The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) (15 page)

            Danica rubbed her lips together, then licked them. That felt way too good.

            "Over my dead…Uuuggghhh," she cried, as Raf shifted and thrust into her. He pushed deeper, stretching her out. It was such a profound sensation, and her body rang with the ripples his penetration caused. "Bandu! Give me strength!"

            Danica tugged at the bindings securing her wrists behind her back. Their combined weight was painful on her arms, especially after Raf braced himself by laying a forearm across her upper chest so he could fondle her breasts while pumping into her body. She fought the urge to wrap her legs around him.

            "Ask Lyss to bless you, to smile upon you, my pretty slave," Raf said.

            Danica didn't know what he meant by that. Did you want her to ask for the Goddess's blessing of love? Sex? Besides being the Goddess of Love and Sex, she was Goddess of Slaves.

            "I am…a warrior," she gasped out to his thrusts. "I will...not pray…to Lyss."

            "Oh, you will," he said with way too much confidence. "You will pray for the ability and passion to please me. Please me in every way."

            "You're…as crazy as you…
ugh
…are ugly," she gasped out. He smiled, leaning down to her face again. "No! Please don't kiss me again…Mmggh."

            Raf opened her mouth with his, thrusting in his tongue. Mind spinning, she let him have his way. Not that she could stop him. In some ways the kiss was worse than the actual intercourse. His penis felt so big, so…damned…good inside her. Her body was raging, pushed to the brink. Danica struggled to contain herself. If she climaxed, he would believe she liked him. That she enjoyed sex with him. She wasn't sure what she believed anymore.

            "Pray to Lyss to help you please me," he whispered in her ear.

            "I can't," she said, voice so breathless she could barely hear herself over her thundering heart.

            "If you do, it will please me so much I might come," he said. "When I come, I'll leave you alone. For a while, anyway."

            She knew he was manipulating her. If she caved in, it would be the first step toward total submission. Before long, Raf would own her heart as well as her body, and then she'd be truly lost.

            "No!" she shouted. "I will not submit!"

            "As you wish, my beautiful slave," Raf said, and really started humping her.

            Danica gasped, back bowing as she stared incredulously at nothing. Her mind was in shambles, unable to think coherently. It felt like her body was winding up tighter and tighter, and she struggled to hold herself in check. Give the enemy no pleasure, no satisfaction. Give Raf nothing.

            And then the sweetest tingling heat flowed into her thighs.

            Danica recognized it, groaning with despair and pleasure, and then her body erupted. Raf hooted with glee when she came, gasping and crying out as she bucked and writhed beneath him. A moment later she felt him stiffen, and then release deep inside her.

            Raf let out a gusty sigh and slowly pulled out of her. Danica groaned, unable to stop writhing as the aftershocks of her climax quivered and quaked deep within her belly. She shot him an incredulous stare as Raf rose to his feet and started dressing.

            A roar of angry shouts and accusations erupted from the Clan Council. Danica's turbulent emotions along with the jumble of voices wouldn't allow her to understand what they were arguing about. She desperately wanted to listen to their conversations, to help her ignore what Raf had done to her, had made her feel and experience.

            Suddenly grabbing her face, Raf yanked her to her feet, kissed her long and hard, and then roughly pushed her back to the ground. To her surprise, he stood over her and glanced nervously back toward the arguing voices.

            "Later. Right now I don't want to miss the council."

            With that, Raf was gone. Danica lay in stunned silence, shaking and sobbing softly, thanking every God she could think of for this reprieve. Even Lyss and her demented offspring, the God Eshu.

            When no one else came in to use her, Danica turned her attention to the braided leather cord binding her to the tent pole. She started chewing. It was thick and tough, but she was confident she could severe it. Unfortunately, she had to stop when other slaves started returning to the tent and bedding down.

            Danica lay her head down, deciding to wait for them all to fall asleep before she returned to working on the cord. As she lay there, all of her aches and pains demanded her attention. Soon, the rough day began catching up with her, and she tried in vain to fight off the lethargy that enfolded her with blackness and oblivion.

* * * * *

            Danica eyes popped open. Glancing around the tent, she held her breath and listened to the slow steady breathing of the other slaves. She had heard one of the other slave girls stirring in her sleep, mutter incoherently. Her enhanced Elven sight allowed her to see in the near absolute blackness remarkably well. Slaves were scattered thickly about the floor on the thick, boldly colored rugs the nomads were known for. None of the others were moving though. Reassured, she started to gnaw on the leather cord securing her neck to the center tent pole.

            The clan had retired for the night. She was relieved that neither Raf, nor anyone else, came to pay her a visit after the meeting broke up. But she didn't think it would take Raf long to hunt her down in the morning.

            After being soaked with spittle and gnawed on by her strong, sharp teeth the braided leather cord separated relatively easily. As the last strand parted, she rolled up to a sitting position and again scanned the tent's interior. Then, with her hands still tightly bound behind her back, she slowly worked her way through the sleeping slaves and wiggled under the tent flap on her belly then started looking for the sentries.

            After several tense minutes, she finally spotted two warriors guarding the sleeping camp. One to the east, towards their hereditary enemy's graze, the Taag, and the other to the west guarding the string of saddled horses. She had expected more sentries, but then recalling their recent losses, decided that they were fielding all they reasonably could. They couldn't have all their warriors on guard all the time.

            Noting the location of both sentries, she went in search of something sharp to free her wrists. Anything would do: sharp rock, discarded spearhead, knife, javelin...

            She eventually found a small fire pit bordered by largish rocks. Kneeling with her back to them, she began rubbing the leather cord against the sharpest edge she could find. It was harrowing, expecting to be discovered at any time, but the cord finally parted and she was free again.

            After a short but unsuccessful search for clothes, she gave up and decided to just escape. She'd worry about clothing later.

            Staying downwind, she eased up close to the saddled horses and studied the sentry. He seemed alert. It would be difficult to sneak up on him, especially with the horses present.

            Not seeing any alternative, she bunched up her legs and darted in at the startled warrior. As he reached for his hilt, she kicked him in the groin. When he bent over, she elbowed him across the face and sent him back against a horse. She stepped in and straight finger punched him in the throat, cutting off any cry for help. Then she brought her knee up hard into his jaw as he slumped to his knees.

            Though she successfully stifled the Jordani's cry of alarm, the horses were pulling at their reins and screaming shrilly as only horses can.

            Seeing the other guard charging her way, she jerked the unconscious nomad's steppe sword out of its sheath and hacked off the end of the picket rope holding the whinnying horses. After running to the other end of the short line, she untied the reins of the last horse, cut the other end of the line, and swung up into the saddle with a tight grip on the picket rope. She noted with an instant of pleasure that there were fat saddlebags, hopefully with rations and a change of clothes. Then with a wild cry, she kicked her mount into a run, pulling the string of horses along.

            Bearing northeast, she continued to kick the horse into ever greater efforts. Pulling the other horses along was a chore, but she couldn't allow the Jordani to retrieve them. It would take them a good while to round up more mounts and pursue. And she had no doubt that they would pursue. She expected to be chased all the way to Samulla, and maybe beyond. Nomads could be quite tenacious when spited.

            She was soon riding past the clan's herds of cattle, horses, and sheep, all quiet in the night. A shout, then another, to her left told her she had made a grave error. In her desperation, she had forgotten about the herd guards. There would be several, mostly young men nearing the age to bear arms for the clan.

            She released the string of horses, then veered right and headed due east. She kept the moon to her rear. The Bloodmoon was past, but was still a taint of red.

            With her fresher horse and lighter weight, she hoped to outrun the herd guards and lose them in the night. In daylight she could never hope to evade them, but there was a slight chance of success in the night.

            "Run, baby, run!" she cried, kicking the horse urgently and whipping it to greater efforts with the long reins.

            She could see the shadowy Jordani following, crouched over in their saddles and whipping their mounts with their reins. Few steppe nomads used spurs, preferring to urge their beloved mounts on by using their long reins as whips. It was too dark to tell if they were gaining, and the ride too frantic to count them. It was enough they were following, and not too far back either. Soon the seasoned warriors would join the chase.

            She turned down a dry wash, hoping they would lose sight of her. Keeping low, she rode up the wash past a low hill and cut out. Heading west, she rode a short ways before cutting back north into another wash. The confused shouts of the herd guards gave her renewed hope.

            Riding hard up a rocky, dried up creek bed, she kept a close watch to the rear. She half-expected to see Jordani rounding the bend behind her at any time. It was almost impossible to escape from one of the nomadic tribes. Even with the horse and her knowledge of the steppes and desert, she only gave herself even odds.

            "Gods!" she cried as the horse crashed headfirst into the ground.

            Danica was thrown clear and rolled to her feet, looking about wildly. The horse was on the ground screaming in agony and flopping like a fish. Even without looking she knew it had broken a leg. Off in the distance, she heard the shouts of her pursuers and then the low rumble of approaching horsemen.

            The horse's agonized screams and bellows had alerted the Jordani to her location. She ran up and brought her sword down across its neck just behind the head. It was as much to end its suffering as to silence its screams.

            Turning, she started running up the wash. The small, sharp stones cut at her tender feet. Trying to ignore the stabbing pains shooting up her legs, she cursed the sorceress for her pampered lifestyle as she ran.

            Within minutes there were half a dozen horsemen storming up the wash after her. Leaving the wash, she sprinted to the top of a low hill to make her stand. The first rule of combat: Always take the high ground. The riders followed with joyful cries of victory.

            The first to reach her received a nasty cut on the leg before she kick his horse in the nose. She pulled the second one out of the saddle and chased him halfway down the hill. Several others made passes and were brutally rebuffed.

            Holding the slightly curved, two-handed sword with both hands, she watched as the Jordani youths began circling her warily. She rested, sucking in much needed air. The brief skirmish was a close one. Only the boys' inexperience had saved her.

            Snorting, she muttered, "I seem to have taken some of the arrogance out of them."

            "You best surrender now, slave," one of the boys called. She didn't recognize the voice. "It'll be a lot better on you."

            "Come up and make me surrender," she shouted. Nothing like a little bravado to shore up one's courage. "I'll carve you up and jerky your scrawny asses."

            None of them took her up. They sat their mounts patiently. Waiting. Time was on their side. Soon the adult men would arrive, the warriors. They would surely make short work of this arrogant elfmaid.

           
Gods
, she thought with a grimace as she spotted the approaching mass of horsemen.
I only made things worse. I'll be lucky if they don't hamstring me on the spot and cut my pointed ears off for a trophy.

            She watched in grim silence as the warriors approached. One of the herd guards went out to meet them and explain the situation. The warriors also came to a halt at the bottom of the hill. They all studied each other a moment.

            Danica, on a hunch, relaxed and fixed her eyes intently on the dark mass of horsemen. Within seconds she spotted the swirling mist lights that she saw around Red Bull earlier. No one else had these strange "auras" about them. She marveled at this discovery a moment, turning it off and on almost at will now that she knew she could do it. Then two warriors separated from the group and rode confidently up after her, startling her out of her reverie.

            She watched them approach with a tightening throat.

           
The best thing to do would be surrender. At the very least I will be whipped or beaten. Of course, they might decide I'm too much trouble to bother with and simply slit my throat. The more trouble I make, the worse off I'll be.

            "I'm going to hate myself for this," she mumbled and lowered the sword.