The Damesdure Raiders

RANDOM ENCOUNTERS: DAMESDURE RAIDER

Giving Into Her Strength

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Copyright © 2020 C. D. Fable

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18.

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The merchant's horse-drawn carriage clattered loudly as it traveled down the poorly kept dirt road. Flanked on either side by a dense boreal forest, they were far from the main trade roads. The route was less a road and more a worn cluster of footprints and tracks, slowly being reclaimed by nature. It was the fastest route to Étretataux, a bustling town of northern commerce, but known to be far riskier than the main roads. It was only taken by the desperate, greedy, or exceedingly dumb; Characteristics which were not mutually exclusive to one another, especially in this case.

The cool autumn air was damp and carried with it the earthy scents of the surrounding woods. The elven merchant bemoaned the chill and slow pace of travel from within the comforts of the carriage. Their clothing was light purple, loose, and frilly; Peak high fashion for a male-identifying city elf. Perched atop a comfortable pillow, a glass of wine in one hand, and cheese in the other, he gave a contemptuous look at his newest servant who was sitting across from him.

"What was your name again?" he asked the nervous human servant.

The servant cleared his throat. "Bien Accroché, if it pleases my lord."

"Ben?"

"Uh, Bien."

"Bien," he repeated, exaggerating the vowels and taking a bite of cheese. "What is that, Northern Felis?" he asked while chewing.

"Y-yes. It's actually-"

"Do shut up. I'm not interested in your life story." He sniffed his glass of red wine before washing down his masticated cheese. A thin streak of red wine ran down his pointed chin as he gulped everything down. After letting out a satisfied sigh, he looked Bien up and down.

The human's face had a rugged handsomeness about it. His brown eyes matched the light stubble that covered the lower half of his face. His short tawny hair could use a combing but wasn't unappealing. Proportionally, he looked like a bulky rectangle that barely fit within the confines of the carriage. The elf decided Bien's jaw was too sturdy to ever be considered refined.

"Stop that." stated the elf.

"Pardon, my lord?"

"Stop it. The fidgeting. It's distracting. And sit up straight, your poor posture reflects badly on me."

Bien sat up straight. "Sorry, my lord. Just a little nervous about this path."

"You really can't go long without talking about yourself, can you?" The merchant took another bite of cheese. "Very rude," he said while chewing.

Bien took a deep breath and did his best to sit still. It'd been no more than a couple of days since he managed to convince the elven merchant that he'd make a good servant. 'Quite the step up from farmhand,' he reassured himself. He held tight to the wine jug he'd been tasked with and tried to take his mind off the trail. He took solace in how nice his new clothes were. Being deemed a worthy wine boy meant he'd often be around the merchant and needed to look presentable. He was given a white linen shirt and grey moleskin pants, colors denoting his station. Given that he'd been doing hard labor in the fields until this recent career move, everything was a little tight on his muscular frame. While only slightly uncomfortable, they were, by far, the nicest thing he'd ever worn.

"Overblown nonsense," said the merchant, licking the last traces of cheese from his fingertips. "Whatever the legends say about these savage hill clans is no match for the mercenaries we hired. Their leader assured me of just that." He downed the last of his wine before shaking the glass at Bien. It was quickly topped it back up.

Being of the north, Bien had grown up hearing stories of this overblown nonsense, and the stories were very clear regarding matters of Damesdure territory. The territory where felis expansion halted. The territory that the Grand Felis Chevalerie deemed unconquerable. The territory that this road cut clean through. Bien didn't share the merchant's confidence in the matter.

The merchant moved the blinds on his carriage to peek out the window. He sighed, letting them fall closed. "This ride is a rather dull affair, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh-"

"Speak clearly." He looked Bien up and down and rested his cheek in his hand. "So, where are you from exactly?"

Bien cleared his throat, unsure of how much he was being permitted to speak. "Well-"

His words were cut off by a loud crash and the whining of horses from outside.

"What in the many hells is happening out there?!" shouted the merchant, pushing himself into the corner of the carriage. The sounds of yelling and panic echoed through the forest.

"Probably the overblown nonsense." gulped Bien.

Something slammed into the carriage, flipping it over. Bien and the merchant slammed against the left wall, which had now become their new floor. Between the merchant's high pitch shrieks, Bien heard the horses galloping away as well as what he assumed to be the mercenaries wisely fleeing into the woods. Probably along with everyone else who wasn't stuck inside an upturned carriage.

The merchant tried to steady himself but only succeeded in stepping all over Bien. "Do something!" he yelled, spit and bits of cheese flying from his mouth.

The panicking merchant thwarted Bien's every attempt to stand. "I worked in the fields!" He yelled as the merchant scrambled atop him. "What do you want me to do? Throw seeds at 'em?!"

"Why you insolent little-"

The carriage door was torn clean off its hinges and flew into the woods.

The merchant shrieked once more and attempted to hide under Bien. "Quick, sacrifice yourself so that I may flee!"

A voice yelled something near the cart. The Damesdure language was close to felisean, the north's spoken language. Bien knew it roughly translated to "some in here." He moved as far from the removed door as possible, squishing his large frame into a corner of the carriage.

"Oh, you wretched little whelp!" yelled the merchant finally finding his feet. "I'll have you beaten! Whipped! Flog-"

A muscular arm reached in and pulled him out of the carriage in one swift motion.

Bien swallowed hard. He decided meeting his fate head-on was better than meeting it with whiplash. With prolonged and deliberate motion, he made his way out of the carriage holding his hands high above his head.

He rose from the upturned cart and carefully made his way off it. The overblown nonsense he'd grown up hearing turned out to be highly accurate. The Damesdure raiders were all easily over eight or nine feet tall, their leader looking close to eleven, and not a man among them. Their weapons were crude clubs and spears, though low quality doesn't mean much when the wielder can shoulder-check a moving carriage over. They were clad in warm animal pelts under a layer of boiled leather armor, sewn together from regular sized armor pillaged in raids past. Each had long hair tied tightly in a single, ornate braid that poked out the back of a tight-fitting leather skull cap.

Bien swallowed hard. Looking around, he noticed that he and the merchant were the only captives. The mercenaries and other servants had fled at the first sign of trouble.

"Unhand me your grotesque brute!" the merchant shouted in common, following up with some less than noble words in elvish. He flailed while spinning in circles, held by the nape of his clothing a few feet off the ground. The Damesdure raider holding him seemed entirely unbothered, her muscular arm almost unmoved by his struggling.

A few of the raiders pointed and chuckled at Bien. He looked at the ground, avoiding eye contact.

The massive raid leader stepped forward and bent down to examine the elven merchant. He let out a high pitched yelp as he spun face to face with her.

"I demand that you release me!" he said, voice shaking.

She grunted and stepped back. The merchant resumed screeching and flailing, peppering in more elvish swears for good measure.

The raid leader made her way to Bien. As she approached, the other raiders ceased their laughter. Bien, eyes still focused on the ground, watched as her shadow engulfed him. He craned his neck up to meet her gaze for a split second before looking back at the floor. He could feel her eyes burning a hole through him.

She moved back to the merchant.

"I have gold! And that servant! You can have him, but I warn you he never shuts up. On and on that one. Whatever you want! I-"

"Head start," said the leader in common with a thick northern accent.

"W-What?"

"I give you head start. One day. If she catch," she said, motioning to the woman holding him, "we ransom. You escape, no ransom. You goods and human, already us."

The woman holding him plopped him on his feet and squatted down to his eye level, a hideous smile on her face. "Run fast, little elf."

The merchant sprinted away, nearly falling over. He ran over to one of the carts, stuffed a wheel of cheese in his mouth and grabbed a bottle of wine in each hand. He let out a fearful yelp and fled into the woods, again, nearly falling over.

The raider stood back up. "Am I to actually chase him?" she asked in her native tongue.

"No, let him run. No ransom is worth the headache he'd give us on the way back. Looked southern too. I'd take forever to find someone to negotiate with. Far too much trouble." She looked over to Bien. "This one, though. Quiet, strong build, sturdy." She walked over to him, knelt, and grabbed his cheeks with her thumb and pointer finger, causing him to pucker. She forced him to look her in the eyes. "His clothing is oddly tight, but he's northern."

Bien got the gist of their conversation. He cleared his throat and, struggling against the raid leader's two-finger vice grip, nodded.

The other raiders resumed chuckling and started pilfering the supply wagons.

"Figured you understood us," she said, switching to felisean. "Then you should know better than to be here." She released him and stood, crossing her arms. Bien had to crane his neck all the back to maintain eye contact. "What is your life worth to your family?"

Fear gripped him as he shook his head. "No family. I'm an orphan."

The raid leader grunted. "Worthless then."

Bien tensed up and closed his eyes, awaiting his fate.

He suddenly felt warm. He opened one eye. The sun had pierced the treetops and shone on him. He was no longer in the shadow of the massive raider. She had gone to help her fellow raiders with the looting. He stood there, perplexed.

"What are you waiting for? Run," said a voice behind him. Another raider carrying several crates of cheese walked past him.

"Where?" he asked without thinking.

She laughed. "Home? I don't know. You came from a village, right?" Her face seemed kinder than the other raiders.

He chased after her. "I'd prefer not."

"Is your skull soft?" asked the raider, adding her crates to the plunder pile. She turned and looked down at Bien. "We show you mercy, and your response is 'No thank you?'"

"I can't go back."

She gave him a curious look.

"What's going on? Why is he still here?" asked the raid leader striding up to them.

"He doesn't want to leave," said the confused raider.

"What?" She turned and looked down at Bien. "You're useless to us. Go. Now."

Bien shook his head. "I can't go back. Please, I'll do anything. I'm a farmhand. I can-"

"Enough!" She raised her club into the air.

"Wait," said the raider. "I'll take him."

The leader lowered her weapon and turned to the raider.

The raider looked at a trembling Bien. "He says he's a farmhand, yes? I'll put him to work in the fields if that's what he wants. The cold season is almost here, and I could use the extra labor."

"Fine," said the leader. "He's your responsibility. His actions are on your head." She looked down at Bien. "Get carrying." She turned and went back to looting the other wagons.

Bien fell to his knees and let out a great sigh of relief.

"You must really hate your old village," said the raider as she sat next to him. She tugged at his tight clothing. "Understandable. Is this how they dress farmhands now?" She gave him a kind smile.

"Oh, uh. No. I thought being a wine boy for a lord might be a better job."

She let out a loud laugh. "Well, don't worry," she said, pushing herself back up, "we'll have you sowing seeds again in no time. And in something more comfortable. In the meantime, this is ours now, so grab whatever your small arms can carry and follow me."

Realizing he didn't know her name and unsure if he should ask, he made sure not to stray too far from her. He committed her image to memory in case they got separated. She had beautiful, large, amber-colored eyes, and freckles dotted her face and button nose. She was average height amongst her kin but was one of the few with bright red hair. Very curvaceous and incredibly strong, especially in her long legs. Her armor seemed too tight for her bust, but Bien's mind was too preoccupied to appreciate the implications. Still, the easiest feature to distinguish her by was her warm smile.

The raiders made quick work of the carts. While loading the caravan had taken the merchant's team an entire morning, the raiders were carrying the entirety of its contents back to their village after a few minutes.

As they traveled, Bien and his savior were last in line. He'd been tasked with carrying several sacks of grain. Enough where he couldn't see much in front of him and was constantly stumbling over branches. After several close calls, his luck ran out, and he fell forward, the grain sacks breaking his fall with a puff of particulate.

The raider laughed. "You're a clumsy one. Are those little sacks of grain too much for you?" she mocked. "Here." She grabbed the sack of grain and slung it over her shoulder with one arm.

"Thanks," he said, brushing himself off, his face red with embarrassment.

"Relax, no need to be upset."

"I'm not upset," he quickly corrected. "I just- I'm usually nervous around your kind."

The raider looked at him, confused, "Usually?" She gave a playful scoff, "Have we raided you before?"

Bien cleared his throat, "Women, I mean." He grew redder. "Much less eight-foot-tall ones," he mumbled.

"Pfft." The raider burst into laughter. "You're serious? You were almost crushed, and you're feeling bashful?" She watched him stew in embarrassment. "Gaine."

"Pardon?"

"My name's Gaine."

"Oh, uh-" He looked at her, unsure how to proceed. He awkwardly extended his hand. "Bien."

She smirked. "Sorry, hands are full. Someone couldn't carry their weight." She savored his unease for a moment before continuing, "But it's nice to know you all the same. And I'm nine feet tall, by the way."

As they walked, Bien's curiosity grew. After near an hour, it finally outweighed his trepidation.

"So," he started, looking back towards Gaine, "how come you're all women? The stories always have a different reason why."

She gave a devious smile. "Why do you think?"

"Is it because you're not actually humans?"

Bien felt the earth under him quake from Gaine dropping everything she was carrying. He snapped around. She was glaring at him.

"That's what you think, is it?"

Bien went white. He tried to plead his case in the form of unintelligible stammering.

Gaine burst out laughing. "Your face!" She leaned forward, one arm holding her gut and the other on her knee. "Ohhhh. That's a new one. I thought you would be one of those 'we eat our men' types. But we're not even human now, huh? I love southern rumors." She shook her head and scooped everything back up before motioning Bien to keep walking.

"So," asked Bien cautiously, "why is it then?"

"Sure you don't want to venture another guess?" she asked playfully. Bien shook his head. She continued, "Fae curse. Not all that exciting now, is it?"

"Wait, really?"

"Several hundred years ago, before the felis had run of the north, there were a bunch of warring tribes. Rulers and borders constantly changing, alliances and betrayals, all that stuff you hear about in the songs. Well, one day, the tribe we descended from started getting desperate. Some versions of the story say their women only gave birth to sickly or lame children. Others say the leader broke them, trying to train them too hard. Doesn't matter. Whatever the reason, their leader believed the tribe was producing inferior children."

"So what happened?" asked Bien as he climbed over a felled tree.

Gaine helped him over before easily clearing it in a single hop. "He did what desperate people do. Something stupid. There was a forest a few days from their village, said to be home to a powerful fae. He went there hoping to find a faerie or will-o-whip that might lend some kind of enchantment in an upcoming battle. Instead, he found a faerie queen."

"They have queens?"

She nodded. "They're as powerful as they are devious, and they're a hundred times more devious than your average fae. He asked that his tribe become the strongest warriors the north had ever known. The terms of the pact were simple. She'd grant his deepest wish if he fought his next battle with all his might. He agreed and, the next day, went rushing into battle thinking he couldn't lose with a faerie queen's blessing."

"Guessing he lost."

"Mmhmm. Completely one-sided too. Without leadership or any capable warriors, the village fell into ruin. It became so insignificant and resource-poor it wasn't even thought to be worth conquering. And that's when it started happening. Nine months after that battle, no man was ever born in the village again. Only women."

She continued, "And those women grew faster and taller than any before them. Their amazing growth required an amazing amount of food. So, the village became focused on farming, and thanks to these large women's labor abilities, they could expand their farms at an amazing rate. Years later, all this extra farmland caught the attention of a small warlord. A village ripe with food and no warriors to defend it. So he sent a small force to sack it and demand monthly tribute."

She gave a laughing scoff. "At least he tried. That day the Damesdure were born. Even untrained and without weapons, the women made quick work of them. They didn't wait for the warlord's army to show up and finish the job either. Our ancestors entered their nearby war camp under cover of night, stole their equipment, and sacked the whole thing before dawn. And that was just the beginning. Rumors spread that rampaging giants had wiped out one of the warlords, but soon the truth was known. We were the strongest warriors the north had ever seen. If we wanted something, we took it! After that, the other tribes fell in line, got conquered, or moved south."

There was a long pause.

"So," started Bien, "how come you tolerate the felis in the North?"

She sighed, looked ahead, and slowed her pace, allowing the other raiders to move a little further ahead. "We're spread thin. That's the sick joke of the fae queen's curse. Every generation sees larger offspring. Conceiving children has become... difficult. Even with the most enthusiastic of mates. At this point, we have to- well, it's unimportant. We won't stand the test of time. Our fire burns bright, but it leaves no embers. A joke on a thousand-year scale." Her words carried venom in them, "Something only a fae would find funny."

It was a few moments before she snapped out of her spiteful trance and motioned for them to catch up. Despite all that had happened, Bien found the awkward silence that followed to be more discomforting than his capture or extra snug clothes.