Rosinanti: Rise of the Dragon Lord
The Rosinanti Series: Book Three
By Kevin J. Kessler
Lavish Publishing, LLC ~ Midland
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ROSINANTI: RISE OF THE DRAGON LORD. Copyright 2017 ©
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Lavish Publishing, LLC.
First Edition
The Rosinanti Series Book 3
All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States by Lavish Publishing, LLC, Midland, Texas
ISBN-13: 978-1-944985-36-3
ISBN: 1-944985-36-0
Cover Design by: Wycked Ink
Cover Images: Adobe Stock
www.LavishPublishing.com
For Rebecca, who showed me that Magic was real.
Acknowledgements
Sitting here at my desk, preparing to turn in the final manuscript for Rise of the Dragon-Lord and effectively close this journey I’ve traveled for over half my life is challenging.
On the one hand, I’m thrilled to look toward the future, to the new and exciting worlds I’m working on outside of the Rosinanti Series. But selfishly, I’m going to miss Val, Sera, Kayden, Maura, and all the rest.
As cliché and weird as it sounds, these characters have been with me for a very long time, and I consider them family. Outside of blood relatives, I can count on my hands the number of people in my life who have been by my side for seventeen years.
The world of Terra was a fun and fascinating place to play, pondering the trials and tribulations that would befall these important people in my life.
As I wrote the manuscript for Rise, it took me a lot longer than Wrath of the Faithful. I chalked this slower pace up to a busy life, but sitting here now and reflecting, I can honestly say that I was dragging my feet on purpose. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I still don’t.
But everything must eventually end. So, it’s with a heavy heart that I lay down the Rosinanti world and look toward the future.
I first and foremost want to thank you, the readers, for coming on this journey with me. Your positivity and encouragement have touched my heart. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing these characters and this story into your life over the last year.
Thank you to the amazing folks over at Lavish Publishing, who have made my dreams a reality. I look forward to a long and prosperous future together. To my cover designer, LM Adams, you have outdone yourself on this one, my friend. Desiree L. Scott, who formats to perfection, thank you for beautifying these words as only you can.
To my editor, Kathy Moczerniak, you are a gift from above. I have learned so much from you, and your encouragement has warmed my heart and soul. You have a true talent and gift, and you have helped not just this book but the entire series to be the very best it can be.
Kristin Dutt, my PA, my loudest cheerleader, and my reality check, this series would not be possible without you. You are the glue that holds it all together. I would be nothing and nowhere if not for your unwavering support.
To the Rise of the Dragon-Lord Beta Team: Chanell Renea, Dan Kessler, Jenna Famiglietti, Kyra Dune, and Melinda Zedekar, thank you for your help. It’s a long book, and you guys really rose to the occasion to help me.
To anyone who has read, supported, or shared the Rosinanti Series over the last year, I thank you with everything that I am. I hope you will continue to ride on this literary journey with me as I move into the realm of urban dark fantasy with The John Merlyn Series releasing in early 2018.
Finally, to Val, Sera, Kay, Maura, Nevick, Deanna, Aleks, and all the rest of the Rosinanti crew, thank you for your effect on my life. Goodbye…for now.
Table of Contents
I: The Stolen Flame
II: The Unwanted Boon
III: Rebels
IV: The Dragon-Lord
V: Dark Gathering
VI: Ill-Fated Journey
VII: The Will of Rebellion
VIII: Empire of Dreams
IX: On the Moon
X: Return to Grassan
XI: Gladiator
XII: Black and Blue
XIII: Heart of Fire
XIV: Defense
XV: Preparations
XVI: The Unloved Child
XVII: The Invasion of Grassan
XVIII: Ground Warfare
XIX: The Cost of Victory
XX: Seduction
XXI: Aftermath
XXII: The Good Inside
XXIII: War is Coming
XXII: Imperial Hostage
XXIV: War Room
XXV: The Blood Star
XXVI: Assault on Aleksandrya
XXV: First Line of Defense
XXVI: The Mind of Madness
XXVII: Battle of the Burais
XXVIII: Darkness Falls
XXVIX: Without Hope
XXX: Casid’s Vengeance
XXXI: Balance
Chapter XXXII: Return of The Rosintai
Epilogue
About the Author
I: The Stolen Flame
Chaos boiled in her blood as she stalked the dark, empty halls of her imposing fortress. She slammed her heels down in rage while passing the Skirlack golems who served as her palace guards as though she were trying to crack the stone beneath her feet with every angered stomp. Three months had done nothing to quell the inferno of her rage, and Empress Aleksandra Kackritta of the Empire of Aleksandrya had thought of nothing in that time save for her humiliating defeat in the desolate wastes of Kahntran.
The ragged cage of crimson lightning had surrounded them. The bolts of her hate were striking their intended target, but somehow, someway, the Shogai was still moving. He had felt the wrath of this particular spell on many occasions. Each time she had doused him with the crippling bloodshine of her electric rage, it had always yielded results.
She recalled those moments with what passed for pleasure in her mind, watching Valentean Burai’s body jump and convulse. His screams had filled her ears and brought a smile to her lips. So how then was he now marching toward her through her haze of burning bolts?
She redoubled her efforts several times, knocking him to the ground. But whenever Aleksandra had believed victory to be near, Valentean Burai rose again. It was not that he was repelling her magic, nor was her spell ineffectual. She could smell his skin cooking, could see the long, oozing, dark gashes of burn scars stretching up over his exposed flesh. So how then was he doing this? How could he summon enough power to move through her elegantly mighty hex?
In that moment, Valentean insulted the mighty sorceress in a way no one ever had. He made her feel weak. He made the immortal Aleksandra feel powerless. As Valentean drew closer, she could feel the skin around her eyes crack at the level of chaos she was forced to summon. Her power was great, but it was not without limits.
Finally, they stood face to face. She could see defiance shining in the alabaster hue of his glowing eyes. He stood unfettered within the caging blaze of her storm and gazed into the crimson
fury of her stare as if to ask through the pained expression upon his face if this were all she had. With lumbering desperation, he reached out, grabbing her on both sides of the head, and Aleksandra was ravaged by her own lightning.
The storm of chaos energy continued flowing out from her fingertips, in through Valentean’s sacrilegious body, and back into her. An unfamiliar sensation ripped roughly through her system—stabbing, burning, and eating at her insides. It was pain.
Pain was a foreign concept to one who stood atop the world of Terra. Pain was something for the weak to feel. Pain was something she had never expected to feel again. She tried to grimace through it, but despite all of her unfathomable strength, the jolting agony was too much for her, and she screamed. The sound of her pained cries was so foreign that she almost did not recognize her own voice.
What was transpiring in this moment was blasphemous nonsense. How was this pathetic Rosinanti not only withstanding her barrage but turning it back upon her? Had the Goddess forsaken her? Was she unworthy of Her power? Had she done something to stray from the path of the righteous? No. That could not be it. She was the truest of believers. She was the legacy of the Skirlack, the chosen flame of chaos itself! So again, she asked herself, how was this happening?
He could not hold out forever. He could not withstand her might for long. He would fall. He would die. Then, the world would belong to chaos. Valentean’s body burst into flames, which chewed upon his already raw skin. The fire spread to Aleksandra as well, scorching her milky flesh, charring her black robes.
“YOU WILL BURN!” she screamed into his face, reminding him that his end was near.
“AND YOU WILL BURN WITH ME!” he roared back. As the heat built between them, and pain ripped through them without care or pause, Aleksandra felt a sharp tearing sensation from within her chest. It did not hurt, but it was jarring. It was as though some intangible piece had torn from her soul. She felt a steady prickling heat spread out and, to her mounting horror, move into Valentean. What was it? It couldn’t be what she feared. But then she saw it. A slight, almost imperceptible haze of crimson flashed across his white eyes. Her screams died. She was too astounded and disgusted to feel pain any longer.
The energy built around them until an explosion threw the two apart. Aleksandra hurtled through the evening air, mortified and astonished. As she smashed back through a dilapidated building, she lay in the rubble for several minutes, one thought, one word repeating itself through her mind over and over.
Why?
Why had this happened to her? Why was she made to suffer in such a manner? Why hadn’t those she entrusted with enforcing her will come to her aid? But above all else, she questioned the will of the Goddess for the first time in her life.
Why have you turned from me? she wondered up into the air. Aleksandra was no fool. She understood exactly what happened in that moment. A small sliver of the shard of Ignis that latched onto her soul had torn free and passed into him. It was unthinkable. A piece of her blessed Goddess now dwelled within the hated Shogai—the ultimate evil, the ancient enemy.
Why would the Goddess allow such a heinous act to transpire? Why would She allow this creature to house Her holy essence? Why had She suddenly deemed her prophet unworthy? Beyond the pain, beyond the humiliation, beyond even the rage, Aleksandra was struck by a profound sense of loss. It was a violating theft. Valentean had stolen much from her: the love of her sister, her prized long-range airship, even her own freedom at one point. But nothing he had ever done or taken had caused the level of hopeless, crushing depression she now felt.
He had taken that which was most intimately hers. He had stolen the very thing that made her special. He had absconded with something that went far beyond a mere possession or attachment; the Goddess’s flame spirit was everything that defined her. The empress felt the burning sting of tears spread along her eyes, and she clenched her teeth in frustration. She needed to maintain the poise and strength for which she was infamous.
Passing into the castle’s dungeon, Aleksandra’s face hardened into an emotionless mask of stern aristocracy. The Shogai had escaped with her precious essence and was no doubt somewhere in the world trying to master its ancient chaotic power. She knew an encounter with her tormentor was coming in the future. But for now, her mind drifted to the past. How had he even come across the opportunity to damage her so? It was due to the incompetence of those who followed her.
The dark dungeon hallways twisted like an insect hive through the lowest bowels of her palace. They lay close to the heart of stored magic held within its walls, and as such, there was a heavy, suffocating humidity through the air. The stony surfaces dripped with condensation born of heat, and the deeper she journeyed, the more stifling it became.
The mess of humidity, however, went unfelt by the mighty sorceress. Her fury outweighed such inconsequential matters. General Zouka, her military leader, had been so consumed by his mindless desire for vengeance against the warrior of Casid that he had allowed Valentean the opportunity to commit this heinous crime. Kayden, her own animus warrior, had failed to defeat the Shogai on the battlefield, necessitating her intervention, placing her within harm’s way. Aurax, her most trusted advisor, taxed himself beyond his limits, cutting off her supply of reinforcements. And Sophie…
Sophie, she thought as overwhelming sorrow bunched within her heart. Her childhood nanny, the one who initiated her into The Faithful, her chosen religious leader, the closest thing she ever had to a mother, had failed her by dying. While enacting the Goddess’s holy judgment against the Kackrittan rebellion, she had been struck down. By the time Aleksandra had arrived on the battlefield, Sophie’s life had already ended. She did not even get to say goodbye.
In her mind’s eye, Aleksandra could see the face of her dear friend’s murderer, and that stung harder and more harshly than the coursing burn of her lightning. Seraphina, her beloved sister, the one person in her entire family line with whom she felt a strong connection, had murdered Sophie. Aleksandra decided on that night that her sister no longer existed. In her place was only the twisted, treacherous Spirit of Order known as the Harbinger.
She had scoured the whole of Aleksandrya for her lost sibling, eager to enact holy vengeance upon her and burn the flesh from her bones. But whatever this magic was that hid Seraphina and her rebels, it was powerful. Despite her efforts, three months of searching had yielded no results. She needed to take more drastic measures to police her community, to draw out this cancerous Ice Queen and eliminate her once and for all.
Stopping before a massive vaulted door, Aleksandra casually waved one slender hand in front of her body and heard the snap-click of the lock flying open at her silent command. The force of her magic pushed on the cell door. Hinges creaked as it slowly swung, granting entrance. The empress stepped within the damp confines of the rocky windowless chamber to find a burly body, nude and hung from the ceiling by heavy chains fastened around the arms.
Despite his nearly two-meter height, the huge man’s feet hovered centimeters above the cold stone floor. His flesh was raw and wet, and the entire left side of his body had been horribly burned, leaving permanent scars that ran from tip to toe. She gazed up at his face, the skin still red and ragged, flesh and hair burned away. The scorch marks extended down his lips and across toward his mostly unmolested right side in stray threads of rough dermal devastation. Long strands of thin hair eclipsed his eyes from view, but she could feel them boring holes of hate through her as she stood silently within the tiny chamber.
“General,” she said in way of greeting, inclining her head ever so slightly. Zouka grunted in response, his eyes narrowing through the darkness to glare at the sorceress who controlled his destiny. “Your incarceration in this dismal hovel has come to a conclusion.” Another wave of her hand saw the bindings holding the big man aloft disintegrate into a grey mist. Zouka crashed unceremoniously to the floor, crying out as his atrophied muscles crumpled under the force of his weight.
“For three months now, you have rotted in this place as consequence for your egregious failure in Kahntran,” she said slowly, beginning to pace before the huddled mass of man that shivered on the ground at her feet. “By your actions, our hated enemy demolished the safeguards that once protected the capital of my empire. Through the fallacy of your nonexistent judgment, our sworn foe dealt a powerful blow against your empress. What say you in the face of these charges?”
“I fight…” the Gorram said slowly, “for me…and no one else…”
Aleksandra sighed in annoyance. “Foolish pride,” she said, shaking her head back and forth. “This shared trait of your kind is testament to their mysterious decimation.” She could feel waves of chaotic hatred rushing from the general. It was no secret the mighty Gorram despised her, but that mattered not. Aleksandra’s only concern lay in whether or not the militaristic warrior would continue to obey her commands. He was a powerful tool, and should she be forced to end his life, it would be a minorly annoying setback. But his pride could be an asset if pushed in just the right direction.
“It is truly a shame, General,” she remarked, looking down the bridge of her nose at him. “You trained with such fervor to defeat The Rosintai. You believed yourself a match for the might of a dragon-god, and yet it was a mortal man, a mere human who defeated you.” There was a grumbling growl that rose from the huddled girth at her feet. “Should you continue this adolescent level of defiance, you shall die here in this place. The human who battered you shall live on, forever free to tell the tale of how he thrashed the great General Zouka, last surviving warrior of the Gorram Tribe. That shall be your legacy forever more.”
Zouka screamed in frustration and rage, finding the inner strength to will his muscles to life. He stood sharply to his feet, straining to remain at his full height as he glared down upon her. His breath came in harshly through his flared nostrils, reminding Aleksandra of a bull preparing to charge. He towered over her, every centimeter of his body a hardened knot of muscle. The chaos born of his rage-filled heart flowed through the room like a sweet song.
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