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

by Kevin J. Kessler

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Speak, Kayden.” The way her sister issued that command sounded to Seraphina as though she were addressing a dog.

  “If you were to kill her now, then she will have paid for all she’s done against you. But if you take her alive, if you use her to draw Valentean in, then you can kill her in front of him. It is something I’ve dreamt of doing these many months.”

  She watched the sequence of thoughts work its way through Aleksandra’s rageful mind and a calming acceptance come over her eyes. Soon, they were once more the same quiet blue they had always been.

  “Kayden,” she said softly, delicately, as the flames that burned throughout the chamber died away with her rage, “what a wonderful thought.” She approached him and laid one of her pale hands along the side of his face.

  Kayden’s jaw clenched tightly, but he did not move or flinch. “I live only to serve you, Empress,” was his unwavering response.

  Seraphina’s brow furrowed through the aching pain. Was Kayden truly that far gone? Or was this something else?

  Before she could think further on this matter, Aleksandra’s head turned to her, and a burst of crimson fury erupted from her index finger. It slammed hard into Seraphina’s chest, and she slipped into total unconsciousness.

  XXIII: War is Coming

  Danger.

  Valentean’s mind raced with a sensation of dread. He moved from where he stood between Nevick and the advancing McNeil and dashed back toward the window to look out over the mountain range. He gripped the windowsill with both hands until the stone beneath his fingers cracked and splintered. Something was happening back in Kackritta. Sera was in danger.

  He felt the prickling echo of chaos lightning tingle along his arms and legs, and he knew that somewhere out there, she was falling victim to Aleksandra’s fiery assault. He whirled to his compatriots.

  “We have to attack, now!”

  “What?” Maura replied from her position next to Matias’s heavy-bolted throne. “Valentean, what are you—?”

  “She has Sera!” The room fell silent, and even Nahzarro looked up from the face of his dead father to affix Valentean in his stare.

  “Your princess?” McNeil asked. The statuesque figures of Baus and Belladon remained in position as the emperor moved to him.

  Valentean nodded toward the former animus though his eyes never left the night sky. “I can feel it. She’s in trouble. She needs me.”

  “Slow down,” Nevick said, coming up to stand on the other side of him. “Valentean, we will get there, and we will help her, but you can’t just go running off now without a plan!”

  “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, Nevick.”

  “If you just burst in there, Aleksandra will be waiting for you, and she will kill you!”

  Valentean whirled on his friend, grabbing the larger man by the throat and slamming him into the stone wall beside the window with such force the chamber shook. Maura, Mitchell, Michael, and Nahzarro leapt forward and ran toward the pair. Nevick’s eyes widened in shock until that surprise was replaced with fury.

  “Get your damn hands off me!” Nevick roared. One of his mitt-like hands shot out and clasped around Valentean’s throat as well. The animus warrior’s eyes glowed with intense crimson rage, and he drew back one arm, a burst of flame dancing around his knuckles.

  “Valentean, no!” Maura was on him in a flash, grabbing uselessly at his poised forearm.

  “Valentean, what are you doing?” Michael cried out, trying to maneuver in between the two warriors to break the scuffle apart.

  “Burai, calm down!” Nahzarro screamed as he and Mitchell grabbed Valentean around the chest and waist. Their touch only served to infuriate the dragon-god all the more. The blaze erupted within his heart and mind once more with the same mindless fury he had experienced while battling the likes of Zouka or the Skirlack horde. Power began to gather in his chest, power enough to decimate them all and decorate the Grassani palace in their blood.

  Just as he was about to release his stored energy in a burst of explosive rage, some small part of his mind recoiled in horror and clamped down on his actions at the last second. In place of the finality he had initially intended to summon, what erupted from Valentean’s body was a hard pulse of rippling energy that roughly shoved his allies back. Maura, Nahzarro, Mitchell, and Michael were all knocked to the floor, violently smacking into the unforgiving surface.

  Valentean released Nevick and leapt back. The big man clutched at his throat and fell to one knee beside Michael, laying a hand on the portly mechanic’s back. Valentean gazed around the room in horror. That had been entirely too close. He stared down at his hands that just mere moments ago had been prepared to snap Nevick like a twig.

  “I…” he started to say, not knowing how to complete that sentence. His eyes locked with Maura, who still lay on her side, gazing up at him with a look not born of anger or fear but of concern. Gazing around the room, Valentean saw Nahzarro and Mitchell moving and breathed a silent sigh of relief in knowing that no one had been harmed. They all stared at him. Even McNeil who had remained far from the blast’s radius appraised Valentean with raised eyebrows.

  He searched his mind for something, anything that he could say to somehow make this egregious offense acceptable, but the Dragon-Lord had nothing. He struck out at his allies, his friends. He was supposed to trust these people, and in return, they were to place their trust in him. How could they ever work with him again after this?

  “Valentean,” Maura said, her lips continuing to move as though asking a silent question.

  He wanted to apologize, to beg for their forgiveness, but he could feel the hot burn of chaos rise in his heart once more, overriding his shame. He needed to get away from them before something else happened. Something worse. He wordlessly turned on his heel and stalked away, passing even McNeil without a sound. As he moved toward the rear of the chamber, Valentean passed between General Belladon and Baus. The large man leered at him in wonderment, and Valentean once more saw an unnerving hunger in the creature’s eyes. The cold shudder that tried to run down his spine evaporated in the heat of the rising chaotic fury already burning within.

  Maura gingerly picked herself up off the floor. Her allies were rising similarly, but none of them spoke. It was an awkward situation, and the unease settling between them was palpable. The first thing on their minds was the last thing any of them wanted to say out loud. Valentean Burai was out of control. She looked from worried face to worried face. Nahzarro, Nevick, both Duzel brothers—they all seemed distraught and deflated.

  “Well, that was interesting,” McNeil said, cutting through the silence and advancing on them. “However, your internal squabbles mean little in the face of the very real battle awaiting us over those mountains.”

  His tone rubbed Maura wrong. He was different now than she remembered from Casid. His calm superiority had been replaced by a haughty arrogance. It was as though the crown that rested upon his head had somehow taken over his entire body.

  “Is it ‘us’ already?” Nevick asked, turning to face the new emperor. “Seems like you’re pretty quick to throw in with our team, McNeil.”

  The large woman at the rear of the chamber drew her sword and took a threatening step forward. “You will address the emperor respectfully, knave!” She was huge, but size didn’t scare Maura. Her hands moved to the twin handles of her daggers, but a raised hand from McNeil stopped the strong-looking female in her tracks.

  “Peace, Belladon,” the emperor said. “There is no need to threaten our allies. And whether our burly friend here wants to admit it or not, that is precisely what we are. Allies. For now.”

  “For now,” Nevick echoed darkly.

  “Now,” McNeil said, staring off toward the prone body of King Matias still being watched over by Minister Khara, “it seems as though a change of leadership is taking place within your city.” McNeil turned his gaze toward Nahzarro. The prince…or, Maura now realized, kin
g seemed to shy away from the remark, gazing back toward his father and grandmother with a rush of scarcely contained sadness in his eyes.

  “There are a few loose ends to tie up,” Maura said, stepping in for Nahzarro. “But we will be ready for this.”

  “Excellent,” McNeil replied, continuing to look at Nahzarro despite it being Maura who had spoken. “What is our plan of assault then?”

  There was quiet confusion following the question. They had arrived in Grassan with under a day to prepare for the assault upon the mage city. No talks or even thoughts of their eventual attack on Aleksandrya itself had ever taken place. Their silence seemed to speak volumes to the emperor.

  “I see,” he said, taking a step back. “Well, as luck would have it, I have some vital information in regard to the enemy stronghold that will be essential to our attack.”

  “What have you found?” Nevick asked, folding his arms across his broad chest.

  McNeil continued to address Nahzarro only. “Men in my position rarely have additional time afforded to repeat themselves. Gather your command staff and the Dragon-Lord in three hours, and I shall explain everything then.” McNeil turned without another word, moving away from their gathered assemblage as though they mattered not one iota. As he passed Belladon and the large, creepy-looking man, they turned and followed their monarch on his way out of the throne room.

  Maura saw Nevick’s fists clench and felt a similar rush of heated fury rising in her own cheeks. She turned to Nahzarro, who had remained silent for the entirety of his first intersocietal meeting with a foreign power. She took three steps toward him and laid a hand upon the new king’s shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” Maura asked her friend.

  Nahzarro’s head turned toward her. “Please tell me I never sounded that obnoxious when you all first met me.”

  Valentean seethed as he stormed into his bedchamber within the royal palace of Grassan. That was nothing new. Rage had come to define his existence. Though this time, he was not angry with another person but with himself.

  How can I be such a fool? He raged within the silent expanse of his mind, railing against himself for such an egregious action. His gaze traveled across the room to a large mirror that stood atop a vanity against the far wall. He looked at his reflection, at the stranger staring back at him from the glass. Who was he now? How could he bring himself to do the horrid things this twisted, red-eyed creature had done?

  A twisted, red-eyed creature… He recalled a time when he had used those words to describe Aleksandra. Had he truly become the thing he hated? Had he actually crossed the point of no return? Could his friends and allies ever truly follow him into battle after he had struck out against them? Could they tell how close he had come to ending their lives? He imagined not. Had Maura or Nevick guessed how close they had just come to being burned into clouds of blackened ash, he imagined that he would no longer be welcomed in their company.

  He alone knew of the brink he had nearly toppled over, and it shook him to his core. Valentean thought back on to the fear that erupted along the eyes of Emperor Tek The Magnificent once it had become clear that his boisterous threats had earned him a death sentence. He could still smell the diminutive emperor’s smoldering flesh. He could still hear Zouka’s cries of agony as he slammed his superheated palm along the general’s face. The ease in which he had enacted these atrocities was unsettling. Perhaps even more so was the fact that Valentean was aware of the horror he had inflicted. He knew that these were atrocious actions. But despite that affirming flash of realization, the memories stirred feelings of pleasure within his heart.

  He could not help it. Though he knew the murder of a monarch and the torture of a foe should make him vomit in disgust, the mere thought of his actions in the Karminian arena brought with it a shuddering euphoric glee. Something inside of him loved the smell of charred meat wafting up from the ashy remains of what had once been the ruler of the most powerful nation on the planet. Some dark, terrifying presence within the shadow of his mind purred at the terror and humiliation he inflicted upon the once proud Gorram.

  Who was he? Could he even still call himself Valentean Burai? Could Seraphina ever gaze at him again, the corners of her lips curling ever so slightly as her chocolaty eyes met his. Was he deserving of the beat his heart skipped every time she called him Val? He was losing himself in the inferno of chaos without her at his side. He needed her beside him, to calm him, to remind him of what they fought for. He found irony in that moment, remembering how he had avowed himself to her lifelong protection. But now it was he who sought the comfort and security only she could provide.

  Valentean plopped himself down upon the floor, folding his legs underneath him as he stirred impatiently, the echo of his love’s pain still fresh in his mind. He reached out with his feelings, trying to touch her power, trying to feel for her as though she were right beside him. Closing his eyes, Valentean found the blue fountain of her energy, but it was still weakened. She had been rendered unconscious. Valentean remembered how they had come together so recently along the planes of the Dreamscape. It was the last time he had felt truly alive and like his old self.

  He is the love of my life… Those had been her words, speaking for him, defending him against the accusatory remarks of The Rosintai’s spirit. The Rosintai, who had brought him to the Dreamscape in the first place. The Rosintai…who might just be able to take him back.

  Valentean had never been able to summon The Rosintai at will. His interactions with his mysterious predecessor seemed to occur solely at the will of the long-dead god. But so much had changed since Kahntran. He was no longer the timid boy who cowered in the face of the limitless power he knew rested within his heart. He was a battle-hardened warrior now who embraced the role he was to face in the coming struggle. The Rosintai would face him if Valentean had to drag the ancient spirit out to do it.

  He began by focusing inward, turning his attention to the pulsating warmth of power that always beat within his chest like a second heartbeat. This sensation was often easy to overlook, but it was there—a constant reminder of The Rosintai’s energy. Valentean set his mind upon it, pushing inward, mentally digging through the raw energy that composed his soul, desperately seeking the presence that dwelled within.

  Gritting his teeth, Valentean bore down with his will until he could sense the consciousness of The Rosintai. He focused on it, dragging it out, and soon the familiar prickling tingle between his brain and skull signaled his success. He felt himself being pulled into the Dreamscape and let go of the material world. Soon he saw nothing but darkness until a dull, hazy light illuminated a barren, grey landscape shrouded in fog, its surface covered by a shallow film of liquid no more than a few centimeters deep.

  Movement upon the ground ahead drew his attention, and Valentean looked down to see The Rosintai lying face down in the murky fluid. The white-scaled dragon hybrid pushed himself up with both arms, coming to his knees as he looked up at Valentean with a glaring alabaster luminance.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The Rosintai roared up at him, planting one foot on the ground and rising up to his commanding height. “You would forcibly pull me into this plane?”

  “The same as you’ve done to me in the past. Don’t rear up on your moral high ground now.”

  “You are lost, young one.”

  “On that we can both agree. I’m lost without Seraphina.”

  “Her presence has nothing to do with your actions. You know as well as I that the essence of chaos is warping you, twisting you into some dark representation of the very thing we oppose.”

  Valentean waved the statement away as though it were a troubling insect buzzing around his face. “I know who and what I am. And I know what I need. I need Sera. I need to see her, talk to her. I need to find out what’s happening over there.”

  “The Dreamscape is not a messenger hawk. You cannot simply use it to—”

  “Yes, I can,” Valentean stated, taking a threatenin
g step toward his ancient ancestor. As he walked, he felt the familiar shine of chaos upon his eyes, and in response to this emotional outpouring, the entire world around him tinted into a blood-colored hue. “I can do as I like because this Dreamscape, this power, and even you are tools at my command. Now will you help me, or will I have to force it?”

  “You dare to—”

  Valentean’s left arm shot out with blinding speed, cutting off the light spirit’s statement as he wrapped his fingers around The Rosintai’s scaled throat. The instant he made contact with the specter of his former self, he could feel the creature’s power. The Rosintai struggled under his grip, but in this plane of existence, it was will that dictated strength. Valentean’s drive burned with the white-hot intensity of the sun itself. He would see Seraphina, and no self-righteous words from a long-dead dragon would stop him.

  “You are…truly…lost!”

  “I’m done listening to you,” Valentean replied, his consciousness feeling along the lines of power until he found what he sought. He kept a vision of Seraphina alive in his mind and focused on the binds of energy that connected them to one another. He felt her there, still distant, still cold and unconscious. He beckoned her to him, but it seemed as if she had not the wherewithal to respond to his request. The flames of chaos roared in his heart. She was so close to him now yet still not beside him. Valentean decided the time for subtlety and gentleness had passed. He reached out roughly through the Dreamscape, seized Seraphina’s slumbering consciousness, and ripped it toward him.

  Her essence soared to him, flung through the astral plane of their conjoined minds as if shot from a cannon. Valentean’s heart leapt as she materialized before him, donned in light, black combat armor, a blue cloak, and a silver and sapphire-colored crown that resembled a shard of ice. Seraphina instantly collapsed, her legs giving out from beneath her with the shock of the force he had used to summon her to this place.