Rosinanti_Rise of the Dragon Lord

by Kevin J. Kessler

  She could see the massive leading airship, its twin weapons sparking and shining as it loosed a volley of powerful bolts of lightning. The spell slammed into the shield surrounding the palace, shattering it instantly. Maura gasped in horror as a haze of red erupted into the center of the throne room. Aurax materialized there, his yellow gaze meeting the icy blue stare of his hated rival. Maura’s lip curled in anger and revulsion.

  “Good morning,” he said in a haughty taunt.

  Maura said nothing. She simply turned, still taking Nahzarro by the hand and dragging him along with her toward the weapon. The dank smell of stale air filled her lungs as she sprinted down the stairs.

  “Dammit,” Nahzarro hissed. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

  “It’ll be fine,” Maura said, pulling him along. “He’ll summon some Skirlack, and we can hold them off until the weapon finishes them!”

  They arrived at the base of the staircase to find Matias looking at a raised platform in the center of a round chamber, on which sat the weapon. It was large and boxy, stretching five meters into the air. All around the huge cube ran various pipes and cords, which vanished into the wall. At its base, there was a person-shaped recess. It was evident where the head and the arms and legs would go.

  “We have a problem,” Maura said, drawing the king’s attention.

  “Indeed, you do,” Aurax said.

  Maura whirled around to find the demon just behind her, smirking wickedly as though he had already won. Maura and Nahzarro leapt back.

  “You’ve lost, Aurax,” Maura spat at him with venom dripping from her words.

  “Have I?”

  “Your people are going to be turned to dust.”

  “Are they?”

  Maura was instantly uncomfortable with the calm superiority with which Aurax commanded the room. “Go ahead. Pull your demon soldiers out. You’re not stopping this weapon.”

  Aurax chuckled. “Oh, there will be no soldiers this time, you meddlesome pest,” he said, his voice silky as he savored the moment. “You see, when you sent me back to Lokhar at the end of our previous encounter, I was able to consolidate my power, to be improved by the Mother’s personal love. I became powerful enough to pull an army through to your world. And I have just enough power left for one more thing.” His arms rose, fingers swirling in a precise set of movements. He began a rapid hissing incantation, which was soon drowned out by the hum of machinery. Maura glanced back to see Matias standing within the recess, hands deep in the machine, eyes clenched in concentration as the contraption roared to life.

  Nahzarro looked pained as he stared back, not having a moment to say goodbye before the king stepped inside the machine that would be his tomb. Nahzarro’s head snapped back to Aurax, the prince’s teeth bared in a snarl of fury as he awaited whatever was going to pour through. A slight, frail-looking figure materialized beside Aurax, slightly shorter than the demon and dressed exactly the same in a floor-length, brown robe.

  The creature looked enough like Aurax to be his brother. The same shiny, crimson, cracked skin pulled back in a proud sneer baring pointed, yellow fangs with matching jaundiced eyes that bore holes in the humans. Aurax dropped his arms and stumbled, the stress of pulling this being through the veil of reality clearly taxing his strength. He panted and glared up at Maura, once more rising to his full height and smoothing out the folds of his robe.

  “Lord Aurax,” the newcomer said with a bow.

  “Lord Auron,” Aurax replied, returning the gesture. He then turned back to the humans. “Auron here is of my kin. He is a cleric of the Skirlack, born of the Mother’s brain, imbued with Her magic, and tasked with enforcing Her will.”

  “Is that supposed to impress me?” Maura spat back.

  “Mouthy, isn’t she?” Auron said to Aurax as though the two humans were not even there.

  “Indeed,” Aurax replied, stepping aside and gesturing to Auron as if giving his blessing.

  The demon turned its foul gaze upon them, and Maura lashed out immediately, leaping ahead and slashing with her blades. Auron bent his body out of the way, and Maura’s advance took her through Aurax’s body, which shimmered for a moment before solidifying once more.

  Auron pointed a finger at the girl, from which a hair-thin bolt of blood-colored energy shot forth, striking Maura in the shoulder, burrowing through her flesh and coming out the other side. She screamed as the energy shocked and burned through her blood, and she fell back, clutching at her wound and dropping one dagger.

  Nahzarro leapt forward, whips ignited with crackling electric magic, lashing out at the cleric who once more easily and nimbly bent his body away from the sparking strands of destruction. He leapt and twirled and flipped and rolled through the caging storm of magic, coming up inside Nahzarro’s guard and striking him with a glowing, red open palm in the chest. Nahzarro’s entire body erupted in red light as he flew back toward the base of the great machine that sapped his father’s life. The red glow continued to eat at him, and as he thrashed in pain, one of his whips flew from his grip. Eventually, the glow and agony seemed to subside, leaving Nahzarro gasping on the floor.

  Maura struggled to a sitting position, inspecting the pinpoint cauterized hole in her shoulder. She painfully rotated the joint and picked up her discarded weapon.

  “Is this truly all they are, Aurax?” Auron asked his fellow demon, who nodded through a smirk. “A pity. It has been so long since I was presented a challenge.”

  Maura cried out in anger, running at the frail-looking cleric as Nahzarro rose to his feet, igniting his remaining whip. Her weapons glowed with the emerald energy of her stored mana. The air around the machine was thick with it. The cleric dodged around one of Nahzarro’s furious swipes and attempted to upend Maura once more with the same single-fingered spell as before, this one aimed at the heart. Maura intercepted the blast with the blade of one dagger, the magic of the spell fizzling against the pulsating mana contained within.

  She spun in, a blur of speed as she slashed for the demon’s belly. Auron sidestepped her with ease, hands behind his back as he kicked her forward right into the path of Nahzarro’s incoming whip strike. Maura threw herself to the ground, the crackling strand passing so close to her face that it scorched her eyebrows. Nahzarro pulled the whip back in a panic, throwing himself off balance. Auron pointed a thin finger at him, and the tiny, red streak that had bored into Maura tore through Nahzarro’s wrist. He screamed, dropping his remaining whip to the ground, but the prince did not fall.

  Instead, Nahzarro lashed out with magic. Bolts of blue and green erupted from his hands, splitting the air as they careened toward the cleric’s face. Auron threw up a blue-tinted energy shield to defend himself, but the strength of Nahzarro’s attacks were beginning to drive him back. A look of mild surprise dawned upon the demon’s face in the wake of the prince’s furious onslaught. Another flurry of multicolored flashes of light dissolved the shield, and Nahzarro spun, cupping a pulsating ball of green in one hand. He chucked it at the cleric as though it were a toy, and it struck the crimson monster in the chest, blowing Auron back into the stone wall, which cracked beneath him.

  The cleric fell to his hands and knees as Maura rose to stand beside Nahzarro. Aurax grimaced in the face of this minor victory. Maura and Nahzarro stood shoulder to shoulder between Auron and Matias. She stole a glance back at the king and nearly gasped. His skin was loose and wrinkled, his flesh a deathly pale. He no longer grimaced. His face had gone slack and weak, his lips a dull white against his teeth. The machine continued to hum and churn, and as sick as it sounded, Maura had to buy the king the time he needed to die. She looked to Nahzarro, who nodded to her.

  Together, they charged the rising cleric, and Maura leapt, blades angled at Auron’s throat.

  Deana poured the healing power of her magic into the wounded soldier who screamed on the table in front of her. Her gore-soaked hands pressed into the sticky pool of blood that welled up through his clothing. His screams slowly died as th
e soothing effect of her magic washed into him.

  She could feel his wounds knitting themselves back together, his flesh mending under her energy. She could feel his vitals as though they were her own. She sensed the stabilized steadiness of his heartbeat and felt the calming regular inhalations of his breath. It was done. He would live, and Deana smiled in accomplishment. A new round of screaming wails coming closer to her meant yet another soldier who the field medics felt was beyond help was being brought before her. Deana winced through fatigue as her arms pushed against the wheels to propel her chair along the floor.

  They were coming in so fast there had been no time for her to gather her strength. The field medics carted in the screaming man on a gurney and placed him on one of the low tables within Deana’s tent. The healer could see blood seeping from a variety of wounds, which looked as though they had been bitten into the young man’s flesh by powerful teeth.

  She pressed her palms against his rent flesh and felt the swirling currents of energy within. He was hemorrhaging internally. She needed to act fast and set her will and her magic upon him. Humming softly, she felt the white light of her energy flow along his wounds both internal and external, and instantly, her miraculous gift began stitching punctured organs and veins back together.

  A loud crashing sound like that of a meteorite struck the ground several blocks away with enough force to shake the clinic. Several of the field medics panicked. Their fear had been palpable in the air since the ground warfare had taken a turn for the worse. Still though, Deana kept her composure. She continued to work her magic upon the man and hoped that Nevick had been far from that monumental impact.

  Nevick and the Skirlack behemoth slammed into the ground with enough force to smash a hole in the stone street. He had turned in the air to ensure that his crimson foe took the brunt of the impact. The creature’s grip instantly slackened upon their rough landing, and Nevick rolled free, completely disoriented but still very much alive. To his great shock, the monster was moving as well. He had thought the fall might be enough to kill the demon, but still it persisted, and so too must he.

  They charged at one another through the deserted street. The sounds of battle between Grassani forces and Skirlack filled the air. Nevick tried to block out the clang of steel, the sizzle of magic, and the screams of the maimed or dying to focus on the obstacle before him. The two titans met in the center of the road and slammed into one another with enough force to upend an ancient, deeply rooted tree. There was a shockwave created in their wake that shattered glass and cracked stone.

  Nevick grappled with the creature, slamming a beefy fist into its solar plexus over and over again. The demon began to spit blood and drove its horned forehead into the human’s face. Nevick recoiled as the flesh of his face split between the eyes, and a spray of red, hot blood squirted out and slowly dripped over his nose and lips.

  In his disoriented state, he did not see the behemoth rush forward striking him upward with two fists. The impact was incredible, and Nevick soared up, smashing through a three-story building and bursting out the other side. He slammed hard into the street, cracking it once more with colossal impact as he skidded to a halt before the massive, solid, bronze gates that led to the royal palace. This was his final stand. He had to hold them here so as to give Matias, Maura, and Nahzarro the opportunity they needed to enact their mysterious plan. The behemoth leapt at him, falling from the sky, fangs and teeth bared, ready to end this once and for all.

  Nevick realized he could not let this creature past him. He had to stop it here and now. He pushed off the ground and met his foe in the air, spearing it with his shoulder, smashing into it with the force of a boulder flung from a catapult. The beast fell with Nevick on top, writhing and thrashing in its attempt to escape. Nevick grabbed the demon by the twin horns of its head and struggled, trying to gain control of its momentum. Then, with a mighty twist, a loud crack resounded throughout the area, and the behemoth fell back, dead.

  Nevick’s massive body rolled off the dead demon, his muscles aching, hardly able to hold on to the power of his transformation any longer. He struggled to maintain it though, knowing he would need every bit of its strength to continue to assist the Grassani forces. The sounds of battle seemed to fade from his mind as he focused his attention up to the white spot of The Heart of Casid as it fell into formation with the other Grassani warships, attempting to put an end to the aerial threat once and for all.

  After five minutes, Nevick felt as though he would be able to maintain his transformed state and rolled to his hands and knees, standing slowly. As his vision cleared and his hearing returned, he froze when he realized he was not alone.

  A sea of crimson spread out before him, lining every street leading into this central location. He could not count them all, but there were very clearly over one thousand Skirlack of all shapes and sizes—the soldiers, the hounds, and, to Nevick’s horror, two of the behemoths identical to the one he had just slain. It was a paralyzing, crippling moment to know he was about to die.

  He thought of Deana in this final moment. He hoped she was safe somewhere and that she would somehow escape this battle with her life. He bitterly imagined what their life together would have been had the Skirlack never descended upon their wedding day. He held on to visions of what was never to occur as he charged toward the advancing army. He smashed into a number of soldiers as he saw himself kissing Deana amidst the sunset as they were declared man and wife. As he slugged a behemoth in the face with one of his gargantuan fists, he saw himself alongside the men and women of Casid, manning the fishing nets while they laughed and told stories. As a Skirlack hound leapt onto his back and sank its jaws into his trapezius muscle, Nevick saw Deana holding a baby, their child, in her arms and smiling up at him.

  He tore the beast off his back, its teeth dragging blood and flesh along with it. He crushed the creature’s head in his fist as the behemoths fell upon him. Soldiers, hounds, and behemoths pummeled every centimeter of his exposed flesh, tearing the fabric that barely covered his swollen chest. Nevick pounded the ground and shoved the mass of demon flesh back and away from him. He took two heavy steps back as rivulets of blood poured down his skin.

  The behemoths charged him together, ahead of the advancing army of Skirlack, and bowled into him with their shoulders and arms as though they were of one mind. His bulk flew back, slamming into the solid gates with such intense force that they gave way and sprang open. Nevick soared into the open courtyard, falling to the ground and rolling to a stop just before the massive staircase that led into the royal palace of Grassan.

  He no longer had the strength to maintain his transformation, and he felt his body deflating like a balloon, dwindling back to normal. He lay on his stomach, glaring up through swollen flesh and fresh blood as the Skirlack charged in through the gate. He braced himself on the ground, prepared to meet his end like a warrior, but then, as one, the entire one thousand plus demons skidded to a halt, frantically stumbling in many cases. They seemed to recoil, and Nevick thought he could see fear on the faces of the behemoths.

  He furrowed his brow in confusion. None of the demons were looking at him. Instead, their attention was focused beyond his prone form, toward the staircase. He struggled to turn his head and saw a sight that made his breath catch in his throat with renewed hope and happiness.

  There, sitting casually upon the staircase, gazing down on the invading horde as though they were naught but a flock of harmless pigeons, sat Valentean Burai. The Dragon-Lord locked eyes with Nevick and gave him a slight nod as he slowly rose to his feet. The long folds of his crimson trench coat settled around his legs as he stood to his full height. He took one deliberate step down the staircase, and Nevick saw the Skirlack recoil at his advance. It was surreal and unbelievable how captivated the demons were. Valentean continued down the stairs, not breaking his gait as he passed Nevick by. He acknowledged the fallen warrior but made no effort to help him.

  “Leave this to me,” he sai
d, stalking past his ally toward the demons, who now snarled and clawed at the air but dared not advance. Was he insane? Did he truly mean to take on one thousand Skirlack on his own? With no help whatsoever? Nevick wanted to call out to him, to warn him of the behemoths and their unbelievable strength, but his voice died in his swollen throat.

  He noticed two long, curved Karminian swords sheathed at Valentean’s sides and watched as the young man he had fought beside slowly drew them. He held the blades out horizontally, and to Nevick’s shock and horror, red, crackling flames spread along the shining metal. Nevick gasped, the Skirlack recoiled as one, and Valentean turned to look back at him over one shoulder, his eyes aglow with the same red energy as Aleksandra’s.

  Aurax had been right. Valentean had been corrupted by chaos. Nevick should have been appalled. He should have been outraged that his friend had kept something so important to himself. But in this moment, he was none of those things. He knew that only Valentean stood between the royal palace of Grassan and the forces of chaos. Nevick crawled toward the great staircase, seeking higher ground upon which he would not be in Valentean’s way.

  The behemoths roared at the Rosinanti, finally finding their courage, and the demons charged forward. It was a tidal wave of crimson. They poured into the courtyard and spread out to charge against this one tiny pinpoint of flame and fury, which sped toward them, dual swords flying around its body as Valentean Burai spun into the fray.

  XIX: The Cost of Victory