Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

by David Estes

  Sounds, muted and distant but still familiar. Battle. We are losing, she knew.

  And then, darkness.

  It took her a moment to realize she was in a cave, or a tunnel. What? How is it possible?

  It didn’t matter, for they weren’t safe. The barbarians would pursue them even here, and they could not outrun them nor kill them all. They were too few.

  The rumbling intensified, and she was dimly aware of bodies all around her, frantic as they fled into the tunnel, trying to escape the barbarians and the sound.

  Annise managed to crane her head to look back, seeing Zelda and Fay and Sir Jonathan and last, her faithful knight, Sir Christoff Metz, backlit by the white light beyond but still as dashing in his polished armor as any man she’d ever met, plunge into the tunnel.

  Dozens of larger, hulking forms filled in the space behind them—the rest of the barbarians. They paused momentarily on the threshold, as if confused, sniffing the air, the mountain shaking all around them.

  Harder and harder the mountain shook and Tarin carried her farther away, dust and small rocks lancing into her face, but her eyes never left those lost, confused creatures standing on the threshold of safety.

  And then they were gone, replaced by white and then

  darkness.

  Slowly, slowly, the rumbling faded, the mountain returning to stillness. Sleep.

  It was only then that Annise realized what had happened, how the avalanche had reached them at the penultimate moment, sealing their enemies out and them in.

  It felt like a final gift from the mountain that had long defended their cities.

  Jonius had called these tunnels a tomb, but now, Annise knew, they were their salvation.

  Thirty-Eight

  The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End

  Ennis Loren

  Ennis was alive. How and why, he didn’t know. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about it. On one hand, being alive was generally considered better than being dead. And on the other was the memory of the pain he had endured, clawed and bitten and beaten, surrounded by that underlying agony that came from the mist roiling from the Lost Son’s chest.

  But memories fade and time heals.

  Not this, he thought. Never this.

  His wriggling stump of a tongue throbbed, swollen and useless. Tattered, bloodstained articles of clothing were animated by the wind, haunting white spectrals fluttering across the empty streets of Knight’s End. Well, not empty. Empty of life, yes. So empty.

  But not empty. Ennis kept his chin held high as he limped along, lest his gaze stray to the hundreds of corpses.

  Surrounded by so much death, the question of why he was alive came back to him. He remembered the last thing Klar-Ggra had said before leading his ravenous Horde away. You shall be our herald of death.

  In Ennis’s mind, he had refused. He would do nothing for these demons. Nothing. He would rather die. But what if warning those still in Phanes could save them? What if being the herald of death could bring life?

  He shook the thought away, because first he had another purpose. A vow to keep. To Rhea. To her brother, Leo.

  Keep him safe. Please. Swear it.

  I will.

  So he ignored the corpses, stumbling his way to the castle, its gates not open but shattered, splintered and cracked in the outer courtyard. Bodies were strewn about like a child’s dolls after a tantrum, missing arms and legs, half-chewed.

  Witnessing the extent of the violence was like having a bucket of cold water dumped on one’s head. My people. Oh Wrath.

  At the same time, Ennis knew a massacre such as this was no different than the silent murders of fatemarked babies that had been sanctioned by the western throne for decades. All in the name of a god they didn’t truly understand.

  Ennis was ashamed.

  We brought this on ourselves. He wasn’t being self-righteous, for he knew he was to blame too. We all are. Because we did nothing. Which, in his mind, was the same thing as slitting the babies’ throats by his own hand.

  He hated himself. Self-loathing churned in his gut, forcing him to stop, doubling over to vomit the little that was left in his stomach. Crows wheeled about overhead, cawing, which likely meant the Horde had not yet gone far. He could find a weapon, follow them, try to kill as many of them as he could as they slept. Or perhaps he could kill Klar-Ggra himself. Yes. He would do it. He had to do it.

  He spat out a wad of bitterness and walked on, glad to have a new purpose. An honorable objective worthy of a soldier of the west. He didn’t care about being a hero, only about stopping the menace that had done this to the proud city he’d once loved.

  But first…

  Confirmation.

  He took a deep breath and entered the palace, sobered by what he knew he would find. He’d seen two dead brothers on this very day, but he was not so desensitized to death that he didn’t dread seeing a dead cousin, and a boy at that. Still, his vow chained him to this path, and he would not avoid it. The boy deserved a witness, if only to clean his body and bury him in the Loren crypt.

  I will do this thing. Rhea, I’m sorry I failed you. But I will do this thing.

  Ennis knew the search could take hours. In the pandemonium, who knows where the boy might’ve run off to in his haste to escape. No, he thought, Sai wouldn’t have allowed it. He would’ve confined Leo to his quarters, protected by the finest palace guardsmen.

  Ennis stopped briefly in front of the wide marble staircase, remembering the day that Rhea, who’d been missing for hours, stood on this very spot and declared her claim on the throne. He could scarcely believe all that transpired since then. So much evil. So much good. So many changes wrought on the players in this great game of life, not the least of which were in himself.

  On the wall in front of him was a painting. The Eye of Wrath, watching all, a silent witness. He ignored its gaze, reminding himself it was only an artist’s rendition, though he sensed it following him as he started forward once more.

  He mounted the staircase, stepping carefully around the bodies, steadying himself on the finely carved balustrade. The staircase curled both to the left and the right, creating two narrower staircases that reached the next floor. Ennis took the left fork, which led to the children’s quarters. More corpses, an entire pile of them gathered in front of the very room that was his destination.

  The door was blown open, hanging from a single hinge, creaking as it shifted back and forth on a stiff wind that tore from the open balcony door and through the spacious room meant for only a single boy.

  The mound of bodies was too large to step over, so Ennis steeled himself and closed his eyes, clambering over them on hands and knees. He didn’t want to see the faces, for there was a good chance he knew all or most of them from his time posing as a castle guardsman.

  Inside, he stood, surveying the room, which was in a state of disarray. There were claw marks on much of the furniture, gouged deep into the wood. The bed’s mattress was dumped unceremoniously on the floor, feathers sprouting at odd angles where the fabric had been torn. If Leo had been hiding under the bed, he would’ve been revealed through the slats, several of which were broken.

  A mirror lay nearby, shattered, and Ennis was reminded of when Rhea’s mirror had been broken for a different purpose, though no less dark.

  But still, his eyes found no body. He frowned, puzzling over the room, his gaze settling on the balcony door, which swung open and closed, rattling against the exterior wall every so often.

  He strode across the room, mirrored glass crunching underfoot, pummeled by the wind tunnel the pair of open doors had created. He stepped outside, preparing himself for the worst.

  A table and two chairs was overturned, but other than that there was no sign of a struggle, not even a single drop of blood marring the marble floor. Swallowing, he moved to the railing, easing over to look down.

  He cringed, for the palace gardens were swamped with bodies. He forced himself to review each one, but saw none
small enough to be a child. When he tore his eyes away, he was certain none of them were Leo.

  Darker thoughts assailed his mind.

  Because if the boy wasn’t here, it meant they had taken him, either dead or alive—he didn’t know which was worse.

  But why? To use against their enemies? Why leave so many other corpses but take the body of a small child?

  He reentered the room, continuing to think. Even if Leo hadn’t put up a struggle, there would’ve been blood, their claws tearing his skin as they took him. And it was clear they had been searching for him, as evidenced by the ripped mattress and open balcony door.

  But what if they hadn’t found him?

  Was it possible he had escaped? And if so, where would he have gone? The palace had been swarming with barbarians, so he would’ve needed to hide.

  That’s when a memory came to him, so old and dusty it felt like an ancient relic, long-forgotten but of great value to the finder.

  He had been playing hide and seek with Rhea, who was only eight and filled with boundless energy. She’d found him several times and he’d found her. But each time he looked for her, it took longer to locate her hiding spot. Clever girl, he’d thought at the time, as she seemed to be learning from her failures. Until, finally, he couldn’t find her, though the boundaries of their game had been confined to only a handful of rooms.

  Eventually, he’d given up, sighing as he sat on her bed. “Rhea, if you can hear me, you win. I cannot find you.”

  Giggles arose, far closer than he expected and yet muffled. As he turned toward the sound, Rhea, still laughing, spilled from a large wooden wardrobe he’d searched thoroughly, pushing aside the two-deep rows of purity dresses hanging from the rod.

  “How…” he said as he stood. Rhea was grinning from ear to ear, utterly pleased with herself.

  Ennis patted her on the head and swam through the dresses, searching for an answer. Finding none. Though she was small, there was nowhere for even her to hide.

  “You must be able to turn yourself invisible,” Ennis said, turning back to her, which drew another peal of laughter.

  “Nay,” she said.

  “Then you turned yourself into a dress.”

  “Nay nay.”

  “You can walk through walls?”

  More giggles. “Nay nay nay! There’s a false back to the closet, silly. Father had it installed in all our rooms. For our safety, he said. But I hide there for fun.”

  Ennis had laughed at the time, shaking his head. “Aren’t you afraid of the dark?” he’d asked.

  “Of course not,” Rhea had replied, as if it was a foolish question. “None of us are. We’re Lorens.”

  Now, in a world that seemed twice darker than the one in his memory, Ennis strode toward the large wooden wardrobe. It, too, bore claw marks. One of its swinging doors was gone, and the other lay nearby. The clothing was on the ground, along with various other knickknacks—toy soldiers, several rocks, a pair of riding gloves…

  The chest was empty, searched thoroughly. Even more thoroughly than he had searched Rhea’s closet during a game of hide and seek all those years ago.

  But not thoroughly enough, he thought, a flower of hope blooming in his chest.

  He eased forward, probing with his fingers around the edges of the back panel. He wanted to warn the boy that it was just him, but he knew his tongue-less garble might only scare him more.

  There! His finger found a small notch, barely wide enough to get his fingernail into. He dug it in, pulling back. The wooden panel stuck at first, but then scraped against the side and clattered free.

  “Zio?” he said, unable to form the required L-sound.

  Ennis had expected—had hoped—to find a boy in hiding, trembling and shivering with fear.

  Instead, he uncovered a brave lion, who lunged at him with dagger in hand.

  Although, battered and bruised, Ennis hadn’t expected to be attacked, he was still a seasoned soldier who’d spent much of his life on the training grounds or in combat. His reflexes had kicked in and he’d bobbed left and down, avoiding being stabbed, grabbing the boy’s wrist to prevent another slash. Still, Leo had struggled, trying to land a blow with his other hand, which was knotted in a determined fist.

  He couldn’t avoid the punch, which glanced off his jaw as they both tumbled backward into the pile of discarded clothes. There, he’d managed to subdue the prince’s arms and legs as they kicked and punched. “Offa me!” the boy had cried. “Get offa me!”

  Now, they sat side by side on his bed. Ennis was looking at him, but Leo was looking at his hands, which were clasped together in his lap, his knuckles white. After a few moments of silence, the boy cocked his head to the side and met his gaze.

  “Knight’s End is destroyed?”

  Such innocence in that question. Ennis tried to say, “Some of the buildings have been burned, but it’s not completed destroyed. But many of the people are dead,” but it came out like oatmeal, all mushy and wet. They all are. Except us. Except you, precious boy, thank Wrath.

  Somehow, the boy seemed able to translate most of the words. “I don’t understand. What are those things? Why did they attack us?”

  Ennis pointed to the balcony. Mouthed You saw them?

  “Of course. There were no warning bells, but Cousin Wheaton made me come in here. He said not to open the doors for anyone. I didn’t. I watched for a while, but it didn’t seem real. None of it seemed real.”

  The boy’s voice had a hollow quality to it, as though he hadn’t really been there, but was only recounting what someone else had told him. His mind is trying to protect itself, Ennis thought. Good. Maybe there is still hope for him. Ennis waited for him to continue.

  “I heard loud sounds outside. Like animals. Snarling. The guards were yelling and cursing. I heard fighting, but I wasn’t scared. I knew I could fight, but I wouldn’t disobey Cousin Wheaton. I like him.”

  A swell of sadness crashed through Ennis. At the same time, he mapped out all the alternative routes through the city to avoid the main square. “I ike him shoe,” he said, hoping Leo would understand. I liked him, he corrected in his mind. Oh Wrath.

  “Is he dead too?”

  Ennis could not lie to this strong-willed courageous boy. But he also could not speak a single word, and not only because of his tongue. He nodded.

  “And Sai?”

  Another nod.

  Leo looked back at his hands. “But Rhea is alive? You said before she’s still in Phanes. Right?”

  Ennis closed his eyes. Opened them. Nodded twice, to both questions. As far as he knew, she was safe. But none of them were safe so long as the barbarians roamed the Four Kingdoms. Still, his plan to hunt them, to try to assassinate their leader had vanished the moment he’d discovered Leo alive. Now, protecting this boy was his only mission.

  “We need to warn them,” the boy said. His teeth were locked together, his jaw jutting out in determination.

  You shall be our herald of death. Ennis shook his head. Pointed to the floor. We’re staying here, he tried to convey.

  “No!” Leo said, raising his voice suddenly. He rose to his feet. “We have to warn them. It’s our duty.”

  And what good will it do? Ennis wondered. They already knew what was coming. They already knew about the Horde. But do they know the leader is fatemarked? No one had said anything about that. And if the information might help them in the war…

  Ennis sighed, his need to keep his promise to Rhea warring with his loyalty to this land. And what kind of example would he be to Leo if they hid themselves away as the world was destroyed by the greatest evil it had ever known?

  He nodded. The boy’s entire body relaxed, as though he’d been ready to fight if he needed to. He fell into Ennis’s tired, bruised arms. “Thank you, cousin,” he said.

  Thirty-Nine

  The Eastern Kingdom, Ferria

  Gareth Ironclad

  He found General Jormundar standing near the throne, close enough t
o touch it. There was a haughty air about him and everything about the situation felt like a challenge.

  One Gareth was prepared for.

  “General,” he said. “You’ve been busy.” He stepped past him, his shoulder barely brushing the general’s armor as he sat in the throne, swelling his chest to fill it, resting his arms on the sides.

  The general took a step back. Good, Gareth thought.

  “Have I?” Several strands of his long greenish hair had been plaited in a long rope that hung from left temple to his waist, resting just over the hilt of his longsword. For the Orians, it was a symbol of impending war. A call to battle.

  “Aye. Last we spoke, your loyalty to the Ironclads was secure, but now…”

  “Nothing has changed. But I am also loyal to the dead Ironclads, and your father, your brothers, would not allow this farce of a decision to move forward.” Gone was the conviction to support Gareth’s decision from before. Instead, his voice was laced with scathing whip lashes meant to control.

  “Farce?” Gareth said, not rising to the general’s temper. There was more than one way to control a stray pet. The only farce is your deluded belief that you control my legionnaires.”

  The general smiled, and it sent a brief chill through Gareth, though he didn’t show it. “There he is,” he said. “You have a bit of your father in you, after all. The arrogance. Humans and Orians may have formed an alliance all those years ago, but the purest bloodlines will never be dirtied. And a human shall never truly rule Ironwood.”

  Gareth tasted bitterness at the general’s words. He wasn’t ignorant to the pockets of hatred that continued to exist between the co-mingled species, but he never expected to find it within the military. No matter, he thought. The good thing about a single fire, you could throw sand on it and snuff it out.

  “General Jormundar, on behalf of three generations of Ironclads, I would like to thank you for your service to Ferria. Alas, I must also inform you that you are hereby relieved of your duty. Please leave now lest I be forced to make you leave.”