Seed of Scorn

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “Why? Because he’s Nazilian?”

  “I give no care about his heritage. Beilzen isn’t a man, not truly.” She sighed. “The—the former Zaxson, Daracus, he—he took everything from him.”

  “What? Speak plainly.”

  Sarai sighed again, lowering her voice. “Beilzen can’t please you, Sister, even if you allowed such intimacies. His member was severed long ago…nothing lies between.”

  Dalia staggered back. “No.”

  “I’m sorry. Sir Benoist found him chained after the battle. Daracus removed his manhood and left him to die. Nothing remains. Nothing. He can’t love you, not like you deserve.”

  “Gods. That’s what he was trying to say, and I didn’t understand. I need to speak to him. He didn’t deserve this.”

  “No,” Sarai said, gripping her arm. “He isn’t for you. He isn’t for anyone. Beilzen has his son and should be pleased that he was allowed that much.”

  “Why should this be good enough for him? What he’s suffered…” Dalia shook her head. “Everyone deserves to be loved, regardless of their past. I can’t fathom the extent of his suffering.”

  “What about those who suffered at his hands? My husband and even Wosen and Hushar suffered from his brutalities. Pentanimir and Danimore have fallen prey to his evil as well. No, his suffering has been little compared with those that he’s harmed.”

  “Little? Having his manhood severed is no little thing. I can’t imagine such cruelty. Beilzen is merely three and twenty and he’ll never know the comfort of a woman again. How do you find such treatment just?”

  “Had you known him before, you wouldn’t question. He’s not for you. Beilzen has Fáelán by the Guardians’ grace, and that’s more happiness than he deserves. Leave him and return to Kaleo. There’re many men with children in need of a good wife.”

  “So, I’m never supposed to have someone who loves me? I’m supposed to accept whatever man who needs a bed wench and maid?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Dalia. You deserve to be happy and have someone who loves you, too.”

  “Mayhaps that’s what I’ve found. Had you considered that before you sent Beilzen away?”

  Honor Above All

  The guard paused as he entered the audience hall. His eyes narrowed, observing the men seated at the table. During Draizeyn’s rule, such a display would be unheard of. This was a different Nazil, and he reminded himself of the same as he made his way to the citadel. The thought of humans, bastards, and former slaves holding positions of power was in insult to Nazil and their former leaders.

  “Please be seated,” Pentanimir said, motioning to a lone chair.

  Ladir inclined his head, taking a seat across from him.

  “Sir Cantrell,” Pentanimir began. “Why have you sought audience with the Council?”

  Ladir eyed Symeon, before focusing on the Zaxson again. “Yes, First Chosen…Sir Benoist…Zaxson…” he stumbled.

  Pentanimir smirked. “Your query, Sir Cantrell?”

  “Yes, Zaxson. There was a post near the temple regarding suitable candidates interested in joining the Chosen Guard.”

  “Indeed. Do you wish to be considered for a position?”

  “I do. For ten years, I’ve served Nazil faithfully. I was but five and ten when I was honored with a third guard’s position. In that time, I’ve moved to second and first when men are needed. I’ve always followed my commands, and never strayed from the tenets of the Nazilian guard. Honor Above All.”

  “Honor,” Pentanimir repeated. “Tell me, Sir Cantrell, what does the word honor mean to you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Far too often, I’ve heard the guards and others repeat the same adage to me. Albeit, no one can explain the meaning that lies within. The true meaning. What does honor mean to you?”

  “Honor is above all,” Ladir said, bemused.

  “Honor above all is merely a maxim. It’s a convenient idiom to shout before battle, or use to inspire lesser men, and bring them summarily to a common cause or belief. What I want to know is what honor means to you, not what you’ve been taught to bellow and parrot to those of higher position.”

  Ladir’s piqued visage was impossible to conceal.

  “Honor is more than a word, Zaxson,” he said. “One’s actions must reflect that which lies in his heart. I’ve always shown honor toward those I serve. Whatever the Zaxson or First Chosen would have of me, it shall be done.”

  “No matter the command?” Pentanimir asked.

  Ladir nodded, locking eyes with him. “No matter the command. It isn’t my place to question. There’s no honor in challenging or disobeying those whom you serve.”

  “Even if that command would bring dishonor to your position or yourself?”

  “Dishonor? What dishonor could there be in serving the white city and those who rule it? If the Zaxson commands a thing, it shall be done. Honor is above all.”

  Pentanimir looked at Danimore, nodding.

  “Are you to say that all of your actions while serving with the guard have been honorable?” Danimore asked.

  “All I’ve done in service to the Zaxson has been most honorable, yes.”

  “Is that also true while serving beneath Daracus and Yannick?”

  Ladir tensed. “Lord Vereux and Sir Merrimont were both honorable, although the former lacked the experience of his father.”

  “So, you agree with the path Daracus and Draizeyn chose for Faélondul?”

  “In part. Nazil has always been a great power. The people of Nazil have an obligation to lead and the right to govern. Although some missteps were made, our leader’s hearts were true, and the benefits to Nazil were great.”

  “I see,” Danimore said, gesturing to Temian.

  “Sir Cantrell, were you in total agreement with the decisions made for Nazil?” Temian asked.

  “I did what was commanded of me, yes. I found no cause to question the orders of my superiors. However, I’ve learned from mistakes that the former Zaxsons committed. They were few, but didn’t pass my notice.”

  “You’ve learned from their mistakes?”

  “Yes, Sir Benoist, I have.”

  “Have you learned from your own?”

  “My mistakes? To what do you refer? My record is exemplary, and even Sir Oxilon commented on my abilities and promise,” Ladir said, purposely mentioning their uncle.

  “We all err, Sir Cantrell. To think otherwise would be foolish. Certainly, there are actions or activities in which you were involved that would bring shame to your position. Do you deny such a charge?”

  “Charge? I wasn’t aware that I’d be so accused. Do I need an arbiter present? I thought this was an interview to establish my credentials to join Nazil’s Chosen Guard. Either I’m worthy of a public challenge, or I’m not. My record should speak for itself.”

  “I agree,” Pentanimir said, signaling to Symeon. “This is my First Chosen, Sir Yego. I’m certain that you’ve made his acquaintance in the past,” he said, enjoying the look on Ladir’s face as he regarded him. “Symeon is the finest warrior I’ve had the honor of knowing. His prowess exceeds my own and all seated among you.”

  “Even when we stand together against him,” Temian added.

  Pentanimir grinned. “If you’re selected as a candidate, you must first spar against the First Chosen. After seeing how you fare in such a contest, we’ll add your name to the short list of those who will take part in the public melee and test of skill.”

  Ladir swallowed hard.

  “Is this acceptable to you?”

  “If—if this is the new regulation for acceptance, I—I’ll meet the challenge,” he stammered. “There’s no room for fear in the heart of a Chosen of Nazil.”

  “Fear isn’t an enemy,” Temian said. “However, cowardice could be seen as such. Having fear is a natural part of being, and only a fool would think otherwise.”

  “Do you brand me a fool?” Ladir stated more than asked. “Twice you’ve mention the sa
me.”

  “I made no such assertion. Fear is felt within the heart of every man. Even the Chosen fall prey to such emotion. What separates the Chosen from others is the way they manage and overcome this fear. There would be no bravery or courage without experiencing fear first, Sir Cantrell. It’s that very emotion which makes us stronger and able to overcome that which would paralyze our movements. Do you not understand?”

  Ladir nodded, not agreeing or disagreeing.

  “Well, we get ahead of ourselves,” Pentanimir said, clasping his hands together. “There is much to discuss before we make arrangements for such a trial.

  “Sir Cantrell, there’s been a claim made against your character. This we must investigate and discuss before any challenges can be awarded.”

  “A claim? I serve Nazil with honor. Who dares attempt to despoil my character and reputation?”

  Pentanimir signaled to Jahno and he cleared his throat, unrolling a parchment.

  “There’s been a claim issued against you,” Jahno said. “As is the case with everyone who endeavors to join the Chosen, denizens of the white city may offer a challenge of character. These claims aren’t taken lightly, and all are given a fair hearing.”

  Ladir’s face scrunched in disgust regarding Daracus’ former lover. “If I’ve been so accused, I demand to face my accuser,” he said, looking only at Pentanimir, but it was Jahno who responded.

  “It’s your right to do so,” Jahno said, motioning to Symeon.

  Symeon moved to the door, ushering someone inside. Hearing hushed voices, Ladir leaned, straining to hear.

  “Zaxson,” Symeon said. “May I present Lord Beilzen Langston de Braose.”

  Ladir’s head snapped up, but Beilzen didn’t turn to regard him. He focused his attention solely on the Zaxson.

  “It’s an honor,” Beilzen said, bowing respectfully.

  “Greetings, Lord de Braose. Please state your former and current position for the record,” Pentanimir said.

  “Yes, Sir. My former position was second guard of Nazil. I currently serve as the Associate Chancellor of Treasury.”

  Ladir’s mouth gaped, knowing what Beilzen might say. He was guilty of the offense, but never would’ve committed such violations had he not been ordered to.

  “Thank you, Lord de Braose, you may be seated,” Pentanimir said.

  “Sir Cantrell. You asked to face your accuser; there he sits. Would you like the formal claim read into the permanent record so that you may answer it?”

  “There’s no need, Zaxson,” Ladir said. “I’m certain the charge will stand.”

  “Do you willingly admit to the offenses you’ve committed against Lord de Braose?”

  “There was but one, yet it isn’t easily forgotten or forgiven. I was following Lord Daracus and Sir Yannick’s commands. They ordered Beilzen’s just sentence after crimes he confessed to committing.”

  “You’ll address your accuser by his proper title, guard of Nazil. Beilzen de Braose has been granted the title of Lord and serves Nazil as a Chancellor of Treasury. Either will suffice. Choose whichever suits you best.”

  “Yes sir, Zaxson. Lord de Braose brutally raped Lady Denotra and was justly punished for the crime.”

  With that, Pentanimir nearly gasped.

  “I—I see,” Pentanimir managed. “I’m unaware of any such crime being committed. However, the charge against you is valid and must be taken under careful consideration. Being a Chosen is more than following orders. True, you must be willing to serve Nazil with honor, but I expect all beneath Sir Yego’s charge to respectfully offer an opinion when it’s warranted. I won’t have a group of thugs raping and pillaging throughout Faélondul. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Zaxson. I didn’t want to harm anyone, but I was commanded to do otherwise.”

  “Were you commanded to tell everyone about my shame and offer japes at my expense?” Beilzen asked.

  “Once not so long ago, Lord de Braose, you would’ve done the same. Don’t forget that we served together and spoke much. There are many charges one could make against you as well.”

  Temian silenced both men. “Enough. We aren’t here to discuss Lord de Braose’s possible offenses. We’re speaking only of you, Sir Cantrell.”

  “Agreed,” Pentanimir said. “We’ll take your inquiry under consideration. You’ll be summoned once a decision has been reached,” he said, motioning to the door.

  “Do you have something you need to tell us, Beilzen?” Danimore asked once Ladir had left.

  Beilzen cleared his throat. “What Ladir said is only partially true.”

  “What part of his words are false?”

  “I endeavored to tell you before, Zaxson, and you gave no care for the cause of my imprisonment and torture. I defiled no one. Denotra demanded my—my service with thoughts of you in her mind.

  “At that time, it mattered not to me who she imagined I was. I did as she commanded and was pleased for the opportunity.” His eyes met the floor. “For the first time, I was the first and you were second to me. It was foolish, and had my mind been clear, I would’ve stayed far from the citadel.

  “I lost myself in the feeling. Long had I convinced myself that I desired Denotra, as nearly all in Nazil knew. Once the opportunity presented itself, the reality paled considerably to the fantasy.” Beilzen’s voice cracked as the memories of that night assaulted his mind.

  “It wasn’t until her needs were sufficiently met did she regret her decision. When Denotra opened her eyes and looked at me, revulsion replaced the pleasure I’d given her. She was disgusted, fearing Daracus’ wrath and thoughts of a possible pregnancy.”

  “And this is when he took you?” Danimore asked.

  “No. It wasn’t until Denotra fell ill did she tell Daracus. I knew I’d be blamed and possibly beaten for my offense against the first Lady of Nazil, so I attempted to flee to Yarah. Before I could leave, Daracus sent Yannick and the guard to detain me. I was dragged from the temple and beaten, and then Yannick ordered his guards to…to abuse me.

  “Daracus knew I spoke true, but he tortured, and maimed me in spite of it. That’s the truth, and I’ve regretted my actions and the envy I felt toward you ever since.”

  “Denotra commanded you to lay with her?” Temian asked.

  “Yes, Sir. Though she stated from the beginning, that I wasn’t who she wanted. She chose me out of convenience and for my ability to keep her secret. I had to answer to the Zaxson’s name and she called out the same as I pleased her. It was a game to her, and she labeled it as such.”

  Pentanimir met his eyes. “I was forced to take part in a similar game, Beilzen. However, she didn’t tell anyone about how she took advantage of me.”

  “No doubt because she desired your pledge, Brother,” Danimore said. “No gain could come of revealing such to Daracus or Draizeyn.”

  “True. But it wasn’t the same for Beilzen. I want to hear more of this, Lord de Braose, but this isn’t the time,” Pentanimir said. “We have much to accomplish and little time to do so. Thank you for your assistance. It won’t be forgotten.”

  Reality of the Heart

  “Didn’t I tell you that you’d enjoy it?” Sahma said.

  Ahvixx rubbed the towel over his face and then froze, watching Sahma emerging from the water, her thin tunic clinging to her every curve and protrusion. He attempted to avert his eyes, but couldn’t turn away, captivated by what lie beneath the sheer cloth.

  She appeared nearly naked, and the evidence of his arousal was unmistakable.

  Sahma grabbed a dry towel, wrapping it around her before sitting next to him. Ahvixx swallowed hard, glancing down to his crotch, and then quickly tossed his towel over the rise beneath his trousers.

  “Wasn’t it refreshing?” she asked, laying her head on his shoulder. “I love to swim.”

  “Yes—yes it was,” he stammered.

  Lowering him to the blanket, Sahma snuggled in to the crook of his arm. Ahvixx gingerly wrapped it around her, cross
ing his legs as comfortably as he could. His mind raced, not knowing what, if anything, to do or say. The more he thought about her clinging tunic, the more aroused he became. He glanced down again, willing his body to calm.

  “I could lie here with you the entire day, Ahvixx. The smell and the sounds of the water are so peaceful,” she said, gliding a hand across his chest. He shuddered, feeling the throb increase.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes—yes, I’m fine. It—it’s very peaceful.”

  Sahma nodded, snuggling in again. “I’ve just noticed that you don’t have any hair,” she said, caressing his chest. “My father’s chest is covered with it. It appears more fur than hair,” she giggled. “But I like how yours feels. It’s so smooth and toned. You’ve been hiding a lot beneath those robes.”

  She smiled, continuing her caress. When her fingertips grazed his navel, Ahvixx sprang up, bunching the towel around his crotch as he stood.

  “Ahvixx, what’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, angling away from her.

  “We don’t have to swim if you don’t want to,” she said, standing to face him, causing her towel to lower.

  His face flushed as the throb became almost painful. “Please,” he nearly begged. “Will you please cover your chest.”

  She peered down, and then looked up at him with eyes filled with desolation. “Forgive me. I—I didn’t know,” she said, tightening the towel and sitting at the water’s edge.

  This was the first time she’d felt uncomfortable around him. Ahvixx was the one person that she could share all of her heart and desires, and she loved that about him.

  Tears lined her eyes as she considered the possible change in their relationship. Certainly, she’d gotten older, but those changes didn’t hinder the love she held for him. Now, she was uncertain about their relationship, or what would happen as she continued to mature.

  He watched her go, feeling the weight of the expression she wore. After taking a deep breath, he joined her at the water’s edge.

  “I’m the one who needs to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, Sahma, you only did what I’ve grown to love about you. When we’re together, I cherish our closeness. You’ve shared something special with me, a part of yourself, and I…I don’t know,” he relented, desperately attempting to understand the maelstrom of emotions swirling through his heart and mind.