Truthmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 2)

by David Estes

  As if in response to her question, fireballs roared through the air, enormous boulders soaked in torch oil, flung from massive catapults. She counted them as they flew: Seven, one for each of the heavens, just as she had instructed. She knew her soldiers would already be loading the machinery for another volley, even before the first shots had landed.

  Everyone on her ship watched the fiery projectiles soar through the air. They arced and then began their downward descent: Three splashed into the water, their aim miscalculated; two hit enemy sails, ripping through the thick canvas, which was splashed with oil and caught fire; and the last two boulders smashed into hulls. Even from this distance, the sound of the fireballs colliding with the northern ships was loud, their wooden guts cracking and splintering.

  Northern soldiers leapt from the damaged ships in droves, though dozens were crushed by the boulders, or lit on fire by the gouts of flame that erupted across their decks.

  Rhea was mesmerized by the violence, which was so swift and brutal and captivating that it took her breath away.

  The catapults released another volley, and more enemy ships were destroyed. But there were simply too many, and the remaining vessels continued to charge across the bay, until they were too close to the western fleet for the long-distance weapons to be effective.

  Rhea found herself leaning forward, biting her bottom lip in anticipation of phase two. Somewhere deep beneath the water, her divers were unlocking the chains. Spiked balls filled with lighter-than-air gases were drifting up toward the surface, and then—

  The first ball struck with such force that the unfortunate ship veered off course, colliding with its neighbor. Unbalanced soldiers who hadn’t been holding on tightly enough toppled into the sea. Hundreds of other balls struck, as well as the chains they dragged, which tangled amongst the ships, slowing their progress. Enemy vessels that were further back adjusted their course to sail around the logjam, but many of them were too slow. The catapults redoubled their efforts, shortening the distance of their aim.

  Screams filled the air as the ships were destroyed, taking their passengers with them.

  Rhea’s nails dug into the wooden railing. She licked her lips.

  “The battle might be won before we join it,” Ennis said hopefully.

  Rhea hoped not, but she didn’t respond, for the next phase was about to begin.

  The surviving northern ships closed in on Rhea’s fleet, the two forces on a collision course, neither side willing to slow. Wrath’s Chosen had moved up the field, using its superior speed to bully its way into the heart of the battle, just before it was truly about to begin.

  They were so close now that Rhea could see the whites of her enemies’ eyes, the sharp edges of their swords, the angry snarls on their lips. And then—

  There was a second of utter silence, like the world had stopped, like a storm was raging all around them and they’d snuck into the Eye. Rhea felt as if, for the first time in her life, she was really alive, really living. Everything that came before was an uneventful dream, a prelude to this penultimate moment.

  The moment passed, and ships smashed into ships, ropes and planks were flung across from deck to deck, arrows flew through the air like flocks of birds in formation.

  Soldiers from both sides charged across, their swords and shields clashing. The rest of the northern fleet arrived, but they sailed past the battling boats to meet the trailing ships of the western armada.

  Thus far, Rhea’s captain had managed to expertly steer their enormous craft through the melee, avoiding everything but a mild glancing blow from a pesky warship half their size. Any attempts to board were fought off by the furia. Ennis stood in front of Rhea like a personal guard, daring anyone to get close. Several arrows came near, but missed.

  “Wrath is with us,” the Summoner declared in a raspy voice. “Shall we call on our God?”

  Rhea took in the carnage around her. In front of her, the northern fleet appeared to be winning. There was a flash of fire and one of the western ships was suddenly alight. Soldiers leapt into the water to avoid being burned alive. Hundreds of arrows followed them into the depths. There was no mistaking the crimson hue that spread across the once-blue waters.

  Like the westerners, the northerners had plenty of tricks. One ship contained enormous cages. When opened, several mamoothen stampeded out, their thick wooly hides deflecting arrows and sword as they crossed between ships, devastating anything in their path with heavy hoofs and long, curling tusks. Those that died before them barely had time to unleash a final scream.

  Many of Rhea’s ships were sinking now, joining their enemies on the bottom of the ocean.

  At this rate, it appeared the northerners would break through and make landfall.

  “Queen?” the Summoner said.

  “Wait,” Rhea said. A portion of the northern fleet had not yet reached the middle of the bay. Rhea would not settle for a partial victory—no, she wanted total destruction. Which meant sacrifices needed to be made.

  Two enemy ships closed in on Wrath’s Chosen, steering directly into her flanks.

  “Rhea!” Ennis cried, but she didn’t need his warning. She gripped the railing tightly. Still, the impact of the dual-collision rattled her bones and nearly flung her into the ocean. The smaller vessels tore through the wooden sides, impaling themselves into the abdomen of the mighty warship until it was as if they were a single mutated craft.

  Soldiers leapt onto the decks, raising sword and shield to meet the furia.

  “Now?” the Summoner asked.

  Rhea shot her gaze over the battle to find a few straggling enemy ships still quite a distance off. “Wait,” she said. And then to Ennis and the Fury: “Protect the Summoner above all else, even me.”

  “Rhea?” Ennis said.

  “Queen Rhea. That is a command,” she growled, cutting off his argument before it could start. “Disobedience will be considered treason.”

  Ennis shook his head, but didn’t respond. He turned away to face their enemies. Rhea raised her own blade, which had been blessed with holy water by the Fury earlier.

  The furia were fighting like wildcats, but they were sorely outnumbered. One by one they fell. A large northerner broke through their ranks, but the Fury leapt forward and beheaded him with a single swipe of her long red sword. Two more slipped through, and Ennis and the Fury paired up to defeat them.

  But more were coming.

  The Fury dispatched another two, three, four men. Then half a dozen. Then a dozen. She was inhuman in her skill, in her violence, and Rhea watched her with awe. I unleashed this creature, just as I will unleash another.

  Then, suddenly, the Fury spun around, her mouth opening wide, her breath leaving her lungs with a gasp. A sword pierced her breast, up to the hilt, the tip exiting through her back. Words scraped from her throat. “Now I go to meet Wrath.”

  And then she died, tossing herself overboard in her final act. Rhea’s mouth gaped open in awe at how swiftly a life such as hers could be snuffed out like a candle flame pinched between two spit-moistened fingers.

  But she couldn’t dwell on the thought, because the Fury’s killer had drawn a second blade and was advancing on her. Let him come, Rhea thought.

  She stepped in front of the Summoner. “Queen,” he said. “There is still time.”

  “Not yet,” she growled. Her enemy was twice her girth and half again her height. He smiled a carnal smile and swung his mighty sword. Rhea raised her own blade to meet the blow…

  Clang!

  Ennis took the slash on the broadside of his own longsword, kicking out the northerner’s legs in the process. Her cousin jammed his blade downward, stabbing the man in the chest. He withdrew his blade and immediately wiped the blood on his armor, as if offended by it. Though Rhea had always known her cousin to be a strong warrior in the training yard, she was impressed by the carryover to battle.

  But it wouldn’t be enough. The furia were dead or mortally injured. The Fury was somewhere at
the bottom of the bay. Dozens of northerners closed in.

  A ray of sunlight pierced her mind, as she noticed the positioning of her enemy’s remaining ships: every last one of them was on the western half of the bay, speeding toward the shores of Knight’s End. In fact, several of the lead vessels had already made landfall, crashing right into the royal docks.

  “Now,” she hissed at the Summoner, who was backed up against the railing.

  Without a word, he raised his hands in the air, palms open.

  Rhea turned back to face the soldiers. Ennis tried to shove her behind him, but she fought her way to his side. “The Summoner is our priority,” she said. “I command you!”

  Three men leapt forward. Ennis managed to slash one through the throat, where the soldier’s neckguard had already been cracked open. The second, however, ducked Rhea’s blow and crashed into her, sending her sprawling backwards into the Summoner.

  They went down in a tangle, and when she turned to look at the holy man, his eyes were rolled back in his head, his lips moving over inaudible words. His hands were still raised over his head.

  And yet nothing was happening. Nothing except the razor-sharp claws of certain doom closing in.

  The large northern soldier’s face pressed tightly against hers, his breath reeking of tobacco and garlic. Blood dribbled from the corner of his lips, and Rhea realized she’d managed to stab him in the gut during the exchange.

  Behind him, Ennis fought four men at once. Two more stepped around them, one raising his sword to finish off Rhea, and the other to end the Summoner, who didn’t even seem aware of what was happening outside of his own mind.

  Ennis spun around, moving his sword in a brazen arc, forcing his enemies to back away. With a cry, he launched himself back toward Rhea, flinging his body on top of her. Not me, you fool! Rhea wanted to shout, but the air left her lungs when her cousin landed on her chest with a thump. Silver slashed down like lightning, but she barely saw it, wrenching her blade from the dead man’s abdomen, hurling it desperately across the Summoner’s body, hearing the clank of metal meeting metal.

  Atop her, Ennis writhed, having been slashed across his shoulder, but she was staring at the Summoner, who was still alive, back on his feet, still alive, still alive—

  Abruptly, his eyes rolled forward, having turned bright crimson, flecked with gold. “She comes,” he said, the words barely above a whisper.

  “Die, old man,” the soldier whose attack Rhea had temporarily thwarted said, cutting off the Summoner’s head with a single vicious swing.

  The holy man’s body fell, hitting the deck before his head, which seemed to hang in midair for a moment, before following the rest of him. Rhea gasped for breath, trying to fill her lungs, even as Ennis was kicked off of her and she was dragged to her feet.

  The deck beneath her lurched. An errant wave in the typically calm bay? she wondered.

  “Lookie here, a queen!” the man holding her howled. He stomped on Ennis’s knee, and her cousin cried out in pain.

  Still, Ennis managed to spit at the man’s feet. “Have some respect,” he said.

  “Respect?” The soldier raised his eyebrows, his lips curling in amusement. “I could say the same for you, pledging your life to a child. Then again, if you cover that horrific face o’ hers”—the man looked directly at Rhea and mock-shuddered—“with a bag, she might do just fine.” He reached up and touched her face lasciviously, running his finger along the edge of her lips.

  “Unhand her or die,” Ennis said, trying to fight to his feet but stumbling back to one knee.

  The soldiers laughed, and one offered his heel to her cousin’s stomach. Ennis grunted and collapsed once more.

  Again, Rhea felt the decks move beneath her. It felt like something had rubbed against them from below. Something large. No one else seemed to notice, too distracted by the captive queen’s predicament.

  Rhea said, “I am no child, but a woman grown. Come closer and I will give you what you want in exchange for my life.”

  The man grinned. “Now yer talkin’. And I don’t e’en need that bag, yer ugliness is startin’ to grow on me.” His tongue extended and he made to lick her face.

  “And now you die,” Rhea said, sensing what was about to come.

  The man stopped in mid-lick, cocking his head to the side, confused.

  And then he was airborne, snatched up by an enormous tentacle that burst through the deck, shredding wood and nail. His scream, bright and hot for a moment, trailed away like the fading tail of a comet.

  Too stunned to react, the remaining northerners just stood gaping up at the sky, where the tentacle released its prey, who fell, screaming, landing face down on the deck in front of them.

  “Frozen hell,” one of them whispered, the man who had kicked Ennis. It was the last words he would ever utter, because dozens of other tentacles burst from the ship, swiping men aside, picking them up, launching them out to sea.

  Rhea staggered back, tripping on her cousin and clinging to the railing, which was swaying from the internal damage to the pride of the western fleet. Her eyes were huge, her mind on fire, her chest coiled with ropes of lightning.

  They were alone on a deck that started to crack in half.

  And then it broke, and they were falling. Ennis fought to an upright position and grabbed her, pushing off with both feet, flinging them into the sea, well clear of the capsizing vessel.

  Warm, salty water rushed over them, but they quickly resurfaced, sucking in air, gawking at the Summoner’s final deathbed gift.

  “Wrathos,” Rhea murmured reverently. As tall as the walls of Knight’s End, the giant squid was wrapped around Wrath’s Chosen, like a spider atop its prey. Its flesh was red, mottled with dark spots of algae and crusted with barnacles. A single round eye the size of ten men standing on each other’s shoulders stared out from its head. Beneath the eye was a beaklike maw, gaping open to receive the human forms it dropped from the sky. Hundreds of thick tentacles swarmed out from its bulbous body, attaching themselves to ships, grabbing screaming men like they were naught but tin soldiers, slamming down on wind-filled sails.

  “Demonos,” Ennis countered. “What evil have we released?”

  Rhea glared at him. “The monster is on our side,” she said. “Victory is ours.”

  Her cousin went silent. There was no arguing the point, as they watched the impossible sea creature destroy each and every enemy ship in the bay. It left the remaining western vessels untouched—somehow it could discern friend from foe.

  Onshore, the furia killed or captured any westerners who’d managed to escape the ships, most of whom dropped their weapons at the sight of Wrathos.

  And when it was finished, when blood and floating corpses filled the once-blue waters of the Bay of Bounty, the monster churned closer, closer, closer, until it towered over Rhea and Ennis. Rhea was surprised she felt no fear, no apprehension. “Wrathos! You. Are. Mine,” she shouted up at the beast.

  Wrathos roared, its beak snapping together with a crunch, several northerners’ bodies still impaled on the spikes. “Obey me!”

  Tentacles shot forward, stopping a handbreadth from Rhea’s face. Her cousin flinched away and tried to pull her back, but she shook him off. She reached up and grabbed one of the tentacles, the flesh slimy, slick with seawater and blood. “Leave us!” she shouted. “Your work is finished, your hunger sated! Return to the depths until I call upon you!”

  It roared again, its tentacles slapping the water.

  “Rhea,” Ennis pleaded. “We must retreat before it’s too late.”

  “Foolish man,” Rhea said.

  With a final squeal, the squid sank beneath the surface, its tentacles slithering to follow. It vanished, the sea churning, churning, slowing, slowing…and then the waters of the bay were calm once more, as if the creature had never existed at all.

  Wreckage bobbed happily in the sunlight.

  The western survivors stamped their feet and pounded their chests
in victory.

  PART III

  Roan Annise Grey

  Raven The Beggar Jai

  Rhea

  The greatest monsters shall be in the hearts of men and women seeking power.

  It is those who must be destroyed.

  The Western Oracle

  Twenty-Five

  The Western Kingdom, The Tangle, trapped in Felicity’s locket

  Roan Loren

  Strangely, the night passed uneventfully. As it turned out, Gareth was a poor watchman—when Roan awoke, the prince was sound asleep, snoring, his head tucked against Roan’s side. Warmth filled him, and he had the urge to wrap an arm around him.

  Instead, Roan watched the sky brighten. There was no sun in this place, just a gradual lightening from ink-black to dull gray. No clouds marred the sky. No birds flitted past. No bats either, for which Roan was grateful. The ground was rough but not cracked, and devoid of snakes. With a fine mist swirling across them, it was almost peaceful.

  Roan craned his neck toward the enormous mirror, which stretched from horizon to horizon, from ground to sky. If they could only reach it…

  What? We can pound on it? Try to break it with our fists? If escape was that easy, Roan knew the men he’d watched die the day before would’ve broken out long ago. No, getting to the mirror was merely something to do, a task to complete, a way to avoid thinking about the depressing thought of spending the rest of their lives inside the nymph’s locket.

  “An ounce of ore for your thoughts?” Gareth said, rolling away from Roan’s side. Immediately the warmth disappeared, like it had never been there in the first place.

  Roan flinched—he’d been unaware the prince’s eyes were open, staring at him. “I don’t think you want to hear them. Too depressing.”

  “It could be worse.”

  Roan frowned. “How?”

  “We could be dead.”

  “I thought that was what you wanted.”

  Gareth jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing. He let out a groan. “I don’t know what the hell I want anymore.”