The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

            "No!" Fulgar shouted. "I'm the Captain. If it's to be done, then I'll lead it."

            "Who will be in charge of the guards with the caravan?" Omar said.

            Danica tensed. Would he, in his hate for her, make her miss the ambush?

            "Horse."

            "No! I won't miss the fight!" Horse cried.

            "You will do as ordered," Fulgar said.

            After much arguing, Horse and the caravan departed. He had command of all the wounded guards still in good enough shape to ride. The other wounded were propped up in the wagons with bows and arrows, just in case. The guards who managed to escape the battle unscathed made up the ambush force.

            Danica watched them ride away with mixed emotions. She’d grown accustom to Horse being the one guarding her back. A terrible sense of loneliness settled on her again. That, and the murderous way the Captain was looking at her, made Danica almost wish she was going with them.

Chapter 5

            Danica watched the night-shrouded battlefield with growing concern. Two hours had passed since the battle ended. Where were the Jordani? Did they break with tradition and follow after the caravan before returning to check on their fallen kinsmen? If so, Fulgar would be taking it out of her hide. Her friends, the other guards, would eagerly help him avenge the lost caravan. The caravan didn't have the personnel to even put up a token defense.

            Glancing up into the moonless night,
Gods. How do I get myself into these situations?

            Then...

            Horses. And they were coming from the north, not the east.
Success!

            She soon spotted the silhouettes of the horsemen as they topped the hillock. The dark mass of warriors quickly rumbled down to the battle site and dismounted. While the nomads searched for survivors, the guards all climbed back into their saddles and fitted arrows. Then at the Captain's signal, they let loose volley after volley.

            The guards' first flight proved deadly accurate. Men and horses screamed in agony as the lethal rain hit them. The guards shot all their arrows as fast as they could, then charged the remaining warriors.

            Danica led the charge with drawn sword and a battle cry. She bowled over two dismounted nomads before ramming one swinging into the saddle. He still managed to regain his saddle and control his mount, to Danica's angry surprise. He proved exceedingly good at fighting from horseback. Most nomads were.

            With a grunt of effort, she pushed past his defense and sunk her blade deep into his shoulder. Crying out with rage and pain, he grabbed her blade while jerking his mount around and pulled her out of the saddle. She lost both her shield and helmet on impact, as well as most of her breath.

            Scrambling under his horse, Danica cursed herself for not releasing the sword quickly enough. Grabbing his horse's bridle, she kicked the horse in the mouth. The horse screamed and reared up, tossing the injured Jordani warrior to the ground. Drawing a dagger from her boot top, Danica darted in and stabbed him in the throat before he could rise. Then retrieving her sword, she took off after her mount.

            The sound of hooves closing from behind caused her to turn. As the horseman rode by, she saw his sword arch towards her. She barely swept it aside. The force of the stroke staggered her momentarily, sending waves of pain reverberating up and down her sword arm. Then as the horseman reined in to turn, she made out his features.

            "Fulgar! You craven dog!"

            The bastard was trying to kill her! There could be no mistake. She was the only blonde female there. And her sun-bleached golden hair reflected what little light there was like a beacon.

            With a joyous battle cry, he launched himself at her again. Setting her feet, she presented her blade and waited. A mere second before he reached her, she darted across his path and thrust up at him. Her sword made contact, but slide harmlessly over his fine steel plate.

            "By the Gods, I'll gut you!" she cried. Then to the God of War and Warriors, "Bandu, give me strength!"

            They charged each other — one ahorse, the other afoot. Danica tried to jump across the horse's path again, but Fulgar was ready for that. He turned the charging horse and she was ran over. Trampled.

            Danica struggled to her feet, sobbing raggedly, knees wobbly. Every bone and muscle in her body seemed to be screaming in agony. It was a chore just hanging on to the heavy sword, much less wielding it. She tried to find Fulgar through teary eyes in the confusing mob of men and horses, but her head was spinning.

            A dark shape loomed to her right...then stars exploded as Fulgar's boot slammed into her right temple. Then more stars as her head crashed into the hard, sun-baked earth.

            Barely coherent, she watched the dark shape that was Fulgar dismount and walk over. As he knelt beside her, she noticed the glint of steel in his right hand. A dagger!

            Where was her sword? She had lost it. Suddenly, horribly, she realized she didn't have the strength to even look for it. She was totally helpless. Gods, it was a struggle to even stay conscious.

            "Well, now," he gloated, grabbing her face painfully and pressing the dagger to her throat. "It looks like our little elven troublemaker has had a stroke of bad luck." He chuckled. "You should've known better than go out on a Bloodmoon."

            "Tuunar take you," she croaked, feeling hot, bitter tears run across her cheeks.

            "No, my elven beauty, you are the one about to meet the God of the Dead. Now, fry in Hel!"

            Danica fought to retain consciousness, but was failing miserably. As she felt herself slipping, she wondered if this was the end. Fulgar — and Talar — would win.

* * * * *

            "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.