Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy)

Volume I

PHOENIX RISING

By Previn Hudetz

This is an original work of fiction by Previn Hudetz.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Dragon Legacy and Phoenix Rising are © 2012 Previn Hudetz.

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

~ Dedications ~

To my lovely wife Tisha,

our beautiful daughter Ananda,

and my dear brother Hollis.

Thank you.

Prologue

“
Stay with it!” Knight-Captain Montana commanded over his earbud. His fist of Knights cranked up the speed on their jetpacks, silently screaming through the lightning storm that raged over the deep, craggy canyons. Heck of a day for a first command, but Lord-Commander Arius and his men had been killed in the surprise attack on Elias Outpost, and now it was up to Montana and his team to avenge them. Thank God they'd caught up to this huge beast before it could shimmer out. At least they had a chance. A brief window of opportunity, but more than he'd expected and he was going to take this animal down.

Through his helmet's narrow flight visor, Montana saw the sleek black dragon dart to the left and led his men behind it in tight formation. The powerful beast was exposed by a thunderous lightning bolt as it fled the devastation it had wrought. Montana signaled his Knights into a kaleidoscopic breakaway pattern, which would precede their decisive, layered flanking maneuver. Best to take these creatures down quickly. Years of experience had taught him that they were fast, strong, and vicious...and they learned far too quickly. He flexed his mech hand around the grip on his lance, a reminder to stay present.

Montana kept a close course behind the deadly creature, keeping it in his sights as they whipped through the sharp rock formations. He put on a burst of speed and closed the distance, his jetpack vibrating as it propelled him forward at a dizzying rate. Montana's black and silver armor held him tightly as his pulse pounded in his ears. This was the rush he lived for. Hot on the trail of the greatest game ever hunted by man.

The dragon turned and Montana cursed. It must have seen one of the Knights' shadows on the rock face below. He mentally shrugged it off and signaled his men to initiate the attack sequence. “Always together!” he yelled out over the line and powered on his shock-lance. He was rewarded with a familiar crackle as bolts of lightning arced across its long, bright chrystum surface. Thus far, it was the only weapon known that could destroy one of these great beasts of legend. Ironic, he thought.

“
Always together!” his men resounded, powering on their own lances and diving in from all directions at once with Montana spearheading the charge. He connected with a sharp blow, sinking his lance into the beast's massive shoulder.

The dragon shrieked in rage, twisting in the air like a dark vapor before it was caught by Lieutenant Foster's lance between the ribs. The beast lashed out with its tail and then Corporal Grint was minus a head. His remains fell from the air, his armor shorting out as the neural connection was lost. He'd been a good man...and a good friend.

Montana barely avoided a claw swipe that would have ripped him apart, and darted back from the beast to claim a better vantage point. Foster flew in under the dragon's wing and re-speared the beast. He attempted to fire a charge from his lance into the wound, but the dragon was too quick. It swatted him away with a shriek as it tore the jetpack from his armor with a horrible scraping sound.

Lieutenant Foster plummeted like a stone, but quickly engaged his emergency belt-brake to slow his fall. It was enough, and he might survive, but only if they could kill this dragon! Now Montana's fist of Knights numbered only three. Himself, and Staff Sergeants Merrill and Whittaker. Whittaker took a swipe to one of his legs from the dragon's tail, and grunted as his armor was ripped open with a spray of blood, but he kept his composure.

Knight-Captain Montana signaled his men away from the deadly tail and they entered a rotating triangle formation. They broke into a staggered firing sequence with their charged lances, and Montana could smell the scorched air through his armor's air filters. They used the disorienting blast pattern to pull the dragon further from the damaged outpost and harry it into a frenzy. There was not enough power to keep this up indefinitely, but they should have enough to keep the beast unfocused for a few moments. God willing, that's all they'd need.

As a shaft of sunlight pierced the dark storm clouds, Montana felt a whisper of hope. He ordered his men to continue harassing the dragon with alternating bursts of fire and took it upon himself to dive in for the killing blow. He cut through the air at his armor's maximum speed, and his bones were jarred by the sudden impact when he connected with his enemy. He sunk his charged lance into the dragon's heaving chest and it screamed in primal rage. This was a killing stroke if he could just manage to...squeeze and press! Yes! Success!

Montana felt the charge ripple down through his lance directly into the dragon's heart. As he unleashed the full-powered blast from his weapon, the dragon was torn apart. Blinding light accompanied a blast of concussive force that knocked the Knights back through the air, and Montana felt a surge of relief.

Once the disruption passed and their vision cleared, the only evidence that a dragon had been here at all were the wounds his men sustained, the death of a dear brother Knight, and the faint sparkling of dust that was borne away by the strong mountain winds.

The storm had broken, and clear blue sky stretched from one horizon to the other. Montana took a deep breath, and nodded to Merrill and Whittaker. Whittaker would need medical attention, but Foster had managed well enough despite his fall, and a shuttle was already coming to pick him up.

Their victory, however, was bittersweet. Montana flew down to the ledge upon which the bloodied helmet of his longtime friend rested, and went down on one knee to lay a prayer upon him. It was important for a warrior to be honored in this way...tradition laid down by the great High King himself in the very first battle. Soon Merrill and Whittaker had come, and knelt beside him in reverence for their fallen brother.

Holding the head aloft to the blazing sun, Montana lifted his own helm and cried out into the freezing wind, “Always together, brothers!”

“
Always together!” they answered, and raised their lances high. “Always together!”

Refugee, they'd called her. As if she was somehow less than they were. Well, to be fair Stella was only fifteen, but the way they hadn't given her any regard other than a cursory disapproving glance had been...hurtful. She sighed and looked around at the families and disillusioned revolutionaries who were being taken somewhere 'safe.' She snorted at that idea. Safe from what? From whom?

The newscast of the dragon battle streamed across the wall panel above, but Stella felt numb and didn't want to listen closely. The female reporter was interviewing Brigadier Knight Captain Montana about defeating a black dragon near the border country. One of his Knights, Corporal Grint, had fallen in battle, and deep empathy welled up inside Stella when they mentioned his now-fatherless wife and children. Suddenly she felt herself able to relate to these people. She missed her own father right now, and pushed a long, dark strand of straight hair behind her ear to see the broadcast better.

The reporter was quick to remind the viewers that ultimately the fist of Knights had been victorious...as always. Stella hugged her knees tight against herself, grateful for the small comfort their victory provided. Any comfort was welcome right now. It had been so scarce recently. Blasted brigands always making everything harder for everyone! Why were they always fighting with the Brigadier Empire, anyway? Stella didn't understand why life had to be so hard so often for so many.

“Father,” she whispered, “Where are you?”

A deep twinge pulled at Stella's heart, and she hoped she'd see him again soon. She would, though...at the Garden Citadel. He said he was going to meet her there. He promised it to her repeatedly as he'd taken her to the port to get her away from the fighting, and he always kept his promises.

Letting out a breath she'd been holding onto, Stella's cobalt eyes took in the painfully sterile cargo hold that had been adapted for human transport. She didn't want to be here. Didn't want to listen to this...this newscast. It was just reminding her how alone she felt right now.

“Hey, you gonna eat that?” a boy about her age asked as he eyed her bowl of soup. She hadn't touched it, and handed it over with a shrug. Stella was more interested in conversation than food right now, anyway.

She took a closer look at him, and was surprised by how dirty and tattered his clothes were. His mahogany head was shaven. Where was he from? His life had clearly been rough, but he wore a cheerful smile as he raised the bowl to her in thanks before eating.

“I don't know anymore,” Stella said. “I might change it.” Mtumba gave her a sympathetic smile, and then dived back into the soup. She looked out the window at the spectral storm the ship was passing through on their way to 'safety.'

“Well,” Mtumba said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “I'd peg you as a Sally, or maybe...maybe not a Sally. Maybe more of a Katherine.”

She shook her head. “No. Not Katherine.”

“Well...sorry, then,” Mtumba said, obviously confused. “I'm sure you'll come up with a good name. Thanks for the soup.” Then he shuffled back over to sit between the window and a support beam, looking out into space, or what passed for it on these voyages. Stella picked up the wet, empty bowl and gave a little grunt. Boys ate everything too fast, she decided, and looked back outside.

No stars, she almost cried to herself. How can they call it space when you can't see the stars? Her thumb passed over the unusual amulet her father had given her on her birthday...just before all this insanity started. It was made of a kind of chrystum she'd never seen before, and looked like two interlocked pyramids. Stella felt a bittersweet smile cross her lips as she remembered the day he'd given it to her.

Less than a month ago, but it seemed so far away right now. A different life. He said he'd find Stella again when he left her at the evacuation port, but so far...well, apparently she was just another lone refugee lost on the rising winds of war, and that was that. At least for now.

Stella wasn't ready to give up, though. Not yet, anyway. Her father was a great scientist, and maybe he'd meet her at the gates of the Garden Citadel, and then their life could finally get back to normal. “Normal,” she laughed bitterly, not sure what that word meant now.

If normal wasn't on the table, then at least they could have some sort of life together again. That thread of hope was the only thing she could hold onto, and it felt completely unfair. Her father was the only connection to her old life that Stella had left after these last few weeks of bombings and skirmishes, and she missed him horribly. She felt completely alone and cut off, and hugged her legs closer to her chest. She would see him again someday. She had to.

The ship shuddered.