Circle In The Deep (The Outcast Royal Book 1)

by Aaron D. Schneider

  It was warmer and friendlier than the one he’d used with the dinner guests but no less practiced.

  “Never better,” he said and affected a little laugh as he moved from the throne dais toward the door. “Although it seems collections will have to increase.”

  The guard commander, who’d begun to move into the room to hold the door open for his master, stiffened for a second. His hand trembled upon his staff of office and for a moment, he looked as though he might drop it.

  “Increase, my prince?” he asked and managed to open the door with short, jerky movements.

  “Double, to be precise,” Tarkhind said and his stomach threatened to rebel as he spoke, although not an ounce of his discomfort reached his face.

  “Double?” the warrior repeated and the word almost sounded like a curse.

  “Yes, Hazarbed,” the prince said as he strode past him with a scowl of impatience. “Now please see it done—and don’t forget to have this chamber scrubbed.”

  Chapter Three

  It was a sight she had never thought she would see.

  The Azure Gate—one of the three great trade gates of Jehadim—stood wide open even though the last light of the sun slipped below the horizon. Despite this, all traffic through was stalled by a large wagon train which seemed to have become wedged within the frame of the portal. A great crowd of people—members of the caravan, she assumed—rushed around to shuffle things from here to there and there to here. Burly men hefted heavy bags from one point to another while sure-handed women lashed ropes and tightened knots. Darting between them were children, some busy helping while others simply did their very best to stay underfoot. To complete the scene of domestic upheaval, the unhappy guards strode around with brass-wrapped cudgels that rattled against wagon beds.

  Into this pandemonium rode Ax-Wed, still clinging to the wound wicker rail of Mehk Numi’s chariot. The great aurochs trotted behind, still on its tether, but behind the now docile beast was a small heard of its kin, hemmed in by three of the wide-framed wains for which the Wain Dwarves were known. Each of the structures was something like the house-wagons the Vushalan drove in their wanderings except they were open with only poles and a tented stretch of canvas covering to shade them overhead. Each was drawn by a team of huge, burly goats although none quite as magnificent as their leader’s kingly sables.

  “Ha-ha, I knew Vahrem wouldn’t let me down.” Numi chortled over the rumble and ruckus. “I swear the man must be half-dwoon.”

  With a chime of her bell-wrapped staff, the black goats slowed to a halt and the entire procession followed suit.

  “This looks like a mess,” Durra muttered as the debacle at the gates filled any silence that resulted from the chariot’s stillness.

  Ax-Wed nodded but stopped when she heard the elder dwarf chuckle again.

  “Oh, I do believe our horse trader has everything quite well in hand,” she commented as she leaned forward to squint at the scene. “Now where is that beautiful rascal?”

  “Who is Vahrem?” the Thulian asked, unsure of what she should be looking for. As far as she could tell, no one particularly beautiful or rascally was identifiably in the dusty mess at the gate.

  “Caravan master and horse merchant,” Durra said. “And Mehk’s very good friend.”

  “Oh, where is he?” Numi fussed petulantly. “Hasn’t he seen us?”

  She needn’t have bothered as half a heartbeat later, a barrel-chested man detached himself from the tangle and jogged toward the chariot. A broad smile flashed in a dark, well-kept beard and the bear of a man raised a beringed hand in greeting. Numi responded with a giggle that would have fit a dwarfess a quarter of her age.

  “Oh, get over here, handsome,” she demanded and strained over the wicker frame in her precarious way with her arms outstretched.

  Ax-Wed was surprised by the figure who strode toward them.

  Having done mercenary work in the East for some years, she’d seen her fair share of caravan masters and not one of them looked like this burly, sweaty creature who approached them. The fact that he was walking was strange enough. Caravan masters were men of considerable wealth and enterprise and came in two types—dashing dandy or gilded socialite— so a gleaming stallion or glittering palanquin was more the order of the day. Yet there he was, on his own two feet and loping toward them with the bowed gait of a man raised in the saddle.

  “Numi, my lovely!” the rugged man called in a powerful voice as he slid around the kingly goats and ran a familiar hand over a flank. “I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t make it.”

  “But you waited for me all the same.” The elder dwarf beamed at him. “And that’s why I love you.”

  With a spryness that belied his frame, the man sprang onto the central shaft of the chariot and braced himself with one foot on the wicker frame.

  “Come to me, my lovely.” He chuckled and scooped her up in one brawny, hirsute arm.

  Taking the stout dwarven matriarch in his arms like a dainty maid, he bounded off his perch onto the dusty road. At the affectionate display, Ax-Wed’s gaze darted from them to Durra, who was red-faced but smiling broadly.

  “You’ve finally grown a proper coat over those naked cheeks,” Numi commented approvingly as she brushed her knobby knuckles against Vahrem’s oiled beard.

  “Do you like it?” he asked and beamed at her still cradled in his arms.

  “Oh, if only I were a little younger and you a little shorter,” she responded wistfully and her wrinkle-swaddled eyes glistened.

  Vahrem laughed heartily as he lowered her to the ground. Mehk Numi found her feet easily enough but the peculiar caravan master leaned to one side so he could hold her hand in a gentle but firm grasp.

  “Durra, bruz’tal,” Vahrem called in a thick dwarvish dialect with a cheerful nod. “Your Mehk hasn’t been too hard on you, has she?”

  “Don’t listen to a word that little fool says,” she declared with an exaggerated growl. “He’s a sluggard and liar.”

  “Master Vahrem, bruz’tal,” the young dwarf answered with a meek wave. “I look forward to traveling with you again this season.”

  “And I you,” the merchant said with a gentle nod before he turned to look at Ax-Wed for the first time. “And I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting so fearsome a woman as you.”

  “She’s merely a stray we picked up on the side of the road,” Numi said and winked at her. “Not a chatty one but she’s made of stout stuff.”

  “I’ll say.” He grinned and studied the battered armor and ax the woman wore easily at her belt. “And what name does such an imposing lady go by?”

  She vaulted cleanly out of the chariot and landed before the caravan master on steady feet. When she straightened to her full height, she stood half a head taller, a fact the man noticed with an impressed nod. He might also have seen the muscles rippling in her arms as she held a hand out.

  “Ax-Wed,” she said and squeezed firmly when the hand was taken. To his credit, the merchant had a grasp of iron and in the brief contest, the warrior woman might have even called it an even match.

  “Ax-Wed…hmm,” Vahrem said thoughtfully as though it sparked a half-recalled memory. She stood in silence, thankful that no one could hear the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat. People having heard of her was almost never a good thing.

  “I wouldn’t call it a proper name,” Numi interjected at the caravan master’s side. “But it’s not the silliest thing I’ve ever heard you stilt-walkers call yourselves.”

  The man nodded but a sharp glance indicated that he didn’t agree with the dwarf. He met her gaze levelly and a cold shell formed inside her. She’d become so used to the fearful whispers and the stares of revulsion that she’d developed an instinct to protect herself from them. Ice around one’s heart was chilling but it helped to numb the sting of ostracization.

  “Well, if it suits the lady, it suits me,” Vahrem said and to her utter shock, he broke into another warm smile.
“I am pleased to meet you, especially among such fine company.”

  Before she could stammer a reply, Ax-Wed was interrupted by a sharp-faced man with a gray, wilting goatee who appeared at the merchant’s shoulder.

  “It would be best if we move things along, master,” the man said in a taut, raspy voice. “The guards are no longer amused.”

  As if on cue, raised voices cut through the bustle and a gate guard, his face flushed, jabbed his finger into the chest of one of the caravan’s workmen. A few of the other men began to drift over and ignored the sharp but subtle pleas of the women working beside them. Some of them who saw the trouble brewing responded with sharp-tongued calls to the children.

  A knot of guards with their metal-shod clubs in hand began to shoulder through the crowd toward the confrontation and things seemed to be heading downhill fast.

  Ax-Wed’s hand drifted to her belt.

  “Excuse me for one moment, my lovely,” Vahrem whispered to Numi and strode toward the brewing storm.

  “What’s going on?” he bellowed in a voice that threatened to shake the timbers of the Azure Gate. “I told you to clear this mess.”

  As one, workmen and guards turned to the advancing caravan master. He strode toward them and shook his head with bewildered disgust.

  “Can’t you see these men are staying past their shift end on our account?” he demanded with a wide sweep of his arm toward the guards. “Come on, now. Move this mess before I move you with a few good kicks.”

  For a single, trembling second, the violent tension hung in the air and then, to a man, the caravan workers turned on their heels and resumed their efforts with the wagons. In less time than it took for Ax-Wed to take in the sudden rush of work, everything became miraculously unstuck and the laden wagons rolled through the Azure Gate.

  The guards stood and gaped as Vahrem approached them and pressed a few coins into each man’s hands as the caravan moved into the city. Along with coins, he gave each dumbfounded man an understanding nod and firm pat on the back before he turned to rejoin the group in front of Numi’s chariot.

  With a broad smile, he took the dwarfess’ hand in his and swept a hand toward the waiting streets of Jehadim.

  “Shall we?”

  It was well and truly dark by the time the entire caravan, including the Wain Dwarves, wound through the streets to their destination inside the city. Their journey through the Silver Quarter had been slow as they had to compete for space with the various merchants and mongers who had closed shop and were heading to their homes in the Copper Quarter.

  Every few steps—that was how it seemed, at least—the caravan ground to a halt when some impatient trader cut across their path with his wares piled on a cart. More than once as her frustration deepened, Ax-Wed had considered trying to find a way to make her excuses and separate from the ponderous cavalcade, but the warm attention of the dwarves and Vahrem’s good-natured berating of passing merchants connived to convince her to remain with them.

  She might have been used to girding her heart with frost but she couldn’t deny that it felt pleasant to be made welcome in good company. Her work as a sell-sword and muscle for hire did not often afford her much time around such people. Perhaps—and even more so—it was the opportunity to feel at ease among a family. Her many years of ragged wandering among killers and thieves had not erased the ache of homesickness she felt, but listening to the old dwarf’s chatter about nephews and to see parents doting on their children eased the pain somewhat.

  All the same, they made slow progress and after her long journey across the desert, she was ready to rest. By the time they reached the edge of the Silver Quarter, she was at the limit of her crumbling patience but mercifully, Vahrem uttered a cheer that was taken up by the rest of the caravan.

  “Home at last!” he whooped in a milder but no less thunderous voice than the one he’d used at the gate.

  “Home” was a wall-framed stockyard that nestled in the nexus between the Silver, Copper, and Tin Quarters. Located along one of the broad roads which connected the various districts, it was clear that a fair amount of goods could be sorted and distributed throughout the city from the location with relative ease.

  A corral gate made of lashed timbers was dragged open by two rangy youths, bare-chested and looking for all the world like they’d rolled around in the packed-dirt yard only moments before.

  The merchant ambled forward to the lads with Numi and Ax-Wed in tow, while the rest of the caravan followed to fill the vacant stockyard like water filling a sinkhole.

  “Pap said you were coming today,” the elder of the two boys declared as he clung to the gate with his brother. Although both were smiling, their limbs trembled as they fought to keep the lashed timbers from swinging free.

  “One more reason to listen when your father speaks, eh?” Vahrem nodded sagely as he produced a few coins from his purse

  “We made sure there was fresh straw in the stalls and reeds in the barns,” the younger added and his eyes gleamed as his gaze settled on the money in the caravan master’s hand.

  “Did you now?” The man stroked his beard thoughtfully and he watched the two nod so vigorously that they almost lost their hold on the gate. “Well, I suppose that kind of service deserves compensation, doesn’t it?”

  More coins appeared and the boys’ eyes bulged and Ax-Wed wondered if they might even start salivating. Then again, the boys were already wet all over with the sweat that poured off them to create runnels on their gritty bodies. The youngest one had begun to puff with effort and his face assumed a shade that was hard to describe beneath his dappled coating of dirt.

  The warrior woman slid her pack from her shoulder, stepped closer, and took hold of the gate.

  “I’ve got it,” she said with a grunt and planted her feet.

  Both boys looked at her in amazement, struck dumb as they heaved in great breaths of air.

  “Thank you, kind sister,” Vahrem said and accompanied the traditional honorific with a bow. As he straightened, he cleared his throat loudly and gave the lads a meaningful look, the coins still clasped in one hand.

  “Thanks,” the eldest said quickly and his fingers curled and uncurled as his hand strayed toward the money.

  “Yeah,” the younger piped up after a nudge from his brother. “Only a big lady like you could handle something like this. You have to be the biggest woman I’ve ever met.”

  Vahrem sputtered a snort while the older boy cuffed his brother, who immediately turned with his fist cocked for a vengeful blow. All she could do was chuckle softly, which made the mail veil tinkle gently.

  “Steady now, boys,” Vahrem warned in a stern voice as he thrust a coin-laden hand between the brothers. “If you knock these coins out of my hand, who knows if you’ll ever find them again.”

  The imminent brawl was immediately forgotten and both brothers lunged at the proffered coins, which the merchant released with a quickness a lion tamer might show in surrendering a chunk of meat. A fair amount of jostling and muttered curses ensued but the boys reached a hasty agreement over what seemed equal shares.

  “Thanks, Master Kal’Stru,” both said together and smiles gleamed on their dirty faces.

  The merchant made a show of checking to make sure he had all his rings and the fingers inside them before he nodded and held his hand up as if to indicate that he was satisfied with the condition of it.

  “Yes, you’re quite welcome.” He grunted and fixed them both with a firm stare. “Will you boys head home tonight? I can arrange for a wagon to take you or maybe Mehk Numi might let you ride in her chariot.”

  At the mention of the latter, both boys' eyes lit up before they shared a look and a silent understanding passed between them. The younger inclined his head toward the caravan master while he looked pointedly at his brother, who glanced at each of the two adults, lowered his head, and chewed his lip.

  “Perhaps they have something else in mind,” Ax-Wed suggested and her heart went out to the
suddenly shy boy.

  “Come on, Julo,” the younger pressed after he beamed an appreciative smile at the Thulian.

  “Shut up, Jalen,” the older brother growled before he turned to Vahrem to stammer, “W-well, I was hoping…well, we was hoping, that we c-could, eh…”

  The boy’s voice trailed off as the caravan master leaned forward expectantly but after a heartbeat, Jalen proved incapable of suffering his brother’s reticence any longer.

  “Can we spend the night with the caravan?” he blurted with such force that his brother jumped at the question.

  “Spend the night with the caravan, eh?” Vahrem stroked his beard with one hand as his other settled on his belt. He tilted his head to one side to run a slow scrutiny of the boys while he winked surreptitiously at Ax-Wed and continued the act. Squinting speculatively, he extended a hand to squeeze each of the boys’ grimy shoulders in turn.

  “Are you strong enough to help us unload?” he asked with convincing gruffness.

  Both brothers nodded vigorously and babbled and boasted about how many wagons they would unload. Their voices grew louder as each tried to be heard above the other

  The merchant nodded and stooped to give each nose a tug.

  “What about these?” he asked. “Can you use these to make sure the food doesn’t burn? We have a large group of people to feed tonight and I need some fine fellows to keep a nose busy around the cooking pots. I can’t serve scalded soup and burned crusts to hungry people, can I?”

  Again with competing exuberance, both Julo and Jalen promised to ensure that only the finest food was served.

  Vahrem put on a great show of considering their words, his brow furrowed in concentration before he finally and with pretended reluctance nodded permission.

  “All right, all right, you’ve convinced me,” he rumbled before he folded his arms and gave each a stern look that was no performance. “You two behave yourselves and make yourselves useful and you can stay until midday tomorrow. Then I’ll have Mehk Numi take you home.”