The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

            The roar of a warhawk overhead brought Danic to a stop. Watching the magnificent hawklike saddlebird come in for a landing, "What say you to buying warhawks for the trip across the mountains?"

            Carl grunted. "As much as I dislike the idea of taking to the saddle again, I do love to ride through my beautiful mountains."

            "We'll fly low."

            "Not the same."

            Grunting, Danic started walking again. Though Carl didn't know it yet, tomorrow they were going to sell their mounts and buy warhawks. If he wanted to ride through the mountains, then he'd have to do it on his own bloody time. He glance up at the white-sheathed mountains dominating the sky around Elfhaven on three sides and still in the throes of winter. Spring was young, it was only the second day of the Dragon, the second month in the calendar, so the mountains were mostly still covered with snow. Danic despised the cold. Besides, he wasn't even sure the pass was open yet.

            The Tyr Mountains towered over the city, surrounding it to east, west, and south with their soaring, white-peaked heights. Ageless glaciers rested high atop the rocky, jagged mountain range.  As impossibly wide as it was tall, the range sprawled east and west for three thousand miles. Danic knew of only a handful of passes between his native Jarlands, far to the south, and the desert and steppes. All but one of the passes were too narrow and treacherous for except for the most surefooted mules and llamas. Indeed, llama's were the rule in the higher elevations, and preferred by caravaners. The Horsekill Pass from Elfhaven to Cerre, then on to the Jarlands beyond, wasn't much better than the rest, but was the only pass wagons could traverse.

            He and Carl passed through Horsekill Pass several times in their wanderings. At places the "road" clung precariously to the side of sheer cliffs hundreds, even thousands of feet above mist-shrouded gorges. At any time, a rock slide could wipe out a whole caravan. In spring it was even worse, what with the avalanches of half-melted snow and ice. In the best of times it took the better part of two weeks, twenty days on their calendar, to just reach the city of Cerr, and then another week down out of the mountains to the first Jarland city of any note.

            They stopped to look with pleasure upon a mud brick, three story building with a terra cotta roof. A long porch decorated its  front, with ten bronze horse-headed hitching posts from which it received its name. Exotic desert music called to them from deep inside, promising sensuous pleasures.

            "At last, the Ten Horses Tavern," Carl bellowed. Inside, the tavern was cool and dark. A handful of men sat in its shadows, nursing mugs. There were easily twenty of the scantily clad young women called tavern girls, anxiously awaiting their next customer. The oaken tables were all long and scarred, with benches lining both sides. A long bar lined the right wall next to the kitchen door and the stairs leading up to the rooms above. "A godsend if I ever saw one. I can practically taste their fine ale already." Carl grinned at his friend. "And wait till the wenches hear of my fine adventures."

            "Adventures? Ha! Your biggest accomplishment on this trip was not pissing off the nomads and getting us all killed," Danic said with a laugh.

            "A fine thing to say to a friend," Carl chided. "And after I set you up with that young Jordani filly."

            "Set me up? You promised her I'd marry her! I was lucky her father didn't stake me out for the prairie dragons!"

            "Well if you're unable to discuss this with an open mind..."

            "I'll open you rancid gut."

            "You be a funny man," Carl laughed.

            "And you're funny looking," Danic shot back and stepped through the door into the Ten Horses.

            "Jealousy!" Carl roared and began laughing harder as he followed Danic inside.  Then surveying the cool, dark tavern, "It's a mite slow today."

            "More women for us."

            "I like the way you think, Danic."

            A tall, raven-haired woman dressed in red dancing silks moved close and ran long red nails softly across Danic's stubbled cheek. Then giving him a sultry look that made his insides quiver, she turned and slowly walked over to the long bar. For a long moment the only sound was her tall sharp heels tapping on the hardwood floors. Her ebony hair shimmered in the dim light, as did her oiled brown skin. She was obviously from one of the desert cities, where the women were known for their passion. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the heady scent of cheap perfume. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly.

            "What say you to postponing our contest?"

            Still staring after the woman, Carl asked, "What contest?"

            "Later. That poor woman is in dire need of a real man," Danic said as he started towards her.

            "Real man?" Carl said with a mischievous grin. "No thanks, Danic, I want to look around a bit first. You can have her."

            Danic started to shoot back a jab, but reconsidered. He didn't want to become tied up in any lengthy argument with the barbarian, not with the woman waiting.

            "You're too kind."

            Danic walked slowly to the waiting woman. He knew women found him attractive, especially when wearing his arms and armor — and especially his silver spurs. Women adored knights. They pursued them with a passion. He could see her, and several others, watching him with growing interest. It would be good to lay with a civilized woman again.

            There was no doubt he would bed the woman. In her scanty red dancing silks which displayed her breasts so enticingly, gaudy jewelry, and spike-heeled shoes, she could be nothing but a tavern girl. He already knew the Ten Horses didn't own any slaves or keep bond servants. So instead tavern girls like this one danced for tips and sold their bodies by the hour, with the tavern owner renting them rooms to ply their trade and taking a small cut of their earnings.

            Loudly slapping the bar top, "An ale here, and whatever the lady wants."

            "Wine, please." She gave him a wanton look, biting her lip seductively, black eyes sparkling. "You just ride in, Sir Knight?"

            "That I did," he said, taking his ale and draining half right off. It was good, dark Tyrian ale. "By the Gods, that's good! The steppe nomads make the worst ale I've ever tasted. Their beer isn't much better." Then screwing up his face in distaste, "And kumiss is just nasty."

            "The Steppes? I thought with that deep tan you had just returned from my native desert," she said with a mischievous smile. "I am Taag."

            Danic was surprised. The Taag were one of the most fierce, warlike tribes on the desert. And one of the most secluded. Few outsiders every saw a Taag woman, and for one to be a tavern girl...

            "How did you get here?"

            "I underestimated my new husband's favorite wife."

            "Enough said," Danic replied. He doubted she wanted to reveal too much, and it was probably painful. Danic suspected her husband's favorite convinced their husband that she was doing something very bad, and got her sold to passing traders. That would make her an escaped slave, something she wouldn't want to admit too. "I have a thing for black-haired beauties."

            She turned up the heat with her sultry black eyes. Danic was lost within her gaze a long moment. It was good. Her lips parted, and suddenly he hungered to taste her kisses.

            "What about the rest of me, Sir Knight?"

            "You're gorgeous. My name is Danic," he said.

            "I am Jamilah," she said, snuggling in close and nuzzling his neck.

            Sitting on a stool, he pulled her onto his lap. She giggled and took a sip of her wine as he buried his face in her soft fragrant hair and kissed her neck. Then as his hands cupped her breasts, she set her wine down and gave him a hard look.

            "You don't waste much time, do you?"

            Danic grinned, "Life is short. Besides, I just got in and I only have two things on my mind."

            "Talking isn't one of them?"

            "You're very perceptive," he said and lowered his face to her bosom.

            There was a simple clasp holding her halter top together. It was between her breasts and Danic deftly unfastened it. The top was tight, so snapped away to reveal her glory. Jamilah bowed her back, grinding her butt into his crotch. Her breasts were small but firm, with erect dark pink nipples. He kissed, nibbled, and rubbed his face all over her smooth, warm, oiled skin.

            "Shall we just go upstairs?" she said after several minutes.

            "Better yet, lead me to the bathhouse out back," he said. He cupped her face and kissed her. "We can have a good time and I can get a bath."

            She quickly took in the caked dirt and grime clinging to his clothes and exposed skin, his dull dusty hair, and the stench of three months of hard work and sweat.

            Wrinkling her nose, "Normally I wouldn't, but considering how handsome you are... But it'll cost you extra."

            "You're worth it," he said, standing with her in his arms.

            Elfhaven had a real public bathhouse. It was huge and grand, and the slaves working within would do anything he wanted for a much smaller fee than Jamilah would demand. But they wouldn't be as beautiful, or as eager to please. The tavern had a small bathing room attached to the back, with four huge copper tubs. Two men jumped to their feet when Danic strode in with Jamilah.

            "Fill a tub," Danic said. He set her down, untied his coin purse and gave one of the men a copper pence. The men moved with a sense of urgency after that. "This is going to be so good."

            "Oh? Me or the bath," Jamilah asked with a sultry smile as she stripped.

            "Both," Danic said.

            The servants quickly filled the tub and departed. Danic climbed in, and settled down. The tub was more than big enough to accommodate even Carl's massive frame. First thing, he submerged his head. Jamilah stepped in, straddled his waist and sat facing him.

            "Let me take care of you, my lord,” she purred, picking up a sponge.

            She washed Danic's hair, taking her time while he indulged his love of her breasts. His hands were all over her, touching, feeling, squeezing, and caressing. Danic kissed, sucked, and nibbled on her breasts, neck, and shoulders, loving it when she squeaked, squealed, and shuddered with sensuous moans. Soon they were both panting, stealing intense, hungry looks.

            "Shave?" Jamilah said, lifting a straight razor.

            "Please," Danic said.

            While she lathered up his face, Danic maneuvered her into a better position over her. She started to pant harder, biting her lip, but otherwise staying focused on her job. Danic grinned and guided himself up into her.

            "Ugh," she grunted, back bowing and one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Jamilah closed her eyes and tensed up a long moment. He started pumping into her, driving deeper and deeper. She finally opened her eyes and caught his. "Are you sure you want to do this while I have a razor to your throat?"

            "Yes," Danic said. He started fondling her breasts. "Shave me."

            "So be it," she whispered, a little worry in her eyes.

            Jamilah slowly pulled the razor across his cheek, beginning the shave. Danic watched her face while he thrust into her, over and over. She struggled to remain focused, and he admired her deft touch. The Taag beauty gave him a quick, close shave and did it with only one nick. And then she set the razor aside, grabbed his shoulders tightly, and took over.

            "Yes," she whispered. "Such a man. Most men would've already come, but not you, my lord. Oh no, not you."

            Danic palmed the back of her head and pulled her down for a deep, passionate kiss. Her nails dug into his shoulder while she continued to bounce up and down his shaft, and he thrust up into her in rhythm with her movements. Water splashed out of the tub.

            "Mmm," she groaned, and caught his lower lip between her teeth. She pulled, and kissed him again. "Faster, my lord. I'm so close. Please. Faster."

            Danic released her breasts, grabbed her waist, and thrust up harder and faster. Jamilah increased her speed, too. Her back bowed, bringing her breasts up to his face. He sucked a hard nipple in, making her squeal and tremble.

            "Yes!" she cried, and froze in place. "Aaaggh…yes."

            With her climax, Danic stopped trying to hold it back. He relaxed, continuing to thrust into her trembling body. Her vagina muscles pulsed around him, driving him crazy. Then, a familiar tingle flowed into his thighs. Danic's hands tightened around her waist, and he groaned as intense pleasure exploded within. His climax pulsed with every ejaculation into her.

            Danic released a shuttering laugh as Jamilah collapsed atop him.

* * * * *

            Danic sat behind a long, ale-stained, knife-scarred table, enjoying the cool night breeze wafting in through the open door. A half empty mug of ale sat before him all but forgotten, while a pretty blonde tavern girl sat on his lap, her face buried in his neck kissing and nibbling. Her silk dress was all but pulled off by Danic's pawing of her shapely body. Stepping inside, Carl paused to admire her exposed beauty a moment.

            "Carl!" Danic cried out happily. "Where have you been?"

            Danic looked considerably better, having shaved and bathed since last Carl saw him.

            Grinning from ear to ear, Carl answered, "Comforting a poor, lonely beauty."

            The big Tyrian plopped down on the bench opposite Danic. Both men had shed their armor, but not their weapons. The bartender, an old acquaintance, watched the valuable armor behind the bar. They would retrieve it before retiring for the night.