The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  A third group of disciples marched forward, forming a semi-circle around the opening of the enclosure. They stretched their palms toward Mara’s group and unleashed a wall of fire.

  Mara leapt in front of the others and erected a shield, pouring everything she had into it, making it stronger. Thicker. And still the fire raged. It punished her shield, the flames licking every surface, searching for a weakness. She could do nothing but hold on. If the shield faltered for a second, they’d be incinerated to ash. Her arms trembled. Sweat poured down her face and back. Her knees buckled under the strain as she spent her remaining energy protecting the people she loved.

  How long could they sustain the fire? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Far longer than she could maintain the shield. The shield rippled, and the air heated to stifling. A sob escaped her throat. They were going to die. And Tamil was out there, alone.

  Ethan rested a hand on her back. “Take what you need.”

  Her eyes widened when she understood what he meant, and she pulled. Warm apple dumplings and sunshine filled her, renewing her strength. Wynn followed suit, then Alex, their energies flooding her core with power. Ethan leaned down and whispered, “I believe in you.”

  She nodded once. Their combined energies flowed through her body. She fortified the shield, blanketing them in protection while the fire dwindled to smoke. The Ignises straightened, their faces impassive as they dropped their hands to the side. Unease churned in her gut. Why weren’t they attacking? Why were they just standing there, staring?

  Her question was soon answered when the remaining disciples parted, and a single boy stepped forward. He had a mop of sandy hair on his head, the tufts blowing gently in the breeze. He still had a layer of baby fat clinging to his freckled face. She could have sworn she saw a spark of fear in his eyes before it cleared away. One of the disciples leaned down and whispered in his ear before giving him a nudge. The boy approached, slowly at first, like a rabbit when it first enters an open field. Then, when Mara made no move toward him, he grew confident, his tiny feet kissing the ground.

  Mara tried to get a read on him, but he gave no indication of his Gift. Why would the Order send a child to face her? He couldn’t be older than five or six.

  Wynn snickered, but Mara’s trepidation grew as he crossed the field. Cadmus didn’t make mistakes. There was a reason why he’d sent this child to face her. As a sacrificial lamb, and he’d use the boy’s death to paint her as a monster? No, that was too sloppy. Cadmus knew her well enough to know she’d never kill a child. Her eyes were glued to his hands, waiting for him to make a move and give her a clue about what she was up against.

  She wracked her brain, trying to remember what she’d learned at Order Headquarters. Outside of Tamil and Lucas, she hadn’t interacted with the novices, and the disciples were tight-lipped about their younglings during training. Not wanting to tell her more than she needed to know. Not wanting to give her anything that could be used against them.

  And now she faced an unknown opponent.

  While she stood, baffled by this change in strategy, she felt a foreign tugging in her core. Soft. Subtle enough that she dismissed it as anxiety. But then it grew stronger. Faster. Relentless. The feeling reminded her of the crisp winters she’d spent in the woods, tapping maple trees for sap to boil into syrup. But now she was the tree, and her energy was gushing like blood from a gaping wound.

  Trembling, she dropped to her knees, crying out as her energy was ripped away. She gaped at the innocent-looking boy in horror as she realized what he was.

  Cadmus had found another Impriga.

  17

  Mara gasped for breath as she slumped over on the ground, powerless under the Impriga’s relentless pull. She’d felt hunger before, but she’d never experienced this sort of . . . emptiness. It was a ravenous void, consuming her very being into a bottomless black hole. She clawed at the ground, unable to think of anything but getting away from this agony. The Impriga was unforgiving as he drained her. How was he so powerful? She’d trained with Halder, the Impriga from Tregydar, and even he hadn’t possessed this raw power.

  Her shield flickered once, then vanished.

  It registered a moment too late. She gasped, trying to regain some semblance of control from the boy. How had he mastered this skill already? Another wave of energy was ripped from her body, torn like a piece of fabric. Her chest heaved as she struggled for control and failed.

  They were vulnerable.

  Wynn and Alex took a protective stance in front of her. Ethan knelt beside her. She wanted to scream at them to run, to save themselves, but nothing emerged from her throat but a desperate gurgle.

  Couldn’t they see that it was useless? The disciples outnumbered them twenty to one.

  She dug her fingers into the ground, trying to claw her way out of this torment. Her eyes found the child. He seemed too innocent for Cadmus. Where had he come from? Had he already been a novice at the Order all along? Or had Cadmus hunted him down after she’d proven herself unmanageable? In that moment, it didn’t matter. Cadmus have found someone young and malleable. Someone he could mold and train to become the greatest weapon the Order had ever possessed. One thing was certain.

  They were doomed.

  She tried to lift her head, but she was too weak to do more than roll it to the side. The rocky ground bit into her cheek. She stretched a hand out toward the boy, trying to wrest back control of her energy. The thread wavered once before he snapped it tight again. Her hand fell limp to the ground.

  The disciples closed in. Now that their protection was gone, it would be too easy to finish them off. Mara closed her eyes and waited for an Ignis to ignite the flame that would end them. Or for a Saxum to collapse the rock surrounding them, transforming it into their grave.

  Wynn growled, “I’ll kill him.”

  “No,” Mara wheezed. “No. That would make us as bad as Cadmus. Just go. Save Ethan, please.”

  Her eyes found Ethan’s, and the utter devastation swimming in his gray eyes shattered her. She knew he would give every last drop of energy if it meant saving her, but she’d already taken so much from him. She couldn’t risk draining any more of their energy without killing him. There would be no more potion. No more tricks. They had fought. And they failed.

  Wynn stubbornly stayed where she was, facing certain death with a grin on her face.

  “Help me up,” Mara demanded. If she was going to die, she wanted to do it on her feet, facing down her killers with dignity. She stared down these Gifted, many of whom she’d trained with at Order Headquarters. Some had a valid reason to hate her—she’d killed many of their family and friends. Others likely were only doing what they were told. So many of these men and women had been ripped from their homes, forced to serve the Order. She wanted to offer them an alternative.

  But it was too late now.

  Reasons wouldn’t matter when their corpses would decorate the barren land.

  Ethan reached down and looped her arm over his shoulder. She leaned into him, too weak to stand on her own. Alex and Wynn flanked them, their weapons drawn and ready.

  If they were going to die, they’d do it together.

  A disciple stepped forward, placing a hand on the Impriga’s shoulder. The boy blinked and released his hold on her energy before he merged with the ranks of disciples.

  The pressure on her core lessened, but she was still an empty husk, barely able to support her head.

  “Surrender.”

  Mara remembered this disciple from Order Headquarters. He was an Irrigo, not much older than her, but the past month had hardened him. Mara’s brows scrunched together. Surrender? Was that even an option anymore? Memories from Order Headquarters rushed through her mind and she paled, limbs shaking so violently Ethan almost dropped her. She couldn’t go back there. She’d rather die.

  “Ya can kiss my arse ya overgrown wart!” Wynn shouted, waving her dirks at the horde of disciples.

  The disciples rushed forward. Wynn vani
shed and reappeared behind the front line, her knives moving so fast they blurred. Alex sank into a crouch, bracing him against the onslaught. Ethan, his arm wrapped around Mara to support her weight, edged them backward, away from the fight.

  Alex charged forward to meet the onslaught. He knocked away a rock aimed at his side, only to miss the one that crashed into his left shoulder. His sword flew from his hand, and his arm hung limply at an awkward angle. The disciples capitalized on his injury and rushed him. Mara screamed as he was knocked to the ground.

  Then her heart stopped as a disciple dragged Tamil, kicking and screaming, into the open. Mara stretched out her hand as if she could snatch him away by sheer will alone. He was supposed to be safe!

  Wynn hissed through her teeth. She swung her boot around and kicked a disciple in the face before lunging to the right. Two disciples approached from both sides, sandwiching her between them. Form blurring, Wynn jumped toward Tamil, only to ram into a solid wall of disciples. She skipped backward, wind milling her blades.

  The whole while, Mara was slowly fading. Just staying upright took every ounce of strength she had left. Ethan’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her close. A wave of dizziness passed through her and her vision dimmed. So she might have been dreaming when Ethan locked eyes with Tamil and nodded once.

  Tamil stopped struggling and went limp in the disciple’s arms. The disciple cursed and threw Tamil over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Mara was certain she didn’t imagine Tamil brushing his hand over the back of the disciple’s neck. Especially not when the disciple began convulsing and frothing at the mouth.

  Before the other disciples could react, Tamil slid down the disciple’s back and sank into a crouch. It looked nothing like the fluid grace that Mikkal used in training—this was lethal in a different way. Brutal. Tamil closed his eyes, ignoring the disciples that rushed toward him while the rest ran for their lives as fast as their legs could carry them. They knew what he was. They knew what he could do.

  They were too late.

  Green droplets shot from his fingers, spraying the surrounding disciples with a flood of burning venom that blistered their skin. The disciples screamed and dropped to their knees.

  And he wasn’t done.

  Ethan grunted in surprise when Tamil flipped his palms upward. Twin clouds of blue mist appeared in his hands, growing larger until it swelled beyond him and enveloped the disciples unfortunate enough to be near him. They clawed at their throats, gasping for breath.

  The cloud radiated outward, crawling across the rocky ground, swallowing the disciples who weren’t quick enough to escape.

  For one desperate moment, Mara thought Tamil would succeed.

  A mountain of a disciple sucked in a deep breath and charged through the mist. Tamil’s eyes widened, and he lurched backward, scrambling for a new attack. The disciple reached for him, and Tamil slapped a hand against the disciple’s arm. The disciple roared but powered through the pain. He pulled a pair of metal cuffs from his gray robes and clicked them around Tamil’s slender wrists before collapsing to the ground. He twitched once, then went still.

  The mist vanished. Tamil raised his palms and shook them furiously. Nothing happened.

  Mara’s heart sank. The last of her hope had died the moment the Disciple clasped those Deleos on Tamil, sacrificing himself so the others could live. She couldn’t help but be impressed by his dedication.

  The Irrigo gripped Tamil around his shoulders, a dagger resting against his neck. “Surrender or the boy dies.”

  It wasn’t even a question. Wynn and Alex threw their weapons on the ground. Ethan followed suit, dropping the dagger and kicking it away with the toe of his boot.

  The disciples approached cautiously, as if expecting a trick. Neither resisted while the disciples clamped Deleos around their wrists, though Wynn was doing her best to melt them with the force her glare.

  Slowly, like he was trying not to draw attention to himself, Ethan reached inside his robes and palmed something in his hand. She eyed him as the disciple approached, thinking it was a weapon of some sort, but he did nothing but stand still with a serene smile as he was bound.

  Deleos were clasped around her wrists, but it didn’t make much of a difference from what she could tell—she hadn’t regained her strength yet. They could have left her unbound and she’d have less power than a mouse.

  Once they were restrained, the disciples searched them for weapons. An impressive pile was growing by Wynn’s feet while Alex only had his twin blades and one spare dagger hidden in his boot. Now that his Gift was suppressed, they grew bold in touching him. Taunting him. He grimaced when one wrenched his injured arm but didn’t make a sound. Mara wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirks off their gloating faces.

  The Irrigo shoved Tamil to the ground next to her. “He’s clean. Not even a knife on him.”

  Tamil looked up at Mara with a tear-streaked face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It appears as though you ignored my orders not to touch the rhysbane,” Ethan scolded. Tamil had the good sense to look sheepish, but Ethan smiled and said, “Well done. Your father would be proud.”

  “Well, if it isn’t Ethan, disgraced son of the Head Magi.” Another disciple swaggered over to Ethan. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Your father will reward us handsomely for capturing you, traitor.”

  He let the scorn run off his back like water. “I certainly hope so. It would be insulting if he did nothing.” The disciple started pawing through Ethan’s robes, pulling out bottles, vials, and pouches. The more he found, the more his confusion grew. Ethan blinked innocently. “Does there seem to be a problem?”

  “What is this?” The disciple popped a cork on a vial and lifted it to his nose.

  “Hmm? Well, that specifically is nybest serum, though I would highly recommend you not ingest it unless you would like your hair, nails, and teeth to fall out.”

  “Not this. This,” the disciple scoffed as he gestured to the pile. His tone suggested that he thought Ethan was being deliberately obtuse, though Mara noted that he quickly plugged the cork back into the vial with a shudder. She wished he would drink it.

  “Oh, those!” Ethan glanced at the pile with the same level of love and affection a father might have given a newborn baby. “I’ll have you know the emperor has the largest collection of rare ingredients I’ve ever seen. It seemed a pity to leave Merrowhaven without taking a souvenir or two.”

  Or hundreds by the look of it.

  Wynn cackled. “Ya robbed him blind!”

  “Robbed is a crude word,” Ethan said, offended. “Considering he sent me to my death, I prefer to think of them as reparations.”

  “Is this all of it?” the disciple asked.

  Ethan eyed the mountain of contraband, tallying the inventory. “There’s a pouch of Abersynth tucked away in my boot. It would be a shame if you missed it.”

  The disciple retrieved the pouch then gave him a mocking bow. “Cadmus appreciates your generous donation to the Order.”

  They dumped them together while the disciples prepared to march. Their horses had been retrieved and were being loaded with supplies. Tamil couldn’t control his sobbing. Mara wished she could wrap her arms around him, but the restrictive cuffs prevented it.

  “It’s not your fault,” Mara said as gently as she could.

  His lip trembled. “I should have tried harder.”

  “Ya should have been miles away,” Wynn pointed out.

  “I couldn’t leave you.” He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I thought I could save you like I did with the emperor’s guards, so I came back.”

  And now he would be heading to Order Headquarters with them instead of waiting for his father in Orgate. She didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did, so she turned to Alex who was cradling his arm, his face pale. “How are you doing?”

  “It’s dislocated, I think. If I could get someone to pop it back into the socket, I’d be fine.”


  “Come over here and I’ll give it a go,” Wynn said. Alex began to scooch over so she could reach him, but a disciple sounded the alarm. Wynn ignored their demands to stop. She gripped Alex’s arm and Mara nearly fainted. This was the first time she’d ever touched Alex. For someone who had been convinced that he would take her Gift by breathing on her, this was huge. With a sharp tug, Wynn jerked the arm upward until it popped back in the socket. Alex sagged back, relief flooding his face. Wynn glared at the disciples. “Idiots.”

  Within an hour, they were marching north.

  18

  The sun was beginning to set in the sky by the time they stopped to make camp. Mara looked around but couldn’t get her bearings. She’d made it a mile before she’d fainted from exhaustion. How far had they traveled while she was unconscious? They must be well on their way toward Order Headquarters by now. How much longer would it take? A week? Two? The thought should have terrified her, but after everything she’d been through, she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. Cadmus had already taken away everything that mattered to her.

  Ethan shifted beside her and she amended her thought—almost everything.

  Maybe once the reality set in, she’d start to panic.

  Trying not to draw the attention of the disciples, she peeked around at her surroundings. A roaring fire had been built, keeping the winter chill at bay. A cookpot sat on the hot coals and a disciple stood over it, adding a sprinkling of seasoning. Judging by the smell, it was some sort of stew. Alex and Wynn curled around Tamil. The glint of the metal on their wrists caught her eye. How were they adjusting?

  She hated the empty feeling inside. She felt powerless to do anything without her Gift. Mikkal’s voice cycled through her head. What would you do if they took your Gift away?

  First, she’d punch him in the face.

  Then, she’d hug him and tell him he was right. She should have listened.