Alastair said, “Happy bonding day,” and picked a sword from the ground. The previous owner wouldn’t need it anymore, his eyes blank and staring.
Gwendolyn said, “Fight with honor,” and obtained her own weapon, a long metal bow and a satchel of arrows.
As one, they joined the fray.
Alastair may have been injured, but he was highly trained, and he likely had plenty of adrenaline to chase away the pain in his twisted ankle. Still, Gwendolyn kept an eye on him as he fought his way toward a platoon of men and women who found themselves backed against a wall. They were in danger of becoming dragon fodder if they didn’t push their enemies back. Alastair managed to defeat two Calypsians before coming up against a determined trio with crackling whips. With their long range weapons, they landed several blows, eventually forcing him to his knees.
Gwen took aim as they closed in, three arrows simultaneously strung on her taut bowstring. Alastair raised his sword to defend against a potential killing blow that would never come.
With a melodic twang! her arrows flew. Two easily passed Alastair on either side, finding their targets’ throats, while the third whizzed by his left ear and entered the third soldier’s mouth, which was open wide with a snarl.
His enemies collapsing before him, Alastair looked back and mouthed a silent Thank you, and then continued onward, uniting with the platoon. In the midst of allies, Gwen felt he would be safe, so she turned away, seeking others in need.
As it turned out, she was the one in danger now. Several of the enemy had seen her triple-arrow feat, and raced toward her, leading with broad shields to protect themselves.
Her heromark burst to life once more. Shooting arrows straight and true was something she’d learned the hard way, through countless hours of practice, but this next challenge required power beyond that of a mortal. Instead of running from her foes like they might expect, or trying to pierce their shields with her arrows, she wrenched two arrows from her satchel and charged them.
Surprised, their pace slowed, but didn’t stop. She reached the first enemy, a woman with silky black hair twisted into a braid and a black whip. The soldier swung the whip with a crack, but Gwen moved like lightning, dodging the blow, swerving around the woman’s shield, and jamming the arrow through her leather armor and into her chest.
Before the woman had fallen, Gwen was onto the next two enemies, a pair of men who seemed intent on using their shields as battering rams, coming at her from either side. This time she went airborne, leaping far higher than any normal Orian, much less human, could jump. Soaring over them, she kicked one in the face, while flinging an arrow into the other’s eye.
The remaining enemies fled, but she shot them in the backs, dropping each in turn. She felt no remorse, not after what had happened to Arwen and so many others.
Despite her efforts, it wasn’t nearly enough. The dragons wiped out entire platoons with their flames, while the foot soldiers continued to herd the remaining legionnaires deeper into the inner castle circles. Eventually they would run out of room to retreat and would be sitting ore monkeys.
That’s when reinforcements arrived, from both the air and the forest.
Legionnaires riding ore hawks descended on the city, ripping holes in the clouds, attacking the exposed flanks of the dragons, sinking their talons into the riders, throwing them from their mounts. Like dead flies, they dropped from the sky, landing with screams and sickening thuds. The dragons fought back viciously, melting the skin of several ore hawks and slapping them from the air with their spiked tails. But there were hundreds of ore hawks, their metallic wings reflecting the sun in blinding bursts, and eventually the dragons had no choice but to retreat, heading for the ocean. The ore hawks and their riders chased them off amidst cheers from the soldiers below.
From the forest came the ore cats. Sasha was not amongst them, Gwen noted with pride—her friend had kept her word and stayed with the young boy. The agile beasts slashed through the invaders, ripping out throats and clawing through leather armor. Gwen helped where she could, sending volley after volley of arrows into the enemy, until there were none left standing.
The fighting ceased, though ore cats continued to prowl amongst the piles of bodies, seeking injured Calypsians to finish off with animalistic fury. One by one, the ore hawks and their riders returned, landing atop the high castle walls to provide a warning in case the dragons arrived with reinforcements. The surviving legionnaires searched for survivors, directing Orian healers to those in need.
And Gwendolyn searched for Alastair and their fathers.
She found her father first. When he saw her, he ran to meet her, one of his arms hanging unnaturally, tucked into his side. Rather than chiding her for disobeying him, he said, “I’m not surprised you came to fight. You are my daughter, after all.”
She hugged him and he grimaced. “Your arm,” she said, searching his flesh for the source of the river of blood cascading down his arm, dripping from his fingertips.
“I took a blade through the shoulder. My arm is dead for now, but perhaps the healers can help.”
Gwen nodded, thankful it wasn’t worse. “Have you seen Alastair?”
A pained expression slashed across her father’s face, sending a ragged bolt of fear through her. “I have not, but his father is dead,” he said. “Levi was killed. I’m sorry.”
Gwen hated herself for the relief she felt in that moment. She’d feared it was Alastair who was dead. Though she could feel the sadness and pain at Alastair’s father’s death, she was overwhelmed with gratitude that it wasn’t her bondmate.
She hugged her father again. “Will you help me find Alastair?”
“Of course.”
They searched together, starting at the last place she’d seen him, with the platoon that’d been backed against the wall.
The bodies were piled three high. “Alastair!” she shouted. The silence was deafening.
They picked through the bodies for a long while, and Gwendolyn felt her heart stop every time she spotted a face that could be him. She only started breathing again when she determined it was some stranger.
Then her father found him. “Over here!” he said.
She ran to him, dropping to her knees beside the man she loved, the man who was still alive, still breathing, though his breaths were ragged, his lips cracked and slick with blood.
“It’s too late,” her father said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Gwen shrugged him off. “It’s not!” she snapped. “Healer!” Alastair raised a finger and pressed it to her lips. That was when she noticed the blood flowing freely from the edges of the armor across his chest. A pool had already collected beneath him.
“I am lucky…to have loved…one such as you,” he said, his voice weak and trembling.
“No,” Gwen snarled, tears swamping her vision. “You are not going to die on me. I won’t allow it.”
Alastair didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes distant. “I was saving this poem…for our bonding night,” he said.
“Then keep saving it,” Gwen said. “I’m not listening. Tell me tonight, when you’re bandaged and clean.”
“Night black, day bright,
Stars sparkle, moonlight.”
“Stop,” Gwen said. She grabbed his hands, squeezing. “Please, stop.”
“Leaves rustle, streams flow,
Lightning flashes, winds blow.”
“Please,” she said, but there was no command left in her voice, which had been stripped of all strength.
“Gleaming ore hawks, a silver dove,
So much beauty, but none like you,
My love.”
She choked out a sob and pressed her head into his chest. His lips were cold on her brow. “Don’t go,” she begged. “Don’t leave me.” She remembered the night her mother had died. How she’d begged her the same way. How it hadn’t made any difference, in the end.
“It doesn’t hurt, Gwendolyn,” Alastair said. “Do not fear for me. I w
ill wait for you in Orion’s Forest.”
“No. I need you now. I need you here.”
“I will wait.”
And then Alastair died.
The sudden Calypsian attack had been coined the Dragon Massacre. Evidently, more than a dozen enemy ships had sailed from Calypso days earlier. They’d not been spotted by eastern scouts, because they’d travelled in a wide arc, so far offshore as to not be visible from land. By the time they’d made their move back toward shore, on a collision course with Ferria, it was too late. Though the Southroners were defeated, they continued to attack the borders to the south. Gwen’s father was killed shortly after in Barrenwood. Several witnesses informed her that it had been Emperor Roan Sandes, the famous dragonrider, who had killed him. She cursed his name every night, along with every Calypsian and Phanecian. All told, ten thousand died before the easterners fought off their enemies. More than six thousand had perished in the assault on Ferria alone, including both Freestep men.
Before Gwen’s father had departed on his final ride south, he’d told her what Alastair had said to win him over. “I will love her until the day I die,” Alastair had promised. And that had been enough for Boronis Storm to give his blessing. “All I ever wanted was for you to be loved,” he’d said, with tears in his eyes. And then he’d galloped away, never to return.
Every day Gwendolyn would place fresh flowers, their petals wet with tears, on the graves of her lost loved ones.
Her mother.
Her father.
Arwen.
Captain Levi Freestep.
And Alastair, her beloved legionnaire poet. Her reason for breathing.
And each day she vowed never to love anyone as much as him again.
Have you read Fatemarked, Book 1 in the Fatemarked Epic yet? If not, grab your copy on Kindle today, and learn what happens to your favorite characters from the stories you just read. If you’ve already read Fatemarked, you can continue the saga with Truthmarked, Book 2 in the Fatemarked Epic, available NOW. And look out for more great origin stories for your favorite Fatemarked characters in Fatemarked Origins Volume II.
Keep reading for a sample of Fatemarked, Book 1 in the Fatemarked Epic, available NOW!
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.
Acknowledgments
Just a quick shout out to my cover artist, Piero, you rock! Love seeing you bring my characters to life in such an awesome way. Thanks for everything!
And thank you to my beta readers, Laurie Love, Elizabeth Love, Karen Benson, Kerri Hughes, Daniel Elison and Abalee Cook. This journey is so much better because you’re on it with me!
Finally, thank you to the readers who love knowing all the backstories, who always want MORE from me. You make me a better writer. May you all be book…uh…marked? *groans* Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.
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 (coming soon!)
Book Five—Lifemarked (coming soon!)
Fatemarked Origins:
Volume I
Volume II
Volume III (coming soon!)
Volume IV (coming soon!)
Volume V (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
One of “15 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)
“The Walking Dead for teens, with ruthless witches instead of bloodthirsty zombies.”—Katie Reed, agent at Andrea Hurst & Associates
Salem’s Revenge:
Book One—Brew
Book Two—Boil
Book Three—Burn
Connect with David Estes Online
David Estes Fans and YA Book Lovers Unite
Facebook
Blog/website
About the Author
David Estes was born in El Paso, Texas but moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania when he was very young. He grew up in Pittsburgh and then went to Penn State for college. Eventually he moved to Sydney, Australia where he met his wife and soul mate, Adele, who he’s now happily married to.
A reader all his life, David began writing science fiction and fantasy novels in 2010, and has published more than 20 books. In June of 2012, David became a fulltime writer and is now living in Hawaii with Adele, their energetic son, Beau, and their naughty, asthmatic cat, Bailey.
A sample of FATEMARKED, Book 1 in the Fatemarked Epic by David Estes
Available NOW!
Prologue
The Northern Kingdom, Silent Mountain (circa 518)
The newborn babe awoke in an empty cave, lit by a swathe of green moonlight. The weather was cool, but dry, and a warm blanket swaddled his arms and legs. For a moment he did nothing but stare at the point of a stalactite overhead, which stared right back at him. He was hungry, but he did not cry.
Heavy footfalls echoed from an indeterminate distance.
The cave mouth was soon filled by a mountain of a man, near as wide as he was tall, which was saying something considering his eight-foot-tall stature. He’d been called many names in his life, and none of them out of kindness: troll, ogre, beast, monster. I am all of those things, he thought.
To his friends, who were few, he was known simply as Bear Blackboots, his birth name lost decades ago, squashed under his thunderous trod and what he had become after his mother had been murdered.
Bear stood over the child, and his long brown beard tickled the nose of the swaddled babe, but the infant didn’t smile nor fuss.
In one hand, Bear held a book, its brown leather cover worn, its pages yellow and brittle. In the other he held a torch, which he waved over the child’s hairless scalp.
In a blaze of light that sent the shadows running, a mark burst into being, like a single glowing ember in the midst of a dying fire. The mark was a perfect circle, pierced in eight points by four fiery arrows that split the symbol into eight equal portions, like silver scars from an octagonal mace.
The enormous man yanked the torch away from the babe with a gasp, and the mark vanished in an instant, leaving the child’s head pale and smooth once more.
So it’s true, Bear thought. After over a century of searching, his life extended well beyond that of most mortals, he’d finally found his true purpose, the one his mother had foretold the day before she died.
Because of you, child, the Four Kingdoms shall suffer, Bear thought. Unless I slit your throat now.
He raised a meaty hand, thick and strong enough to crush small boulders. The edge of a knife glinted.
After a moment’s hesitation, he dropped his hand with a sigh,
letting the blade fall from his fingers. “What shall be, shall be,” he murmured, his voice grainy and rough from years of disuse.
Who am I to destroy one with such a destiny, and only an infant who will never know his mother’s breast? Mother? Are you proud of me? Of course, no one answered. She hadn’t answered him for many years.
From one of the many pockets inside his worn leather overcoat, he extracted a milk jug, capped by a drip cloth. “Eat,” he said.
The child ate, and for fourteen long years he thrived under the mountain man’s surprisingly gentle care. Bear only referred to the boy by one name as he grew:
Bane.
One
Fourteen years later (circa 532)
The Southern Empire, Calyp
Roan
“Out of the way, cretin!” the horse master shouted as the royal train galloped past, charging for the trio of pyramids in the distance.
Roan barely managed to fall backwards without getting trampled, his lungs filling with fine dust kicked up under dozens of hooves. As he coughed, he used a hand to cover his mouth with the collar of his filthy shirt. The tattered cloth was brown (though at one time it had been white, its true color eternally lost under layers of Calypsian dust) and as stiff as a leather jerkin.
Royals, Roan thought, slumping against the side of the sandstone hut he’d crashed into when he fell. He’d been living on the streets of the City of the Rising Sun ever since he’d run away from his guardian, a large, gruff Dreadnoughter by the name of Markin Swansea, six years earlier. Three years ago, Markin had been murdered. As far as Roan knew, his guardian had gone to his grave still protecting his secrets, something he remembered every day of his life.
“Are you injured?” someone asked, drawing Roan’s attention away from the passing cavalcade.