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

  When the Shogai was no more, when the Mother would cross into this realm, Aurax would once again have that which he so desperately desired: a corporeal form. He would finally walk the world of his ancestors and feel its gentle wind against his flesh. And most of all, Aurax could delight in bringing his blissful imagined murder upon the human female known as Maura, personally.

  The ship continued to climb higher and higher, and the large rear propeller began to turn, pushing it forward toward Grassan and the battle to come. This would be the greatest victory of the Skirlack, where their numbers would darken the sky, finally unleashing their militaristic might against the humans for the first time in thousands upon thousands of years.

  The cleric’s hands began to open and close of their own will as Aurax imagined the joys of corporeal contact once more. He could almost feel that wretched woman’s tiny throat as he squeezed the life from it and feasted upon her dead, decaying flesh.

  “Let it begin,” he said to no one, savoring this momentary calm before the death storm, his grand machination of destruction, would begin.

  XI: Gladiator

  The Imperial Capital was unlike any of the fantastical places Valentean had visited up to this point. Following a trip through a Mage Smith city and a magical jungle in the midst of a frozen wasteland, the youthful animus warrior believed that he had seen it all. He was wrong.

  The entirety of this grandiose metropolis loomed above him, covering every centimeter of the tallest mountain amongst a vast range. A towering wall of stone surrounded the base of this mesa, so grey it was nearly black. Foreboding, jagged spikes erupted outward from the top of the structure, and upon many of them, Valentean could vaguely make out the shapes of mangled, impaled bodies rotting, suspended for all to see and fear.

  “Enemies of the Empire,” McNeil said from beside him.

  Valentean looked over at his mysterious traveling companion and was not surprised to see him watching intently. Over the course of the several days this journey had taken, Valentean often felt the eyes of his fellow animus warrior digging into him, studying him, gauging him and his reactions to things. Because of this, the Kackrittan Rosinanti had resigned himself to maintaining a mask of stoic indifference. The brutality on display outside the centerpiece of the Karminian Empire, though, broke through his façade.

  “What did they do?” Valentean asked.

  “Some were traitors, others attempted assassins. Those three there I cut down myself.” McNeil waved a hand up, pointing in the direction of a number of bodies. “Some of them looked at the emperor in a way that displeased him. Some talked out of turn. Some…well, some were chosen for no other reason than a body had recently fallen and a replacement was needed.”

  Valentean’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “That’s revolting.”

  “I don’t disagree with you, Lord Burai. In fact, I believe this only serves to accentuate my earlier points in regard to my brother and why he must be…dealt with.”

  “I’ve made no decisions on that,” Valentean quickly snapped back. It was true; he had been trying not to think about the concept of a struggle within the walls of the Imperial Center. Despite the raging inferno of power that crackled fiercely within his heart, he could not allow himself to become someone who wandered the world, casting kings off their thrones. Still though, the sight of these people hanging there as ravenous fowl circled and pecked at them made his rage stir. How could someone who sought to rule do something so heinous to his own people? It was inhuman. Maybe he deserved to die. Maybe he deserved to…burn.

  Valentean shook those thoughts from his head, determined to bite back on the lure of chaos that dangled so tantalizingly close to him at all times. He needed to treat this as the diplomatic mission that is was. He was seeking aid, not to light the spark of rebellion. Craning his neck up to look beyond the corpses that gazed out over the landscape, Valentean could vaguely make out a tall, oddly shaped structure at the very top of the mountain.

  “Shall I assume that’s where I’ll meet our host?” he asked, turning to McNeil.

  “Generations upon generations of Karminian Emperors have looked down over their land from that sacred citadel. Emperor Tek The Magnificent has, however, changed it significantly since his rule began.” There was an unmistakable disgust in the animus warrior’s tone as he curled his upper lip and stepped forward. “Come, Dragon-Lord. We’ve little time.”

  Valentean found traversing the interior of the city to be cumbersome, as the roads, shops, and homes alike were all built into the side of the sloping mountain. As such, the people tended to walk on a diagonal, never attempting to brave the steep incline directly. For two animus warriors, however, it was no problem. They swerved in and out of the flow of haggard-looking Karminian citizens, all who turned with a double take at the sight of them.

  “Your reputation seems to have preceded you,” Valentean said to McNeil as they continued up through a dilapidated commerce district.

  His guide only smirked. “You think that’s me they’re staring at?”

  Valentean furrowed his brow in confusion and listened to the buzz of noise around him. He heard it almost instantly once he focused. Two words repeated over and over again like a drunken round, echoing through the slanted street, born of dozens of voices.

  “Dragon-Lord.”

  “They’re talking about me?” Valentean asked, partly aghast that his identity as a Rosinanti was such public knowledge so far from home. He suddenly felt very small and very naked before the eyes of a public he neither knew nor trusted. Their fascination with him was palpable in the air, but beneath it all lay something else: anxiety, mistrust, and, above all, fear. It was exactly what he had come to dread since the truth of his origins were laid out before him in the cobblestone street of Lazman. Human beings, who he counted as his own people, were fearful of him. While he continued to see himself as one of them, they would not extend the same courtesy his way. They saw him as an oddity, a freak, a monster.

  Valentean tried to block out the hustle and bustle of conversation and followed McNeil through the crowd. The Imperial animus warrior led him through several busy centers of activity. Finally, they arrived at a small wooden structure alight with movement. Many impatient, impoverished-looking men, women, and children were queuing up, their numbers wrapping around the structure’s exterior.

  “What are they waiting for?” Valentean asked.

  McNeil ignored the question and moved up toward the entrance. As they approached, the gathered crowd noticed them with wide-eyed exclamations of alarm, and the sea of humanity parted before the two animus warriors, granting them entrance. Once inside the hovel, Valentean could see that the citizens who squeezed within its walls were meandering up to a series of windows, where they appeared to be purchasing something.

  He turned his head quizzically toward McNeil, but the prince hadn’t offered anything by way of explanation. Valentean continued to follow out through the rear exit of the building, moving through the crowd, again with the ease born of their panicked flight. As the people parted before them, Valentean saw a metal and wooden carriage adorned in gold and black, hanging from a pair of thick, lumbering chains that ran parallel at an angle, moving up the mountain. Hitched to the carriage was one of the most fascinating-looking creatures Valentean had ever seen, hanging upside down from the chains.

  Its enormity was covered mostly by a spiked, yellow shell. What bits of flesh Valentean had been able to make out were a deep, dark ebony, standing in stark contrast to the blazing daylight. The animal’s limbs looked more like clawed shadows extending out from its shell. An angular beaked head and face jumped out of the front, looking up toward the summit of the mountain where the emperor’s palace awaited. The creature’s eyes were closed, and its body rose and fell regularly as though it were in a deeply restful slumber.

  “A Garg Carriage,” McNeil said by way of explanation to Valentean’s inquisitive stare. “The creature you see there is a Garg. It’s a native herbivore to t
hese parts. They help us to easily traverse the city. There are Garg stations such as this one all along the circumference of the city. It is far and away the most used form of transportation.”

  “It’s…amazing,” Valentean said in wonderment, finding some of that old adventurous fire of his youth sparking within his superheated mind once more. He wanted to reach out and touch the creature, to feel what its slimy-looking scales felt like, but he stayed his hand. Despite McNeil’s assertion that this was a plant-eater, Valentean did not want to try his luck. That long, curved beak looked like it could take his hand off.

  “Shall we?” McNeil said, motioning toward the empty carriage that could house at least fifty people.

  Valentean followed the prince inside and realized they were alone as the door closed. “We just cut past all of those people,” he said pointing out through the window at the many disgruntled yet still fearful-looking citizens. They watched these two lords bypass them all and abscond in a vessel that could have taken a large chunk out of their line.

  McNeil chuckled in response and moved purposefully toward one of the many chairs spread along the walls. He sat there and crossed his legs. “Advance, pilot,” he called out.

  Valentean looked out through the front window and watched the pilot extend a pole along the animal’s shelled belly. At the end, there dangled a large mass of greenery, which Valentean assumed was the kind of roughage this creature ate. The Garg shuddered to life at the smell of such a treat and began to advance toward it, carrying their carriage up the mountain. Valentean continued to watch the great beast at work, hoping that when they arrived at their destination it would be rewarded with the prize it had so dutifully chased. Gazing farther out the window, Valentean could see the Imperial Palace growing larger and larger as they drew near. His stomach tightened. Was he walking into a peaceful cooperative atmosphere or just another war zone?

  Disembarking from the Garg Carriage, Valentean followed McNeil toward the peculiar palace that housed the Karminian Emperor. A chill sent a shiver down Valentean’s spine as his boots crunched down on a settling of snow. Looking back down, he could see the vast mountain city sloping below him. As they had entered the main gates, it had been quite warm in temperature. But at such a commanding height, the air had turned frigid.

  The Imperial Palace itself caused Valentean to tilt his head and squint in confusion. It was composed of two dark grey towers, the same color as the imposing gates. They rose into the air at sharp diagonal angles and connected at the top by a large, saucer-shaped area. Between the two towers sat something that took Valentean’s breath away. As they drew closer, he could see the bustling center of a battle arena, easily three times the size of Kackritta’s grand stage. It was untouched by the elements, and Valentean could make out the blue tint of a magical shield. The benches that surrounded the circumference of the round, dirt-covered combat area were alive with activity. People covered every centimeter of the deep structure, and anticipation could be felt in the air.

  All around them, Garg Carriages were arriving, dumping out hundreds more eager Karminians who piled in through the main gates of the arena.

  “Something going on today?” Valentean asked McNeil with a raised eyebrow.

  “I certainly hope not,” he replied, shaking his head and gritting his teeth.

  Valentean stirred uncomfortably at the Imperial animus warrior’s grim assessment of the situation. The large gates that marked the entrance to the left tower slowly swung open, and a platoon of thirty Karminian soldiers marched in two lines down the stairs to meet them, hands on the hilts of their swords. Valentean tensed, sensing trouble.

  “Think nothing of that,” McNeil said as if he had a pipeline into Valentean’s thought process. “Approaching with your sword ready to draw is a sign of respect. It showcases that we are presenting ourselves to you with nothing held back.”

  “I see. Interesting custom.”

  The soldiers stopped just before reaching them and turned crisply on their heels to face one another. A tall figure began to hurry down the steps to greet them, clad in black robes adorned with a white apron, which had the unmistakable red splatter of old blood upon it. He stood just a shade shorter than Zouka, and his unkempt locks of disheveled brown hair fell haphazardly into his eyes.

  As the gangly man approached them with long, hurried strides, Valentean could feel his beady eyes digging holes through him. As the man stopped before the two animus warriors, he continued to drink in Valentean’s presence, an unreadable smile upon his face.

  “Johan Baus,” McNeil said, indicating the stranger by way of introduction, “chief researcher and medical consort of his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Tek The Magnificent.”

  Valentean nodded toward Baus with a tight-lipped smile, trying to convey friendliness in the face of his uncomfortable stare. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Valentean said, extending his hand.

  Baus simply stared at the animus warrior’s palm and fingers as though they were some foreign curiosity that filled him with wonder. “You brought it,” he said, head inclined toward McNeil.

  “It?” Valentean asked. He quickly withdrew his outstretched hand.

  “Tell me,” Baus said, now locking eyes with the Rosinanti for the first time. An unmistaken hunger shone within them. “When you transform, is your mortal form displaced from this realm, or is the metamorphosis of a physical nature?”

  “What?” Valentean asked, becoming uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

  McNeil forced himself between the two, breaking the tension.

  “Lord Researcher,” the Imperial swordsman said, “I understand your desire to satiate your curiosity, but I would ask you to remember that Lord Burai is here as our guest.”

  “Yes, of course,” Baus responded, still not taking his eyes off this foreign specimen. “Forgive my lapse of decorum, Lord Burai. Welcome to the Imperial Center.”

  “A pleasure to be here,” Valentean said, keeping his voice flat with irritation.

  “It would be my honor to accompany you into the emperor’s presence.” With a gesture from Baus, the entire company of Karminian soldiers turned sharply, facing the palace gates. The researcher turned, and Valentean and McNeil fell into step beside him. As they advanced, the troops moved with them, closing in on the trio. Valentean could not help but notice that they still kept hands clasped firmly upon the handles of their blades.

  After climbing to the upper reaches of the north tower, Valentean, McNeil, and Baus were escorted into a huge circular chamber, which Valentean realized must have been the saucer-shaped structure that bridged the gap between the two towers. For the center of Imperial culture, it certainly was a far cry from the grand throne room of Kackritta Castle or even the central chamber of King Matias’s palace in Grassan. The yellowed tile was cracked in many locations, and debris was scattered about. It was humid and very crowded as official-looking nobles wearing long-nosed masquerade masks lined three rows of benches that stretched around the circumference of the room.

  At the far side stood a grandiose golden throne wide enough to seat six men the size of Baus, shoulder to shoulder. It was adorned in many plush cushions and pillows. Barely distinguishable amongst the elaborate grandeur sat a diminutive man clad in a dark militaristic-looking coat, more designed for a general or commander than a ruler.

  As Valentean drew closer, he could see the gaunt frailty of Emperor Tek The Magnificent. He sat with his legs folded beneath him, head shorn of hair. His scraggly bearded face broke into a grin at the sight of the advancing party, showcasing a mouth filled with yellowing, rotten teeth. Valentean fought to keep his lip from curling. The monarch looked as though a powerful breeze would blow his rotting body to dust.

  He pulled the pipe of a large hookah to his mouth, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a cloud of white smoke from his lips and nostrils. Valentean’s eyes traveled above the emperor’s head if only to distract himself from the unsettling sight. The entire wall behind him was covered by a map of
Terra with key locations marked in red and daggers stuck within several locales, one of which Valentean recognized as Kackritta.

  Upon reaching the base of the emperor’s throne, McNeil and Baus bowed their heads in respect to their ruler. McNeil stepped to the side and gestured toward Valentean.

  “My liege, may I present to you Lord Valentean Burai, animus warrior of the former kingdom of Kackritta, Champion Animus of Terra—the Dragon-Lord.”

  Valentean gave a cursory bow. “Thank you for receiving me, Your Highness.”

  Tek clapped his hands as if this entire affair were some entertaining charade being performed for his amusement. “Excellent!” the miniature monarch exclaimed. “The last of the Rosinanti…well, one of, anyway.”

  Valentean once more felt the same sense of unease that had coursed through him when under the gaze of Baus. “Your Highness,” Valentean said, trying to take control of the moment, “I come to you today in a moment of dire need. My kingdom lies in ruination. The rest of the world is threatened by the power of Aleksandra Kackritta and the demons who serve her. I humbly request your aid in overthrowing the Aleksandryan regime and restoring the kingdom of Kackritta to its former glory.” There was silence in the room as Valentean’s request settled amongst the emperor and his chamber full of masked officials. The uncomfortable hush was broken as the emperor erupted into a fit of uproarious laughter.

  The dozens of shrouded bodies who lined the room joined in as though this were the punchline of some great joke at Valentean’s expense. Baus laughed at his side and moved up onto the emperor’s throne platform to stand at Tek’s right hand. Valentean glanced at McNeil, who shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

  “What do I care about the plight of Kackritta?” Tek said, holding up one hand to instantly silence his throng of cackling sycophants. “Your kingdom has always looked down its nose upon our Imperial might.”