"I'm sorry," she said. "But I've never stolen anything before. Gods forbid, I should start by robbing the Goddess of Magic."
Danica chuckled and led the way back to the street. She decided not to bring up their recent theft of the warhawks. No profit in goading her further. Besides, Cat might get into her head they should return the beasts.
"I've robbed temples before and nothing terrible ever happened," Danica said, glancing around like a tourist at the colorful crowds streaming past the temple. Then what she said, and her circumstances struck her. Glancing down at the swell of her bosom. Or has it?
"You're a temple robber?"
"You make it sound like some sort of unforgivable sin," she said. "In some areas, the priesthoods oppress the locals terribly. They are only people, you know. I have taken part in raids that stole the local offerings from such temples, returning them to their rightful owners. Besides," waving a hand contemptuously at the temple, "no God needs, or cares, about such great wealth. All they want is for us to worship them."
"I don't know," Cat said. "That's not what I've been taught all my life."
Glowering at her, "I received an excellent education, all right? It involved extensive religious training, and my teachers all stressed the Gods' contempt of such frivolous things. Well, at least most of the Gods."
Cat only nodded, the worry not leaving her face.
"How about an ale?" Danica asked, giving up on getting through.
"Yes, I need one bad."
"I know just the place," Danica said, smacking her lips in anticipation of a cool ale.
The trip was relatively short, being mostly straight down through the tunnels. Both women moved with purpose. Cat to distance herself from the temple, and Danica to sate her thirst with some fine Tyrian brew.
The Sleeping Horse Tavern was cool and dark, but most important, it served good dark Tyrian ale. Danica had never developed a taste for what the desert folk called ale, though they did produce a tolerable beer and some excellent wines. The tavern was one of the larger places in the city, catering to the caravan guards fresh out of the desert. Above the common room it had two stories filled with small rooms for rent to weary travelers.
Danica called to the bartender as they took a table, "Two Tyrian dark ales over here!"
A young man soon delivered the large pewter mugs of cool ale. Danica gave him the money and waited for him to get out of hearing distance.
"Isn't this place great?" she asked, looking around with satisfaction. "Not a single slave works here. Not even bond servants."
"You would think like that," Cat said, sullen again.
"You should, too, after what happened to you in Carajal," she said and turned to her ale.
Cat nodded, then glanced around nervously. "Are you sure you really need this talisman?"
Danica frowned. She thought they had settled that on the way down. Cat just couldn't get over the fact they would be robbing a temple. Her religious superstitions were starting to get the best of her again.
"Yes, don't worry. Now relax and enjoy your ale," Danica said, leaning back in her chair. She looked over as a large, boisterous group of dusty caravan guards began pouring in the door. "This is where I do all my carousing when in Ismat..." Danica jumped to her feet, "Gods! It's him!"
Rising to her feet and reaching for her hilt, "Who? This Talar we're after?"
"No, the bastard that betrayed me on the steppes," she growled, pulling her sword. "I've got a score to settle."
"No trouble!" Cat called, but Danica ignored her.
Stomping through the rambunctious crowd, Danica came up behind the new arrivals. Easily half the men weren't part of the caravan back when she was betrayed, but she recognized several old friends. Including Horse.
With feet shoulder width apart, and both hands on her hilt, she called out, "Fulgar, you black-hearted bastard!"
The guards all quieted down as they turned to stare at the beautiful warrior. It took a few seconds, but her old friends' faces began to light up. That pleased her, but the way Fulgar's face went ashen was even better.
"Danica!" he cried.
"That's right," she said loudly, eyes narrowing to sapphire slits. "Didn't expect to see me again, did you?"
"Danica, what happened?" Horse asked, confused. "I was told you were cut down by the Jordani."
Giving the Captain a menacing look, "I was betrayed into their hands by this honorless slug. This craven coward attacked me from the rear, then left me there unconscious."
"Lies! She's lying," Fulgar cried, glancing around at his murmuring men. "Everyone knows she hates me. She's trying to get to me by...by..."
"Telling the truth!" she cried as he struggled for an answer to her accusations.
One of the guards spoke up, "I remember seeing him kneeling over her. He told me she was dead. That he saw her cut down."
The other guards let out a low growl as their eyes narrowed. To betray a comrade was the worst possible thing a warrior could do. Even the men who didn't know Danica were glaring at Fulgar murderously.
"You are without honor," Danica said, pointing her sword at him. "You are beneath contempt, but you have the distinct honor of being at the top of my revenge list."
Snorting contemptuously, "You think I'm scared of a woman?"
"You aren't smart enough to be scared," she said.
Pulling his sword, "I don't need to be to put a little elfmaid like you back in her place."
"My place, dog," she said, smiling grimly, "is dancing on your grave."
Before he could respond, she launched her assault. She started with an attempt at decapitation, then left a deep gash in his breastplate on the backstroke. He thrust for her heart, which she parried and then split his right ear in half on the return. The crowd began cheering her, and jeering him.
Her brief engagement was enough to determine that he was good, real good, but didn't possess the finesse to defeat her. Against someone with less skill, his superior strength might have carried him. Only Danica was a swordmaster, with elven grace and endurance to shore up her talents. His eyes told her he had made the same determination.
"Yield," she said.
"So you can kill me at your leisure? I think not," he said. "I'd rather cut out my own heart first."
Smiling wickedly, "As much as I'd enjoy watching that, I have a better idea. Yield, and I'll let you live."
His resolve to fight wavered. "What do you have in mind?"
She laughed at his question. A real man — any man worthy of being called a warrior — would never even consider such a thing. Not in a one-on-one fight. Her contempt for the man swelled.
"Slavery."
"I don't understand, why would..." he started, then began smiling. "You were enslaved by the Jordani! Ha! Danica, a Jordani whore!" He laughed hard as she moved in angrily. "I think not!" he shouted, viciously grabbing a chair and smashing it over her. "Real men don't surrender to slave girls."
Danica reeled back from the blow. Her left arm and shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact, and now hung useless at her side. In her anger and humiliation she had dropped her guard.
Laughing, Fulgar drove into her with hard pounding blows and comments. "The only way you know to take a man down...Ha!" He kicked her feet away. "Is by spreading your legs, whore! Now you yield!"
Danica, on her back at his feet, stared up into his jubilant face with shock. He lowered the point of his blade to her throat, just pricking the skin.
Gods! No, not now! Not to Fulgar!
"Release the blade," he warned, jabbing his sword into her neck again. When she complied, he smiled viciously. "Now kneel to your new master, slave."
"Yes, master," she whispered, wide-eyed.
As he removed the sword point from her throat, she screamed and drove her heel into his shin. Rolling, she grabbed up her sword and scrambled to her feet. His greaves protected his leg, but the force of the kick staggered him. Before he could recover, she began hammering his weakening defenses
with a blistering attack. She threw all her built up rage, pain, and humiliation into the attack.
Ducking beneath his blade, she thrust her sword through his sword arm and sent his weapon flying. Jerking the blade out, she slashed his face with the backstroke before kicking him low in the belly. Then as he bent over, she stepped to the side and brought her sword down on his neck with a long, piercing scream of rage. Fulgar's head rolled halfway across the room in the stunned silence.
Danica dropped to her knees in pain and exhaustion as several of her friends came rushing over to her. Her shoulder throbbed horribly.
"Danica? Are you all right," Cat asked, pulling her face up to look into her eyes.
"I'm fine," she said, trying to smile so the big bravo wouldn't look so worried. "Just give me a minute to recover...catch my breath."
She began trying to work the pain out of her shoulder. She could move her fingers now, but her shoulder still felt stiff. A veteran of countless brawls and battles, she quickly assessed her injury and found it to be nothing to be concerned with. By nightfall it would be nothing more than an ugly bruise and a dull ache.
"Danica," Horse said, pushing Cat aside. He looked her over with concern a second, then smiled broadly. "By Tuunar's balls, I missed you!"
He grabbed her face and planted a hard, deep kiss on her lips. That really sent her head a-reeling. Quickly pushing him away, she stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Horse grinned happily at her, while Cat burst into the first real gut laugh Danica had ever heard from her.
Chapter 18
Hearing a snicker, Danica turned and shot Cat another dark look. It only sent the bravo into another laughing fit. Danica was getting exasperated with her jokes and laughter. It wasn't that funny.
"You should have seen your eyes when the nomad boy kissed you..." was all Cat could gasp out before she doubled up in laughter, eyes filling with tears. Holding her hands wide, "Your eyes got that big." She couldn't say any more, just dropped to her knees again and laughed.
Grinding her teeth, Danica briefly wondered what God she needed to pray to if she wanted Cat to wet her breeches again.
"I don't see the humor in it," she said, lying. Cat obviously didn't see how distressing it had been, or maybe she did, and had a sick sense of humor. "You're one disturbed filly."
"And you're irresistible to the opposite sex." That sent the bravo into the high-pitched, gasping laugh that had caused her to wet her pant shortly after the incident occurred. Then in a squeal, "Oh, God of Mercy!"
With desperate squeals and crossed legs, she fumbled with the buttons of her breeches.
Danica smiled. Apparently the God of Mercy was looking favorably on Danica. Looking up at the heavens, Thank you, Marcal. I owe you.
After wiping the tears away, Cat pulled her breeches back up and said, "I'll never forget that if I live to be — "
"Gods, Cat! Give me a break," Danica cried. "That happened hours ago."
"I'm sorry, but sometimes you make faces that remind me," she said, trying to suppress an urge to start laughing again.
Sarcastically, "I hope you're still laughing while they're shoving the impaling stake up your dunghole."
That brought her out of it. Looking around nervously, "I forgot. Maybe we should wait for tomorrow night."
Danica smiled. Worked every time.
"We're already up here," she said, scanning the deserted plaza their alley emptied into. She could see the corner of Maag's temple to their right. "The birds are saddled and waiting. And I'm impatient."
Grinning, "Sure it isn't just because you don't trust yourself around that cute nomad boy?"
With a look of disgust, "You are one sick girl."
Truth was, he did excite some powerful emotions within. She struggled to keep memories of their time together out of her forethoughts. Especially of their nights together.
When Cat looked like she was going to start laughing again, Danica grabbed her wrist and dug her fingers in brutally. That sobered her up quick, and it helped to focus her mind as well. Jerking Cat closer, she seized the bravo's face in both hands, sticking her face in close.
In her most menacing voice, "Our lives depend on you maintaining self-control. Understand?"
"Yes."
"I mean it. If you started laughing in there, we are dead. So stow it," she said, releasing her. "You have the rest of your life to dig at me."
"You're right," she said, taking a deep breath. Then grinning, "And don't think I won't be doing a lot of digging, either."
"Gods," Danica groaned, then headed for another alley winding toward the temple. "Let's get this over with."
The sound of tramping feet caught her attention as they reached the other end of the alley. Peering into the darkness, she spotted a column of twos marching into the temple. The changing of the guard. She counted ten men, same as during the day.
Hiding in the shadows, they waited for the guards coming off to march out and pass. There were still ten of the second-class fighters guarding the temple. Danica seriously doubted that even these men would fail to spot them once inside the temple. Though dark, it was very open in there.
Wisely, she kept those concerns to herself. She led Cat over to the deep shadows of a nearby building. From her vantage point she could only see two small pools of flickering lamplight inside the temple. Most of the Guards would probably be close to or inside the circles of light. Shifting her sight to check for magic, she found the temple's Magicks were unchanged from that afternoon.
"We're not going to murder anyone, are we?" Cat said.
Danica gave the big shadowy shape that was Cat a sharp look. What a question! "Of course not. We'll just sneak in and take the talisman, then sneak back out."
"And if we get caught?"
"We fight our way out," she said. She wondered why Cat made her suddenly feel guilty. They weren't doing anything she would give a second thought to normally, if not for those disturbing questions of Cat's, and the even more disturbing way she phrased them. Murder? No, it wasn't murder. The Knightly Codes forbade that. Killing someone on a raid wasn't murder, though at the moment she'd be hard pressed to explain why that was so. Angrily, "Quit asking stupid questions like that."
She'd participated in many far more disreputable operations than this theft and none of these thoughts, or their accompanying guilt, had ever occurred to her before. Did it have something to do with being a woman? She had heard that men and women experienced completely different thought processes — indeed, saw the world differently. Was this transfer into a woman's body altering the way she thought? Her attitudes? Outlook on life, and death? What of elven attitudes and beliefs and prejudices? Could beliefs and morals of the first owner of her body be working on her subconsciously?
"They're gone," Cat whispered, bringing Danica out of her reverie.
"All right," she said, forcing all dark thoughts out of her mind. I'm beginning to think too much — like a real woman maybe? Shaking her head, she began concentrating on the dark temple before her, and its dangers. "Follow me. We'll slip past the boys on perimeter, and then worry about the rest inside."
Sticking to the shadows, they crept up on the temple. The street and plaza was well lit by the moon. It was nearly full. Danica's enhanced elven night sight made the scene look very much like a cloudy day. The temple's interior was another matter. It looked pitch black in there.
It didn't take the veteran raider long to locate the perimeter guards. As she had expected, they were anything but vigilant. One was leaning drowsily against a column in the northwest side, with six more throwing dice near the southeast side by the light of a handheld oil lamp.
Slipping in at the southwest, they found the other three guards. Two were arguing quietly near the dozing Guard at the northwest column, while the last looked to be sound asleep on the floor before the High Altar's dais. A guttering lamp near the sleeping man dimly lit the High Altar.
Danica led Cat around to the rear of the High Altar. On hands and knees, t
hey crawled around the fifteen foot high statue's legs and glanced around. No one was looking, so Danica stood up and studied the talisman. It was a crystal globe about half the size of her fist, and it seemed to be glowing faintly. Shifting her sight again, she was startled to see it pulsing like a beacon with pure white magic energies so thick she could barely see through them. Reaching out tentatively, she seized it and pulled. It didn't bulge.
Giving up, she reached for her belt knife. She would pry it loose. Then she heard Cat gasp and cry out in mortal terror. That's when she saw the statue move.
"Great Gods Almighty!" Danica cried, reaching for her sword.
"We're sorry!" Cat cried out, cowering beneath the now glowing statue of Maag.
Maag gave Cat a casual glance, then turned on Danica, who was holding a sword before her. Danica couldn't believe she was actually holding a weapon on a Goddess. She knew she must look like some joke to the powerful deity, but she couldn't think of anything else to do.
"Danic of Drakehorn," Maag said. Danica noted in some part of her all but numb mind that the statue still looked to be made of marble, but moved like a human. Like living rock. Then, Danic? But I'm...She knows! "Danic, you must wait for the next Bloodmoon to attack Taara. All will be lost if you attack too soon, or too late."
Maag stretched out a hand with the talisman in it. She was handing it to Danica, who was scrambling backwards in fear. Half falling down the steps, she tripped over the sleeping Guard.
A new fear leapt into her mind — Guards! Looking around frantically, she noticed they were all frozen in place.
"Take the talisman, Danic. It is your only hope," Maag said, stepping off the raised dais.
Danica was too stunned to speak or move further. A Goddess she was robbing was standing over her, trying to give her a sacred talisman. A Goddess not known for her generosity or compassion.
"Why?" Danica asked, reaching out a trembling hand to take the offered talisman. She found the small crystal globe warm to the touch. As she touched it a strange, but pleasant, sensation shot up her arm. Was this what magic felt like? "Why are you helping me?"
The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) Page 26
