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

by Warren Thomas

  Looking around the corner, she spotted all three Jordani at the bar drinking and joking. She could hear their conversations well since the bar was next to the stairwell. The el'Lacir brothers were still at their table talking quietly among themselves. Their mumbled conversations were too low for her to hear. No one was paying attention to the stairs.

  Flattening herself against the wall well within the shadows of the stairwell, she considered her options. She could make a run for the front door, or try to sneak out. Either way she wouldn't go unnoticed. The run option seemed the only way to go, but the Sheik's sons were sitting at a table very close to the path she had to take. Normally, they wouldn't interfere, but seeing her emerge so soon, and with their sire's scimitar, would definitely elicit a response, and a violent one at that. There was probably a back entrance, but she would have to get past the Jordani at the bar to get to it.

  Approaching footsteps from the room below brought her out of her reverie. There were two sets: a light tap-tap of a woman's shoes, and the deeper thumping of a man's boots with the jingle of spurs. Startled, she glanced up the stairs and realized she could never hope to reach the top before they arrived. So she threw herself down the stairs instead.

  Lowering her shoulders, Danica bowled over the giggling tavern girl just as she reached the stairwell. The girl was sent screaming back into the arms of a drunk soldier. Danica kicked him in the throat as he sagged under the weight of the girl in his arms.

  Brandishing the scimitar, she dodged through the scrambling men and women. Random tables were scattered between her and the front entrance. That entrance looked to be miles away. It sat there like a beacon to freedom, flashing multicolored light through its hanging strands of glass beads.

  As she feared, the el'Lacir men recovered quickly and moved to block her escape. Without slowing, she charged into their midst. Two men fell before her flashing blade within seconds, but the others didn't relent and, if anything, pressed harder.

  "Bandu Invincible!" she cried and dropped low, kicking at their feet.

  They jumped back. She took advantage of the momentary respite and darted away. Only to run into the charging Jordani.

  Ducking under Dett's attempt at decapitation, she kicked Jost low in the belly and tried for Raf's heart. He barely twisted aside in time, receiving a deep crease across the lamellar protecting his chest. Any deeper and it would have penetrated the thin steel plates. Cursing, she turned and parried Dett's thrust before darting past Raf.

  As she raced between the tables, trying to avoid both Jordani and el'Lacir alike, she heard some of the other patrons begin to give odds. Though she wasn't favored to win, she was pleased with the low odds given the others.

  "Yield!" Dett cried angrily, ducking under a thrown chair.

  "Make me!"

  Dett and Jost came around the table after her from different sides. She stepped up onto a chair, then the table. Before Raf could react, she was on him, blade flashing. The only thing that saved him was his armor.

  Danica spun away from him to engage two el'Lacir warriors as they joined the fight. Not thinking, she brought the heavy scimitar down as hard as she could on the shoulder of one el'Lacir brother. The blade got wedged tightly in his chest. He took her weapon away as he fell.

  The dead man's brother, so she ducked and drove shoulder first into his belly as she seized and lifted his legs at the knees. They were both left sprawled on the floor. Danica recovered first and drove a straight finger punch into the man's throat. She tried to take his scimitar, but he held on and tried to wrap an arm around her waist. Twisting free, she scrambled back to his dead brother. She twisted and pulled Sheik Alibar's bejeweled scimitar back out of his fallen son's chest.

  Turning at the sound of running feet, she parried Dett's thrust at her heart, then slashed Jost's face on her backstroke. Kicking at the el'Lacir warrior, she stepped between the two standing Jordani and took off for the door.

  As she approached, she spotted a lone el'Lacir warrior guarding that door. He stood ready, silhouetted against the multicolored entrance. As she charged, she screamed at the top of her lungs and snatched up a chair. Flinging it as hard as she could, she followed it in. He ducked under it, and she brought her scimitar down on his neck before he could recover. Then she was out the door.

  Danica turned right and raced up the steep stairlike street. She dodged through the milling mass of men and animals. Some of the men cried out upon noticing her carrying a weapon. Slaves weren't permitted weapons, and naked as she was, she could only be a slave. Though, no one moved to bar her path. Indeed, most were smart enough to get out of the way.

  She turned into a narrow, trash-strewn alley and continued to ascend. Angry shouts could be heard back on the street. She didn't waste time on looking back. There was no doubt in her mind that the citizens of Samulla would be very helpful in giving her pursuers accurate directions.

  She soon burst out of the alley onto a wide boulevard under a cloudless blue sky. A blood-splattered, nude slave wielding a gory scimitar, she quickly became the focus of everyone's attention.

  Realizing she would standout more in the richer, higher districts of the city, she turned right and headed for the more crowded lower city. In the poorer neighborhoods near the city walls and gates, she could find some poor soul passed out drunk in a dark alley and steal his clothes. Maybe with stolen clothes she wouldn't rate any special attention among all the mercenaries. But a disturbance further down the street proved to be two men in white kaffiyehs and djellabas brandishing scimitars. Jenaar tribesmen, and probably el'Lacir, too.

  Danica spun around and ran back up the street. Locating another alley, she ducked inside. She turned right at an intersection of alleys and scattered a group of bedraggled street urchins eating a half-cooked dog. Without slowing, she ran out of that alley, across a narrow street, and plunged into the shadowy alley on the other side. Then spotting a half rotten ladder, she scrambled up and into the hayloft of an abandoned stables.

  Most of the north side of the barn opened onto the burnt out husk of the next structure. The fire appeared to have been recent. She decided it might be a good bolt hole. It didn't appear that the local urchins and derelicts were using it yet. Then the sounds of running feet brought her back to the ladder.

  Hazarding a glance down, she spotted two Jenaar warriors. She recognized one from the tavern, the other was a stranger. He must've gone back to their House and picked up reinforcements. The Gods only knew how many men were looking for her now.

  "Yakir," the unfamiliar one said, breathless. "The slave is too fast. We need a strategy."

  "We don't have time, Jaheem," Yakir said. "If those thrice-damned Jordani catch her, then father will have to pay a fortune to buy her."

  "But they're strangers," he said. "They don't know the city like us. We have the advantage."

  "Maybe," Yakir said doubtfully. "But I do not care to explain to father that they caught the whore while we were planning our 'strategy.'"

  Whore? Danica thought, tilted eyes narrowing. You wish, you goat loving...

  Yakir cried out, "Hey you!"

  She jumped back, heart racing. Had he seen her?

  "Yes, my Lord?" a high-pitched voice, a child's voice, asked guardedly.

  Danica relaxed. She crept over to peek out through a knot hole and listen in. The two el'Lacir men were standing with their fists balled up on their hips, glaring arrogantly at half a dozen filthy street urchins.

  "Have you seen a runaway slave," Yakir asked. "She has long golden hair and a scimitar."

  "Naked?" a small girl asked.

  "Yes!" Jaheem cried, taking a step towards them.

  The children all took two steps back. They had good cause to be wary. Street urchins were periodically hunted down and enslaved by commoners, slavers, and City Guardsmen alike.

  Reaching out a hand to restrain Jaheem, "Do you know where she is now?"

  "No," a tall boy, maybe in his early teens, admitted. Yakir and Jaheem scowled
a moment. "But we might be able to find her."

  No!

  The street urchins knew the city, and all its hideouts, better than anyone. At any given time, there could easily be several hundred of the half wild youths roaming the streets and alleys. If anyone could locate her fast, it was them.

  Grinning, Yakir said, "Deliver the slave to the House of Lacir, and you will be richly rewarded."

  "How much?" the boy asked, more boldly now.

  Danica never heard the answer. A shuffling noise from deep within the loft's shadows captured her attention. Spinning around, she spotted a man dressed like a steppe nomad half-buried and struggling to rise in a small haystack. He seemed disconcerted.

  A drunk.

  Sitting up, he stretched and yawned loudly. Afraid he would make too much noise, and thus bring the two men below up to investigate, Danica darted over and brought the jeweled pommel of her scimitar down atop his head.

  "You hear that?" Jaheem's voice came to her.

  The creaking of the ladder sent her scrambling for a hiding place. The small stacks of moldy hay were too obvious, so out of the question. So she ran over to the burnt out section with the intention of climbing down and escaping, but the excited shouts of children stopped her. She couldn't hope to outrun street urchins.

  Instead, she climbed up through a burn hole in the roof. Then after crawling over the peak, she lay quiet on the hot roof tiles and waited. Soon the voices of Yakir and Jaheem reached her.

  "Just a barbarian vagrant passed out drunk," Jaheem said, his disgust evident.

  "Search everything anyway," Yakir said. Then louder, "You find any sign of her down there?"

  "No, my Lord," a child's voice called back.

  "Damn her soul!" he cried. Then to the urchins below, "Bring her in before sunset, and I'll double the reward!"

  With excited cries, the children scampered away. Danica cursed her rotten luck. It was hard enough to escape being a naked blonde in a city of dark overdressed desert folk, but now hordes of very enthusiastic children were combing the city for her. Samulla was no longer a safe haven for her.

  I've got to steal some clothes and a horse, and get out before the gates close for the night.

  She waited until she heard Jaheem and Yakir climb down the ladder and leave. And then she waited some more before daring to move. Cautiously, very cautiously, she eased back down to the loft. The derelict was just beginning to regain consciousness. His moans and groans of pain and misery were loud and soulful. Danica hit him over the head again.

  "Sorry," she said, grimacing. He stank to the high heavens of unwashed flesh and stale wine. "I need your clothes." Removing his shirt, she shook it out and eyed it warily. "The Gods only know what unholy vermin live in this."

  Face screwed up in distaste, she stripped him and donned the clothes. He proved to be only slightly larger than herself. The threadbare cotton shirt was a faded red and shiny with grime. The heavy cotton breeches were just as worn and filthy, with several unpatched rips. His worn and unpolished boots were the pointy-toed boots of the steppes, and slightly too big. He had no armor or weapons, not even a belt knife. She then removed all her feather and bead jewelry. The silver slave bracelet would have to wait for another day to be removed, but was well hidden inside the boot.

  Leaving him naked and unconscious, she climbed back down to the alley. She found it empty, save for a mangy yellow dog sniffing through trash piles. It was noticeably darker than when she first entered. She estimated less than half an hour of daylight, then she'd be trapped for the night. Not a pleasant prospect.

  "Now to find a horse," she mumbled, slipping the heavy scimitar under her belt.

  She found the street still crowded, but now she barely rated a second look. Though swordwomen weren't uncommon even in the Desert Kingdoms, the sight of exposed hair and unveiled women usually caught the locals attention. Sometimes even the notoriously defiant Tyrians donned veils and kaffiyehs in desert cities to avoid hassles. Only Samulla was at war and unveiled mercenaries were common enough for her to pass without drawing undue attention.

  Danica kept her eyes open for an unattended horse as she headed towards the Lion Gate in the west wall. After several minutes, she decide the street she was on was too narrow and out of the way for horseback riders. She began looking for a way back to the boulevard.

  Spying an alley, she began threading her way through the late afternoon crowd. The poor farmers, small time merchants, and other hawkers lining the streets were already beginning to pack their merchandise for the day. Some had carts, while most carried their wares bundled up in blankets. Either way, they wanted to be off the street before dark. Night came fast in the desert, and Samulla after dark wasn't a good place to walk the streets.

  She soon found herself standing at the edge of the bustling crowds of the Seven Heroes Boulevard. It twisted its way up from the Lion Gate to the sprawling, golden-domed Rasheed Palace. Outwardly, the palace with its arabesque arches, arcades, and windows was the most beautiful Danica had ever seen, though Amazons were quick to point out it paled in comparison to the palace in Dahlys. Of course, Amazons thought everything in their empire was bigger, better, and more beautiful.

  Almost immediately she located some mounts. They were left in front of an inn. There were six of them, and their size and harness declared them Jarland destriers. A breed she was more than adequately familiar with.

  "A godsend if I ever saw one." She smiled, admiring a great golden-colored unicorn stallion, resplendent in crimson caparison and tack. "A unicorn."

  He was much larger than a normal unicorn, so she figured he was a cross between a unicorn and a horse. A cross between the large, and quite aggressive, Forest Unicorn of the Jarlands and a large destrier mare produced the most prized of war mounts. They were as fierce as the warriors who rode them.

  The huge stallion looked to be just such a crossbreed. Looking at him, she felt a twinge of regret that the offspring of horses and unicorns, both male and female, were sterile. A man could get rich breeding them otherwise. As it was, very few were produced since unicorns rarely survived long in captivity. Unicorn mares rarely conceive in captivity, and wouldn't live long enough to take it to term anyway, and stallions tended to detest the mere presence of horses.

  Walking up to the magnificent beast, she stopped to run a hand over his withers and muttered soothing words. He rolled his eyes at her, but remained silent. She checked his condition to ensure she didn't make the mistake of stealing an exhausted or injured mount. Once assured of the unicorn's excellent health and well-rested state, she checked under his mane for the crossed sword brand of war training. Then she began scratching him at the base of his two foot long horn. The stallion shuddered with pleasure.

  "Good boy, my magnificent beauty," she purred soothingly, eyes sparkling in awe and admiration. "We're going for a little ride."

  After ensuring no one was paying her any heed, she untied his reins and swung up into the saddle. She eased him out into the press of the crowds, noting how everyone made way with looks of wonder. Everyone was so caught up in the beauty of the animal, they failed to notice the tattered clothes of the rider.

  She kicked him into a canter and grinned at all the people scrambling to get out of the way. It might bring attention to herself, but she didn't want anyone getting too long of a look. Someone might question why such a ratty looking woman was riding such a splendid mount. Questions she couldn't answer. Besides, the gates would be closing soon and she needed to be well away before then.

  A small group of urchins ran across the street in front of her, startling the unicorn. She reined in just before trampling the small dark-haired girl trailing far behind. For a split second woman and child stared at each in other in shock. The girl then smiled and ran off after the others.

  "Kids," she snorted. "Almost got herself killed and can only smile about it. They all think they're immortal."

  She glanced up at the massive twin towers of the Lion Gate soaring above
the surrounding structures. They were visible long before she reached the bazaar the gate opened into. Even from that distance she could make out the unique crenellation. Each merlon was carved into the likeness of a sitting lion facing outward.

  Before she could move, a group of shuffling pilgrims, chanting prayers to Laures, Goddess of Hearth and Home, and Queen of the Arisen Gods, blocked her path. They were led by priests in their green and gold robes. She was resolved to wait impatiently, but when a bugle sounded at the Lion Gate, warning everyone interested that the gate would be closed shortly, she tried to push her way through. That brought an intense blast of threats and curses from priest and pilgrim alike. She quickly ceased her efforts, fidgeting in the saddle as she studied the settling darkness around her. The knowledge that the bugle sounded only minutes before sunset and the lowering of the gate to allow the last travelers to hurry in only agitated her already frayed nerves.

  But it was never a good idea to anger the priests of any God. Priests were given magical powers by their God. And depending on the rank of the cleric, he or she could be as powerful as an Arch Mage. She decided to wait for them to shuffle out of the way.

  Once the pilgrims had passed, she kicked her mount forward and headed for the nearby gate. When the gate was lowered the City Guard would announce it with bugles again. That hadn't happened yet, so she still had a chance.

  She found the now darkened bazaar packed, and getting worse as more travelers pushed their way in through the gate. There were inns outside, but they couldn't offer the safety the city walls did. Besides, most people would feel justifiably uncomfortable around all the boisterous soldiers bivouacked out there.

  In addition to all the travelers, the last diehard hawkers were out in force. Their cries grated on her nerves as people jostled her and her mount in their efforts to escape the press. Everywhere urchins darted through the crowds, probably stealing purses and such.

  Looking through the gate, she could see the end of the line of travelers approaching. She knew the City Guard would close the gate as soon as the last one entered. It wouldn't be long, either.