“Reputations don’t impress me,” Nevick grumbled, eyes narrowing as he once more drew the foreign animus warrior’s gaze. “As I said, there’s no Dragon-Lord here, so take your soldiers, and get out.”
McNeil’s head slowly turned back toward Valentean, the emerald dots of his eyes boring through the dark glass of the goggles that concealed the fiery power lust tugging at Valentean’s mind.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” McNeil dryly offered, waiting for Valentean to speak up.
Something was not adding up. McNeil seemed to know who he was, what he was. And if that were true, he would have come with more than just thirty soldiers. Looking over the assemblage that stood at attention behind the animus, they were a far cry from warriors. Many of them were downright petite, wearing only light armor. Some carried no weapons at all. What was this? Nevick’s warnings be damned, he was going to act.
“I’m Valentean Burai,” he said, stepping past an infuriated-looking Nevick, standing between him and the Karminians. “I am the sworn animus warrior of Princess Seraphina Kackritta of the Kingdom of Kackritta, Champion Animus of Terra, and white dragon of the Rosinanti race.” The words sounded so clumsy and foreign as they left his mouth. It was the first proclamation of his heritage he had ever exclaimed. It was unfamiliar and new but also somewhat liberating. Why should he hide who he is?
McNeil smiled at him knowingly, seemingly pleased that the farce they had been stumbling through had come to an end. “It’s an honor, Lord Burai,” he said, nodding his head. “If you’d do me further honor, I request an audience”—he glanced at Nevick—“in private.”
“Not going to happen,” the big man growled, taking a step forward until Valentean raised a hand to halt his approach. He looked back at his ally and nodded, trying to assure Nevick that he had the situation under control and could handle himself should anything dangerous arise. Nevick’s face remained a mask of stone. Valentean hoped the good will he had earned through their shared struggle against Aleksandra had earned him the burly protector’s trust, and he was thankful to see Nevick’s hard gaze soften ever so slightly. He gave his approval with one curt nod.
“Your audience is granted,” Valentean said, looking back at McNeil.
“Excellent,” he replied, taking a step forward and removing his hand from the worn hilt of his sword. “Shall we?” He gestured to the beach and, before Valentean could respond, began moving toward it. Mitchell and Michael seemed to jump back at his approach, and Valentean noted a slight curl of McNeil’s lip upon seeing the Duzel brothers. Valentean began to move after the Karminian animus warrior, locking eyes with a distraught and worried-looking Maura, offering her a confident nod as he passed her by.
Nevick did not like this. Not one bit. Karminian soldiers brought nothing but trouble. That had been a simple mantra he lived by since his teenage years. He sent a smoldering glare of threatening hate forward at the group of thirty armored men and women Lord McNeil left behind after he vanished onto the beach with Valentean. He growled under his breath and turned toward the site of Valentean’s exit. This was not a smart decision.
McNeil was renowned throughout Terra for his prowess with a blade. Nevick had often wondered if the day would ever come in which he would test his might against such an opponent, but to actually see the elusive emperor’s animus warrior was a rarity, especially this far outside the Karminian wall. Emperor Tek The Magnificent was notoriously as paranoid as he was power-hungry. He held to a single-minded obsession with expanding his empirical reach, though he scarcely, if ever, actually left the safety of his palace. Lord McNeil, as his soul-bound protector, always remained at his charge’s side. So, what then was he doing out here? It was absurd and unheard of.
Nevick stalked back to where his friends gathered, talking in hushed whispers amongst themselves.
“…could split a rock in two with one swing of that blade,” Nevick heard Michael saying, recounting familiar tales of McNeil’s skill to Maura and Nahzarro.
“Then why on Terra would Valentean just go off with him?” Maura exclaimed, throwing her arms out to the side in frustration. Valentean’s brash state of mind since emerging from his healing bed had been a source of worry for them all, but Nevick noticed it most visibly in Maura.
“It does seem a tad…impulsive,” Deana said, looking at Nevick with imploring eyes, a silent request falling between them.
“I’ll stay close and listen,” Nevick replied, giving his betrothed a reassuring stare and the barest ghost of a smile.
“Don’t bother,” Nahzarro scoffed.
Nevick’s head turned slowly in annoyance as this loud-mouthed Grassani brat began to spout off once more. Three months did little to accustom him to the prince’s abrasive personality.
“Excuse me?” Nevick said, raising an eyebrow toward the smug mage.
“I think you’re severely underestimating Burai,” he replied, shaking his head. “You saw what he did in Kahntran. I’ve heard the stories of this McNeil as well, but he is a damn dragon. I’m more concerned with them.” Nahzarro pointed toward the Karminian gathering. They did not look like warriors, let alone warriors of Karminia, who were known the planet over for their disciplined martial prowess. Instead, they looked like ordinary men and women. Many of them slouched, most were unarmed, and none of them were paying Nevick or any of the others the slightest bit of attention. Their collective gaze was focused off beyond the wreckage of Casid, staring intently at the remains of the long-range airship.
Nevick’s blood boiled to steam within his veins. Those three mercenaries who began the chain of events that led to the decimation of Casid had come seeking the very airship plans that created their vessel. They had come on the behest of Emperor Tek The Magnificent. Now, here stood more, and if they took one step toward The Heart of Casid, Nevick would demonstrate one terrifying truth: he had run out of mercy long ago.
“So, the Dragon-Lord at last,” McNeil said, looking Valentean up and down. He had referred to him by this title several times now, and Valentean was feeling slightly ruffled by it. Shogai, Rosintai, Dragon-Lord—the number of names he seemed to be compiling was irritating and stirred the blaze within him once more.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked with quiet fury, his voice barely carrying over the sound of crashing waves.
McNeil looked shocked. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked, incredulously. “You haven’t stepped outside this little hovel in quite some time I assume?”
“We’ve been here for three months.”
The armored animus laughed. “Dragon-Lord—it’s the name the entire world is calling you!”
Valentean’s blood suddenly went hot with fiery panic. “The entire world knows about me?”
McNeil laughed again. “The supposed ‘Empress’ Aleksandra has been spreading word of you for months. The animus warrior-turned-ferocious beast who seeks the blood of our children and the destruction of the entire world.”
“She speaks a lie,” Valentean growled in frustration. The realization that the entire world likely now feared him as a destructive monster slashed his heart like a freshly sharpened blade.
“She speaks a great many lies,” McNeil replied. “And she sends those Faithful to all corners of Terra, trying to convert more and more to this ridiculous fire religion. The emperor is very unhappy.”
“Is the emperor prepared to do something about it?” Valentean asked, forgetting his anxious sorrow in the face of potentially good news. The Karminian military was widely renowned as the largest and fiercest soldiering force on Terra. A strategic alliance with the emperor against Aleksandra would be a huge asset. An army that size could aid in getting him inside the Aleksandryan borders, where Seraphina awaited.
“The emperor does not make me privy to his thought process,” McNeil replied with the edge of disapproval shadowing his words. “My brother has grown…paranoid in recent years, weak. He has produced no heirs, taken no wife, and keeps the majority of his thoughts and decisions
within an ever-shrinking inner circle of advisors. All I was told is that he requires your presence in the Karminian capital. And thus, here I am.”
“And you have no idea what he wants me there for,” Valentean stated, plainly laying out the absurdity of such a request. “I have a war to fight. My princess is out there. I don’t have time to indulge in the whims of a well-known madman! You’re an animus warrior. You know that I have to return to her side.”
McNeil rolled his eyes at Valentean’s comment, and the young Rosinanti began to have a sinking suspicion that perhaps the Karminian animus did not take his oath as seriously.
“Lord Burai, I strongly urge you to accept the emperor’s invitation.”
Valentean raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat, Lord McNeil?” The flames of chaos churned in his heart, anticipating the challenge.
McNeil, though, simply smiled. “Not at all. It’s an opportunity.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The emperor is weakening. In his paranoia, he trusts no one save for his personal healer. He is my brother, and I love him dearly. I pledged my life to his service, and yet still he casts me from his inner circle. I know not whether he seeks to ally himself to your cause. My experiences in these matters would leave me to believe that, unfortunately, no, he will not. However, I could be persuaded to give you what you seek.”
“How?” Valentean asked, confused by the statement.
“I’m going to speak frankly with you, Lord Burai,” McNeil said, moving closer in a conspiratorial manner. “I told you that the emperor has no heir. He never took a wife; however, recent pressure from his inner circle has forced him to begin the search for one. Currently, there is no line of succession—save for me.”
Valentean’s eyes bulged in astonishment. “You’ve spoken the Oath,” he exclaimed. “You’ve foresworn such things in service to your charge.”
“I don’t think you understand the importance of the Karminian monarchy,” he replied, shaking his head. “The throne trumps all oaths, promises, or proclamations. If the emperor dies, then I am released from my oath, and I will become Emperor of Karminia. Once I do, my armies are yours to command, Lord Burai.”
Valentean’s eyes narrowed suspiciously beneath his goggles. This was a man completely void of honor. The Oath of Animus was sacred, punishable by death if broken. This man sought to end the most important promise of his life in the name of greed and power. It was unfathomable to him, it disgusted him to his very core, it was wrong on every conceivable level, and it was…interesting.
A dark corner of his mind whispered into his conscious thought process that this could be the answer he sought. This could be the path toward Seraphina. But to get there…he would have to murder a man. Well…a tyrant…an evil psychopath who had conquered nearly half the known world and butchered countless men, women, and children. But still…murder…
“I…” he stammered, looking into McNeil’s eyes, while behind his own, chaos and light wrestled with one another.
“Don’t make a decision now,” McNeil said, holding up one hand as if to steady a bucking horse. “Simply come with me. I’ve arrived here in a show of good faith to speak with you peer to peer. Those people who marched beside me are not soldiers; they are mechanics, engineers, and inventors. They bring supplies and knowledge, and I will leave them here with your friends to help repair your airship. So, come with me, meet with my brother, and maybe he will offer you support. Then again, maybe I’m right and he won’t. If that happens, perhaps you’ll decide my way is best. For you”—he leaned in—“and for her.”
Valentean stood frozen in place while inside his heart there raged an inferno of possibilities. What harm would it do? At the very least, the airship would be repaired sooner. He could go meet with Emperor Tek The Magnificent and hear what he had to say. Maybe it would never come to violence. Maybe he would offer support. And if he didn’t… Well, he could cross that bridge if it came down to it. There was no harm in going…was there? Valentean looked up at McNeil and smiled.
“To Karminia, then,” he said, offering his hand.
“To Karminia,” McNeil replied, reaching out and clasping Valentean on the forearm with a sly conspiratorial smile.
V: Dark Gathering
After months of solitary confinement, Kayden found the unsettling atmosphere of Aleksandra’s throne room comforting in its familiarity. That was not to say he particularly enjoyed the experience of standing within the unnatural grassy field that spread out before her black Skeletal Throne composed from the bones of deceased Rosinanti. Kayden strode purposefully onto the red hexagonal tiles that pulsated with crimson magical chaos and gazed up at his empress with dignity and respect.
The unruly, undignified beard that had overtaken his chin and mouth throughout the course of his incarceration had been trimmed to a neat and respectable length. He stood once more in fresh robes blacker than the deepest midnight. His rippling pectoral and abdominal muscles flexed through the open tunic. He enjoyed the coursing flow of his dark power once more and felt it tingle through his skin.
He had spent the two days following his release reacquainting himself with the power of darkness. It was familiar but also distant, and Kayden realized that throughout his prolonged powerless struggle, he had nearly forgotten the dark rush with which his amethyst energy empowered him. For two days, he had been left in relative peace. His unrest began to mount by the second day, and so he had been glad to receive a command from Aleksandra demanding his immediate presence. The decree had been hand delivered to him by a Champion of The Faithful who shook with fear as Kayden glowered. After this momentary reminder of the gleeful rush he felt while drinking in the fear of a human, Kayden brushed past the terrified simpleton.
The lengthy walk from his spacious chambers to the throne room had allowed Kayden to note the general unrest that his presence caused amongst the select members of The Faithful who had been granted entry into the floating fortress. Before the fall of Kackritta, they had looked down their noses at him. They had curled their lips in disgust at his approach. But after bearing witness to his dramatic transformation and the brutal destruction left in its wake, their lips trembled with fear as his steely blue gaze settled onto them. He allowed the purple energy of his dark wellspring of magical might to flash across the plane of his irises for a brief instant, giving the hapless fools a taste of what lay within.
As he stepped up toward Aleksandra’s throne, he could not help but compare this meeting to the last time he stood here. At that time, he was one of four. He stood aside Zouka, Aurax, and Sophie as the empress doled out important assignments to his useless counterparts. The atmosphere felt different; now it was only the two of them. Just the empress and her animus warrior, face to face through a haze of cloudy magic. Kayden inclined his head in respectful genuflection.
“Empress,” he said, showing deference while not gushing before her. Aleksandra affixed her crimson stare upon him, and Kayden seethed internally with shadowed hatred. Stare all you want, witch, he thought to himself. I’m not going to be intimidated. He found that he actually believed this momentary swell of bravado. It was as though his recent imprisonment had infused him with such a profound hatred of the woman he had sworn to serve that it overpowered the logical fear he normally felt in her powerful presence.
Their eyes locked together through the open space, and Kayden found the empress’s gaze to be as piercing as a tip of a freshly sharpened blade. He had not so much as caught a passing glimpse of her since his release from the dungeon. She had simply turned from him on that day and walked back into the darkness of the deep tunnels. Now, here they were, together once more, and the small corner of Kayden’s mind that was not burning with the red-hot fires of rage sparked with curiosity. What had he been summoned for? What was their next move? Would it finally be time to strike? As these questions twirled through his mind in a chaotic dance of what-ifs and potential possibilities, Aleksandra’s stare softened. Kayden could not hid
e the look of astonishment that flashed along his chiseled face as the crimson light of chaos faded and the empress stood slowly.
She advanced on him with even, steady steps. The red blaze upon her eyes fizzled until she looked fully human once more. Her face retained its ordinary mask of stoic aristocracy, but there was no hostility, no commanding dominance to which he had grown so accustomed. She stopped just before him, her diminutive slender body no more than a meter away. She inclined her head and offered him the slightest ghost of a half-smile.
“Kayden,” she said by way of greeting. She began to walk toward the large balcony that ran the circumference of the chamber, and Kayden fell in step at her heels. It was a moment that felt so jarringly familiar as they walked together through the artificial landscape in the same manner as they once traversed the grounds of Kackritta Castle. The girl he had known so long ago seemed but a distant echo of the cruel, uncaring taskmaster she had become. Of course, he had always known her to have a spark of the blazing inferno that she now was, but as a boy, he could scarcely have imagined the role his sworn charge would have in his life.
At one time, she had seemed like the only one who had ever understood him. She had accepted his power, praised him for it, raised him against the impossible standard set by his sainted brother. She had earned his loyalty through attention. In short, she had fooled him. Kayden was no idiot; he saw her now for exactly what she had always been—a master of manipulation. She pushed him toward the darkness, fed his selfish desires, aided him in embracing what he was, and urged him to take steps from which he could never come back.
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