Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

“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

J
ace 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 behind 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.

A far-off look occupied Rayad’s face. Apparently, Jace was not the only one letting his mind wander. He eyed him in amusement. Rayad blinked, and his frown resurfaced when he realized he
’d been caught reminiscing, which did no favors for his argument about getting old.

“Come on,” he said with a growl that drew another chuckle from Jace. “Let’s get this animal gutted and back to the farm. Kalli will be pleased. I bet she’ll make pickerin stew tomorrow night.”

Jace’s stomach growled, prompting him forward.

With the hefty pickerin boar hanging from a long branch between them, Jace and Rayad emerged from the forest into a small, cleared valley of lush farmland. Fields of rich, dark soil blanketed with the bright green of new crops stretched out before them. Even after three years,
the sight hadn’t dulled for Jace. It was the first place he’d ever learned the definition of home—the one place in all the world he felt free and happy.

When they neared the barn ahead, Aldor came from the garden. He grinned, his white teeth matching his snowy beard. “You found him.
Excellent! I was getting worried we’d lose our spring crop.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry now,” Rayad replied, “unless there’s another one in the area. But with this big guy around, I doubt it.”

“He’s a big one all right. Haven’t seen one this size in years. We’ll be eating good this summer. I’ll get the smokehouse fired up first thing.” He eyed the animal’s wounds. “Two shots to bring him down, huh? Not bad, considering his size.”

Jace shook his head and shifted the pole on his shoulder, hating to admit, “My first shot missed. I had to take him down with my knife.”

Aldor glanced toward Rayad. “Can’t say I’ve seen that done before.”

“He didn’t leave me much choice,” Jace responded. He’d only done what he needed to stay alive and kill the boar.

They carried the pickerin into the barn and laid it down. A loud bark echoed from behind them. Jace turned as a black wolf bounded into the barn. She stopped at the pickerin and sniffed before emitting a deep growl. Jace knelt beside her and ruffled the thick fur around her neck.

“Easy, Tyra. You don’t have to chase him out of the fields anymore.”

The wolf nuzzled his face and wagged her tail.

“Let’s see your leg.” Jace took her foreleg in his hand. The linen bandage remained in place, and only a little blood had seeped through from the tusk wound she’d acquired in her last confrontation with the pickerin.

It took all three of the men to hoist the boar up from one of the rafters to butcher. Tying off the rope, Jace caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked to the door as Kalli entered the barn. While her husband was tall and fit, and surprisingly strong for his advance age, the matronly old woman was shorter and rounded. Laugh lines creased the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. Her very presence warmed the barn and filled Jace with peace.