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

by Kevin J. Kessler

  He exploded to his feet, drawing the axe in a powerful upward slash that caught an advancing combatant right below the sternum. The force of his blow sent the man flying off his feet, propelled back amidst a spray of blood as Nevick turned and hurled the mighty axe into the forehead of another warrior who rushed him from behind. The man was flung back, landing in a rapidly expanding puddle of his own blood as Nevick dashed forward, striking two more soldiers in the face with his biceps as he ran past them.

  Four more rushed him with swords and chains, and he backpedaled, bending his body easily out of the destructive carving path of their hard-edged weapons. As the chain wielder whipped his hard metal links at the big man’s face, Nevick intercepted the impact with his meaty forearm, allowing the strand to wrap tightly around his rippling muscles. He flung his arm to the left, and the warrior of The Faithful was sent sailing over the side of the ship, plummeting to what was sure to be a sizzling extermination against the shield that protected the city.

  The swordsmen advanced, but Nevick blocked each of their strikes with the tightly wrapped metal shielding his arm. He then ducked under a quick horizontal slash meant to decapitate him and rolled, tucking his chin into his broad chest and rising back up next to his discarded battle-axe. He tore the weapon from the face of his last victim. His assailants followed close behind, and Nevick met their strikes with the combined steel of axe and chain alike.

  He made short work of them, slashing one’s chest open with the king’s axe, caving in another’s face with a powerful fist, and simply grabbing the last by the front of his tunic and flinging him casually over his head, where he vanished over the ship’s edge.

  Nevick saw the circular hatch in the deck that led into the ship’s innards and hastily opened it, dropping into the humid confines of the vessel’s engine room. What he found there did not shock him in the least. There were more Faithful human warriors but also a horde of waiting armored Skirlack soldiers, who turned to him as one. There must have been thirty of them in total, and Nevick swallowed hard, not knowing if he were proficient enough to take that many in so confined a space.

  The engine room had a similar layout to that of The Heart of Casid though far more cramped, sitting at maybe half the size. Nevick gripped the hilt of his axe and pumped mana into his arm. The emerald, empowering energy flowed into the foreign weapon, and its blade began to glow a deep green. As the demons moved in as one to attack, Nevick hurled the borrowed blade with equal parts strength and precision, and it buried itself into the engine. The instant the hard edge pierced the complicated machinery, there was a fiery, green explosion that threw many of his advancing foes about the room. Nevick himself had been blown back by the force of the detonation and rose with a ringing in his ears. All around him lay the bodies of dead and dying humans and demons alike, his surprise assault having thinned the herd exponentially.

  Still, of the initial thirty Skirlack soldiers, eight remained, and they picked themselves up off the scorched floor and advanced upon Nevick. The former protector of Casid felt the exhilarating thrill of mana burst within his muscles, and the armor plating covering his arms and hands exploded in a torrent of shrapnel that dug into the floor and walls of the charred chamber.

  As several smaller more localized explosions ripped bits of the ship’s engine apart, Nevick advanced upon the Skirlack. He kicked one with the toe of his boot, doubling it over at the waist. He blocked an overhead blow from an oncoming demon and punched it square in the chest, sending it soaring back, denting the bulkhead.

  Another approached from behind, and Nevick rolled over the back of the bent Skirlack and threw it into its advancing comrades, knocking down the sneak attacker and two others in the process. He ducked a swipe from another’s claws and caved in the face of the demon to his immediate left with a powerful punch. It dropped as another Skirlack came at him, sprinting with fangs and claws bared. Nevick ran at his incoming foe and, at the last moment, ducked and vaulted the crimson creature over his back.

  He crouched down and speared the last remaining demon in the gut with his shoulder, driving it back and slamming it hard into the sparking engine with such force the steel covering it dented. He gripped the handle of his embedded axe and tore it free, taking a moment to slash the throat of the soldier he had tackled into the machinery. The remaining six advanced, and Nevick charged his weapon with mana energy and dove into the fray.

  He moved with speed and grace, slashing deep gashes into chests, lopping off arms and legs, and even beheading two of the creatures. With every swipe, he recalled the horrifying massacre of Casid and how these beasts had torn through his friends. He would kill as many of them as he could for as long as he lived to see that awful day avenged.

  Mana exploded along the chest of the final demon as Nevick scored an upward diagonal slash from navel to shoulder. Just then, another series of explosions rocked the engine room, and the floor suddenly became the wall. Nevick slid down against the bulkhead and stood, running toward the rear of the ship. With a mana-soaked, rippling-muscled punch, the rear hatch doors broke open. Nevick leapt from the doomed ship into the open sky, trusting in his instincts that he would not fall to his death.

  For a moment, all he could see was the upward rush of the far-off shield protecting Grassan growing as he plummeted. Then, the white upper deck of The Heart of Casid appeared beneath him. Nevick landed on his feet and rolled, coming up to a standing position once more. The deck hatch opened, and Michael stuck his head out of it.

  “You’re insane,” he called out over the whipping wind, which blew Nevick’s tattered cape out behind him. Nevick watched as the ship he had leapt from smashed into the side of another red Aleksandryan vessel, and the two exploded together, their debris crashing into yet another enemy airship.

  “You were saying?” Nevick asked as Michael looked on in fascination. Gazing around, Nevick could see the tide of battle had turned. Grassan had lost a few more ships, but they currently had the upper hand against the invaders.

  Then, the dreadnaught had seemingly seen enough, and it began to creep forward. Nevick inhaled sharply. Two circular recesses in the massive ship’s stern opened, and from it emerged two long, silver spikes. They gleamed in the sunlight momentarily before beginning to spark and crackle with white energy. Twin bolts of thick lightning erupted from the points and shredded through three Grassani airships, which instantly exploded in a rush of fire. Nevick gasped and covered his eyes as the conflagrations lit the sky like a second sun. He cursed loudly, and Michael looked in wide-eyed astonishment at the devastation left behind in the gigantic vessel’s wake.

  The ship turned but not toward them. Instead, it angled down toward the city. Again came the sparking crackle, and again the lightning poured out from the ship, striking the shield that sat around the city in a continuous burst of power. The protective magical covering sputtered and then finally faltered, fizzling out of existence with a deafening buzz and a crash. Nevick rushed to the side of the ship and looked down in horror. The barrier was gone; the city lay defenseless. Only the protective dome of light covering the royal palace remained.

  As one, the Aleksandryan ships began to lower, their rear hatches opening hundreds of meters above the city. From each ship, there poured Skirlack soldiers, dropping like cannonballs into the streets of Grassan. The dreadnaught itself opened up, and from its girth, there came hundreds upon hundreds of red-skinned, armored demons of varying sizes. Some were the type he had grown accustomed to, while others ran on four legs, with spikes erupting from their bodies. They fell into the city, and the true battle began.

  The sound of the outer barrier breaking resounded throughout Grassan like the shattering of glass. Maura covered her ears and watched in horror as the airships descended upon the city, demons pouring out, plummeting to the ground with armor, weapons, teeth, and claws freshly sharpened and aching for bloodshed.

  “Dammit!” Nahzarro cursed loudly, smacking the windowsill as he stalked back into the center of th
e room.

  Matias closed his eyes and nodded, a look of intense sadness darkening the king’s ruddy face. “Well, now we know what must be done,” he said, slowly walking back toward his throne.

  “Father, no. We don’t know yet if that is needed.”

  “They’ve broken into our city, Nahzarro. I’m not going to stand idly by and let our people be slaughtered.”

  “But you know what it means.”

  “I do.”

  Nahzarro’s fists began to open and close, and Maura saw a desperate pleading frenzy in the look he fixed upon his father. “Then let it be me! It should be me. I can get through it.”

  “And then you’d live as I have these many years. I do not wish that for you. Our people need you, Nahzarro. They need magical leadership to usher Grassan into a new age. A modern age.”

  “But, Father…I need you.”

  Matias stopped, turned, and looked upon his son with sorrow and remorse. “My boy, you have always been the shining light of my life. But you were also a shit.” Nahzarro recoiled as though struck. Matias held up a hand to silence him. “You were vain and selfish and looked down your nose at those you felt were inferior. But despite all of that, I still loved you, still believed in you, still knew I’d live to see the day wherein my boy would understand his place in the world and place value upon others.” He turned and looked at Maura. “Thanks to her, I’m proud to say I saw that day.”

  Nahzarro fell silent, and Maura saw the wet streak of tears against his face. Now that she had been acknowledged, she decided to slowly approach the royal pair.

  “I love you, Father,” Nahzarro said.

  “And I love you too, my beautiful boy,” Matias replied, kissing his son upon the forehead and turning to continue back toward his throne. Maura crept up behind Nahzarro, who stood fixed in place, shoulders bobbing with barely contained sobs. She began to reach a hand toward him but stopped short, thinking better of it. The king reached his throne and pulled back the left armrest to reveal a secret compartment built within.

  Maura could feel sorrow in the moment but had no understanding of what was occurring. She opened her mouth to question it but fell silent, feeling like an awkward intruder on such a private moment. Nahzarro, however, must have sensed her presence behind him and turned his head to answer her silent question.

  “He is going to activate the weapon,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper.

  Maura could hear the horror in the prince’s voice and found her own through the overwhelming mountain of anxious dread welling up inside her. “What is this weapon?”

  “It will wipe out all enemies within the city walls,” Nahzarro said, speaking slowly and softly. “But it will kill him.”

  Aurax stood proudly on the vast circular command bridge of the dreadnaught. He watched as his people rained down on the land below, and he could sense the chaos rolling up to greet him as the warriors of Grassan feebly attempted to stop the oncoming brutes. With every belly torn, neck snapped, bone broken, and gash opened, the planet’s magical energy shifted to their whims. Such open warfare had not been seen on Terra for decades. Not since the Kahntran Uprising. The chaos that welled up in that time had bolstered the strength of the Skirlack and weakened the dimensional barrier enough so that Aurax had been able to begin pulling his people through to await the Shogai’s rise.

  The blood spilled on this day throughout the mage city would serve only to embolden their already drastic might. It would never be enough to bring the High Mother through herself, but the more soldiers he could bring, the more power he could wield, the easier their task would become. Aurax glared at the still intact bubble of energy that shielded the Grassani palace from harm.

  The shield did more than block the passage of ground forces. Aurax could not teleport inside of it, as the magical interference it created blocked even his incorporeal form. He could sense the girl inside. Maura. The thought of her spread white-hot tendrils of rage throughout his mind. She cowered within, alongside the prince and king. Aurax knew what lay inside the palace walls. He knew why they sought to protect it. The weapon that felled the Kahntran Uprising could not be unleashed upon his people. That bubble needed to come down, and when it did, Aurax would deal with this weapon and those who guarded it, personally.

  He smiled to himself, knowing that it would still be nearly twenty minutes before their weapon could be primed for use. The airship’s electrical cannon would be recharged in ten. Soon, Aurax would be within the palace walls, and when he stood face to face with his foes once more, he had a special surprise in store for them. One he had been saving for just such an occasion.

  The white dragon’s wings fluttered as its bulk slammed down upon a rocky outcropping high atop one of the many mountains that surrounded his former home. Instantly, as his four legs impacted the dark stone, a glow encompassed the creature’s body, dwindling in size as the overwhelming power born of bestial might faded from existence.

  Valentean Burai opened his once more human eyes and gazed down upon the shadowy horror that his once beloved Kackritta had become. Despite the fact that it was morning, the city remained shadowed as if the sunlight was afraid to intrude upon Aleksandra’s domain. He gritted his teeth through the deflating loss of power that always came from relinquishing his mighty dragon form, once more compounding his power into the tiny fragile body of a human being.

  In that moment, the chaos that latched onto his soul was weakened, and the shining light that birthed him once more dominated his essence. Removed from the burning rage of chaos, Valentean felt a wave of panic and revulsion flood through his mind. What had happened in Karminia? What had he done? It all came back to him in a flash. The animus warrior reached out a shaking hand to grab on to the rocky wall behind him, attempting to keep himself from falling over as the memories overwhelmed him. The way he had brutalized Zouka, how he had sadistically and methodically broken him down, scarred his face, and left him to his misery. Then, he recalled with alarming clarity how he had so callously ended a life in cold blood.

  Emperor Tek had been the most ruthless tyrant the world had ever known, responsible for thousands of deaths, many of which were his own people. He toyed with human lives as though they were dolls. He saw life as something to be played with, snuffed out whenever he desired. He was a filthy, abominable wretch of a man. But he had been unarmed. He had cowered. He had begged for his life. And then, Valentean had ended his existence anyway. He tried to remind himself that he attempted to spare the diminutive monarch. He had tried to walk away. The emperor had then resorted to making threats against him, against his home, against Seraphina.

  He tried to reason with himself. A threat against his princess’s life had to be taken seriously. But Valentean knew deep in his heart that it was all empty bravado. It was the mind of an egotist having to save face in the wake of his humiliation. Valentean understood all of this when he unleashed the flames of chaos against the pathetic man. He swallowed a heave that welled up within him at the memory of the sight and smell of cooking flesh as it bubbled and boiled.

  What had he done? How could he ever recover from this? How could he call himself a good person? His hands shook at the memory, and tears stung his emerald eyes. What had he become? What was this power turning him into? He had to be rid of it. He had to expunge the chaos from his blood. Should he continue like this, who knows what he would do?

  But you need it, came a voice inside his head coupled with visions of the two occasions in which Aleksandra had battered him, burned him, beaten him to within a centimeter of the abyss. The flames in his heart jumped as he remembered the cruel twinkle of delight in her eye as she savagely broke his arm in the Northern Magic. His flesh grew hot as he recalled the crushing hand that gripped him in Kahntran, slowly squashing the life from him with ease. She stood between Valentean and the woman he loved. Seraphina’s angelic face passed through his thoughts, followed by the burning, sizzling, scathing torch of caging crimson lightning that rended his flesh, scorched
his soul, and ignited his wrath.

  He had once been told by his father that it was physically impossible to recall the exact memory of pain. The emotions that it dredged up in you, the sorrow, the anguish, the nerve-wracking anxiety, were easily remembered. But the actual sensation of pain was something the mind just could not dredge back up. Valentean remembered that pain, though. Every carving bolt of hatred that flew from Aleksandra’s fingertips had left a mark upon his soul. The flames that chewed upon his skin like the teeth of a hungry animal, he could recall with perfect clarity.

  The memory of such intense agony unlocked the doors that kept the chaos contained within his heart. It spread through his veins like molten lava and exploded through his mind in a blast of clarity and power. Valentean screamed in hatred as a now familiar red glow overtook his eyes, and a burst of red-hot flame erupted behind him, igniting the rocks and slowly melting them to molten sludge.

  He had allowed himself a moment of weakness. The clarity of the blaze reminded him just how much he needed it. He thought so much more clearly when the rage bubbled through his soul. There were no second thoughts. There was no trepidatious moral opposition. Only a goal and a means to achieve it. He glared down at the travesty that was the remains of Kackritta. The long, dark scars torn through the cityscape from Kayden’s attack sat there as a grim reminder of what could happen when he is too weak. He could sense Seraphina’s presence somewhere deep within the city, but the danger he had felt within Karminia seemed to have waned. Kayden was near her, but his power felt subdued, tamed, whereas Seraphina felt strong.