The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  Mara stared after him, blinking. Something niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t think properly, like she was in a fog. “That tattoo . . .”

  “The symbol of the house he serves,” Steel said.

  “So, they are slaves then? All of them?” She asked, feeling a surge of pity. Life as a dreg was awful, but at least she had her freedom. What sort of people were these Kerani that they could buy and sell people like sheep or horses?

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Creases formed on his forehead. His eyes grew vacant, as though he were no longer present, completely lost in his thoughts.

  It set her on edge. “Is something wrong?”

  “It appears that much has changed since I was last here.” In the span of a heartbeat, Steel washed away his concern and replaced it with his usual, positive countenance. “Now come. Everyone is waiting for us.”

  Mara trotted after him, hoping that his friend would be as helpful as Steel expected. The sooner they translated their books and scrolls, the sooner they could leave this cursed place.

  The restaurant sat beneath an open sky. Retractable awnings were rolled up along the edges, allowing the afternoon sun to shine on the diners. Mara groaned at the thought of eating in the conditions, imagining sweat flavoring her every bite. Were the Kerani people immune to the heat? Tables were set low to the ground, surrounded by plush, colorful cushions. Ansel, Wynn, and Tova sat at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. Mikkal stood nearby, hands clasped loosely behind him.

  Mara settled in, unsure of how to order their food. Steel waved over an indignant looking man whose face appeared to be stuck in a permanent scowl. He watched them with undisguised loathing, as though they were vermin he wanted to exterminate.

  Steel sat back with easy confidence, and in fluent Kerani said, “Indsa vakka atta het sekin uvase. Ma pakta, ik raken.”

  They turned, as one, to stare at him in shock. All except Mikkal, that is, who was too busy scanning the area for danger. He certainly took his job seriously.

  The man’s scowl transformed into a broad smile. “Teka spek Kerani!”

  Steel grinned back and gestured to the group. “Ind van o boma. Ik raken vak ehle het ikmati o Kearar.”

  The man nodded gravely. “Ind ehle.” Then he brightened and all but ran to the open kitchen, shouting orders to his chefs.

  Mara turned to Steel. “What was that?”

  “I merely ordered for us,” Steel said.

  “That’s not what I meant. Two seconds ago, he looked like he wanted to murder us. Then he got all excited and ran off. What did you say to him?”

  “Ah, I understand. The Kerani people are proud and fierce. They believe that outsiders are beneath their notice and absolutely refuse to speak the common tongue despite most everyone knowing it. By speaking in his native tongue, I honored him and showed respect for his culture. A few compliments sprinkled here and there never hurt, either.”

  “That’s incredible! How did you learn the language so well?” Ansel asked, awe flooding his voice.

  Steel looked slightly uncomfortable as he shifted on the cushion seat. “As you know, I spent several years here as a boy. My father insisted that I learn the language and culture before I came. He said it was important.”

  “Is your father a lord or something?” Mara asked.

  “What?” Steel asked, confusion growing on his face before he schooled it back into a carefully blank mask. “Ah, yes. He is a . . . lord.”

  Mara frowned. What was he hiding? It wasn’t like it was much of a secret. A blind man could tell he was noble from a mile away.

  Ansel nodded and said, “That makes sense. We figured you were noble or highborn, based on your clothes and how you speak.”

  Steel glanced down in surprise, as if seeing his attire for the first time. Mikkal shot him a look that seemed to say, ‘I told you so,’ then resumed his guard duty.

  Just then, the man came back to their table, carrying a large tray above his head. A few servants—at least she hoped they were servants and not slaves—followed bringing baskets, mugs, and a large clay pitcher. Mara’s mouth watered with anticipation as the table filled, the tantalizing smells teasing her. Steel murmured his thanks, dipping his head, then picked up a strange piece of flatbread. Pakta, he explained, then proceeded to dip it into a pile of brown mushy stuff.

  Her eyes scanned the tray, trying to find something, anything, that she recognized. There was some kind of dried insect and she pushed back from the table, aghast.

  “You’d better start eating before you offend our hosts,” Steel said, popping the insect into his mouth and crunching it. “It’s all quite delicious, I assure you.” He pointed to the various piles, naming them in turn. “Chicken hearts, bean paste, red lentils, fried locusts, roasted chunks of goat leg, and snake eggs. Just use your fingers or scoop it up with the pakta. And, if I’m not mistaken . . .” He poured some of the beverage into a mug, bringing it to his lips for a sip. “Yes, cucha. It’s a liquor made from fermented sun cactus. Positively delicious, though you should drink in moderation. Otherwise, you’ll feel as though you’re dying tomorrow.”

  Mara reached out and snagged a piece of pakta, running it through the chunks of meat he’d called goat. She tentatively brought it to her lips, nibbling the edge. A moan escaped her lips and she went in for another scoop. “He’s right! This is incredible!” She polished off the slice of flatbread, determined to try everything on the tray. Well, maybe not the locusts. Some lines should never be crossed.

  Wynn and Ansel started eating, but Tova merely nibbled at the bread, absolutely refusing to try anything on the tray. Her loss, Mara thought, savoring each spicy flavor. This meal alone was well worth the trip to Kearar in her opinion.

  “It appears as though you are enjoying the fine cuisine.”

  Mara looked up, startled by a man standing by their table. He was one of the tallest people she’d ever seen, with skin the color of midnight. His green suvali, which jangled with hundreds of gold beads, was open at the chest, revealing an intricate scorpion tattoo. His head was shaved like the rest. On his ears he wore golden earrings that dangled to his broad shoulders. And hanging around his neck was a necklace made of . . . teeth?

  Steel leapt to his feet and clasped the stranger’s forearm. “Ik teno!”

  The stranger—whom she assumed could only be Tomar—repeated the greeting with a curve of his lip. “When my slave brought word that you were here in Kearar, I thought it must surely be a joke and prepared to cut his tongue out for lying. But you are truly here! Such a marvelous surprise.”

  “I have missed you, my friend,” Steel said, only settling onto his cushion once his friend had sat down. “Allow me to introduce my companions. Mikkal, you already know. And this is Wynn, Tova, Mara, and Ansel.” He pointed to each of them.

  Without introducing himself first, Tomar helped himself to the jug of cucha, filling his mug to the brim. “I have missed you as well. Tell me your story. It has been, what, nine, ten years? Did you marry Olielle? And how is your father, the Mi—”

  “I would not know, Tomar. I haven’t been home in over a year.”

  With her eyes still glued to the necklace, Mara couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “I’m sorry, but are those teeth?”

  Tomar glanced over, apparently surprised that any of them would speak. He cocked his head to the side as he regarded her. “Indeed, they are. My father’s.”

  Steel’s eyes widened in shock.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Mara replied.

  “Loss? I do not understand this word.”

  “I uh . . . I assumed he was dead.”

  “I should certainly hope so. It took twenty-three attempts before I finally killed him!” Tomar said, brimming with pride. “May my own children kill me in twenty-two!” With that, he tilted back his mug of cucha and drained it dry.

  “You killed your own father?” Ansel asked, outraged, looking at Tomar as though the man had sprouted a second head. Ma
ra could understand the sentiment. In Stonehollow, family was sacred. Parents raised their children, and in return, the children cared for their parents as they aged. The idea that someone would murder their own father was abhorrent. Her stomach soured.

  Steel winced, exchanging a loaded look with Mikkal. “Congratulations, my friend. You never desired the burden of being Rei.”

  “Better me than my viper of a sister. Tamara does not have the people’s interests at heart. She had already tried ten assassination attempts, and it was only a matter of time before she succeeded. I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

  Leaning back against her cushion, Wynn kicked her boots up onto the table and picked at her teeth with her dirk. “Would ya mind fillin’ the rest of us in, love?”

  Steel explained, “In Kearar, succession can be a . . . tricky thing. A child must prove that he or she is strong enough to lead their people by killing the previous Rei or Reina. It is shameful to succeed in only a few attempts, for it proves their leader was weak. There is no glory in besting a weak Rei.”

  “No indeed! And once, long ago, a Rei culled his entire brood after they failed fifty times in a row. It would not do to turn the kingdom over to such weakness as that,” Tomar said, helping himself to another mug of cucha.

  Wynn nodded, accepting the explanation easily. “Pretty near how we do it in Lingate. If ya want the throne, ya gotta kill the Warlord.”

  “Hmm, then perhaps I should set my sights north. With my army of Gifted, I could defeat the northern barbarians and be back home before the evening meal,” Tomar joked. He turned his cunning eyes on Steel. “As much as I have enjoyed your visit, I can’t imagine you traveled all this way for the pleasure of my company.”

  Steel cleared his throat. “I don’t wish to impose, but we need—”

  “Not here!” Tomar cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Honestly, has the outside world turned you into an uncultured savage? No, we will discuss business in the comfort of my home.”

  16

  Tomar lived in a tent. A massive tent, to be fair—it lorded over all that surrounded it—but still, just a tent. Until she saw the interior, that is. Tomar nodded to the guards posted on either side of the entrance, then peeled back the white flaps and ducked inside, motioning for them to follow.

  Mara stepped inside, eyes widening. It almost looked . . . cozy. Dozens of fluffy cushions were scattered about the room, begging her to dive in and take a nap. Exhaustion from the previous days spent in the saddle were catching up with her and all she wanted to do was sleep. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long before Tomar agreed to help them. Then, she could rest.

  She scanned the rest of the room. By the entrance, a brazier full of scented oil was lit, freshening the interior with the smoky smell of jasmine. A painted urn, large enough that Mara could fit inside, stood proudly in the corner. Hanging from the canvas walls were tapestries made from thousands of colorful threads. The floor was covered with thick carpets, thank the gods. She’d seen enough sand to last a lifetime.

  Five women with bare feet, each wearing a different color suvali, waited behind the cushions. Without a word, one woman poured the Rei a drink and another offered him a plate of fruit. Waving them away, Tomar pulled a woman wearing a purple suvali into his lap. She giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  Mara shifted her weight from foot to foot. What were they supposed to do? Steel hadn’t told them much about Kerani customs, and she worried about offending the Rei. She cast a longing look at the cushions. Should they sit down? In her state, she’d probably start snoring in seconds. Mara settled for standing awkwardly with Wynn and Ansel.

  Steel apparently had no such misgivings as he sank onto a cushion with a wry smile, helping himself to the fruit. He nodded to the woman on Tomar’s lap and said, “Your Reina, perhaps?”

  “Certainly not. These beauties are merely my concubines,” Tomar said.

  “Ahh, your father had similar . . . predilections, if I remember correctly.”

  Tomar ran an affectionate hand down the woman’s face, tracing her profile with his fingers. “Indeed. Though, my father’s tastes were far less refined than mine, I’m afraid. The women in my serali are nothing short of perfection.”

  Steel chuckled. “I’m surprised your wife hasn’t slipped a viper in your bed. Remember the time your mother placed a scorpion beneath your father’s pillow after he spent the night with his concubines?”

  “Well, I think it’s shameful.” Ansel stated, his face the color of a tomato. “You disgrace your . . . what was the word . . . your Reina, by spending time with these other women.”

  The temperature in the tent dropped as silence descended. Steel’s controlled expression slipped for a moment, showing unfiltered fear, and Mara realized the gravity of Ansel’s mistake.

  Tomar’s jaw clenched. He shoved the woman off of his lap and stormed over to where Ansel stood, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. “You dare to judge me? By rights, I could gouge out your eyes, strip the skin from your back, and lay you out in the desert until the night scavengers eat your innards for their morning meal.” Never once did he raise his voice, but somehow that made him sound even more menacing than if he had shouted. Mara shivered.

  Steel scrambled to repair the situation. “Please, Tomar. You must forgive that one’s speech. He comes from a remote village, where they are paired. Please, have a seat. I vow that he will not speak again during our meeting.”

  She watched as Tomar regarded Ansel with barely concealed disgust, before the tension left his body and he chuckled. “I suppose our ways might seem unusual for an outsider. Forgiveness.” He walked over and sat back down on his cushion. The woman went to sit back on his lap, but he waved her away with a flick of his hand.

  “It appears as though your kingdom is thriving under your rule. However, I couldn’t help but notice a large number of Order disciples mingling about,” Steel hinted. Judging by his expression, he hadn’t expected to see the Order at all.

  Tomar frowned. “As you could imagine, there was unrest after my father’s death. Not all of the people wanted to support my claim, despite our laws. Many chose to follow my sister. I received a scroll from Cadmus, the Head Magi. In it, he offered an interesting opportunity. In exchange for his help in unifying Kearar, I would allow the disciples to stay after the rebellion was handled. Five years later, and they still remain, hundreds of them, picking our coffers clean like vultures.”

  “The Order is known for their greed. That would explain why you resorted to a more . . . unusual source of revenue,” Steel said delicately. Mara bristled. People were revenue now? Oh, she would be having words with him later.

  “They bled Kearar dry. By welcoming the lion, I turned my kingdom over to the will of the pride.” Tomar’s face grew venomous. “They took my son.”

  “As a hostage?” Steel asked, outraged.

  “As a novice. So long as I cooperate with the Head Magi’s demands, Tamil will be safely raised within the Order,” Tomar clarified. “Now, enough of this. Tell me what you want from me.”

  Steel paused, and Mara got the impression that he was choosing his words carefully. “Our journey across the desert was long and difficult, so a safe place to stay while we recover would be most welcome. Mikkal and I would also like access to your archives.”

  Tomar rubbed his mouth, eying the group with speculation. “Archives?”

  “Yes. We recently acquired a large number of ancient scrolls and tomes, but none were written in a language we could understand. I suspect that they reveal information about the formation of the Order and its dealings. It had once been important for you, and we would appreciate your help in translating them.”

  “I see. Unfortunately, I will be unable to help you with the translation. Ruling a country is tedious and rather time consuming. I haven’t set foot in my library in years, but you are welcome to whatever resources you need for the time being,” Tomar said.

  Steel breathed a sigh of relief
and beamed at the Rei. “Thank you, my friend. I cannot tell you how much that will help. We will not forget your kindness. Perhaps, if we are able, we can help free your son as well.”

  Tomar winced, but his face cleared, and he gave them a tight smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Mara imagined he was concerned over the safety of his son. Tomar stood up. “I’m sorry, but I must cut this visit short. I have business to attend to, but feel free to explore as much as you wish. A slave will show you to your tent when you are ready to retire for the evening.”

  As soon as Tomar exited the tent, Steel smiled at them. “Such a lovely man. Didn’t I tell you that he would help us?”

  Ansel made a noise that sounded like a dying cat and Mara had to bite back a laugh. “That you did. So, what now? We still have a few hours before dark.”

  “Mikkal and I will head directly to the library to begin our research. Someone will need to check on the horses and retrieve our packs,” Steel said, already walking out of the tent.

  Wynn jumped on the chance to escape the crowded streets and volunteered to get the packs, dragging Tova behind her. Without a task to occupy their time, Ansel and Mara headed for the market.

  Mara had assumed that people would buy what they need and then retire to their tents, but that wasn’t the case. If anything, the crowd had grown so thick that they couldn’t walk two feet without bumping into someone. Maybe there was little to do in the desert, so this was their form of entertainment? She stopped to watch a Caeli keep twenty kites afloat with just the air from his hands.

  They wandered down the rows of tables, keeping their hands safely by their sides. Mara’s knuckles still stung from where the old woman had hit her with the cane, and she didn’t want to risk another sharp lesson. She tried to appear innocent and non-threatening, but it didn’t seem to matter. Suspicious glances and harsh murmurs followed them as they walked.