The lights of the encampment slowly moved past and behind him. As he moved beyond the edge of the thing the world called civilization, elation bloomed in Helmuth’s chest. It lasted for one second. And then—
“Don’t move.” The voice was spoken with the sharp tongue of one used to being obeyed, and Helmuth couldn’t help but to freeze in place. Footfalls moved nearer. He didn’t have to look to know it was a soldier on patrol.
No matter what he said, what lies he managed to spin, Helmuth knew the man would not simply let him slink off into the mountains.
This man works for the king.
But maybe he is being forced.
He would not hesitate to kill me on the king’s command.
Perhaps his family has been threatened.
His family is the enemy. They all are. You don’t belong with any of them. You never did.
And you think you belong with the Horde? The Lesser? As if they are your own? To them, you are the enemy too.
You can unite them! You can turn them into the force they deserve to be, one to be feared. You can have your vengeance on all those who have harmed you!
The inner argument raged quickly during the time it took for the soldier to reach him. When the voices dimmed, he was left feeling slightly hollow.
The soldier stood before him. He was a thirtyish man with close-cropped black hair and eyes of a color undiscernible in the dark of night. Though he hadn’t drawn his sword, his hand rested casually on the hilt, and Helmuth had the feeling he was a quick draw. A career soldier, probably.
The man’s eyes flicked from Helmuth’s face to his legs and then back again, his expression settling into a frown. “What is your business here?” he asked.
Lie or truth? Did it matter? There was no going back now, no other option. And this soldier was alone, at least for now.
“I’m going to unite the barbarian tribes and kill the king,” he said evenly, collapsing the wall holding back his anger in the same instant.
Fog poured from his chest and enveloped the man, who didn’t even have time to scream.
Helmuth had never killed someone, and despite his desire to end the king’s life, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to draw the soldier’s own blade across his throat. Instead, he’d left him cowering in the fetal position, his eyes wild and tear-blurred.
I am weak, he thought. I owed that man nothing. I should’ve done it. I should have.
And what about the gray-haired woman who bathed you and brought you food and water? Lenora.
What about Krako, who was kind to you, who never told the king your secret?
What about the other broken boys in those silent rooms beneath the boulder?
Helmuth set his teeth and growled between them, “None of them did anything for me. They were pawns. They deserve what’s coming.”
They all do.
Filled with anger and determination, Helmuth started up the first slope, a gentle rise that would steepen gradually at first, and then quickly.
A few hours later, Helmuth was pressed flat against the side of a cliff, a sheer drop into darkness the only net to catch his fall. Though he was prepared for this from the rope in King Streit’s throne room, climbing a rock wall was wildly different to climbing a rope. Especially in the dark, where each handhold was a risk.
His arms were tired, but not spent, and he could see the top of the cliff less than a stone’s throw above him.
I can make it. I will make it. With these thoughts spurring him on, he reached for the next hold, a promising chunk of fist-sized rock protruding from the cliff face.
The rock broke away the moment his fingers wrapped around it, crumbling like crushed ice. He let out a short, sharp cry, his other hand clenching its own hold as gravity swung him down and to the side, his useless legs dangling beneath him.
Sweat poured from his fingers, making his grip slick. They began to slide free…
He threw his other hand blindly at the rock, scrabbling for anything resembling a hold. Just as his opposite hand slipped away, he found purchase, his momentum reversing and swinging back the other way.
But he was ready for it this time, already locking on a shadow in the cliff that hinted at a deeper hollow. He jammed his free hand into it, finding a knob to clutch. His balance restored, he hung there for a moment, just breathing, his stomach filled with air.
And then he started to climb once more, fighting off the slight tremor in his bones.
Soon he reached the shelf, dragging himself over the edge to find a wide promontory surrounded by rock on three sides and empty air and certain death on the other. The shadows were thick, and he knew he would need to feel his way forward in the dark to discern where to go next. But first, a moment of rest.
He closed his eyes, shaking out his arms.
When he opened them, he was surprised to find the area lit by duel beams of light from the moons that had emerged as the clouds parted while he rested.
The shadows were gone, replaced by hulking hairless forms of muscle and flesh.
And eyes, dark orbs of darkness filled with predatory menace.
Below them, mouths opened to reveal glistening sets of fangs.
And then the barbarians attacked.
In the instant before they fell on him with their claws and fangs, Helmuth knew he could destroy them all with naught but a thought. Or at least destroy their minds. His fog would roll over them and the things they would see…
It would unravel them like so much thread.
But he also felt a sort of tenderness for them. They were hated, outcasts. Deemed to be lesser than humans.
Just like me.
All because of the way they were born.
So though Helmuth did allow a fraction of his anger to bloom in his chest, he restrained himself. Slithers of fog snaked out, roping around the first two of his attackers, who stopped dead in their tracks. For a moment they stood there, hunched, their hands touching the ground, their expressions that of confusion. And then they tucked their heads into their hands and their thick knees to their broad chests. They rocked back and forth, an eerie keening sound rising from the backs of their throats.
Despite what had happened to their comrades, the others moved past them, closing in on Helmuth. He released more fog, taking them one by one, forcing them to their knees.
For a moment, he felt the jubilation of victory, but it was swiftly replaced by a shroud of dread and despair. He sat there, puzzled, wondering why his moment of triumph would be clouded by such ill feelings.
Realization hit him.
Because I am doing to them what my own abusers have done to me. Because I am no better. I am forcing them to my will, rather than letting them choose.
But if he let them choose…
They might rip him to shreds and fight over the scraps of his body like dogs over a half-chewed bone.
And yet…that was what he knew must occur. If this was going to work, his Horde would have to choose him.
Slowly, he reined in the fog, drawing it back inside him.
One by one, the barbarians looked up, their eyes locking on his. Tremors ran through them, as if suddenly released from a paralysis. They sprang forward once more and Helmuth closed his eyes.
Pain bloomed in his arm as daggers sank into his flesh. His eyes flashed open as he felt himself being lifted as easily as a child picking up a small stone, and then thrown, his body going airborne, the world spinning as he twisted.
He never landed, his body caught by another of the barbarians, a huge one—a female, he realized, her size giving her away, although her features were not dissimilar to those of the males. Instead of biting him, she raked her claws down his chest and he screamed, feeling his shirt shred in half, a portion of his skin falling away with it.
Again he was tossed like a ragdoll, only to be caught by another, which backhanded him across the face, slamming him to the ground. Helmuth saw stars and again he had the urge to release his fog of despair. He knew he could
end this violence. He knew he could dominate these fierce warriors, bend them to his will.
But he wasn’t angry at them, and he couldn’t pretend to be.
They were his people, even if they didn’t yet know it.
They were all around him now, their dark eyes penetrating him, beating down upon him. They took turns, kicking him, punching him, running their claws across his flesh, opening him up until his blood ran freely.
They stopped, and in the pause in their assault the pain ratcheted to a whole new level, searing him like a side of bacon tossed on a griddle. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, refusing to beg.
Because he felt alive. Perhaps for the first time in his short life, Helmuth Gäric felt truly alive.
“Horde,” he murmured, the only word he could manage. Their heads cocked to the side, as if confused. “Horde,” he said again.
And then, bruised and broken and bleeding, Helmuth unleashed his power.
Many years later
Uniting the clans had been a slow process. Drastic change always is. There had been great battles between the barbarian clans. Many had been killed, feasted upon by those that survived.
Several times various clans had tried to kill Helmuth, but those who followed him, who believed in him, had defended him. He avoided fully unleashing his power, like he had that first night on the cliffs of the Northern Fangs. If he was to build the most powerful army the world had ever seen, one stronger than the Crimeans, he knew they had to choose to fight for him. Had to choose to unite. Anything less would risk failure.
And Helmuth couldn’t fail. Not anymore.
Now, they were ready. The last dissenters had either been killed or driven deeper into the mountains. His followers now outnumbered the stars in the sky. They were hungry for human flesh, thirsty for blood.
And, for the first time in centuries, or perhaps ever, they had a leader.
And their leader had a plan.
Staring out across his many, his warriors, his army, his Horde, Helmuth felt like one of them. He was still human, yes, but where he had never been accepted amongst his own kind, he was accepted here. Revered even.
And now he had legs. Legs of yew and iron, perfected over many years of experimentation and effort. At first learning to walk on them had been frustrating, his falls more numerous than his steps. But like any child learning a new thing, he had taken one step at a time, and now he could run. Actually run.
He knew exactly where to run.
First he would take King Streit’s colonies, those many nations that his forefathers had conquered, stripping them away.
Next he would come for King Streit himself. And he would relish the man’s death.
And then.
Yes, then.
The Four Kingdoms.
Yes, they shall be last.
A personal note from David…
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a positive review on Amazon.com. Without reviews on Amazon.com, I wouldn’t be able to write for a living, which is what I love to do! Thanks for all your incredible support and I look forward to reading your reviews.
Excited for the last book, Lifemarked? Well, I am currently working on it and hope to release it by the end of 2017. While you wait, I think you might enjoy a few books from my backlist, particularly, The Slip Trilogy, a SciFi dystopian series with complex, well-developed characters set in a world of fear and population control. Keep reading for a sample from Slip!
The Fatemarked
(d)= deceased
***For a complete online listing of sigils, symbols and fatemarks from The Fatemarked Epic: http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.com/p/fatemarked-sigils-symbols-and-fatemarks.html
Lifemarked- Roan Loren (the Peacemaker)
Deathmarked- Bane Gäric (the Kings’ Bane)
Halfmarked- Shae Arris
Halfmarked- Erric Clawborn (the Pirate King)
Swordmarked- Sir Dietrich
(d) Icemarked- the Ice Lord
(d) Ironmarked- Beorn Stonesledge
Heromarked- Gwendolyn Storm
(d) Firemarked- Fire Sandes
(d) Plaguemarked- the Beggar
(d) Slavemarked- Vin Hoza
(d) Justicemarked- Jai Jiroux
Soulmarked- Lisbeth Lorne
Painmarked- Helmuth Gäric
Royal Genealogy of the Four Kingdoms (three generations)
(d)= deceased
The Northern Kingdom (capital city: Castle Hill)
(d) Wilhelm Gäric (the Undefeated King)
(d) Ida Gäric
Born to Wilhelm and Ida:
Helmuth Gäric (the Maimed Prince)
(d) Wolfric Gäric (the Dread King, political marriage to western princess, Sabria Loren)
(d) Griswold Gäric (usurper)
Zelda Gäric (childless)
Born to Griswold:
(d) Dirk Gäric
Born to Wolfric and Sabria:
Annise Gäric
(d) Archer Gäric
Bane Gäric (The Kings’ Bane)
The Western Kingdom (capital city: Knight’s End)
(d) Ennis Loren
(d) Mira Loren
Born to Ennis and Mira:
(d) Gill Loren (married to Cecilia Thorne Loren)
(d) Ty Loren
(d) Sabria Loren (political marriage to Wolfric Gäric)
Born to Ty:
(d) Jove Loren
Sai Loren
Wheaton Loren
Gaia Loren
Ennis Loren
Born to Gill and Cecilia:
Roan Loren
Rhea Loren
(d) Bea Loren
Leo Loren
The Eastern Kingdom (capital city: Ferria in Ironwood)
(d) Hamworth Ironclad
(d) Lydia Ironclad
Born to Hamworth and Lydia:
(d) Coren Ironclad (Thunder)
(d) Oren Ironclad (the Juggernaut, married to Henna Redfern Ironclad)
Born to Coren:
Hardy Ironclad
Born to Oren and Henna:
Gareth Ironclad (the Shield)
(d) Guy Ironclad
(d) Grian Ironclad
The Southern Empires
Empire of Calyp (capital city: Calypso)
(d) Jak Sandes
(d) Riza Sandes
Born to Jak and Riza:
(d) Sun Sandes (the First Daughter, marriage union to Vin Hoza, emperor of Phanes, now severed)
Windy Sandes (the Second Daughter, childless)
Viper Sandes (the Third Daughter, childless)
Born to Sun and Vin:
Raven Sandes (the First Daughter)
(d) Fire Sandes (the Second Daughter)
Whisper Sandes (the Third Daughter)
Empire of Phanes (capital city: Phanea)
(d) Jin Hoza
(d) Dai Hoza
Born to Jin and Dai:
(d) Vin Hoza (marriage union to Sun Sandes, empress of Calyp, now severed)
(d) Rin Hoza
(d) Shin Hoza
Also born to Vin and Sun:
Falcon Hoza
(d) Fang Hoza
(d) Fox Hoza
Acknowledgments
When I released book three in this series, Soulmarked, only a month after the first book was published, I had a small, but devoted following. I never expected that when Deathmarked was released the series would reach the #1 spot on three Amazon bestseller lists. I am honored that it did. THANK YOU READERS, you are my personal heroes, and you motivate me to be a better writer each and every day.
Thanks again to Piero for another wicked cover, you truly brought Grey Arris to life. Can’t wait to see what you come up with for the final book.
To my beta squad: Laurie Love, Elizabeth Love, Karen Benson, Kerri Hughes, Terri Thomas, and our newest member, Milan Pavicic. You are all readermarked, and I really couldn’t have taken this series to the heights it has achieved without your dedication and commitment. May you never be
come a snack for the Horde.
Finally, to my wife, Adele, and my son Beau, you are the reason I get up at 5am in the morning to write. I do this for you. You are my inspiration. Thanks for all your support!
The saga continues in other books by David Estes available through the author’s official website:
http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.com
or through select online retailers including Amazon.com.
High Fantasy Novels by David Estes
The Fatemarked Epic:
Book One—Fatemarked
Book Two—Truthmarked
Book Three—Soulmarked
Book Four—Deathmarked
Book Five—Lifemarked (coming soon!)
Science Fiction Novels by David Estes
“Someone must die before another can be born…”
The Slip Trilogy:
Book One—Slip
Book Two—Grip
Book Three—Flip
“Series to Read if You Enjoyed The Hunger Games”—Buzzfeed.com
The Dwellers Saga (also available in audiobook):
Book One—The Moon Dwellers
Book Two—The Star Dwellers
Book Three—The Sun Dwellers
Book Four—The Earth Dwellers
“Fire Country is a fast, fierce read.”—Emmy Laybourne, author of Monument 14
The Country Saga (A Dwellers Saga sister series)(also available in audiobook):
Book One—Fire Country
Book Two—Ice Country
Book Three—Water & Storm Country
Book Four—The Earth Dwellers
Strings (also available in audiobook)