The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

            The Jordani War Chief had to explain what a tavern girl was to his two young warriors. Until then, they thought all prostitutes were slaves. They didn't even know what a bond servant was. And the idea of free women willingly prostituting themselves was beyond their understanding.

            Like the Jordani, Danica was surprised to find a tavern without either slaves or bond servants. Though she had been in taverns and brothels that didn't use slaves before, it was unusual. Slaves had no real motivation to work hard, except the threat of severe beatings or the withholding of food and rest. However, bond servants were working off debts to their bondholder, usually the tavern or brothel owner. Bond servants could be expected to work very hard to escape their hellish life. Unfortunately, the bondholder was legally permitted to add the costs of room and board, any clothes needed, and even interest to the bond. Many bond servants, especially pretty women, spent years paying off their bond. A bond price that might have only been a night's food and lodging.

            Dett was silent a moment, studying the women. Danica watched him apprehensively, worrying her lower lip.

            Then to the tavern owner, "You've struck a deal with them?"

            "Yes," he said guardedly.

            "What's your cut?" Dett said. "We would work our slave here."

           
Damn you. I knew it.

            Danica whipped her head around when she heard one of the patrons snicker. Had he heard? Was he interested in hiring her? The thought sent her mind reeling.

            "Ten percent on all earnings, plus rent on the room she uses," he said, suddenly interested.

            "Deal," Dett said. Turning to Danica, who was staring at him wild-eyed, "You know what to do."

            There was no room for compromise in either his eyes or tone of voice. She thought of bringing up the curse, but he wouldn't care what happened to strangers. She seemed to have run out of options, and luck.

            With a queasy feeling pushing its way up her throat, Danica turned and headed toward the tables. The Jordani spread out, covering all the possible exits. She noticed several of the patrons eyeing her with interest. The other women looked sullen.

           
I don't blame them
, she thought bitterly.
I'm pretty fierce competition for those hard-hearted whores.

            Stopping beside a lone woman, Danica took a deep breath. Quietly, "What's the going rate."

            The dark-haired woman, well past her prime but still attractive, gave her an icy stare. "I get two crowns copper, but you'll be lucky to bring one, elf."

            Danica gave her a doubtful smile and moved on. Looking around, she noticed most of the men were watching her and Dett's stare was beginning to get hot.

            Noticing a desert nomad in a crisp white kaffiyeh and djellaba watching her with intense interest, she reined her racing heart in and walked over. A smile crossed his dusky, bearded face. His dark eyes seemed able to see right through her. He was in his early middle age, with a hawk-like face. There was just a touch of gray in his short, neatly trimmed beard. The fact that he didn't cover his mouth told her he was probably from one of the far eastern tribes.

            His four-banded agal was dyed a deep, rich gold, whereas the four young looking men sharing the table with him had plain black two-banded agals. She didn't know what his tribe was, but assumed it meant he was either the clan Sheik, or the Sharif of the tribe. She knew that a Taag Sheik wore a red agal, and the leader of the entire tribe, the Sharif, wore a golden agal. But in the Munir Tribe, a Sheik wore a black agal, and the Sharif wore a green one. Each tribe was different.

            "Would you..." She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Would you like to go upstairs, master?"

            His horny hand grabbed her high on the left thigh, pulling her close. His touch sent gooseflesh all over her body. She was unable to suppress the shudder.

            Once she was positioned more to his liking, "Ah, golden one, what is your name?"

            "Danica, master."

            "I am Sheik Alibar," he said with a slight nod.

            "Forgive me, master, but I don't know your tribe."

            His hand slid a little higher up her inner thigh. His thumb gently stroked her sensitive folds. Danica felt her juices start to flow as heat infused her body. It got a little harder to breathe.

            He smiled, "I am of the Jenaar. My clan is the el'Lacir. My clan owns..., or more properly is the House of Lacir here in Samulla."

            His thumb found her clitoris, and rubbed circles around it. She sucked in a sharp breath, bit her lip, and swallowed hard. He was sending the sweetest ripples through her. Danica knew she couldn't take that very long before her body exploded.

            "And you are Master of the House, I assume," she said smiling, trying to act as if nothing untoward was happening.

            He gave her a slight bow again, "But now, more importantly, Danica, what do you charge?"

            Before she could answer, his thumb pushed past her nether lips, into her wet slit. Every orifice in her body suddenly clinched up tightly, her breath caught, and a queasy feeling tried to batter its way up her throat as he stroked her so intimately. Worse, she felt her juices flowing, and his efforts were causing a squishing sound down there. He had the most lusty look in his eyes she had ever seen.

           
I can't do this!

            Danica slanted a look at the Jordani War Chief. Dett was watching her through narrowed, suspicious eyes. She could see the tension building up within him. One wrong move on her part now, and he'd unleash all the frustration and fury that had been building over the last two months.

           
Maybe I can do this.

            "Well?" Sheik Alibar asked again, one eyebrow arched high.

            "Ten crowns, master," she blurted out, surprised at the answer herself.

            "Ten?" he said. "I can get five girls for that. I can buy five girls for that much."

            Danica glanced at the three Jordani quickly to insure they couldn't hear her exchange with the Sheik. They were watching her closely, but it didn't appear they could overhear her.

            "Not as pretty and exotic as me," she said, pleased with herself. Then shrugging sadly, "I'm afraid my master was quite specific on the price I am to charge. After all, I am an elf."

            He just snorted and turned away. She shrugged and glanced around at the other men at the table. None seemed interested. She moved away confident she could escape that particular fate once again.

            She spotted three Tyrians drinking and joking at a table nearby. Two were tall, massively built blondes, with the third a gaunt looking dark-haired man. Her mother was a Tyrian. As Danic, she had spent a great deal of time growing up with relatives in the Tyr Mountains. They were very predictable, in general, so she figured she would be able to control them easier than one of the volatile nomads or Samullans.

            Walking up to a tall blonde youth in a thick, sleeveless chain mail shirt, "Take me upstairs, master?"

            She knew  most Tyrians would find her way too skinny for their tastes. Also, few would just take a woman, free or slave, upstairs right away. They liked to drink a couple of ales with her first, while impressing her with tales of their prowess. Tyrians were one and all full of themselves, and loved to extol everyone with tales of their deeds and bravery.

            "Perhaps," he said slowly, looking her over with interest. "Dance."

            Danica was taken aback. That wasn't the response she expected. Glancing around, she saw no stage to dance on. The Tyrian wanted her to entice him by displaying her body with dance and she couldn't dance.

            "I really don't know how, master."

            "Try, woman," he said with a wide leering grin. "Try."

            She lifted her arms and began a slow wiggling movement she hoped would be acceptable. The Tyrians all seemed pleased. And quiet. Unusual. She began to worry about losing control of the situation. The Tyrian appeared to be getting excited. An aroused man, especially one that has been drinking, might pay anything for the woman he lusted after. Then a sharp tapping sound caught her attention.

            A soldier in dusty mail at the next table held up a coin, one crown copper. Then he dropped it on the floor.
A tip!
She quickly abandoned the Tyrians to dance before the soldier. As she danced, the swarthy Samullan soldier dropped coins at her feet. She had frequented enough taverns and brothels to know what was expected of her. As long as he continued tipping, she had to dance for him. Dance real close. She tried her best to ignore his hands caressing her buttocks and legs. If his hands got much bolder, though, she might have to beat a hasty retreat.

            "Good enough," he laughed, dropping one last coin and pulling the drawstrings of his purse closed. That was the signal she could leave.

            Danica eagerly bent to rake up her tips. He took the opportunity to slap her naked rump, laughing at her yelp of surprise. Then being extra careful, she picked up the rest of her tip and hurried away.

            "Hear you go, master," she said, handing Dett eight copper coins — three crowns, two eagles, and one half-eagle.

            A crown was about as wide as a man's thumb, with the portrait of the ruler of the city minting it stamped on one side and a crown on the other. The crown copper was the standard unit of currency everywhere Danica had ever been or heard about. The eagle was half a crown, with an eagle stamped on it instead of a crown. The half-eagle was half an eagle. Shaved or cut coins were called bits. Eagles and half-eagles were only minted in copper, but crowns came in copper, silver, and gold.

            Danica's tips were almost twice what any of the taverns had offered for her all day.  Three crowns copper had been the highest offer. An Elven slave of her beauty usually brought three to five crowns silver on the slave block. The average prostitute, both free and slave, could usually expect at least five crowns copper for her services. The glut of slaves had drastically driven down both prices.

            Noticing her just standing before him, "You're not finished yet, slave. Get back to work."

            Frowning, she headed back. Several men held up coins. She danced up to the nearest. Unfortunately, this man proved to be a breast man. She was forced to retrieve the coins he offered in his mouth with her breasts. Needless to say, his hands weren't the least bit shy about fondling the rest of her, either. Her body's reaction to the handling scared her as much as the crude fondling. After she milked him of all he was willing to part with, she moved to the next with relief. And then the next. And the next.

            "How much?" an ancient, weather-beaten Jarland warrior asked as she picked up her tips from a soldier at the neighboring table.

            Keeping her voice low, "Ten crowns, master."

            "Why so much?"

            "I'm worth it," she smiled, confident now he couldn't afford it. His clothes were threadbare and patched. And his sword rested in a worn and battered sheath.

            "Not to me," he grumbled and turned back to his mug.

            After dropping off her earnings again, she returned to her dances. Few of the men paid her much attention now. She figured she had milked them of all she could.

            Now to convince Dett to leave.

            She gave the Jordani Chief a calculating look. If they stayed much longer, she feared he might stand up and offer her services to the patrons, and be willing to settle for considerably less than she had been asking. On the other hand, if she could get him away from paying customers, she might be able to work on his superstitious fears and have him just abandoned her unsold in Samulla. After all, he had far more than her likely sale price in hand already.

            "Slave! Over here," Sheik Alibar called, waving her over. His purse was sitting open on the table.

            Smiling, she walked over to dance for the rich merchant. His purse was considerably deeper than the warriors and soldiers she had been dancing for. Maybe if she earned him enough in tips, Dett would forget about whoring her off.

            "No," he said when she started to dance.

            "I don't understand? Don't you want me to dance for you?" she said, suddenly alarmed.

            "Five crowns," he said firmly.

            Heart racing, "Ten, master. I'm sorry."

            "I would see your master then," he said, looking around. "The yellow-haired barbarian?"

            Danica panicked. If he talked to Dett, then it would be discovered that she hadn't been trying to sell herself. He would definitely take it out of her hide.

            "That won't be necessary, master," she said, moving in closer and wrapping an arm seductively around his neck.

            "Why not? Why does that scare you, slave?" he said. "Have you been lying to me?"

            "No...not exactly."

            Eyes flashing, "Tell your master Sheik Alibar wishes to speak to him."

            "Yes, master."

            Danica struggled to figure a way out of her predicament. It seemed to her that she had dug herself into a hole she couldn't get out of. Dett would likely beat her, but not until after the Sheik had his way with her. She started feeling sick as she neared Dett, who watched her suspiciously.

            Dropping to her knees, trying hard to look pitiful, praying for mercy, she said in her tiniest voice, "Master, Sheik Alibar wishes to speak to you."

            "About what?" he said, studying the indicated man.

            "About me," she said, looking up with teary, pleading eyes. "He is angry about the price I'm asking for sex."