Circle In The Deep (The Outcast Royal Book 1)

by Aaron D. Schneider

  She stood for a moment to consider which way to go next and realized that a bad decision here could see her inescapably lost. All thoughts of cooking in magma were replaced by new imaginings of wandering twisting, barren corridors until she collapsed with a swollen tongue and sunken belly, never to rise again. With a grim frown, she cut off the first swells of panic and moved her torch from left to right in search of any indication of where she should go.

  Her gaze settled on a candle on the floor. It was not placed there but appeared to have been dropped. She stepped forward, crouched to prod it with the horn of her ax, and discovered that there was still a point on the wick which gleamed dull red as though just extinguished. A small dribble of cooling wax lay on the floor where it had fallen and it was still soft and pliant.

  She reacted with a curious grunt before something pounced on her.

  Squatted over the candle as she was, it was a quick trip to the floor as her attacker rode her back down. Despite this, the impact combined with her surprise was enough to knock the torch from her outstretched hand and it rolled across the floor.

  In the wild kaleidoscope of red light and shadows, her ambusher lashed out with something sharp and stabbed and hacked at her back, shoulder, and neck. Fortunately, the first two were shod in armor that was proof against the biting point and the latter was saved by her instincts which made her shrug her paulders up to guard the vulnerable flesh.

  Ax-Wed drew her arms up to cover her head, suspecting that the attacks would spread, and her forethought saved her with only a nick on the ear before the blade glanced off her armored gloves.

  That smarting little cut, though, was enough to break the shock of the initial attack and feeling rather than seeing her attacker, she retaliated.

  Sensing the forward heavy stance of her assailant, she bucked upward with her hips and was rewarded when her enemy slewed forward. He clamped down with what must have been his legs like a rider trying to stay on his mount. She used his forward lean and the respite from the stabbing to reach up with her free hand and pull very hard as she curled her body forward. The grip of his legs about her ribs was unequal to her strength and with a high-pitched bark of surprise, he flipped off her back and onto the floor.

  He landed with an impact that knocked the breath from his body in a loud wheeze and before he could even begin to recover, she brought the short-hafted ax around to drive the edge down to the exposed throat.

  She checked the weapon barely above its intended target when she saw that her attacker was not only not one of the degenerates but also not a he. A slight, almost gaunt girl in an assemblage of rags lay upon the floor and her green eyes glared at Ax-Wed. The Thulian’s copper eyes fixed upon that gaze like the storm-tossed waves of the Caged Sea. Fear and fury were mixed to a fever pitch, and she was so bound by their intense stare that she almost missed the knife that was thrust toward her face.

  Ax-Wed caught the stabbing hand by the wrist and pinned it to the floor while she held the razor edge of her ax-blade a hairsbreadth from the lass’s neck.

  “Steady,” she said in a low, hard voice.

  The girl bared her teeth with a snap and raised her head enough to open a thin cut along her neck.

  “Do it!” she hissed with the same maelstrom of terror and rage in her eyes. “End it!”

  Long years as a mercenary and surviving so many battlefields willed her hand to descend. There were a hundred reasons to kill her attacker, child or not, but despite experience and reason, she would not and could not.

  Not quite sure she wasn’t about to get herself killed, she moved the ax-blade from the girl’s neck but maintained a firm grasp on the hand holding the knife.

  The child watched her every movement with ferocious attention but did not struggle. The fear and anger in her eyes gave way to suspicion and for a few heartbeats, they stared at each other until Ax-Wed held the ax up again.

  “I will let go,” she said slowly. “Run, and I’ll catch you.”

  The fire in the green eyes returned and this time, anger far outweighed fear.

  “Scream or attack me,” she continued, “and you won’t have to ask me to end it.”

  The angry light flared but the girl remained silent.

  She held her gaze a second longer and let go.

  In an instant, the girl’s pinched, wiry frame twisted in a catlike motion and landed on all fours but as the warrior woman prepared to pounce, she settled onto her haunches. Another heartbeat passed while they stared at each other and each tried to determine some measure of the other.

  They might have sat there in the flickering torch light for some time, studying one another silently, but from somewhere far up the passage, another round of howls fed the awareness of the malign will seeking Ax-Wed.

  She half-turned at the sound but was unwilling to take her attention completely off the child. For her diligence, she saw a shiver race through the slender fame that she was willing to bet had nothing to do with the temperature.

  “Do you have somewhere to hide?” she asked with one hand still tight around the haft of her ax.

  The girl’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits but she nodded slowly.

  “Is it big enough for two?” she pressed and felt an itch between her shoulder blades as the dark will seemed ready to crawl up her spine from behind.

  Again, the child nodded.

  “Let’s go, then,” she said with forced assurance and calm. “And don’t forget your candle this time.”

  The child nodded before she turned and retrieved the candle from the floor.

  Ax-Wed waited while the girl rose to her feet and waved a beckoning hand.

  “Hurry,” the would-be ambusher said and moved like a ghost toward the far wall.

  The warrior woman rose, snatched her torch up, and followed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So it was a waste of time?” Numi asked from the other side of the screen.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Vahrem said as he and Iyshan set about scrubbing away the cloying perfume of the Silken Nest.

  Their clothing had been cast to one side and they’d both sunk into large tubs of almost scalding water which had been prepared upon their request. Their host, Tobarr Beadsman, was an old friend of the merchant’s and had been more than willing to accommodate the ruse without asking too many questions, although he wasn’t entirely happy about it. Regardless, as was common in those days in the East, he endeavored to see them accommodated in any and every fashion if for nothing else than to maintain his dignity.

  And currently, that accommodation was measured by strong soap and a good supply of hot water.

  “Explain to me how spending so much time in that whorehouse with no one rescued is not a waste of time?” the dwarfess demanded and rapped her jingling staff on the screen hard enough that both men froze. When it did not fall, they cautiously resumed their efforts with scrubbing rag and bristle brush.

  “Because they’ll make contact with us,” Iyshan said as he worked a furious lather over his tan, sinewy arms. “Shepherd spare me, what is this?”

  “Anthallia.” Vahrem groaned as he worked the bristle brush through the beard on his cheeks until his skin burned. “It’s found in the Girdle. You plant patches of it over fresh corpses and it does something to the buds. Then, you press the buds into a syrup that you dry and you sprinkle that resin into a brazier like those they had in the main room.”

  The other man grunted acknowledgment, then straightened to look at his master.

  “Hold on, how do you know that?”

  The merchant set the brush aside and plunged his hands into the tub to search blindly.

  “I once dealt with a boyar in the Girdle who wanted to pay me in the resin,” he explained before finally fishing his wash rag from the soapy depths. “He went into great detail about how valuable it was in some courts if for nothing else than the rarity and effort it took to create the singular scent.”

  Iyshan nodded and dunked his face into the stea
ming water. He emerged a moment later, rosy-cheeked and blowing water from his mustache.

  “Well, those courts can keep it,” he stated in disgust. “It smells like what might happen if sugar cane could pop a squat.”

  Vahrem began to laugh but as he pressed the rag to his face, he managed to partially snort the wet rough cloth into his nostrils. He tugged the offending fabric away with a splutter and saw the other man’s face contorting to prevent a laugh. This naturally had the effect of making the caravan master laugh and in an instant, master and manservant were guffawing together, a wild, relieved expulsion of the combined fear and anxiety that had dominated their recent existence.

  Mehk Numi was having none of it.

  “You two rascals!” she admonished shrilly and beat upon the screen until it seemed she would shatter it to kindling. “How do you know they are going to contact you? You never said anything about them promising that.”

  Even the threat of exposure was not enough to completely quell their amusement but after several snorts, they forced themselves to answer.

  “They didn’t say so but took the ingot,” Iyshan said.

  “That merely means they are greedy,” the dwarfess argued and stamped her foot. “Not that this scheme is progressing.”

  “But taking it is a sign that they know what we are asking for and they didn’t protest,” Vahrem explained. “If they had an inkling of what we intend, they wouldn’t have let us leave without at least making an attempt at getting us to take it.”

  Numi began to pace and her sandaled feet scuffed across the tiled frescos as her staff rapped an anxious beat.

  “I still don’t like it,” she muttered. “How long does that poor girl have to suffer at the hands of those monsters before someone does something?”

  “Numi, darling, I know it’s hard but we have to be careful,” Vahrem told her, his tone sobering. “Being impatient now could ruin any chance of finding her, especially if they panic and try to cover their tracks.”

  “They have to be on high alert after what happened last night,” Iyshan agreed. “Alborz knows this, which is why he wants us to do it this way.”

  “Well, that’s easy for a group of braying, giggling asses like you!” Numi shrieked at the screen. “But some of us have bitter experience with what happens when Jehadim’s justice is too slow.”

  Both men were silent for a moment and the weight of the dwarfess’s words seemed to push them deeper in their tubs.

  “Ax-Wed is not Nur,” Vahrem said at last and the words came out rough but determined. “We will find her and we will make sure this is all set to rights.”

  The other man grunted his agreement but before anyone could say anything more, the doors to the chamber swung open and the man of the house strode through.

  Tobarr Beadman had been a tall and vigorous man in his youth, but with success and its abundant rewards, he’d begun to overflow his natural frame. His oiled, ringleted hair spread over his wide shoulders and his similarly treated beard stretched to rest against his wider belly, and both were festooned with the gem-bright beads of his namesake. The collection of glass jewelry gave a chorus of clicks as he walked to the screen with his silken robe rippling about him.

  “Pardon me, wise mother,” he muttered as he swept past the dwarfess without a second look. “Vahrem? Are you decent behind there?”

  “Not even remotely,” the merchant answered and was not in the least surprised when Taborr swept the screen aside.

  “A message arrived for you,” the glass monger declared and held out a sealed parchment envelope with a flourish. “It seems your little conspiracy is progressing rather rapidly.”

  “It’s not a—” Iyshan began impatiently before Vahrem cut him off with a sharp cough.

  “Nice try, Tobarr,” the caravan master said with a frown as he took the proffered scroll. “I’m glad you didn’t read it first.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t consider it.” Their host chuckled as he fiddled with one beaded ringlet. “But given how you two returned reeking of Anthallia, I supposed the meddling was too rich for your blood.”

  “You and me both.” Vahrem nodded as he lifted the waxen seal and peered carefully inside. It was more than legend that some criminal elements in Eastern syndicates answered investigations into their business with letters bearing venomous arachnids. While rarely lethal, he was determined to not spend days in bed battling a toxin.

  When nothing bounded out to sting him, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He began to frown as he stared into the envelope and the furrow in his brow only deepened when he realized what he was looking at.

  “What is it?” Numi demanded, strode forward, and shouldered past the surprised Tobarr.

  “Serpent’s sting!” Iyshan swore as he sought to cover himself and sink beneath the water at the same time. The result was mostly a great deal of splashing and the elder dwarf’s scornful snort.

  “Have no worries on account of my virtue, fishbone,” she grunted. “Vahrem, what does it say?”

  “I need to see Alborz,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the envelope’s contents.

  Tobarr looked ready to make another attempt to probe but saw the grim lines that had formed in his friend’s face and seemed to decide against it.

  “I’ll have fresh clothes brought up,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Will you need transport or will you take madame dwarf’s chariot?”

  “Don’t be stupid, you tub of guts,” Numi roared. “We’ll take my chariot. Now get those clothes up here on the double.”

  The man looked less than impressed but responded with a stiff bow before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

  “What is it?” Iyshan asked, forgetting his modesty as he leaned halfway out of his tub. “What’s in there?”

  In answer, the caravan master raised the envelope and tipped its contents slowly into his other hand, careful not to spill it.

  A sparkling sediment as fine as sand poured into his palm and formed a small pile. The last of the twinkling grains settled in his hand and he sank into the tub as his brawny shoulders sagged. The other man shook his head and slid into his tub with a groan with both hands over his face.

  “I don’t understand,” the dwarfess said with anger mounting in her tone. Her sharp gaze darted from one to the other. “Damn you both! What is it?”

  Vahrem’s cupped hand clenched slowly into a trembling fist and ground gold slipped between his fingers.

  “They gave us back our ingot.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The girl could have escaped more than once, she decided when the child immediately displayed her extensive understanding of the area. She scuttled to a wall and with what seemed only a caress between the tiles, opened a panel that allowed access to a narrow tunnel.

  Ax-Wed had to bend almost double to enter but once inside, her impromptu guide led her through a web of interconnecting passages. Twice, after a silent pause before what seemed a dead end, they emerged from behind one panel into one of the square chambers, only to scurry to another stone panel where another tunnel access was located.

  Such a convoluted journey through a place in which she struggled to move quickly meant she was one fleeing child away from being left utterly lost in the cramped tunnels. The fact that the girl hadn’t abandoned her was puzzling, but she chose to take it as a good sign that she might have an ally. Of course, she knew she was taking it on faith that the girl didn’t have intentions of leaving her in an even worse location, but the fact that they kept moving provided some assurance.

  That combined with the utter absence of the dreadful unseen intelligence and sightless will as it groped after her in the dark was a good reprieve as well. The more time she had to think about everything, the more she had to repress the urge to collapse into a shuddering heap. She possessed a rudimentary understanding of sorcery and thus a crude understanding of the things the mortal races shared existence with and that was enough to chill
her to the bone.

  To keep herself together, she focused on the physical realities before her. Her back ached and her muscles burned, but that was evidence that she was alive. Following this, she acknowledged that the torch was beginning to burn low but she could still see the girl leading her on, a scuttling collection of ragged cloth. Her ax was still in her hand and her dagger was still on her belt.

  The thought of her dagger reminded her of the pain she’d repressed but as soon as she thought of it, the wound in her side demanded attention. She still didn’t dare to test her guide by slowing so she secured the ax to her belt as she shuffled forward and slid a hand between the lames of her armor.

  When the fingertips of her glove emerged smeared with fresh blood, she heaved a bone-weary sigh.

  You should have known it wouldn’t hold, she chided herself. Now you’d better hope it doesn’t split any more and you make a real mess.

  If she had enough room to undress and time to rest, she was certain she could tend to it herself, but that felt like asking for a miracle when she was already halfway to the hells. Did she honestly think they would find a cozy corner where she could strip down and tend to her wounds in peace and quiet?

  In silence but with flagging strength and fraying nerves, she continued in the dark, followed the girl, and checked her side every so often. The wound seemed to only bleed a trickle but it was steady and besides that, her muscles and joints paid for the contorted journey she was taking. As the time wore on, she soon found she could no longer embrace the pain as a distraction from existential gnawings and while she fought to press through it and even to bury it, she understood that she was fighting a losing battle. She began to stumble as her muscles cramped and seized in defiance of the continued abuse and she knew it was only a matter of time before she fell.