Deathmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

by David Estes

My soul, Gwen remembered her saying.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on that thought, however, nor check on the condition of Raven, who’d gone down hard. Because the other two monsters were still at large, massacring a dwindling group of defenders.

  One of the guards stood out from the rest, the man who’d been beside Viper Sandes earlier, the same man who’d challenged her. Gat, Gwen remembered.

  He fought like a lion, spinning his blade with skill, dancing away from the monster’s strikes while landing slash after slash along his foe’s arms and legs. Fiery blood dripped out, sizzling as it hit the earth.

  Still, he couldn’t last forever, not without help. I don’t know this man, Gwen thought. I owe him nothing.

  But she did owe Raven her side of the bargain. And these monsters were a problem. Slowly, she fitted three arrows to her bowstring, calculating distance and wind and watching the beast’s movements as it strode forward, launching another blow.

  She fired. A line of arrows appeared across its chest. Based on previous attempts, she knew it was too well-protected by thick skin and bulging muscle to die from such an attack, but that wasn’t her intention.

  Gat ducked and the monster jerked, sucking in a breath, its head dipping lower than usual, like a punch in the gut might bend a person at the waist.

  Gat, as Gwen had expected, didn’t waste the opportunity, ratcheting his blade up, cutting deep into the open maw of the howling beast.

  He dove away as it fell, rolling to his feet, glancing back at Gwen and offering a single nod of recognition in her direction.

  Then he raced off toward the final monster, which was surrounded by guards, finally outnumbered. Gwen was tired, and they seemed to have it well in hand, hacking and slicing and bringing the monster to its knees. A dozen more strikes, half by Gat, and the demonic creature’s head fell from its shoulders, the rest of its body following shortly after.

  Silence, save for the groans and cries of the injured, fell across the courtyard. And then: clapping, slow and loud. Gwen scanned the area to find Viper standing just outside the door she’d fled through earlier.

  The coward, Gwen thought.

  “Well done,” she said. “All of you.”

  Siri glared at her, growling.

  Whisper said, “It’s over, Aunt.”

  “Over? Yes, it is, I suppose. Or at least your part in it. If you think this changes anything, it doesn’t. I am still empress. And you are still my prisoners. As for the dragon, she can be retrained. If we fail, she will be put down.”

  “No.” The voice that spoke was weak, and yet full of command.

  Raven crawled from beneath the dragon.

  Raven

  Her entire body ached, and her injured arm was in such agony she thought it might break away from her body.

  But she was no stranger to pain. She bit back a cry as she stood.

  “I challenge you for the empire. Do you refuse?”

  “I do,” Viper said. “Only Windy can challenge me. You are a different generation.”

  “I am the First Daughter, and you have no claim on what is rightfully mine, usurper.”

  Viper laughed. “I care not for the traditions invented by our ancestors. I care only for the power I have earned. I did not build an army of the dregs of the empire only to be thwarted by a child.”

  Whisper stood beside Raven. “I challenge you, too.”

  Viper smirked. “Same response. You are younger than your sister still. And your oaf protector”—she gestured to Goggin—“can join you in Zune. Your success in the pits will fund the empire for many years to come. Or at least until you all die.”

  Raven was sick and tired of talking to this woman. She stepped forward, bending only to snatch her whip from the ground. She snapped it forward, the barbs slipping free and uncoiling from the dead monster’s flesh.

  Viper didn’t move. “Guards,” she said. “Take them. The Orian too.”

  Siri growled, but Raven waved her off with a hand signal.

  Something had changed in the atmosphere. The guards didn’t move. Those who were still alive were staring darkly at Viper. And at their front was the man called Gat. His leather armor was ripped and hanging, revealing a chiseled chest and abdomen laced with burn marks and dark blood spatter.

  Viper said, “Now!”

  Gat said, “No. This ends now.”

  “What?”

  The question was weakness. The question was doubt.

  “We no longer serve you. You promised us a better world.” Gat waved his hand at the carnage surrounding him. “Does this look better?”

  “This wasn’t my fault. I had nothing to do with—”

  “You might not have brought the monsters, but they were here for you all the same,” Gat said, spitting the words. He stepped forward, clutching his blade. “I’m sorry. It didn’t have to end like this.”

  Viper’s countenance changed. Gone was the sneer. Gone was the bravado. She stepped back, almost stumbling. She knew what this man was capable of. She feared him.

  Raven knew she could stop it with a word, but she didn’t want to. This woman—her mother’s sister—had imprisoned them, forced them to fight deadly animals, not caring whether they lived or died in the pits so long as they brought in coin to fill her own coffers…

  “Raven,” Gwen said. Raven flinched, surprised to hear the Orian speak. This was what they’d set out to do, to retake the empire, and they were on the verge of it. “There doesn’t have to be any more bloodshed.”

  Raven shook her head. Gritted her teeth. “She deserves it.” She was surprised at the tears that blurred her vision. Why was she emotional now? She cared not for Viper, who cared nothing for her.

  “Her death will haunt you. She made mistakes, yes, grave mistakes, but perhaps she had reason.”

  “No reason would be good enough.” A tear trickled down her cheek and she batted it away.

  “Maybe not. But were my reasons good enough to want to kill you?” The Orian’s brows were furrowed, her yellow eyes shining. There was truth in that gaze. Truth and regret. And forgiveness and something else. Hope. Purpose.

  Raven didn’t know why his face came back to her then, but it did. Roan. Perhaps because she knew this woman, this great warrior, shared a bond with him too.

  The Peacemaker…that is what he is called in the prophecies.

  What would he do?

  Gat said, “Raven? Her head is yours if you desire it.”

  Raven looked at her aunt, who no longer seemed evil, stripped of everything at the betrayal of a man she likely cared about greatly. Bent many times over the course of her lifetime but still standing here.

  I must be better than those who came before me. If there is truly hope for peace, it must start somewhere. Here. It will start here.

  “Bind her. Take her to the prison. Spare her life.”

  Fifth Interlude

  The Northern Kingdom, Blackstone

  THE HORDE

  Blackstone was theirs—or at least what was left of it.

  This place stinks, Kklar-Ggra thought.

  It wasn’t just because of the dead, he knew. No, he’d grown used to the smell of blood and decay long ago. This was a different odor—as familiar as if he’d never left the northern kingdom. Stone. Hard ground only half-unfrozen after the end of winter. Stale sweat and piss.

  He preferred the coppery tang of blood to this; he preferred the putrid reek of rotting corpses.

  Though he knew he needed to linger another day or two, so his Horde could strengthen themselves after their long voyage, he was anxious to leave. Castle Hill was so close now, the place that tore him down.

  So I could be forged anew with fire and steel, he thought.

  He knew the northerners would be ready for him. They’d managed to kill the man only after he’d streamed an unfinished warning to the northern capital. It didn’t matter. His enemies could prepare for a thousand years and never truly be ready for what was coming.

  I am
the storm. I am the End of All Things.

  And I shall devour.

  PART VI

  Jai Bane Grey

  Rhea Falcon Lisbeth

  Gareth Gwen Raven

  Roan Tarin Annise

  When the curtain falls on a day long-fought,

  By frozen lakes and desert droughts,

  They close their eyes, knowing they cannot win,

  And dark descends…the nightmare begins.

  Japarti, famous Calypsian poet

  Seventy-Four

  The Southern Empire, the Bloody Canyons

  Jai Jiroux

  Discussing things such as war and battle and explosions was one thing; seeing it in front of your very eyes was a whole other beast.

  Jai cringed as another blast erupted from the ground, crippling a horse and tearing its rider in half. Blood fell like rain. Body parts scattered across the canyon. All this death and destruction and the two armies hadn’t even met on the frontlines.

  Shanti and her team scurried back and forth lighting fuses in what, to Jai’s eyes, appeared a random selection. But he knew it was all choreographed to perfection, a dance of fire and death planned to end the lives of as many of the enemy as possible.

  Their foes were not idle, however, nor did they falter in their charge. The cavalry rushed forth along the edges of the canyon, while the infantry pushed through the center. They were learning, testing the defenses for weaknesses, spreading out to lessen the impact of each explosion. And some were now dropping to their knees, taking aim with their hollow metal rods…

  A series of blasts bounced off the canyon walls, less powerful than Shanti’s explosions, but still fearsome in their quantity.

  Something whistled past Jai’s ear and he instinctively ducked, though the evasion would’ve been far too slow had the aim been true. Death was invisible now, his soldiers falling around him at the hands of a foe they could not see, could not defend against. Exposed like this, their training did not matter, nor their level of skill. Luck and fate were their only allies.

  And I led them here. Using my mark of power, I chose for them.

  I am no better than their former masters, even if my intent is pure.

  Though he’d had these same thoughts many times before, in the midst of battle, they hit Jai harder, like a series of punches to the gut. He didn’t know if there was any right decision, but there was definitely a wrong one. He’d already made it, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be undone.

  He turned to face his ten-thousand as another volley of steel death sliced through them, felling twenty, maybe thirty more soldiers. His justicemark felt warm on his heel, its influence touching the hearts and minds of his men. They never had a choice. Not at birth, and not since they met me.

  But now they do.

  “I am not your commander,” Jai shouted as loudly as he could, forcing his voice to be heard over the echoes of explosions and cries of pain. “I am your leader, but only if you choose me. I release you of any responsibility to Phanes, to the rebellion. From this point forward, you make your own choices, but know that I will die for you whether you retreat or fight. You owe me nothing, but I owe you everything.”

  With that, his mark cooled in an instant, like a fire being snuffed out, deprived of air. All before and around him his soldiers flinched. Some of them shook their heads. Others touched their foreheads, cringing slightly. They looked at each other in wonder, as if awakening from a long slumber only to find themselves in the throes of a nightmare.

  More blasts echoed. More soldiers fell.

  Not me, Jai thought. I am always spared. Why? It should be me. I should be the one—

  Fear in their eyes, his thousands of soldiers turned tail and ran, leaving Jai alone to face an army.

  And he felt at peace, perhaps for the first time in his life.

  Seventy-Five

  The Southern Empire, the Bloody Canyons

  Bane Gäric

  Bane couldn’t believe his eyes.

  They’re retreating. Though his foes outnumbered his army two-to-one at the least, they were turning and running away, spilling out of the canyon and into the desert.

  Save for one, a tall man standing as still and erect as a statue. Bane extended his power, trying to discern whether this man was of royal lineage. He felt a flicker of something, but it wasn’t what he’d expected. He’s fatemarked, he thought, frowning. It didn’t make sense. If he held a mark of power and was leading this army, why would they flee so easily?

  The question disturbed him. “Halt!” he shouted. “Hold your fire.” His soldiers, sensing victory, took a long time to obey, his command flowing across them like a slow-moving ripple.

  Beside him, Rhea asked, “Why are you stopping them?”

  “I want to meet this man,” Bane said simply, striding forward past his men, many of whom were muttering and complaining. They aren’t used to being stopped during their bloodlust.

  As Bane marched on, he felt the plague squirming inside him. His entire body ached, his blood on fire. He didn’t know how much longer he would last. Where is Roan? he wondered. Will he truly not come to save me? Can I blame him?

  He shook the thought away as he separated from his men. “Stay here,” he said to Rhea, leaving her to watch him from a distance.

  The man standing before him grew nearer. He was clearly of mixed descent, though he was more Phanecian than anything else. A rebel, Bane thought. He stopped a stone’s throw away. “Who are you?” he asked, his curiosity growing by the second.

  “Jai Jiroux,” the man answered without hesitation. “And you?”

  “They call me the Kings’ Bane.”

  “By the gods,” Jai said.

  “No, by the Oracle,” Bane said. “You bear a mark of power, yes? Then we are tied to the same fate. We are here for the same purpose.”

  The man’s frown was deep, his head shaking slowly from side to side like he was trying to puzzle out something. “It can’t be true. You command an army of slavers. You are a murderer.”

  “We are all murderers in war,” Bane said. “This land is thick with them, from east to west, north to south.”

  “I’m trying to free an oppressed people,” Jai said.

  “So am I.” There is only freedom in death.

  Another shake of his head. “I will fight you, on my own if I have to.”

  Bane laughed, but stopped when a disturbance caught his attention.

  There was a flurry of activity behind the man named Jai Jiroux now. The slave army had stopped their retreat, turning back to watch the exchange. They parted in the center, allowing a small group to march through. They were all women of various backgrounds—Phanecian, Teran, Dreadnoughter—and wore leather armor. They carried various blades, and bore the dark expressions and haughty confidence of seasoned warriors.

  Their cheeks were tattooed with black tears.

  These are the real rebels, Bane thought. No matter. Without their army, they will die with the rest of them. There will be no place for rebels or soldiers in my new kingdom.

  Jai turned to them and Bane could see the relief in his eyes. “Your timing is impeccable,” he said.

  “You think we’d miss this?” one of them said. Bane knew her. The woman who defeated me in Phanea only hours ago. Sonika Vaid. Her dark eyes cut across him like the slash of a weapon. “We meet again.”

  “Yes,” Bane said, a trickle of fear trembling through him.

  Jai looked back and forth between them, his confusion evident.

  “And we brought friends,” Sonika said, gesturing behind them.

  Bane followed her aim back to the slave army, which had parted further to allow hundreds upon hundreds of people through. They were mostly Teran, but unlike the trained soldiers around them, didn’t carry the appearance of warriors. They looked like ordinary people, without armor, carrying a variety of weapons. But still, they marched forward, their expressions laced with determination.

  Wait… Behind the Terans were hu
ndreds of Phanecians, who looked nothing like rebels.

  There was a man at their helm, another Phanecian. Bane could feel the man’s heritage in the burning circle on his scalp. So we meet again, emperor, he thought. This time I will kill you, Falcon Hoza.

  Jai staggered back a step. He didn’t expect reinforcements, Bane thought. Interesting. There were more forces at play here than he’d expected. “You did it,” Jai said. “You united our people.”

  “Not without help,” Falcon said, glancing at Sonika. “And I can’t promise it will last.”

  “Enough,” Bane said, and Jai turned back to him. “This ends now.”

  “Yes,” Jai said. “It does.” The man raised his weapon and charged.

  Seventy-Six

  The Southern Empire, the Bloody Canyons

  Grey Arris

  Grey was being cautious, much to his sister’s frustration.

  “Hurry,” Shae insisted. “The fatemarked draw near. I can…feel them.” She was by King Erric’s side in his cart. Grey was wheeling them along himself. He didn’t trust anyone else to protect his sister, except perhaps Erric.

  All around him, his pirates gripped their weapons, many looking almost eager for battle.

  But Grey wasn’t going to rush into a deathtrap, not if it could be avoided. He’d seen and heard a lot of strange things already. Echoing explosions, some small, some large, like the earth itself was trying to break open. Shouts, cries. A charging army disappearing between the cliffs, only to remerge in full retreat. Silence had fallen. They’d stopped. A smaller army had come from the south, passing the larger army, led by a small group of women warriors. Stranger still was that it was a combination of Terans and Phanecians in equal measure, though there was an invisible line between them that neither group seemed willing to cross. All this in a matter of a few minutes.

  So Grey was being cautious. They crept forward toward the canyon. He raised his hand and stopped suddenly when the sounds of battle recommenced, explosions shattering the eerie silence.