The Night before the Arena

An extract from "Realms of Kyre" Book 1 - Foundling

Well, I was thinking, Kyre's been set upon by the hounds, he's been battered and trained, slashed and humiliated every day since the troopers dragged him out the swamp.

Now. It's time.

Tomorrow, Kyre, you die in the arena, in the forlorn hope that you might save Lord Rogor of The Rangelands realm.

I was wondering what I might do to make his last night a little more tolerable...

What might make his last night a little more tolerable...?

Who'd have thought of that?

So that's it?

All training done. Rest tonight. Face the challengers in the arena tomorrow at noon...

Deeply depressed as he re-entered his room, he could see a late lonely evening looming, scraping dried blood from a few fresh wounds, trying to write smaller letters, rehearsing phrases, drawing a map of the Great House… the roadway to the arena…

In mounting frustration at the whole world, he began with a few loose swings and thrusts, using a ceremonial sword from a wall display. Then manically began to batter a timber support post.

Within a dozen minins, the sword was ruined; the ceiling support post was heavily splintered; and he wasn’t feeling any better. ‘Diabhal! This doesn’t help, not one scoiting garas.’ He still pined over Guardsman Curvet’s dreamy description of Mirry-Bellina, his athletic bedmate. ‘Some women sound to be utterly wonderful.’

Finishing on the midnight bell’s double chime, hot and exhausted, he stripped for a wash at the basin. Drying down, he touched here and there to check several new bruise-softened patches, and a chest area that ached deep inside. ‘And there’s this dangly bit between my legs, which really could…’

Staring around his cold, dark quarters, feeling empty and alone, he tossed the towelling rag aside. ‘One day left – too late now – I hope not die too slow. Then all black and nothing. Something to look forward to.’

Behind him, the door creaked.

Turning, his feeling of shock even surprised himself – to suddenly see what he had been most thinking of, most desiring. A young woman was closing the door behind her. Heart in his mouth, he was conscious of his nakedness, but his breath had locked. What do I say? My mind is empty.

They eyed each other for moments, then both said something at the same time. An awkward little laugh, ‘I’m a friend,’ she said.

‘Whose friend? Sent by?’

‘I am of the Rua Sisterhood, but they didn’t send me. Does it matter?’

He thought for a moment, ‘Maybe not. D’you have a name?’

She came forward from the shadows. ‘I hope we can help each other,’ undoing her waist band.

What the frugg is it about not telling me their names? He demanded of himself. Like black-hair Rua girl? Wifey? Wisty? Perhaps they think I won’t tell them my own name? Jeemo – I’m trembling: she’s ecks-quizzy-something. So slender; skin as smooth as the tella-glass in the window.

As she stepped nearer to the light he saw the faint scar, from her hairline to her jaw, just in front of her right ear. Her eyes took on the shine of welling tears as she saw where his gaze was centred. She took in a breath to say something.

‘Hey. Hey,’ he beat her to it. ‘I’ve got better ones than that, young lady. Fresher, too.’ He reached and took her hand.

‘Love me,’ she whispered, maybe more nervous than he was? Perhaps as unaccustomed to this as he.

Great, Kyre thought, frugg to order, both of us. Unutterably appealing; long tresses the same beautiful brown as the naple-wood panelling. ‘You want to tell me?’

‘No,’ and she lifted her lace-edged cream shirt, exposing the most gorgeous pair of breasts Kyre could ever recall seeing. Then remembered Rua Li.

Breath suspended, he realised that other parts weren’t suspended. As she slid out of her long, pleated skirt, he glanced down, seeing how much he’d risen to the occasion. He knew his face had gone red, but she smiled fleetingly and reached down. Delicate fingers took his breath away in an involuntary gasp.

He reached up to bare breasts and touched, so adoringly, as though encountering a great treasure. She sighed and let out her breath as he had done. They touched and explored like children in a wonderland. Even being a head taller than she was, their eyes met for long moments before gasping away in a new ecstasy. He stroked and held, pressed and thumbed in a rapture of shuddering and eye-shutting delight. Then gazing and adoring, squeezing and fondling. Her hands guided his, to delve and touch and excite, as she did with him, caressing and massaging with gentleness, more firmly and demanding.

‘Here,’ she murmured, ‘love me… standing here.’ Guiding him more, closer, rising on her toes and admitting him. Leading and urging as he allowed it to happen with a mind-burning thrill. He entered her, tentatively, and she clutched at him and pressed herself down on the rigidity inside her.

Such warm, smooth skin to stroke in an ecstasy of sensations! She is a Goddess. And Rua. It twangs my mind. Clutching back, slowly easing upwards, squeezing and heaving, thrusting, and lifting her off her feet, her knees enveloping him. He stood, pinnacle-like, as she writhed and strained against him, stroking and heaving; both gasping in open-mouthed euphoria. The room retreated and vanished. She was everything there was, and they melded together in blind passion until he exhausted himself into her, crushing her to him, throbbing for an age until she, too, sagged and sank.

Eventually, he carried her to the bed, still caressing those divine curves, such warmth, still breathing in deep gasping sighs. They lay so close, so quiet now, neither wanting to ask or tell. To sleep in a joy of satisfaction was sufficient for both.

‘Stars and clouds! Can life get any more glorious? I have one more day to find out, I reck…’

**

A rambling, dream-filled night of quiet sighs and aching thighs. At one time there’d been the wetness of her mouth between his legs, urging and craving. He could feel his own response just as urgent, just as willing. Again, his fingers and hands drifted over her yielding warmth. As he burst out again he had no idea if he was inside her or where.

As the morning lightness came, he was reaching to her breasts, touching in a rapture of admiration and wonder at their beauty and soft form. In moments she was urging him on top of her outstretched body. Each as desperate as the other, they drove and engulfed each other, bodies churning and heaving, ramming and straining for an eternity until they sank again, sated and gasping.

Baffled, he wondered, ‘What is it about breasts that I love so much? Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad I discovered them,’ as he stretched down to kiss her, musing again what wondrous creatures women were...

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