Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

by David Estes

  No, she thought. They are not coming.

  The Calypsians were only here to defend their own borders. Nothing more.

  Whisper

  Beyond the dark waters of the spear, Whisper saw dragonfire cutting through the unusual mist that had descended over the night, blanketing it in a gray shroud.

  The battle had already started, and though it was difficult to see, her spyglass revealed a field littered with the dead, while the living fought hand to hand, weapons flashing. She watched as a barbarian leapt atop a Phanecian, tearing out his throat.

  She looked away. You can help them, she thought, the notion taking her by surprise. Gods, I’m beginning to think like Goggin.

  Was that such a bad thing? The stalwart man might be a damn fool, but he’d always been loyal to Calypso. First under her mother’s rule, and then under both her sisters’. Now, he’d followed her to this place, and she had to admit, she’d enjoyed his company more than she expected.

  No, she thought. Our responsibility is to protect our borders. I will not lead my soldiers into a suicide mission as my sisters did before me.

  “Whisper,” Goggin said, appearing at her side.

  “Not now.”

  “They’re losing.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You will watch them be destroyed and do nothing?”

  “I will watch my people survive. This fight isn’t ours. Not yet.”

  Goggin spat in the dirt. “I’m going to fight,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and he met her stare. “What did you say?”

  “I’m going.”

  “You would disobey my command?”

  Goggin chuckled. “I’ve nearly died a half-dozen times in the last year. Disobeying you is the least of my concerns. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me.” With that, he strode away.

  She watched him go, expecting to feel angry. Instead, she felt only sad.

  “Should we follow?” one of her other guanero asked.

  “No,” she said. “We stay. Unless the enemy crosses the river, we will not fight. And somebody shoot the traitor.”

  The archers hesitated only a moment before raising their bows, aiming at the large man’s back as he walked away.

  Gwen

  It had taken several minutes to soar over the battlefield and cross the Spear. Her eyes were trained on the front of the Calypsian lines the entire time, searching for any sign that they might march into battle.

  Finally, one soldier separated from the rest, a lonely figuring bridging the gap to the mighty river.

  Goggin, she realized, a swell of gratitude rising in her. She hadn’t known him well, but she knew Raven trusted this man who had long served the dragon throne. And Gwen trusted Raven.

  Wait. Panic struck her as she saw the Calypsian archers nock arrows to strings. They’re going to kill him!

  Siri! she shouted in her head, but the dragon was already diving, fully prepared to thrust her own body between Goggin and the archers. A command must’ve been given, because the arrows shot forth in a flurry.

  Gwen’s heromark flared and she saw the truth. Based on the angle of the arrows’ paths, all the archers save one had missed their mark. She’d seen these very men and women shoot before, and they didn’t often miss. They missed on purpose, she thought, stringing her own arrow in a hurry, judging the distance and the wind and the angle of the one arrow that, soon, would plunge into Goggin’s back, taking aim, and releasing.

  She watched it fly, clinging to one of Siri’s spikes with her ankles, leaning to the side with her arms extended.

  Goggin turned just as her arrow struck the other one in front of him, both projectiles spiraling harmlessly to the ground at the large man’s feet. He glanced up and saw her, recognizing who had saved him in an instant, his eyes widening. Luckily, he had the sense to raise his own arms over his head far enough for her to grab him, hauling him aboard the dragon’s back as they took off into the night.

  “You all right?” Gwen asked.

  “Whisper tried to kill me,” he said in disbelief.

  “I know.”

  “You saved me.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I guess the Calypsians won’t fight.”

  He shook his head. “There is no swaying her mind now. But I brought another ally.” He held up a small leather pouch tied with a string.

  “You didn’t.” Gwen remembered this very pouch, which she knew was filled with sand from the Dreadnoughts. For each drop of blood that touched the earth, a monster would arise. “I thought you destroyed it all.”

  “I lied,” Goggin said. “You never know when you might need a monster or ten.”

  “It’s too risky,” she said. “You can’t control them.”

  “You’re outnumbered and losing. We are beyond the point of worrying about the risks.”

  Gwen knew he was right. She communed with Siri, determining the best place to release the sand. One area in particular showed a handful of Phanecians facing more than a hundred barbarians. “There,” she said, pointing.

  “Oh yes,” Goggin said. “That will do nicely.” He untied the string, pinched the pouch between two fingers, and pulled it open. Without hesitation, he dumped the contents over the side.

  Sonika

  Sonika had managed to grab the first barbarian’s wrist and shove it back into its own throat, its claws sinking through its flesh and spattering her face with gore. Beside her, she saw Falcon struggling against mist that seemed to press him to the ground. Two barbarians dove at him but collided, snapping at each other. The distraction was just enough time for him to roll clear as they tumbled to the ground.

  Sonika’s eyes landed on a bone-handled dagger lying discarded within reach. Her entire body quivering, she stretched for it, only to watch as the blade was stomped into the ground under the heavy trod of one of her foe’s, which slashed at her wrist, opening up four even cuts in her skin. It reared back and opened its mouth, but then stumbled, landing hard just before her. Past its massive body, she saw Falcon clutching at its foot.

  Thank you, she mouthed, stabbing two fingers into her opponent’s eyes, causing it to shriek in pain, clutching at its face. Bone weary and trembling, her body in shock from all the pain, she pushed to a knee, then two, and finally, to her feet, staggering.

  Several barbarians prowled close by, two of them fighting each other. Falcon was still on the ground, but now he held the very bone-handled dagger she’d been trying to get. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it to her. Catching it, she stabbed down, severing the barbarian’s spine. Then, feeling a surge of adrenaline, she snapped the blade toward another barbarian as it charged Falcon. The blade entered its chest, sticking solid. Its knees faltered and it tripped over Falcon, tumbling headlong.

  On hands and knees, Falcon crawled to the body, rolled it over, and yanked the blade out, once more tossing the weapon to Sonika.

  Not a moment too soon, either, as two more barbarbians approached from each side, wielding long clubs. One swung at her and she ducked, but the second struck a moment later, cutting her legs out from under her. She went down hard, biting her tongue, watching as an enormous winged shape soared overhead. Something sprinkled across her face and into her mouth. It was gritty, crunching between her teeth. Like sand, she thought, perplexed, even as one of the barbarians raised its club to smash her in the face. Everything seemed to slow down, and she saw the blood streaming down its cheeks, clinging to his chin, falling, drops of crimson spraying like windblown rain.

  The spatter sizzled on her cheeks and on the ground around her, spouting steam. Sonika frowned and the barbarian hesitated, its club hanging in midair.

  The impact was so powerful Sonika skidded across the ground and then rolled, crashing into the corpse of one of the barbarians she’d killed. Where she’d lain a moment ago, something grew.

  And grew and grew, until it stood taller than the barbarians a
ll around it. With powerful back-bent legs and a body that seemed to be constructed from cracked stone interlaced with scars of fire, she knew this was a demon of the Void. It was no ally, but it was also no ally to her enemies.

  “Falcon,” she shouted, once more fighting to her feet. “Get clear! Get clear!”

  She turned tail and ran as the demon released a bellow.

  Whisper

  What have I done? Whisper thought, her cheeks burning.

  She refused to look at the brave soldiers standing around her. If not for Gwendolyn Storm’s quick actions, Goggin would be dead. No, she had not fired the arrow that would’ve killed him, but giving the command was much the same. And for what? To prove a point that traitors were not to be tolerated, that she ruled with a dragon-scaled fist? I’m just trying to protect my people, she thought, but her words rang false even to her own ears.

  Goggin was not the enemy. Then who is?

  She didn’t know anymore. “Empress?” someone said. “What is your command?”

  There was still time to change her mind. The battle continued to rage, though it was clear it would not go in the Phanecian’s favor. But she could not back down. War had only ever brought heartache to Calypso.

  “We wait,” she said. “We defend our borders.”

  Gwen

  “It’s not enough,” Gwen said, watching as several monsters emerged from the ground, beating their massive chests and bellowing loud enough to rise over the cacophony of battle.

  The barbarians threw themselves upon the newcomers, fighting tooth and nail. A dozen died. Then another dozen. Slowly, however, the monsters were subdued, torn apart by the sheer numbers of the Horde.

  “No more sand,” Goggin said. “Let me down at the nearest barbarian.”

  “What? No. You’ll be destroyed.”

  “I’ll take three or four with me into the Void,” Goggin said.

  Gwen shook her head. She could hear the desperation in his tone. This man wanted to die in the hopes that he would see Raven again. “You’re not going to die,” she said. “And when you do, you won’t end up in any Void.”

  The large man chuckled. “I’m starting to like you, Orian, but seriously, let me down. I’ve got barbarians to bludgeon.”

  “Fine,” Gwen agreed. “But I won’t leave your side.”

  “No deal,” Goggin said. “I’m doing this alone.”

  “Try to stop me.”

  Goggin snorted. “Gods, you’re as stubborn as Raven was. As stubborn as her sisters too. And you’re riding a dragon. You sure one of your parents wasn’t a Sandes?”

  “Dead sure.”

  “Not dead yet,” Goggin said. “Fine. I’ll fight with you. But don’t even think about saving my life.”

  Gwen grinned. “You either.” Siri, it’s time to fight aground. Are you ready?

  I’m ready, my soul.

  Siri’s wings tilted and she slid smoothly toward the ground, well away from the fighting. Again, Gwen searched the Forbidden Plains for any sign of the east-north alliance. She squinted, spotting someone. No, three someones, racing across the flatlands.

  It can’t be, Gwen thought, her heromark lending distance and clarity to her sight. For it wasn’t Gareth Ironclad who ran toward the battle.

  Gwen smiled.

  It was the three nymph sisters, vines already snapping from their fingertips like whips.

  Those Who Slept

  They hadn’t slept in days, but that didn’t matter. Sleep was something they enjoyed but didn’t need.

  Colya had needed the most convincing, but May and Lina had been up to the task. In the end, it was her righteous anger at the burning of their forest that had tipped her scale of vengeance in the direction of the Horde. And once Colya had agreed to fight, she’d been the most relentless of the three, urging them to ever-greater speeds as they charged southward.

  Now, she led them forth, watching the dragon land before them, dipping its heads so the Orian could dismount. Her eyes gleamed with strength and the marking on her cheek flared bright orange. “You’re late,” she said.

  “Apologies,” Colya said. “We ran as fast as we could.”

  “I’m joking,” Gwen said. “Thank you for coming.”

  Lina said, “They killed our sister.”

  “Invaded our lands,” May added.

  “And burned our forest,” Colya finished, her vine snapping with a crack.

  Gwen nodded. “I understand. There are plenty of barbarians left for you to exact your revenge.”

  “Good,” Colya said, striding forward, her sisters at her sides. Beneath her feet, roots burst through the soil, the ground crumbling away.

  You could chase the nymphs from the forest, but you couldn’t take the forest from the nymphs.

  Zur

  The Garzi leader didn’t know where these three women had come from, only that they were not human. Vines shot from their fingertips and roots grew beneath their feet, shooting upwards into large trunks that sprouted branches, thick and gnarled.

  Strange magic, he thought, watching as one of the branches lashed out, impaling a barbarian through the chest, picking him up and shaking until he ripped into two pieces.

  More than half of Zur’s army were dead, but these three women, along with the barrel-chested man and armored woman with the dragon, had given them new hope that they might still win the day.

  Another barbarian was skewered, his mouth flying open in shock, while nearby a vine wrapped around another enemy’s throat, choking him to the ground.

  Zur released a war cry and charged, rallying his warriors around him. He expected the Horde to retreat, but these barbarians didn’t seem to understand fear, meeting his soldiers head on with claw and tooth.

  The violence was breathtaking, but Zur was no stranger to death, and if this was to be his last act, he would go out the way his daughter had all those years ago: with courage, fearless to the end. He didn’t want to die, but if he did, he would do it the right way.

  You are my friend, he heard in his head. He saw her blue eye. As he fought, he smiled. As his men died, he smiled.

  And you are mine, he replied as three barbarians surrounded him. One was gored by a tree branch, another was yanked away by a vine. The third took a slash from Zur’s large blade, but managed to slip through his defenses, sinking its teeth deep into his throat. He slashed helplessly at its side, but the blows held no power, his strength sapped.

  Now you go to your daughter, Lisbeth told him. She is in the stars, and soon you shall be too. I am sorry, my friend.

  Don’t be, for you reminded me of what I am. What I should always be.

  Goodbye.

  Zur died, and his was a glorious end.

  Roan

  He watched Lisbeth mourn the loss of her friend. Roan had known there would be death on this day, but it was still hard to accept, especially when he knew he could save so many.

  The Garzi were dying, as were the Phanecians and Terans. Gwen and Siri had, to Roan’s utmost surprise, been joined by three wood nymphs, but already the Horde were flocking toward them by the thousands. Eventually, they would be overcome. The Calypsians had appeared to the east across the Spear, but showed no signs of joining the battle.

  We need greater numbers, Roan thought. If I can heal those still alive…

  Maybe there was still hope.

  “Strengthen me,” he commanded the halfmarked. They’d already used their power to strengthen Lisbeth so she could bring the Garzi army down from the north. Next, when the Horde swarmed them, they’d lent strength to Sir Dietrich, which was the only reason any of them were still alive. His sword moved like lightning, struck like thunder, felling foe after foe, the bodies piling up around them. Powered by Shae and Erric, the swordmarked knight was an entire army unto himself.

  Still, the barbarians kept coming. They were spattered in blood and gore, and Roan could hear the cries of the dying, eclipsed only by the silence of the dead he’d already failed.

  I need
to save them.

  “Shae,” he said, louder now. “Lend me your strength. Please.”

  The young girl bit her lip, refusing to look at him.

  “Erric?” Roan tried next, but the man merely leaned on one of his crutches, still clutching Shae’s hand. He looked away, watching Sir Dietrich end life after life.

  And Roan understood. They would not use the last of their strength to help him, not if they might need to use it to destroy the fatemarked leader of the Horde.

  Perhaps that’s the right thing to do, he thought, though he hated himself for it. Gwen would die, as would Lisbeth and Sir Dietrich.

  Rhea’s daughter too, the very thought clamping down like a vise around his heart. Was this really the way things were meant to end? Was this really the Western Oracle’s plan all along? To bring all surviving fatemarked to this place, this time, only to have them destroyed in the name of peace? Why give the final fatemark, the peacemark, to a newborn babe only to cut off her life before she’d known true happiness or sadness, peace or war, love or hate.

  No, nothing about it felt right. The Western Oracle wasn’t the woman Roan had expected her to be, but she wasn’t evil either.

  She was merely human, as imperfect and flawed as any of them.

  “Wait,” Roan said. “Please wait.”

  Shae nodded, finally meeting his eyes. “We cannot wait much longer, else all be lost.”

  “I know,” Roan said. He looked toward the north, praying for any sign of Gareth.

  Seeing only empty plains.

  “Lisbeth,” he said. “Can you locate our allies to the east?”

  “I will try,” she whispered.

  One-Hundred

  The Western Kingdom, Along the Spear

  Gareth Ironclad

  His blood felt supercharged as they raced through the night along the edge of the river. He’d lent several of his fastest steeds to the northerners—Annise and Tarin, Christoff and Mona, and Zelda—who now rode with his cavalry. The rest of the legionnaires, as well as the northern infantry, would march through the night.