The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  Bridgette flashed her a cold smile. “Asking me to commit my people in an alliance against the Order is suicidal. So, what can you offer me?”

  “Yer life,” Wynn said, deathly serious.

  The Warlord threw her head back and roared with laughter. “I don’t have time to waste on a pathetic group of people. Get out before I decide to roast you over the volcano.” She waved her hand dismissively.

  “Ya don’t get to turn yer back on me.” Wynn stepped forward, her fingers curling into claws as she snarled, “Yer people are starving while ya hide behind yer walls.”

  Bridgette went still, and the guards around the room rested their hands on their weapons, just waiting for a reason to draw them. Mara’s heart pounded. Their chances of survival dwindled with each word that escaped Wynn’s lips. They should have traveled a day south and waited for Tomar to intercept them. Why would Ethan want her to gain allies like this?

  Wynn’s form blurred as she tried to hold it together, but her emotions were getting the best of her. “Ye’re nothing but a coward.”

  “These people, my clans, exist for the sole purpose of serving me. How dare you question my methods? What do you know of leading? Of ruling? Do you understand how difficult it is to lead a people focused on fighting each other for power and every second could be your last. How dare you insult me!”

  Wynn refused to cower. She took a step closer to Bridgette. “Yeah, I’ll insult ya all I please. I was born in Lingate, and my parents threw me to the wolves when I turned up a dreg. I was saved by a woman who gave us dreg kids a home. I’m not blaming ya for the way things have been—ya had nothing to do with that—but when ya had the chance to change things for the better, ya did nothing. All ya did was hole yerself up in this fortress and ignore the suffering of yer people. They starved and stole and killed, while ya gorged yerself on the suffering of yer people.” Wynn stalked forward, her face murderous as she glared at the Warlord. Bridgette paled and stepped around her chair, as if the barrier could protect her from the truth of Wynn’s words.

  Bridgette’s eyes went wild. “I’ll drain every Cultor I can find if it means I’ll survive. My people need me. I—”

  “Yer people wouldn’t know the difference between ya and a cow. “

  “I will savage this land until there is nothing left but the few strong enough to survive! I will annihilate trash like you. I will—”

  Bridgette cut off abruptly, her eyes widening.

  Mara jerked when she realized Wynn wasn’t standing with the group any longer. Now, she stood behind Bridgette, the tip of her dirk poking through the Warlord’s neck.

  21

  Bridgette’s face went slack with disbelief.

  Her mouth worked, but no words came out. She reached her hand up—to do what, Mara would never find out—before her eyes went dark.

  Wynn gave her a shove, and her body crumpled to the floor with a thump. “We’re not trash,” she growled.

  Mara pressed her hands to her mouth in horror. What did she just do! The guards rounded on Wynn, weapons drawn. Mara shoved Tamil behind her. Alex stepped in front of Ethan and drew his swords.

  Her heart thundered in her chest. Wynn had just killed the Warlord in a room full of Tuir clan Gifted. Retribution was inevitable.

  They weren’t getting out of here alive.

  Wynn stood with her arms loose at her sides, making no move to defend herself against the armed guards. Mara took a step forward, determined to help her, but Alex grasped her arm, holding her back. She watched in horror as the guards surrounded Wynn.

  But instead of attacking, the guards fell to their knees, laying their weapons at her feet. They thumped their fists to their chests and chanted, “Warlord! Warlord! Warlord!”

  “What just happened?” Mara asked.

  Ethan closed his mouth and shook his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “It appears as though Wynn has just become the new Warlord.”

  Understanding dawned. In her panic, Mara had forgotten how the line of succession worked in Lingate. Instead of passing from parent to child like in Esterwyn and Crystalmoor, the only way to become Warlord was to kill the reigning Warlord. She hissed at Ethan, “Did you know this would happen?”

  “It was a distinct possibility.”

  “So . . . what?” Mara asked. “Now that she’s the Warlord, does that mean we’re safe?”

  “Not even close,” Ethan said, his eyes roving the room of hostile Gifted.

  Wynn stared down her nose at the Tuir Clan as if daring them to challenge her. It wasn’t impossible. If all someone had to do was kill the Warlord in order to become the new Warlord, now would be the perfect time to do it. Wynn stood alone and vulnerable, dirks held loosely in her hands.

  The first Gifted stood and cracked his neck before approaching the front of the room. He was about the same height as Alex, but considerably broader in the shoulders and chest. His muscular upper arms were as big around as Mara’s thighs. He flexed his hands and a pair of curved axes manifested in his palms.

  Everyone else melted into the walls to avoid the coming confrontation. The room crackled with anticipation.

  With a roar, the Armis charged, swinging the axes in a wide arc at Wynn’s neck. Wynn stared back, unblinking. Just when it looked like she was going to be beheaded, she fell into a crouch. The axes passed harmlessly over her head, and the momentum pulled the man to the side. He stumbled before regaining his footing, then he pivoted and swung again, the axes parallel to the floor.

  Wynn vanished, cackling. The man stopped, head swiveling around as he searched for her. His chest heaved. Without warning, Wynn reappeared behind him and dragged her dirks across the backs of his knees. He cried out and fell to the floor, unable to put weight on his legs.

  “Yield?” Wynn crouched just out of arm’s reach, staring him down.

  The Armis spat on the ground by her feet. He arched backward, pulling the axes behind his head like he was preparing to throw them.

  Wynn sighed and said, “Suit yerself,” before teleporting behind the Armis. She plunged her dirk between his ribs then kicked his back, sending him sprawling face-down on the floor.

  She wiped the dirk on her robes, staining them red, and tilted her head at the Tuir clan. “Who’s next?”

  The next Gifted prowled toward Wynn. Her cinnamon hair was woven into dozens of intricate braids that twisted behind her head in a knot. Unlike the Armis, she didn’t have the body of a fighter, but she moved with the grace of a dancer. Her arms began smoking as she circled around.

  She opened her mouth and screamed, and flames erupted from her throat. Wynn’s face turned as white as snow. Spinning to avoid the fiery cloud she leapt to the side. Not giving her a chance to breathe, the Ignis shot rapid-fire streams of flame at Wynn. She hissed as the sleeve of her disciple’s robe caught flame, then ripped it off. Wynn lunged for the Ignis but was forced to pull back and duck as she shot a ball of flames at her head. The Ignis raised her arms and a wall of fire encircled Wynn. She closed her fists, and the circle shrank.

  Mara couldn’t see Wynn behind the flames. Her throat constricted. If Wynn failed, they would all be killed. Even worse, she would be forced to watch her best friend burn to death.

  The circle disappeared, and Mara craned her neck over the Gifted before her. It was empty. She clutched Ethan’s sleeve, searching for a sign of Wynn. Nothing but ashes remained. She crumbled, her knees buckling beneath her. Her eyes squeezed shut.

  Alex’s sharp intake of breath was her only warning.

  Her eyes flew open in time to watch Wynn, charred and feral, swipe her knife across the Ignis’s throat.

  Chest heaving, she clutched her dirks in a reverse grip. Looking barely human, she turned slowly, making eye contact with the gaping audience. “Anyone else?”

  Mara blinked.

  It was apparent that while the Gifted of Lingate were capable, Wynn was in a league of her own.

  When it was clear that no one else would challenge he
r, Wynn sheathed her dirks, stepped over to the high-backed chair and sat down, throwing her legs over the arm rest. She waved a dirk in the air and barked, “Bring refreshments. We’ll also be needing to see a Healer.” Two people that Mara assumed were servants hurried out of the room. Wynn turned to Ethan and motioned for him to come closer. “I hear ye’re looking to make an alliance with the Warlord.”

  Ethan pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. His eyes sparkled with amusement and he choked out, “I believe there was a less violent way to accomplish this.”

  “She had it coming.” Wynn arched a scarred brow at them. “Do ya want the alliance or not?”

  “It would be a pleasure, thank you.”

  Wynn nodded sharply. “We’ll discuss our terms later.”

  “Terms?” Mara blinked. “Why would we need to—”

  “Tuir Clan!” Wynn cut her off, turning her attention to the room. All turned to face her. Most wore carefully blank masks, but a few glared with open hostility, as if they wished to challenge her but were too cowed by her demonstration. “Any who want to leave are free to go. Take yer belongings and go before sundown. If ya choose to stay, I’ll welcome ya, but not as Tuir. I’ll be forming my own clan.”

  She went silent for a moment, her lips pressed together thoughtfully. “Maybe ya don’t feel like ya fit in. Maybe ya want a change. I can’t promise ya the world, but I can promise ya a family. One where ye’re treated equal, no matter who ya are, where ya were born, Gifted or dreg.” Wynn paused, and Mara blinked back tears. She had grown so much since Mara had first met her. She was hardly the same person. Then she ruined it. “Now, make yer decision before I change my mind and kill ya all.”

  Ah, there she was.

  Mara held her breath as an oppressive silence filled the hall. The situation was too unpredictable for her to feel comfortable letting her guard down. From what she’d heard, Lingatians were the type to strike first and ask questions later. Were they now evaluating Wynn for strengths and weaknesses? Were they thinking over her offer, or were they plotting their next move.

  One by one, the Gifted filed out of the hall without looking back. A pair of Gifted dragged Bridgette’s body between them while four more removed the Gifted foolish enough to challenge Wynn. Mara’s brows furrowed. If they all challenged her, eventually they would wear her down. Maybe they decided it wasn’t worth sacrificing their lives, or maybe they were retreating to lick their wounds to fight another day.

  Mara wasn’t under the delusion that they were safe. No, they were in more danger than ever, and Wynn had just painted a giant target on their backs.

  Only a handful of Gifted remained. Wynn nodded, as if she’d expected the majority to leave. Her body relaxed a fraction—maybe she hadn’t been as confident as she’d seemed. She stood from the chair and vanished, reappearing on the other side of the room, right in front of a young woman. She looked to be in her early twenties with white blonde hair and a razor-sharp nose that could double as a weapon in a pinch. To her credit, the woman didn’t flinch.

  “What’s yer name?”

  “Astrid.”

  “What’s yer Gift?”

  “Brutum.”

  “And yer’s?” She turned to a younger man with ginger hair and a smattering of freckles that covered his face and arms.

  “Conner. I’m a Saxum.”

  She went down the line of Gifted, learning their names and Gifts. “All of ya are welcome in my clan. I know we have to get settled and prepare for anyone stupid enough to fight me, but I’d love to get to know ya better.”

  Ethan hummed in the back of his throat, looking thoughtful. “She’s good at this.”

  Mara had to agree. “Surprisingly so. I would have never guessed.”

  A weathered older man stopped beside Mara. He gave her a small bow and said, “I’m Healer Oliver. The Warlord requested a Healer?”

  “Yes, that would be for me.” Ethan gave her an encouraging nod. “A few days ago, we were in a fight.”

  “Go on,” Healer Oliver said. He listened patiently while she told him what happened and listed her symptoms. If he was surprised by her altercation with the Impriga, it didn’t show. When she finished, he asked, “Will you show me?”

  Mara nodded and tapped into her core. She drew the barest wisp of her power to the surface where it flared once before spluttering out. Frustrated, she tried again. And again. It was like trying to grasp water in her hands. Her face heated and she blinked back tears. “Can you help me?”

  Healer Oliver gestured to her abdomen. “May I?”

  She agreed, and he held his hands over her belly, moving them around in no particular direction. His frown deepened. Mara held her breath. What if he told her she’d never recover?

  Finally, he pulled his hands away. “I detect no significant injury. You’re weakened, but other than reinforcing your core, there’s not much I can do. What you need is prolonged rest.”

  Mara’s face fell. “So, there’s nothing you can do?”

  “I didn’t say nothing. There’s something I would like to try, with your permission.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  He led her over to a bench and motioned for her to sit. Kneeling by her side, he lifted his hands again. This time, heat spread from his palms and infused her core. Mara gasped and clutched the bench. The pressure built, and she was sure she would explode. Her arms trembled. By the time he pulled away, she felt like she’d been run over by a carriage.

  “Is that it?” she panted.

  “That’s the most I could do without risking killing you. You looked like you were about to faint.”

  “I’m fine.” Mara raised her hand, ready to test her Gift. The Healer let out a cry of alarm and slapped her hand down.

  “Not yet!” He ran a palm down his face. “You need at least several days of rest before you’ll be back to full strength. I’d recommend going to bed now and not testing your Gift until tomorrow. If you see no improvement, come back and see me.”

  After thanking him, Mara rejoined her friends.

  The servant returned with a tray of finger foods—mostly assorted meats cooked on a stick. Much to everyone’s surprise, Wynn sank to the floor, cross-legged, and gestured for everyone to gather around. They spent the next hour telling her about themselves while they ate. Wynn paid rapt attention to each one, smiling and joking with them as if they’d been friends for years. It was a far cry from how Wynn had treated Mara when they’d first met.

  But that was different than now. Then, Wynn had been on the run, skirting death every day. Now, she was surrounded by allies. Perhaps she was finally growing into herself and becoming the woman she’d always been meant to be.

  Slowly, the Gifted who’d chosen to stay grew more comfortable. They leaned back on their elbows as the servants came to clear away the dishes. Astrid raised a clay cup to her lips and asked, “So, what’s our clan name?”

  Wynn sat up, her eyes going distant as if reliving a painful memory. “Myriel. We are clan Myriel.” She raised her eyes to Mara, who fought against the sudden thickness in her throat. These people wouldn’t know her history, or the importance of the name. They hadn’t stood over the graves of the people Wynn had loved and lost. They wouldn’t understand the meaning. But they would hear the sincerity in Wynn’s words, and Mara could see the exact moment they accepted her fully as Warlord.

  22

  Over fifty thousand Gifted made Orgate their permanent home. While the Warlord and her clan lived in the fortress, the rest of the population were housed inside the Aonach Neart, which was not the name of the fortress as she’d assumed but was the name of the volcano itself. The moment they invited Mara for a tour, she was ready to bail. Who in their right mind would willingly live inside a volcano? But they assured her that it had been dormant for years and they had teams of Ignis and Saxum that regulated the flow of lava away from the surface and into the moat that encircled the fortress.

  Wynn marched ahead with confidence, fla
nked by a pair of guards. Each was battle-hardened with almost as many scars as Wynn, and they all wore a mismatch of armor and chainmail. Mara eyed them suspiciously, despite the assurance that the guards were a permanent fixture of Orgate, raised from birth to serve the Warlord without the burden of clan alliance. It sounded fantastic on the surface, but Mara wished Alex would have joined them on the tour instead of staying behind with Tamil and Ethan.

  Despite Wynn’s victory, Mara had gone through too much to feel comfortable surrounded by hostile strangers. The Lingatians were well aware of Tomar’s forces moving north, and nothing they did could hide the fact that Tamil was Kerani. Whether they had made the connection that Tamil was Tomar’s son, Mara didn’t know. She was certain that they wouldn’t hesitate to take the boy hostage if they had the opportunity. No, it was better for Alex to stay with him, even if the guards gave her the shivers.

  Her fear soon gave way to awe, and Mara found herself wishing they’d joined her for a different reason. The inside of the volcano had been transformed into a city of its own.

  Astrid prattled away about the history as they walked. When Gifted had first settled in Orgate, they viewed the volcano as a resource instead of a nuisance. Saxum had carved out individual rooms within the crater walls, and instead of wooden doors, sheets of cloth provided necessary privacy for each family. Spiraling staircases had been carved into the stone walls providing access to each residence.

  Mara turned in a slow circle, taking in the honey-comb like structure. The top of the volcano was open, allowing natural light to pour into the crater, and the overhang shielded the residences from rain which was collected through a series of tarps and barrels.

  Multi-storied stone buildings took up the remaining real estate in the center of the crater for things like shops, Healers, and other businesses. A large area to the left was cleared for raising animals and growing crops in the nutrient-rich soil. Everything they needed was contained within the boundary of the volcano.