Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

by David Estes

  And the only way to get there was to destroy.

  She dove for the ruined tower, determined to bring the rest of it to the ground. She would taste this place with her fire, melting stone and bone, the crackle of flesh a brutal accompaniment to her symphony of destruction.

  My soul!

  The cry was loud enough to rise above that other voice, that roar. As she flew, she scanned the tower for the source, seeing everything from two different angles.

  There! She saw a small form standing on a half-crumbled ledge. There was something familiar about her…

  She is a stranger, that other voice said. The enemy. They are all your enemies.

  Confusion washed over her, because of what this woman had said. My soul…

  Look at her, that other voice said, sounding angry. She is nothing to a goddess like you. She is as insignificant as a speck of dust in the desert. Destroy her. Destroy everything and be free.

  Siri rushed closer, but then reversed the course of her wings to stop just before the woman, hovering in midair. Their eyes met, and she could sense the fear in this woman, this two-legger. Not for her own life. No.

  She’s scared for me, Siri realized.

  You are my soul, the woman said. In a rush, it all came back to her, the block in her memory shattering like the ruined tower before her.

  Oh Raven, she said, feeling a great ache in her heart. Oh Gwen.

  Yes, Gwen said. Now you see?

  It is too much. I cannot—I must—there is another place, a place without pain or loss, a place I can be free. Siri felt herself slipping again, that comforting darkness folding its wings around her.

  No! My soul, stay with me. It hurts, I know, but I am not dead and neither are you. The pain is worth it for the chance to live.

  How would you know? Siri fired back, anger flaring in her chest. Flames licked at her fangs. You know nothing about what I feel. I’ve lost my soul. You are not enough. You will never be enough.

  I lost my soul once too.

  The words were spoken so simply, filled with the truth of experience. But Siri didn’t want to believe them, for none could survive such a loss. Lies.

  I will show you.

  Images flashed in Siri’s mind, a familiar place in an unfamiliar time. Dragons roared. Men and women fought men and women. People died, bodies piling up. What is this place? Siri asked.

  My home before you, Gwen said.

  The Iron City, Siri remembered. She’d been there once. No, twice. It felt like a lifetime ago. More images. This very woman fighting, performing remarkable feats with her bow. Defending her home. And then—

  The end. The battle was over and there was a man in her mind and she was searching for him and—

  She found him. He spoke to her, his words like music, the saddest, happiest music and Gwendolyn Storm was shattered into a thousand pieces, each shred of her soul filled with exquisite pain beyond reckoning.

  The same pain she felt now.

  She searched Gwen’s soul for that pain, and it was there, but now its measure had faded. She was filled with the pain and loss, and yet she was whole.

  Siri wanted desperately to be whole again. The darkness called, but she was afraid of what it offered. Was solace worth madness? Was comfort worth blindness?

  It is your choice, Gwen said. It has always been your choice. But know that I will help you. Know that I will never abandon you. Know that I am your soul, forevermore.

  Siri knew. She dipped her head—an offering.

  And when her soul landed atop her back, she released a roar from two mouths, flames crackling. Together, two souls made one, they flew into battle.

  Falcon

  The battle had turned against them the moment it started. For every foe they managed to cut down, Falcon watched ten or more of his soldiers fall. They were men and women, some too young to know such horrors and some too old to experience more.

  At least three of the Black Tears had fallen. Every so often he saw Sonika through the mist fighting like a wildcat, killing more enemies than should be possible for any one man or woman, even a warrior as great as she.

  More barbarians pressed toward them, an endless horde. Once more, Falcon resigned himself to his fate, determined to go out fighting, taking as many as he could with him. Then something changed, fear washing over the enemy like a tide. They parted in the middle, skittering away with wide eyes.

  A man emerged from the mist, his legs bound with yew and iron. He radiated confidence. There was no anger in him, just a cold calculating intensity that seemed to waft from him like the smoke that roiled from his chest.

  Beneath his shirt was a marking, glowing through the fabric. Black drops ringed with light, three of them. Blood.

  Sonika appeared by Falcon’s side, a snarl on her lips. “Come then,” she said. “Let’s end this.”

  The man cocked his head to the side, an amused smile playing on his lips. “End?” he said. “There is no end. My Horde cannot be defeated. My pain will wash over these lands like a flood. None shall escape its torment. It was foreordained the moment I was born into this world marked with pain and two useless legs. This world made me what I am, and now I shall break it.”

  “Over my dead body,” Sonika said.

  “Exactly.”

  The man strode forward. Falcon crouched into a fighting stance, his bloodstained blades winking from each wrist. Sonika was the first to move, twirling like the dancer that she was, her movements full of lethal grace, the twin blades she wielded so expertly slashing the air to ribbons.

  Falcon had seen her fight. Typically her opponents would gawk at the sheer beauty of the way she moved, until a dagger ended up in their heart or throat.

  This man, however, didn’t move, didn’t stare. Instead, he stepped forward and thrust out his hand, catching her wrist as she slashed toward him.

  She screamed, twisting around, her eyes settling on Falcon, her expression laced with pain.

  A single word he never thought he’d hear from the bravest woman he’d ever known issued from her lips. “Run.”

  Helmuth

  In some ways, it was too easy. Always underestimated, he thought. Even now.

  The woman’s scream morphed into a shriek, the black tattoos on her cheeks straining upwards, as if trying to tear themselves from her face. She was clawing at her own head. Helmuth saw the same images she did: A man surrounded, killed by a half-dozen foes; a woman falling from a great height, her broken body unmoving on the ground below; other deaths, each like the beat of a great, aching heart.

  The woman was muttering now, spit dribbling from her lips as she writhed on the ground.

  “What did you do to her?” the man with ankles and wrists strapped with blades said, a horrified look crossing his face.

  “Showed her my pain through her own,” he said. “All shall know the same before this night is done.”

  The man issued no threat like his female counterpart, he simply ground his teeth together and shook his head. And then he attacked.

  Helmuth rose to his feet, taking three quick steps back as the man launched himself through the air, a whirling tornado of blades. As the man landed, Helmuth took a deep breath. The warrior spun a high rounded kick toward his face and Helmuth blew out his breath, a burst of mist streaming from his lips.

  The fog enshrouded the warrior, who grunted, his kick falling harmlessly to the ground. Only his foot was visible, but it was clear from the way it kicked out, the blade stabbing into the ground again and again, that he was in agony.

  A smile was just curling its way onto Helmuth’s lips when the attack came from behind, strong arms wrapping around his throat, locking together, rearing back and cutting off his airflow. He almost toppled over backwards, but with a groan managed to regain his balance and grind forward, slinging his assailant over his head and onto her back.

  He was shocked to see that it was the woman with the black tears on her face. Her expression was wild, her hands trembling. It was a good
thing, too, because if she’d had the strength to grip a weapon she might’ve slit his throat. As it was, it was a wonder she’d been able to drag herself to her feet, sneak around behind, and try to choke him to death.

  He’d made a mistake, he knew. A mistake he wouldn’t make again.

  Helmuth clamped a hand on her throat, sending a jolt of pain through her. She convulsed, her eyes going wide, her back arching. He retracted his power, pausing, letting the fear creep in. Not knowing when the next bolt of pain would come was almost as effective as the pain itself. Nearby, he noticed the man dragging himself from the mist, his fingers curled like claws, digging into the dirt, using elbows and knees to propel himself forward.

  In that moment, Helmuth knew he was up against a fierce opponent, for their wills would not be easily broken. But their flesh will, Helmuth thought. “Horde!” he shouted. “To me!”.

  All those within hearing distance came. He stepped back from the man and woman, who would be a gift for his many. He turned away, heading south, for he sensed the approach of a far more dangerous enemy.

  Bane

  Blood wept from a hundred cuts and scratches, as well as several deep puncture wounds where his enemies’ fangs had sunk into his skin. His enemies who were now dead, piled up around him, sightless eyes staring at the one who’d laid them low.

  Bane’s energy flagged and he dropped to one knee, the world spinning, a kaleidoscope of corpses. I need rest, he thought, but immediately shoved that idea aside. By the time he fully recovered, the battle would be over, and not in their favor.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his muddled mind. Stars danced across his vision. He was so tired. Even just a few minutes of sleep would help. He would just lie down for a while…hidden amongst the dead…

  Curled up in the circle of corpses, Bane fell asleep. Thus, he was not aware of the man stalking in his direction, mist curling around him, crows wheeling about overhead.

  Lisbeth

  The stars were still calling her name, but they were fading, the mist providing a barrier to sight and sound.

  David Dietrich had kissed her cheek, his tears wetting her skin, her name soft and earnest on his lips.

  As his soul looked at her now, she saw the question pulsing from it. “I came back for you,” she said. “But not only.”

  His faded blue soul brightened. “You drew me to you,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

  “I did,” she said.

  “I wanted you to.”

  “I know.”

  Roan was nearby, watching them. Windy Sandes stood beside him. She looked at them curiously, like she’d discovered a new species of animal.

  “She must rest,” Dietrich said. “I will return after I get her to safety.”

  Lisbeth knew why he said it, but she also knew neither of them were going anywhere. “No,” she said. “There is no retreat for any of us.”

  Dietrich looked upon her with resignation in his eyes. “I will not leave your side again.”

  “I know.”

  A dragon roared, and Dietrich’s head jerked toward the sound of battle.

  Windy Sandes approached, holding a leather flagon. “Drink this,” she instructed. “It will give you strength.”

  “You might not want to do that…” Roan said, but Windy flicked an irritated glare in his direction and he raised his hands.

  Lisbeth took the skin and pressed it to her lips, drinking deeply. The liquid was thick and warm, and she immediately felt a surge of energy as it worked its way down her throat. “Good, child,” the woman said. “Good. Now you have work to do. You drew Sir Dietrich across a great distance, but your love for him helped. Drawing the Garzi army from beyond the Mournful Mountains will be far more difficult.”

  There was a snarling sound and one of the barbarians burst through the mist, a dark soulless shadow gnashing its teeth. Its eyes darted from Roan to Windy to Dietrich, before settling on Lisbeth.

  The instinct to protect her friends coursed through her. She could feel the lightning in the dark clouds and her body tensed as she prepared to send it hurtling down on this foe. “No,” Dietrich said, reading her intentions. “This is not all on you. Let us carry the load.”

  He sprang to his feet, drawing his sword in one smooth motion.

  The barbarian growled, baring its teeth, leaning back slightly on its powerful hind legs. It sprang forward, claws raking the air. Dietrich’s soul flared and what was hidden beneath his burn scars was revealed, and she could see his swordmark, a weapon of beautiful craftsmanship etched into his back. He moved with the lithe grace of water, his sword less a weapon and more an extension of his very soul, a blue blur that cut once, twice, thrice, before returning to his side.

  The dark shadow stopped suddenly, bobbing back and forth. And then it fell, breaking into three distinct pieces.

  More shadows emerged, snuffling and growling.

  Lisbeth ignored them, sending her blue eye northward, roving over the land, which was devoid of souls until she reached the great mountains. Nestled between their shoulders were several hundred souls of many colors, which were moving swiftly now—running. They were days away from the battle still, but she knew she could change all that.

  Zur, she said.

  Lisbeth? I am here. We are coming.

  Tell them to open their minds to me, she said. Don’t fight it.

  I don’t understand.

  You will. Come to me. Please. Come to me.

  I—yes. We will.

  She looked to the stars, pouring her remaining strength into this one thing.

  And like Sir Dietrich, they came. They came by the hundreds.

  Helmuth

  He could sense the memory of great pain nearby—pain he had inflicted. “Bane!” he said. “You cannot hide from me. Not anymore. Your pain is a part of me now, as mine is a part of you.”

  A ring of barbarian corpses appeared, and Helmuth felt a swell of shock. The Kings’ Bane was stronger than he’d given him credit for. He vowed not to underestimate his enemies any longer. He would kill them swiftly.

  Instead of climbing the pile of bodies, he grabbed the ones at the top, flinging them aside, scattering them around his feet. Bane lay beyond, his knees tucked to his chest. Is he dead? Helmuth wondered, but then saw the telltale sign of life in his rising and falling chest.

  He started to take a step forward, but then stopped when the very air around him shimmered. What new magic is this? he wondered, searching about himself for another of the fatemarked. To the south, a bright, blue light cut through the layers of mist he’d created.

  It was in the shape of a great eye.

  Hundreds of warriors appeared on every side, wielding blunt, brutal-looking weapons not dissimilar to those of his Horde.

  Helmuth’s eyes narrowed as he recalibrated the situation in his mind. Even with these reinforcements, his Horde outnumbered the enemy three to one at the least. Casually, deliberately, he extracted the hollow horn from his belt, raising it to his lips. And then he blew a single, clear note, calling his barbarians to him.

  He turned to meet the enemy, pain tingling the ends of his fingertips.

  Ninety-Nine

  The Western Kingdom, Felix

  Gwendolyn Storm

  Siri roared, fire spewing from both her mouths, dusting the ground with flames. Several barbarians flailed, their bodies on fire. Gwen fired arrow after arrow into them until they fell.

  The mist had lifted some, giving her a greater view of the whole of the battlefield. A new army appeared from thin air, their bodies covered in thick furs. They were humanoid, like the barbarians, with long triangular heads and thick bodies. Allies? Gwen thought, watching as they attacked the Horde. Still, it wasn’t enough. Next to the barbarian Horde, her allies appeared small in number, a few thousand staunch defenders who were bending but not yet breaking. Even a two-headed dragon wouldn’t be enough to turn the tide in their favor.

  Gareth, where are you? she wondered, looking to the north
. The easterners should’ve crossed into the west hours ago, making their way along the Spear to skirt the Forbidden Plains. They should’ve arrived by now, unless something had diverted their path.

  Something heavy clanked against her breastplate, drawing her attention back to the ground below her. A large stone fell away, having rebounded off her armor. A small group of barbarians had rallied together, gathering stones that they were now launching skyward. Many fell short, but several glanced off Siri’s scales. Another stone rose high enough to reach Gwen, but she snatched it from midair, whipping it back toward the barbarian that had thrown it.

  It slammed into his head and he fell. Finish them, Gwen said, and Siri dove earthward, flames already spouting from her mouths.

  The barbarians might be bloodthirsty mongrels, but they were no fools. They’re learning, Gwen thought, watching them scatter in different directions. Siri managed to incinerate one and Gwen hit another square in the back with an arrow. The dragon banked sharply to the right and clamped her claws down on another, picking it up and launching herself back into the air before dropping the barbarian from a great height.

  Wheeling about, Gwen scanned the new battlefield that had formed when the thick-furred warriors appeared. The fight was fierce, with numbers on both sides diminishing, but little by little she could see the Horde gaining the advantage. Perhaps we can change that, she thought, her mind falling into sync with Siri’s, who growled in response.

  High above the mist, something caught Gwen’s eye as they raced toward the action.

  Specks of brown on a white-sand background. Gwen’s breath caught. Could it be? Had Whisper Sandes changed her mind? Had she answered the call of unity, marching to meet the Horde?

  Even as hope bloomed in her chest she watched the brown specks stream over the last of the dunes, descending toward the burnt earth separating the desert from the great river that marked the boundary to the west… “Come on, come on,” she said, going silent when the lines of Calypsians stopped.