The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy
The Rise of Nazil Trilogy
© 2019 Aaron-Michael Hall, aaronmichaelhall.com
All rights reserved. No portion of this book or parts thereof may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
P.O. Box 2586
McDonough, GA 30253
Xtabyren@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Artist: Upied, Predrag Ivanovic
Cover Designer: Angel Moon
Editor: JB Lazarte
Editor: Morgan Smith
Proofreader: Michael Moon
ISBN : 0692518894
ISBN : 9780692518892
ISBN : 1732979405
ISBN : 9781732979406
ISBN : 9781732979468
LCCN :2015914400
CURRENT TITLES
THE RISE OF NAZIL I
SEED OF SCORN II
PIERCING THE DARKNESS III
GUARDIANS’ RISE
RITES OF HEIRDRON I
ORBS OF TRENIHGEA II
KURINTOR NYUSI
TAMESA
THE RISE OF NAZIL TRILOGY
RITES OF HEIRDRON DUOLOGY
UPCOMING RELEASES
SHADOKYN: BLOOD OF OISIN I
KEEPERS OF NINE
TRIPLEX SPIRES OF ISABIS
DEDICATION
John and Beatrice Hall
CHAPTER LIST
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SEED OF SCORN: BOOK II
PIERCING THE DARKNESS: BOOK III
GLOSSARY
AUTHOR
INTERNATIONAL EPIC FANTASY AWARD-WINNER
READERS’ FAVORITE
PRAISE FOR THE RISE OF NAZIL
“The Rise of Nazil is an epic fantasy that should be shelved next to the works of R.A. Salvatore and J. R. R. Tolkien . With sweeping love stories, intense battles, theological struggles, and modern sociological themes, this book was the best read of 2015.” -Mudville Dames
“The Rise of Nazil is a complex work, combining the cadence and richness of "old school" fantasy with the violence, intricate treacheries, and modern sensibilities of The Game of Thrones . If Michael Moorcock were writing for today's audience, he might well have written this kind of work.” -Amazon
“The Rise of Nazil by Aaron-Michael Hall is the novel for anyone who craves great action and drama. This is a complex plot at its best . The character development is perfect .” -Readers’ Favorite
“This is the best epic fantasy trilogy I’ve read in over a decade . The plot twists, deep characterization, amazing prose, superb dialogue, and worldbuilding are mere elements in the vast tapestry Hall creates. This trilogy defies categorization. It reaches far beyond what's accepted as fantasy, to catapult readers to a level of unique literary excellence rarely found in today’s ‘copy-cat’ market. Bravo!” -Amazon
“Faélondul is a world imbued with good and evil, that permeates through a richly layered social strata, but few facets of human nature have changed, and he captures them all. Desire, ambition, greed, each masterfully manifested in a host of vividly rendered characters that make for a riveting read whilst neatly sidestepping the pitfalls of predictability .
Crafted like a mound of gems picked from the best in genre , The Rise of Nazil makes for a scintillating read. Boding well for future releases from Aaron-Michael Hall, it is recommended without reservation.” -BookViral
“At a little under 600 pages, The Rise of Nazil definitely deserves the title ‘Epic.’ Not simply for its length, but the sheer intricacy of the plot and the superb imaginative musing of its author. Central to its success for me is the way he has created not only fabulous fantasy worlds but a complex geo political structure which breathes a refreshing breath of authenticity into a genre which too often than not has become trite and predictable.” -Goodreads
“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.”
-Nohek Glennon
75th year of Kehldaron
Coming Storm
Brahanu awoke disoriented on the freezing ground. Her hands trembled, reaching out into the darkness that surrounded her. Her vision was as obfuscated as her mind, the dizzying dots causing her to nearly sway back to the ground. Pelting rain stung her face as she clenched her eyes shut, crying out in the darkness.
Brahanu had traveled far beyond the borders of Cazaal in an effort to replenish the diminishing supplies. Now, she wished that she hadn’t. Her father didn’t want her to leave the safety of their village, but she’d convinced him otherwise. She assisted the lakaar , and persuaded her father to allow her leave. But she wasn’t supposed to travel this far, or be gone this long.
Brahanu nursed her side, attempting to push up to her feet. The piercing pain that followed caused her to cry out again, staggering back a few steps. Gods, help me , she thought, trying to gain control over her mounting fear, and force the pain from her mind.
“Where—where am I?” she asked, wiping the wetness from her eyes. Her surroundings were still a blur as she desperately tried to see through the murky haze encompassing her.
“Ared?” When the horse didn’t return, she called for him again. “Ared?” Brahanu repeated louder. “Please. Ared!”
She was alone.
“Gods be good, please help me,” she said, limping forward. Brahanu searched the darkness for any indication of where Ared had taken her. She couldn’t remember anything past the storm…past him charging through the wood. Then, there was nothing. Never had Ared behaved so, and she feared as much for him as she did for herself. She didn’t know how long she’d lain in the gelid pool, but she had to find Ared, and her way back home. Her motion slowed at the thought, and she paused, noticing the familiar scent wafting through the air. Ignoring the pain, she inhaled deeper.
“Smoke! That smells like smoke. I must be near the village.” Brahanu wondered aloud, ignoring the voice of reason calling out to her. The voice that would send her far from the scent of hope in the air. Instead, she convinced herself that she was home, back in Cazaal, safe and near her family and her promised. If she could only reach the burning fires that led the way.
“I can see the fires now. Thank the gods! I can make it,” she said, still denying the obvious truth. When the fitful light came into view in the dark distance, Brahanu slowed again, still struggling to see through the intensifying downpour. She shielded her eyes, squinting.
“Wait, there’s more than one light. There’re three, no, four fires. This isn’t Cazaal. Where am I?” she asked. “Is this the Neema Outpost? Surely, this couldn’t be.” Her fear escalated, but her desperation kept her moving.
As she emerged from the haze of the storm, a guard took notice. A shadow , he thought, examining the form emerging from the darkness. No, not a shadow. An enemy . Raising his arbalest, he readied the bolt, not taking his eyes from the figure.
Brahanu continued toward the flames, seeing the man’s obscure outline in the darkness. The gods are good. I’ve made it!
The dancing flares whipped through the air, casting a luminescence over Brahanu as she approached. The guard’s mouth gaped, and he staggered back a step, concealing himself within the shadows of the stone brazier. Drenching rains saturated Brahanu’s raven hair, making a perfect frame for her face. He could see wounds on her forehead and cheek, but her beauty is what drew him. With each step, her features became more visible. He licked the sudden dryness from his lips, admiring the fullness of hers. Brahanu’s eyes were as dark as the night sky, yet a thousand times more beautiful. Her smooth mahogany skin glistened in the firelight, with the trickling rain making it appear even more so. Never had he seen a woman so beautiful. An ethereal beauty. “By the gods,” he whispered, trying to regain himself. When she was nearly upon him, he secured his cowl, concealing his features.
“Sir? Sir, please can you help me?”
Gods, she’s beautiful. Such beauty. Not here, no, not here , he thought. When he adjusted his cowl, she was but a few strides away.
“Sir? Can you help me? My horse was frightened by the storm and I’ve lost my way. I—I followed the light of your torches. I thought that I was heading in the direction of my village, of Cazaal. My father is the Caretaker and would know your commander. Can you help me?”
He tried to speak, but no words came forth. He continued to stare for a few moments more, ensuring that she wasn’t an illusion manifested from his deepest desire.
“Sir?”
“I—I—beg pardon, my lady, I didn’t intend to be discourteous. It’s—may I ask your name?”
“My name is Brahanu. I don’t mean to cause you any trouble, but you’re the only person that I’ve seen. Is there a lakaar on duty or can I speak with your commander?”
“Brahanu,” he whispered. “What a beautiful name. The sound is almost as lovely as the one who owns it.”
“Thank you,” she said, flattered, yet bemused. “And your name, Sir?”
“My name is Pentanimir Benoist, son of Manifir. What are—”
When the guards atop the ramparts called out, he gripped Brahanu’s arm, pulling her toward a copse of trees.
“Sir, sir you’re hurting me,” she protested. “Please, let go of my arm. Gods! My leg, please, stop.”
“You must quiet yourself, Brahanu, for both our sakes,” he warned, checking their surroundings before lowering her to a stump. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at her leg. Brahanu grimaced, slightly raising her long skirts.
His hands trembled as he knelt in front of her, inspecting the wound. “Brahanu, it isn’t safe for you here. Your leg is bruised and cut; it’s not broken. I can tend to your wounds and provide provisions, but you mustn’t remain.”
“What? I’m no stranger to the wood. If not for the storm and my horse being frightened, I wouldn’t be lost. I’m tired and need to rest,” she said, pulling back her cloak and revealing the dagger tucked in her belt. “I can defend myself when the times require it. My father has trained many men stationed here, and me as well.” As she stood, a feeling of lightheadedness caused her to stumble. Pentanimir steadied her stance, lowering her gently back to the stump.
“Your bravery isn’t in question, Brahanu, but you aren’t well, and indeed need rest and care. I’ll see to these things if you allow. However, the wood isn’t what you should fear. There are far worse dangers closer than you realize.”
“I don’t understand. If you’re attempting to scare me with tales of creatures unknown, it’s not necessary. I only need a place to rest until the storm passes. If I can’t find that here, I’ll leave.”
“No,” he said. “My intention isn’t to frighten or drive you away. I’m offering you my help, and trying to protect…” He sighed wistfully, knowing he’d have to reveal himself. Without speaking another word, he rose, sliding the cowl from his head. His pale, ice-blue eyes studied her face, fearing her reaction.
Brahanu gasped, realizing what he was…where she was. Pentanimir’s long, silvery-white hair blew in the chilling breeze as he met her eyes. Her voice caught in her throat as if something tangible was lodged there. She shook her head, with terrifying screams echoing in her mind. When he reached out to her, she swung wildly, falling back onto the ground. Brahanu kicked, pushing away from him, feeling the ictus of her heart thumping in her chest. Staggering to her feet, she continued to fight. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t stand, and soon, darkness crept in from the corners of her eyes.
Pentanimir caught her as she swooned, cradling her in his arms. “Brahanu,” he whispered. When she didn’t respond, he stroked her cheek. You’re so beautiful. The gods have brought you to me. Only the gods could create such beauty.
Pentanimir lowered her to the ground, covering her with his cloak. “I need to return before they look for me. But I’ll come back for you soon, my beautiful Brahanu.”
Brahanu blinked her eyes open, awakening in the darkness. Her surroundings were distorted, and she clenched her eyes, attempting to clear the fog from her mind. Was I dreaming? she thought, sitting up and inspecting the tree-lined area. Gradually, her vision and remembrances came into focus. She noticed the cloak covering her, and another one spread beneath her on the ground. “It wasn’t a dream,” Brahanu said aloud before realizing it. She pushed to her feet, and then paused. Wait, the pain...the pain is gone , she noticed, gazing down at the fresh bandages on her hands.
As she raised her skirts, rustling branches claimed her attention. Her eyes widened, and she drew the dagger from her waist, crouching beside a bush.
“Who’s there?” she demanded. “Who are you?”
Her heartbeat quickened, hearing the light footfalls, and snapping branches beneath them. She gripped the handle on her dagger, listening closely. As she began to rise, someone grabbed her wrist, wrenching the dagger from her hand. Brahanu whirled around, punching with her left while struggling to reclaim her dagger. She cried out, landing a hard kick, followed by a back-fist as she twisted away. Before she could move to run, he clutched her arms, pulling her back in toward him.
“Please stop,” Pentanimir pleaded. “I’m not going to hurt you, Brahanu, please don’t fear me. I’m only trying to help you. Others may come if you—”
She slammed her head into his nose, still trying to break free. “No! Release me now,” she said, slamming her head back again.
“Gods! Brahanu, stop, it’s me, it’s Pentanimir, please.”
“Let me go! I know what you are. No. You’re…you’re Nazilian—a ghost. I’ll die before I let you take me.”
When she attempted another blow, he grasped both her wrists, pinning her arms behind her.
“I’m trying to help you, Brahanu. If I wanted to capture you, I could’ve taken you already. Please, be quiet, we’re too near the city gates and the guards will come.”
“Why should I trust you? I’ve done nothing wrong. Please. My father is the Caretaker
of Cazaal. We can pay whatever ransom that you’d demand, just please don’t take me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross your borders, I just needed help. I promise never to return, just please let me leave safely. Let me go,” she pleaded, unable to suppress her tears.
After a few moments, Pentanimir released her arms, and she collapsed on the ground.
“I—I didn’t mean to.” She repeated, praying to all of the gods to free her. The stories her father had told of the Nazilians flooded her mind. Although she urged her body to move, the debilitating anguish kept her tethered to the ground.
Pentanimir forced back his emotion, kneeling on the ground beside her. How can she fear me so? She thinks me a monster. Hesitantly, he reached forward, brushing her hair aside. When she jerked away from him, he sighed, leaning toward her again.
“Please look at me, Brahanu,” he said, removing his cowl.
She only shook her head, gaining some control over her tears.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t you understand that?”
Tilting her head up, she met his eyes. Never had she seen a Nazilian so close. His eyes glistered in the moonlight, and his skin appeared to shimmer as if embedded with the dust of diamonds.
“I’m not going to harm you. There’re many within the city that would take you as a prize, but I’m not one of them. Just look into my eyes and learn my intent,” he said, caressing her cheek. That touch left a tingling warmth in its wake and she shuddered, unable to comprehend the calm that befell her. His eyes were mesmerizing, yet she could find no trace of cruelty within them.
“Brahanu, I’ve tended your wounds and promise to keep you safe. You—you lost consciousness when I revealed myself, and when you wouldn’t wake, I returned to the city. I cleaned your wounds with a salve made from belladonna roots, and then applied some oil of naja and kuzbarah on your bruises. I’m no lakaar , but I dressed the wounds as best I could. Here,” he said, handing her a wineskin. “Drink this. It’s mulled wine with kava, ignatia, and rhus ox. It’ll ease your pain and allow you to travel more comfortably. I want you to know everything that I’ve done and will do. You’re familiar with the herbs, and know they’re meant to help, not harm.”