Truthmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 2)

by David Estes

  “Waste it? You have destroyed two of the Great Southron Gates. The day is won. Accept victory where you have achieved it.”

  “Here is my command,” Fire said. “I will ride south with the guanero. You will lead the rest of the army back across the Spear to the Scarra. May we meet again in Kesh with its famed hospitality.”

  “Fire, no,” Raven said. “I cannot leave you. I will not.”

  “Will you deny my command, sister? That is treason.”

  “Then I choose death,” Raven said without hesitation. Though she hadn’t exactly grown closer to Fire on this journey, she felt she understood her more. She knew what her sister was doing, what she was risking. She couldn’t let her do it alone.

  Fire sighed. “You need to return to Calypso. If I don’t return, you will rule. We cannot let it fall on Whisper’s shoulders.”

  In the end, the decision was taken out of both their hands, as Goggin cried, “Incoming soldiers!”

  Raven and Fire turned their gazes to the south, where an army was running northward. This was no small counterforce, but a formidable army at least twice their size. The soldiers wore armor plate painted black and red like the massive desert pyzons Phanes was known for. They ran, not in formation, but in small groups, weaving in and out of each other in a classic Phanecian manner designed to confuse the enemy. “Sister, hear reason,” Raven pleaded. “We can still retreat. Our soldiers are made stronger from this journey. We can outrun them.”

  “I will not run,” Fire said, her eyes dancing with flames.

  Raven had known her sister long enough to realize when her mind was made up. “Then there is only one choice left.”

  “Yes,” Fire said. “We fight.”

  “May I?”

  Fire nodded.

  “On my command,” Raven said, raising her whip in the air. The wind seemed to stop, as if holding its breath along with the soldiers. “Charge!”

  The foot soldiers, in classic Calypsian diamond formation, led the rush across the desertlands, the earth cracking under their heavy trod. The guanero filled in the hollow center of the diamond, holding back for the initial wave to make contact. Arrows fell amongst them, but even the Phanecians seemed to prefer a hand-to-hand clash, which meant most of the enemy were probably masters of phen ru.

  And then, like two great waves colliding on an ocean of sand, the two armies came together, thousands of men and women locked in a battle that would be recorded by the survivors in the annals of history.

  A blade of enemies burst through their ranks, fighting like wildcats in the typical Phanecian manner: furious and without abandon, powdered white faces flashing in the dying light. There were no slaves amongst them, which supported Raven’s belief that her faata was building up his slave army in the heart of the empire—Phanea. The Phanecians performed phen ru backflips and frontflips and even sideflips, attacking acrobatically. Their thin boots were strapped with blades, and they aimed deadly kicks at throats and chests. Knives were tied to their wrists, and when they raked their fists through the air, steel flashed. Dozens of Calypsians fell under the onslaught.

  Raven swung her whip, lashing it across the eyes of one soldier who tried to leap at her wielding a bladed staff. He howled, clutching his eyes and falling, where he was cut down by Goggin as the large man rode past. The guanik snapped and clawed at the Phanecian horses, which were mighty steeds at least twice as large as the typical western horses. The stallions, which were also painted red and black, kicked back, refusing to back down.

  Fire was a tornado of fiery fury, slashing her enflamed sword at any who came close, while simultaneously launching fireballs into pockets of the enemy. A group of archers targeted her, but she melted their arrowheads and charred the wooden shafts as the darts flew through the air. Another fireball wiped out the lot of them.

  Raven’s reptilian steed, Iknon, barreled forward, trampling a soldier, who screamed as he was crushed underfoot, while Raven cracked her whip once more, curling it around the neck of a man, yanking him off his feet. With a quick snap of her wrist, she flung a knife through his throat.

  As the battle continued, Raven lost sight of her sister, though evidence of Fire’s power was everywhere: piles of human ash; half-melted swords and shields; fireballs arcing across the sky. Where Fire went, death followed.

  Night fell, and still the armies battled, until there were more dead than living, a mixture of alternating dark and pale faces staring up at the sky with empty eyes. Raven and Iknon were forced to pick their way carefully across the killing fields, searching for enemy combatants. Her leg was bleeding profusely where she’d taken a slash from a rider’s sword. Iknon was covered in blood, too, both human, horse, and guanik, though Raven wasn’t sure whether any of it was his.

  Raven pulled her mount to a halt, her eyes searching the gloom for any sign of Fire. There were many fires burning, but none moving. Occasionally steel rang against steel, and voices cried in pain and battle, but they died away more quickly, until they were few and far between. Other shadows moved across the landscape, some heading south—surviving Phanecians retreating to Hemptown or beyond.

  Raven marveled at the fact that they seemed to have won, despite their much smaller force. It was a testament to their strict training regimen, as well as the advantage Fire’s power gave them.

  Goggin appeared before her, looking much like a monster with a long slash across his face and his missing ear. One arm dangled limply from his side, broken. Still, he held one scimitar in his other hand. For once, his expression was grim.

  “Where is the empress?” Raven asked, dismounting.

  Goggin shook his head. “Not sure,” he grunted. “Last I saw her she was off yonder. She was battling many foes.”

  “And winning, no doubt,” Raven said, her words far more certain than the fear roiling through her gut. If she is dead, I would feel it, Raven thought, assuring herself. “With me, commander.”

  Goggin followed her as she moved in the direction he’d last seen Fire.

  “So many dead,” Raven murmured.

  “War is death,” Goggin said.

  “This was supposed to be a mission, not a war.”

  “These days, they’re the same thing.”

  They found Fire ringed by dead enemy soldiers. She was lying on the ground, staring up at the stars; several of the red gods were blazing across the sky, much like they had on that night Raven had sat beside her in the desert. A blade was embedded in Fire’s stomach, her fingers clasped around it as if in prayer.

  “Sister,” Fire said when she saw Raven kneel beside her.

  “Don’t speak,” Raven said, her heart sinking into her gut. “We need to bind your wounds. Can you melt the sword from within?” Her hands trembled as she tore at her own clothing beneath her leather armor.

  Fire shook her head. “I have no strength left.” And then: “I’m glad you’re alive. Keep Whisper safe. Defeat Faata. Reclaim the south. Honor me.”

  “You can honor yourself,” Raven said.

  “I go to the gods. Watch for me amongst the stars.”

  “No, I’m going to get you help. We brought healers with us for this very purpose.” If any are alive.

  “I have played my part, sister. Now it’s time for you to play yours.”

  Raven cried out as her sister’s skin began to burn. She stumbled backward, but Goggin caught her with one strong arm, picking her up and carrying her away. She screamed and punched and kicked at him, but he held her fast, his feet sure and steady as he weaved through the sea of dead.

  Eventually, Raven stopped fighting, her body shaking with grief, though her eyes were dry. Finally, Goggin set her down, steadying her with his hand, preventing her from collapsing.

  A fire blazed amongst the carnage, as high as a funeral cairn.

  And then it exploded, the flames as white as the noonday sun, washing over the battlefield like a dust storm, licking at the bodies, consuming them in its heat. Instinctively, Raven and Goggin ducked, hudd
ling together as the fire flowed over them, somehow never touching or burning them, an inferno all around. It was like being in a fire, but protected by some unseen force.

  Unseen, but not unknown. Fire, Raven thought. Fire protects us, even as she dies.

  “Oh gods!” she wailed. Because now she felt it. The hole inside her, the missing piece of her heart. The blank space in the world, where Fire used to be.

  The tears finally came, dripping into the unburning flames.

  The sparks soared into the night sky, thousands of fireflies spreading on the wind.

  The grass of the Forbidden Plains caught first, the brittle plants tinder for the unnatural flames.

  Next was the Tangle, which began to burn like a bonfire.

  Though the east and the west had long been separated by war, hatred, and fear, it was now split in half by Fire.

  Few of the enemy had survived on the battlefields south of the Southron Gates. The warcities of Sousa and Hemptown were decimated, depleted of their armies because of Fire’s final act. Even in death she was the weapon she had promised to be.

  As for the Calypsians, Raven and Goggin now led the survivors, a force of three hundred strong. One tenth, she thought. If she hadn’t seen the bodies herself, she wouldn’t have believed it. Of those three hundred, almost a third were too injured to walk, which meant every two soldiers had to carry another between them. The only positive was that the guanero had defied the odds, more than half of the guanik-riding warriors and their steeds surviving the battle.

  It was slow going, the journey back to the Spear taking twice as long in reverse, especially because small bands of Phanecians harried them with arrows shot from the wall from time to time. Each time a band appeared, Raven and Goggin were forced to halt the retreat, fight to the top of the wall, and kill them. It was slow and gruesome work, and they lost another twenty-six lives while doing it.

  Eventually, however, the Spear appeared, a gossamer thread of liquid steel.

  On the other side, they rested, cleaned and dressed their wounds, and ate.

  Raven sat on the riverbank with her head in her hands. She felt cold inside, like Fire had taken all of her warmth when she’d passed on to the next world. Goggin sat near her, not speaking, understanding her need for silence. The large man was proving to be far more perceptive than Raven had ever given him credit for.

  She sat like that for a long time, thinking about her mother, about Fire, and finally, about Whisper. Thinking of Whisper hurt the most, because Raven knew she would be heartbroken. She wondered whether she should’ve fought Fire harder when they were planning this mission, persuaded her to wait, to consider other options.

  But no. Once Fire’s mind was made up, changing it was like trying to stop a storm.

  I loved her for that, Raven thought. She never realized it until now.

  The Spear burbled swiftly downstream, and Raven wondered what it would be like to jump in, to let the current carry her into the Burning Sea, never to return.

  “Whisper needs me,” she said aloud. It was a reminder to herself that though Fire’s life was over, hers was not.

  “We all need you,” Goggin said. Raven flinched; she had forgotten the guanero commander was still sitting with her, his presence like a calming breeze.

  Raven shook her head. “Calyp is broken.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Goggin said. “Calyp was not your mother, or Fire, or even you. Calyp is more than any person, even an empress. Calyp is a proud nation, home to thousands of souls who depend on us to protect them. And, just like your sister was, Calyp is as strong as ever.”

  Raven was about to respond, to thank Goggin for speaking the words she needed to hear, when a shout arose. She swiveled around, craning her head toward the side, noticing a shadow moving across the dunes of the Scarra. She squinted, gazing at the sky, where a bird angled their way.

  Wait. It was too large to be a bird, and getting larger by the second. “Dragon,” Goggin breathed, and Raven knew he was right. It was one of the largest in the brood, Heiron, a black sinewy creature with an addiction to bacon spiced with mixa. Raven had grown up with him—he was hatched when she was but five years old. Based on the side-to-side style of flight, Raven also knew who the rider was: Rider, the dragon master, her black cloak flapping in the wind.

  While the entire camp watched, Heiron unfurled his wings and circled twice, finally swooping down to land with impressive grace beside Raven. She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from her lips, though her eyes sparkled with tears. Heiron, who seemed to be grinning a razor-sharp grin, nuzzled against her hand when she held it out. Though the dragon was larger than any ten of the guanik put together, he was still at least a year away from full maturity. And the next year would be his biggest growth spurt yet, a thought that still made Raven marvel.

  Rider slid off her mount, her dark eyes laced with concern. Unlike the dragon, she was not grinning. Without Raven needing to say a word, Rider strode up to her and embraced her. Raven’s tears soaked the woman’s cloak.

  When Raven pulled back, Rider said, “I’m so sorry.” Though the woman, who was twelve years Raven’s elder, had a sharp, angular face, her expression was full of compassion.

  “How did you know?”

  “From your face. And from a distance I saw how small your force had become. I feared the worst.”

  “So Whisper doesn’t know yet?”

  “How could she?”

  Raven nodded. “It is better that I am the one to tell her. Now, tell me Rider, why have you crossed the desert on dragonback?”

  The compassion slipped from Rider’s face, replaced by a frown. “Grian Ironclad has turned his attention away from the north.”

  Raven raised an eyebrow. “That surprises me. His father and brother were killed at Raider’s Pass, his eldest brother injured. Surely he seeks revenge.”

  “We’ve received numerous streams in the last fortnight, since you’ve been gone.”

  “Saying what?”

  “The north lost the bulk of its forces in the Bay of Bounty.”

  “Wh-what?” Raven had understood the words perfectly, but she couldn’t make sense of them. Their entire plan to destroy half of the Southron Gates was built on the notion that the north would decimate the west and then march on Phanes.

  Rider nodded. “It’s true. Two other messages confirmed it. Evidently Queen Rhea is more formidable an enemy than anyone expected. It is said she Summoned a monster of the sea.”

  “So the north has fallen at last? What of Lord Griswold and Castle Hill?” Raven was still trying to process the news, what it all meant.

  “The self-declared King Regent raised a final army of superhuman warriors using some kind of a potion. One hundred men who became monsters. But they were struck down by Queen Annise Gäric and her army of rebels striving to take back the crown. It seems they did.”

  Raven shook her head. Two queens, two mighty victories. She wondered what it might mean for her chances as empress. Other than her mother, the Four Kingdoms had long been ruled by men. “At what cost?” she asked.

  “Annise lost all but a handful of soldiers, though her brother remains unconscious from the battle at Raider’s Pass. If not for two great warriors, she might have lost the day.”

  “What warriors?”

  “A giant known as the Armored Knight. And a great swordsman, a Sir Dietrich.”

  “So Queen Gäric has nothing left?”

  “Correct. There are rumors that she fled north, into the Hinterlands.”

  “What is there?”

  “Snow. Ice. Nothing. She is the least of your concerns.”

  Raven realized the conversation had come full circle, and that Rider had been holding something back the whole time, building to this point, or perhaps delaying the topic altogether. “You said King Ironclad has turned away from the north. Meaning what? That he’s moving south?”

  Rider shook her head. “Not moving south. He’s already south, along w
ith most of his troops. Without the north to defend against, he’s shifted forces from Norris, Crow’s Nest, and Glee.”

  Raven closed her eyes. She’d barely had a day to grieve the loss of her sister, and already reality was knocking at her door. When she opened them again, she asked, “What are you not telling me?”

  Rider grimaced, as if the next topic was too distasteful to broach. “We received a stream from Kesh as well. Several actually.”

  “Guta?”

  She nodded. “He’s completed his investigation into the assassination attempt on Fire.”

  “And?”

  “The assassin was paid in iron shields. Hundreds of them were discovered in her personal effects.”

  “The east was plotting an assassination for two years?”

  “It appears that way.”

  “Why us? Why not the west?”

  “Perhaps they have paid assassins in many places. The Ironclads have always had a long memory.”

  Raven gritted her teeth. “So do the Sandes.”

  Forty-Two

  The Crimean Sea, somewhere south of the Dead Isles

  Grey Arris

  Grey felt warm and dry. He released a sigh of contentment. All the pain and fear were gone, swept away by death, and whatever came after.

  He opened his eyes to sunlight spilling through a portal window. Beyond the window, there was blue sky. It was moving. No, rocking. He could feel everything rocking, swaying, gently moving side to side.

  The bed beneath wasn’t particularly soft. And the pain wasn’t gone, after all. No, he could feel it in the aches in his joints and a strange numbness in his fingertips. He raised his left arm to find his hand still gone, but wrapped in fresh bandages.

  “I’m not dead,” he whispered.

  Someone giggled, and he flinched, turning to follow the sound. A pair of sparkling brown eyes set in a cute brown face topped with a spill of unruly ringlets stared at him. “No, you’re not dead, Grey Arris. Not today.”