part0028

“No!” Symeon said. “This isn’t the way I’ve shown you, Ayrmeis. You must retain these lessons and commit the proper moves to memory. I won’t be there to defend you. Loss is death! Do you not understand?”

Ayrmeis sucked in a labored breath, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes. He’d been training half the day, and could barely lift his sword. Every muscle ached, and his lungs felt as though they were singed, but he wouldn’t admit this to Symeon. Ayrmeis didn’t want his mentor to perceive him as weak.

“Lo—loss is death,” Ayrmeis said, bowing. Though he’d completed the trials to become a warrior, much training still lay ahead. Regardless of what he had to endure, Ayrmeis wouldn’t disappoint Symeon or himself.

“I won’t miss the strike again, Sir Yego. There’s no excuse for such sloppiness.”

Symeon’s expression softened. It was expected to err. He understood that no one could achieve perfection. They could only strive for it.

His harshness stemmed from what Ayrmeis might soon face, not his missed strike.

The dream he’d had about Ayrmeis’ battle continued to haunt him. So vividly, Symeon could see him combating the evil inhabiting Sanctium—a struggle Ayrmeis alone would endure. Symeon’s heart ached at the thought. Ayrmeis was a son to him just as much as Idris. Symeon would fight in his stead, had he the ability to do so. But Ayrmeis was the wielder of the scepter. Only Ayrmeis.

“You’re tired, Ayrmeis. Mayhaps a respite is needed.”

With a flash of motion, Ayrmeis pressed the attack. Symeon barely avoided a swipe, immediately launching a fierce counter of his own. The two traded a flurry of parries and thrusts with neither gaining an advantage.

Symeon feigned openings that didn’t exist, knowing Ayrmeis would attempt to exploit them. He nearly smiled, feeling the fierceness of Ayrmeis’ attack. Symeon wouldn’t take the offensive, allowing Ayrmeis to execute his attack routines.

His blades relentlessly crisscrossed with preternatural precision, and soon, Symeon began to feel the press of his strikes. He spun away, drawing a second sword from its scabbard.

When Ayrmeis launched toward Symeon, their swords clashed with such ferocity that Ayrmeis’ arm tingled from the impact. He pushed away, flipping backward, and drawing his assegai with such rapidity that Symeon barely noticed the weapon change.

Symeon couldn’t help but smile then, seeing the tip of the lethal weapon accelerating toward him. He quick-stepped, batting the assegai aside only to have Ayrmeis’ blade coming in for a sideswipe.

Symeon dropped, rolling to the side, and then leapt back to his feet. But Ayrmeis was in full charge, never ceasing his advance. Symeon lowered his right hand, allowing his weapon to droop. After seeing the expression on Ayrmeis’ face, he knew that his ruse had the desired effect.

Symeon watched as the blade and assegai whirled toward him in perfect complement. When Ayrmeis attempted a double strike, Symeon reversed, turning his feigned vulnerability into advantage.

With a roar, Symeon spun around, coming up between both weapons with his own, knocking them out wide. Before Ayrmeis could fully recover from the thwarted attempt, Symeon forced his weapon down, slamming against Ayrmeis’ sword and assegai.

Ayrmeis winced, the blow jarring every muscle in his arms and shoulders. That moment of inaction cost him, as Symeon followed through with a side-kick to his ribs. When Ayrmeis stumbled sideward, he felt Symeon’s blade at his neck.

Ayrmeis lowered his head, allowing his weapons to drop.

“Again, I’ve lost.”

Symeon retracted his sword, clapping Ayrmeis on the back. “In an actual battle, the blade wouldn’t have stopped. It would’ve found its mark, truly. And this is why we train.”

Symeon lifted the skin from the table, handing it to him. As Ayrmeis drank down the water, Symeon admired the remarkable young man. It seemed an impossibility to watch him grow into manhood in but four seasons. It was a blessing to see the man he would become, and Symeon was prouder of him now than ever he could be. Ayrmeis had grown tall and strapping. Symeon recalled Daracus’ build then, shaking his head. Daracus was tall, but slight of frame. And here his son stood: a Jasiri warrior.

“Will we continue, Sir Yego?” Ayrmeis asked, rubbing his aching muscles.

“Not this day. You need a hot bath and an herbed massage. Training isn’t beneficial if your body suffers from the effort. Pain is expected, but we won’t overdo. Your body must be respected to perform at its best.”

Ayrmeis nodded, wiping down his weapons before replacing them on the wall. As they exited their practice chamber, Symeon draped an arm over his shoulder.

“You are quite formidable, and nearly more so than I was at your age. You’ve learned much.”

“I still can’t stand against you. Even though my speed has increased, you’re always ahead of my advances.”

“Not always. I do anticipate your strikes well, but your delivery is flawless. Don’t berate yourself. Think of your weapons as a natural extension of your arms, Ayrmeis. Remember this. They aren’t separate from the rest of your body. Use them as you would your hand or your foot. The bond should be natural to you.”

“Is this how you’re able to move so freely with your weapons?”

“Partially. It’s also why we train with different types of weapons. We all have a preference: you prefer your curved blade and assegai. These, you’ll master, but diversity is key. Learn to make your body respond automatically to your mind. By becoming familiar with many weapons, you can anticipate what your opponent wielding the same might do. Your experience with that weapon can guide your movements, keeping you ahead of your opponent’s strikes. You shouldn’t have to wonder what next to do: the memory of your muscles and your mind should instinctively guide you. A split second is the difference between life and death. Trust yourself and your judgment. Never second-guess in battle. Loss is death.”

“I won’t disappoint you, Sir Yego. I’ll remember everything that you’ve taught me. I promise to make you proud.”

Symeon paused, feeling a heaviness in his heart. As Ayrmeis aged, his resemblance to Daracus was overwhelming, but Symeon still remembered the face of the young babe he’d been not long ago. Those features had been more akin to his wife’s.

“Ayrmeis, you’ve already made me proud.”

Ayrmeis smiled, embracing him.

When Pentanimir and Temian rounded the corner, they stopped, staring at the two. Temian glanced at his brother, noticing his astonished expression. Nudging him with his elbow, Temian started forward again.

“Symeon, Ayrmeis,” Pentanimir said, feigning his best smile. “We came to witness this young warrior’s prowess. Your reports of Ayrmeis’ training has intrigued us both.”

“Father,” Ayrmeis said, bowing. “Uncle.”

Temian tugged the long braid dangling over Ayrmeis’ shoulder. “You’re a true warrior, Nephew.”

Ayrmeis bowed again, and then returned to Symeon’s side. Pentanimir looked from one to the other, noting their distinct differences and similarities.

Both Temian and Uzon Osei were correct. Ayrmeis was a Jasiri Warrior just like Symeon. Whether he’d chosen the path, or it had been destined, Pentanimir didn’t know, but he couldn’t ignore the obvious. All but one of Ayrmeis’ features were Nazilian, but that stark difference didn’t matter. He was Sarai’s natural son, and Symeon would’ve been his father. Pentanimir had to question: is that what was always intended.

“We’ve just finished, Zaxson,” Symeon said, bringing him from his contemplations. “Had I known of your interest, we would’ve awaited your arrival.”

“I should’ve informed you earlier. Tardison requested my presence as he trained, and I wanted to experience the prowess of both my sons. Mayhaps on the morrow I’ll have the opportunity.”

“As you wish, Zaxson. I was taking Ayrmeis to Micah and Ceron. He needs an herb massage and a hot bath.”

“Please don’t allow us to hinder you,” Pentanimir said, motioning down the corridor. “I’ll see you after, Ayrmeis.”

Both bowed before moving down the hall.

“He treats me more like his Zaxson than his father,” Pentanimir said. “I can’t recall the last time that I was able to just hold him. He was but a child then.”

“He still is,” Temian said. “Ayrmeis loves you, Brother. Symeon is his mentor. Need we discuss what’s already been said?”

“No. I know that he loves me, and there’s no one else that I’d trust to train my son.”

“Mine as well, if I ever have one,” Temian said only half-joking.

“You’ll have one in time, Brother. Just be patient. Brahanu would like another one as well. Mayhaps we’ll both be blessed soon.”

“Is Brahanu still troubled by the changes in Tardison and Ayrmeis?”

“I don’t ever see this changing. She loves our sons, of course. She just doesn’t know how to approach them as men grown. Her heart aches from the loss she feels when she looks at them. It’s even more so with Ayrmeis.” He sighed. “Brahanu would rather release him to Sarai and Symeon.”

“She could give her son to another so easily? What about you?”

“Ayrmeis is my son, and I love him. Brahanu cares, too, it’s just…it’s different. Hushar told her about the bond Sarai has with him. Since that time, Brahanu hasn’t nurtured him as I have.” He shook his head. “I know that Ayrmeis loves Sarai, too. She’s been with him since his birth. We wouldn’t have taken him had we known that she could love and raise him as a mother. Now, how could we tell him that we aren’t his parents, and Sarai and Symeon are?”

“It would be difficult, but not impossible. Ayrmeis knows he’s half-Nazilian, and Sarai and Symeon are both human. It would be obvious that Symeon wasn’t his natural father.

“You could speak with the Yegos and learn their heart. If you feel that you can let go of your son, then allow them that happiness. You have two others, who you love without end, and Ayrmeis will still be here with you. Sometimes expressing our love toward another is releasing them to live.”

“Before such considerations, we have much to attend to,” Pentanimir said, forcing the thought from his mind. “With Molag’s whereabouts known, we’re one step closer to capturing him. We must focus all our energies on this, Brother. I need no other distractions. With Molag’s acquisition, we’ll also have Mah’saahc.”

“They have,” Nzuri said, lighting the candles. “I’ve prepared everything that you asked. Did you bring the oils?”

“Yes. Yes, I have them.” He hurried forward, arranging the bed. “It’s nearly time, and we must move her. Where’s the clepsydra?”

“Be calm, Brother,” Droxahn said. Ahvixx’s eyes glimmered as he turned to face her.

“Everything is ready, and the mist is filling the room. Do you have the nectar for Sahma?”

Ahvixx reached in his cassock pocket, handing her the phial. “She must drink all of it. Please tend to her while I finish the preparations.”

When Droxahn moved to leave, Ahvixx drew her into a hug. “I’m happy that you came, Sister. Thank you for everything.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for all the gold in Faélondul. Not only do I get to share in your joy, but I’m going to be an aunt.” She smiled, kissing his cheek. As she turned to leave, Odahg’s harmonic howl halted her. She peered warily at the two large jaenitu lying at the foot of the bed.

“Ahvixx, should I put the dogs in the stable?”

“No, thank you. Odahg and Tika will remain here.”

Once she’d left, Ahvixx began disrobing. “You can ignite the incense now, Nzuri?”

“I’ll tend to it right away, but are you certain that you don’t need anyone else to assist? I’ve witnessed few births, and don’t really have any experience other than what I’ve seen.”

“I’m certain. The Guardians have instructed me on the proper procedure. I’ll deliver the babe myself, and need only a Drah’kuu to assist during the ceremony,” he said, binding his hair. “You’ll need to recite the passages on the scroll throughout the entire ceremony. Have you studied them?”

Nzuri looked up, bemused. “I have, but Ahvixx, I’m not a Drah’kuu. I was a helding under Kuhani’s tutelage, but I haven’t earned such a rite.”

He nodded, submerging a towel in the basin to wash. “Both the Guardians and Drah’kuu Kuhani feel otherwise. By title or no, you are a Drah’kuu, and I’m honored to have you present as my child comes forth.”

“Th—the honor is mine, Ahvixx. More so than I can express.”

Ahvixx inclined his head. “When you’re ready, will you help Aizen to bring Sahma? I must remain here and pray. Once we three are alone, you’ll need to disrobe and cleanse as well. I’ll apply your oils then.”

“I understand, Ahvixx. I’ve never heard of such a ceremony, not even on K’ohshul.”

“There has never been a ceremony as this in our lifetime, or that of our fathers’ fathers.”

When Nzuri left, Ahvixx assumed his meditation posture. With a deep inhalation, he began the birthing ritual. He was aware when Nzuri and Aizen entered, but he didn’t move nor acknowledge their presence.

Once the door closed, Nzuri disrobed as Ahvixx went to Sahma’s side.

“How do you feel?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her.

“She’s ready, Ahvixx. I can feel it. There isn’t any pain, but I feel the pressure of her coming.”

“As it should be, my love. The nectar will continue to soothe you while we await her arrival. It won’t be long.”

“I’m ready,” Nzuri said. “Shall we begin?”

Ahvixx nodded, lifting the tocsin from the table. When Nzuri began reciting the passages, Ahvixx struck the tocsin seven times. As the last note faded, Sahma winced, cradling her abdomen.

After reciting a prayer, Ahvixx drizzled warm oil over her body. Pushing her legs up and apart, he gently massaged, continuing the prayer.

With each rotation of his hands, Sahma’s moans increased. He glided up her abdomen, caressing her ripe womb. When she winced again, Ahvixx slid his hands to her breasts, in perfect precision with the clepsydra’s cadence.

“Ahvixx,” she breathed, feeling the pressure increase.

“The time is near,” he said, continuing the massage. Each motion stimulated their child as Ahvixx communicated extrasensorily, sharing in its thoughts and emotions.

Nzuri’s steady voice aided his concentration, as Ahvixx reached down, feeling the crown of the babe’s head. He drizzled out more oil, massaging her womanhood, and sharing his energies with both his wife and coming child.

Sahma moaned, rising a little from the bed. As Ahvixx’s eyes glimmered, Sahma immediately relaxed, pushing the head free.

Ahvixx moved one hand to her abdomen, keeping the other beneath their daughter’s head. His prayers joined Nzuri’s, as the glimmer in his eyes brightened.

“Ahvixx,” Sahma said, tensing as the shoulders slid free.

He gently cupped the babe, with Odahg and Tika’s howls coinciding with her release from the womb. Sahma’s breathing calmed, hearing her daughter’s weak cries harmonizing with the jaenitu.

He drizzled oil over his babe, before wrapping her in a cloth and nestling her into Sahma’s arms.

“You’ve done well,” he said, kissing her lips. “Naomi is here.”

Nzuri finished his prayers, pulling on his cassock as Ahvixx covered his wife, and then lit the sconces on the wall.

“Thank you for assisting with the ceremony,” Ahvixx said. “It couldn’t have been completed without you.”

“It was an honor,” Nzuri said, stepping to Sahma’s bedside as Naomi suckled at her breast. “Such a tremendous blessing.”

“Yes,” she said, wiping away her tears. “For all of us, Nzuri. Thank you.”

Ahvixx placed the caldron of water over the fire, gathering his supplies. “Could you please inform Droxahn, Aizen, and Allister of Naomi’s arrival, Nzuri? Once I’ve tended to Sahma and Naomi, they may join us.”

Nzuri offered him a strong handshake. “Congratulations, Ahvixx. A blessed birth for a blessed child.”

“Naomi is a blessing for us all.”

“It is. The Jasiri have Molag surrounded outside of Yarah. There’s no escape for him now.”

“What about Mah’saahc, Pentanimir? Isn’t she capable of using Molag to attack the guards?”

“The eidolon will have no effect upon the Jasiri,” Uzon Osei said. “They understand the importance and danger of this duty. Each of them has been prepared by Drah’kuu Malachi to accomplish this acquisition. None other than the warriors should attempt to approach. This onus belongs to the K’ohshulians alone.”

“But how?” Temian asked. “How are the Jasiri shielded from Mah’saahc’s influence but we’re not?”

“The Guardians relationship with K’ohshul is symbiotic. Through them, Drah’kuu Malachi acquired the means and knowledge necessary to protect our warriors.

“Even before Symeon summoned us, we were aware that our presence would be needed in Faélondul. The same is true for Shintao’s people and the brothers Xaahn.”

The siblings exchanged a look. “The brothers Xaahn?” Thalassa asked. “We haven’t learned much about them. I know they’ve been assisting Symeon, and even protected my brother during the ambush, but who are they? I’ve only met one of them, and it was for mere moments.”

“They are allies and serve the Guardians just as you do. There are many peoples from numerous lands. Some are more extraordinary than you could ever fathom. In time, you’ll meet them all, just as you’ve now met the K’ohshulians.”

“But we still don’t understand the how of it, Uzon,” Danimore said. “Is there some special connection with the Jasiri and Guardians?”

“The Drah’kuus have always had a connection with the One god. To us, the Guardians are elements of the One. It’s only when they merge that their strength increases. When they’re as one.”

“Uzon, we’ve heard that when the Guardians merge some of their strength is lost,” Pentanimir said. “If this connection wanes, are you certain the Jasiri will be protected?”

“I am. Albeit, what you’ve stated is somewhat true. It’s through the merge that the Guardians grow stronger. When they become one, each element adheres and strengthens the others. In what would be but a moment to one of the lands, there’s a lessened connection with Faélondul. This isn’t during the merge, it’s with the dissolution of their connection, when the Guardians again become separate from each other.”

“I’m beginning to understand more of what Ahvixx meant,” Temian said.

“Yes. The Guardians aren’t of this realm. The encasements they inhabit are but a temporary subsistence for them. When they’re amongst us here, they resemble our form.”

“They have no corporeal form?” Danimore asked.

“No. The Guardians are ubiquitous: their essence dwells in all things. Their natural state is that of spirit or pure energy. Faélondul is but one realm, but they are infinite. To the Guardians, the past, present, and future merge as one, and in a divine coalescence. When they’re amongst us here, they cannot shift between realms and epochs. Albeit, they’re always aware, and share a connection with K’ohshul. This connection suffuses the warriors and protects them from the eidolon’s manipulations.”

“Will we also be protected once Molag is brought to the citadel?” Pentanimir asked.

“No. The eidolon embodies Molag Bomgaard, but he isn’t the true host. Her bond with him is complete, yet her power is limited. No one should be near where he’s kept. Mah’saahc doesn’t have the means to extricate herself from Molag without blood or bond. The only way for her essence to depart is if someone with the blood of Oisin comes within close proximity to her.”

With that, the Uzon glanced at Pentanimir, Danimore, and then Symeon. “Neither Ayrmeis nor Raithym can go near where he’s kept. This is what Mah’saahc awaits. Until our return from the wood, Molag should remain in isolation.”

“We understand,” Pentanimir and Danimore said in tandem.

“When will they arrive in the city?” Temian asked.

“Within a sun’s rise. They won’t rush,” Pentanimir said, regarding the Uzon. “Have the other Jasiri left the city?”

“They have. They’ll flank the retinue escorting Molag. His apprehension has been announced, and there might be some of his supporters who may attempt a rescue. The new contingent will ensure no one approaches the caravan.”

“We’ve made arrangements for the Jasiri to bring Molag through the west gate. They’ve been instructed to use the postern door leading to the cells. Ladir will be moved to the temple temporarily until we can coordinate his transport to Rhoyden. Before Molag arrives, we’ll clear the corridors, and post guards only at the top of the stairs.”

Uzon Osei stood, motioning to his sons. “If you’ll excuse us, Zaxson, Sarroh and Gavriel are waiting in their chambers with the Ke’ohnzi.”

“Of course, Uzon,” Pentanimir said, offering a respectful bow. “May the Guardians be with you.”

“Forever they will be.”

As Pentanimir retook his seat, he leaned forward, looking at his siblings. “This is but the beginning. Once Molag is in the cells, it will be parlous for all of us. Dani, you and Zeta must emphasize the importance of this to Raithym. He doesn’t consider Molag a threat.”

“Dani, it’s more than that,” Temian said. “Of the three, he alone refuses to acknowledge this threat. He’s become obstinate at times, and unruly at others. Raithym and Ayrmeis were once inseparable. Now he’s become distant with him as well. Even after Ahvixx explained the shift and their acceleration, Raithym doesn’t believe.”

“He believes, Temian. Our son looks at us, and he fears. We’re his parents, yet we appear more his siblings. Even with the explanation, he doesn’t completely understand. Training with Tardison only reminds him of this change, the change in all of them. Raithym doesn’t want to sit idle and do nothing.”

“Mayhaps not, but it’s necessary,” Pentanimir said. “Raithym needs to listen and continue his training. I’ve asked Ayrmeis and Tardison to include him in their practice again. Mayhaps with the challenge the three offer each other, his interest will increase.”

“I’ll train with him as well,” Temian said. “Raithym hasn’t taken his training as seriously as Ayrmeis and Tardison. He doesn’t understand why he must train so vigorously and so often. He’s nine and ten now, and his interest is centered around the ladies in the citadel, not the sword.”

Danimore shook his head, rising from the table. “It’s difficult to believe that my son is a man grown. It’s natural for him to have such desires, but I agree that he must focus on what’s truly important.”

Velnic walked over the covered bridge, peering down into the courtyard. When he saw Danimore and Zeta, he stopped, staring at the two. Velnic had always thought of Danimore and Pentanimir as friends. The Benoists had aided him numerous times, even recently when Ladir had attempted to kill him.

Albeit, even with all Velnic knew of their heart, he had to question it. He’d asked Danimore and Allister about Nikolina’s pregnancy and their possible relationship. Both men had spoken the same. In his heart, Velnic was certain that Danimore wouldn’t have committed such an offense. Even so, the child his wife cradled in her arms was Nikolina’s: the woman that he was supposed to marry. The opacity surrounding Ihnat and Nikolina plagued him, and he couldn’t reconcile his thoughts.

“Pardons,” a soft voice said, bringing him from his contemplation. When Velnic turned, a woman was approaching.

“Pardons,” she said again, offering a curtsy, while lifting her long sapphire gown. “I fear that I’ve lost my way. Could you direct me to the dining hall?”

Velnic’s mouth went slack. He’d seen countless human females, but few had caught his eye. Not like this one. He didn’t find their appearance displeasing, but he’d never thought of them in an alluring manner, either. Much had changed.

Natasha was a comely young woman. Her sister, Maisha, would be considered beautiful, yet Natasha had a charm all her own. Her soft carob-colored hair hung down her back, flowing elegantly over her bare shoulders. When she drew nearer, he noticed her eyes sparkling, beautifully matching the color of her thick tresses.

Natasha’s skin was flawlessly smooth, appearing much like the marble statues lining the corridors. The hint of blush to her lips and cheeks complemented her features, just as her low-cut bodice accentuated her womanly physique. He found her breath-taking.

Velnic bowed, adjusting his winged collar, ensuring the jagged gashes from Ladir’s assault were concealed.

“Greetings, my lady. My name’s Velnic Meagher, son of Loren, and a Chosen of Nazil.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Velnic Meagher, son of Loren, and a Chosen of Nazil.” She smiled. “I’m Natasha Estenbrook of Noraa.”

“The pleasure is mine, my lady,” Velnic said, raising her hand to his lips. “It would be an honor to escort you.”

Natasha accepted his offered arm, walking at his side.

“Did you arrive with the High Priest’s brother?”

“I did. His name is Emet, and my sister, Maisha, is his promised.”

“They’re going to wed?”

“Yes, and soon, if my sister has her way.”

“And what about you, my lady? Was the gentleman who accompanied him your husband?”

Natasha smiled, glancing up at the guard. “No. Aizen is the Caretaker’s son, and he’s promised to Lady Ahllendale.”

Velnic halted. “Sir d’Garrion’s niece?”

“The same. This is the first time that she’s met Sir d’Garrion. I adore Droxahn. Even with my father’s death, I hold no malice toward the Nazilians. The men responsible have been punished for their crimes.”

“Your father was killed during the war?”

“He died in Nazil after being taken captive,” she said, resuming their pace.

Velnic swallowed hard, feeling much less confident than he had just moments before.

“Please accept my condolences, my lady. I lost my father some time ago. No matter the circumstance of the separation, the loss and pain are interminable.”

“You speak true, Velnic Meagher, son of Loren, and a Chosen of Nazil.”

At that, he smiled. For many silent moments, they traversed the corridors, with Velnic glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t approach her in any direct manner, but he did want to learn more about her.

“How long will you be in Nazil?” he asked, as they descended the final flight of stairs.

“Droxahn would like to remain a while to be with her brother. This is his first child, and she wants to share in their joy.”

“Indeed. Children are a blessing. I have seven brothers, and all of them have children of their own.”

“Now you sound like my mother.” He chuckled. “Yes. Seven, and of them, I am the last.”

“With how many children have you and your wife been blessed?”

He smiled wistfully, halting in the corridor. “None as yet, my lady. I’m also the only one of my brothers who isn’t wed.”

She blushed, although she knew not why. Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she looked up, meeting his eyes.

“Then we are much the same. However, I’m certain that we, too, will be so blessed in time,” she said, nibbling at her bottom lip. “Mayhaps sooner than either of us could’ve thought.”

He nodded, considering not only her words, but more so, the way she offered them. His smile widened, and he kissed her hand again.

“I believe that we will,” he said. “The dining hall is just there.”

“You’re not partaking in the median meal?”

“No. Guards don’t dine in the hall. Besides, my duty begins soon, and I wanted to walk the grounds. With the dangers ever present, it’s prudent to do so.”

“Yes,” she said, glancing at the guards stationed in the corridor. “Would I be permitted to accompany you, Sir Meagher? The citadel is grander than Noraa’s, and I fear that I’ll never learn my way.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“No. I was going to take noon meal to meet more of the Zaxson’s family. But I can meet them at the evening meal.”

“What about the others in your company?”

“My sister and her promised are meeting with the priests regarding their ceremony, and Aizen and Droxahn are visiting her brother with Sir d’Garrion. So, I’m very much alone, and would appreciate the company, and the direction, of course.”

“Then, where shall we begin?”

“The gardens are quite beautiful, but popular of late. There’s also a small grove, too. The blossoms aren’t as numerous or as colorful, but it’s more peaceful. I often visit, especially with the increased guard rotations and activities.”

“Yes. There’s much talk in Noraa regarding the rogue and the mounting dangers in Nazil. That’s why the Zaxson sent Jasiri to escort us here.”

“Had I only known, certainly I’d have asked to join the warriors.”

Natasha’s cheeks reddened, staring up at the intriguing man. “I would’ve enjoyed meeting you then, Sir Meagher, just as I’m glad to have met you now. Have you ever visited my city?”

“Please, call me Velnic, and yes, I’ve visited Noraa, but it’s been some time.”

“Mayhaps once this crisis passes, you might visit again. You’d be well received, I assure. There are many Nazilians in the city now. In fact, Emet’s mother was Nazilian, and he’s going to wed my sister. Many things have changed since Lord Benoist became Zaxson.”

“They have,” he said, only beginning to realize how much. He extended his arm again. “If the Zaxson allows, I’d like to escort you upon your return to Noraa. I mean, if my service would be acceptable to you.”

Her smile broadened. “Not only your service, Sir Meagher.”

A grin creased Ayrmeis’ lips as he gave ground enough to complete a backflip, pulling a shuriken from his belt. When he faced his brother, Ayrmeis launched the projectile, following quickly behind.

As Tardison ducked the shuriken, Ayrmeis came around with a side-kick, followed by a combination of jabs and cuts.

“Gods!” Tardison yelled, throwing up both arms to block the devastating onslaught.

He staggered back another step, and Ayrmeis dropped low, sweeping Tardison’s legs, sending him sprawling to the floor. Tardison’s sword fell as he landed hard, grimacing. Before he could move to counter, Ayrmeis plopped down on his stomach, positioning a dagger on his groin.

“The match is yours! The match is yours!” Tardison sucked in his breath, raising both hands in the air.

Ayrmeis laughed, tapping his brother’s groin with the blade. He stood, pulling him to his feet as Tardison clutched his stomach, regaining his breath.

“The contest wasn’t fair,” Tardison said.

Ayrmeis flipped his long braid to his back, wiping down his sword. “Not fair? Were the rules established before we began?”

“The rules remain the same: we fight with honor.”

“Indeed. So, I did. Where did the honor lack in my technique?”

“You sat on me, Ayrmeis!”

He laughed aloud, clapping Tardison on his back. “I used whatever means available to subdue you, yes.”

“And the dagger in my groin?”

Ayrmeis laughed even louder. “Advantage, Brother, advantage,” he said, patting Tardison’s cheek.

“Dagger in the groin? Mayhaps it’s good that I’m late.” Raithym yawned.

They turned, regarding their cousin as he took a seat on the bench, drinking from his wineskin.

“Late?” Tardison repeated. “Our practice is at an end. Where have you been?”

Raithym waved dismissively. “There’s more than practice on my mind.”

“Not Ceron again, I hope.” Ayrmeis rolled his eyes, replacing the practice swords.

“Not all of us are Jasiri warriors,” Raithym said. “Unlike you, there’s more than fighting on my mind.”

“Well, I’m not a warrior,” Tardison said. “And I still take our training seriously. Your father asked us to train together, and he expected you to be here improving your prowess.”

“Is that right? So, are you going to tell him that I neglected my duties, Tardison?”

“Of course not. Still, we were waiting for you. You could’ve told us of the delay.”

“I didn’t know myself,” Raithym said, walking across the room, and draping his arms over their shoulders. “I didn’t know that the ladies were enjoying a hot bath in the common room.” He winked. “After they finished, they rubbed each other with oils. You should’ve seen their perfect glistening bodies: the round hips and full breasts. Ceron’s would fit perfectly in my hands and my mouth. That sight was more pleasing than looking at the two of you.”

Ayrmeis slid his arm away, turning to face him. “You need to focus on what’s important, Raithym. Finding a place to stick your cock isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing. Our parents are struggling to maintain our family’s safety. Molag might be in custody, but his allies aren’t. Your mother is concerned about you. Don’t you understand the enormity of what’s taking place here?”

“Please.” Raithym scoffed. “I’m not afraid of some old and withered man. He means little and less to me, and Mother worries without cause. My prowess is sufficient enough for one as he.” Raithym grinned. “But Ceron…now she’s a project worth pursuing. If I need training anywhere, it’s between her thighs,” he said, licking his lips.

“Your mother wouldn’t think so,” Tardison said. “Ceron is nearly six years your senior, and she’s cared for you since you were a babe. That alone should stave off your desires.” He shook his head. “Considering everything that’s happened to us, Raithym, you must be sagacious.

“Once the dangers have passed, your parents will seek a pledge for you. You’re the eldest, and there’re many young maids who’d desire having you as a husband.”

“Pledge? Why in all seven hells would I want to be tethered to a wife with so many delectable offerings to sample within these very walls? I’ve seen Ceron looking at me when she thought I didn’t see. She wasn’t looking at me like she would a child. She desires me as a man. I’m going to have her as many times as my cock will rise.”

Ayrmeis and Tardison laughed aloud, shaking their heads.

“If your mother finds out that you’re bedding the attendants, it’ll rise no more,” Ayrmeis japed. “Save your seed, Cousin.”

“For what, a warrior-ess of the isle like you? I’ll be well satisfied now, and when I decide to finally marry, my wife will know pleasure like none other.”

“If I’m fortunate enough to earn a wife, I would like her to be a daughter of K’ohshul. Sir Yego has told me about the maids there, and how to gain their interest. I hope to complete the trials and take part in the N’gohne of selection, but now isn’t the time.”

“Ayrmeis is right, Raithym,” Tardison said. “Why aren’t you taking the shift seriously? Look at us,” he continued, holding his arms wide. “We’re nearly the age of our parents. This alone should raise a fear in you? Our entire lives have been manipulated by this…this wraith possessing Molag.”

“I’m the only one of us who has taken it seriously, Tardison. How are we supposed to be certain that we won’t soon shrivel like old men? I’m not going to spend all my time in the practice chamber. I plan on enjoying my life now, while it’s still mine to live.

“If you never want to taste a woman’s sweetness or experience being inside of her, so be it. I’m not of the same mind. I’m going to have my fill now while my cock can still rise and my tongue is eager to please.” Raithym turned, walking away, and grabbing his wineskin from the table.

“Raithym is a fool, Brother,” Ayrmeis said as the door closed.

“Indeed. However, not everything he said is without merit. We don’t know what the next season will bring. If the shift persists, what will become of us?”

“Ahvixx explained how this came to be and why. Our age progression is over, and we’ll continue to mature naturally. The Guardians would do nothing to our detriment. This, you know. It’s not the time to slake hedonistic desires. All of us must prepare for coming dangers. There’ll be ample time for other things once our objectives are realized,” Ayrmeis said, upraising his hand.

Tardison smiled, meeting Ayrmeis hand with his. When their palms met, the Guardian marks glimmered, sending tingling pulses of energy throughout their bodies.

Their eyes closed, as the mystical connection merged them with each other, and the Guardians. Once the light dimmed, they released a heavy breath, taking a step back.