Rosinanti_Rise of the Dragon Lord

by Kevin J. Kessler

  “Listen,” Nahzarro said from behind her. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had nearly forgotten he was there. “If things don’t go our way today, I just needed you to know that you—”

  “Stop.”

  “What I mean to say is that you mean a great deal to—”

  “I said stop.”

  “Maura, I don’t know if you and I—”

  “That’s it.” She tried to stalk away, but one of the prince’s hands swung out to grab her gently by the wrist. She could have easily broken his grip and continued her retreat had she wanted to…but she really did not want to. He pulled her back to him, and as Maura turned, her head was already tilting to the side, desperate to receive the affection she knew he was offering. Their soft lips impacted one another, tongues grappling together in a wild, almost desperate need to be entangled. Nahzarro’s hands moved to her hips and soon slid along toward the small of her back. There they conjoined together as he pulled her into a hungry embrace. Maura’s own arms extended up, wrists crossed behind his neck as she reached up with one hand to grab hold of a tuft of yellow hair just below the brim of his hat.

  Maura was lost in the ecstasy of the moment, reveling in the presence of this forbidden passion she tried to pretend not to feel. Still though, despite it all, Maura felt completely and totally alive within his embrace. She wasn’t sure if it was anything more than physical attraction, of which there was plenty. The prince was a smoldering specimen of the male form; there was no doubt about that. But did her feelings extend beyond the thrumming of her heart and the need to blow off some occasional steam? She had no way to be sure. He was still an infuriating, bossy chore of a man, but for this one instant, he was completely and utterly hers.

  Their cloud of passion was broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat within the throne room. The pair of them instantly pulled apart, Maura going so far as to shove Nahzarro away as her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. King Matias stood in the chamber, flanked by ten elites of the Knights Mystic, grinning at them in gentle amusement.

  “Oh, now don’t stop on my account,” he said with a gentle laugh and a twinkle in his eye.

  Nevick sat with grim concentration in the captain’s chair of The Heart of Casid, one hand gripping the handle of the king’s gifted battle-axe and the other clutching at the seat’s armrest with such intense force and focus he was afraid it might break.

  He gazed down and to his right, just at the base of the platform that housed his seat of authority, to the straps and buckles that normally kept Deana’s chair locked into place. It sat empty, and he was glad for it. He would have preferred Deana remain safely ensconced away within Grassan’s royal palace, but her skills as a healer made her an invaluable asset to the soldiers under his command. She was located within the city at the central command post where she could tend to any wounded soldiers.

  With any luck, the enemy will never even reach the city limits, he thought to himself, hoping that their aerial force would be enough to turn back the tide of battle. Though he knew in the back of his mind this was wishful thinking. He was not used to seeing the airship bridge bustling with as much activity. They had a full crew working the engine room, weapon systems, and assisting the Duzel’s with the basic operation of the vessel.

  Mitchell and Michael sat in their usual seats at the helm controls, flipping a seemingly random collection of buttons and switches that boggled Nevick’s mind. They looked so focused, so determined. He saw in his friends the twin resolves of warriors, and he was proud.

  “How are we doing, boys?” Nevick called down to the brothers.

  “She is holding steady,” Mitchell replied with an edge to his voice. Nevick noticed the tight grip that he kept on the helm controls and the slight twitching of his fingers. The inventor was nervous, and Nevick could not blame him. He was nervous himself.

  “Weapons are primed and hot,” Michael responded, looking at a gauge on his console. The Grassani mages had supplied them with a number of metallic projectiles that contained within them powerful spells that would explode upon impact, similar to the one they had fired upon Zouka back in Kahntran. “Now all we need is for the guests of honor to show up.”

  The unknown was the worst part for Nevick. Would Aleksandrya show up with a dozen airships? A hundred? Ten thousand screeching demons awaiting the glorious blood-plunged orgy of violence they so craved? Just thinking about it turned his stomach and forced him to grip the handle of the king’s borrowed battle-axe with renewed strength.

  “Not a spot,” Matias had said to him. “I’m giving you my spot.”

  In all his years, Nevick had never received such a prestigious honor. He had the king’s blessing to take his own place upon the battlefield, coordinating and leading the troops of one of the greatest societies on the planet. Nevick had met the leaders of Grassan’s military forces the night prior, and they had been less than thrilled with the king’s choice to turn command of their soldiers over to this inexperienced outsider who lacked any semblance of magic.

  Nevick knew it was not his place to lead. He had no military experience. He was there to hit things very hard in very painful places. His first act as military commander was to instruct the generals and high ranking Grassani officials to continue governing their troops as they normally would. All he had requested was The Heart of Casid and his own freedom from the military chain of command. If he was to be effective, he would have to decide where to go, following the ebb and flow of battle as needed.

  He was on the airship now with his comrades, but he knew that should the fight spill to the ground below, he would have to abandon the ship and take the battle into the streets. The heavy grey and purple armor that sat uncomfortably against his skin was stifling. He had never fought in anything so cumbersome before, but the king had been insistent.

  “Can’t have you rushing out there in nothing but your skivvies, lad!” Matias had said, barking a laugh and patting him on the shoulder. His muscles flexed against the constrictive metal and shifted upon the fabric of the purple cape that spread out behind him. He was miserable.

  “There!” Michael shouted, drawing Nevick’s immediate attention to the forward viewport. He could see them appear upon the horizon, just visible above the mountain range. The dots representing enemy airships had materialized and were growing larger by the second. The first thing he noticed was there were more of them than there were Grassani ships…a great deal more. And secondly, he saw that one of the far-off dots was far larger than anything Grassan had to put up against it.

  “Mother of Terra,” Mitchell whispered, laying eyes upon the dreadnaught ship that led the company.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Nevick replied, shaking his head. “They’re trying to intimidate us.”

  “They’re doing a wonderful job,” Michael replied. Nevick shot him a withering glare that the young mechanic did not see, as his eyes would not leave the sight of their would-be destroyers.

  “I don’t want to hear that,” Nevick said, his voice strong with a dangerous edge. “We’ve seen too much, survived too much to be taken down in this battle. Aurax thinks he has us shaking, he has us on the run. He’s wrong. We have something that demon will never have: the iron will of the human spirit.” He stood and tromped down the steps toward Mitchell and Michael and laid an armored hand on each brother’s shoulder. “Today is not the day we die, my friends. Not today.” Nevick watched his words settle into their faces as Mitchell’s gaze hardened to steel.

  “Not today,” he replied through gritted teeth, bared beneath a snarl.

  “Not today,” Michael’s voice rang out, filled with the edgy excitement born of adrenaline. The Duzels were ready. Now, Nevick had to ready himself.

  “Take us into the fray,” he commanded, folding his arms across his massive armored chest and clenching his jaw in determination.

  Not today.

  Maura hastily turned away from the king’s amused stare, not daring to look either him or Nahzarro in th
e eye.

  “Oh, come on now,” the king exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air and stalking toward his throne. “It’s a battle. The blood is supposed to be running hot through your veins!”

  Maura garnered the nerve to look toward Nahzarro and saw him flushed with complete embarrassment, his cheeks a crimson shade darker than Aleksandra’s eyes. He looked to her, and Maura instantly looked away, turning her attention out the window. That was when she saw it, and her gasp echoed throughout the throne room.

  “They’re here,” she said, pointing with one finger out into the distance. The incoming dots of movement loomed, closing in at a great speed.

  “We’re outnumbered,” Nahzarro said, coming to stand beside her. All the awkwardness that had been hanging between them had vanished in the face of such overwhelming odds.

  “By thunder…” Matias said under his breath. He turned to one of the knights who flanked him at all times. “Activate the central defense.”

  “Yes, Sire,” the soldier replied, turning and fleeing from the throne room.

  “Central defense?” Maura asked. Nahzarro and the king smiled at her.

  “It’s going to take an awful lot for those monsters to touch ground in my city, girl,” the king said with a smirk.

  Deana wheeled her chair through a number of makeshift cots that had been set up in the central command post at the entrance to the royal district. The various healers and attendants who manned the location nodded to her as she passed. Word of her gift had spread quickly amongst them, and many she felt did not believe it. That was fine; they would see what she could do when it mattered. For now, though, Deana had to conserve her energy. She would need it when the bodies started coming in.

  She wheeled herself out of the tent and into the morning daylight. She saw the airships of Grassan hovering above her and knew that somewhere up there her friends and her love sat ready to face off against the forces of chaos. She wished she could be up there on The Heart of Casid with them, but she accepted things were as they must be for the moment.

  Shifting her eyes along the blue plane of sky, Deana caught sight of something else—the airships of Aleksandrya drawing closer by the moment, led by a ship so inconceivably massive, The Heart of Casid could have fit inside of its hull at least six times over. The enemy had arrived with overwhelming force and would be raining soldiers down upon them at any moment.

  Then, Deana’s attention was drawn by the sound of some very old, very large machinery shuddering to life. She turned back in the direction of the royal palace only to see the crystal spires that formed a half-circle around the towering structure slowly start to turn. They groaned and shook as they started to rotate, picking up speed, moving faster and faster until a dome of blue energy began to form around the royal palace. The machine did not stop there. It continued to whirl, moving so fast now that the individual arcs could no longer be distinguished. A blue fountain of energy erupted into the sky from the top of Matias’s castle, extending hundreds of meters into the air before spreading out, flowing over the city and encircling it in a dome of protective magic.

  Deana grinned at this unforeseen event. There was a chance after all. Now, if only Nevick and the others would prevail high above them in the sky, her healing skills might not be needed after all.

  Maura blinked in surprise, though it was not overwhelming. Throughout the course of this grand adventure, she had seen much that defied her sense of logic. But she smiled, happy to have one of these grand spectacles of magic finally being used to their advantage rather than against them.

  “That should hold them for a while,” Matias said with a smile and a nod.

  “For a while?” Nahzarro scoffed. “They will break against the impenetrable might of our barrier.”

  Matias smiled and laid a hand against his son’s shoulder. “My boy, I thought you would have learned from your ordeal in Kahntran. No barrier is impenetrable.” His words seemed to settle around the prince, deflating his sense of pride. “But it will buy us enough time to make ready the weapon.”

  Nahzarro’s face grew white as the blood drained from his cheeks. “Is that really going to be necessary, Father?”

  “Perhaps not.” The king shrugged. “But even so, we have to be ready.”

  “What weapon?” Maura asked, still unsure as to what exactly she was protecting. Nahzarro continued to stare at his father with dread and sadness. Maura snapped the fingers of her right hand in his face, his attention immediately moving to her.

  “What?”

  “What is this weapon?” Maura demanded.

  “It’s…a final resort,” Nahzarro said.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Well, it’s the best one you’re getting for now,” he snapped at her.

  That same condescending cadence she had once thought to have broken through was entrenched in his pompous voice. Her face grew hot as she flushed with irritation. The phantom memory of their tender kiss crumbled to a distant, far-off nothingness in the wake of her anger.

  “Fine, keep your secrets,” she huffed, turning back to the window and gazing up through the haze of two protective barriers to watch the aerial battle unfold.

  Nevick smiled at the protective shielding surrounding the mage city. The more he saw of this wily old king, the more he liked him. Now, with the city safely ensconced, the battle would be kept in the sky. Communication between Grassan’s airship fleet was not easy. Flag bearers would communicate through a variety of preplanned signals to issue orders in the heat of battle. There was no time for such theatrics. The captains had agreed to follow Nevick’s lead and take the forward motion of The Heart of Casid as their cue to attack. As the ship lurched toward their incoming enemies, the entirety of the Grassani fleet moved with them.

  Just ahead of them, Nevick could see the advancement of many Aleksandryan ships sailing quickly past their dreadnaught command vessel to engage them directly. As they crept closer, Nevick could see they were smaller than his own vessel, but what they lacked in size, they made up for in speed and strength. As the attacking horde moved ever forward, Nevick noticed several small windows slide open throughout their iron hulls. Within the shadowy interior of each opening, there stood a cowled human, arms raised. The glow of magic hummed to life in their palms.

  “Brace for impact!” Nevick screamed as magic erupted from the hands of enemy mages, sending coursing bursts of light careening toward them. The colorful flashes of explosive destruction detonated against their hull. Nevick held on to the back of Mitchell’s chair as the ship rocked to and fro, tossing anyone not braced to the ground. “Return fire!” Nevick roared over the explosive noise.

  “Returning fire!” Michael acknowledged, flipping a switch to alert the gunners to open on the enemy. Nevick could hear the forward armaments sliding open, and soon the concussive boom of their main gun shot a glowing, purple projectile that tore into their ranks, striking the broadside of a crimson enemy ship with such force the vessel veered off course with a gaping hole blown in its hull.

  The remaining Grassani vessels also joined in the fray as cannons erupted from their sterns and sides, firing concentrated bursts of blue magic at the enemy. The Aleksandryan ships unleashed their cannons as well, and soon the sky was a storm of blue and red streaks of energy, soaring, screaming, and scorching into the seared steel of airship after airship. The Heart of Casid’s main gun was powerful, but it took several seconds to reload after each use. In that time, the ship was peppered with attacks from the enemy, having been identified early on as the major threat.

  Several Grassani ships had been damaged beyond repair and veered off in a careening, flaming tumble into the side of a nearby mountain or sizzling and disintegrating against the shield that safeguarded their home. A burst from the Heart’s main gun sent an Aleksandryan ship exploding into a ball of flame, and a rousing cheer erupted upon the bridge. Nevick was happy to see they had finally drawn blood, and he ordered the Duzels to continue the assault.

&nb
sp; “Don’t let up,” he roared over the bursts of explosive fury. A series of explosions nearly threw Nevick off his feet, and he stumbled his way back up the stairs, into the command chair.

  “We took some damage on that one, boss,” Mitchell called over to him.

  “How much?”

  “Enough to slow us down,” came Michael’s reply. Nevick cursed under his breath. They were too much of a target. The Aleksandryan ships outnumbered them to begin with, and that margin continued to grow by the second as Grassani vessels crumbled and exploded beside them.

  “Keep firing no matter what,” Nevick exclaimed as he stood from the command chair.

  “Where are you going?” Mitchell asked as the big man leapt down onto the deck of the bridge and moved toward the door.

  “I’m going to even the playing field. Open the rear hatch!”

  Mitchell’s mouth hung open in aghast horror, but Michael’s face lit up as both brothers realized what their friend had planned.

  “Are you insane?” Mitchell yelled.

  Michael threw a heavy switch on the large curved console. “Doors are open,” he exclaimed. “Give them a punch in the throat for me!”

  Nevick smiled at the portly mechanic and broke into a wild sprint down the hallway, filling his armored body with the intoxicating rush of mana as he sped past Grassani soldiers and engineers alike. He erupted into the newly rebuilt engine room, amidst the churning, grinding sound of the powerful ship’s heart as it propelled them through the sky.

  The rear hatch was slowly opening, and Nevick could see an Aleksandryan vessel just below and to the rear of them. It would be the perfect target. He dashed forward, a black and purple blur, and leapt with no hesitation out into the open air. He rocketed toward the incoming vessel like an arrow, cape fluttering in the wind behind him. He struck the ship’s deck like a cannonball, causing an upheaval in the wake of his landing. He crouched and gazed through the smoke and debris kicked up in his impactful entrance and found the deck covered with red-robed human servants of Aleksandrya—the warriors of The Faithful. Nevick smiled as his hand brushed against the handle of Matias’s battle-axe, which lay upon his belt. This was his type of battle. Not one of machines and aerial prowess but of fist and brawn and the martial might of one’s own arms.