The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  A frantic shriek pierced the silence and she bolted, heart pounding, into the forest. Was it the Order? Had they caught Ansel? Her boots thudded on the path, all thought of staying hidden forgotten. She darted through the trees, branches whipping her arms and face. She spotted him writhing on the ground, being attacked by an unseen force. Gripping him by the shoulders, she shook him.

  “Ansel! What’s wrong? What happened?” She crouched in a defensive position, alert for disciples. But apart from terrified wildlife fleeing Ansel’s panicked howling, there was nothing around for miles as far as she could tell.

  “Get it off, get it off!” He yelled, clawing his face in terror.

  “Get what off?”

  “Spider web!” he cried, still rubbing frantically at his face and clothing. “Is it on me?”

  Mara snapped backward, indignant. All of this over a stupid spider? She marched over and punched him in the arm. “I thought the Order caught you, you idiot!” She pulled her arm back to hit him again. “Don’t! Ever! Do! That! To! Me! Again!” she shouted, punctuating each word with the slap of her fists on his bare arms.

  He backed away, trying to dodge the unrelenting flurry. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He chuckled, eyes alight with amusement.

  “Don’t you laugh at me!”

  “It’s just . . . you’re really cute when you’re angry.” He pinched his lips together as though he were trying to hold in his laughter.

  She stared at him, incredulous, debating whether or not he needed another beating.

  “But seriously, is the spider still on me?”

  Mara rolled her eyes. “Let’s go. We need to get moving or a spider is going to be the least of your worries,” she said over her shoulder before disappearing back into the forest.

  They packed up their meager camp, spreading out leaves and debris to camouflage their presence. It wouldn’t fool an experienced tracker, but with any luck, an ordinary disciple wouldn’t look twice. Adjusting their position slightly, they headed north. Squirrels chittered at each other, jealously guarding their winter stash of nuts and seeds. The thin layer of frost coating the ground crunched beneath their feet.

  Mara lengthened her stride and skipped over the forest floor. She breathed in the heady smell of dirt and plants, feeling at home. Feeling alive. Ansel, by comparison, managed to step on every dried leaf and stick in his path, boots thumping with each monstrous step.

  She shot him an irritated glance. “Can you at least make an effort to be quiet?” she hissed.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. “They make roads for a reason, you know.”

  “A road would defeat the purpose of sneaking.”

  Ansel shoved an offending branch out of the way and cursed as it ricocheted back in his face. “I’m not really a sneaking around kind of guy. I’m more of a ‘charge in, sword swinging’ man.”

  “Unless you want to be a six-feet under sort of man, you’d better change fast,” she snapped back. White puffs of air escaped her mouth with each breath.

  “Or we could go back. Eat a nice big bowl of stew by tomorrow night. Sleep in our warm beds . . .”

  Her stomach growled. Ansel’s gigantic ego aside, they did need something substantial to eat. Maybe once he had a warm meal, he’d stop talking about going home. Her eyes scanned the forest as they walked, searching for a rabbit or squirrel to hunt. Hours passed with no success and the sun began setting before she finally caught their dinner. With a triumphant smile, she held it up to show Ansel.

  “What is it?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

  “What do you mean what is it? It’s a rabbit!”

  “You sure? Looks more like a porcupine to me.” He laughed and pointed at the multiple arrows sticking out of it. Mara huffed. Okay, so she wasn’t a Tellum. Who cares? Meat is meat.

  That night they risked a fire, thinking more with their stomachs than their brains. The savory smell of the roasting rabbit made her drool. Ansel used his dagger to cut it, passing half to her. She ripped into it with her bare hands, grease dribbling down her chin and arms. Ansel chuckled and tore into his own, licking his fingers with relish.

  When she was done eating, she tossed the bones in the fire and wiped her hands on her pants. Leaning forward, she reached towards the fire and wiggled her fingers. She frowned, concentrating harder.

  Ansel sat straight up, looking panicked. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to use my powers again. Now shush.”

  He edged away, gaze bouncing back and forth between the fire and her hands. “Are you sure you want to do that? The last time, it exploded.”

  Mara ignored him, moving closer to the fire until she almost touched the dancing flames. She closed her eyes, trying to summon the same energy she had the morning of the execution. A flame licked her palm and she yelped at the pain. Perplexed, she stared at her reddening hand. “Well, that answers that question. I’m not an Ignis.”

  Ansel’s brows furrowed as he chewed his flaking lips. “I don’t understand. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  She shrugged, swallowing her disappointment. “A fluke, nothing more. Maybe one of the disciples threw a green log on the fire and it was just a coincidence. I’ll tell you one thing though . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’m still a dreg, so it looks like we can’t go home after all.”

  8

  “Too risky.”

  “Soft-hearted fool. Let’s just kill ‘em and be done with it.”

  “We’re not murderers, Wynn.”

  Mara blinked her eyes, trying to remember where she was. Her face scraped painfully against a rocky surface— evidence that she had wandered from her bedroll. Again. She rubbed her cheek, staring curiously at the three, or was it four, silhouettes that swam in the bright moonlight. She must be dreaming. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision.

  “Ya waitin’ for an invitation?” said a gravelly voice in a thick accent she didn’t recognize.

  Mara shot upright, lunging for her bow. She froze. It had vanished from its spot by her bedroll. Her head snapped up, eyes widening, as she took in the woman standing mere feet away. Scars crisscrossed her arms and face, making her already menacing features look downright deadly. Dangerous, Mara thought and her skin prickled. The woman’s black hair was cropped short, revealing a missing chunk in her left ear. Her fading gray tunic, looking a size too big, sported multiple holes. In her hand, was Mara’s bow.

  The woman smirked, dangling the bow just out of reach. “Lookin’ for this?”

  Mara winced and glared at Ansel, who must have fallen asleep during his watch. “Thanks for waking me up, Ansel.”

  He ignored her, sitting up slowly and stealing covert peeks at his sword. The scarred woman noticed and, with a savage grin, kicked the sword out of reach.

  “Who . . . who are you?” Mara asked, grimacing at the tremor in her voice. A wiry man with a stern face and a thick mane of long, brown hair, placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Another man was standing just behind the wiry one and Mara craned her neck to get a better look. The wiry man glowered, stepping protectively to the side to block her view. She almost snorted. Did he really think she could be a threat right now?

  The scarred woman stepped forward, drawing two daggers, each the length of her forearms, from her belt and held them in a reverse grip. “Ye’re not in a position to be askin’ questions.”

  “Wynn, be civil,” the hidden man said as he stepped casually around his protector. Mara stifled a gasp. He was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Tall, broad-shouldered with skin the color of polished bronze. His cloak, showing minor signs of wear, was leagues finer than the others. Sparkling with amusement, his rich, aquamarine eyes scanned her from head to toe. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and flashed her a disarming smile. “These two are in no position to do us harm. Honestly, Wynn. You must stop threatening to kill everyone you meet.”

  Wynn cackled, nudging Ansel’s leg with a mudd
y boot. “I’m guessing ya missed this one reaching for his sword. Too stupid to keep it on ‘em. And that one,” she waved a dagger in Mara’s direction, “grabbin’ for her bow.”

  Mara flew to her feet, fists clenching, determined to put this stranger in her place. She felt a prick on her neck and blinked, stunned, as Wynn appeared next to her, dagger pressed under her chin. She glared into Wynn’s chocolate brown eyes, refusing to look away. How did she move so fast?

  “A feisty one, eh? I like that. What’s yer power, love?”

  She blinked, wondering how to respond. If she revealed herself as a dreg, she was as good as dead. The cold metal bit into her flesh and a drop of blood trickled down her neck, leaving a trail on her dusty skin. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to lie…

  “She doesn’t have one,” a timid voice declared. All eyes turned as a tiny slip of a girl with stringy, mouse-brown hair tip-toed from behind Wynn. Mara hadn’t even seen here there. Or had she?

  “What?” Wynn asked.

  The girl, wearing thread-bare rags riddled with holes, stood trembling as she found herself the center of everyone’s attention. Mara used the distraction to step back, just enough to remove the knife from her throat, and moved next to Ansel. His fists clenched and the vein in his forehead pulsed. She placed a hand on his forearm, trying to calm his temper.

  “Honestly, Tova. A bit of a warning was in order, I’d wager,” the beautiful man said.

  “I’m sorry,” Tova said, focusing intently on the ground by her left boot. She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “Obviously she doesn’t have a Gift. If she did, she would have used it already.” She met Mara’s gaze and her caramel eyes widened a fraction.

  “Unless it’s something worthless, like a Sartor,” Wynn sneered.

  “As if you wouldn’t take needlework over nothing, Wynn,” the beautiful man said.

  “Shut up, Steel. No one asked for yer opinions.”

  The four exchanged silent glances. Mara watched with a detached fascination, trying to make sense of these people and their intentions. They weren’t wearing the gray robes of disciples. Were they bandits, then? She turned her head carefully, shooting Ansel a confused look. He shrugged in return. Okay, so he was as clueless as her. Wynn watched the quiet girl with soft eyes and placed a gentle arm around her shaking shoulders. The gesture seemed tender, motherly even, though she appeared too young to have birthed the girl herself. Mara’s brows pinched together, baffled by the apparent bond.

  Though Mara’s mind was still sluggish, several pieces of information clicked into place like the puzzles Sarai loved to do back home.

  “Are you . . . are you all dregs?”

  The four stiffened and turned to her, faces wary. Wynn’s eyes narrowed into slits and the corners of her mouth quirked up in a feral smile. “Good news, Steel! Now we will have to kill ‘em,” she said, making no effort to hide her excitement.

  Mara held her hands up in front of her. What was wrong with this woman? “Wait! I’m a dreg, too. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Lies. Ya think we don’t know Order tricks by now, girly?” Wynn hissed.

  “I’m telling the truth. We had to flee our village. The Magi . . .”

  “And what of your friend?” Steel asked. “Is he a dreg as well?”

  “I’m sorry, what are your names?” Mara asked, dodging the question.

  “Ah, please forgive my oversight. My name is Steel, m’lady. A radiant pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, sinking into a funny sort of half-bow. Given Wynn’s hostile behavior, Mara wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or not. Steel gestured to the others with a sweeping wave of his arm. “This charming woman is Wynn, and the darling hiding behind her is Tova. This fine specimen of a man who’s attempting to shield me from view—rather poorly, I might add—is Mikkal.”

  She nodded, committing their names to memory. Steel seemed like a reasonable man. Maybe they could get out of this alive after all. “I’m Mara and this is—”

  “Ansel. My name is Ansel. You have five seconds to explain what you want before I kill you all.”

  Mara groaned and wiped a hand across her face. So much for getting out alive.

  “I’d like to see ya try, pretty boy.” The scarred woman, Wynn, twirled her daggers, baring her teeth in a toothy grin, and widened her stance.

  Ansel lunged for his sword, spinning to face her. Mikkal pushed Steel behind him and pulled his sword a few inches from its sheath but made no move to interfere.

  Mara stepped between the two, needing to diffuse the situation. If there was a chance to talk their way out, by gods she was going to take it. No sense ruining everything with violence. Though if it came to that, four against two was far from a fair fight. “Both of you calm down!”

  “Don’t pay her any mind. Wynn threatens to kill everyone she meets,” Steel said.

  “Still haven’t decided in yer case, Steel,” Wynn said with a coarse laugh.

  Steel clapped his hands, causing Mara to jump. “Wonderful! Now, pack up your things and come with us.” He waved away Wynn’s spluttered protests, apparently confident that they would obey his command.

  “Hold up. No offense, but we don’t know you, so why would we want to go anywhere with you?” Mara folded her arms, refusing to budge.

  Steel hummed. “Perhaps I misjudged the situation. You mentioned having to flee your village. Not to mention a dreg and a Gifted traveling alone together isn’t common.”

  “How did you know I’m Gifted?” Ansel asked, fixing Steel with a skeptical look.

  “Mara’s skillful evasion of my question was evidence enough. Now, come with us. Unless sleeping in the woods is your idea of a holiday. A honeymoon, perhaps?” Steel smirked and waggled his eyebrows at them.

  They spoke at once.

  “We’re not . . .”

  “She’s not . . .”

  Steel chuckled, apparently enjoying their flustered response.

  Something nagged the back of her mind. She turned to Steel and asked, “How did you find us?”

  Wynn sheathed her daggers and rolled her eyes. “The fire, idiot.”

  All traces of humor vanished from Steel’s face and he scanned the forest around them. “You are most fortunate that we found you first.”

  9

  “What did you mean by that? That we’re fortunate you found us first?” Mara asked, shoving her bedroll into her pack, not bothering to fold it. Something in Steel’s tone set her on edge and she scanned the forest, anxious to move on. In the early morning light, the trees seemed almost sinister.

  “You haven’t noticed?” When she shook her head, he continued. “The forest is crawling with Order disciples. They’ve even sent out some acolytes and a Guardian, too. One might think they have a particular target in mind.” He stared at her with shrewd eyes.

  Mara’s face pinked and she ducked her head. Of course they were searching for her. The fire had been a horrible mistake.

  “So, where are we headed?” Mara coughed, trying to cover her reaction.

  “The Ghost Keep,” Wynn said, her words thick and gravelly. Mara cocked her head, trying to place her accent.

  “Why are you going to that old heap?” Ansel scowled, not bothering to hide his aversion to traveling with the group. Mara could understand his reservations but having the protection of a larger group made sense. Still, she’d be sleeping with one eye open the next few days.

  “You know of it?” Steel asked.

  “Everyone knows about it around here. I’ve even been there once myself.”

  “Does it get visitors often?” Steel asked, looking alarmed.

  Ansel shook his head. “No. Well, only the occasional kid, looking for a scare. Oh, and the groundskeeper, but he only comes once or twice a month. The emperor likes to keep it in shambles as a warning.”

  Mara never had a reason to visit growing up, not that she wanted to. Ghost stories were best enjoyed from the safety of her village. Preferably with a warm
cup of cider. When she was little, she would perch on the window of the tavern and listen to the men talk. With each mug they emptied, their lips loosened until they would compete to see who could tell the best tale of the Keep. Her favorites involved vengeful spirits and agonizing deaths. She couldn’t sleep for days after, even with the covers pulled over her head, but it was worth it. And after the stories were told, when the men were deep in their cups, someone would bring up the sad history of their forgotten country before stumbling home, shoulders heavy. She could still recite it from memory.

  Two hundred years ago, before Esterwyn had swallowed them whole, their kingdom was peaceful and prosperous. King Derek and Queen Trista were beloved by all. But like all good things, it met a quick and decisive end. King Edric of Esterwyn grew jealous. Lusting over their rich lands, he decided to take it for himself. Under the guise of a peace delegation, King Edric infiltrated the Scion Peninsula and attacked. Her people were farmers and craftsmen, not warriors. Despite fighting bravely, they were slaughtered to a man. The whole court was cut down that day, including Queen Trista and her infant son. The next day, King Derek was publicly executed, his limbs torn from his body, as an example of what would happen to future rebels. As a final insult, the castle was destroyed and left in ruins to this day. Its true name forgotten, it became the Ghost Keep. All records of their kingdom had been erased from history and none remembered its name.

  “What do you expect to find?” Mara asked, curious.

  “I’ve heard reports that the library may be intact within the ruins.”

  Ansel snorted. “Books? You must be joking. Don’t they have any where you came from?”

  Steel pursed his lips and weighed them with heavy eyes, as though trying to decide how much he should reveal.

  “Let him keep his secrets,” Mara said. She cinched the top of her pack and walked over to Ansel who was kicking dirt over their fire ring.

  He glanced around, making sure they were out of earshot, and whispered, “I don’t like this, Mara. It could be a trap.”