The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1)

by Warren Thomas

  "Spread your legs, slave," Red Bull said. She reluctantly complied. He knelt between her wide spread legs and began chanting, tracing magical symbols upon her exposed loins with his grimy finger. His touch sent chills throughout her body. Then suddenly stopping, "She is still protected."

  "Protected?" Danica said.

  Was there a spell protecting her from being ravaged? It didn't stop Raf the night before. Forcing herself to relax, she shifted her sight to check herself for magic. No sign of magic was evident.

  "The spell protecting you from conceiving is still intact," he said, loathing written all over his face.

  "Great," she said, shaking her head.

  It wouldn't have mattered anyway. The Jordani wouldn't allow her to bear a child. Red Bull would simply have placed the necessary spell on her himself.

  "Why me?" she said.

  "They asked for you," he said, clearly not pleased by the selection either. "It is their Passage, so they may choose any slave they want. Besides, thanks to you we are in no position to send them out on the necessary raids."

  "They all chose me? I thought each had to have his own woman."

  "I like it even less than you," he said. "But these are unusual circumstances, allowing us to deviate from the norm without dishonor."

  "The Gods hate me."

  "I don't blame them," he chuckled.

  Red Bull began the final prayer chant as the new warriors lined up at Danica's feet. They had until the prayer was over to use her. It was a long prayer, extolling the legendary prowess of Jordani warriors. Danica swallowed hard as a tall blonde warrior knelt between her wide spread legs and pulled off his ceremonial robes. He wore nothing underneath. He quickly crawled atop her, his young unmarked skin pressed against hers. With both hands tightly entwined in her long golden hair, he forced her to look him in the eyes. She could feel his manhood swell and press against her folds, start to penetrate.

  Danica sucked in a sharp breath as he thrust all the way in with a wild cry of joy.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Mother Yuma cried as she barged in. Then pointing at Danica, "Not with that one, you don't."

  Danica wanted to scream with joy. Thank you, you dried up old goat! Thank you!

  The warriors, all of the warriors, were fuming. With fists clenched and jaw working, Dett stood and stalked over to the Clan Matriarch. She might be the most powerful member of the clan, but this ceremony was strictly forbidden to women.

  "This is none of your concern," he growled. "Begone!"

  "No! You fools don't know what you're doing," she snapped. "That slave has the stench of Sorcery about her. Strong!" Then looking around, "She's Druigh, and I think she's cursed."

  How can I exploit this? Danica's mind raced through options. The warrior was still atop her, still deep inside her. She found it difficult to concentrate on anything but his sweaty body pressed against hers and his manhood slowly pumping in and out.

  "Her magic is harmless," Red Bull said. "I should know."

  "You should," Yuma said, sneering fiercely. "But tell us all exactly what that magic is? Can you do it? Do you have even the faintest notions on how Elven Magic works?"

  He hesitated. "I think the slave has had all her power stolen by a stronger wizard."

  "You 'think?' You don't know?" she cried. "I have a bad feeling about the elfmaid. She feels like trouble, and has been nothing but trouble."

  "I was cursed," Danica said with feeling, "by a powerful sorceress in Elfhaven."

  The new warrior pulled out of her quickly, eyeing her warily while still kneeling between her legs. She kept her feelings of elation off her face and tried to look somber.

  "I believe her," Yuma said.

  "She'll say anything to escape the ceremony," Dett said.

  "I don't care. I think she is cursed."

  You got that right, Danica thought bitterly, thinking about what Talar had done to her, and what had happened since. If being trapped inside an elfmaid's body isn't a curse, I don't understand the nature of curses.

  "Cursed?" Red Bull said and sneered at Danica. "Even if she is, it's of no consequence. I cannot detect anything about her that could be harmful to us."

  "I still remember Clan Berteemi," Yuma said somberly. "They captured an elfmaid with the stench of magic about her. They also couldn't figure out what it was. Their warriors all ravaged her, their sons took their turns later when they came of age." She paused, slowly letting her scornful glance touch everyone. "Then all their man parts shriveled up and the clan slowly died."

  There was a pained groan from the men, who suddenly began eyeing Danica suspiciously. She just tried to lay there quietly and act innocent. Acting pleased might bring about a beating, or worse, but she wanted to laugh and dance about.

  Red Bull looked at her through narrowed eyes, "I don't know — "

  "Then don't touch her until you do!"

  "I agree," Raf spoke up, eyes wide in fear.

  Yes! She smiled at him, and enjoyed the look of fear in his eyes as we both recalled the previous night.

  The blonde warrior kneeling between her knees stood up, "I want to choose a different slave."

  Red Bull shot the youth a hot look. "It's your right."

  The other boys also quickly voiced their desire for someone different. Their fearful looks almost made Danica giddy.

  Yuma nodded her satisfaction and departed. Dett and Red Bull glared after her, their faces twisted into angry sneers. There was no love lost between them. Danica wondered if there was a way to exploit it. Only time would tell. And it seemed she had plenty of that.

  The four eldest warriors met with Dett and Red Bull in a far corner. For several minutes they argued. Danica watched them closely, wishing she could hear what they were saying. Would they decide to use her anyway? There were several loud comments concerning Red Bull's magic, so did they have some plan to negate any curse she might bear? When their meeting broke up, Danica held her breath in anticipation of their decision.

  "Bring Zandie, Maren, Covina, and Ikara," Red Bull said. "They were all captured by the fathers of the initiates."

  Danica was pulled to her feet and taken away. She was returned to the slave tent and chained to the stake. The four other slaves were taken to the ceremony. All in all, she considered herself lucky. For the time being.

  * * * * *

  Staggering under the weight of the twin water buckets hanging off the ends of the pole, Danica made her way back up the gentle slope to the encampment. After a month she had gotten good at carrying water, but not completely used to it. She could usually make it back to camp without resting now, or spilling any of the precious water. Which saved her a beating.

  As she neared the camp, she spotted a small group of warriors chasing a slave girl out from between the tents and into the surrounding grasses. She was fast, but not fast enough. They soon caught her and she was wrestled to the ground without too much struggle. She would be severely beaten if she even slightly hurt a clan member.

  Danica shuddered and looked away as the tiny strip of cloth the captured Taag girl was permitted to wear was pulled off and thrown aside. By now she was completely calm and wasn't struggling anymore. Once the warriors were finished with her, she'd be released to continue her assigned chores.

  For the thousandth time, Danica thanked the Gods heartily. Only the clan's fear of a possible curse on her kept the men from doing the same thing to her. She was the only slave who didn't have to worry about being wrestled to the ground and used. Now if she could only find a way to keep the younger children from ambushing her and pelting her with rocks.

  She glanced down at her own clothing. It offered little protection from the stinging rocks, or anything else. All she wore was the hacked off scrap of black leather that had once been her breeches, with her buttocks all but hanging out for the world to see, and the wide silver slave bracelet on her left ankle. The slave bracelet covered almost as much as the loincloth. She was lucky though. Many of the slaves had ev
en less to wear. But some of the favorites were given simple jewelry, such as glass beads or feather necklaces or chokers or bracelets. Some were even allowed bright ribbons to tie their hair back out of their faces while they worked. Such ornamentation was a highly prized symbol of status among the slaves.

  The sun had long since basted Danica's once alabaster skin to a golden bronze, and lightened her long blonde tresses several shades. Seeing herself reflected in the occasional water holes, she marveled that some drunken nomad, curse or not, hadn't been overcome with lust and taken her.

  Needless to say, the other slaves resented the fact that she was spared the men's attention. They constantly picked on her. Already, several times one or more of them had jumped her. She could handle any of them one on one pretty easily, but she always received a nasty beating when they ganged up on her. Nasty beating or not, she always prevailed in their brawls despite being outnumbered. She was the only trained warrior among the slaves. The Jordani would see them fighting, but considered it slave business and beneath them to interfere. They also thought it was funny.

  The Jordani loved to gamble, and bets were usually made on the outcome of the fights. It wouldn't be long before they came across another clan and she was thrown against a slave from that clan to fight. It was common practice.

  Setting the buckets down to rest a moment, she looked around. From the top of the hillock she could see the camp and all the clan's herds to the north. She watched the young boys and girls on horseback controlling the barking dogs patrolling the herds. She still found it amazing how they controlled the movements of the dogs by whistling. Each dog only answered to a distinctive whistled "name," which was followed by the command. The other dogs would ignore the command unless their "name" was whistled first.

  Turning her attention away from the herds, she watched the bobbing heads of five other slaves to the south of camp. They were harvesting a patch of wild wheat. Later, she would have to help sift it and then grind it into flour for the soft flat bread of the nomads. It was hard, tedious work. Reminded of her work, she reluctantly hefted the buckets back up and started for camp.

  The shrill blast of a bugle startled her. Stumbling, she fell to her knees as the water splashed away. She quickly scanned the area to ensure no one had seen her spill the precious water. If Yuma found out, she would be beaten. Then the bugle sounded again.

  "That's the alarm," she said, jumping to her feet. "Oh, Gods. We're under attack."

  Raiders wouldn't know anything about a curse, and wouldn't believe her if she told them. They would laugh at her and continue with the rape. A girl might say anything to escape that.

  Several of the women in camp were pointing south. But she didn't see any horsemen. Maybe they were behind a hill. She continued to stare, wondering what she would do if it didn't prove to be a false alarm. Then she saw them.

  At first she thought it was only a small dark cloud. But as it drew nearer, she realized it was moving far too fast, and was much too dark.

  Warhawks!

  Since wild warhawks neither lived on the steppes, nor flocked together, she knew they could be in serious trouble. Warhawk riders would jump at the chance to raid a nomad camp. At the very least they would swoop down and snatch some of the sheep for their birds' dinners. Though the birds were capable of picking up one of the clan's cows, the Hawkers knew better than trying to capture them. The big mottled grey long horned cattle were fierce fighters, and never went down without a fight. Unlike other breeds of cattle, they helped to defend each other from any and all attacks.

  From the size of the approaching group, Danica figured it was a full regiment. There could easily be over a hundred Hawkers, as warhawk riders were called. A unit that size would almost have to raid to feed man and beast alike. They would always be willing to pick up a few women for more pleasurable sport later.

  Danica watched as the Jordani men, women, and older children spread out before the encampment with bows and arrows. The slaves were all gathering up the small children and finding hiding places. Danica decided that hiding would be a good idea and lay flat in some tall grass to watch.

  As the Hawkers neared, they started dividing up into smaller units. They lined up one wing, six to ten warhawks, after the other.

  Danica snorted. "Sport."

  She knew from experience that air cavalry only used that tactic in harassment actions. Hit and run. The Hawkers would just swoop down and maybe tear the place up a bit just for the fun of it. They wouldn't even take the time to do any looting. They just wanted to scare them.

  Grinning, "Doing a bloody good job of it, too."

  Her grin turned to a frown as they neared. They were free to leave, she wasn't. A slave, Gods. Who would have thought this was my fate. Sooner or later the Jordani would capture an enemy warrior and make her lay with him. It was even possible they would shoot down a warhawk today and capture the Hawker. When nothing terrible happened to him after being with her, she'd become fair game. Raf had already informed her of it. Afterwards, he intended to petition the Elders for permission to take her into his tent. To marry her.

  Suddenly there was no pleasure in the scene. So what if the Hawkers terrorized the Jordani. The clan would find a man to test her in a few days, maybe weeks, and no more than a few months. Soon after that the men would be terrorizing her, using and abusing her body to their heart's content. Eventually, she would be Raf's woman and bear his snotty-nosed brats.

  The first wave hit. There were ten waves in all stretched out south. The Jordani arrows leapt out to meet them, but fell well short. Immediately after the volley, the warhawks dropped low while their riders peppered the shouting nomads below with arrows. Two of the birds grabbed tents, ripping them to shreds and sending screaming slaves and children scrambling for cover. One of the slaves, the Taag girl, Zandie, took off running in her terror. A Hawker deftly veered over, and she was snatched up in the warhawk's huge talons.

  Danica watch tensely to see what happened. Would the warhawk kill her? To it, she could be food. Instead, she saw the Hawker lower a rope to the girl. Zandie looped it under her arms and she was pulled up to safety and was on her way to another slavery.

  "Poor girl will have to service the whole damn wing tonight," Danica said. Then bitterly thinking of the ravenous Jordani men who tormented the slaves, "About what her duties were here." Then as her own heart began racing, "What my duties will be soon enough."

  Then the second wave hit. The first wing had nine birds, the second seven. But the second did far more damage. They ripped up four tents, and wounded two women and a warrior.

  The third wave skipped over the camp and dropped down on the herd of sheep to the north. The nomads screamed in impotent rage as they watched ten head of sheep fly away.

  Danica noticed how after hitting the camp and the herds, they all veered hard to the northeast. They would be heading for Samulla. Probably had a contract with the Sultan. He was fighting the Hau Tribe to his north. Those desert nomads would be just as helpless against the Hawkers as the Jordani.

  She bitterly watched as the fourth wave struck inside the encampment. They were going to Samulla. She had always enjoyed her visits there in the past. Samulla had been her first stop on the road to vengeance, but the Jordani had set her on a detour she may never escape.

  "Gods, if I could only get to Samulla," she muttered, watching the fifth wave approaching. Then a thought struck her like a fist, taking her breath away, "If the Hawkers caught me," glancing off at the first wave, "like Zandie, then they won't do anything that Raf and the others won't do eventually."

  Maybe this was an escape. After having their fun with her, the Hawkers would surely sell her in Samulla. Could slavery in a brothel be worse than this? She could see no hope of escape from the Jordani. Indeed, she rarely even thought of it now. Oh...but the things the Hawkers would do to her. The thought of spending uncounted nights being passed around between ten battle-hardened warriors sent her heart to pounding.

  She glan
ced south. There were only four more waves coming in, the sixth having just struck the herd. She would have to decide quickly but was she seeing all the possible alternatives? Was there anything she was missing? She lowered her face into the thick grass and exhaled raggedly. She had that sick feeling rising up again.

  The enchanted mirror had said she would bear many children before going to one of the cities as a slave. That would take years. Indeed, as a long lived elfmaid, she could end up having several Jordani husbands over a period of centuries. And how would she end up in a desert city? The Jordani wouldn't sell her after accepting her into the clan. So it would have to be their enemies. Where would Talar be by then? Would she be able to track him down after decades or even centuries of slavery?

  She looked up as the seventh wave struck.

  The Jordani's enemies, the Taag Tribe and the Horse Tribe, would surely rape her just like the Hawkers would before selling her in a city. Samulla most likely. Better now than later? Or wait and trust in her luck to find another solution? The eighth wave struck.

  "Oh, Gods! I need time to think," she cried, pulling her feet up under herself.

  The ninth wave was skipping the camp and heading for the herds. If the last wave also raided the herds, then she wouldn't have any choice. Then she noticed in a spasm of fear, dread, and joy that they were making a run on the camp.

  "Bandu, I beseech you," she cried, jumping to her feet. "Give me the strength and endurance to survive this."

  Danica took off running. Not too fast, not too slow. She didn't want to be snatched up by a fast moving warhawk while standing still or moving too slowly. The impact alone could kill her. But running too fast might make the Hawkers disregard her as too difficult a target to catch.

  Soon she was running across a patch of ground eaten nearly bare by the herd of sheep. She didn't even know if any of the Hawkers would see her, or if they would pursue. She was too afraid to look back, but she knew her long blonde hair would help entice them. The men of the desert loved blonde women in their brothels and harems and Samulla was a desert city, though very near the steppes. She would bring a good price.