Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (54 page)

Tyra growled again, and Jace followed her line of sight. Kyrin looked too, but sunlight and bright green leaves offered her a deceptively calm view. Too calm. The forest had become unnaturally quiet. A chill washed down her back, and Jace moved to stand in front of her. Something crackled the leaves several yards away. He straightened, and his forearms flexed as he squeezed the hilt of his sword.

“Someone’s out there.”

Kyrin gulped. Had the emperor’s men found them? Her fingers sweat as she gripped her bow tightly. They wouldn’t take her back to Valcré. She’d fight it first.

Jace’s voice rang out, hard and demanding, to break the stillness. “Who’s out there? Show yourself!”

Silence followed. Kyrin’s eyes jumped from the trees to Jace and back again as she waited for the emergence of black and gold.

“Look what we have here.”

She almost choked on her own breath as she and Jace spun around. Tyra snarled. Kyrin took a quick step closer to Jace as she witnessed every Arcacian citizen’s worst nightmare. Less than four yards away stood three black-haired, wild-eyed, burly ryriks. With the snapping of brush, three more appeared behind Jace and Kyrin, cutting off any escape.

At Tyra’s menacing growl, Jace murmured, “Easy,” his eyes trained on the ryriks.

The head ryrik, the biggest and fiercest of the group,
examined the three of them. A wickedly satisfied grin spread across his bearded face.

“We’ve stumbled upon quite a prize, now haven’t we?” He glanced at the other ryriks, who
grinned their agreement. His almost glowing eyes settled heavily on Kyrin. Repulsion skittered under her skin, and she shivered hard. “Aren’t you a pretty young thing?”

She tried to swallow back the rising tide of fear, but her throat convulsed.
Elôm, help us!
Her heart thrashed violently and ignited a panic she fought to contain. Every gruesome story she’d ever heard of ryrik attacks screamed through her mind.

Jace’s firm hand closed around her arm, and he pulled her behind him to shield her from the leader’s lecherous gaze. The ryrik gave a low chuckle, and Kyrin peeked around Jace’s shoulder.

“You can’t keep her from us, boy.” The man eyed Jace, and his expression sank into a frown. “Wait…you’re a ryrik.”

“Half ryrik,” Jace ground out.

The ryrik’s eyes widened. “Half ryrik? Now there’s a surprise.” He considered Jace, looking him up and down. “Tell you what, since I’m in a generous mood, I’ll make a deal with you. You leave your weapons and supplies, and I’ll let you and your wolf walk away.”

Jace nodded his head back at Kyrin. “She comes with me.”

“I don’t think so. The girl stays here.”

Kyrin’s stomach lurched up toward her throat, and she almost gagged. A tremor ran through her body straight down to her toes. She looked at the three ryriks behind her, and their vicious eyes froze her blood. She shrank back against Jace.

“I’m only giving you this one chance, boy,” the lead ryrik said, his voice echoing his impatience. “You stay, you die.”

Kyrin glanced up over her shoulder. If only she could see Jace’s face! The frantic drumming of her heart dizzied her and brought a wave of unwanted thoughts of him leaving her to these monsters. Her eyes burned.
No
. He wouldn’t do that.

“Tyra.”

His voice helped her refocus.

The wolf looked up at him.

“Rayad,” he murmured. Tyra cocked her head and he repeated the name. She watched him intently. Kyrin’s heart pounded the seconds before he shouted, “Go!”

Tyra shot off like an arrow. One of the ryriks lunged for her. His hand grazed her back leg, and she tumbled to the ground. Kyrin gasped, but the wolf jumped back to her feet and took off again, disappearing in the underbrush. Kyrin loosed a great sigh, but any relief died at the head ryrik’s biting voice.

“Not a smart move.”

Kyrin looked around Jace. A growing fire flamed behind the ryrik’s eyes. She had seen that look before, but no chains or guards restrained this man. He dropped his pack and drew his sword. Each of the other ryriks followed his lead. Panic throbbed in Kyrin’s muscles, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. Her hands trembled so badly she almost dropped her arrow. How would they ever get out of this? Blood thrummed in her ears, and her thoughts grew hazy. She gritted her teeth and shook the haze away. She must think clearly.

“Jace.” Her voice cracked. She didn’t take her eyes from the three ryriks she faced. “I will only be able to shoot one of them before they reach me.” And they would reach her.

His shoulders moved against her in a slow breath. Voice quiet, but as sure she’d ever heard it, he said, “I won’t let them have you.”

She drew a steadying breath of her own. “I trust you.”

“Last chance, boy,” the ryrik growled. “Give up the girl.”

“Never.”

The strength and determination in his voice imparted just the courage Kyrin needed. She set her eyes on the nearest ryrik in anticipation of the attack. She had to make this one shot count. Ryriks were too resilient for her to fire just anywhere. She focused on his chest and pinned her eyes on where his heart was located. Her fingers still trembled, and she licked her lips. She’d never had to kill anyone before.
Stay calm.
But her pulse wouldn’t cooperate and kicked up yet again.
Elôm!

The ryriks lunged toward them. Kyrin raised her bow, drawing at the same time. The shot came purely out of instinct and buried deep in the ryrik’s chest. Her gaze flew to the next man nearly upon her. She swung her bow. It caught him in the shoulder, but did little harm. He ripped
the weapon from her hands. The third ryrik grabbed her by the arm. Hot adrenaline raced through Kyrin’s blood, and she yanked and twisted, kicked and scratched. Anything to get away.

“Let go of me!” she screamed.

But her struggles were laughable compared to the strength of the ryrik. He grabbed her hair and dragged her a couple of yards away, where he forced her to her knees. 

Gulping in air, she locked eyes on Jace. He stood surrounded by four ryriks. The one she shot lay unmoving. Sword ready, Jace turned in a slow circle, eyeing each of his opponents. For a brief moment, his eyes caught with Kyrin’s, and she saw it—the fire, the intensity, building in them. Yet, it didn’t contain hate and fury—only desperation and a strong will for survival. And right now, it was her only hope they would survive this.

The ryriks took advantage of his distraction and charged in. Kyrin sucked in her breath and held it, but with lightning reflexes and perfect accuracy, Jace met each sword hurtling toward him. The forest rang with the crash of metal. Moving constantly, Jace turned, and ducked, and blocked one attack after another. He fought masterfully and matched the strength, speed, and explosiveness of the other ryriks. But could he keep it up for long?

Kyrin struggled again, but her captor reached into his pack for a coil of rope and shoved her face-first into the leaves, pinning her there. He gripped her arm and yanked it back. Though her shoulder had mostly healed, pain shot through it, and she hissed in a breath. The ryrik hastily wrapped the rope around her wrists and tugged it tight, but Kyrin fought against him with all her strength. He used the other end of the rope to bind her ankles, and then snatched up his sword as he rose.

Kyrin rolled to her side and lifted her head. The ryrik rushed toward the fight and straight at Jace, who had his back turned. Kyrin gasped, but Jace whirled around, his blade catching the ryrik in the arm and then driving into his side. The man stumbled away with blood pouring down his shirt. The four remaining ryriks redoubled their attack, but so did Jace. Kyrin could barely follow their movements. Many times, she braced herself to witness Jace’s fall, but he somehow avoided it with moves he must have learned in the arenas.

Keeping her eyes locked on the fight, Kyrin twisted her wrists and pulled against her bindings. Her previous struggles and the ryrik’s haste in tying her had created a little slack. If only she could loosen the ropes a bit more.

A second ryrik fell under Jace’s sword, which left only three, including the leader. Their eyes burning in their desire to take him down, they came at him in a rage. Sweat darkened Jace’s clothes, and his chest heaved. Kyrin begged Elôm to give him the strength to keep fighting, to win. But then he grunted in pain and grabbed for his side. Red seeped onto his jerkin.

“No!” Kyrin yanked at the ropes, not caring how the rough fibers dug into her skin.

The ryrik who’d injured Jace stepped in to finish him off.
Please, Elôm, no!
But Jace wasn’t through. Rallying a reserve of strength, he caught the ryrik off guard. They traded crushing blows. Jace drove the man back and off balance until, at last, he threw down his opponent. Now only two remained.

Their glares bored into one another. Jace’s heavy breathing filled the momentary silence. A wicked, sneering grin came to the ryrik leader’s face and revealed no sign of fatigue.

“You’re good, boy,” he growled through bared teeth. “But not good enough.”

The ryrik’s blade sliced in a deadly arc toward Jace’s throat. A small cry broke from Kyrin, but Jace jumped back just in time. The ryrik swung again. Jace managed to block, but the heavy ice sliding through Kyrin’s veins told her this would be the end for both of them. Though eating
and sleeping better, Jace still had not regained full strength. It was too clear in the way his arms shook as his sword collided with his enemy’s.

Yet, somehow, some way, whether it was his ryrik blood, pure determination, or Elôm’s aid, Jace again rallied his strength and launched his own attack. Hope rekindled in Kyrin. With one more strong pull, one of her hands slipped free. She scrambled up and reached for the rope around her ankles. Her eyes shifted between them and Jace as she tugged at the knots.

When Jace’s sword locked with his opponent’s, leaving him open from behind, Kyrin’s heart stalled. Jace tried and failed to push the ryrik away and put space between them. Triumph lit in the lead ryrik’s eyes as the second man raised his sword, but Kyrin jerked her feet free and lunged forward, locking her fingers around her bow. She reached for an arrow and drew back without even a pause for breath.

A gargled choke burst out. Jace looked over his shoulder as the second ryrik slumped to his knees with Kyrin’s arrow piercing his throat. His eyes met hers a moment before flying back to the lead ryrik. Kyrin reached for a second arrow. The ryrik turned and bolted into the forest. She sent her arrow after him, but it deflected on a branch and missed him by inches. He disappeared before she could
nock a third.

Jace turned to face her, and a breath rushed out of his lungs. Neither one moved for a long moment.

“Are you…all right?” he asked as he panted for air.

Kyrin’s voice stuck in her throat. Fresh tremors passed down her arms and through her legs. Was she all right? Could she be? She forced out, “Yes, I’m all right.” She gulped in a deep breath, and her eyes dropped to Jace’s side. “But you’re not.”

She rushed over to him. Blood stained the side of his jerkin. He looked down as if just becoming aware of the wound and winced, but said nothing.

“Come, sit down,” she told him, fighting the tremor in her voice.

She led him away from the dead ryriks. As the adrenaline and heat of battle wore off, Jace stumbled, but Kyrin kept a firm, supporting hand on his arm and walked steadily, though her bones were like willow twigs. The last ryrik she shot moaned as they passed, and his hand fumbled in the grass as if searching for his sword. He struggled once to rise, but collapsed again. She glanced at the gruesome sight with a grimace and gave him a wide berth.

Jace eased down into the grass, but his eyes trained on the forest. His right hand still gripped his sword. “We have to get out of here in case he comes back.”

Kyrin glanced into the trees and swallowed. If she could, she’d run straight back to camp and not stop until she reached the safety of Lenae’s cabin, but Jace needed tending. “You won’t get far if you keep bleeding like this.”

She attempted to inspect the wound through his ripped shirt and jerkin. The blood-soaked fabric stuck to his skin, but she caught a glimpse of torn flesh. Her stomach heaved and she choked it back, praying the wound wasn’t as serious as all the blood made it appear. Of all the
skills they’d taught at Tarvin Hall, why couldn’t first aid have been one of them? Praying for guidance, she pulled out Jace’s knife and slashed a panel from her split skirt. She cut it into a long strip and wrapped it tightly around Jace’s middle to cover the wound.

“There. Hopefully that will help until we get back to camp.”

Jace gave her an affirming nod, and she helped pull him up. Once on his feet, he kept her close and directed her away from the site of the battle. His eyes darted among the trees, and he did not return his sword to the scabbard. The ryrik could be anywhere, stalking them. No wonder Jace was so quiet in the woods. She realized now it must be an inherent ryrik skill.

Shaking off the uncomfortable chill that needled her body, Kyrin focused on Jace. He no longer panted so heavily, but his breaths still came out labored. Though his expression didn’t show pain, he must feel some. She glanced at his bloodstained jerkin again. They were a good three miles from camp. Would he make it?
Please bring us help.