The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) (29 page)

            After the clean, hot air of the desert, the overpowering stench of human and animal waste assaulted Danica's nose. She usually enjoyed the smells of a city when first arriving, but rarely had to enter through the livestock market. At the moment, she wished they’d gone over a ways and entered through the southern Sultan's Gate.

            Seeing Lana turning down a street leading away from the street Danica needed, she spurred ahead.

            "Lana," she called, bringing the Jarlander to a halt. "My path leads elsewhere. I'll be leaving you all here."

            "My offer still stands."

            "Thank you, but I'm already committed to another path." Turning to the group as a whole, "Peace be with you! Tschüss!"

            With that Danica rode away amid their farewells. It had gone far better than she had expected. All too frequently Amazon farewells were as tearful as a Tyrian wedding. She could've easily spent the next hour hugging and crying with them, promising to look them up if ever in their city. Strangely, she almost regretted it not happening. Now she was alone again.

            Winding her way through the familiar streets, she soon found what she was looking for. The public bathhouse. It was a massive affair of native sandstone sheathed in red, blue, and green glazed tiles in elaborate flower designs, with a long arabesque portico filled with lounging men arguing over politics or business deals. Inside, it would be similar, except everyone would be sitting in small pools of cool water. At least on the men's side.

            Tamera's bathhouses differed from Amazon, Jarland, and Tyrian bathhouses by segregating the men and women. True, all bathhouses did provide a smaller private women's bath for those women too modest to bath in front of men, but they were small and rarely used by any but traveling noblewomen of the highest ranks. Some bathhouses even had private facilities for modest men. Outside of the desert culture, few people knew much modesty of person. Most people grew up in single room huts, where everyone did everything in front of everyone. Modesty was an expensive luxury. Even so, few nobles were much better.

            Finding a stables across the street, she paid the stabling fee and quickly stripped the mare of gear. After feeding her a measure of grain, she filled the manger and started grooming the chestnut mare with loving care. Cooing and murmuring soothingly, she soon had the mare's coat gleaming in the dim light of a lone lantern. She went over every square inch of the horse, looking for any injury. Then after checking to ensure her shoes and hooves were in good shape, she gave her final orders to the stableboy and headed for the bathhouse, saddlebags over her shoulder.

            Stepping through the arabesque archway into the heavily guarded women's section, Danica stopped to enjoy the feel of the cool air flowing past her and out the door. The scent of delicate perfumes and soaps filled the air, inviting her in. The moisture in the air called to her in a more basic way, reminding her of her home far to the south where water was not a luxury.

            Paying an attendant a sum that would be considered obscene in the Jarlands, as most bathhouses were free, she was shown a place to store her gear and clothes. After stripping, she ensured her pointed ears were well hidden under her hair. Danica collected her cleansing oils and towel, and then headed deeper inside the bathhouse. She was greeted by musical laughter. Small groups of women, each probably members of the same family, were laughing and splashing each other in a dozen small, cool bathing pools.

            In the back was a dark wooden structure where women could sit in steaming heat to let their bodies sweat out the dirt. Danica immediately started for it.

            As she walked all laughter and commotion ceased. To her shock she realized everyone was gawking at her. They were staring at her thick blonde braid, and her bright blue eyes. Many were also lifting haughty eyebrows at the tan lines of her recent slavery, especially the one where her slave bracelet had sat above her left ankle. Feeling her face burning red, Danica picked up her pace and entered the steam bath. Gratefully, she found it empty.

            She plopped down on a wooden bench, stuck out her left leg and stared at the bright alabaster sign of her recent bondage.

            "How could I have forgotten that? They probably think I'm an escaped slave," she muttered.

            "No, they probably think you are some pampered Silk Slave come to taint their precious water with your enslaved filth."

            "Oh!" she cried, leaping to her feet.

            "Forgive me," the newcomer said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

            "I didn't hear you enter," Danica said, suddenly enthralled by the sight before her.

            The woman before her was one of the tallest she had ever seen, easily over six feet. Nude like Danica, she was well-proportioned and well-muscled. Actually, she had the overdeveloped muscles of a weightlifter, usually a sign of a common bravo and then rarely seen on a woman. Aside from her height and musculature, she was the most amazing, most exotic looking woman Danica had ever seen. She was all black. Her waist length hair was arrow straight and silky fine, shimmering blue-black. Her face was almost delicate in its beauty, with high cheekbones, a straight thin nose, and full lips. The steady eyes that regarded Danica were almond-shaped and black as night. Her dark skin now gleaming with sweat and steam.

            "What are you?"

            She frowned at Danica.

            "A woman, not unlike yourself," she said, looking Danica up and down.  Then she studied Danica's face a long moment. "What are you? An elf? Forest Elves or High Elves?"

            "I sorry, I'm being rude. My name is Danica," she said, offering the exotic beauty a seat. "I am elven, but I'm not really sure of my ancestry. I'm told I am Forest Elf."

            "No offense taken, Danica. I've become used to that reaction," she said, scowling fiercely off into space. "My name is Cat. My first thought was you were a Forest Elf, too. You don't carry yourself with the mantel of arrogant menace of the High Elves."

            Cat eased down on the wooden bench, setting her cleansing oils and towel beside her. She then began working in the oils, seemingly oblivious to Danica's scrutiny. Not wanting to embarrass her further, Danica reluctantly turned her own attention back to working her own filth off. While she worked, she covertly watched the suddenly somber looking woman.

            "We could help each other," Danica offered. "I always have trouble lathing my back."

            Eyes narrowing, Cat watched her a moment. "I guess it would be safe enough."

            "You're right." She smiled winningly. "How about it? You lathe me, and I'll return the favor. It'll save us both a lot of time."

            "Fine, but be careful you don't get too fresh."

            Danica idly wondered what constituted "too fresh" for Cat, but decided not to push it. They both finished rubbing in the cleansing oils, then Danica had Cat stand. Carefully, and with practiced skill, she started at Cat's neck and slowly lathed the oils and dirt down her body. Cat's somber expression never changed during the lathing.

            Danica desperately wanted to ask her a thousand questions, but was held up by her demeanor. Cat didn't appear to be someone who opened up to friends, much less strangers. She didn't want to run her off by being too forward.

            "Now my turn," Danica said, offering her the bronze lathe.

            Holding her thick braid out of the way, Danica watched as Cat began lathing her body of oil and two weeks of dirt and sweat. The big woman seemed to be putting all her concentration into her task. Danica got the impression from her clumsy efforts that this wasn't something she generally consented to.

            "Mind if I ask you some questions?" Danica said.

            Cat scowled a moment, "Like what?"

            "For starters, is Cat your real name? Or a nickname?"

            She hesitated, "Where I come from we don't follow your custom of bestowing nicknames. My name is Catina Manarsima of Chimmarsal, Cat for short."

            Danica nodded, "Where are you from? I've never heard of Chimmarsal or seen anyone like you before."

            "I'm from a land called Zahari, far away from this godless place," Cat said. "It's an island continent east from the Carajal Isles and many months by sea."

            The Carajal Isles were several months from Tamera, at least.

            The fact that Cat didn't seem to care for Tamera was encouraging, but that was supplanted by Danica's surprise at the realization of how far from home Cat was. She hadn't realized that the world was that big. Or even bigger.

            "How did you get here?"

            "Stupidity."

            Danica frowned at the vague answer, "Sorry you left home?"

            Cat shrugged, "No. My husband beat me regularly."

            Danica found herself surprised again. "Must've been one big man to beat you."

            Smiling sadly, "Where I'm from, I'm not considered large. The men are all considerably larger than myself."

            "Bigger than Tyrians?"

            "Some are."

            Some Tyrians reached heights of seven feet or more.

            "I'm surprised I haven't seen any of them working as mercenaries then," Danica said. "Men of that size are highly prized as fighters." Then a thought came to her, "Are the Zahari people pacifists?"

            "Hardly," she said with a short laugh. The first laugh Danica heard from her. "But we are very isolated." Then touching Danica's tan line at her hip, "I neither saw, nor heard of anyone with such light skin until the sailors caught me near the beach. I thought they were ghouls at first."

            Danica smiled at the ghoul remark. "Then you're not a seafaring people?"

            "No. Only fishermen," she said. "And even then my people rarely leave sight of land."

            "Then no one really knows of your people?"

            "Not that I know of," Cat shrugged. "The sailors who caught me hadn't ever seen anything like me before. I got the impression they were lost."

            Danica snorted, "Well you can bet they'll start making regular trips now. Exotics are extremely valuable."

            "So I've learned," she said. "I spent five years in a dockside brothel in Carajal." She shivered, then gave Danica a hard look, "That'll never happen to me again."

            She had a hard time imagining the big woman as a scantily clad prostitute. She tried to picture Cat dancing erotically and wheedling customers into paying for her sexual services. The thought of her actually moaning and clawing passionately was even harder to swallow.

            "I believe it," Danica said. "I wouldn't want to be the one trying to enslave you."

            Cat snorted, but looked off.

            "So...are you homesick?" Danica asked. "Is that why you seem so somber?"

            Cat gave her a sharp look. "I have no reason to be overly happy."

            Nodding, "Homesick."

            "Hardly," she said. "You may find this hard to believe, but I'm a lot happier here than I was back home." She glowered off into space a second. "My father married me off at sixteen. My husband was an old, mean-spirited bastard who would beat me on a whim. I was running away when the sailors happened upon me."

            "But didn't they sell you to the brothel? Surely that was even worse?" Danica said.

            "Yes," Cat said. Then smiling grimly at her, "But one night I gutted the bastard that owned me while he slept and then escaped. I took up with some mercenaries and learned the sword." Then glancing around in disgust, "I ran into some financial trouble here in Tamera, and Dame Isobeth bought my bond. She owns a high-class brothel called the Golden Girl. I've been working for her as a bouncer ever since."

            "Then you're a bond servant."

            "No, Dame Isobeth isn't crooked like that. She only wanted six months service as a bouncer, then released me. I chose to stay."

            "You stay out of loyalty?"

            "I stay because I don't have the coin or inclination to take on the trip to friendlier climes," she said.

            "Where do you want to go? Amazon Empire?" she said.

            "Hardly. The Jarlands reminded me of home, sort of. Maybe one of the cities on the Jar River," Cat said. "One of the coastal cities would be nice. I'm from a tropical land, too."

            "I'm heading for Allaria, deep in the Jarlands. Allaria is in the subtropics. I could use a traveling companion," Danica offered hopefully. "I haven't been doing too well on my own."

            "That's obvious," Cat said, glancing at the bright signs of her recent slavery. "Steppe or desert nomad?"

            "Steppe, Jordani of the Lion Tribe to be exact," she said. "I spent two months in their tender care."

            Cat's grimace was heartfelt. "Terrible. I've heard how they treat slave girls, the monsters."

            Danica carefully hid her excitement. Cat hadn't refused to go with her, though she didn't seem to be considering it either. She knew now that she definitely needed companions to travel with. She would've never made it across the desert without Faiser, Lana, and the others.

            "Well, would you like to accompany me?"

            "No."

            Short and sweet. No thought required.

            Seeing Danica was crestfallen, Cat offered, "I've made a life for myself here. It's not something I can just walk off and leave. I have responsibilities and duties."

            "I understand," Danica said. "I don't blame you. I'm something of a magnet for trouble anyway."

            "Comes with the sword," Cat said. "Pretty girl like you can't help it. Men think you're as horny as themselves and will do anything to get into your breeches. Sometimes you have to fight them off with bared steel."