Rosinanti: Rise of the Dragon Lord (Rosinanti Series Book 3)

by Kevin J. Kessler

  “Hello, Uncle Tiberius,” a low growling voice said from behind him.

  Whirling around, Tiberius saw that same pathetic shrouded individual from the street, now standing nearly a head taller than he as it threw its hood back to reveal the face of Kayden Burai. Before Tiberius could move or cry out, Kayden’s fist erupted with blurring speed and smashed into the side of his head. He fell into darkness.

  “Uncle Tiberius…” The voice sounded far off, hazy, as though called out from a great distance. The former elite warrior of Kackritta shook his head back and forth trying to clear it of the cobwebs. “Uncle Tiberius…”

  The voice stirred in him a memory of a little boy, ebony of hair and large for a four-year old. He had come bounding up to Tiberius as he walked along the grassy area behind Kackritta Castle.

  “Uncle Tiberius…” The voice was closer now and deeper than it had been back then. On it there carried a twinge of something else—something cold, something sinister, something…dark. All at once, he recalled what had happened, and the present reformed around him. Tiberius attempted to move, but sharp agony born of his wrists and ankles choked a gurgle of pain from his lips. His eyes involuntarily swung open. A series of small torches lit a circular dome composed of brown rock. He lay on the floor on his back. One look down his body answered the question of his mysterious pain.

  Jagged shards of stone stabbed through his wrists and ankles, driven in with such force they were embedded in the rocky ground. He was immobilized, unable to move without the sensory-shredding pain eating at his extremities. Then, behind his head, he heard slow, steady footfalls. They drew closer, and soon he was looking up at the boy who had once leapt into his arms with childish abandon. Only he was so much more now. He was a strong, solid man. He was mighty, and beneath his pale skin, bearded face, and defined muscle, there slept the bestial dragon that had laid waste to his homeland.

  “Nice to see you awake again, Uncle,” Kayden Burai said, expressionlessly staring down at Tiberius with the casual indifference one might show a scurrying insect while deciding whether or not to squash it underfoot.

  “Kayden…” he choked out, unable to mask his contempt. “Where—?”

  “Are you?” Kayden completed the question. “These are the catacombs beneath Kackr…I mean Aleksandrya. I keep doing that. Force of habit I suppose.” Tiberius groaned in pain and gritted his teeth at the casual way in which Kayden dismissed Kackritta’s existence. “Up until recently, this place was bustling with activity. All those Faithful scurrying through this tunnel like ants until Aleksandrya was born for them. Now it’s empty save for us. I always liked it down here. It’s cold, it’s dark, and surrounded by stone. It’s like being inside my own heart.”

  “I don’t…believe that,” Tiberius said. “You’re…an animus warrior…of Ka—” A howl of pain silenced him as Kayden clenched his fist, causing the impaling barbs of rock to sink and twist farther through his flesh.

  “Appealing to my past is not going to help, Uncle. I cast that life away the second I destroyed that useless city and aided the empress in ushering in the new world.” He looked around the barren chamber deep within the heart of Terra itself with the passion and pride one might show off a stylish homestead. “Now, I understand you’ve been quite busy.” Kayden paced around Tiberius’s body until he stood at the older man’s boots, his eyes briefly sparked with hungry purple light. “These rebels of yours who worship that powerless witch—they’re not very easy to find. Some watery magic from your Ice Queen, I assume. I’d like for you to tell me where they are.”

  “You might as well…kill me now…Kayden. You know I’ll…never tell you that.”

  Kayden nodded as though this were precisely what he had been expecting. The purple haze slowly seeped back onto his eyes, and he delicately raised one hand. The floor beneath Tiberius began to rise as a rectangular pillar, coming waist height to Kayden before he altered the direction of his hand, forcing the platform to tilt forward. Tiberius now lay at an angle and winced as the barbs pulled at his torn flesh. Fresh rivulets of blood poured down his palms and began to pool within his boots. Kayden continued to calmly pace before him for nearly a full minute.

  The subtle shift from stoic to manic happened with such abruptness, Tiberius hadn’t even the time to be alarmed before Kayden’s fist savagely smashed into his torso, which was accompanied by a sickening snap. As Tiberius recoiled breathlessly, his savage bindings continued to tear through flesh and muscle.

  “I’ve lately found myself wondering as to the true limits of the human body,” Kayden remarked, once more pacing. “Once I realized that my own body was not that of a human, I began pondering the extent of your weakness as a species. The lives I’ve taken have all ended so…abruptly. Snap…Boom…Dead.” He stopped and stared into his uncle’s eyes. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to…take my time.”

  Two days felt like two hundred to Tiberius. His life descended into the truest depths of horrendous torment and pain, the likes of which his countless hours of training in both body and mind had left him woefully unprepared. Over the course of forty-eight hours, he had been bludgeoned, cut, burned, even bitten in a moment of horrific savagery when Kayden lost his composure and descended on him, tearing off half of his left ear with his teeth and spitting it back into the elite warrior’s face.

  However, no matter how brutal the torture became, no matter how many bones Kayden shattered, and there were many, Tiberius’s resolve held firm. He would not betray Vahn. He would never betray the Ice Queen. He would never invite this monster into their home, and so, he stayed silent.

  Kayden’s mood seemed to shift violently. Sometimes he was amused by his prisoner’s reluctance to part with this information. Other times his inability to coax a response from the elder warrior enraged him, and he exploded in violent outbursts. More often than not though, he seemed impressed.

  “Uncle, I have to tell you that you’re truly living up to your title. But you aren’t going to outlast me.”

  “Your…father…taught me…well.” Bringing up Vahn was a risk. Sometimes it seemed to stir a sadness within his tormentor that abated the flow of punishment. Other times, it poured forth the fountain of Kayden’s rage. He held his breath, waiting to see what was about to happen. Kayden chuckled for a second, and then his fist shot out, slamming into the side of Tiberius’s face, breaking and dislocating his jaw amidst a spray of hot blood.

  Tiberius shrieked in moaning howls of agony as his mouth hung open forcefully and swung to and fro like a dangling string. The pain was so intense, so vile, so unbelievably brutal that Tiberius was shocked he did not pass out as he had so many times before. Kayden brought his face in close, next to what remained of the older man’s left ear.

  “You think that you’re playing on the hanging shreds of my humanity, Uncle. I know that you invoke my father’s name periodically, and you’ve been judging my responses to it. I’ve played along with that. I’m done playing. This has been a valuable experiment in human physiology; however, I’m bored with it. I’m going to get the information I need. It has always been within my reach, but I allowed this farce to continue out of curiosity.” He pressed harshly on the bulge where Tiberius’s jaw had snapped, and the elite warrior moaned in fitful pain.

  “I call you ‘Uncle’, not out of any sense of affection or desire to reconnect with my familial bonds. I’ve been mocking you, human. I’ve been toying with you. Your jaw is destroyed, disfigured; you’ll never speak another word again. And maybe somewhere in your tiny human brain, you think that means your precious rebels are safe from me. But you’re wrong.”

  Tiberius was breathing in rapid gasps now as his face swelled in response to the horrific injury. What was he talking about? How could he get this information now that Tiberius could not physically speak it?

  “Recently, I’ve found that being the Spirit of Darkness means much more than moving rocks around. I can actually…feel the dark emotions that feed the human heart. I can ta
ste anger, I can smell doubt, and I can touch fear.” Kayden’s hand extended slowly toward Tiberius’s head, and a cold, inky shiver began to snake through his mind, causing the warrior to convulse involuntarily. “I can actually ride those intoxicatingly destructive emotions into the mind, past the façade you all put up, and let me tell you, Uncle, every one of you is the same when laid bare. You’re all quivering masses of insecurity, of guilt, jealousy, rage, and sweet, intoxicating, empowering fear. I can feel them all coursing through your mind right now, merging together in a storm cloud of darkness. This war feeds the dark, and I in turn feast upon that endless night.”

  Tiberius could feel him now slithering through his thoughts, gorging himself on the terror that ran rampant through the warrior’s human heart. He tried to fight it, tried to focus on anything else, to block out the fear. But running from fear only strengthened it, and Kayden latched onto his mind with even greater fervor.

  “You fight me, Uncle. You all hate me. You all fear me. But your hatred empowers me, your fear sustains me, and your anguish amuses me. You cannot fight the night with darkness!” Kayden gave one last invisible push, and Tiberius felt all that he was, all he had ever been explode, evaporate, and vanish within the void of Kayden’s darkness.

  Less than one hour later, Kayden stood upon a deserted street on the outskirts of Aleksandrya, staring hungrily at a broken-down, old guardhouse. Within lay his prize, and he’d happily unwrap this gift, tearing through the dozens of layers of wrapping that concealed the blue jewel of order from his grasp. He bit his lip in anticipation.

  As he had walked here, leaving Tiberius a comatose, drooling husk upon the floor of those catacombs, he could feel Seraphina’s magic subtly attempting to veer him off course. But he understood what it was, he acknowledged the spell’s presence, and as such, it held no sway over him.

  Seraphina had grown mighty. She would be a far cry from the useless girl to whom his brother had dedicated so much of himself.

  The black dragon could still feel Tiberius’s final mental scream echoing through his mind, and he savored it like the aftertaste of a fine wine. He had seen much upon pulling back the curtain of his former uncle’s psyche. He knew the entire layout of this building. He knew what waited for him within. He knew who waited for him within. Kayden took a deep, calming breath and prepared himself. Seraphina was not the only threat within those walls. Physically, yes, she was the sole credible challenge. But mentally, Kayden was about to face the ultimate test of the darkness.

  I’m coming, Father, he thought bitterly as he gathered the enormity of his dark might unto himself.

  VIII: Empire of Dreams

  “Valentean,” she called out to him from far off. The voice was soft, smooth, and kind. He did not instantly know it, but the warm feeling that spread throughout his heart upon hearing those dulcet tones caused him to believe that it could only be one person.

  “Mother…” he responded in a hopeful whisper. He took off running through the forest in search of the voice, hearing it grow steadily louder as it called out to him time and time again.

  “Valentean…” it cried out, sounding so welcoming, so loving. The trees were growing darker and denser as he continued to plod forth into the night, desperate to finally once and for all meet the woman who gave up everything so he could live.

  “Mother!” he called out, hands reaching through the brambles and thorny vines that he burst through in his desperate search. As he continued, the brush became thicker and slowed his momentum. The vines that clung to his limbs posed a challenge to even his great strength, but Valentean pulled with all his considerable might to break them and continue.

  Finally, he burst into a clearing and saw just ahead a circular pool of clear, sparkling water. In the center, there sat a tiny, round island, upon which a tall, thin woman shrouded in a white gown stood with her back facing him. His heart fluttered further as the gentle breeze of the serene valley moved the waves of ebony hair along her pale back.

  Here she was at long last—the mother he had never known but always yearned for. He attempted to call out to her, but upon opening his mouth, he found he had no voice. Gritting his teeth at this cumbersome set back, he took a running leap, using his magical energy to soar over the churning surface of the lake. Valentean landed on the soft, green grass, just a meter or so from her.

  She moved not a muscle, standing like a milky statue amidst the cooling breeze. Valentean approached slowly, his knees quaking. He tentatively reached a hand toward her delicate bare shoulder. The warmth of his fingers settled upon her alabaster flesh, and he felt her body come to life beneath his palm.

  “Valentean,” she said, still not turning to him. Then, suddenly she began to pivot. Valentean’s breath caught in his chest as this moment he had dreamt of approached with tantalizing slowness. As the woman turned, Valentean noticed the flesh beneath his hand growing warm, then hot, then blistering until he pulled back in scorching pain. As his mother turned, a vile transformation took place as red and orange skin flowed along her body to cover her once soft, pale flesh like a spreading disease. Her hair came to life, roaring into the air, transforming into bright red and orange tentacles, which danced around her head like snakes. Her eyes were the last to change, burning a crimson far deeper and more violent than either his or Aleksandra’s. It was Skirlack, Ignis, the Goddess of fire and chaos.

  “My child,” she said in a sickening voice that reminded him of the screech of a hawk coupled with the sound of a saw slicing through a tree trunk. As Valentean recoiled back, mouth open in a silent, horrified scream, the demonic goddess reached one clawed hand out toward his face as if to caress his cheek. He found himself rooted in place, his legs immobilized beneath him. The animus warrior winced with fear and vile disgust as Ignis laid her scorching hot palm against the flesh of his face, and his blood filled with the surging flow of chaos. Red light exploded along the planes of his eyeballs, and Valentean finally found his voice as it screamed in horror.

  Valentean cried out as he jolted awake, eyes alight with chaotic crimson fury. As he sat up, he involuntarily made a connection with the camp fire that smoldered between him and McNeil, and the flames leapt three meters in response to his horrified outburst. The young animus warrior’s breathing slowed, and he regained control, swallowing back upon the chaos that roared to life within him. In response, the fire dwindled back to its meager glow.

  McNeil sat across the flames from him, still seated calmly, wide awake and staring at Valentean with an almost imperceivable questioning tilt of the head. He was not startled, angered, or even anxious in the wake of Valentean’s makeshift inferno. At most, he seemed mildly curious.

  Valentean panted through the silence. He had sweated through his clothes, and his skin was covered by a damp film of perspiration. He brushed the plastered hair away from his eyes and looked back up to find McNeil’s unsettling stare still locked upon him.

  “So, you can control the fire element,” he said matter-of-factly as though he had just noticed Valentean were left handed. “Is that a shared trait of your race?”

  “No…” Valentean said softly, cursing himself for revealing such a spectacle before this untrustworthy newcomer. McNeil was a strategist, and Valentean noted his eyes, always alert, always watching, always gauging everyone as though envisioning how to dismember them. He found it somewhat odd that his own friends knew nothing of this unnatural ability, but this stranger was now the first he unwittingly confided in. He silently hoped McNeil would not press the issue further, and to his relief, nothing more was said.

  Valentean stretched the tight muscles of his neck in circles to relieve the tension brought about by this latest nocturnal vision. It was his worst fear come to life, the dark thought behind the veil of his subconscious at all times: in his attempt to control the chaos within him, he made himself a puppet of Ignis.

  The presence of such dark invasive visions caused him to wake from his slumber completely unrested. He was horribly tired yet no
w wide awake at the same time. He groaned inwardly, knowing that sleep would not find him on this night. Nor would it his companion, it seemed.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” Valentean asked the animus warrior across from him.

  McNeil scoffed. “No.”

  “No?”

  “A warrior in my position cannot afford sleep. It is a luxury afforded to the soft.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “My brother…my emperor…is a very hated man.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Threats to his person come not only from outside the empire but from within. He has slaughtered thousands, played with the lives of his people as though they were subhuman. I do not believe there is a soul living within the Imperial wall who does not wish to see him dead.”

  “I can’t imagine…”

  “No, you cannot.” McNeil’s expression never changed, but his voice had an edge like a sharpened blade. “You pledged your life to a pretty princess who is loved by her people. You have no idea the plots I’ve uncovered, the attempts I’ve thwarted, the lengths I have had to go to protect my charge.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “I was taught in my training a very rare and dangerous form of meditation. It focuses magical energy to rejuvenate the body. Just thirty minutes per day replaces an entire night of sleep. So I am awake and alert at all times, ready to defend my empire.”

  “You mean defend your brother?”

  “My brother is the empire. And thus, to defend him is to defend the land that I love.”

  “But you want to kill him,” Valentean pointed out, trying to understand the mindset of an animus warrior who sought to break his oath.

  “The way I see it,” he said slowly, his teeth grating together, “I swore the Oath of Animus not to my brother but to my empire. I swore I would defend this land with my dying breath. My brother is a cancer eating away at the soul of Karminia. To defend her honor, I must see him eliminated. I must take the throne for myself and protect this realm as I was meant to, as its animus warrior.”