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

by Warren Thomas

  The first of the twenty odd wagons was just topping the hill when they took up their positions again. Most were the long, wide, canvass covered wagons popular with traders in these parts. Yet many were the narrower wagons found in the heavily wooded Jarlands. All the wagons were pulled by teams of six horses.

  Omar's House owned ten of the wagons, with the rest divided among three other merchants. There were also half a dozen independent traders with pack trains of horses or mules, and one of camels. Together, they all made this trip twice a year. From Tyrians and Jarlanders in Elfhaven they bought bars of steel and precious metals, cut jewels, wines, spices and herbs, bolts of fine cloth, and, most precious of all to desert and steppe nomad alike, lumber, then traded them to nomads to make their wagons and in the desert cities of Tamera, Samulla, and Ismat al-Haratha. In return, they received the exquisitely worked jewelry and the colorful, intricate blankets and rugs the nomad and desert cultures were known for — not to mention the finest wool and cotton in the known world.

  By the time Danica and Horse topped the hill, the wagons were forming into a large laager, with men and horses protected inside the circle. The lone exception was the chuck wagon which was always in the center of the encampment.

  The cook already had half a dozen cook fires of dried bison and cattle chips going by the time the last wagon, and Danica, arrived. The cook had been baking bread all day in the sun ovens bolted to the top of the chuck wagon. The mouth-watering aroma of the cooking bread was the only thing to keep her going on some days.

  After helping manhandle the last wagon into its position in the defensive laager, she unsaddled her horse and rubbed it down good. Then she placed her bay with the others on the guards' picket line. The cook's helpers were already busy feeding and watering the livestock. That done, she got into line for some chow. Captain Fulgar was two men in front of her.

  His total lack of leadership traits astounded her. A leader should never eat until each and every one of his people has been fed. A leader — a good leader — always took care of his people first. She wondered how he'd gotten his current position.

  By the time Danica got her steaming bowl of half-cooked, heavily-spiced antelope stew, warm flatbread, and fried potatoes, the nomads arrived. She watched them warily while she ate with Horse in the shade of the wine merchant's small tent. She knew the new arrivals from her recently completed trip as Danic. Clan Jordani of the Lion Tribe. Carl had promised one of their women that Danic would marry her if she slept with Danic. She did; he didn't. Her father, Dett, the clan War Chief, had been incensed when he failed to abide by Carl's promise.

  As she recalled, the present trading party compromised more or less the same individuals as the last one some three months back. Dett, still looking more like a Jarland mercenary than a Jordani warrior in his steel cuirass and broadsword, was the most obvious member as he angrily made demands and threats. He would act incensed at the "outrageous" prices asked, only to be soothed by the clan's women folk after the traders lowered their prices. It was an old nomad trick the traders had long since began to anticipate by truly asking outrageous prices for their merchandise.

  There were an even dozen warriors, led by the War Chief, and an equal number of women. Danica was glad Hara wasn't one of them. She felt partly responsible for the woman's perceived "dishonor." It wasn't her fault Carl forgot to tell Danic about the deal he struck with her.

  The merchants all spread out their wares for inspection. The haggling was intense. Danica watched them with interest, but Horse just sat silently staring at them through narrowed eyes.

  Grinning evilly at Horse, "Is it true that the Jordani have the most beautiful women on the steppes?"

  His eyes went wide in surprise, "Jordani are all pigs compared to the women of the Horse Tribe!"

  Danica laughed. The young nomad had nothing but contempt for the Lion Tribe. He was under strict orders not to speak to any of them, for fear he would start a fight. Horse Tribe and Lion Tribe were ancient blood enemies.

  A crash, an angry shout, and then the rasp of swords whipped out of sheaths brought Danica and Horse to their feet. Three Jordani were holding a merchant at sword point. Omar and Fulgar were rushing over with shouts for calm. Caravan guards were already inching in with drawn swords.

  Ordered to hold their positions, the guards waited for Omar to defuse the situation. It would be hard. Even from across the encampment, Danica could hear the nomads' angry accusations. They felt that one of the merchants was cheating them. Brandishing a silver bar they had just purchased, they claimed it was only silver plating over base metal. Knowing ole Ramus, she figured they might be right.

  "Bet you a kiss it ends in blood," Horse offered.

  "Don't tempt fate like that," she hissed.

  Horse's prediction soon came to pass. Omar's attempt at a peaceful settlement died when one of the Jordani warriors tried to skewer Ramus. The wiry old trader jumped under a wagon and crawled to safety as the Jordani warriors and caravan guards threw themselves at each other.

  The Jordani warriors were outnumbered ten to one. They fought their way back to their mounts, protecting their unarmed women as best they could. The guards, not having as much to lose, fought more cautiously. Danica groaned inwardly as one by one the Jordani women were pulled down by eager caravan guards. Their fates were far worse than the warriors cut down in the fight. In all, four of the Jordani warriors and six of the women escaped.

  The caravan didn't hesitate. Everyone jumped into action. Horses were saddled or hitched back to wagons. Everything was thrown into the wagons. The eight dead Jordani warriors were left where they fell, the six captured women bound and tossed into wagons. If the caravan survived, the women would be sold in the first city they reached, or to one of the desert tribes. The money collect for their sale would be divided up among the guards.

  Heading due east, straight for the desert, the caravan pulled out in record time. A large guard force was spread out in a crescent formation behind the train as it dashed across the darkening steppes. They had less than an hour of light left and no one knew how far away the Jordani camp was located.

  When the sun went down, Fulgar pulled the guard screen in closer. Danica was ordered to be one of half a dozen outriders sent to parallel the caravan. Her enhanced night vision, the only good thing about being an elf she could think of, earned her the most northern and dangerous position. It was their job to give the caravan an early warning of any Jordani attack. The caravan continued on under their protection as fast as possible through the rolling hills of the night-shrouded grasslands.

  Danica glanced up at the starry sky with apprehension. The only real light came from the large moon. The moon was usually a silvery white, but it wasn't that night. Instead it was a dark blood red! It happened a couple times a year. Bloodmoon!

  Evil. Misfortune. Bad luck. The realization that it was Bloodmoon hit her like a hammer, almost making her swoon in the saddle. Until then, she had forgotten what day it was.

  Danica's elven night vision allowed her to see the fear in the eyes of her comrades. Bloodmoon meant bad luck and Ramus had flirted with it, and lost. Now they all would pay.

  During the first hour of darkness, two wagons were lost in the mad charge to safety. One overturned and was abandoned. The other drove off into a ravine, killing the teamster and all six horses. Both wagons, remarkably, belonged to Ramus.

  Two hours after dark, Omar stopped the caravan at a small copse of scrub oak. There was a small creek fed pool there, so they watered their mounts while keeping a worried eye on the surrounding prairie lands. If they kept up the pace, then they would leave the Jordani graze before morning. The rest of the trip would be through the desert. Taag tribal territory.

  Danica was watering her horse when it suddenly lifted its head and looked north. She notice several of the other horses had become skittish. Then the faint rumble of distant hooves came to her.

  "Attack! To the north!" she cried, swinging back up into the sadd
le and pulling her sword.

  The guards were mounted in an instant. They charged out en masse to engage the incoming nomads. The two sides met in a thunderclap of flesh, steel, and battle cries.

  In the darkness, everyone struck out blindly at anyone closing on them. Only Danica's elven vision allowed her to discern friend and enemy. The nomads were armed and armored much the same as the guards, in lamellar armor of boiled leather or steel, leather-covered wooden shields, and steel helmets. Though each tribe and clan wore distinctive colors and styles of armor and clothes, in the moonless night it was nearly impossible to tell friend and foe apart even for Danica.

  Fighting her way through the thunderstorm of flashing steel and hooves, Danica suddenly found herself alone on a rise. Scanning the scene, she spotted a large group of Jordani charging the wagons.

  "Rally on the wagons!" she cried, spurring forward. "The wagons are under attack!"

  The whole battle seemed to turn and move toward the wagons in one great dark mass. Guard and Jordani fought on in a running battle. Then as suddenly as it started the Jordani broke off the engagement and rode off into the night, whooping and hollering triumphantly.

  Danica and the rest stared at the carnage wrought by the attack in stunned silence. Everywhere she looked were dead and dying men and horses. She wasn't sure which was worst, the sobbing men or the screaming, thrashing horses. Now she wished her night vision wasn't so keen.

  While Danica helped administer death strokes to the mortally wounded horses, the wounded guards and merchants were loaded onto wagons. The wounded Jordani were given death strokes, an act that Danica found horrible. They were wounded and no threat to them. She believed that they should have been left alone, which would have forced their kinsmen to tend to them instead of continuing their pursuit of the caravan. Only Captain Fulgar was adamant about killing them, and most of the others angry and shaken enough not to question it. Any complaints were quickly stifled under the storm of angry glares and shouts.

  The cargos of the dead pack animals were shifted to wagons. The teamsters worked out an order of march to ensure no other wagons or animals were lost, while covering the maximum territory possible under the circumstances. Only Omar's leadership ensured anything got done at all. With a lot of hard work, the caravan was soon ready to continue.

  When they all assembled, Danica was shocked at their losses. Easily half the guards were dead or wounded too badly to fork a horse and fight. The Jordani would be back, of that she had no doubt. And when they discovered what the caravan had done to their kinsmen...well, she really didn't care to think about it.

  "Encircle the wagons," Captain Fulgar ordered.

  "Wait," Danica called. "The Jordani warriors will be back to pick up their dead and wounded."

  "So?" Omar said.

  "If we don't hurt them too badly to continue, they'll dog us clear to Samulla," she said. "And we can't take another attack like this last one."

  Several of the others murmured and nodded their agreement.

  "What are you suggesting?" Omar said.

  "We could leave most of the guards hidden over in the trees and wait for them to return," she said. "Once they're dismounted to look for survivors, we could then pepper them with arrows before sweeping through them in the confusion. Our losses would be minimal, and theirs staggering."

  "No. I won't break up my force," Fulgar said.

  "You mean my force, Captain," Omar said. Turning back to Danica, "Where will the caravan be during this?"

  "It will continue on as before," she said. "I know enough about these nomads to know their first thoughts will be for any dead or wounded kinsmen left here."

  "That's right," Horse said. "First you see to your clan brothers, then punish the outsiders."

  "But there aren't any survivors," Fulgar said.

  "They don't know that," Danica said, giving him a withering glare of utter loathing. "And they will swing by first before giving chase."

  "And after our dishonorable act of murdering their wounded warriors," Horse said, also glaring daggers at the Captain, "it is even more important to deal them a crippling blow to stop any thoughts of pursuit and revenge."

  Danica shot Horse an admiring glance, glad to know that despite his hereditary prejudices he still understood simple honor.

  "I like it," Omar said. "I don't want to be hounded all the way to Samulla."

  "If it pleases you, my lord," Danica said. "I would be honored to lead the ambush force."

  "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.