Circle In The Deep (The Outcast Royal Book 1)

by Aaron D. Schneider

  “Even with these walls, I set men to watch,” the caravan master continued and slapped a hand on the solid stones at his back. The fire around which the warrior woman had been invited to take her rest had been lit at the far end of the stockyard so the merchant and a few close associates could sit with their guest. The fact that this was a good distance from the larger fire where the cooking was done was no accident, she decided.

  “And any man of them knows that sleeping on watch earns him the whip,” a sharp-faced man with the goatee, whose name was Iyshan, added in support of his chief. “I tell you, kind sister, there’s no man here who’ll trade the skin off his back for a little sleep.”

  “I’d put money on that,” Mehk Numi agreed with a cackle, her cheeks rosy from the large wineskin in her lap as she pinched the merchant’s thick, hairy arm. “Sweet Vahrem could never bring himself to use the lash on one of his horses, but I’ve seen him peel a strip or two off a fool or three.”

  “Maybe you should give me the skin,” said Durra, who sat at her left. He received a slap across his outstretched hand in response, which drew laughter from the two men.

  Ax-Wed barely noticed the exchange but reluctantly, she turned from her observation as the flock of parents descended upon the children. When she saw Julo and Jalen being chivvied along by a stout matron with three other boys, the itch in the fingers resting on her ax subsided.

  “I still don’t like it.” She grunted as she trudged with an air of resignation to sit between Vahrem and Iyshan. “And I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight.”

  “I can sympathize,” the caravan master agreed as he proffered a plate piled with food to her. “But we’ve prowled around the whole complex and everything seems in order. It may be little comfort to you but I trust the men I have to keep watch.”

  “Although having a true sell-sword like yourself around certainly doesn’t hurt,” Iyshan added with a smile and a meaningful look at the merchant. She grasped his implication but decided she wasn’t ready to enter negotiations. After all, she hadn’t even tasted their food.

  Any mercenary worth their iron knew that more than big words and the flash of coins, how an employer fed his people was most telling. It wasn’t simply a matter of knowing what a sell-sword would have to endure under contract to an employer but also an indication of priorities, and wealth ranked second. Good victuals were an investment and one not easily recouped once purchased. A master who provided wholesome food for his servants saw them as worth investing in.

  And if Ax-Wed were to judge by what was on her plate, Vahrem Kal’Stru was certainly invested in his caravan.

  The fare was not extravagant in its delicacy but lamb, goat cheese, and fried chickpea mash, especially in such quantities, were better than most could hope to eat on all but feast days. As the steam rose from the hunks of lamb, she could smell the crushed rosemary, thyme, and marjoram. Her stomach rumbled fiercely and her mouth began to water.

  “You had best feed that beast,” Numi commented slyly and slapped her thigh. “Or it’ll gobble us all before we ever have to worry about snatchers.”

  The two men shared a nervous glance before they joined the dwarf in forced laughter.

  The warrior woman chuckled as she slipped her hand under the skirt of mail about her face and undid the strap of her helm. It was only after she’d peeled it from her head that she realized the good-natured laughter had died abruptly.

  She looked up and saw that all of them were looking at her. Trying not to act as though intentionally hiding anything, she raked a few locks free to hide the scars that forked across the left side of her face. It took effort to force herself to not lower her head as she began to eat, her gaze locked on the fire.

  “I knew there was a pretty lass under that ol’ bucket.” Numi smiled encouragingly at her. “It seems you struck the lads dumb with your good looks, eh?”

  “Uh…well, it’s…eh, not only that she’s beautiful,” Vahrem muttered and for the first time, seemed out of his element and unsure.

  “Only beautiful?” The dwarfess groaned and rolled her eyes above her apple-red cheeks. “Truly, Vahrem, is that how—”

  “She’s a bloody Thulian!” Iyshan interjected, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “Iyshan!” The caravan master snarled a reproach before he turned to make a conciliatory bow toward her. “My apologies, my lady. He forgets himself.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” She shrugged and forced her face to remain neutral although she cursed herself inwardly. “I know that to many, my people are campfire stories.”

  Damn her vanity. The Thulian realized that by trying to cover her scars, she’d probably made it seem like she was drawing attention to her blue-streaked hair by displaying the natural shining ripples. She might as well have told them to inspect her tresses to see she used no imposter’s dye, and amidst her internal berating, she felt the pre-emptive frost creep in.

  Everyone knew there was only one kind of creature who was talked about around campfires.

  “I thought Thule sank into the sea?” Durra said and looked at his aunt, only to have to duck the hand that swung to cuff him.

  If only, the warrior woman thought and stared at the plate of food which suddenly seemed far less appetizing.

  “And now seems a perfect time to bring that up, doesn’t it?” Numi railed with an incredulous glare. “If it weren’t for my dear sister, I swear I would have left you in the dunes three times over.”

  The young dwarf shrank before his elder’s fury, but Vahrem stopped scowling at Iyshan to give Durra a pitying look as he touched the elder dwarf’s hand gently.

  “Now, Numi, the lad was only trying to explain how we know so little about Thule,” he said in a soothing tone and drew the wineskin smoothly away from the old dwarfess. “Weren’t you, Durra?”

  “He’s a fool and a little soft where he needs steel,” the Mehk responded but her voice softened as she looked at the youngling, who nodded warily. “But he’s a good, honest lad when it comes down to it.”

  “Exactly,” the merchant agreed as he put an arm around her sagging shoulders. “And I think when it comes down to it, you’re tired and quite ready to turn in. After all, you know Julo and Jalen will want you to drive them around the city a time or two before you take them home, so you have a full morning tomorrow.”

  Numi acted as though she might fight the suggestion but eventually, she sank against the caravan master’s thick arm, deflated and defeated. She raised her age-bent fingers to stroke his beard again and her reddened eyes glittered wetly in the fire light.

  “You’re like my good Nur, Stones keep him.” She sighed as the first tears began to roll down her cheeks. “He always looked after me too.”

  Vahrem nodded and bent to kiss the old dwarfess atop her shaggy head. More tears welled in her eyes and with a great sniff, she pulled away and forced herself to rise stiffly.

  “Come on, Durra.” She groaned and one hand rubbed at her bent back while the other scooped her staff up. “Let’s leave the humans to their mutterings.”

  “Yes, Mehk,” the lad replied dutifully, but his face suggested that he’d much rather stay for a little muttering.

  “I should make sure everything’s in order with the watches,” Iyshan said and stood quickly. “I’m sorry for giving offense, Lady Ax-Wed.”

  Now I’m a lady, the warrior woman thought bitterly. I was merely a fellow traveler before and maybe a friend in the making. No longer, though.

  “There is still nothing to forgive,” she answered stiffly and wished she knew some way to put everyone at ease. “But…thank you.”

  He nodded woodenly and turned to his master.

  “Chief,” he bowed, his limbs stiff and spine so rigid she was afraid it might crack.

  “Thank you, Iyshan,” Vahrem said, a heavy note and a meaningful look included in his response. The warrior woman sensed the faintest impression of an understanding pass between the two men before Iyshan turned on his heel and wa
lked away.

  “Not to tell you your business,” she said softly as she forced herself to eat more of her food. “But you shouldn’t be so hard on him on my account.”

  Vahrem nodded slowly as he watched the man walk away before his gaze slid to the fire.

  “Perhaps not.” He sighed slowly as he sank into himself a little, rested his arms on his knees, and lowered his chin toward his chest. “But Shepherd help me, although I try, I’m not as patient as I should be.”

  She stared at this puzzle of a man, her meal momentarily forgotten. A caravan master who walked and more besides fueled her curiosity and she wondered if she might take up with them merely to study this strange creature she’d discovered.

  That was, of course, assuming he would have her.

  Ax-Wed remembered the look he’d given her when she told him her name at the gate, and now he knew she was a Thulian. She could no more effectively be the kind of thing mothers frightened their children with if she sprouted fangs and scales.

  “I’m sure that compared to the great cities of Thule, this must all seem so primitive,” the merchant said before the silence could stretch too long. “But I appreciate your patience with us.”

  She suddenly wished they could talk about anything but thrice-cursed Thule.

  “I appreciate you having me,” she replied and continued quickly before anything more could be said of her homeland. “Who was Nur?”

  To emphasize the question, she jerked her chin toward the wains beside the two corrals that held the wain goats on one side and the aurochs on the other.

  He followed the gesture and a wistful smile settled on his face.

  “Her eldest son,” he said heavily and fiddled with one of the rings on his hands. For the first time, she noticed the bands glittering around the man’s fingers. They were not adornments of polished gold and silver as she first guessed but simple and almost crude pieces of hammered tin, copper, and iron.

  More and more curious.

  “He was friend to my father and like an uncle to me,” the merchant continued. “A fine goat trainer and a kind soul.”

  “Was it quick?” Ax-Wed asked.

  Vahrem looked up and spun a ring around a knuckle.

  “No such luck.” He grunted and his brows furrowed as he glared into the fire with chilling intensity. “I was no older than Julo when slavers raided the caravan and dragged several people off, Nur included.”

  His lips curled back from his teeth and he spat into the fire.

  “By the time we could report the attack and Jehadim sent riders out, Nur was dead,” he rumbled from deep in his chest. “He had fought back when one of the jackals had begun to abuse the captives and they dragged him behind their horses to make an example of him.”

  “Did they catch the slavers?” she asked and immediately regretted it. The man’s hands balled into fists and she knew it was a stupid question.

  “They found some of the captives who’d managed to escape.” He shrugged. “They told us what happened and where to find Nur. The riders were too busy pursuing the slavers—not that it did any good—and by the time my father could reach him, there was hardly anything to lay in the bed of the funeral wain.”

  Ax-Wed felt a sudden and wholly alien desire to place a hand on his broad shoulder. Why she would do a fool thing like that she couldn’t say, but her hand began to stretch of its own volition until she realized there was still grease on her gloves. She drew it back quickly and cursed herself in her mind yet again.

  The silence stretched between them and although such things usually didn’t bother her, she squirmed inwardly by the fire as she picked at her plate.

  She felt her mother’s voice vibrate in corners of her memory, but she shoved the thoughts away. Her mind racing, she tried to think of anything to change the subject from what was undoubtedly a deep wound.

  “So is that what you think the snatchers are?” she asked, gave up on her plate, and set it to one side. “Slavers?”

  Vahrem shrugged again but made an attempt to rally a smile.

  “What makes you think they’re not ghuls or djinn, eh?” he replied with a dry chuckle.

  He might not laugh so loudly if he’d been farther south, she thought but decided the one thing the night didn’t need was such a grisly story. She tried to make herself laugh but all she managed was a faint snort and a smirk.

  “Maybe, but who knows?” The merchant groaned as he dragged his hand over his face to tug his beard. “Slavery is expressly forbidden in Jehadim and most of the other eastern cities aren’t too keen on it so it wouldn’t seem a clever scheme given the limited market.”

  Unless they weren’t taking them to sell, she thought and dismissed the unpleasant thought quickly.

  “But I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time men were cruel to each other for little profit.” He sighed and raised his head sharply to look around before he bent to retrieve Numi’s wineskin.

  “The old girl won’t mind if you finish it,” he said and held it out to her. “She likes the strong, sour stuff so I have no stomach for it.”

  Ax-Wed’s hand had closed around the sack before she considered what impression she was making. She told herself it was humanizing for him to see she could enjoy a good drink like any other mortal being, but the justification rang so hollowly that she was embarrassed at the thought.

  But it had been a long, dry time in the wasteland and she knew that when the wine flowed, she could drown the dreams that had chased her across the Eastern Desert.

  “Th-thank you.” She forced the words out as she swallowed half a dozen weak and obvious justifications.

  “Rest easy and make yourself at home, Lady Ax-Wed,” the caravan master said as he heaved himself to his feet. “You are among friends and the watch is set. Tomorrow, we’ll put our heads together and discuss what the Crow-Child charges to guard a caravan.”

  She froze with the skin at her lips at the mention of the epithet that had dogged her since Khardalis all those years before.

  “And you’d want something like that to walk among your people?” she asked quietly. “You’d trust your lives and those of your children to such a creature?”

  Vahrem stretched and looked at the heavens, his dark eyes drinking in the stars overhead.

  “The Shepherd cradles and carries what lives he will, kind sister,” he said as the touch of a smile crept beneath his beard and he looked at her. “Besides, you’ve only just met us. Perhaps we’re all hiding some dark and dastardly secrets, eh?”

  Ax-Wed laughed from the belly for the first time in a very long time.

  “Now that would be something of a surprise.” She snorted, unable to help herself. “But I’m willing to stay to see what turns up.”

  The merchant’s smile flashed brilliantly in the mixed light of stars and fire.

  “I’m so very glad to hear it,” he said, a peculiar softness in his deep tones, and suddenly looked away. “Goodnight, sister Ax-Wed.”

  Somehow, the cold between the stars had trickled between them and she barely had time to say goodnight before he had marched off into the dark.

  I curse you…

  I curse you…

  I curse you…

  She tore the cap off the wineskin and something sick and cloying in her savored the hefty weight of the liquor that sloshed within.

  “Shut up, Mother,” she muttered and ground her teeth before she swallowed the first draught.

  “Hezkel two-backing,” she swore as she came up for air and the alcohol settled with a burning weight in her stomach.

  The caravan master hadn’t been lying. It was very strong and very sour.

  The perfect potion to drown ghosts with.

  Chapter Seven

  Crim was a fool and a coward and Masheed knew it. His hesitancy disguised as caution and wisdom was what held all of them back and she would no longer tolerate his arrogant control.

  She wasn’t stupid enough to challenge him in front of everyone but as soon as
they dispersed from the granary, she’d called her underlings to her. Before she said anything, she stared into their eyes and confronted them with an unspoken test of conviction. Her hard gaze bored like an awl into each of them in turn, but all revealed the same thing.

  They were hers.

  Their self-declared leader might have trained them and he might pay them but when they were out in the streets, she took care of them. She guarded their backs, ensured that they lived to see another night, and made certain that they made their acquisitions to meet Crim at sunrise for their due compensation. He was their distant nocturnal father who issued commands and doled out rewards, but she was their dark mother who carried them to safety every time they went out.

  They trusted her with their lives and tonight was no different than any other. Their loyalty to her complete, they gathered around to hear their matron’s will.

  “We’re getting some acquisitions from that caravan,” she told the teams she supervised as they chose their assignments. “We’ll pluck two and show the old spider how he’s slipping.”

  Several smiled and a few frowned but all listened with accepting silence.

  “Now I don’t want simply any acquisitions,” she continued and savored the way they hung on her every word. “To show how masterfully this can be done, we will take two together and I want them to be children. That’ll show Crim exactly how much his rules are holding us back from real compensation.”

  This pronouncement was met with far fewer smiles but she’d expected as much. She wasn’t merely flouting a situational directive but foundational protocols that Crim had hammered into them from the very beginning of their initiation into this “family business.”

  Acquisitions were always made singularly to ensure maximum control over compliance and transport. As they typically worked in teams of two, it only made sense that they would keep the numbers squarely in their favor. A skilled and well-planned maneuver against multiple targets in the right circumstance could be accomplished, but it was risky and even when successful, it involved considerable risk in getting the acquisitions to secure transport before they were discovered.