Circle In The Deep (The Outcast Royal Book 1)

by Aaron D. Schneider

  Her limbs began to shake and her breath came in ragged gasps. She staggered back a step and heard a choked sob rise from beside her armored boot.

  The painted woman, one side of her face an utter nightmare of sagging flesh and exposed bone, looked pleadingly at her with her remaining eye. Half a dozen other wounds showed through her torn clothes and blood leaked through ragged punctures and flesh distended around ugly blackening bruises across her chest, belly, groin, and thigh.

  Ax-Wed was accustomed to the ruined remains of the battlefield and had known since before she was a woman grown, but this was so much worse. The fruits of war were ugly but this obscene torment was born of acts more loathsome than anything done with sword swing or ax stroke.

  A choked sound—almost a word—came from the woman and she was shaken from her dark reflections. The bruised mouth continued to work weakly and with her whole body trembling, the warrior woman sank to her haunches to listen.

  “Please,” the dying woman rasped wetly from her ruined mouth and extended one hand beseechingly toward her.

  Thinking the woman was reaching toward her sorcery-patched side, she fought to keep her voice steady as she spoke softly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and forced the words through the lump in her throat. “It won’t work. There’s…there’s too much for me to even start. I’d be more likely to kill us both if I tried.”

  She hated the answer even though she knew to her very bones that it was the truth. While she knew the petty sorceries taught to all Thulians and a few tricks of her house, besides that, she didn’t know of any magic potent enough to mend a body so broken. This knowledge did little to ease the ache in her heart and the helplessness in her hands as she looked at the agony-wracked woman.

  Although she’d managed to master her voice, she could do nothing to stop the tears rolling down her face. The glittering, crystal droplets cut tracks across the blood that had spattered her cheeks.

  The painted woman continued to reach out, her hand tremulous and clumsy, and she almost took it in her gory grip when she realized what she wanted. A sliver of ice raced toward the Thulian’s heart as the woman’s fingers pawed at the dagger on her belt.

  “P-p-please,” she sobbed and tears budded around her remaining eye. “Please.”

  Ax-Wed’s hand seemed to move of its own volition while something deep within her wailed in silence. It was a terrible thing but it was not the first time she’d been asked to deliver Morah’s Mercy. The jagged pieces which comprised her heart sliced and caught against each other at the weight of the dagger in her hand but she knew what she would do. The words came to her lips unbidden, the same prayerful incantation she’d whispered over every friend and comrade in arms who had met such a fate.

  “Morah, Watcher in the Dark, spread your night-black wings and descend from on high,” she intoned as she held the blade parallel to the woman’s shivering and ravaged body. “Let your glimmering eye see this soul seeking audience in the Halls of the Victorious Vanquished.”

  The dagger’s tip began to tip downward so the needle-sharp point would hover above the laboring heart.

  “Quicken the beating of your wings, oh Sentinel upon the Outer Wall. Rush swiftly now and seize upon the fleeting shade.”

  As it always did, her hand began to tremble and she steadied the blade with her other hand and forced the final words around her parched tongue.

  “Come quickly and let your hold be sure. For we are vapor and shadows, wrapped in ashes and dust.”

  The dagger plunged and it drove home with ease as it had all those times before. The body trembled, blood welled, and within a few meager seconds, the last breath slid free.

  She watched it all unfold, the tracks of her tears already drying, and something that had never happened before swept over her.

  A sound—no, it wasn’t a sound but the impression of sound—all but submerged her and filled her mind with memories of great wing beats and a powerful, cyclopean voice.

  No.

  Ax-Wed gasped and recoiled from the body where her dagger still stood upright in the painted woman’s corpse.

  Her gaze darted around the chamber in search of the source of the voice of denial and huge wings but felt foolish as she did so. She knew she had not heard it but remembered it—all of it—with a clarity that struck her mind like a hammer against an anvil.

  But what memory did she have of sun-blotting wings stirring the air and the voice of a god?

  For some time, she crouched in the dark, charnel chamber, afraid to stir more memories that were not her own yet knowing that every second spent cowering hastened the return of the degenerates or perhaps even worse, the dark presence that had commanded them.

  I must have taken a hit to the head and not realized it, she lied to try to assure herself as she summoned the will to draw the dagger from the dead body. The dark and the strain are wearing on me—and probably still some of that wine.

  Her denials diligently if not firmly entrenched, she rose after cleaning her dagger, ax, and smeared hands as best she could. She knew she should check her wounded side and felt its dull burning at the edge of her awareness, but she needed to get moving.

  The only exit from the room was the darkened doorway, but she was willing to wager that beyond were corridors and other passages.

  And if not, what other choice did she have?

  If they came again, they would overrun her in the wide chamber and there would be no one to grant her Morah’s Mercy as they glutted themselves on her flesh and debasement.

  She snatched one of the few remaining torches from the wall, took one last look at the carnage of the chamber, and then set off into the darkness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Copper Quarter baked as morning gave way to afternoon, and with the hot desert sun came the end to the day’s labors. Men and women who’d toiled since before the sun rose set aside their unfinished projects, stowed their tools, hung their aprons up, and bade their foreman and overseers a good day.

  From there, they were bound for Reveler’s Row.

  The quarter was home to not only the many of the tradesmen operations that saw to the needs of Jehadim and its many visitors but also to the various amenities that kept such tradesmen from taking their skills and joining the next passing caravan to another city. Immediately beyond the yards and workshops where the artisans plied their trades lay street after street that brimmed with the pleasures to sate them on their way home from a hard day's work. Whether it be food, drink, or flesh, the Copper Quarter’s Reveler’s Row would not disappoint.

  Some of the offerings were on gaudy display, be they glistening foods or glistening bodies, but others seemed to choose a different tactic. One such place was the three-storied sandstone structure bearing the name the Silken Nest. Besides the red velvet curtains which draped its many windows like crimson veils, there was nothing to draw the eye besides the large bas relief over the door. Set deep into the stone and chafed in bronze, it displayed a masterful depiction of layered spider webs amidst which could be glimpsed svelte naked bodies. The edge of the relief declared the name of the building in several languages and scripts that wrapped the square image.

  One look at the building filled Vahrem with a kind of dizzying dread.

  “Let’s go over it again,” he said to Iyshan as they moved down the street in a meandering path to the building.

  “We’re glassblowers from Scadish come to Jehadim on invitation from Tobarr Beadsman,” his companion said under his breath as he lowered his blushing face to avoid looking at two lithe catamites who dangled from a window two buildings before their destination. “Tobarr recommended the Nestled Slip as our introduction to the ladies of Reveler’s Row. We must have the directions wrong but since we are here and we have coin to spend, we might as well see what the Silken Nest has to offer.”

  “Good, good,” the merchant said and fought to keep his tone light and even. He’d executed his fair share of tricky negotiations and faced no
few dangers in his travels, but reconnoitering the likes of the Silken Nest was not something he had any experience with.

  “And after that?” he asked and paused to make a show of studying his surroundings. If the establishment was indeed a hub for the abductors, he wouldn’t be surprised if they had lookouts and runners posted along the street. Seeing them floundering somewhat would lend credence to their story.

  “We spend some coin freely on drink, with you doing most of the drinking,” Iyshan continued and did his part to gaze around and scratch his chin quizzically. “Then I act as though I am growing bored and demand to see the options for companionship. I ask to see the women first and then the men. If there is one who matches the descriptions of the others taken last night, I choose them and demand to show them to you—and act very drunk.”

  “When you present the person, I mock you and also act very drunk.” Vahrem nodded and his brow furrowed as his heart began to pound in his chest. “We do our best to start a brawl and Alborz’s friend Salar Parviz will be waiting to swoop in and arrest us while also occupying the brothel.”

  Iyshan pointed at the Silken Nest and slapped a hand on the caravan master’s shoulder as though telling his companion he’d found what they sought.

  “If none of them match the description, I say nothing is to my liking,” he continued as they moved toward the structure, which seemed to loom even more menacingly as they approached. “I ask if they have anything more interesting for a man with good coin to spend. When they pretend they don’t know what I am talking about, I tell them that in Scadish, a discerning and generous man can have whatever he wants. I turn to go and leave a Scadish Eighth Ingot behind. As I collect you, I whisper loudly that I gave them something to think about and tell them we are staying as guests at Tobarr’s villa.”

  Vahrem nodded again, this time more animated as though growing excited as they approached the brothel.

  “It seems like we are forgetting something,” he said after a moment and grunted in irritation. “But I suppose it’s too late now.”

  “Shepherd guard us.” Iyshan swallowed as they stopped under the bas relief.

  “And let our feet not go astray,” he added and together, they swept through the red silk and into the perfumed twilight beyond.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She’d only walked a dozen paces from the chamber she’d first fallen into when she stood in another round chamber with stone walls and guttering torches.

  Ax-Wed’s nose stung with the fetid smell of the degenerate mob that must have moved through the room mere moments earlier, but other than smears of blood and less wholesome substances, she saw no evidence of occupation. The floors and walls were smooth stone panels fitted closely together—which suggested remarkable craftsmanship—but otherwise, there was no indication as to the function of the chambers and there was no decor beyond the torches in their sconces. The only thing that seemed noteworthy was that all the torches seemed to be lit.

  The creatures can’t see in the dark, she observed and her fingers tightened reflexively on the torch in her hand. At least not completely.

  It was a small comfort given her predicament, but the realization bolstered the calm and clarity that had remained since the strange episode in the chamber behind her.

  As she felt her mind settle, her gaze swept the shadowed walls of the floor of the room. It took a moment of scrutiny but when she squinted through the guttering torchlight, she realized this second chamber had an additional element to it. Although nothing so much as gaps between the stones, there were two more exits from this chamber, both opposite each other and equidistant to the portal she’d come from.

  Left or right? she wondered as she moved into the chamber. One hand held her ax in a shortened grip. For all she knew, the creatures had executed a false retreat to lure her into an ambush. The degenerates themselves seemed capable of such things with their low cunning, but combined with the dark presence that had directed them, it seemed all too likely.

  Despite these grim thoughts, however, no ravening mob descended upon her and no hunting pack pounced from the dark. Only the stains and stink provided testimony to the fact that she wasn’t utterly alone in this deep place.

  Ax-Wed paced the room and it took only a moment to realize which way the retreating creatures had gone. The smell emanating from the right portal was a blow to her nostrils, and if that retch-inducing evidence hadn’t been enough, she noticed fresh spatters of blood glinting darkly under her torchlight.

  For a moment, she stood motionless and stared into the noxious dark. She wondered if she could catch up to them if she hurried and perhaps overtake them as they shuffled through the narrow corridor where their numbers wouldn’t count for much.

  For what, though? she asked herself.

  Even if she could kill them all before they reached another chamber to surround her in, she was assuming there weren’t more coming to reinforce the initial vanguard. She could rush after them only to run into a fresh wave of the creatures. Not only that, but they more than likely knew these passages better than her and could turn the situation against her very quickly.

  And for what?

  The damning question weighed heavily on her chest as she peered into the black gap between the stones.

  The boy is dead, Masheed has to be moments from death if she isn’t already, and dogface won’t be useful as a corpse.

  The cold arithmetic of it chafed her like a frigid collar but she found the sum of it impossible to refute. There was no profit in pursuing them unless she wanted to put in her best effort at dying faster.

  “Left it is, then.” She sighed and cast one last look down the right-hand passage before she slipped through the left portal.

  The passage, like its entrance, was narrow and lightless and so unmarked by any sign of artifice that she might have believed it was the result of an accident rather than intention. It was much longer than the passage connecting the initial room to the second and although hard to discern at first, she eventually realized it had a slight curve and downward slope.

  This was hardly a comforting fact as she was fairly certain that up would be the way out but needs must and she was most certainly in need—a point driven home when after a handful of minutes of her padding down the passage, she heard an uncomfortably familiar chorus of howls.

  They were coming back for her and it would only take a minute for them to realize she was not in the initial chamber. From there, even a child—and a very stupid one at that—could determine which way she’d gone.

  She needed to find a place to hide or barring that, a place to make her stand.

  For a moment, she considered dropping the torch behind her and making her stand there in the hope that the cramped passage would only allow them to attack one at a time. Even though her side still burned and she knew she wasn’t recovered from the last fight, she knew she could fell any of the creatures that fought her if she faced them singly.

  Looking back the way she came and then down the passage ahead of her, Ax-Wed chewed her lip for an instant longer, then swore and hurried down the passage again.

  They could as easily have a tunnel that goes around and then what will you do? she asked herself in irritation. Hope they fight fair instead of creep up behind you and club you into submission?

  The mental berating lasted as long as it took for the next hunting call to sound, which was a few minutes after she’d set off again.

  Was there a vengeful tone in the baying cries? She didn’t know and frankly had no time for such speculation as she moved through the passage, but something hung in the air besides the stench of the creatures.

  Moving as quickly as she dared lest she raise a racket with her armor, harness, and weapons, she focused to determine what exactly she sensed.

  Some hint of the dark will she’d experienced before was on the move. It crept ahead of its minions and sought her out in the dark corridors. She remembered the peculiar instant when she had recalled a name from her
childhood explorations of her father’s library, but there was too much in that experience she didn’t understand to trust her life to a confrontation. If whatever was in the darkness was active again, it must not be too concerned about her muttering a name she barely remembered.

  The corridor wound along its deepening path until Ax-Wed began to fear that the dark passage would go on until she tumbled into whatever uninhabitable realm lay beyond the tiers of earth. She’d remembered from her tutelage that beneath the rounded shell of earth upon which men walked and burrowed like insects, there was supposed to be a vast reservoir of molten stone and poisonous vapor akin to that which volcanoes belched across unfortunate lands. Her tutors had made clear it was not one of the hells, which were different realities as opposed to different locations, but she remembered thinking a burning ocean of venom seemed close enough to a hell to count. They’d taught her that this place was far deeper than men ever delved but they might not have known of it, she supposed.

  Was that where she was bound—to the not-hell hell? How far down would she need to be before she would feel the heat or begin to choke on the toxic fumes seeping from below? If that began to happen, would she have time to turn and head back to face her pursuers? Which was worse, falling into the hands of the degenerates or slowly cooking as she choked on treacherous air?

  Thankfully, she was not forced to make such a choice as a moment later, she stumbled into another chamber. Her legs had become so used to the pull of the declining plane beneath her feet that she almost lost her balance on the suddenly level floor. With a muttered oath, she righted herself, held her torch up, and began to peer around the room, hoping she hadn’t gone all this way to reach a dead end.

  No torches burned in this chamber but it seemed smaller than either of those she’d seen before so it took one sweep of her single torch to determine the layout. The room was square, not round, although it seemed to be layered with the same cunningly made stone tiles and had doorways at the center of each wall. The portals to the left and right of where she’d emerged were fitted with doorways like those connecting the two round rooms above her, while the portal opposite where she’d entered was as small and unadorned as the passage entrance she’d almost missed earlier.