The Wyrm's Curse Ch. 08

Notes: Surprise! This chapter didn't take forever and a day. I'll try to make that the norm from now on, but no promises. All characters in this work are over 18 and completely fictional. Contains magical futanari/female with male genitalia - if that's not something you're into, you may want to skip this series. Thanks for reading, and now back to your irregularly scheduled story...

The Wyrm's Curse Ch. 08

Kara's waking came as so many things did; gradually, and then suddenly. A past checkered with danger and violence meant she still sometimes jerked awake in fight-or-flight mode. This time she reached for one of her knives and found that not only was she not wearing her knife rig, she wasn't wearing anything else either. Her breathing quick and shallow, she glanced sharply around her, eyes half lidded against the sun that suggested it was already mid-morning.

She realized where she was, what she was doing there. Seeing the river reminded her of the previous night's events. Remembering, she settled back, running a hand slowly down the front of her body. Her fingertips lightly crossed a familiar, thread-thin scar, then her naval, and then the patch of short, fine hair leading down between her legs. She stopped with her fingers resting over her slit, her palm pressed to the spot where, the night before, her curse-induced cock had emerged.

After a few moments of stillness, she stretched, shifting about to limber her joints before standing. Letting the blanket slide from her, she reached over her head, arched her back, bent to touch her toes. If she were honest, she was malingering so that she could further enjoy the morning sun and the cool breeze playing over her body and through her presently wild hair.

She felt as one sometimes did the day after a night of good sex. Hungry, thirsty, and in need of a place to urinate, but also revitalized, clear-headed, and just generally a bit more optimistic.

Glancing around again, and listening, to be sure there were no people or other bothersome creatures in the vicinity, she strolled to a spot along the riverbank without bothering to dress. Finding a stand of cattails that looks as if they could do with watering, she took care of that need. Stepping around the vegetation to the river's edge, she knelt and gathered water in her hands. By turns hissing, whimpering, and laughing, she washed and cleaned herself a bit more thoroughly than she had bothered to the night before.

Once finished, she hurried back to her little camp site to dry off, dress, and repack her things. During the process she helped herself to a pickled egg and a long drink of water. She also paused to give her makeshift fishing rod a long look before removing the plaited line with its hook and deadwood bobber. She coiled the line around the bit of wood and carefully sunk the point of the hook into it before discarding the stick and stowing the resulting bundle in her pack.

Preparations finally done, with a grunt Kara shouldered her pack and set a slow steady pace Northbound.

*

It was early afternoon when Kara spotted the inlet to which Anise had referred. During parts of the march trees and undergrowth had stood between herself and the road. In the stretches between, Kara had observed the progress of a merchant wagon train, a gilded coach painted with the heraldry of some local noble family, an ox train pulling a load of lumber, a trapper on a small gray mare - the latter festooned with small animals, traps, and pelts - who was moving Southbound, and two mendicants in dusty, tattered robes, walking. The walkers she left behind her, as their pace was slower than hers.

The inlet looked peaceful. It was a roughly semicircular area perhaps one hundred and fifty yards across and reaching maybe fifty yards inland, like some colossal monster had taken a bite out of the bank of the river. One long pier jutted from the land, bisecting the waters and ending near the middle of the inlet, while here and there along the perimeter modest wharves hosted small fishing vessels. The only somewhat larger ship was moored near the end of the pier. Kara recognized it as a Karve. A Northman vessel.

The Karve, single-masted, and in this case about fifteen feet broad by fifty feet long, could be used either in war or to transport people, supplies, and livestock. Kara thought it likely they were this far downriver for the purposes of trade. The ship was securely moored and the sail struck. Such a vessel commonly boasted twenty oars to a side, but as she got closer Kara could see that none of the oars were in the water, nor even poking over the gunwales, ready to be shipped on short notice. She would have expected a raiding party to have struck the sail, but kept the oars ready, so as to be able to row back out to the river and away when they had finished their pillaging.

Perhaps more to the point, this being a small fishing settlement, and far inland from the usual haunts of Northmen, it was hardly the usual target for such a raid. Assuming she was right, and she wasn't walking into a raid in progress, the Northmen were probably simply stopping as a diversion from sailing the river. Paying with the loot from some previous raid for the pleasures of beer, hot food, games, and perhaps women.

Who knew, she mused, stepping onto a dirt road leading into the village. Northmen were known for tending to prefer dice - or bones - to cards. Kara's luck at dice had always served her better than her skill at cards. Maybe if she avoided drinking too much, she could have a little fun and round up some extra funds while she was at it. It would be that much less she'd have to risk stealing later.

*

The nearest thing to a tavern in the village was a multi-purpose structure standing on a platform extended from one side of the pier about halfway down it's length. With it's roof extended over the adjacent portion of pier, it served as fish market, public kitchen, taphouse, and gaming room. Aside from one trestle table with a plank bench on either side, there were several old barrels and accompanying sections of cut log to serve as tables and chairs.

As she made her way between the sparse shacks, gardens, and livestock pens that made up the village she kept an eye on the Karve. She noticed that there were still a few burly figures moving about on the ship, but upon reaching the pier she found that the bulk of the crew had disembarked. As she had guessed, they were availing themselves of what entertainment the village offered.

A dozen of the Northern sailors stood or sat at barrels, while seven others were squeezed onto the benches at the trestle table. Many were eating, but not at the table. Spaced around, instead, were cups of silver or horn, as well as a couple drinking horns, all of which Kara assumed the men had brought with them.

Reaching the crowded pavilion area, she moved first to the broad plank counter behind which a pair of locals were busy cooking, pouring drinks, or cleaning fish. Shrugging off her pack, she withdrew a battered tin cup and set it on the counter. When one of the two proprietors obligingly flitted over to give her an expectant look, she placed three coppers next to the cup.

"Beer. And something hot." she said, speaking the common tongue.

The fellow scooped up the coins, bobbing sharply in a half nod, half bow. Taking her cup, he moved to fill the order. While she waited, Kara turned and had a closer look at the Northmen seated around the table. She developed a smile as she watched them all shake little wooden cups, then thump them, upside down, onto the tabletop.

Some form of dice game. Perfect.

Momentarily the fellow who had taken her order returned, depositing her cup, now running over with froth, and a wooden bowl of fish stew thin enough to be called soup, on the counter before her. Kara remained at the counter, eating, drinking, and unobtrusively watching the men play dice. She quickly picked up on the system and objective of the game.

It was a bit like some card games. Each player would ante up, shake their dice cup and upend it on the table. From that point, they would tip the cup up to check their roll, but kept the result hidden from the others. They then went around the table, raising the stakes, staying, or dropping out - 'folding' in poker terms. After this round things got a bit more interesting.

After the first round of betting, anyone who 'folded' revealed their dice, moving them to the center of the table where all could see. It was understood that when the final call was made, the remaining players could switch out their own dice with those in the center. Specifically, one of their dice for one from each of the 'hands' which were moved to the center. If only one player had quit, then only one die could be substituted by each player. On the other hand, if four players had dropped out before this point it opened up a lot of options. Similar to poker, multiples of a given number, numerical series, and higher numbers were preferable.

Kara washed the last of the fish stew down with the beer, then tucked the cup back in her pack. She fished a few coins from a pouch and held them in one hand, before moving to stand at one end of the table of players, dragging her pack along with the other hand. The spot was empty, the Northmen having sat themselves in a 'U', with the fellow who seemed to be their leader seated at the other end.

Half the players ignored her presence completely. One great beast of a man with long brown hair and longer beard glanced up, wrinkled his nose, and looked back to the game. The fellow on the right hand of the apparent leader, possessed of unruly blonde hair and trimmed beard and mustache, took his time looking Kara over. His expression took on a hint of playful amusement as he met Kara's eyes. She felt herself smile, holding his eye for a long moment.

'Probably end up fucking that one, if I weren't busy with this flower-quest. Who knows...' she thought to herself.

The man at the head of the table was tall and rangy, with long white-blonde hair and pale blue eyes perpetually narrowed against the sun. He wore steel breastplate and backplate, but no other armor. After favoring Kara with a long cool stare, he inclined his head, but said nothing.

"Any of you lot speak the common tongue at all?" she spoke clearly and loudly enough to be sure they all heard.

"Wouldn't you prefer Elvish?" the fellow with the unruly blonde mop replied. He spoke Elvish with a heavy accent.

"If it suits you." Kara replied, hiding her surprise. In truth, she spoke a little of their language, but not enough to volunteer the fact unless there was no other option.

A man across the table with red hair and an unfamiliar blue rune tattooed above one eyebrow cut his eyes at Kara for a moment. He snorted and spoke something in their tongue, too quickly for Kara to pick up on.

The blonde carried on: "I am Edvir. I translate while we are here in the Southern lands. Thorvald," he nodded at the red haired fellow who had spoken, "asks if you have come to serve our pleasure while we play."

"No," Kara rolled her eyes, setting the coins from her hand on the table with a clink, "My name is Kara. I come to play."

With an incredulous shrug, Edvir shifted his attention to his companions and translated, hooking a thumb at Kara. There was a mixture of laughter and scowling in response. The noise tapered off when the tall fellow at the end rapped lightly on the table with a heavy bloodstone-encrusted bronze ring. He spoke, his tone mild.

"Halvar - he is our Captain," Edvir explained, "He says if the little one wishes to give us her coin, let us not be rude by refusing."

Before Kara could furnish a witty rejoinder, the lanky Captain righted his dice cup and scooped his dice into it. With a few quiet words, he held the cup out to Edvir, but his eyes remained on Kara. Some of the others looked mildly surprised.

"You are bold for a little elf-maid. It is to your credit. He says you can use his dice. He should give the rest of us a chance to win some anyway." Edvir elucidated, while the men passed the cup down to place it in front of Kara.

After giving Halvar a nod of acknowledgment, Kara dragged an unused stump over from a nearby barrel to sit on. Once seated, she slid a coin in to the center of the table as ante. Looking around the table at the other players, she was met mainly with variations on the theme of unimpressed. None discouraged, she addressed her designated translator.

"I've been watching," she assured him, giving the Captain's dice cup a rattle, "If they're not afraid to play with an elf, or lose to a woman, let us get on with it."

Over the course of the first few rounds Kara did pose Edvir the occasional question, seeking clarity on finer points of the rules. She did only middling well, despite her characteristic luck with dice holding true. This was not due to a lack of wiles, nor a lack of understanding of the game, either. She made a point of doing middling well, while unobtrusively getting a feel for the other players. This was, in some cases, easier said than done. A couple of the more impassive Northmen gave nothing away by their behavior or voice, and Kara could only try to deduce more about them by their actual plays in the game, which could be misleading.

Gradually, through subtle bluffs and calculated risk, Kara began to win more than she lost. It didn't hurt that the Northmen initially underestimated her. She was just starting to consider how far she could stretch the relative protection of the Captain's good graces - how much coin she could safely take off the Northmen - when she found herself experiencing an unexpected feeling.

Someone or something was feeling her, that is.

Kara flinched. Looking down, she found a pale hand groping it's way up her midsection. A similarly pale arm trailed back into the shadows under the table. When the hand found the handle of one of her knives and closed around it, Kara jolted into action.

First she clamped a hand around the wrist to stop her knife being pilfered. Next she lurched to her feet. There came a muted thud from the underside of the table, rattling Kara's borrowed dice cup, followed by a groan. The hand went slack, releasing her knife, but Kara's own grip remained tight.

Stepping back around her seat, she used both hands to drag a small figure out from beneath the table. When she stopped, a small, pale woman with a wild mop of dark umber hair knelt before her. She was naked, and a rope tether trailed back under the table from where it was tied at her ankle.

There were grumbles and grunts of surprise at Kara's sudden movements from the men around the table. The fellow immediately on her left stood, hand on the pommel of his sword, but relaxed again as he read the situation. Gesturing at the girl, he spoke casually, for the benefit of the others, in their own tongue.

The captain stood and drew on a rope which was knotted to an iron ring on his belt. When he had pulled up a foot of slack, the other end of the rope pulled at the girl's ankle.

Kara glanced around the table, regarded the captain - who let the rope fall loose again- then looked back to the kneeling captive. The woman was grown, but only slightly larger than Sylvie, the librarian back in Tollenville, had been. While Kara watched, the woman tipped her head back to glare up through her hair. There was a small silver ring fixed in her nasal septum and a smudge of blue woad on her left cheek. Her expression was a combination of hostility and surprise.

"Aethle wyt? A benyv?" she sounded skeptical.

Edvir cleared his throat. Kara released the woman's wrist and looked up.

"She is one of those we took in the North Sea. The others we take, tomorrow, further up river to sell. This one is... willful. We bring ashore and hope to get a few coins for her instead of drowning her in the river, but no-one here is buying." he explained.

Kara nodded.

"What did she say?"

"She asks if you are an elf. And a woman, as well. She is from the far West - one of the Dunmalin Tribes. Probably she has never seen an elf, or half-elf, before."

Kara nodded again. She looked back down at the slave, who had scooted back to huddle under the edge of the table. The image of green eyes and blue woad through a screen of dark hair rose in her mind. Far West. Something clicked into place.

"You speak her tongue?" she asked.

"Only some." Edvir admitted after a moment's hesitation.

"Hmm," Kara looked thoughtful, then raised her gaze to the Captain, who had retaken his seat. "Sell her to me."

Edvir translated.

The captain arched an eyebrow. Just as he seemed about to speak, the redhead, Thorvald, stood. As he spat a few sentences in Kara's direction, he made a show of pulling a hand ax from a belt ring and adjusting his grip on the handle.

Edvir, apparently finding this to be a fairly normal occurrence, calmly translated.

"Ah, Thorvald says we should tie you onto the line with her. He's a bit superstitious about Elves. Also he thinks it is unfair that you have been using the Captain's dice. I suppose he thinks you benefit from the Captain's luck. Of course, there is also the matter of your coins. Many of them were, a short time ago, his coins."

Kara hadn't taken her eyes off the tall, red-headed Northman. Before Edvir was finished his translating, she brought her hands up and across her body, deftly filling each with a knife. As she lowered them again, she reversed her grip so that she held them point-forward. Without averting her gaze she kicked her log seat away and backed up a pace. Blades held low, she sank into a knife-fighter's hunched posture.

"Tell him he can have them back... if he can take them."

Edvir looked from one to the other.

"I think you're speaking his language now." he said, not bothering to relay her message.

Thorvald, possibly angry that he hadn't made a more dramatic first move, kicked his own seat away and began moving around the seated men between himself and Kara. She backed up another step to make room. With his reach advantage, she saw no way to safely - relatively safely - get inside his guard, except by allowing him the first attack. If he didn't come charging in, she would bait him with feints until he swung.

He was just reaching the end of the table when Halvar spoke up, louder than before, but still as if only conversationally. Edvir started up with a running translation.

"To die in battle is the way to a warrior's Heaven. But if you should by some chance fall under an Elf's blade... are we sure that Woden would honor this death? And if you hack this little one into chum, how much honor is there in that? She carries only knives, after all. If you say her luck has been unnatural, then let a challenge of skill decide. And let the results be the will of the Gods."

Thorvald stopped, looked back. The muscles at the corners of his jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth. Kara remained wary, watching. Finally the Northman seemed to relax just a little.

"Yes. A challenge." he growled, again eyeing Kara balefully.

"A challenge, bold elfmaid," Edvir translated as Halvar spoke, "You may refuse it, but forfeit your winnings. If you accept and win, we will sell you the girl... for one silver piece. But if you lose, you must return Thorvald's coins. And dance for us tonight."

"Naked?" Kara asked.

There were smirks and chuckles from around the table. A few of the men gave her a newly interested looking over.

"So you know of our customs?" Halvar favored her with a faint smile.

"I accept." Kara replied without hesitation.

"Good. What is to be the feat of skill?"

At this Thorvald began to object.

"You have challenged. She has accepted. He who is challenged decides the feat. Or she."

Thorvald looked to Edvir when he had finished his translation.