Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) Page 3

  His stomach grumbled in response to such thoughts, and he reached for his pack to dig out his food supplies. When he looked up again, Jace walked just outside the camp. His muscular arms encircled a bundle of wood, and he approached with impressively quiet steps.

  Rayad let a small smile grow and rose to his feet. “Thank you.”

  Jace blinked. He’d probably never heard that before.

  “Just set it down, and I’ll start a fire.”

  Jace did so and stood back, watching. Murmuring to himself, Rayad put together a meal of rice, beans, and meat—not a feast by any stretch of the imagination, but filling. He dished a generous portion into a bowl and offered it to Jace. The young man took it and sat opposite him across the fire. After the first ravenous bite, all else seemed forgotten for the moment.

  Less intent on his meal, Rayad studied his interesting new companion. First glance would lead most to see Jace as fully human, but for someone familiar with ryriks, the similarities went beyond his pointed ears. Coal-black hair, intense blue eyes, and strong build—clear signs of his ryrik blood—not to mention the flashes of anger characteristic of a ryrik. But how many other traits and tendencies did the young man share? The bloodlust? The deep hatred for other races? The fits of rage that could be sparked by anything?

  Rayad shook his head. Only Elôm knew what other traits Jace might possess or how prominent they might be. Rayad would have to discover that for himself. He’d never before heard of anyone with mixed ryrik blood. Women never lived to tell of ryrik attacks, yet here Jace sat.

  Jace downed the contents of his bowl and set it aside. His eyes snagged on the sheathed sword propped up next to Rayad. Their gazes met. Rayad tried to gauge what lay behind the iron-like shell that portrayed such hardness, yet hid such pain. Murderous intentions? Maybe, but Rayad had seen that in men before and found none of it in this young man.

  Well, he’d know the answer soon enough. He reached for his sword. Jace’s whole body tensed, ready to spring, and light flared in his eyes. Rayad laid the sword on the ground between them, the hilt just a foot away from Jace’s hand. He had only to grab it. Considering the swiftness Rayad had witnessed in the arena, the young man could have the deed over and done with in a moment.

  “If you intend to kill me, get it over with. I won’t be able to stop you, and I won’t sit up all night watching you.” He had too far to travel to play guard night after night. He needed alertness and rest should other foes discover his trail.

  Jace’s dark brows dipped low over his eyes. “You’re not afraid?”

  “Of dying? Not really.” Rayad settled against his saddle, resting in the complete truth of his words. He didn’t particularly care to die now, but he didn’t fear it. “I’ve lived a full life, and I’m a firm believer in King Elôm.”

  Jace stared at him for a long, drawn-out moment. The fire crackled fitfully between them.

  “Why?” the question came at last.

  “Why what?” Rayad asked.

  “Why are you doing this for me—a half ryrik?” Jace grimaced, and the mask slipped to reveal the true agony that lived inside him. He nearly choked on the words. “An animal. All hate me.”

  He hardened again, but that look left a dull ache in Rayad’s heart as if bruised. “I’m not so sure of that,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “As for your question, I don’t hold with cruelty or injustice. And you may not understand, but I feel compelled to help you.” How could he not when his father had lived a similar sort of life? He would do the same if he were here. He’d been a rare type of man—always going out of his way to help those less fortunate. “It’s up to you whether or not you accept my help.”

  Firelight danced in his gem-like eyes as Jace considered Rayad’s words. His gaze fell on the sword, and he gripped the hilt, lifting it up. Rayad only watched him. Jace stared at the weapon before deftly tossing the hilt in the air and catching the sword around the scabbard. Eyes back on Rayad, he offered the hilt.

  “I won’t kill you.”

  Rayad took his sword and smiled faintly.

  A robin warbled in the branches overhead. Rayad shifted under his wool blanket as sleep wore off. His eyes popped open. Well, he was alive. Now, would Jace and the horses still be there? He propped himself up on his elbow. The two horses stood beneath the trees where he’d tied them. The stallion nipped at Aros who snorted and stomped his hoof in warning. Rayad gave his own little snort and rolled over to peer through the thin tendrils of smoke rising from the fire’s embers. Jace lay on the other side, wrapped in an extra blanket.

  Rayad sat up. The young man did not stir. In his sleep, Jace’s face had relaxed entirely and revealed an almost heartbreaking look of innocence. Sympathy rose inside Rayad. With no children of his own, something took hold of him he’d never experienced before—a desire to show this young man a true home and life away from cruelty—to show him something other than hatred.

  But a frown tugged at his brows. What did he have to offer? He had no family, no home, no money, and absolutely no experience with this sort of thing. After a long moment of contemplation, the answer came clear as the sky overhead. He knew Elôm. What could be greater than that knowledge? He rose to his feet, ran a hand through his short hair, and rolled up his bedroll. He may turn out to be horrible at this parenting thing, but he could give it a try…if Jace would let him.

  He chuckled softly to himself at the humor in it. One moment he was running for his life, and the next he was taking in a troubled young man, and a half ryrik one at that. I’m sure You set that all up, he easily conversed with his King and Creator. I just haven’t the faintest idea why yet.

  Though Rayad worked quietly to pack his supplies, Jace jerked upright. He stared around the clearing, his eyes confused at first, but then his gaze landed on Rayad. He breathed out a long breath. The tension returned to his face.

  “Sleep well?” Rayad asked.

  Jace just stared at him, as usual.

  “Yes,” he murmured at last.

  “Good. When we’ve eaten, we can be on our way.” Rayad paused. “That is, if you’d like to join me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Rayad almost smiled at the lack of suspicion in his eyes. “I have some old friends who live a few days north of here near Kinnim. I hope to stay with them for a time until other arrangements can be made.”

  “You have no home?”

  Unwanted memories stirred Rayad’s mind, still too fresh to leave behind. “No, not anymore…I’m on the run.”

  Surprise perked Jace’s expression.

  “I’m wanted by the emperor’s men,” Rayad explained. If Jace joined him, he had to know the truth since it could endanger him as well. And if Jace decided to turn him in, well, he was willing to risk it. He’d already placed himself at Jace’s mercy. “They want me for speaking out against his desire to force Arcacia to worship his false gods. They consider me a rebel…among other things. What about you? Is there someplace you’d rather go?”

  Jace looked away, hiding his face, and shook his head.

  Rayad let him have a moment. He pulled a good bit of jerky and hardtack from his pack and offered it to him. The young man took it without a word, but Rayad picked up the smallest spark of gratitude.

  “My friends,” he went on, “they’re an older couple.” Jace glanced at him, and Rayad smirked. “Yes, older than me, and very kind. They live on a small farm about ten miles from the nearest village, so there won’t be many people, and no one to come looking for us. So, would you like to join me?”

  Jace swallowed and raised his yearning, yet hesitant eyes. “I don’t think your friends would have me.” His voice dropped lower. “I’m a killer.”

  Considering what he’d seen of Jace in the arena and during supper last night, Rayad felt confident enough to say, “I don’t believe that.”

  Doubt lingered in Jace’s expression, and Rayad assured him, “I know Kalli and Aldor will welcome you. Trust me, you’ll never meet kinde
r or gentler souls.”

  Rayad smiled in memory of how the two, as a young couple, had shown up at his parents’ home during a raging storm with hardly more than the clothes on their backs and about to deliver their first child. They’d worked on the farm long enough to get back on their feet before setting out to establish their own place and had kept in touch over the years. It would be real good to see them again.

  With a slow nod, Jace accepted his words.

  Following their brief breakfast, Rayad retrieved Aros to saddle him. Then he went for the stallion. The moment he loosed the rope from the tree, the horse pranced around and yanked against the lead.

  “Oh, don’t you start with me.” Rayad scowled. Didn’t he have enough to contend with without always having to fight the cantankerous beast? And his sire had been so well behaved. He would gladly have traded the two, yet the stallion’s wild nature was to thank for preventing the animal from being stolen. That was his only consolation in this—the thought of how much trouble the emperor’s soldiers must have faced before giving up on the horse. Hopefully he’d sent them back to the barracks with a few bruises.

  “Come on,” he commanded and tugged the lead toward Aros.

  But the stallion planted his feet and would not budge.

  “Well, if you aren’t the most stubborn, ornery…”

  He flicked the end of the rope at the horse’s hindquarters. The big, black animal jumped sideways, but still refused to move. Rayad’s hackles rose. After all the many years he’d spent training horses with his father and on his own, he’d developed great patience and knowledge where the animals were concerned, but this one tried it like no other. He glared at the beast, convinced it stood there mocking him.

  “Can I try?”

  Jace’s sudden appearance startled him. Surely he couldn’t be serious, but the young man stared intently at the belligerent horse. Rayad shook his head in reluctance and handed over the lead. What did he have to lose?

  “Just don’t let him go or it’ll take us all morning to catch him,” he warned. “And beware. He’s never liked strangers.”

  Rayad stepped back to watch, skeptical, but interested. He just hoped the horse wouldn’t take a bite out of Jace. The ill-tempered thing had tried that on occasion with Warin. The stallion eyed Jace and laid his ears back. He gave his head an angry toss and snorted. This didn’t look good.

  “What’s his name?” Jace asked.

  “Niton.”

  “Niton,” Jace repeated, his deep voice making the name sound especially rich and noble.

  Not that the animal deserved it. Something like Beast would have been more appropriate had Rayad known what the horse would grow into. And he probably would’ve sold him just as soon as he was weaned.

  At his name, Niton’s ears rose and pricked forward. He blew out loudly a couple of times before his breathing quieted. Jace remained still until the stallion calmed. He then approached slowly and spoke in a soothing tone that contrasted starkly with his usual cold and sullen manner. Coming up next to the horse, he laid his hand on the stallion’s neck. Niton didn’t even flinch. Rayad’s mouth dropped open. Jace stroked Niton’s neck and shoulder and, with the slightest prompting, led him straight to Rayad, who gawked at them.

  “How did you do that?”

  Jace shrugged with no hint of beguilement or trickery. “I’ve worked with horses before. I like them.” His voice dropped lower as he ran his hand down Niton’s face and looked into one of his dark eyes. “They don’t know what I am.”

  Rayad stared at the two of them. In all his long years, he’d never come across such a surprising mystery as Jace. Still taking it in, he turned for his other horse.

  “We best get moving. Aros can bear both of us.”

  “Can I ride Niton?”

  Rayad stopped and turned again. Voice flat, he said, “Niton’s never had a man on his back, and the way things are going, I doubt he ever will.”

  One of Jace’s brows rose in a black arch, and Rayad wished to take back his words. He’d just given the young man a challenge. He blew out a sigh at Jace’s unwavering look. “All right, it’s your body,” he conceded, his own bones aching. “But like I said, don’t let him go…if you can help it.”

  Jace’s expression transformed into a small but determined smile. He tossed the end of the lead over Niton’s neck and tied it to the halter. At the stallion’s side, he took the rope reins and a handful of Niton’s thick mane in one hand. Rayad stepped forward to offer to help him up, but Jace sprang from the ground and swung himself onto Niton’s back despite the horse’s significant size. Agility—another ryrik characteristic.

  At the sudden, unfamiliar weight, Niton pranced in place. Jace sat with all the confidence of an experienced horseman as the stallion took a few skittish steps backward and reared. He laid the reins across Niton’s neck and made him turn to the right. After circling a few times, Jace brought him to halt. Now Niton stood as calm as Rayad had ever seen him.

  Mouth open again, Rayad looked from the horse to Jace whose eyes held a bit of smugness. He shook his head. “You have quite a talent, Jace.”

  He reached for Aros. After mounting, he nudged the gelding, and they started for the road. Jace moved Niton up beside them, and Rayad glanced at them again. This was sure to be an interesting adventure.

  Three Years Later

  Jace drew in a deep breath and let it out slow, focusing his senses. He pressed his back against the rough trunk of a swamp maple. A grunt rumbled from behind the tree as something large rooted in the brush. Each beat of Jace’s heart thumped stronger than normal. The beast was close. He flexed his fingers around his bow and quieted his thoughts. Success would only come with precision. In one smooth motion, he swung around the tree and drew back the bowstring.

  A massive pickerin boar stood a mere thirty feet away. Its coarse black hair came to a stiff ridge down the center of its back, which reached up past Jace’s waist. A breeze carried its soured stench to Jace’s nostrils, and he took a glance at the animal’s wrinkled head. At the end of its long snout, four eight-inch tusks protruded with razor sharp tips. He’d never come across one this size before. It would be a fine prize if he brought it down, though most hunters would never have taken on such a beast alone. But he wasn’t most hunters, and he wasn’t out here for sport.

  He peered down the arrow shaft and aimed for the pickerin’s shoulder. A heart shot was the only way to bring it down quickly and safely. He took another silent breath to steady himself. Though the animal angled away from him, its head shot up in alarm. It sniffed the air with a loud snort. A cold shiver raised the hair along Jace’s arms, and his heart punched his ribs in warning. The pickerin spun around the very moment he released his arrow. With a thunk the shaft penetrated, but too far to the right, near the boar’s neck. Jace scowled. Squealing more in rage than pain, the pickerin charged him.

  He groaned and dashed deeper into the trees. Though quick as a deer in the forest, he couldn’t lose the enraged boar as it crashed through the brush right behind him. He scanned the terrain ahead and scrambled for a plan that wouldn’t get him gored to death. Maybe, if Rayad was nearby…

  Launching over a tangle of roots, he came down on a thick bed of dead leaves. Dampened from a recent rain, they slipped across a slick rock. He hit the forest floor hard. Hooves pounded behind him, and he rolled to his back. Hot blood pumped all through his body as the animal bore down on him. When it drew close, he kicked it under the chin. The pickerin took a step away, shaking its snout.

  He clambered to his feet and yanked out his hunting knife. This time he did not turn and run. He faced the pickerin and stared the animal down. The boar stomped its hooves, snorted, and charged again. Jace tightened his grip on the knife and waited for barely a moment before sidestepping. The pickerin raced past him. Pain sliced across his left knee, and he sucked in his breath, but his aim was perfect. The long blade of the hunting knife pierced the pickerin’s tough hide and sunk deep into its flesh just b
ehind the shoulder.

  He yanked it out again and spun around to watch the animal. One of them was going down in this clearing. The boar skidded to a halt and scrambled for footing as it came at him again. But this time it only made it a couple of feet before collapsing and lying still. Jace stood poised for another attack. When a full few seconds passed in silence, he let out a sigh and relaxed. Still cautious, he approached the downed pickerin. Convinced it was dead, he wiped his knife in the grass and returned it to the sheath in his boot. Now Aldor wouldn’t lose any more of his sprouting crops—crops they would need come winter.

  Jace cast his gaze about for his bow. When he found it in the leaves, he brushed away the mud and fastened it back to his quiver. Footsteps approached from a distance, and he straightened. Rayad appeared and made his way through the thick trees.

  “You found him,” he said as he came to stand next to Jace and eyed his muddied clothing. “Did he give you much trouble?”

  “Some. I tried for a clean shot, but he moved as soon as I fired.” He shook his head. He’d even had the wind to his advantage. Most game didn’t prove to be such a challenge.

  Rayad’s gaze dropped to the blood staining the edges of the tear in Jace’s pants. “Your leg.”

  “Just a scratch.”

  The older man’s graying brows drew together and put worry lines in his forehead. “Just make sure you have Kalli take a look at it. You don’t want it getting infected.”

  Jace responded to his serious tone with a half smile, and Rayad’s frown deepened. “Now don’t you give me any of that talk about becoming overly protective and fussy in my old age. I have every right to show a little concern now and then.”

  Jace let a full smile develop and chuckled, drawing a smile from Rayad as well. Yes, after three years, the man did have that right considering the trials Jace knew he’d put him through. It had taken him a long time to adjust to life beyond slavery and respond to care and concern instead of hatred. The memories of his former life still clung to him more strongly than he wished, but in the midst of the hard times, he’d come to know a peace altogether foreign to him. Though not always constant, at times such as this, he was content.