* * * * *
"That's all of them, Captain," one of the guards called out, reining up. Fulgar quickly palmed the dagger and hid it behind his body. "They got Danica?"
"I'm afraid so," Fulgar said. "I saw her cut down just a moment ago. She's dead."
The guard was silent. Fulgar tensed. Then the guard sighed loudly. "It's the life she chose."
"That it was," he said, relaxing. "It's how all warriors want to go."
"True," he said. Then grinning, "After tonight, she's sure to have earned a place at Bandu's side. She's probably sharing a mug with Bandu and Ashtar right now."
Swinging back into the saddle, Fulgar said, "I would think so." Then looking over the milling horsemen, "Form up! We've got a long, hard ride to catch up!"
The men were soon in a column of twos. He was shocked by how few were left. Then a malicious grin spread across his face. One particularly troublesome woman wouldn't be returning with them. He cast a last dark look at her body, laying still in the grass.
"How many Jordani escaped?" he asked.
"A bare handful, Captain."
Laughing gustily, "A great night then. Well met!"
* * * * *
Spitting out a mouthful of dirt, Danica struggled to all fours and tried not to sob. Her whole body screamed in agony. Finding it impossible to stand, she finally just sat back on her legs. She gently massaged her aching head while she tried to force her eyes to focus.
The early morning sun revealed a hellish sight. Men and horses littered the ground, twisted horribly in death. Their agonized eyes stared accusingly back at her. And, what upset her the most, already the carrion eaters were arriving.
The events of the previous night tore through her mind. Fulgar's honorless betrayal. The dagger.
Why am I still alive? Did he feel it would be worse for her to be abandoned, alone in the Jordani graze? Looking around in stunned realization of her predicament, Maybe he's right.
If she was captured by the Jordani, then her fate would be far worse than death. At best, she'd be enslaved and sold to the next trader passing through. Or maybe kept and worked to death, but after their terrible losses, they might decide to torture her to death.
"I've got to get out of here."
Danica forced herself to stand. She wasn't seriously injured, just badly beaten from being trampled and kicked. She was lucky not to have any broken bones, much less to be alive.
Looking around again, she started whistling. Maybe if any horses were still around one would answer. On foot in the steppes was almost certain death for anyone not raised there. After several minutes she gave up trying to call a horse. The caravan guards would have taken any that remained behind after the battle, and any surviving nomad horses would have run back to their camp.
Finding her sword, she sheathed it and headed for the nearest dead horse. She took the water skin, some rope, and the saddlebags. Then she found a bow and collected some arrows, which she placed in a quiver she tied to the back of her sword belt. With her belt knife, she cut chunks of meat off a horse and filled the saddlebags. Later, after she has gotten far away, she'd cut the meat into strips and cook it. That done, she located another full water skin and struck out northeast.
Samulla was northeast. It was the closest city. There were no cities within the steppes. Lots of ruins, but no cities. The steppe tribes wouldn't tolerate them.
She figured the Jordani were somewhere northwest of her position, this being the far southeastern corner of their graze. Already the grasses were sparser, courser, and shorter. The soil was rockier and sandier. She wasn't far from the desert.
Keeping northeast, she walked between the low hills. Only occasionally did she crawl to the crest of a hill to look around. With deadly enemies looking for her, she didn't want to give away her position by silhouetting herself against the bright sky.
While she walked, Danica considered all the gruesome ways she could use to punish Fulgar for his betrayal. He had suddenly taken the top position on her list of men to punish for hurting her. Even ahead of Talar. To her mind, bound in the Knightly Codes, what Fulgar did was infinitely worse than what Talar did. She could justify Talar's actions, somewhat. Not that it would do him any good once she found him, but Captain Fulgar betrayed one of his own people. He was without honor.
Danica froze.
The sound of barking dogs drifted to her on the breeze. Standing in the saddle of two hills, she couldn't quite make out where it came from. Then it came again, this time with the sounds of pots and pans clanking together.
A camp?
Jordani? Taag, maybe?
Dropping her load, Danica scrambled up a low hill. Nearing the crest, she dropped to all fours. The knee high grasses hid her well. She found a nomad camp just the other side of the hill. North of that she could see their herds of cattle, sheep, and horses. Dogs were running around keeping the herds together, with young boys and girls on horseback controlling the dogs. There was no way of knowing what clan it was, though the black felt tents said that it was a Lion Tribe clan and at least related to the Jordani.
Even if they weren't the Jordani, she'd likely be stripped and enslaved within minutes of being discovered. A lone man, much less a woman, was considered a gift from the Gods by nomads.
Suddenly the scenes of enslavement by nomads, and herself heavy with child flashed in her mind. Every step she made, every turn, every decision, altered her destiny. One wrong move now, and she could fulfill the mirror's more sinister predictions. After all, she was en route to Samulla, though her ultimate destination was Ismat al-Haratha. The mirror had shown her flying into Allaria if she went to Ismat al-Haratha and stole the talisman, but it didn't show anything about her trip to Ismat al-Haratha. Could that scene have been after years of enslavement and marriage in a nomadic clan? She was an elf after all, and could expect to live at least several more centuries. For a second, the thought unnerved her before she could force all thought of failure and doom from her all too fertile mind.
For a few minutes, she simply studied the terrain. She would have to backtrack a ways and go around the encampment and its herds. She was already dangerously close.
Turning to crawl away, she found a semi-circle of young men staring at her. There were six of them, all warriors. All were bandaged up, so they were the men injured in the previous battle and left behind to defend the camp. Their smiles didn't reassure her. They weren't those kinds of smiles.
As they all silently stared at each other, she reviewed her options. She was well-armed, and they only had belt knives. But all of them were bigger than her, though as an elf she was just as strong, if not a bit stronger. To make good her escape, she'd have to kill all of them without anyone in the camp below hearing. Not likely.
Horses. There are horses in the camp. If she could outrun them, maybe she could steal a horse and ride away.
But before she could come to a decision, "Get her!'
With a piercing battle cry, she launched herself at them. She had thought they would at least freeze, but they never hesitated in following the order to attack.
Kicking the tallest in the gut, she turned to run for the camp. One of the other men grabbed her shirt, so she backhanded him, but another drove into her stomach head first. With all her breath already gone, she hit the ground hard. The warriors swarmed over her. Hard fists pounded her mercilessly for what seemed an eternity, leaving her sapped of strength and gasping for breath.
Danica found herself pinned to the ground, unable to even squirm. The warrior she had kicked stepped up beside her and glared down at her with hate-filled eyes. Then he stomped down on her lower belly.
She couldn't keep the tears from flowing this time as her body tried to curl up in pain, but the nomads wouldn't allow that. She was held flat. Spread-eagle. They had something else in mind.
"Strip her," he said, beginning to unfasten his own breeches.
Try as she might, Danica was unable to pull her legs together. The young men were all jus
t too strong. Looking up with tear-filled eyes, she saw their leader kneel between her legs as eager hands fumbled with the buttons on her breeches. Lust was beginning to replace the hate in his eyes. She heard herself whimper as her breeches were pulled open, and then felt her face burn hotly with the shame of it.
"What's going on here?" an angry voice called...a female voice.
Thank the Gods!
"We caught us an outsider," the man kneeling between Danica's legs announced proudly.
Looking back, she spotted the frowning face of a nomad woman coming up the hill. She looked to be in her late forties, with dark eyes and graying hair twisted into two braids that fell in front of her shoulders. She wore one of the soft beaded leather dresses popular among the steppe folk.
Yes! An elder!
Stopping beside Danica and looking her over once, "Where'd she come from?"
They shrugged.
She snorted and turned to go.
"No! Please," Danica begged, barely able to speak.
She stopped and looked back.
"We caught her," he said, almost beseechingly. "We get her by right."
"Yes," she said slowly. "But that don't mean you can have at her right now. Bring her down to camp."
"But — "
"Do it!"
With that, she departed. The warriors grumbled a few moments, and Danica feared they might disobey the elder, but then she was rolled onto her belly and her wrists bound.
"You ain't escaped us yet," he said, pulling her to her feet. "You'll be given to us soon enough, and then we're going to punish you for this."
Danica kept her tongue to herself. Hopefully she could figure out a way to get the Clan Elders to release her. If not, well, she didn't want to antagonize those men any more than necessary. Nomads could be extremely spiteful, especially to someone as helpless as she would be if turned over to them. If she was enslaved, then she would be turned over to them.
As they approached, she studied the encampment. There was something wrong, but she just couldn't quite place it. She counted at least three dozen of the large black felt tents scattered haphazardly about. Dogs were running about barking, children playing naked in the dirt, women — and slaves! — hard at work carrying water and cooking. The women supervising or sitting in the shadows of tents sewing or working looms were the clan's free women. It was easy to tell the difference — the free women were fully clothed.
Horses?
There were no horses to be seen within the encampment. That was what she had noticed wrong. There were always at least a handful of warriors left behind to protect the camp. Their saddled mounts should have been standing by. What would take all the healthy men away at once?
Oh, my Gods!
"Wha...what clan is this?" she asked.
Thrusting his chest out proudly, "We are Jordani."
Her knees suddenly felt weak again. The clan warriors were all out looking for her, or dead and feeding the buzzards. When the remaining warriors returned, if there were any still alive, then she would truly be in deep trouble.
"Kneel!" the boy commanded, and promptly kicked her in the back of the knee. She landed on her knees with a gasp of pain. Grinning at her pain, "Don't move or I'll whip you."
Not trusting her tongue, she nodded.
I'll be lucky if all I get is a whipping.
While the tall youth went off to discuss, or argue, about what was to be done with her, Danica went over her options. She didn't see many, but her captors seemed to have plenty. What would be her fate? The Vikon's mirror's predictions kept returning.
Before her fertile mind could drive her to hysterics, the young man returned with a woman Danica recognized. Yuma, Matriarch of the clan. She was an ancient, formidable woman. Her face was a leathery, weather-beaten mass of wrinkles from which two piercing blue eyes shone brightly. As she recalled, everyone was afraid of her.
Danica found it impossible to look into those eyes. Just trying sent a chill up her spine. Yuma's scrutiny of her was long, intense, and done with unsettling silence.
"You got the stench of magic about you." Her high-pitched voice cracked out like a whip. Eyes narrowing even more menacingly, "You a witch?"
"No, I'm just a traveler heading for Samulla."
Snorting, "Not anymore. Now you belong to us."
"But — "
"Silence!" she snapped, slapping Danica across the face. Then turning on the man who led the capture, "You caught her, Raf? Brought her back here?"
"Yes," he said, head held high. "We was — "
Everyone jumped at the crack that rang out as she slapped him across the face, "Fool! You didn't even disarm her." Slapping him again, "Do you think that sword is a lady's pretty bauble?"
"I..." he started.
"Do you think that knife, and those daggers, are an outsider's idea of jewelry?"
While Raf stammered an attempt at explanation, Danica's armor, sword belt, and daggers were taken from her. She knew she didn't have the words to convince Yuma to release her. The old woman was a Jordani Elder. She was an iron-willed woman who didn't understand compassion or compromise for anyone outside her clan. To her, Danica was just another slave, to be sold or worked relentlessly for the clan's benefit.
While the Clan Elder berated the men for their oversight, Danica noticed the slaves. They didn't dare let up in their labors, but kept up a close watch on what was happening. They were one and all filthy, and looked exhausted. She noted their "clothes" with dread. Some had nothing more than a small scrap of grimy cloth tied around their hips. Others had the remnants of breeches cut alarmingly short, little more than a triangle with a strip around the waist and one between their butt cheeks. All had the wide silver ankle bracelet above their left ankle that proclaimed them slaves in the steppe and desert cultures.
Yuma cut Raf off, "Enough. The other warriors will be back soon, and then we will take care of her." Then slowly scanning the worried young men, "You all have chores that need to be taken care of."
"Yes, Mother Yuma," Raf and several of the other men muttered.
After one last contemptuous look at Danica, she turned and disappeared inside one of the billowing black tents. The men all stood there scowling a moment. Then they turned their sullen attention back to Danica.
"This is your fault," Raf said.
"I assure you, young man, I didn't want to be captured," she said.
"You're going to pay for this, I promise," he said, and nodded to the others.
Danica was pushed to her back and held down. Raf stepped over her, one of her daggers in hand. Leaning over her, he began slowly cutting her shirt off.
"Mother Yuma said you have chores," Danica said desperately, visions of gang rape sending her heart racing.
"You're the first."
The prophesy in the mirror of her being held down and stripped by nomads leapt into her mind. Had she taken a misstep? Was this her fate? Enslaved by the Jordani? And then impregnated and brought into the clan?
"Gods! Bandu, give me strength!"
Raf laughed maliciously. "I think the Goddess of Love and Pleasure would be a more appropriate choice. Lyss is also the Goddess of Slaves, after all."
They all chuckled, but Raf's dagger neither ceased nor slowed in its task. Within seconds her shirt was in ribbons and thrown to the dogs, who began fighting over it. Then after her boots were pulled off, Raf began cutting away at her breeches. She felt worse than naked before the gawking, hungry-eyed men.
"Now we introduce you to the clan," Raf said as he guided himself toward her pussy. She grunted when he pressed against her folds, applying more pressure. "This is going to be so good."
Raf bent his face to her breasts, clamping his teeth down on a nipple. She gasped and bucked, but he held tightly and laughed. The bite wasn't hard enough to break the skin, but sent intense pain through her body. Another warrior groped her other breast, while another ran his hands through her hair as he leaned down and kissed her hard and demandingly.
/> Danica groaned miserably, closing her eyes and trying to think of anything but what was about to happen. The Jordani were all pawing greedily at her breasts, legs, and hair. The kisser forced his tongue into her mouth, so she clamped her teeth down on that invading tongue. He jerked back, cursing, as his friends laughed.
"Slave, I suggest you relax and do what you're told," Raf said through clenched teeth. He held Danica's gaze a long moment, as visions of sex filled her mind.
It was a bitter taste in her mouth, recalling how she had advised women warriors in the past to do the same thing if captured. As Danic, he counseled women to accept their fate, bide their time, and be alert for an opportunity to escape. It was their only real hope if captured.
Somehow his own advice just sickened his stomach.
I am…fucked!
Raf would only be the first of six. He looked so disgustingly smug as he settled in between her wide-spread legs, poised to thrust into her. She wondered how long it would take, and what they would make her do. She swallowed hard as she looked at his erection, not as big as Horse, but big enough to make her feel it.
"Great God of Thunder!" one man cried. He was the one playing with her hair, and at the moment he was gawking down at the side of her head. "An elf!"
Raf was immediately on his feet, racing toward the tents and shouting for Mother Yuma.
Chapter 6
It was early evening before the clan warriors returned in a thunder of hooves and shouts. Danica lay bound hand and foot in the dirt and crushed grasses, tied to the center tent pole by the neck with a braided leather rope inside the slave tent. She had long since given up hope of slipping her bonds, and was now quietly awaiting the return of the men to decide her fate.
She had a difficult time following the events outside the flapping tent, but could feel the tension. Normally the women and children greeted the returning warriors with great cheers and laughter, but they were all extremely subdued. Danica understood all too well the problem.
Very few warriors returned.
The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) Page 10
