Mara could see the exact moment the mousy girl recognized her. Shock crossed her face before it melted into an evil smile.
Mara pushed Tamil behind her back and tapped into her core, finding it empty. Her eyes darted to the disciples. Tova wasn’t a fighter. If it was just her, they could run, but Tova wasn’t stupid enough to come after them alone. The tallest disciple, a hulking beast of a man with more hair covering his body than a bear, stepped closer to Tova. Mara’s eyes narrowed as she tried to remember him. The other two were easy to dismiss. The first was a waif-like boy with a crooked nose that had no-doubt been broken more than once. His bushy mustache was cut bluntly above his lip, but the sides hung down to his chin like twin fox tails. The last disciple slouched in the back of the group. His eyes drooped, giving him the appearance of being perpetually tired. A dove sat on his shoulder.
But that first disciple . . .
Tova took a step forward and the disciple threw his arm in front of her like she was charging at full-speed toward a den of ravenous bears.
Perhaps if Mara had been fully recovered it would have been a fair assessment, but they had no way of knowing that she was drained.
After a pointed glare at the disciple, he withdrew his hand with a deep nod of the head and retreated to a more professional distance. That’s when it hit her. At Order Headquarters, this disciple had often been with Arthur, the Head Disciple. But if he was here with Tova, then where was Arthur?
“Good afternoon, brother,” Tova called, sounding casual like she was getting ready to invite him to dinner.
“Tovaline.” Ethan dipped his head. He clasped his hands behind his back and widened his feet slightly. To anyone else, it might look like he was genuinely at ease. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Do I need a reason to drop in on my favorite brother?” Tova said with an edge.
Ethan huffed out a humorous laugh. “In the middle of Lingate? That’s quite a coincidence.”
“Father will be delighted to see you.” Her eyes slid to Mara. “And you as well.”
Mara flinched. “I’m sure he would.”
“If he was that desperate to see me, I’m rather disappointed he hasn’t sent a missive. Has the cost of a good Avem grown so high?”
What was he doing? Mara peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his posture tensed.
“Some things are best said in person.”
“Really? I find that some company is best had in moderation, present company included.”
Tova sucked in a breath. By the way the three disciples tensed, they hadn’t missed the insult. “I don’t suppose you will come with us willingly.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your invitation. Please send our regards to the Head Magi.”
“A pity.”
“And you? Would you be inclined to let us go?”
Tova opened her mouth to reply but Mara took a step forward, fists clenched, and cut her off. “How did you find us?”
“It wasn’t that difficult.” Her lip curled, and she turned her focus back on Ethan. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to hide from the Head Magi, but it doesn’t work on a Veniet. I could track you anywhere.”
“I see.” If anything, Ethan seemed relieved by her words. “An easy catch was never your forte. Perhaps you’d enjoy the chase?”
Tova clutched her midsection, threw her head back and laughed.
He tilted his head toward Mara and lowered his voice to a whisper. “There are only four. Can you drain them?”
Mara’s heart bottomed out. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s what I was going to tell you. Ever since the Impriga’s attack, my Gift hasn’t been working.”
The clopping of horses’ hooves on hard dirt sounded and Mara glanced back in time to see Wynn and Alex round the corner, leading their horses. Wynn stopped, growing deathly still. “Tova?”
Tova’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face. She took a step back and looked away.
Wynn dropped the horses’ reins and stomped forward. “After everything we’ve been through and ya can’t even look at me. Traitor.” She spat on the dirt.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Tova raised her chin and pulled her shoulders back though Mara could barely make out the trembling of her hands.
“I ought to run ya through like a pig on a spit.”
The tall disciple flexed his hand and a glowing sword manifested in his grip. Tova lifted a hand and shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”
Alex edged his way to Ethan’s side. “Why aren’t they attacking?”
“Because they’re outnumbered?” Mara guessed.
Ethan shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t stop them. Not unless . . .”
“They called for reinforcements. Look.” She pointed at the last disciple. “His dove is gone.”
“We need to get out of here,” Alex said. He gripped Tamil around the waist and lifted him into the saddle before mounting behind him. “Get Wynn!”
“Why don’t ya face me like a woman instead of hiding behind their robes?” Wynn paced in front of Tova like a caged animal and waved her dirks in the air.
Ethan exchanged a disbelieving look with Mara. “Good luck with that.”
Mara sighed and mounted her horse. She reached down and took the reins of the Wynn’s horse then rode over to where the scarred woman was spouting an endless stream of obscenities. “Come on, we need to get out of here before more disciples arrive.”
“Who cares? I’ll kill them all!”
“Like you did last time?” She rolled her eyes.
Wynn sniffed. “That was a fluke.”
“Just get on the horse, Wynn.”
As if she sensed her prey was getting away, Tova shouted, “You can run, but we’ll find you. What will you do when you have nowhere to hide?”
Wynn kicked her horse toward the group of disciples and glared down at them. “Ye’re welcome to follow us. But I promise ya this—the day ya see my face next will be yer last.”
Tova ducked behind the burly disciple and squeaked.
With one last look at the disciples, Wynn turned her horse around and followed Ethan out of Briarwood.
20
Orgate was as terrifying and formidable as Mara had imagined. After days of travel, the obsidian fortress finally appeared on the horizon, rising high above the ground. Mara’s eyes bugged out at the lava-filled moat that surrounded the fortress. The molten rock gurgled and bubbled. It was no wonder the fortress was virtually impossible to breach. She idly wondered how Tomar was planning to attack it and claim Lingate for himself. Somehow, she didn’t think it would be as easy as he’d planned.
As they grew closer, she noticed that the fortress sat against a volcano—the Aonach Neart. She hoped it was dormant, otherwise she’d spend the entire visit worried about it erupting.
Wynn marched at her side, her body rigid with fury. They’d passed three more towns after Briarwood, each in the same condition. Being in Lingate was hard enough considering her past but returning and seeing the poverty and suffering spreading through her people must be slowly eating her up inside.
Each of them had changed into disciple robes that they’d stolen from the disciples. Seeing them had given Mara the idea. Alone, their little band didn’t exactly exude strength, but drawing the illusion of power from the Order might be enough to grant them an audience with the Warlord. Alex had wanted to steer around Orgate altogether and wait a day’s journey south to intercept the Rei’s forces. The reports they’d been able to piece together showed that Tomar was a scant three days away. Mara happened to agree with him. It would be best to avoid the capital and potential confrontation, but Ethan and Wynn insisted that they request an audience with the Warlord.
“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” Mara said, itching her arm through the scratchy gray sleeve of the disciple robes. If she never had to wear them again, it would be too soon.
&
nbsp; “You need allies, Mara,” Ethan said patiently. “If we’re going to take down the Order, you can’t do it alone.”
“I understand that, but do we really want someone like her for an ally?” Mara glanced at Wynn out of the corner of her eyes. “I’m not comfortable with this.”
He followed her line of sight and grimaced. “As unpalatable as it may be, we don’t have much of a choice at this point. Lingate despises being under the control of the Order, and if there’s a chance that the Warlord will side with us against Cadmus, we need to take it.”
Mara pursed her lips together. “Well, it’s very likely that Bridgette will be dead in a few days. Wouldn’t it be better to wait and see what happens first, then go talk to the victor?” She didn’t necessarily want to side with Tomar either; she trusted him even less than the Warlord. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d agreed to give them aid in Kearar only to slap them in chains the same night. But if she had a choice, at least Tomar was actively working against the Order.
“Do you trust me?” Ethan asked her, a small smile playing on his lips.
She stared at him a long moment, thinking about how far they’d come. If he had asked her that question a few months ago, her response would have been so different. “You know I do.”
“Then we’re going to go meet with the Warlord. Let me do the talking.”
Wynn snorted. “Good luck.”
“Thank you, Wynn,” Ethan said. He turned back to Mara. “We’ll ask to see a Healer, too.”
Mara blushed. After they fled Briarwood she’d come clean about her Gift not working. Ethan had immediately dug through his pack for a potion or elixir, but like she’d expected, nothing helped. Unlike what she’d expected, Ethan took the news well. She could only hope that they would find something to restore her Gift in Orgate.
The group approached the fortress. The heat emanating from the lava moat was oppressive. Mara didn’t understand how anyone could tolerate it. She studied it a long moment, wondering how it worked. She didn’t have any experience with volcanoes, but she understood that lava was nothing more than molten rock. What kept it from cooling and hardening?
Across the moat, a massive man was wearing what looked like leather pants and nothing on his chest except a baldric. He sported an impressive black eye, and his hair was shorn close to the scalp. Mara didn’t see any weapons, but she supposed he didn’t need any when there was a literal river of lava protecting him from attack. “What ya be wanting then?”
They looked expectantly at Ethan. When he said nothing, Mara tilted her head. Go ahead, you wanted to be the one to talk.
Ethan stepped forward and forced a smile that barely concealed the strain underneath. “Good morning, sir! We are emissaries from the Order, here to request an audience with the Warlord to discuss a possible alliance that would be mutually beneficial for both parties involved.”
“What are ya yappin’ about?” the guard shouted back across the moat, showing no fear of falling into the molten river as he leaned dangerously close. He jammed a meaty finger in his ear and rooted around like he was digging for worms.
“I said, we request an audience with the Warlord to—”
“Oh, for bloody sake. Move!” Wynn snapped, shoving Ethan out of the way. She marched up to the moat and glared at the man. “Oi! We wanna talk to the Warlord. Are ya gonna let us across, or am I gonna need to make ya?”
Mara groaned. There was no chance they’d get inside now.
The man—guard? Whatever he was—threw his head back and laughed, bracing his hands against his stomach. “Gonna make me? Little slip of a thing like ya can bloody well try!”
Wynn’s lips pulled back from her teeth in a fearsome grin that would have terrified even the hardest Gifted. The guard had the good sense to flinch. “Gladly.”
The next heartbeat she was gone—vanished. She reappeared behind him a second later, aiming a vicious kick at his back that sent him careening toward the lava. The guard flailed, his arms flapping as he lost his footing and fell toward the deadly moat. At the last moment, Wynn reached out and snatched him by the baldric, saving him from an inevitable death. She let him hang there.
She blew a strand of hair from her eyes and growled, “It’s like this. We need to see the Warlord. If ya can’t help, I guess we’ll get to see how long ya can swim in lava before your skin melts off. Then we’ll wait for the next sod and give him the same offer. Don’t that sound like fun?”
The guard flailed a moment before he realized the motion might loosen Wynn’s grip. He went deathly still, and in a panicked voice said, “I’ll help them across, I swear it!”
“That’s better.” Wynn hauled him back from the edge and let him tumble to the ground.
He scrambled away, face white. “Ya didn’t have to be so mean, did ya? I’m just doing my job.”
“Then do it,” Wynn said before disappearing back across the moat. Mara jumped when she reappeared next to her. She crossed her arms and smirked at Ethan. “Yer fancy words are useless here. Ya talk to the Warlord like that and she’ll laugh ya right into the moat. Let me do the talking and we’ll be just fine.”
Mara exchanged a wide-eyed look with Ethan. Neither argued with her.
The guard whistled, and the sound of metal screeching sounded. A woman in a chainmail top with leather shoulder pads and arm bracers swaggered out of the fortress. She looked prepared for a battle, which, Mara realized, was close to the truth. With Tomar’s army nearing, they had to be prepared at a moment’s notice.
Together, woman and the guard stretched out their arms over the moat. The lava vibrated, then solidified into a solid black slab. They stepped back and called, “Well, are ya coming or what?”
Mara looked doubtfully at the bridge, but Wynn marched across, chin held high. After a moment of debate, the rest of the group followed. The guard flinched as Wynn passed. Mara pretended not to notice. From the bridge, they walked into a tunnel that led to the front gate of the fortress. Small slits had been cut into the walls. Mara could have sworn she saw a few arrowheads poking through at them, just waiting to be unleashed.
This entire fortress was a death trap.
Here boots thudded on the stone floors as they walked through the windowless hallway. Sconces lined the walls, providing a soft light that managed to look menacing.
An armed escort led them into what Mara assumed was their version of a throne room—minus an actual throne. Roughly-dressed people sitting on wooden benches turned and glared at them as they entered. Guards stood at the doors and around the perimeter of the room. At the head of the room, seated on a plain wooden chair, was Bridgette—or who Mara assumed was Bridgette. Ethan bowed. Mara dipped into a flawless curtsy, then motioned for the rest to follow suit. Alex and Tamil bowed low, but Wynn remained upright, glaring defiantly at the Warlord.
Mara swallowed and hissed out of the corner of her mouth, “What are you doing?” Everyone in the room was heavily armed. Her eyes lingered on a poleaxe gripped in one man’s hands who looked like he took it to bed with him. Mara didn’t think it was wise to offend these people, but Wynn apparently had a death wish.
“I’m not gonna bow to that monster.”
Bridgette’s eyes narrowed, but the fact that they were still alive suggested she hadn’t heard what Wynn had said. She pushed up from her chair and stood, feet at shoulder-length apart—a fighting stance. Judging by the deep scar that traveled from eyebrow to chin, the position of Warlord was no figurehead. This woman had earned her place, and she would fight to keep it. She wore leather and metal from head to toe. Her straight blonde hair was pulled back in a tail so tight it looked like it would cause a headache. Her face was younger than Mara had expected, maybe late twenties or early thirties.
“So, you’re the emissaries from the Order.” Her lips pinched together, and her brows lowered over her eyes when she caught sight of Tamil in the oversized gray robes. Mara could feel their disguise crumbling by the second. “You’re accepting vows from children
? Ridiculous. What does Cadmus want now? I already sent his disciples packing a week ago, and now you’re back bothering me again.”
Mara exchanged a long look with Alex.
“Forgiveness, esteemed Warlord, but we felt it necessary to our survival to wear the guise of disciples while we traveled through Lingate. We regret any distress our deception might have caused you,” Ethan said, giving her another bow.
Wynn groaned and muttered something under her breath. Mara thought it might have been idiot Magi.
“Are you going to just stand there and quote your fancy words at me all day?” Bridgette asked impatiently. “What do you want?”
Ethan began to speak, but Bridgette cut him off. “No, not you. You have the stink of wealth on you. What would you know?” She looked back at Wynn, cool eyes appraising her. “This one . . . yes, this one has known hardship. She has a backbone, unlike the rest of you. I’ll speak with her.”
Wynn stepped forward, folding her arms over her chest. Even though she was shorter than the Warlord by a good six inches, she somehow made it look like she was staring down at her. “My companions,” she gestured over her shoulder with her thumb, “have come to ask ya for an alliance against the Order.”
Bridgette cocked out her hip and rested her hand on the exaggerated curve. “And you?”
Wynn’s lip curled in a sneer. “I’d rather make an alliance with a pig.”
“Brave words for someone without steel in her hand.” Laughter filled the room, and Mara blushed. Bridgette’s words turned scathing. “I heard you threatened my Saxum at the gate. For people who claim to want an alliance, you sure show it in odd ways.”
“We weren’t about to waste the day in a staring contest.”
The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus Page 84