Also in the works... A companion novel series, beginning with The Dark Warrior
A young maiden on the verge of training as a member of the mythical Goddian Warrior Women, and an imprisoned man buying his life back by training them, form an unlikely bond in their fight to break free of the webs of their lives that appear to be growing more tightly bound with each passing day.
If you remember Cerissa from Dance With The Enemy, you might recall that Elenya was annoyed that she claimed to be a Goddian Warrior - a mythical band of women warriors. The Dark Warrior is NOT about Cerissa, but about another young maiden desperate to move into that illusive realm, and the man required to make certain she's prepared.
The Dark Warrior: Maiden's Revenge
Copyright 2015 Linda Boulanger
Aranni Kalin hated the circumstances of her life to the point that she'd rather die than return home. Her only hope was to honor her great grandmother's memory by being chosen into the illusive band of fighting women known as the Goddian Warriors. It took a blood link and hard work to make it into the top twenty, and the thumbs up approval from The Man to be allowed into the mystical society.
Reyen, known outside his inner circle only as The Man, was the gatekeeper and the trainer of a band of fighting women many believed to be a myth. They were very real, and very deadly, as Reyen had learned when he was offered the chance between prison for life and fifteen years serving them. He'd relished the thought, his hatred for women burning hot inside. After Shiran, he'd vowed he'd never fall under another woman's spell, focusing his life on one goal: Exacting his revenge.
Only Reyen saw something in the young maiden who came up against him the first night of the Festival in his 10th year. Their sparring match gained his respect and allowed her to move into the realm of the elite group. But there was more-- a connection that began to develop between them in the days that followed. Other forces were at play as well. There were those who would gladly see her fail...and him, especially once they realized he had a heart for the dark beauty. Thankfully, others wanted only the best for them, and were willing to work tirelessly to see that they succeeded. The true battle was to see which group would overcome and win in the game that mattered most-- Life.
Enjoy an unedited/evolving excerpt of The Dark Warrior: Maiden's Revenge...
Reyen, known outside his inner circle only as The Man, was the gatekeeper and the trainer of a band of fighting women many believed to be a myth. They were very real, and very deadly, as Reyen had learned when he was offered the chance between prison for life and fifteen years serving them. He'd relished the thought, his hatred for women burning hot inside. After Shiran, he'd vowed he'd never fall under another woman's spell, focusing his life on one goal: Exacting his revenge.
Only Reyen saw something in the young maiden who came up against him the first night of the Festival in his 10th year. Their sparring match gained his respect and allowed her to move into the realm of the elite group. But there was more-- a connection that began to develop between them in the days that followed. Other forces were at play as well. There were those who would gladly see her fail...and him, especially once they realized he had a heart for the dark beauty. Thankfully, others wanted only the best for them, and were willing to work tirelessly to see that they succeeded. The true battle was to see which group would overcome and win in the game that mattered most-- Life.
Enjoy an unedited/evolving excerpt of The Dark Warrior: Maiden's Revenge...
Reyen finished lacing his grieves then turned to where the apprentice held his open-sided cuirass. He slipped his arms in and allowed the younger man to buckle the fasteners. Pulling in a few deep breaths, Reyen smiled and wondered why he always felt a renewed sense of security when his armor was in place. Considering it meant he'd be fighting, one might have thought suiting up would make him nervous. It never did. Maybe that had to do with his opponents, though he liked to think it was because he was confident in his abilities.
He stared at the inner wall of his armory room as he grabbed his belt, his thoughts taking him across the arena where, in a similar room, a young lady was being fitted into battle gear, preparing to fight him before the assembly. The whole thing was a bit of a ruse, a show that would end with him either declaring the maiden ready to begin her training as one of the mystical warrior clan made up entirely of women or him giving her the legendary head shake, dreaded by all, that would send her home.
During the course of the coming week, he’d choose five or so of the twenty some maidens he would meet in the ring. Sometimes more would find favor, occasionally fewer. Over the years, a handful, maybe two, had lost their lives-- young women bent on besting him instead of impressing him and the assembly with her underdeveloped skill. Reyen scoffed. It was just as well they'd been lost because the training each would have endure at his hands in the weeks following would surely have seen them dead anyway. He forgot nothing, remembered their strengths and weaknesses once they'd come against him that first time. And if they were chosen, he exploited his knowledge-- his mission: to break each of them, reducing them to a shell ready to be refilled with hard, fearless power. His adrenaline surged like it always did when he thought about the warriors he would mold from the shells of these women, only to be tamped down by the certainty he felt that, had they known, most men would have thought him weak because he fought women. Then again, he took on roughly 20 of them during a seven day period, going up against progressively better fighters as the week wore on. More importantly, the three months following this week would be grueling, not only for him, but for the women who were chosen. Truthfully, once he finished with them, each would be a force he would not care to ever come up against. Another truth-- Reyen loved his work, had no problem fighting and training women. In fact, he saw them as equals, and sometimes better than a lot of male warriors. At least they were when trained properly. There were places they could go that sending a man would detect notice, they often had the element of surprise on their side, and these women, the warriors of Goddai, they were strong. Almost freakishly so.
Reyen suppressed a shiver. It would be a long week, a hard one, and he relished the thought of every single moment of it. Tonight, he would take on five women-- the chances of any of them remaining to continue her training slim, though not completely unheard of. It had happened a couple of times in the decade he'd been a prisoner of Krinahn.
Prisoner. They'd given him an alternative-- told him he could fight and train the future Goddian warriors for the next 15 years or be sent to the work camp at the edge of Warick for life. At 19, his hatred of women burning within, he'd welcomed the chance to take out his aggression under the guise of serving his sentence.
Only before he was able to serve, he'd been trained. They'd hurled him into a brutal conditioning that had nearly broken him, and it had been dished out by women. How he'd hated them, coming at him 3 and 4 at a time. Strong females, beautiful women who fought dirty with the single mission of reducing him to that point, the one he now proudly took their future warriors to before he did what his trainers had done for him. They'd redefined him, refilled him with a proud hardness, a knowing that he had the ability to go up against the toughest of opponents and emerge the victor every time.
Tonight, he thought, tonight would begin his 10th season in the ring. He'd make quick work of these first five, then pretend to revel in the merriment of the opening night rituals. Of course he'd take no part in the filling foods or free flowing drinks. He'd be forced to turn a blind eye to the many seductive offers that were presented to him as well. Not that he cared. Women were plentiful for one of the few men within Goddai. Just not tonight, not this week.
Before midnight each evening he would bid the assembly good night and retire, settling in so that his body could rest and repair, rejuvenating him for the next round. He never slept better than he did during these gatherings that happened at regular intervals three times a year. Festivals, they called them, naming each one. To him, they merely marked the passing of another year. Time heaped upon itself that brought him closer to freedom. And revenge. With a smile, he fastened on his last piece of armor— a studded leather arm bracer. He nodded at his apprentice which sent the man scurrying to alert the assembly that he was ready.
*****
Aranni finished lacing up her soft soled boots. She pulled them tight against her shapely legs. Back home she would have left enough room to slip a knife inside. Here, weaponry was strictly forbidden and the armor was a joke. She wondered if her skills or her skin were on display. She decided to forgo the leg guards, believing her boots protection enough, though the leather and metal corset and shoulder guards would serve her well as would the bracers she'd slapped on her forearms. Drawing the #5 position for the evening, she planned to make sure everything was to her advantage. She had to after not showing well in the preliminary rounds. With a forceful tug, she pulled the leather lacers of the corset tighter than she should. She needed The Man's approval because there was no other place for her to go, except back home. And she would die before ever going back there.
*****
Four down, one to go, and she should be the easiest of the night. The first maidens had been disappointing, barely helping to keep his anger brewing. He used these meetings in the ring to assure he never forgot, never grew soft while he waited. Ten more years, he thought as he watched the door swing open on the far side of the arena. Halfway there. Halfway to a time when he would subdue and silence.
The young woman took her time walking into the arena. Reyen arched a brow, knowing by the way she stepped that she was testing her footing. Wise, he thought. The depth of the sand often wreaked havoc on his opponents since most were used to skirmishing on a lighter sanded ring, much like the one they'd used during the preliminaries. Point one for her.
He sized her up as she began to make her way around the outside perimeter of the ring instead of racing direct toward him. He liked how her eyes continuously moved between him and the weapons scattered about, and occasionally to their surroundings as a whole. Someone had underestimated this one. He would not make that mistake.
Ten, twelve feet from him, she stopped and he was struck with how small she was. Most Goddians were tall, 5'9" being on the shorter end. This woman could be no more than 5'3". 5'4" tops. But that wasn't what had him sucking in a hard breath, it was the rawness of her exotic beauty, edged with an anger that permeated from the roots of her black hair, clear down to the soles of her dyed leather black boots. Yes, trained properly, this one could be a force to be reckoned with beyond any they'd seen, at least in his time within Krinahn.
Reyen smiled and shook his arms at his sides. He was about to get his first real battle of the festivities. Bring it on, he thought. He wanted this one.
The moment The Man smiled, Aranni squinted, her own mouth set in a thin, straight line. She glanced up, catching the eye of the woman who had made it possible for her to be here. Surai nodded, the movement so slight even those closest to her would not have detected it. Aranni had. She tapped her heart under the pretense of wiping something away from the exposed portion of her chest. The Man's brows raised and he turned, just slightly, to stare up where she had. Aranni watched him, looking for an advantage, though she would have done better to have looked to where she could have seen Surai's expression. It would have helped her make more sense of his tight frown and angry glower when he looked back at her.
The sounds of rustling in the seats above had Aranni wondering if they'd been standing there longer than what it felt to her. Make him move first— The words of her trainer pounded in her ears, though The Man seemed in no hurry, showed no sign of doing anything more than just breathing. She was going to have to force him to come towards her.
A glance at the weapon closest to her had him doing a quick survey of the items scattered nearby as well. Aranni smirked and had to force herself not to roll her sky blue eyes. He probably knew exactly what was out there, and where each was positioned, so he was trying to throw her off. An old trick, she wasn't about to fall for it. She'd already surmised that the majority of them would do her little good. Perhaps the quarterstaff or the shestopyor with their lengths, but the other items... mauls and flails had never been much use to her, due to her size. And the blunted wooden katar... she might be able to find a use for it, but it would come at the spur of the moment. She'd remember where it was. For now, she only needed him to think she was going for one, forcing him into motion.
With one last look at the spectators around the arena, Aranni put them out of her mind. From that point on, until this match was over, no one existed except her and The Man. Taking her head out of the game, even briefly, once they'd engaged could easily cost her everything. And she had too much on the line to lose.
What's she up to, Reyen thought. These women who came to him with minimal training, especially those he went up against early on in the festivities, were not known for their patience. And never, not once had he had one wait for him to make the first move. She was baiting him, wanting him to think she was going to go for one of the weapons, forcing him to go first. He shook his head, his lips curling up to expose straight, strong teeth. The woman laughed. She actually laughed! Her head fell back and a long, sweet sound filled the arena, almost making him forget they were on opposing sides of this game of life.
Reyen glanced up at the woman who had received this maiden's disguised tribute. Little showed besides her eyes-- sapphires aglow on an aged, sun-bronzed pallet. Surai, you old witch. What was she doing here?
When Surai's vision slid from him to the maiden, he tensed, especially when the older woman tapped her right temple with a bony finger. Should he claim unfair advantage, calling to have this girl disqualified and sent home? He looked back. The dark maiden seemed to be paying no heed to her sponsor in the stands, her attention completely riveted on him. Scuffing her feet, she took two steps sideways, toward the center of the arena and the closest weapon. Had it been anything but the quarterstaff he would have had no concern, but with Surai having directed her teaching, he knew with her size, the long, stick-like weapon would have most likely been a favorite. And Surai would have made sure she knew how to use it to her advantage against those bigger than her. Including him. Reyen began to move toward the stick and she ran toward him. Veering off at the last moment, she sped toward the wall of the arena, latching hold of one if the vines that grew along this lower section of the ring. Reyen expected her to use it to pull herself up so she could swing around and kick at him. Instead, she climbed, springing an unreasonable distances upward to catch the next one. Did she intend to try to escape?
When he realized her plan, it was too late. With the stealth of a large cat, she pulls her limbs in and hurled herself off the wall toward him, knocking him to the ground with a blow from her feet to his chest. Reyen sucked in, barely able to get enough air into his lungs before he found himself rolling away to avoid a blow from the spikeless flail. His instincts kicked in and he was on his feet in time to see her winding up with the flail held tightly in both hands. He'd have to judge a squat with her release to avoid being hit. He'd then use his lowered position to spring up and grab her.
Only she released it in the opposite direction, using its force to propel herself into him, and for the second time, Reyen found himself sprawled on his back as she rolled off and regained her footing. The unified gasp that sounded throughout the seating area above them fueled Reyen's anger as he rolled to his feet to face her.
"The sand is no fun alone," he wheedled as they began to circle one another. "Come. Roll around in it with me, femme nuit." He feigned a step toward her and she jumped back, though the circling continued. He knew what she was doing, moving them closer to the quarterstaff. He chuckled. If she managed to get there, he would remove it from her and use it against her. He intended to keep this one. She'd already gained his respect. Only he intended to teach her a lesson before they left the arena. One she would never forget. This dark beauty would, from this night on, wear his mark in the form of his seal branded into the flesh on the inside of her left thigh.
Several steps from the partially buried quarterstaff, Aranni turned her back on him, knowing he would try to grab her from behind. As he closed in, she dropped to the ground and kicked out as she rolled to sweep his feet out from under him. He fell back, only instead of giving her the time she'd expected, he countered, swinging his body around to come at her iguana-style across the sand. Her ankle in his hand, he yanked and she fell on her stomach-- the worse possible position she could be in. She could feel his hands inching up her body as he pulled himself higher, the shallow studs in his bracers scraping her legs. She was thankful those minute thorns had not adorned his grieves, making it easier for her to take him down before. There was nothing easy about the fight now, she thought, feeling his hot breath on the backs of her legs near her thighs. Soon, he would grab her waist and pull himself up to cover her. What would he do then? He'd make her pay for making him work hard for his victory this first night. Would he beat her senseless, then send her home? Could he after she'd proved herself able? If only she could get her knees beneath her... Her legs had always been her strength.
Reyen pulled himself to his knees and slid a hand around her waist. She'd been so still, he'd begun to wonder if she'd hit her head during the fall. He was taking no chances... Only as he hauled her up against him, she pulled her knees beneath her and pushed upward with a force that hurled them both backward. Reyen kept his hold on her, knowing he'd made a mistake when her heel managed to land squarely in his crotch. Even with the protection of his hardened leather loin girder, he still felt enough pressure to cause him to release her. Kicking away, she was up and scrambling for the quarterstaff again before he regained his footing. As he closed in, she bent down, swinging the wooden rod at his ankles. Reyen jumped and she jabbed, keeping it low enough that he would have to bend down to get his hands on the stick. He heard her growl as she swung again and he chuckled though he didn't jump. Instead, he dropped to the ground, wrapping his legs around the staff and rolling, causing her to flip. Spinning around, Reyen reached for the long weapon as he sprung to his feet. The dark witch rolled back as he raised it and he laughed when she smiled as their eyes met right before she rolled again and pushed herself up. Reyen knew that look he saw within the depth of her deep blue eyes. This woman had no intent to give up any time soon. She would continue to fight and counter him until only one of them stood -- and most probably it would be from sheer exhaustion that she fell. He was impressed, well beyond what he'd anticipated when she'd first entered the ring.
"You wish to serve as a daughter of Goddia?" he asked in a low voice that only she could hear.
"I would rather die than have that chance taken from me," she answered, the sharp set of her angled chin accentuating her claim.
"Then you shall have your wish." Reyen brought the end of the staff down hard, burying its tip into the earth beneath the sand. Keeping his eyes on her, he raised both hands in the air, indicating the match was over. A low murmur ran around the ring as everyone waited. After several precious seconds, he nodded and a deafening cheer drowned out the maiden's thank you. But there was no denying the look of gratitude on her face before she dropped to the ground and wept.
He stared at the inner wall of his armory room as he grabbed his belt, his thoughts taking him across the arena where, in a similar room, a young lady was being fitted into battle gear, preparing to fight him before the assembly. The whole thing was a bit of a ruse, a show that would end with him either declaring the maiden ready to begin her training as one of the mystical warrior clan made up entirely of women or him giving her the legendary head shake, dreaded by all, that would send her home.
During the course of the coming week, he’d choose five or so of the twenty some maidens he would meet in the ring. Sometimes more would find favor, occasionally fewer. Over the years, a handful, maybe two, had lost their lives-- young women bent on besting him instead of impressing him and the assembly with her underdeveloped skill. Reyen scoffed. It was just as well they'd been lost because the training each would have endure at his hands in the weeks following would surely have seen them dead anyway. He forgot nothing, remembered their strengths and weaknesses once they'd come against him that first time. And if they were chosen, he exploited his knowledge-- his mission: to break each of them, reducing them to a shell ready to be refilled with hard, fearless power. His adrenaline surged like it always did when he thought about the warriors he would mold from the shells of these women, only to be tamped down by the certainty he felt that, had they known, most men would have thought him weak because he fought women. Then again, he took on roughly 20 of them during a seven day period, going up against progressively better fighters as the week wore on. More importantly, the three months following this week would be grueling, not only for him, but for the women who were chosen. Truthfully, once he finished with them, each would be a force he would not care to ever come up against. Another truth-- Reyen loved his work, had no problem fighting and training women. In fact, he saw them as equals, and sometimes better than a lot of male warriors. At least they were when trained properly. There were places they could go that sending a man would detect notice, they often had the element of surprise on their side, and these women, the warriors of Goddai, they were strong. Almost freakishly so.
Reyen suppressed a shiver. It would be a long week, a hard one, and he relished the thought of every single moment of it. Tonight, he would take on five women-- the chances of any of them remaining to continue her training slim, though not completely unheard of. It had happened a couple of times in the decade he'd been a prisoner of Krinahn.
Prisoner. They'd given him an alternative-- told him he could fight and train the future Goddian warriors for the next 15 years or be sent to the work camp at the edge of Warick for life. At 19, his hatred of women burning within, he'd welcomed the chance to take out his aggression under the guise of serving his sentence.
Only before he was able to serve, he'd been trained. They'd hurled him into a brutal conditioning that had nearly broken him, and it had been dished out by women. How he'd hated them, coming at him 3 and 4 at a time. Strong females, beautiful women who fought dirty with the single mission of reducing him to that point, the one he now proudly took their future warriors to before he did what his trainers had done for him. They'd redefined him, refilled him with a proud hardness, a knowing that he had the ability to go up against the toughest of opponents and emerge the victor every time.
Tonight, he thought, tonight would begin his 10th season in the ring. He'd make quick work of these first five, then pretend to revel in the merriment of the opening night rituals. Of course he'd take no part in the filling foods or free flowing drinks. He'd be forced to turn a blind eye to the many seductive offers that were presented to him as well. Not that he cared. Women were plentiful for one of the few men within Goddai. Just not tonight, not this week.
Before midnight each evening he would bid the assembly good night and retire, settling in so that his body could rest and repair, rejuvenating him for the next round. He never slept better than he did during these gatherings that happened at regular intervals three times a year. Festivals, they called them, naming each one. To him, they merely marked the passing of another year. Time heaped upon itself that brought him closer to freedom. And revenge. With a smile, he fastened on his last piece of armor— a studded leather arm bracer. He nodded at his apprentice which sent the man scurrying to alert the assembly that he was ready.
*****
Aranni finished lacing up her soft soled boots. She pulled them tight against her shapely legs. Back home she would have left enough room to slip a knife inside. Here, weaponry was strictly forbidden and the armor was a joke. She wondered if her skills or her skin were on display. She decided to forgo the leg guards, believing her boots protection enough, though the leather and metal corset and shoulder guards would serve her well as would the bracers she'd slapped on her forearms. Drawing the #5 position for the evening, she planned to make sure everything was to her advantage. She had to after not showing well in the preliminary rounds. With a forceful tug, she pulled the leather lacers of the corset tighter than she should. She needed The Man's approval because there was no other place for her to go, except back home. And she would die before ever going back there.
*****
Four down, one to go, and she should be the easiest of the night. The first maidens had been disappointing, barely helping to keep his anger brewing. He used these meetings in the ring to assure he never forgot, never grew soft while he waited. Ten more years, he thought as he watched the door swing open on the far side of the arena. Halfway there. Halfway to a time when he would subdue and silence.
The young woman took her time walking into the arena. Reyen arched a brow, knowing by the way she stepped that she was testing her footing. Wise, he thought. The depth of the sand often wreaked havoc on his opponents since most were used to skirmishing on a lighter sanded ring, much like the one they'd used during the preliminaries. Point one for her.
He sized her up as she began to make her way around the outside perimeter of the ring instead of racing direct toward him. He liked how her eyes continuously moved between him and the weapons scattered about, and occasionally to their surroundings as a whole. Someone had underestimated this one. He would not make that mistake.
Ten, twelve feet from him, she stopped and he was struck with how small she was. Most Goddians were tall, 5'9" being on the shorter end. This woman could be no more than 5'3". 5'4" tops. But that wasn't what had him sucking in a hard breath, it was the rawness of her exotic beauty, edged with an anger that permeated from the roots of her black hair, clear down to the soles of her dyed leather black boots. Yes, trained properly, this one could be a force to be reckoned with beyond any they'd seen, at least in his time within Krinahn.
Reyen smiled and shook his arms at his sides. He was about to get his first real battle of the festivities. Bring it on, he thought. He wanted this one.
The moment The Man smiled, Aranni squinted, her own mouth set in a thin, straight line. She glanced up, catching the eye of the woman who had made it possible for her to be here. Surai nodded, the movement so slight even those closest to her would not have detected it. Aranni had. She tapped her heart under the pretense of wiping something away from the exposed portion of her chest. The Man's brows raised and he turned, just slightly, to stare up where she had. Aranni watched him, looking for an advantage, though she would have done better to have looked to where she could have seen Surai's expression. It would have helped her make more sense of his tight frown and angry glower when he looked back at her.
The sounds of rustling in the seats above had Aranni wondering if they'd been standing there longer than what it felt to her. Make him move first— The words of her trainer pounded in her ears, though The Man seemed in no hurry, showed no sign of doing anything more than just breathing. She was going to have to force him to come towards her.
A glance at the weapon closest to her had him doing a quick survey of the items scattered nearby as well. Aranni smirked and had to force herself not to roll her sky blue eyes. He probably knew exactly what was out there, and where each was positioned, so he was trying to throw her off. An old trick, she wasn't about to fall for it. She'd already surmised that the majority of them would do her little good. Perhaps the quarterstaff or the shestopyor with their lengths, but the other items... mauls and flails had never been much use to her, due to her size. And the blunted wooden katar... she might be able to find a use for it, but it would come at the spur of the moment. She'd remember where it was. For now, she only needed him to think she was going for one, forcing him into motion.
With one last look at the spectators around the arena, Aranni put them out of her mind. From that point on, until this match was over, no one existed except her and The Man. Taking her head out of the game, even briefly, once they'd engaged could easily cost her everything. And she had too much on the line to lose.
What's she up to, Reyen thought. These women who came to him with minimal training, especially those he went up against early on in the festivities, were not known for their patience. And never, not once had he had one wait for him to make the first move. She was baiting him, wanting him to think she was going to go for one of the weapons, forcing him to go first. He shook his head, his lips curling up to expose straight, strong teeth. The woman laughed. She actually laughed! Her head fell back and a long, sweet sound filled the arena, almost making him forget they were on opposing sides of this game of life.
Reyen glanced up at the woman who had received this maiden's disguised tribute. Little showed besides her eyes-- sapphires aglow on an aged, sun-bronzed pallet. Surai, you old witch. What was she doing here?
When Surai's vision slid from him to the maiden, he tensed, especially when the older woman tapped her right temple with a bony finger. Should he claim unfair advantage, calling to have this girl disqualified and sent home? He looked back. The dark maiden seemed to be paying no heed to her sponsor in the stands, her attention completely riveted on him. Scuffing her feet, she took two steps sideways, toward the center of the arena and the closest weapon. Had it been anything but the quarterstaff he would have had no concern, but with Surai having directed her teaching, he knew with her size, the long, stick-like weapon would have most likely been a favorite. And Surai would have made sure she knew how to use it to her advantage against those bigger than her. Including him. Reyen began to move toward the stick and she ran toward him. Veering off at the last moment, she sped toward the wall of the arena, latching hold of one if the vines that grew along this lower section of the ring. Reyen expected her to use it to pull herself up so she could swing around and kick at him. Instead, she climbed, springing an unreasonable distances upward to catch the next one. Did she intend to try to escape?
When he realized her plan, it was too late. With the stealth of a large cat, she pulls her limbs in and hurled herself off the wall toward him, knocking him to the ground with a blow from her feet to his chest. Reyen sucked in, barely able to get enough air into his lungs before he found himself rolling away to avoid a blow from the spikeless flail. His instincts kicked in and he was on his feet in time to see her winding up with the flail held tightly in both hands. He'd have to judge a squat with her release to avoid being hit. He'd then use his lowered position to spring up and grab her.
Only she released it in the opposite direction, using its force to propel herself into him, and for the second time, Reyen found himself sprawled on his back as she rolled off and regained her footing. The unified gasp that sounded throughout the seating area above them fueled Reyen's anger as he rolled to his feet to face her.
"The sand is no fun alone," he wheedled as they began to circle one another. "Come. Roll around in it with me, femme nuit." He feigned a step toward her and she jumped back, though the circling continued. He knew what she was doing, moving them closer to the quarterstaff. He chuckled. If she managed to get there, he would remove it from her and use it against her. He intended to keep this one. She'd already gained his respect. Only he intended to teach her a lesson before they left the arena. One she would never forget. This dark beauty would, from this night on, wear his mark in the form of his seal branded into the flesh on the inside of her left thigh.
Several steps from the partially buried quarterstaff, Aranni turned her back on him, knowing he would try to grab her from behind. As he closed in, she dropped to the ground and kicked out as she rolled to sweep his feet out from under him. He fell back, only instead of giving her the time she'd expected, he countered, swinging his body around to come at her iguana-style across the sand. Her ankle in his hand, he yanked and she fell on her stomach-- the worse possible position she could be in. She could feel his hands inching up her body as he pulled himself higher, the shallow studs in his bracers scraping her legs. She was thankful those minute thorns had not adorned his grieves, making it easier for her to take him down before. There was nothing easy about the fight now, she thought, feeling his hot breath on the backs of her legs near her thighs. Soon, he would grab her waist and pull himself up to cover her. What would he do then? He'd make her pay for making him work hard for his victory this first night. Would he beat her senseless, then send her home? Could he after she'd proved herself able? If only she could get her knees beneath her... Her legs had always been her strength.
Reyen pulled himself to his knees and slid a hand around her waist. She'd been so still, he'd begun to wonder if she'd hit her head during the fall. He was taking no chances... Only as he hauled her up against him, she pulled her knees beneath her and pushed upward with a force that hurled them both backward. Reyen kept his hold on her, knowing he'd made a mistake when her heel managed to land squarely in his crotch. Even with the protection of his hardened leather loin girder, he still felt enough pressure to cause him to release her. Kicking away, she was up and scrambling for the quarterstaff again before he regained his footing. As he closed in, she bent down, swinging the wooden rod at his ankles. Reyen jumped and she jabbed, keeping it low enough that he would have to bend down to get his hands on the stick. He heard her growl as she swung again and he chuckled though he didn't jump. Instead, he dropped to the ground, wrapping his legs around the staff and rolling, causing her to flip. Spinning around, Reyen reached for the long weapon as he sprung to his feet. The dark witch rolled back as he raised it and he laughed when she smiled as their eyes met right before she rolled again and pushed herself up. Reyen knew that look he saw within the depth of her deep blue eyes. This woman had no intent to give up any time soon. She would continue to fight and counter him until only one of them stood -- and most probably it would be from sheer exhaustion that she fell. He was impressed, well beyond what he'd anticipated when she'd first entered the ring.
"You wish to serve as a daughter of Goddia?" he asked in a low voice that only she could hear.
"I would rather die than have that chance taken from me," she answered, the sharp set of her angled chin accentuating her claim.
"Then you shall have your wish." Reyen brought the end of the staff down hard, burying its tip into the earth beneath the sand. Keeping his eyes on her, he raised both hands in the air, indicating the match was over. A low murmur ran around the ring as everyone waited. After several precious seconds, he nodded and a deafening cheer drowned out the maiden's thank you. But there was no denying the look of gratitude on her face before she dropped to the ground and wept.
Potential Women of Goddai Stories
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