Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

by David Estes

  Gwen said, “I am sorry.”

  “The fire was not natural,” Colya said. It wasn’t a question.

  “The Horde,” Gwen said. “Barbarians from across the great western sea. They are led by a powerful man. They burn and pillage and kill. They seek to destroy the world.”

  Lina said, “I can feel their hate. It clouds the air.” Gwen looked around, but saw only the smoke from the fire, which continued to eat away at what was left of the Tangle.

  “We have to stop them. The kingdoms and empires are divided. They refuse to fight together, each protecting their own borders. I fear it will not be enough.”

  “It won’t,” Colya agreed. “Which is why we must retire to the north. There are places we can go that the Horde cannot.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Sister,” May said. “We must fight. They destroyed our home, would you let that go unanswered?”

  “We are the last of our people,” Colya said. There was sadness in her tone. Regret. “We bear the responsibility of ushering in the next generation. If we die…”

  “Then we die for something,” May said. Gwen was beginning to like the strongest of the three sisters. She reminded her of herself.

  “I’m sorry,” Colya said, and Gwen felt it was an apology to her more than anyone. “Thank you for heeding our call. Thank you for saving us. But now we take our leave. May we meet again under more favorable circumstances.”

  Gwen wanted to plead with them to stay, to fight, but she’d learned recently that you could not change the mind of another. They had to change it for themselves.

  So instead she bowed and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Go in safety and without regret. May we meet again in peace.”

  As the three sisters turned and walked away, only May looked back, her eyes fierce with anger. There was a promise in her eyes.

  Of what, however, Gwen could not discern.

  Why? Siri asked.

  Gwen didn’t know how to answer, for how did one explain the actions of humans and Orians, of barbarians and nymphs, of evil and good and everything in between. Explaining such things was for the scholars and historians, and anyway, a dragon was as pure a creature as any Gwen had come across in all her days.

  I don’t know, was all she could say.

  What now?

  The Horde, Gwen said without hesitation. She knew they couldn’t defeat the entire army of barbarians on their own, but if they harried them, slowed their progress…

  Maybe that would give Roan time to form an alliance of nations, unifying the respective rulers and the other fatemarked.

  But I am fatemarked, Gwen thought. I should go back. I should speak my heart plainly to him.

  Yet, for all the strength she had coursing through her body, her heart remained as weak as a single blade of grass bending in the wind. Only her bond with Siri seemed to keep it from breaking.

  Hiding a massive, ten-stone dragon was no easy feat. Convincing one to stay put was even harder.

  Don’t leave, Siri said.

  I will be right back.

  I should come, my soul.

  I don’t want a fight. If you come, there will be one. I’m going to spy. That is all. They won’t even know I am there.

  Siri didn’t respond, pouting. Gwen rested her head on the dragon’s chest, feeling her breath filling her lungs, feeling the powerful drumbeat of her heart. My soul. I shall return.

  Go.

  That was the best Gwen knew she was going to get, so she turned and ran, pushing strength from her heromark into her legs as she raced along the edge of the river. It was the perfect night for a mission that required stealth—dark and cloudy. The ground was soft beneath her feet, her footsteps nearly silent, akin to the swishing of wind through the grass. None would hear her approach.

  Still, she was cautious as she grew nearer to the pale shapes she’d seen from dragonback, as Siri had soared high above the clouds earlier that day. The Horde was positioned on the eastern side of the lake in the town of Portage. From such a height, it had been impossible to count their numbers, but there were a lot. At least a thousand. Perhaps more. Portage wasn’t a densely populated place, and most were old-timers experienced in the art of lake and river shipping. They were usually defended by several hundred legionnaires, but all able-bodied soldiers had been recalled when the alliance with the west had been struck.

  Gwen tried not to think about those she knew who lived in the village, guarding her heart with the familiar iron armor she’d donned a long time ago.

  The first structure came into view, a ramshackle hut on the outskirts of town. One of the walls was splintered, the window shattered, the roof caving in on one side. Nearby, other structures were in similar states of partial destruction. In the dark, her heromark flared and her night vision improved until she could see the smears of blood on the walls and spattering the ground.

  More concerning was the lack of bodies.

  Barbarians had to eat too, the thought causing bile to burn the back of her throat.

  She willed her heromark to cool, though she knew her eyes would continue to shine in the dark. That couldn’t be avoided—all she could do was hide in the shadows.

  The village was empty, the Horde having moved on.

  Where? she thought, immediately worrying for Gareth and her own people. She hoped they were clustered within Ironwood. A direct assault by the Horde on the iron forest might give them a chance. If they met them in open battle…

  Ore save us all.

  Gwen raced through the village, occasionally stopping to inspect the mish-mash of thick, heavy footprints in the dirt. It had rained recently, and it was not difficult to follow their progress. The blood, too, had softened the ground, making tracking easy for one as skilled as Gwen. To her surprise, however, the lion’s share of the prints led not eastward, but southward, backtracking the same way they seemed to come from, leading all the way to—

  She stopped abruptly, squinting in the dark. The clouds were clearing and there, upon the recently rebuilt Bridge of Triumph, which spanned the width of Hyro Lake, backlit by green and red moonslight, were the barbarians.

  By the Great Forest… Gwen thought, her jaw dropping slightly as she swallowed thickly. From this distance, she could calculate the size of the enemy army more easily. They did not have a thousand. Nor ten thousand.

  Twenty to thirty thousand, she thought, watching as the pack stretched from one end of the bridge to the other, pouring out on both ends, hundreds of bodies thick.

  Gwen turned and ran. The Horde was heading west again, and she was certain they would soon turn south, cutting like a scythe across the Forbidden Plains, sweeping over the four western border cities like a red tide. And from there:

  Phanes.

  None would survive.

  Seventy-Seven

  The Western Kingdom, the edge of Hyro Lake

  Bane Gäric

  He stumbled along, not shackled with chain or manacle, but bound just the same, the fog twisting around him, leaving his deathmark cold and dead.

  Appropriate, Bane thought. My deathmark is dead.

  Had he just made a joke? He had. Perhaps he’d been spending too much time with Roan. Despite the Peacemaker’s seriousness, he had a quick, clever tongue.

  Waking nightmares pushed against the edges of his mind, but he growled and shoved them back. He’d been fighting them for hours, days…or had it been longer? Caught in this fog, time lost all meaning, as difficult to determine than if he was living in the heart of a mountain.

  “You cannot fight it forever,” the Horde leader said. Klar-Ggra, Bane had heard the barbarians call him, their voices clear and crisp, even when they spoke in their guttural language.

  Bane knew the man was right, for each time he shoved the nightmares back, he felt a part of him go with them. It was unnerving to feel a part of him unravel like that. “I will kill you,” Bane managed to spit.

  Klar-Ggra only laughed, raising a single finger in threat.


  Bane couldn’t help it—he flinched, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to escape. He couldn’t bear any more of that pain, like a thousand hot pokers shoved under his skin at once, twisting and probing, burning his insides, cutting pieces of him open….

  The man dropped his hand and laughed again. “I suspect many have feared you, and yet you cower before me like a child before a lion.”

  “Give me my power back and I will not cower.”

  Klar-Ggra shook his head and tsked. “You think men and women who rule armies are arrogant. You think they can be manipulated. You are right. In most cases, they can. But I am not them. I am he who destroys them. My every move is plotted and calculated. This is a game; the only difference is that the losers die.”

  “Why don’t you kill me then?” Even as the words left Bane’s mouth, he realized he didn’t want to die. Not anymore. Not if it meant he wouldn’t get to see this man laid low.

  “Because you might still prove to be a useful piece,” Klar-Ggra said without emotion. “You are the other side of the same coin, right? The Peacemaker and you share a bond the others don’t understand. He will die for you, won’t he?”

  “What? Never. Roan almost killed me himself.”

  “Did he?”

  Bane paused, because he’d never really thought about it. No, despite the angry words they’d exchanged, Roan had not once laid a finger on him. And in the end, he’d saved him. But would Roan die for him? “No,” he said, but it was the answer to the man’s question and not his own. For, somewhere in the depths of his blood-soaked soul, he knew Roan would.

  I can’t let him.

  With that thought, he turned away from the Horde leader, pretending indifference. Resignation. Waiting, feeling for that perfect moment when the fog’s hold slackened, when there was an opening for him to attack, to fulfill his promise of death. Two more rulers needed to die before it was all over, Bane knew, but perhaps this man could be one of them.

  The King of the Horde.

  Instead of weakening, the tendrils of mist strengthened their hold on him, the nightmares pressing in once more.

  Bane would bide his time, and then he would strike.

  Klar-Ggra laughed as Bane started to scream, his defenses giving way at last.

  Seventy-Eight

  The Eastern Kingdom, Ferria

  Gareth Ironclad

  “I’m not forcing any of you to fight,” Gareth said. He’d just received strange tidings from one of his scouts. The Horde had crossed the lake and destroyed Portage, only to turn back and cross back over into the west.

  The news of Portage’s demise was devastating. Though he’d urged the people to evacuate before he’d traveled to Crow’s Nest, he knew many of them had refused. They were a proud people and would not abandon their homes.

  And now they’re dead, he thought sadly. Am I destined to watch my people cut down like the northerners have been?

  He marveled at how Queen Annise Gäric stood before him, her chin lifted slightly in defiance. How is she not broken? he wondered.

  She spoke: “My people have their own minds. I have my own mind. We shall not sit back while others risk their lives for the Four Kingdoms.”

  Gareth sighed. “I wasn’t just talking to you.” He looked pointedly at his generals, Jormundar in particular, who stood like a statue to one side.

  “Your Highness?” the Orian said. “You are our king. We are yours to command.”

  “You have your own minds, too. I know you joined up of your own free will—all of you. But things have changed. We must maintain order and the chain of command, but each soldier must be given a choice. To fight or to flee. I cannot decide for them.”

  Jormundar nodded, though his shadowed eyes told Gareth he didn’t agree with the decision. “I will issue your proclamation, though I assure you they will fight.”

  Gareth already knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that he needed them to decide. Jormundar cleared his throat—he had something else to say. “Yes?”

  “You plan to ride out to meet them beyond our borders. Why?”

  “This is not our fight,” Gareth said.

  “Exactly,” Jormundar said, not understanding.

  “I mean, this is not only our fight. It is not enough for the Horde to move beyond our kingdom’s boundaries, for they will return.”

  “Yes, but their numbers will dwindle as they meet resistance in Phanes and Calypso. Then, perhaps, we can defeat them. We can survive.”

  Though Gareth thought he now understood the Orian general’s intentions—and they were pure, in a way: to protect his people, his friends, his family, his loved ones—he also could not agree with them. “Survival is no longer enough,” he said. “Not if it means losing our souls. And I for one, will not lose mine. I will ride out on the morrow in pursuit of the Horde. Alone if needs be.”

  “You will not be alone,” Annise said, shooting a wary look at the general. “I can promise you that.”

  Gareth nodded. He had a feeling Annise would be twice the ally that she was an enemy. “I am honored. The east is honored. Now take your leave, for there is much to prepare and decisions to be made. I will see you at first light.”

  The proud queen nodded and turned, flanked by some of the greatest warriors the north had ever known. It didn’t surprise Gareth in the least to find that she fit in amongst them perfectly.

  Gareth was awakened by screams and the ringing of iron bells. At first he thought perhaps his nightmares had chased him into waking, but then he recognized the warning tone—five short clangs followed by a long one. Every Ferrian knew exactly what such a clangor meant:

  A dragon had been spotted.

  He was on his feet in an instant, already fully dressed and wearing his armor. His bones and muscles were sore and he had a crook in his neck from sleeping in his steel, but now he was glad for the decision.

  He drew his sword and ran from his quarters, stumbling through the door into the iron throne room, through the outer archway and onto the platform that descended to the castle’s inner keep. He scanned the sky, searching…

  He sucked in a breath when he saw it, his eyes widening when he saw the dragon’s color. For it was not red like he’d expected, but as black as obsidian, shimmering in the moonslight. What the hell? There was only one dragon left he knew of, and that was the mighty Siri, ridden by Raven Sandes and occasionally Gwendolyn Storm.

  Must be a trick of the dark, he thought, his attention drawn to the Orian archers rushing along the outer wall’s ramparts, taking position, aiming skyward. Once the dragon was in range, they would unleash a storm of arrows.

  Gareth hesitated for just a moment before giving way to his instincts, rushing to the iron bell hanging from the edge of the roof. Having never operated one of the bells himself, he counted off the appropriate tones in his head before moving his hand to mimic them, the tones ringing forth clear and loud, resounding across the castle and beyond.

  Stand down, they commanded, the sound slightly different than the other bells, enough to tell all within their reach that this order came from the king himself.

  Gareth stepped back, slightly breathless, because he’d just made history.

  I am the first eastern king to permit a dragon to fly into Ferria unscathed.

  The days of fighting Calypsians and dragons were over. They had to be, else they might as well all surrender to the Horde on this very night. Still…

  He hoped he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Seventy-Nine

  The Eastern Kingdom, Ferria

  Gwendolyn Storm

  Gwendolyn yipped with joy when she heard the royal bells sound the command to stand down. While she’d hoped Gareth would recognize Siri despite her physical changes, she’d feared what might happen.

  You made the right choice, she thought, though she’d still felt the fear as she’d turned away from the Horde, deciding then and there to go not to Phanes, but to Ferria. I’ll still ha
ve time to warn Roan, she thought, willing it to be true.

  Siri swooped down, and Gwen stroked her, sending soothing thoughts through her mind. Siri purred beneath her touch.

  Gwen waved to the surprised, confused Orian archers standing atop the walls. She understood their confusion—who would ever expect to see one of their own riding a dragon? She could scarcely believe it herself.

  Siri, as she had done once before, angled herself toward the highest roof in the castle, the one directly over the iron throne. Also like before, she landed deftly. Gwen was already sliding off, landing on her feet. Stay here, my soul, she said. None will harm you.

  She sprang forward and fearlessly threw herself over the edge, feeling the familiar thrum of ore through her. Yes, she thought as she fell. This is still home, and I was a fool to think otherwise. Tendrils of ore shot from the roof’s edge, hardening as she grabbed the iron wires, using them to swing down, landing in front of Gareth, who was already smiling and shaking his head.

  “You always have to make an entrance, don’t you?” he said.

  “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” she said.

  “You never have and you never will.” There was a serious edge to his voice now, one she’d never heard in any of their prior banter-filled conversations. It hit her so hard she almost staggered, barely managing to stride forward and into his arms, their armor clanging, their cheeks pressing together.

  Aye, they loved the same man, but their friendship could not be broken by jealousy or any other human emotion. Not after everything. Especially not when there was so much left to come.

  “Tell me everything you know,” Gareth said, finally breaking off their embrace. “Our very existence may depend on it.”

  Siri

  Sitting on her haunches on the roof, Siri watched the two-leggers watching her. She could smell their fear. This place…it was familiar. I’ve been here, she realized.