Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  When they started forward again, however, Archer brushed the tip of his boot against her heel and she stumbled. It was just the sort of prank she had liked to pull as children, but in the reverse. As she fell, she grabbed at anything available to catch her balance. Worse, it was Dietrich’s arm that she caught, steadying herself.

  “Thank you,” she said, forcing the words out as he grinned at her.

  “No thanks are necessary,” he said, beaming. “As a knight of the realm, it is my pleasure serve you, Your Highness.”

  “Still, I will refrain from causing you bodily harm for the next day,” she promised.

  “A royal gift,” he japed back. “I was hoping for a kiss, but…”

  “Don’t tempt me. These days my fists do the kissing.”

  “I would relish the bruising of my lips.”

  Annise had the urge to punch herself. “Frozen hell, the women of the north must be desperate indeed if they fall for such silver words.”

  “Not desperate,” Arch said. “Cold. A man warming their beds is the only way to survive winter.”

  “Not for me,” Annise said. “I make my own heat these days.”

  Arch touched her arm, recoiling sharply as if he’d been burned. “She speaks the truth!” he announced. “The Frozen Queen is now the Fire Queen!”

  “And we’re all carrying kindling,” Dietrich said with mock-fear, hastening his steps to distance himself from her.

  Annise couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from her lips. These men might be fools, but they were her fools, and she was glad to be in their company in this dark place. Else she might’ve already gone mad with fear and trepidation.

  Up ahead, Jonius, who had been ignoring their youthful banter, stopped, raising an arm to silence them. He cocked his head to the side, as if listening. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  Annise frowned, hearing nothing but the echo of the knight’s words as they skipped down the tunnel, fading into the dark. “I don’t hear—” She clamped her mouth shut abruptly as a burst of sound shot from one of the side passageways. It was high-pitched, an eerie keening that reverberated off the walls before changing pitch, stopping and starting, staccato-like.

  Almost like a strange laugh. A strange, maniacal laugh.

  “What the frozen hell is that?” Annise said.

  Jonius shoved his torch into the tunnel entrance, revealing slightly more of the stony corridor, which curved to the left and out of sight.

  “Oh gods,” Dietrich said. Annise’s blood ran cold. Instinctively, they all took a step back from the side tunnel, the torchlight retreating with them.

  They could no longer see the passage, but Annise didn’t need to—the image would be burned in her memory for the rest of her life.

  Bones. Some whole, some cracked and splintered—all picked clean. She recognized some of them: ribs, feet, entire skulls, while others she couldn’t place. Though it was unclear as to the origins of most, she was almost certain some were human.

  “Run,” Jonius breathed, and that single word seemed to break them all out of a trance, pushing them to move.

  They threw themselves down the tunnel, finding a reserve of energy none of them probably knew they had, brought out only by fear of whatever was making the spine-tingling sound that now chased them from behind.

  Another peal of laughter burst from a side tunnel that opened on the right. Annise flinched away as if the sound had substance, crashing into the wall, scraping her shoulder but ignoring the sting of pain, racing onwards, kindling scattering from her satchel, crackling under her feet as she crushed it to splinters.

  More side tunnels appeared, more frequently now, each full of the raucous sound of pursuit, a clamor of frivolity and pent up violence that seemed to encapsulate the violent images they’d left far behind them. More bones spilled from each corridor, crunching under their trod as they fled.

  So the pale creatures had prevailed in the end, she thought. The knights are dead. And so, soon, shall we.

  Not me, the monster inside her hissed. Annise didn’t know whether it meant because it would live inside Tarin, or something else. In this moment, she didn’t care about anything but finding the end to this infernal tunnel, to avoid seeing those pale creatures that clung to walls and ceilings, biting, clawing, dying, and yes, killing.

  But her wish was not to be granted. Just as she passed a dark tunnel, something flew from its maw, a flash of white skin, all bony arms and legs and big round eyes, each as pink as a sunrise.

  Dietrich, who was bringing up the rear, cried out; not in pain, but surprise, or so Annise hoped. She spun around, but he was already pushing her forward—“Move move move!”—her eyes barely able to comprehend the decapitated creature lying dead in a pool of a glowing white substance she assumed was its spilled blood. Dietrich’s sword flashed beside her as they ran, his other hand resting firmly on the small of her back, lending her speed.

  More white forms scrambled from more tunnels, some along the ceiling, some along the walls, some launching themselves through the air. Annise punched one in the face and was shocked by how soft and rubbery its flesh was, almost like that of a fish. It squealed and fell away, disappearing into the gloom they left in their wake. Dietrich hacked at several others, slashing them in half or removing heads from necks.

  There were too many, however, and soon they began to emerge from tunnels ahead of them, their peals of laughter arriving first, a strange battle cry far worse than the gruff shouts of a man or the beat of powerful drums. Soon, Annise knew, they would be overwhelmed.

  Jonius ground to a stop, flanked by Archer. Annise and Dietrich halted in turn, whirling around to face the creatures in pursuit. Cackling with glee, the cave dwellers slowed their pace, creeping forward, sticking to every surface like insects.

  Annise noticed the flaps of skin between their long pale fingers, webs that presumably allowed them to climb walls and hang upside down. Similar web-like flaps held their toes together as well. The sound they were making sounded like it came from twin holes on either side of their heads, where their ears should have been. They were hairless, their skin as smooth as fresh ice. From a slit on the tops of their heads, they seemed to sniff the air, which was when Annise realized their pink eyes were blind, filled with milky cataracts.

  They attack by smell, and perhaps sound, she thought, even as they closed in.

  She turned back to determine the positioning of the creatures that had cut off their escape, but instead her eyes settled on Archer, who met her gaze. There was no fear in his expression, no youth—not in this moment. Only determination. The same determination she felt in her own steely gaze, and running hot through her veins. This life that had been thrust upon them had changed them both, a blacksmith’s fire stoked with pain and sadness, trust and companionship, experience and strength, melting them down and reforming them into what they had become. Yes, they would die, this they both already knew, but it would be a glorious death, even if the bards would never sing of it.

  “We stand together,” Annise said. “We die together.” The others nodded in turn, angling away to face the enemy.

  Annise started to turn, too, but the voice in her head stopped her. Look, it said. See. Somehow she managed to pry her stare away from the creatures ahead of them, noticing something beyond, a pinprick of color she might not have noticed if she hadn’t managed to focus her vision forward, past the immediate threat.

  A small triangle of light amidst the dark stone walls of the tunnel. Straight ahead. An end and a beginning.

  “There!” she cried. “Our escape is there! We fight forward!”

  Thirty-Five

  The Hinterlands

  Lisbeth Lorne

  After Crone had assured her that Zur was not dead and only sleeping, his breath as soft as a whisper on his lips, Lisbeth returned to their dwelling. Exhaustion took her immediately, a monster of the deep pulling her down into the depths.

  She slept a dreamless sleep, the first of her shor
t life as a human.

  A few hours later she awoke with a start, her pulse pounding between her temples.

  No. It’s something else, she realized. There it was again, a dull thumping reverberating through the night:

  THUM-THUM

  Other sounds accompanied it—snarled shouts, stamping feet, mournful howls.

  “What is happening?” she said, more to herself than to anyone else.

  Still, Crone heard her, sticking her long head inside the ice dwelling. “A call to arms. Garzi ride to war.”

  War? “Why? Who?”

  “This thing I do not know.”

  Lisbeth remembered the revelation she’d received earlier that night, what felt like an instant ago, a half an instant, a crucial part of her returned after having been missing for eons. My purpose for coming to this place. My purpose for having this body, in this place, in this time.

  War. The word no longer felt like a declaration of doom but an opportunity for change. She was not a destroyer herself—though she knew she was capable of great destruction—but a forger, a strengthener, a harbinger of great violence, of the war that was destined to come.

  THUM-THUM

  The drumbeat reminded her that such a fate was perhaps not a distant twinkling light like she’d hoped, but an approaching dawn brighter and colder than any before it.

  Is it here already? she wondered. Have I caused this? Then she thought of those powerful souls frozen in the Hall of War, of the pent-up violence she felt in her bones as she spoke to them, the centuries of stored purpose and aggression.

  If they were the lock, then she was the key. And if she opened this door…

  I can never close it. Somehow she knew this, the same way she knew her name, her purpose, like the knowledge was a part of her—had always been a part of her, even as she slid through the fabric of time and space, a silvery ribbon of light.

  “I have to go,” Lisbeth said.

  THUM-THUM

  Crone said nothing, stepping aside. Letting her pass.

  Lisbeth drifted more than walked into the night, like a feather blown on a breeze, her feet barely seeming to brush the snow-crusted ground.

  The Garzi were gathering in droves, spears bristling from their backs like a porcupine’s quills. Some held spiked clubs over their heads menacingly, as if they were tempted to hit each other, too impatient to wait for whatever foe threatened them. Their wolfish steeds prowled around, their rough fur bristling, their mouths forming eternal snarls.

  Lisbeth scanned the mob for Zur, but he was noticeably absent. Instead, another stood at their head, a powerful being that rose a head taller than any others, his shoulders broad, the skin of his triangular face as rough as sundried leather.

  “Warriors!” he shouted, raising a spear in the air. “At long last the pact has been broken again. Filth invaders have come to our lands, seeking to sneak past our defenses.” He spoke in Garzi, but Lisbeth understood every word. “It started with her. The spy.”

  All heads turned toward Lisbeth as the great warrior pointed in her direction. She could see the hostility in their eyes, but also the fear. None would touch her; not after what she’d done to Zur, to the legions that had been unable to kill her on the snowy hills.

  “We cannot kill the blind witch, but we will string up those who follow her!” A roar of approval. “Tonight we will feast upon their flesh and remind all others that the pact is as strong as ever!” More cries, and the drums started up again, louder and faster than before.

  The warriors mounted up, digging their heels into the beasts, though it wasn’t necessary. The creatures snarled, charging away, past the dwellings, past the Hall of War, toward the frozen cliffs that cast a long shadow over the village.

  Lisbeth watched them go, uncertain, but then gave chase, running on her toes, feeling a rush of energy, of purpose. Yes. I am meant to do this thing—whatever this thing is.

  Atop their steeds, the warriors reached the base of the cliffs well ahead of her, immediately charging through a gap that led to a switchback trail, narrow and treacherous. The animals, however, were as sure-footed as goats, clambering up the path, snow blasting over the edge as they rounded the first bend.

  A few moments later, Lisbeth reached the trail, but didn’t take it. No, it would be too slow and she would be too late. Though she’d only spent days with these people, she knew what they were capable of, the violence they wore like a badge of honor. Instead, she ascended the cliffs. She didn’t fly, nor climb—not exactly—but something else. She just moved up the sheer rock face because she wanted to, her fingertips and toes occasionally brushing the ice.

  Despite her more direct path, she continued to fall behind; the beasts and their riders knew these cliffs well, making short work of them.

  Hurry hurry hurry! Lisbeth urged herself as she climbed higher and higher, but a strange force seemed to push against her, thwarting her momentum, holding her back.

  I will be too late, she thought.

  From high above, someone spoke, and though she couldn’t make out the words, she could tell it wasn’t spoken in Garzi.

  No. This was spoken in the common tongue.

  Annise Gäric

  There are too many, Annise thought, swinging her Evenstar around and around, feeling the satisfying but somewhat sickening smack of metal on soft flesh. Their enemies’ glowing white blood was everywhere—the ground, the walls, on their clothes and skin—but still they came, emerging from the side tunnels like water pouring from pipes, an endless supply that made every inch forward as difficult as wading through quicksand.

  Jonius, at the front, had taken several wounds—a claw across his cheek, a bite to the hand, a mangled ear—but had killed many, his sword moving from opponent to opponent in that graceful way of his that reminded Annise of a dance. Archer, considering his lack of true battle experience, had done remarkably well thus far, killing several of the cave dwellers and only suffering a bloodied nose.

  Dietrich, protecting their rear, had killed dozens of the creatures already, and more fell moment by moment on his sword, which spun, slashed, and stabbed like tornadoes and lightning, a storm of his own making.

  The bodies were piling up, just like in the images they’d seen painted on the walls, but that didn’t mean they would emerge victorious, not when their foes seemed as innumerable as grains of sand on the edges of the ocean.

  Still, the light—the hope!—Annise had spotted in the distance, continued to grow closer, larger. Step by hard-fought step, they made progress toward the escape that moments earlier had seemed improbable if not impossible.

  As Annise passed the dark maw of yet another side tunnel, a blob of pale flesh flung itself at her. Instinctively, she shoved her torch in its direction. They’d quickly learned the creatures feared and despised fire, something they’d used to their advantage. Hissing, the creature twisted in midair to avoid being burned.

  Which was exactly what Annise had been expecting.

  Crunch!

  Her Evenstar connected solidly with its face, ripping through its blind eyes and sinking deep into its skull.

  The creature dropped at her feet with a squishing sound, pulsing white blood pumping from the mortal wound she’d inflicted.

  Annise didn’t have time to contemplate what it meant to kill a living creature, nor her feelings on the subject, for another was already clambering across the ceiling to attack from above. No, there was no time to think, or consider, or fathom the fathomless—there was only time to act. To do. To survive.

  The creature dropped so quickly it took her breath away. Her weapon was still ensconced in her previous foe’s skull, and she was too slow by half in bringing her torch up. She only had one option, and she took it, pushing off from the balls of her feet, leaping upwards to meet the attack head on.

  Literally.

  As she headbutted it in the jaw, she felt its fangs sink into her flesh, its claws rake across her cheeks. Pain flared through her skin like a series of hot pokers
thrust under her flesh, but she managed to lurch forward and land atop it, shoving her torch in its face.

  The howl was so close to her ears she could hear nothing else for several moments, even as she watched it writhe and twist, its face burned black and bubbling, until it went still.

  She whirled around, seeking her next foe, but then realized how close they were to the light. In fact, Sir Jonius was already out of the cave, his body drenched in moonlight that seemed—after so long in the dark—as bright as a noonday sun. Archer was a mere step behind him, turning back to beckon to Annise and Dietrich, his mouth forming a soundless cry: Hurry!

  Behind Annise, Dietrich stood completely still, holding his torch aloft, peering into the gloom. The still, silent gloom.

  “Sir?” Annise said, dumbfounded. Where was the enemy? Just a moment ago she’d sworn the creatures were everywhere, on all sides. But now…

  “Something scared them off,” Dietrich said. Instead of sounding victorious, he sounded worried.

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Depends on what scared them off,” he said, turning and ushering her toward the exit, where the others were waiting.

  When Annise stepped into the moonlight, she was forced to shield her eyes against the bright green and red orbs shining from opposite sides of the sky, their long beams of light crisscrossing on the cliffs. This far north, the moons seemed closer somehow. Bigger. Brighter. In this midst of certain death, Annise had assumed she’d never see them again, and now she relished the way the light washed over her like a winter storm.

  Archer seemed to be doing the same, holding his blood-soaked arms to either side as a light breeze blew across the cliffs. Jonius was already moving down a narrow path that led away from the tunnel, scouting the terrain for weaknesses, where the ice and snow might fall away. Dietrich, however, had slid onto his belly, peering over the edge.

  “Damn,” was all he said.

  That’s when Annise heard the drums.

  Tarin Sheary