, Zaxson.”

“Yes, so, as I was saying…some feel that if you deliberately reduce or remove one or more of the senses, panic and fear will take hold. Therefore, if I kept your eyes covered, forcing you to follow only my sound, I could increase your terror and panic. What do you think of such theories, Beilzen?” Daracus asked, pacing in front of him.

“Please, Zaxson,” Beilzen pleaded. “I’ve served Nazil with honor. Your father—”

“IS DEAD,” Daracus screamed, clutching Beilzen’s throat. “If I have to remind one more person of this, they’ll lose their tongue,” he snarled, shoving him away.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes, fear,” he said calmly, smoothing his neat shoulder-length hair. “It takes a unique skill set to have the patience for such endeavors. Me, I’d rather watch you suffer while looking into your eyes. Seeing the fear within a man…that’s what excites me, not allowing you to hide behind some sack.

“Sir Merrimont, my fair sister told a sorrowful tale recently. She lies abed still this day, due to her ill treatment. Now, I could simply kill the one who committed such an egregious offense, or I could grant him the opportunity to explain everything to me. Offer his side of things, if you will.”

“It’s a difficult choice, my lord. I’m not certain which I’d choose if the decision were mine,” Yannick said, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

As Daracus begun to respond, Beilzen sobbed, still begging. Daracus sighed, glaring over at him and then landed a hard backhand to his face.

“The Zaxson and his Chosen are speaking, Beilzen. You’re being quite rude to interrupt. Sir Merrimont, is there perchance something that you could put in his mouth to keep him quiet?”

Yannick grinned as Beilzen tightened his lips. He shook his head, watching Yannick walk toward him, untying his laces.

“Listen well, caitiff.” Yannick gripped his chin, forcing his head up. “If you so much as attempt to clamp down on me, I’ll force every tooth from your head and take you to the stables. You haven’t taken a cock until you have that of a horse.”

“No, please, no—”

Daracus’ hand slipped into his trousers, enjoying Yannick’s skillful movements. A pleasured smile creased his lips, his mouth going slack, following each movement, until Yannick’s thunderous moan quickened his own release.

Beilzen was nearly blue, lurching sideward, coughing and retching as Yannick withdrew. Heaving in a sharp breath, he groaned, spewing more bile and blood before his body drooped against the tethers holding him upright.

Daracus clucked his tongue, dabbing sweat from his face. “Sir Merrimont, you must teach our young friend how to swallow. He seems to have made quite a mess.”

“Mayhaps we should have him lick it from the ground. That would teach him not to waste such precious nourishment.”

Daracus laughed. “Some other time. I haven’t the desire to witness such activity just now. However, I’d have you move him to the table so that I can examine what he forced inside of my dear sister.”

“Yes, my lord.” When Yannick released him from the irons, Beilzen’s body went limp. The oozing fluids left a trail as he was dragged across the chamber and tossed onto the table.

“His cock is small,” Yannick said, flicking the thin tip. “My thumb stands larger.”

When Beilzen didn’t respond, Daracus lifted a pail from the floor, dumping the contents over his face. Beilzen’s eyes popped open and he gasped, choking on the water.

“Ah, it’s good to have you back with us, son of Perrin. We wouldn’t want you to miss a moment.” Daracus whispered in his ear. “Sir Merrimont was commenting on the minuscule size of your cock,” he said, fondling it in his hand. “But we both know that until it stands full, no one can speak of the true size.”

As Daracus continued, Beilzen’s body responded, regardless of how much he wished it otherwise.

“Ah, see there, Sir Merrimont, it’s not so small.”

Yannick scoffed, unimpressed.

“Now that we’ve ascertained the size, I’ll give you the opportunity to tell me how this pitiful piece of flesh found its way inside my sister.”

Tears rolled from Beilzen’s eyes as he squeezed them shut. No matter his words, they’d hold no meaning.

“Didn’t you hear the Zaxson?” Yannick said, gripping his sac.

“Yes, please,” Beilzen squealed, the searing pain igniting every nerve in his body. “I didn’t wish it, my lord. I did only as Lady Denotra commanded.”

“Are you to tell me that my sister asked you to brutally take her maidenhead? Is this what I’m to believe? She’s pledged to the First Chosen of Nazil, but you want me to believe that it’s you she prefers?”

Beilzen shook his head, coughing. “She didn’t want me, she wanted Pentanimir. She made me answer by his name after instructing me how to please her.”

Daracus glanced up at Yannick. In his heart, he felt that Beilzen was telling the truth, but it didn’t matter. Too many people knew about Denotra’s state, and someone had to suffer for it. She couldn’t be known as a whore, even though Daracus always knew that she was.

“So, you were a substitute for our First Chosen?” Daracus forced a laugh. “You look that of a woman compared with Sir Benoist.”

“I swear, Zaxson, before all four gods. Lady Denotra asked me to take her, she yearned for her pledged and couldn’t have him. It was my mouth she took instead, and called out the name of him she loved.” He struggled through each word, feeling his throat swelling shut.

“Oh, I see. Did this anger you? There you were acting as a good little servant, pleasing my fair sister with your mouth. Then, when pleasure took hold, it was another she called out to. Is that the truth of it?” Daracus asked, his tone calm.

“She did, my lord. I only did as she commanded.”

Yannick slapped him hard across the face. “Everyone knows that you’ve lusted after Lady Denotra. Don’t try to push your perversions off onto her. She’d never allow you near her.”

“Sir Yannick, I believe that Beilzen should be relieved of that which caused this offense. Mayhaps then, the women of Nazil would be safe.”

“Aye, my lord. We must protect our women above all others. His cock is little payment for the crime that he’s committed.”

“I want all of it. Remove his cock and sac, and cut him a slit.”

“No, please, forgive me. I’ll do whatever you command. Please, please,” Beilzen begged as Daracus ripped parts of the soiled bedding, stuffing it in his mouth.

“Enjoy the taste of my sister’s blood,” he sneered. “She’ll be the last woman that you’ll ever enter!”

Daracus spun around, walking toward the stairs. A loud sizzle and muffled scream filled the dark corridor, resonating off the stone walls. Beilzen’s body thrashed violently as he was separated from his manhood and sac.

“Put those in a jar, Sir Merrimont. He’ll need something to eat later.”

“Oh, and inform Ladir to visit my chambers after evening meal. I have an issue that requires his special abilities.”

“As you say, my lord,” Yannick said, knowing the Zaxson’s intent.

Daracus made his way up the steep stairs, fumbling with the pouch at his waist. His pace quickened, clutching the empty pouch in his fist and rushing to Denotra’s chamber.

“Arilian,” he shouted, entering the room.

The old man jerked, turning as he startled him. “Your sister grows weaker, Zaxson, I fear the worst.”

“Yes, yes, do all you can for her, Arilian. Now, I have an urgent need,” Daracus said, handing him the pouch.

“My lord, it’s empty.”

“Do you think me daft? Why else would I give it to you? I need more, now.”

“But Sir, it’s only been seven suns. There was enough here to last three times that long. It’s dangerous to consume so much so quickly.”

“I didn’t ask for your assessment. All I need from you are the pellets, now!”

“I—I have very few left. I need more mandrake, tears of the poppy, imphepho, and kava. Until I receive more, I can’t produce the pellets.”

“I’ll take what you have, and don’t let the time come again when you don’t have what’s needed to produce more. Always keep a supply for whenever I should need them.”

“Yes, Zaxson. Firstly, I need to speak with you about Lady Denotra.”

“That can wait,” Daracus said, growing more agitated. “Go now and see to my needs. I’ll stay here until you return. Make haste.”

“Yes—yes, my lord.”

After Arilian left, Daracus sat on the bed, staring at his sister, while sifting through the muddled thoughts in his mind. “Could his words be true? Did your lust for Pentanimir cause you to allow that hedgeborn filth to pleasure you?”

Daracus stroked her sweat-soaked hair, hearing Beilzen’s words repeat in his mind. Gradually, the gentle stroking ceased, and his movements became rougher, tugging pieces of hair from her head.

“Surely, you wouldn’t shame our family, Sister. You wouldn’t willingly lay with such a low-born piece of scum. Always you dangled Beilzen on a string, using him at your whim. You knew that he longed for you.” His lips curled into a snarl, leaning to whisper in her ear. His hands slid down her hair, caressing her neck.

“Now your little songbird lies in the dark chamber, crying like a woman. That cock you made use of so well has been removed. Mayhaps you’d like to feel it again before I feed it to him? Would you like that, Sister?” Daracus said through clenched teeth, moving both hands to her throat, squeezing and twisting as he spoke.

“Because of you, I’ve injured Jahno again. It’s always you, isn’t it? Father thought it was me, but it was you. I couldn’t have who I wanted, but you had every one of your servants licking you each night until you squealed. Yes, I’ll bring you your cock. You’ll feel the same pain you’ve inflicted upon me. You’re nothing but a whore.”

Arilian paused at the door, staring over at the bed. His brow knitted, observing Daracus bent over his sister.

“Arilian.” He shot up from the bed, rushing toward him. “Do you have them?”

“Yes, my lord. There’re thirteen left, but Pailen has gone to fetch more ingredients.”

“Excellent,” Daracus said, immediately placing a pellet beneath his tongue. Everything faded away as he closed his eyes, allowing the feeling to overtake him.

“My lord,” Arilian shouted, wrenching him from his euphoria. “By the gods, what happened?”

Daracus blinked his eyes open, staggering around. As his vision cleared, he noticed Arilian grasping his sister.

“Wha—what do you mean?” he slurred. “What’s the matter?”

Osmara snuggled closer to Hosdaq, resting her head on his smooth chest. She fought to keep her tears at bay, though desolation permeated her very being. The passing suns seemed more liked moments until he’d leave her for Nazil. Now, the time was here, and she couldn’t bear to think of it.

“I can’t send Wosen to Nazil alone. Only Pentanimir and I have trained with the Chosen Guard, and my sword is needed, my love.”

He sat up, resting a hand on her stomach. “I’m not doing this only for the lands. I’m doing this for my children, for you, and for our child you’re carrying now. I love you more than anyone that I’ve known, Osmara, and I refuse to hide that love, or allow our children to be forced from these lands. Too long have the rulers of Nazil corrupted the truth and misled our people. Your blood is the same as mine…there’s nothing that separates us. If I wasn’t needed, I’d never leave your side.”

“I know of the need, but I’m afraid. You’ve only just come to me, Hosdaq, and we’ve had little time together. If I were to lose you now, I wouldn’t want to live.” Osmara wept as Hosdaq enfolded her into his arms.

“Allay your fears. The Guardians will protect us, and you won’t lose me. They’ve already spoken of our victory.”

“They’ve spoken of your victory, not of your survival. You haven’t been in the white city for years, and I don’t want you from my side.”

“Nothing will keep me from returning to you. Together we’ll see our children birthed and grow strong. I’m coming back to you,” he said, embracing her tighter. “Will you come with me to the hall? I have to meet the others, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll come after readying Malkia. I know that you’re meeting with the Elders, too.”

“I won’t be taking my meals at the Elder’s table anymore. Our family is the most important thing in my life, and I’ll be at your side,” he said, kissing her lovingly. “What you said in Bandari was true. You didn’t express your love for me, but I’m guilty of the same. I was afraid then, but no longer. I would’ve loved you endlessly, my wife, as I cherish you now. Don’t think that my heart doesn’t ache at the thought of leaving. Learning of your love and our coming child have been among the happiest moments in my life. I love you, Osmara, I’ve always loved you. The Guardians will bring me through safely. I promise.”

She smiled wistfully, sliding the cover away. “If you’re going to Nazil, I need you to be a part of me before you do.”

Temian and Thalassa stretched, approaching the hall. Neither of them had rested well with thoughts of the coming battle occupying their thoughts. As they opened the door, Pentanimir and Danimore were sipping steaming cups of tea, sitting at a table nearest the door. The brothers sat close, viewing a large piece of vellum.

“Is this a map of Nazil?” Thalassa asked, joining them at the table.

“It’s mainly the citadel and temple. I’ve marked the barracks and doors here.” Pentanimir pointed out their locations, motioning the two closer. “The citadel is surrounded by not one, but two walls. There’s a drawbridge between them, and two portcullises, which are raised and lowered by the guards here,” he continued, pointing to different locations on the map. “The battlements and ramparts are here. There’re arrow loops and murder holes as well. We must concentrate our arrows in these locations. The guards inside will have access to arbalests, but they don’t routinely have them in place. When they go to retrieve the weapons, we must be ready.

“This location is a small entrance to the cells, and there’re several postern doors here. All of these are barbicans, and usually only two to four guards are stationed there. And this, of course, is the curtain wall. I’m not certain about the temple’s detailed layout, and know of only three entrances. We’ll need you to mark those, Temian.”

He moved closer, picking up several stones from the table. “Here and here. These aren’t known to most. This one is of the most importance. It’s meant as an escape door of sorts, and doesn’t lead directly outside. There’s an underground tunnel that lets out behind the citadel.”

Pentanimir nodded, continuing to study the map. “Like the tunnel of Hyorin,” he said, quietly.

“The children of Manifir are joined at last,” Temian said, taking a seat beside them.

“Not all, Brother. Crissu was supposed to be with us,” Thalassa lamented.

Thalassa nodded, regarding the others. “Were you able to rest?”

“Only thoughts of the coming battle were in my mind.” Danimore stretched, shaking his head. “The more I did to rid myself of them; the more powerful they became.”

“Me, too,” Pentanimir said. “Brahanu did much to soothe me, but I couldn’t rest.”

“Thalassa and I were much the same. I don’t think anyone rests well on the eve of battle. But we need to stay focused and remember everything we’ve planned. Nazil won’t be prepared for our attack, and we’ll use this to our advantage. Our strike must be fierce and unrelenting.”

“The citadel will be the most difficult target,” Pentanimir said, pointing at the map. “With Wosen’s arrows, our chances are greatly improved.”

“Yes, but if we’re to take it, our descent must be flawless,” Danimore said. “I know that the Protectors can place us where we need to be, but once inside, are we on our own against all of the guard?”

“No,” Pentanimir said. “Thalassa, Arinak, and Baldon will be with us. Their beasts will wreak havoc on the guards attempting to enter, and any on the ramparts that Wosen hasn’t removed.”

“Indeed. Hosdaq and I’ll secure the temple,” Temian said. “The false gods of Nazil will be destroyed this day. Once we’ve taken the temple and detained the Cha, the remaining guard will come to us. With the Protectors’ help, we’ll keep the guards from storming the citadel. Wosen will continue circling above, and the beast’s mist can help slow multitudes of guards.”

“Yes,” Thalassa said. “The Protectors don’t always fight on the backs of their beasts. They’ll do as the Protectors command through their extrasensory connection. It’s grown stronger being amongst the Guardians. They’ve all grown stronger.”

“As have we,” Danimore said. “Will the nectar we consumed protect us from their poison?”

“Not fully. There wasn’t enough time, and you could only ingest small amounts. You must take great care with your blades.”

“What about the slaves?” Temian asked. “Who’ll release them?”

“I will,” Danimore said. “There are guards stationed throughout the corridors, but only two guard the cells. If the Nazilians have taken more captives, they can assist us. We’ll enter with six, but there’ll be many more once the slaves are set free.”

“You’ll enter with seven,” a voice called from the door.

The siblings squinted, raising a hand to block the sun’s rays bathing the hall.

“Julaybeim?” Pentanimir said, surprised. “We can’t ask this of you. This battle belongs to us alone.”

“Where’s that written, First Chosen?” Julaybeim said in his usual defiant tone, taking interest in the map.

Gali raised up a hand, shaking her head. “Save your words, Pentanimir, he’s of a singular mind. During the night, he woke with horrible dreams. Not even my closeness could soothe his heart or mind. He won’t be moved, not even by the words of his wife.”

Thalassa looked curiously, realizing more from Gali’s statement than the others. “Dreams? What did you see, Julaybeim?”

“I saw my parents. Only, they weren’t truly there. It was merely a shadow of what they were.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. “I called out to them…tried to reach them, but I couldn’t get near. It—it was the falls, like Brahanu described. They seemed to merge all into each other and…and this light. Beneath them, there was a light that reached the heavens.

“I couldn’t reach them; I couldn’t. They smiled at me, embracing each other, and speaking words of love. When I reached out to them again, they were gone…forever they are gone.”

“Do you think your dream is true?” Thalassa asked, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

“I can’t be certain until we return to Cazaal, but I grieve for my parents. Everything appeared as real to me then as all before me now. Had Brahanu not spoken of the merging falls, I’d try to dismiss it…to reason my way through. But being here amongst the Guardians, I feel there’s truth in my dream. It seemed more a vision placed in my mind to awaken me.”

“Awaken you to what?” Temian asked.

“To what I must do. If my parents have fallen, it was at the Nazilians’ hands. One more sword in Cazaal would’ve made little difference. But one more sword as we ride to Nazil could make all the difference.” Julaybeim’s dark grey eyes stared unblinkingly, meeting the eyes of each of them.

“He won’t be moved, and I won’t speak against it,” Gali said. “This is what he feels the Guardians would have him do; it’s what he feels in his heart that he must do. I don’t wish it, yet I stand by my husband.”

“We welcome your sword, young lord. However, I pray that your dream is false, and both Hacom and Amani await you in Cazaal,” Pentanimir said, knowing the opposite to be true.

“Thank you, First Chosen, but I don’t feel it’s so. I’ll fight beside you and free the lands of this evil. If my father were here, he’d do the same.”

The hall was nearly full as Hosdaq and Wosen entered with their families.

“What have we missed?” Hosdaq asked.

“We’ve discussed more about our strategy and the city’s layout. However, Julaybeim has decided to join us.”

“Are you certain that this is a battle you wish to join?” Hosdaq asked.

“I’m certain. My sword is yours.”

“Then you’ll assist Temian and me. Taking the temple won’t be the most difficult of tasks, but outside, many guards and Chosen will come against us. Your sword and the skill in which you wield it will be of great use, Julaybeim. The Protectors will aid us significantly, but there’ll be numerous guards we’ll have to face. This won’t be an easy battle, even with the Protectors help. We’re tasked with keeping the guards from reaching the citadel.”

“Yes, and once the captives are freed, chaos could erupt,” Danimore said. “Not everyone will want to fight or be able to, and some may hinder our efforts. We must remain focused and stay on task.”

“Agreed. Let us break our fast and move to the falls,” Pentanimir said. “The AsZar awaits us there.”

Gali’s brow knitted, glancing around the room. “Brahanu and Zeta aren’t joining us?”

Pentanimir and Danimore both shook their heads. “Kuhani met with them not long ago,” Pentanimir said. “They’ll remain in the carriage with the children for now. Our leave has grieved them and they’re comforting each other.”

“I understand their feelings,” Osmara said, taking Hosdaq’s hand. “Even knowing the importance of your duty doesn’t lessen the ache of our hearts.”

Hibret and Gali nodded, kissing their husbands before beginning their meal. Most merely picked at their food, reorganizing it on their plates. Although no one would speak it, the trepidation hung heavily in the air, like a tangible entity, crushing them in malleable tendrils.

“Mayhaps you can take Malkia to see Ameya,” Hosdaq said, kissing Osmara’s hand. “They seem to play well together.”

“Are you leaving now?” Osmara whispered.

“Soon. I’d rather you leave me here than watch me walk away from you. Please, take Malkia to the carriages, and know that I love you,” he said, standing to kiss and embrace her.

“Come now, little one, give your father and brother a hug,” Osmara said. “We’re going to visit Brahanu.”

After they hugged Malkia, Osmara leaned closer for one more kiss, forcing the best smile that she could manage. “May the Guardians be with you,” she said before exiting the hall.

“I’d like you to go, too, Hibret,” Wosen said. “The Guardian’s protection covers us, and I’ll return soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, interlacing their fingers, and walking to the door.

Julaybeim turned, taking Gali’s hands. “Mayhaps you should join them.”

“But I want to stay. Until the very last moment, I want to be with you.”

“Gali, I don’t want you to see me walking away from you, either. If you join the others, you’ll have the support and love that I’ll be unable to provide.”

“If you don’t want me with you, I’ll go, but I want to stay. Being with you now is what will soothe my heart and mind, Julaybeim.”

“Mine as well,” he said, kissing her tenderly. He’d made the request more for himself than for her. His heart ached at leaving her, and he prayed that he’d have the strength to do so.

“It would be an honor to escort you to the falls,” Kuhani said, bowing.

Hosdaq’s smile was immediate as he stood to embrace him. “The honor will be ours, old friend,” he said, locking stares with him. With a nod of understanding, Kuhani rested a hand over Hosdaq’s heart, prompting him to do the same.

“We are honored to be in your presence,” Kuhani said, bowing low.

Angelaris walked forward, taking her place in front of the Guardians. The Protectors knelt beside their massive beasts, outfitted for battle. Their armor was regal, yet rugged, with mirrored silver breastplates with onyx accents, which seemed fitting for the fierce fighters. The only embellishment was the mark of the Guardians centered on their chests, a mark surrounded by golden flecks symbolizing light.

The habergeons they wore seemed to shift color with the accentuating rays of the sun, changing from a purplish silver, and back again to black. The shields attached to their beasts stood taller than any man, with thick spikes protruding from either end. The detail was intricate, identical to the gauntlets, cuisses, and greaves that they wore. The shimmering eminence-colored cloaks of the Guardians hung from their shoulders as they knelt by their Desu Beasts, similarly adorned with impenetrable iridescent armor.

Angelaris motioned to a long, polished table that no one had noticed before. Positioned across its top were armor, hauberks, gambesons, shields, swords, daggers, shurikens, helms, and an intricately carved bow and quivers. The arrows were broad with tips of silver. As Wosen studied them, he noted a dark deliquesced hue.

“The nectar of the beasts,” he said, nodding.

“Yes, son of Hosdaq, these are yours.” Angelaris smiled.

“The armor? The shield? The helm?” Wosen asked, touching the magnificent items.

“For each of you. The protection of the Guardians will cover you in Nazil. These are the weapons that you shall wield, and none other.”

Pentanimir lifted a hauberk from the table. “It’s as light as fabric.”

“Yet, no arrow or blade shall pierce it.” Angelaris pointed. “Son of Wesleyon, for you as well.”

“You knew that I was to wield a sword in my son’s place?”

“Wosen was always meant for the bow. He’s the archer, though he didn’t wish it. But he’ll learn that without this strength, the battle couldn’t be won.”

Vot’s expression was bemused. “You’ve told of their victory.”

“We did, Elder. Albeit Hosdaq needed to realize his need to return to Nazil: not only for his son, but for himself. Not all battles are fought upon an open field. The ones of greatest significance are fought within.

“And these are for you, Julaybeim, son of Hacom,” she said.

“Me? I only just told of it. How did you know that I was going to join them?”

Oloran: “The truth known in your…” Behanish: “…heart, needed to find your mind.” Yemala: “Once you allowed it an unfettered path...” In unison: “…you could accept what is, despite what is desired.”

“My heart? It was you. You brought the vision to me,” Julaybeim said, falling back a step. “Was it true? Have they fallen?”

“Why? Why would you show me this now? Because you need me to fight in your war?”

“No, it’s because of your need, not ours. Choice, son of Hacom,” the Guardians responded.

Lowering his head, Julaybeim approached the table. After examining the items, he reached forward, and then stopped, taking a deep breath. Haltingly, he gripped the sword’s pommel. The balance was perfect, and it felt like an extension of his arm, with the honed edge glinting in the sun’s light. When he raised it higher, the weight was hardly noticed. As he completed a few practiced moves, he smiled despite himself. “This is like my father’s sword.”

“Crafted as his, but not so,” Angelaris said. “It’s a Guardian Sword, and there’re no others like these in all the lands. Even long after you’ve passed, these swords will remain. Forever will they be a part of your line, passed from one generation to the next. All those who wield them shall be blessed.”

As she spoke, the Protectors stood beside their Desu Beasts, bowing to the AsZar and the Guardians.

Gali ran to embrace Julaybeim. “I love you. Please come back to me.”

“I’ll return to you, Gali. I love you, too.”

The Guardians radiated a warming glow as they glided over to them, resting a hand on the shoulder of each. The luminescence brightened, bathing the clearing with numinous energy. After the tendrils diminished, the warriors shuddered, clumsily regaining their footing.

“The light hasn’t weakened you,” Angelaris said. “It’s made you stronger. Take up your weapons and join with the Protectors. Together, you’ll cleanse the lands and free its people.”

“Blessings and protection are with you, warriors of Afferea. Have no fear,” Angelaris said as the beasts began to stir.

Daracus peered at his handsome reflection in the mirror, smoothing his perfectly trimmed brows and hair. He smiled, admiring his slender, toned frame and striking features. Pivoting around, he adjusted his new suit of clothes, the cut of the fine garb accentuating his tall, attractive physique. Pulling at the stiffly embroidered collar, he turned toward Jahno.

“Do I have the look of a Zaxson? Like my father?”

“Your appearance is that of an honorable leader, milord, more so than even your great father,” Jahno strained to speak, still hoarse and healing from Daracus’ abuse.

“You’ve always told me that this color complemented me,” he said, moving to his bedside. “I chose it for you, Jahno. I wanted to look my best for you, and make you proud of me and my new position.”

“Still I speak the same.”

“Soon, I’ll stand before all of Nazil and tell them about my father’s death at the hands of those pythonesses. I’ll tell them how they sent slaves with threats to our homes and lives. Cowards! Cowards they are. No one in Nazil will bow to these savages, Jahno. I wish you could stand at my side as I address my people. My name will resonate across the city as they call out to me like they once did my father. Together, we’ll defeat whoever dares to stand against us.”

Daracus smiled, leaning down to kiss him. His fingers flittered through Jahno’s silken, raven hair, twirling it between his fingers. “You speak true, my love, and I’ll lead them all. Nazil will stand greater than ever it has. Our hands will cover the lands, and the humans will learn their place.”

Jahno stared at him, watching the flicker in his eyes, recognizing the malevolence in his voice. How he wished that Daracus’ last attack would’ve freed him from his bondage, from Nazil, and from this world, never to awaken again.

“Oh, I can’t forget the surprise that I have for you.” Daracus smiled, caressing his hand.

“For me, milord?”

“Of course, Jahno, for only you. I’ll tell you the details over a nice dinner this evening. It’s a special day, not only for Nazil, but also for our relationship. Just know that from this day forth, you’ll always be with me. No matter where I travel, you’ll be at my side as it should be. I’ll no longer permit you to serve the citadel. You’re my love, Jahno, and I’ll care for you,” he said, kissing him again.

“I must take a wife, but only to sire sons and further our line. Now that I’m certain such duty can be performed without repulsion, the Vereux name will again be plentiful in the lands.” He paused, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t think that a woman could arouse me, but I was able to complete my duty many times. It wasn’t the same as when we make love, Jahno, and my excitement only grew with thoughts of you.” His hand stroked Jahno’s face, and then glided down his abdomen. “I—I did have Micah come for a time, but please don’t be angry. We did very little, and you never left my mind. You know that you’re the only one I love. If I could marry you legally, I’d do so this day. You’re the only one who’ll ever share my heart or my bed. Is this pleasing to you, my love?”

Jahno struggled to keep the terror from his face. “Nothing would please me more. Always I desire to be near you.”

“As I do you,” he said. “When I took Sarai abed, it was you that I wanted, Jahno. You.” Daracus hungrily kissed his lips, growing more excited with thoughts of Sarai and Jahno together. Snatching the covers away, his tongue slid down his chest. His breathing was heavy, removing the covers, and continuing his intimate kiss. Jahno jerked from both pleasure and pain.

“I’ve missed your taste,” Daracus said, increasing his efforts until Jahno’s body responded. As he kissed back up his abdomen, a gasp from the door startled them both.

“Par—pardons, milord,” Hushar said, averting her eyes. “I—I didn’t know that you were here.”

He swiftly covered Jahno, standing from the bed. “I only came to check on Jahno’s condition. How’s his healing?”

“More quickly than I expected,” she said, noticing Jahno’s anguished expression. “I—I was able to remove the tube and most of the swelling is gone. He still has a bit of a fever and some redness in his throat. I brought something to soothe him.”

“Good. He looks well, and is speaking much better.”

“Yes, milord. There’s still some soreness, but he’s walking again and makes water often.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll be moving Jahno to my chambers this evening. After this day, you’ll be able to return to your duties. If I need you, I’ll have you summoned, but I’ll be seeing to Jahno’s needs and comforts.”

“Yes, milord. As you say.”

Daracus straightened his cloak, stepping toward the door and speaking quietly.

“When Jahno has finished his meal, I need you to tend Sarai. She’s abed in the third guest chamber.” He grinned. “Our time together was…enlightening . I understand my father’s interest now. Tell me: is it normal for women to squirt so with their completion, Hushar?”

Her face paled, feeling her stomach churn. “I don’t know, milord. She’s the only one I know of in the citadel.”

“It’s intriguing, indeed.” He licked his lips. “And tasty, too. I could drink of her endlessly, and that’s surprising. See to her needs and have her bathed and oiled. I want more of her this evening, and arrange for a proper chamber nearer mine. My father had excellent taste.”

When Daracus left, she rushed to Jahno’s side. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not this time, but once he has me alone in his chambers, he will. Now with Denotra gone and Pentanimir fallen, there’s no hope for us. Daracus was the worst of the Vereuxs, and we’ll never be free of him.”

“There’s still hope, Jahno, for all of us. I can feel it deep within my heart.” She reached for the tray, stirring the warm soup. “Now, you need to eat. After, I’ll change your bandages and help you dress. The Zaxson might ask for you, and you need to be ready. I’ll always be close.”

Daracus smiled when his guards pushed open the door to the hall. The huge doors to the balcony were opened wide, offering a view of the vast city. As he looked out over Nazil, the crowd was beginning to gather beneath the grand balcony. The sun cresting over the mountains caused the faint snow flurries to twinkle as they drifted through the air. Loud chimes from the temple’s bells echoed through the streets whilst the flames of the emblazoned Kadul swayed hauntingly, signaling the Zaxson’s coming.

Daracus peered at the fierce statues of the gods, casting great shadows over the crowd. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled a pellet from his pouch, placing it beneath his tongue. The billowing shouts from the crowd and the warmth of the pellet suffused him, and a smile creased his lips, enjoying the encompassing euphoria.

“My lord,” Yannick said as he and Nakaris entered the hall. “Your people await you.”

“Yes, Sir Merrimont, they await the both of us. With Pentanimir’s absence, I’m promoting you to First Chosen.”

Yannick’s mouth twitched up in a grin. “I’m honored, my lord.” He bowed. “I only hope to serve as well as Sir Benoist and his father before him.”

“You’ve always served with honor, Yannick. Had it not been for my grandfather’s affinity for Manifir Benoist, the position of First Chosen and the pledge would’ve been yours.”

Yannick inclined his head, knowing his words were meant to flatter. Regardless of his recent dissension with Pentanimir, he wasn’t ignorant of the truth.

“You’re too kind, Zaxson. However, Pentanimir earned his position as First Chosen. He defeated all challengers at the tourneys and in single combat. No one could stand against him, and his martial prowess was unmatched. This, I know. I was among those who made the attempt.”

“Well, if our former First Chosen has fallen, there’s at least one person who could defeat the undefeatable.”

“As you say, Zaxson. Pentanimir isn’t one easily beaten. He could still return to the city victorious. We won’t know for certain until we do. For now, we must focus on events of greater importance. After the entombment of your honorable father and sister, your coronation will soon follow. Then, I’ll take our most notable slaves to the dark chamber and interrogate them thoroughly. One might have information regarding the Benoists.”

“They haven’t been questioned?”

“Yes, Sir, they have. But those questions weren’t put to them by me.”

“You’ll make a fine First Chosen, indeed, Sir Merrimont. If Sir Benoist yet lives, mayhaps he’ll serve as my Nakshij. With the two of you at my side, Nazil will stand greater than ever it has.”

Before Yannick could respond, the chants from outside claimed their attention, continuing to build. Daracus moved closer to the doors, listening to his name intoned by his people.

“Where is the Cha?” he asked, straightening his hair. “They’re supposed to join me on the balcony.”

“My lord, they were offering prayers for you and Nazil’s future. They were merely steps behind as we approached.”

Daracus turned, scrutinizing the man. “Ah, yes. Thank you, Sir… Sir…”

“Middleton, my lord, son of Ayers.” Nakaris bowed.

“Yes, of course. You’re new to the Chosen. Weren’t you a city guard before the battles?”

“I was, Zaxson. It was by your word that I gained my promotion. I captured the Caretaker of Noraa.”

“Yes, your father was a Chosen, too. I remember him fondly.”

“Thank you, it was his honor and mine to serve Nazil.”

“Pardons, Zaxson,” Reaglen said, bowing as they entered.

“Forgive us, Zaxson. It’s due to the people that we fell behind. Many are fearful and uncertain about Nazil’s future. We know with your words that those fears will be eased, and they’ll see Nazil has a strong leader.”

“They will, indeed, Lymbach,” Daracus said, moving off. “Let us hope that you haven’t wounded Ceron and Leanta beyond Hushar’s skill to mend. Slaves are scarce in the city, Cha, and the abuse they sustain during your purge is ever mounting. I’m certain that while you were offering your prayers, that you satisfied your cock and not your fists,” Daracus spat, pejoratively.

Lymbach’s face reddened, tucking his spotted, wrinkled hands in his sleeves. “The—the slaves are needed to stave off the fleshly desires, Zaxson. This day is of great importance, and we—we needed to clear our minds to hear the will of the Four.”

“I see,” Daracus said, disgusted. “Send forth the heralds.”

The men moved to the balcony with their horns as Daracus focused his attention on the guard.

“Sir Merrimont, you’ll be on my right and Sir Middleton on my left. Cha, take position at each side of me and a step back from the Chosen. The people will want to see you, but not before those wielding true power. The rest of the guard will take their place behind you. This will give the people a proper image of the force leading this great city.”

They nodded as the roars from the crowd erupted from outside. Daracus turned toward the balcony while the heralds returned. After taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the balcony.

Immediate shouts erupted from the crowd, causing his smile to widen. Daracus raised a hand to silence his people as their praise further stoked his vanity and fueled his hungry ego. No longer in the shadow of his father, he began to speak.

“My honorable people of Nazil. I come to stand before you now as a beacon, a new leader of our great people.” He started in a high, stentorian voice. “There are those in these lands that would see us fall from our greatness, to lapse into memory, and be trampled by subjugation. I stand before you now and say that we are of Nazil. No others in these lands can make such a prestigious claim. We’ve earned the right to rule, and to squeeze the throats of those beneath us.”

“The people of these lands envy what we’ve become, they covet what we’ve earned, what we’ve conquered. Together, with the sorcery in the wood, they attempt to purloin what rightly belongs to you, to usurp what was obtained through your blood and sacrifices…what my father and yours have fought for, and bled for, with honor and courage.

“I say here this day, we’ll stand and fight against the tyranny of those not of our heritage. We’ll rise above the hatred of those we’ve shown kindness. It’s by our grace that these savages have been allowed to remain. Now, they take this kindness as weakness. We’ll show them all the true heart of Nazil. They’ll learn a lesson that in ten generations will still be fresh on the tongues of those who come after them.

“My father, the honorable Draizeyn Deaglan Vereux, was viciously executed by the pythonesses in the wood. But do not mourn, my good people. My father has taken his place among the honored dead, and this heinous crime won’t go unanswered. Anyone who stands against us shall be wiped from these lands. My father was a just leader and a fierce warrior. Only those with the blackest malevolence could silence such a powerful man. Yes, my fellow Nazilians, your former Zaxson, my father, was slaughtered by demon beasts and the pythonesses of the wood!”

Cries of mourning and disbelief filled the air as Daracus continued.

“These pythonesses sent threats to Nazil on the lips of slaves! A warning to you, and a threat to me. ‘Join the darkness and live, or stay within the light and perish.’ They’d see us bow to their darkness while snuffing out our light. I say to you now, never will this come to pass. I, Daracus Rhobert Vereux, will meet this threat with only the courage and resolve found in the heart of a Nazilian. Through me, Nazil will be great again. Always Nazil will stand! Always we’ll have dominion over these lands! The darkness of these pythonesses will not cover us. We reject that which they demand, and our light will forever remain and cover all the lands. We are people of honor, of courage, of power! We bow to no one. It is they who’ll bow to us! HONOR ABOVE ALL!”

The crowd’s chanting was rising in pitch when the large shadows appeared overhead. The screeches of the Desu Beasts began drowning out the Zaxson’s words, causing the gathered group to search the skies. A crescendo of panicked shouts erupted when Arinak flew lower, and then climbed, disappearing into the blinding sun. Even the priests shielded their eyes, attempting to see what hovered above the white city.

Daracus was oblivious, delivering his speech even as those around him were becoming anxious. Exchanging a look, Yannick and Nakaris flanked the Zaxson in a protective stance. Yannick’s eyes darted back and forth, his thumb rubbing the hilt of his Xtabyren.

“Steady, Tzadok, steady,” Wosen said, drawing forth his bow. Small beads of sweat dotted his brow as Tzadok skillfully guided Jzardis toward the citadel. Taking a calming breath, Wosen checked his quivers again. “One, two, three, four,” he counted, ensuring his ammunition was full.

“Bring me closer,” Wosen whispered, nocking an arrow while grasping a half dozen more in his draw hand.

Tzadok nodded. “Nof’laeng, [52] Jzardis,” he communicated extrasensorily to steady his beast. Jzardis screeched, diving, and gliding low over the crowd. Screams immediately erupted as the beast came into view.

With one fluid motion, Wosen released an arrow, rotated his wrist, and nocked the next. When one of the Cha fell, Yannick grabbed the Zaxson, pushing him behind the others. The next arrow grazed Daracus’ shoulder, impaling a guard he’d passed.

The amethyst illumination of Arinak’s helm increased as he communicated with the Protectors. With a loud screech from Xandi, they simultaneously descended on the city.

Pentanimir memorized the guard’s locations while Baldon and Arinak circled the citadel. With a deafening roar, Baldon raised his double-edged axe, landing Náelon on the roof.

Dismounting Xandi, Arinak lowered Thalassa to the ground, and then spun around with a fearsome swing, launching the approaching guards from her path. Their bodies flew helplessly through the air, bones crushing and shattering beneath the weight of the blow. As they ran forward, the beasts took flight, jabbing at the guards on the ramparts with their venomous tails. Náelon released a chilling mist, slowing the guards, then swooped down, clutching them in her claws, only to drop them to their deaths.

The terrified Nazilians ran to their posts, clad only in the ceremonial dress for the occasion. Never had anyone dared to launch an attack on Nazil.

The guards quickly took their place at the arrow loops, taking aim. Deadly bolts from the walls of the city and the citadel alike were let loose, but the beasts flew toward the light, blinding those who took aim at them.

Thalassa drew her twin blades as a horde of Nazilian guard came running toward her. When Arinak and Baldon came up behind, some of the men skittered to a stop, and then retreated. Baldon moved forward, heaving his huge axe at the advancing horde. He eviscerated and knocked groups of them from Thalassa’s path, their mangled bodies crashing against the unyielding citadel walls.

Danimore and Pentanimir ran through the door, descending the narrow passageway. When they reached the main floor, a phalanx of Chosen stood in their path. The ground trembled in their wake, signaling Brukin’s arrival. With nary enough space to pass, the massive Protector forced his way through, taking position in front of the brothers.

On the ground, Hosdaq, Temian, and Julaybeim rushed through the temple’s open door. “Out! All of you, out!” Temian shouted to the Nazilians and slaves taking refuge in the large structure. Confused screams filled the sanctuary when Sarroh entered, a resounding roar erupting from the pit of his stomach. The Nazilians and slaves ran for the exit, some tumbling to the ground as Sarroh’s heft caused the floor beneath them to tremble.

The warriors grabbed torches, running through and evacuating the temple. When Temian entered the Cha’s hall, he paused, lowering his torch to the cushioned seats and velvet curtains adorning the room. Within moments, the chamber engulfed in flames. Taking no time to inspect his work, he continued down the stone corridor to the crypts. Calls from Hosdaq and Julaybeim echoed above him as his torch ignited the tapestries and drapes lining the corridor and stairs.

Temian pushed open the crypt’s door, inspecting the chilly room. When his eyes swept over the crypt, he noticed the draped bodies on the berths. Sliding the shrouds from each, his eyes widened, staring down at both the Zaxson and his daughter.

Before his thoughts could clear, Hosdaq’s shouts claimed his attention. He lowered his torch, igniting the shrouds. Red and yellow embers burst from the torch as he allowed his hand to open, and it tumbled to the ground.

Drawing his Guardians’ blade from its scabbard, Temian took the stairs two at a time. The walls burned furiously as he made his way back to the sanctuary.

“The Zaxson and Denotra lie beneath,” he said, rejoining the others.

Hosdaq merely nodded, glancing around the burning temple. “We must move. The guard of Nazil awaits.”

The men raised their swords in response, running behind him.

Bedlam ensued when they exited the burning temple. The Protectors brutally laid waste to the vanguard of Nazilian soldiers forming ranks against them. Their beasts screeched from above, swooping down gracefully, grabbing guards with their claws, and then lifting them into the clouds.

Charging into a horde of fighting forces, Julaybeim thrust ahead, impaling one guard, and then immediately decapitating another. With a burning rage, he struck fiercely, delivering swift and mortal blows. With each swipe, he envisaged his parents and Itai, fueling his inexorable attack, spinning and slashing with preternatural precision.

The stench of death and smoke saturated the air with bodies littering the ground as the warriors pressed forward, plodding through the mire of blood from the slain and wounded. Hundreds of the Nazilians wavered, throwing their swords aside and retreating from the gruesome scene. Hosdaq held his sword at the ready, taking full measure of the guards.

“We must continue toward the citadel,” he called out to Temian and Julaybeim.

As he ran toward Gavriel, a thunderous eruption halted his advance. Peering up, Hosdaq’s face blanched, seeing Wosen’s perilous predicament.

Wosen’s eyes widened as the huge stone hurtled toward them. “Watch out!” he yelled, shouldering his bow and clutching Tzadok’s waist.

“K’alondea, Jzardis! K’alondea!” [53] Tzadok said aloud, a moment too late. With a great thud, the huge stone crashed against Jzardis’ unprotected hind leg. She screeched horribly, struggling to regain her flight.

“No,” Hosdaq said, rushing toward the citadel, slashing and stabbing all in his path. Julaybeim and Temian weren’t far behind, taking to the backs of the beasts.

“No! Wosen!” Hosdaq shouted again.

Wosen dangled from Jzardis’ back, as Tzadok reached for him, while trying to maintain his beast’s flight.

Wosen gripped his hand, only to lose his hold when Jzardis banked left, dodging a fusillade of arrows.

“Gods…No—” Wosen shouted, futilely grasping at the empty air as he plunged toward the citadel. Everything appeared to slow, except the visions pervading his mind. “No,” he whimpered, gazing up into the sun, before closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Blood spurted from his mouth as his body hit the stone with a sickening thud. A weak moan escaped his lips, his body convulsing before finally lying still.

“Hosdaq!” Temian called out from Ilka’s back. “You won’t make it. Help Julaybeim, I’ll go to Wosen.”

“Baatheer !” [54] Sarroh commanded, and Ilka took to the skies, her massive wings extending. The beast soared above the citadel, banking sharply before diving towards a contingent of guards, knocking them off the ramparts. Releasing her chilling mist, Sarroh guided Ilka low, allowing Temian to slide from her back.

Ilka’s redoubtable wings flapped, providing Temian cover, before she flew toward some fleeing guards, her bite impaling two while her claws slashed at the others.

Temian continued his run, Ilka’s shadow masking his swift approach. With a twirling swipe, he impaled one guard, delivering a high kick to another.

Wosen gagged, expelling a mass of mucus and blood. The stabbing pain that followed had him grasping his chest as he rolled sideward, desperately attempting to clear the haze encompassing his mind. Clenching his eyes, he grimaced, pushing up to his knees. The radiating pain increased, thrumming in his head with each pulse of his heart.

When Wosen focused ahead, he blinked repeatedly, noticing the onslaught of attacking guards. “Tem—Temian,” he breathed, searching his surroundings, and grabbing up some fallen arrows. Ignoring the pain, Wosen staggered to his feet, nocking an arrow. For a moment, his vision doubled, the men appearing more as indistinct, coalescing shadows than men.

“Guardians guide my hands,” Wosen said, focusing forward again, and releasing. One of the guards went down, squirming as the heat of the poison inflamed his flesh. Rotating his wrist, Wosen continued firing until the guards lay writhing and dying at Temian’s feet.

“We—we must move,” Wosen slurred, nearly toppling as he gathered up his arrows and stumbled toward a small door.

“Are you all right?” Temian asked, steadying Wosen’s stance, and reaching for the handle, only to lurch back when two guards rushed through. Wosen cried out, plummeting back to the ground as Temian’s abrupt stop caused them to collide.

Dodging an oncoming swipe, Temian rolled, landing in a crouch, immediately parrying a blade a hair’s breadth from his face. He leapt up, side-sliding while swatting the second guard’s sword away. As he reversed his spin, he stomped the side of the guard’s knee, following with a spinning kick that sent the guard careening into the wall.

A glint in his periphery caused Temian to turn, meeting the first guard’s attack.

His eyes widened, recognizing the former Cha. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, traitor,” the guard sneered, drawing a dagger from its sheath. “Not before I have a bit of fun, though,” he said, lunging forward, causing Temian to give ground. Tossing a worried glance at Wosen, Temian met the guard’s eyes again.

“Maybe I’ll gut that savage first,” the man said, raising up his dagger.

“No,” Temian yelled, coming on in a fury. Kicking the guard’s dagger arm up, Temian half spun, coming around with his sword. When the guard staggered back, Temian brandished his shield, assuming a protective posture in front of Wosen.

“Ya got a sweet spot for that one, eh?” The guard said, circling around the two. He tapped his dagger against his sword, readying himself for a strike.

Temian wouldn’t give him the chance. Hearing another groan from Wosen, he straightened his stance, bringing his sword to the ready.

“Dijnay ein faeduhn,” [55] Temian whispered as his feet glided from side to side, his body following in flawless harmony. When the guard momentarily lowered his eyes, Temian reversed, lunging toward his left side, plunging his blade deep within his ribcage. In a blur, he flipped backward, touching down lightly before planting his foot in the guard’s side, shoving him away from Wosen.

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 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?”

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.”

“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 back, 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.

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, feeling relieved. “I have no cowards with me, my friend. Will the Jasiri stand with the Guardians and free these lands?”

“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.

“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 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 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.”

“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.

“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.

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.

“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?”

“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.

“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.

“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.”

“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 nowhere 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 the time would come. 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.”

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 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 the 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.

“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.”

Pentanimir nodded. “If you’re in agreement, I’d like you to continue organizing the former human captives and sentries, Symeon. Nakaris is doing the same for the Nazilians. Both of you would be equally charged with the citadel’s protection in my absence. Sarroh and Gavriel will remain in Nazil with my siblings and you. Have chambers been assigned?”

“I’ve asked Sarai to assist Micah and Ceron in assigning appropriate accommodations. Most of the former attendants have elected to stay for the time being,” Symeon said. “If it’s allowed, I’d like Sarai to share my chamber. As with many, she’s apprehensive about this transition and is still healing from recent abuses.”

Pentanimir’s gaze lowered, recalling some of those abuses and the ones who suffered them. “My permission isn’t needed. Your lives and decisions are yours alone. Sarai and any of the others can remain here with us or return to their homes. Once the stables are organized, we’ll schedule transports to the surrounding villages and cities.”

“Gerhma could help organize the stables. He’s a good man with exceptional skills.”

“We need good men, Symeon.” Pentanimir paused, looking from one to the other. “I need men of honor standing with me. Are you willing to lay aside the past and come together for the good of Faélondul?”

Nakaris nodded. “Honor above all.”

“Honor?” Symeon said, flipping his warrior’s braid to his back, and unsheathing the Xtabyren. As he held the sword aloft, Nakaris lowered a hand to his pommel, pivoting around to face him.

“Honor above all,” Symeon said, tracing the lettering etched into the Xtabyren. “No disrespect to either of you, but honor isn’t something that you can earn. Honor comes from within.” He laid the Xtabyren on the table, meeting Pentanimir’s eyes. “It’s not a material thing, awarded to the best swordsman. Honor lives within our hearts and minds, manifested through our actions and words. In my time in Nazil, I’ve seen hundreds of Chosen adorned with Xtabyrens. Those weapons were awarded after swordplay, or bought with favor and gold. Most of these men proudly displaying the Xtabyren lack the wisdom to understand the meaning of the words. They coveted the prestige of the position, they didn’t seek or endeavor to comprehend the fundamental wisdom imbedded within that affirmation.

“These same words are etched above your temple, yet none of the men occupying it displayed the principles of honor or taught the importance of it to the multitude.”

“Do you think the same of all Nazilians?” Nakaris asked. “Are we less due to your assessment, lacking in both honor and intelligence?”

Symeon smiled, turning to face him. “Intelligence isn’t the same as wisdom, nor is an unbiased perspective intended to reflect the disposition of an entire people.”

“Honor is more than an affirmation. As a Jasiri, we’re taught much about honor and the depths of its meaning. It’s that same honor that caused me to protect you rather than allow one of your Chosen to plunge their sword through your back. It’s honor that caused me to join in your fight to liberate your home, rather than killing your men as I returned to my own. It’s honor that’s allowed me to unite former captives and inspire them to protect the home of their past oppressors as if it was theirs.

“It’s honor that I’ve recognized in the both of you, and many others who’ve fought at your side. And you honored me in Spero. I hadn’t felt the warrior I was trained to be in years, until sparring with you. In the practice yard, I felt myself, unencumbered by the shackles that bound me for so long. I was free again, Zaxson, and that’s no small thing. If that same sense of freedom is to resonate throughout Faélondul, show the populace your heart, your strength, your perseverance, and your candor. By doing so, you’ll demonstrate what ‘honor above all’ means.”

A genuine smile found Pentanimir’s face, recognizing the truth in his words. He stood, offering a respectful bow. “Symeon, of the Jasiri, Nazil is in desperate need of men like you and Nakaris. This transition won’t be swift or without difficulties, but with men like you two at my side, we’ll succeed in eliminating the disparity in the lands. Together we can restore and evince what ‘honor above all’ was meant to be.” Pentanimir unsheathed his Guardian Sword, handing it out to him. “Mayhaps a blade of the Guardians is more befitting a Jasiri Warrior.”

Symeon nodded, admiring the exquisite weapon. “My uncle, Turahn Osei, was presented with such a weapon upon accepting his elevation to an Uzon of the Jasiri. I haven’t earned the right to wield my own, but I’d be honored to wield this one in your stead until you return. Nazil and its denizens will be protected, Zaxson, you have my word.”

“And you, Nakaris?” Pentanimir asked.

He peered up at Symeon before regarding Pentanimir again. “I’ve shown you my allegiance long before this battle. Whether a man is human or Nazilian makes little difference. I’m in agreement with Symeon…integrity isn’t inherent in one or the other. Integrity comes from within, and shows without. Together, we’ll protect the city.”

“Pentanimir,” Temian said, tapping on the open door. “Beg pardon, Arinak and Baldon have returned. They’re ready to take Dani and Thalassa to the wood.”

“So soon? I know the flight is swift, but they’ve made several trips already. Are they certain they’ll be able to return them by this evening?”

“They are. Once Dani and Thalassa meet with Angelaris, they’ll return and remain here. You and Wosen will be the last.”

“Much better now. A welcomed wound for all that we’ve been able to accomplish. Are you ready?”

“Almost. Were you able to speak with Perrin and Velnic?”

“I did. Perrin and Arilian are with Beilzen now. We had him moved to a suite on the third floor.”

“How is he?” Pentanimir asked.

“His outer wounds will heal in time. The inner ones are more debilitating.”

Pentanimir sighed in silent lament, caressing the quillon of Yannick’s dagger. His inner wounds and conflicts were imbedded within the depths of his soul. He couldn’t purge such anguish or free his mind from truths known only to him. The blood saturating his hands could never be cleansed, nor the faces and words of those he’d killed. Forever would they haunt his dreams, as surely as killing Crissu had haunted his father’s.

“Ghosts,” Pentanimir muttered, meeting Temian’s eyes. “Are—are Velnic and Elodie accepting the new positions?”

Pentanimir leaned back, watching the Afferean women exit the room. Although seeing his son had lifted some of the despondency assailing him, it also reminded him of the importance and depth of his responsibilities, not only to Faélondul, but also to his family.

The lands were fractured, tethered to a brittle filament, threatening to shatter at any moment. The loss of the Nazilian villages would serve to fuel that dissention, adding to the complexities he was already facing.

“Dovak, Mahlum, Lempol, Leahcim,” he said, shaking his head. Thousands of lives ended in mere moments: Nazilian lives. He gazed down at his hands then. More blood saturated them, more blood unable to be cleansed.

“It’s not yours to own,” a deep voice sounded from behind him. “We mourn the lives lost, but must focus on those who yet live. Focus on the lives you’ve saved and the deaths that you’ve prevented.”

Pentanimir looked up, meeting Kuhani’s dark brown eyes. Such depth and wisdom was embedded in them. He could feel his mind touching his, stilling his thoughts and reaching beyond what his words conveyed.

“Not as yet. I was awaiting your arrival, but didn’t want to interrupt your time with Tardison. There’s more for me to attend to in Afferea before joining Hosdaq.”

“Not only, but yes. You’ve accomplished much in little time, Pentanimir. We’ve spoken about the disparity in the lands often, and your feeling of helplessness in relieving it. You can’t burden your spirit with the means of that liberation. You must focus on Faélondul as a whole, and where you lead from here. The battle and the destruction wrought from it will be infinitesimal compared to what lies ahead. Now, the struggle truly begins. Don’t allow internal conflicts to affect or deter you. What is past, is past, and cannot be altered. The future is in front of you, and that is of the greatest importance.”

“I can’t erase the past, Kuhani. It’s a part of me and shall never leave my heart and mind,” he said, his fingertips resting on Yannick’s dagger.

Kuhani nodded, walking to his side. When Pentanimir turned, Kuhani placed a hand over his heart. “Faeduhn ein’ ceot nahderahn sheldillah ganalo juahnu vaahn r’aymed shahsheetay. Shahshee ein’ ceot eryhnzea, xutuihn aut kibe, kryehn thramedhe vaahn syohnt,” [56] he said, extrasensorily.

Pentanimir’s knees wobbled, feeling numinous pricks trickling down his spine. “Death is a new beginning not understood by the living. Life is a gift, granted to the whole, yet cherished by a few,” he repeated in the common tongue. “How, Kuhani?”

“Your life, all of our lives are beginning anew, Zaxson. The choices you’ll soon make will affect the whole of Faélondul. Don’t burden your heart with what you cannot change. Doing so will corrupt what’s pure and obfuscate the clarity you’ve always possessed.”

Kuhani inclined his head, and then bowed to Angelaris and Arinak, before exiting the room.

Arinak nodded, leaving the two of them alone.

“Is Wosen coming?” Pentanimir asked.

“He’ll be with us soon, and you can return to Nazil together. There’s much left to say.”

“What else needs to be said, AsZar?”

“The rebuilding and unification of Faélondul will be an arduous task, and you’ll need to forge strong bonds to fortify the alliances eroded by the quondam corruption.”

“I’ve been thinking of little else of late.”

“You’ve always felt the imbalance in these lands, but know that your father felt the same. Manifir made a choice long ago, and each of your siblings is a product of that choice. And from you, a new line will emerge. By following your heart, Tardison is with us. He is the true leader of your people, and a new hope for all of Faélondul.”

“Tardison? What do you mean?”

“It’s for you to prepare the lands for your son. You’ve often asked of your purpose and how to heal Faélondul. The Guardians have answered, Pentanimir. Through Tardison, this can come to pass. Each of the warriors who fought at your side will have a part in what lies ahead. It’s with each of you that a new line will come forth, absent the disillusionment of false gods. A new line that will rule in peace, without the maleficence and hatred of the past. A new line unencumbered by what cannot be changed, but the propensity to envisage what can be, and the tenacity to make it happen. Albeit your coming years won’t be free from conflicts or circumstances that will test your belief in yourself and each other. As we stand here, seeds of discord are being sown into arable hearts and minds pervaded with dubiety and trepidation.”

“So, what am I to do? I can’t fight the whole of Faélondul, AsZar.”

“You are to trust in what you’ve forever known, leading with a pure heart and a sound mind. Protect your family and your people, and don’t fear what is to come. Know that you’ll have the support and resolve to overcome such hardships and betrayals.”

Pentanimir’s brow creased, staring into her eyes. There was something there, beyond what was. He could sense it, yet couldn’t grasp hold to it. “What’s coming, AsZar? What will I soon face?”

She merely grasped his hand. The sensation that followed caused goose prickles to cover his flesh as a soothing warmth made him lightheaded.

“The future cannot be foretold, Zaxson. Each choice manifests new circumstances and challenges. Until those choices are made, your future is unknown. You must live in the now to establish what will be. We are here as guides, to help you walk the path of your choosing. We do not order your path and decide for you. Choice, Zaxson.”

“And if I choose wrongly?”

“That is an accepted corollary of who you are. We all err. It’s what’s done to learn from and rectify those errors that’s of importance. Do not fear to err. Fear allowing the dubiety to pervade your heart, preventing you from making a choice.”

He sighed, roughly rubbing his face.

“Some trials will soon come. The shift began with the blood of Oisin, and it can end with the blood of Manifir.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve known only the mortal, Zaxson, but with Nazil’s liberation, that won’t remain so.”

Pentanimir leapt up. “Mortal? Do you mean something otherworldly? Is that what’s coming?”

“What has always been doesn’t need to arrive, it only needs a means to reveal itself to you.” When Pentanimir tried to respond, she stood to face him. “In time. You’ll need to return soon, and I have more to ask of you.”

Pentanimir sighed, shaking his head. “What would you have of me?”

“Wosen saved a young boy named Fáelán during the battle. His mother was a former slave, killed soon after his birth. Although Wosen wishes for Fáelán to remain with him, I ask for you to introduce Fáelán to his father and allow that bond to grow.”

“His father? Is he Nazilian?”

She nodded. “In the past, he wouldn’t have wanted his parentage revealed, but much has changed, and he’ll welcome Fáelán into his life.”

“What man? Who is his father?”

“A man forever changed by your former leaders. In his current state, Fáelán will be the only child he’ll sire. You saved his life after the battle, and now, you can enrich it.”

Pentanimir’s eyes widened. “Beilzen? Beilzen is his father?”

“He is. His mother’s name was Shiloh, and Beilzen will remember her well. Allow Beilzen time to heal and accept himself, before asking him to accept another. Give Beilzen the opportunity to provide a true home for Fáelán…a home filled with love and a renewed understanding.”

He sighed, closing his eyes. “I’ll see it done.”

“I’ve but one more request,” Angelaris said. “Speak with Sarai and Symeon. You’re aware of Symeon’s character and that of his people. You’ll need him at your side as your son will need the child Sarai now carries. She’s unaware of her pregnancy, but it will make itself known soon. You must speak with her about the child and the importance of his birth.” She paused. “Sarai won’t want this child or the memories of his sire. It’ll be difficult, but her son is needed, and must remain under your protection.”

“But…but…I can’t force her to birth a child that she doesn’t want, AsZar. I won’t. That’s not who I am.”

“Nor is it who I’m asking you to be. Speak with Sarai and convey my words. Her mind and heart will reconcile in time. If she can’t bear to bring him forth, no one will force her to do so,” she said, turning as Arinak entered with Wosen.

Pentanimir gasped, staring as Wosen approached, wearing a smile that he hadn’t seen since their time in Bandari.

“You’ve been blessed beyond measure, Wosen,” Pentanimir said, wide-eyed. No trace of his abuse remained, and he looked like the young man he’d always known.

“The Guardians give more than we’re worthy to receive. They’ve given me back my life and made me myself again.”

“You returned their children to them,” Angelaris said, accepting Arinak’s hand.

“The Protectors will see you safely, son of Manifir. A new era is at hand.

“It is the rise of Nazil.”

“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 reveals the worth of a man.”