The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

            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 just 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.

            A dim cattle chip fire was lit in the middle of the encampment and everyone gathered to hear the warriors' sad story. She could barely hear the monotone narrative of the man she recognized as the Clan Shaman, Red Bull. The tale was met with stony silence.

            Then Raf's voice called out, "We caught a golden-haired elfmaid warrior this afternoon. She was afoot and coming from the southwest."

           
Bandu, give me strength!

            She couldn't tell what was said after that, what with everyone suddenly shouting, but within moments two grim-faced warriors stormed into the tent. Even in the dark, she could see their jaws working and fists clenching. They eyed her laying there on the ground completely nude.

            The braided leather cord around her neck was untied. Each took an arm, and she was dragged out of the tent in silence. She was soon dumped before the War Chief and Shaman, the Clan Elders sitting around them. The clan stared at her in sullen silence.

            Danica struggled to her knees. It was humiliating enough to kneel before her enemies, but it was worse to be unable to do even that. Either way, she didn't like the way the men were looking her over. A couple of them licked their lips, looking very hungry. She swallowed hard, trying to loosen her throat as she returned the steely stare of the War Chief and Shaman.

            The whole of Clan Jordani was gathered around the fire of the sun-dried droppings of wild steppe bison and cattle, surrounded by the billowing black tents. From the eldest woman to the youngest toddler, they regarded her with unnervingly grim faces in the ruddy light. The only sounds for several moments were the ceaseless wind through the flapping tents and the snapping fire and the incessant buzz of night insects. Danica fought to keep the fear from her face. Nomads only respected strength.

            A young woman jumped up, "I remember seeing a golden-haired warrior woman with the traders."

            "As do I," one of the warriors said.

            Danica groaned, staring incredulously up at the unforgiving heavens. It just went from bad to worse.

            Then before anyone else could speak, Red Bull said, "Woman, you have the stench of Sorcery about you. Are you a mage?"

            Danica hesitated. The residue of magic wasn't hers, it was left over from Taara. But, as a child, she was taught both Sorcery and weapons. At an early age her magic training ended, not because she had no talent, but because the Court and Court Mages feared just how much talent she possessed. Her family had some very powerful, and very evil, mages in their past. So she knew quite a bit of Sorcery, but it was suppressed by powerful spells. Though, after Taara stole her real body, she wasn't sure if there was any knowledge of Sorcery left in her mind.