They slammed him back against the tree and wrenched his arms around it, once again binding his wrists. As an extra measure, they wound a rope around him and the tree twice, rendering him powerless.
Ruis stepped back to admire his handiwork. Jace glared at him, his blood flowing like fire in his veins. Every muscle squeezed taut for action as he strained against the ropes, but they held fast. Sneering, Ruis reached out and tore Jace’s blood-streaked sleeve from his arm. He then pressed it roughly to Jace’s wound, which had begun to bleed again during his struggles. Jace sucked in a breath through his teeth at the jolt of pain. Using his sword, Ruis hung the sleeve, now blotted with fresh blood, from a branch above Jace’s head. It swayed in the breeze—a breeze that would carry the scent far into the surrounding forest.
“Enjoy the wolves,” Ruis said.
He turned to join the others.
Jace’s gaze locked with Kyrin’s. He had seen her in many difficult situations, but he’d never witnessed the kind of terror that filled her eyes at that moment. Geric took her by the arm.
“No.” Her voice rose in panic as she fought against him. “You can’t just leave him here to die. Please!” She pulled and strained, but Geric dragged her right along with him. “Jace!”
“Kyrin,” he gasped her name.
Tears flowed from her eyes, and she screamed for him again just before they disappeared up over the lip of the hollow.
No! He yanked at the rope around his wrists and leaned hard against the bindings across his chest. Please, Elôm! He had to break free. He struggled with all his strength, driven by the carrying sound of Kyrin’s pleading, but after a couple of minutes, all sounds of life died away.
A new wave of despair crashed over Jace. They’d taken her. Kyrin was gone—the captive of a group of ryriks—and he hadn’t been able to stop it. He was stuck here, helpless, while they were free to do whatever they wanted with her. Elôm, You can’t let this happen.
“Please,” he gasped. Moisture filled his eyes.
But then the despair hardened to steel inside of him. He wouldn’t give up—not now, not ever. He would fight for her until his last breath. Heat engulfed him again. He had to get out of this. He strained and twisted against the ropes at any angle he could manage. Minutes later, he paused, panting. They hadn’t budged. He dragged in a couple deep breaths, forcing himself to think. Then he rubbed the ropes around his wrists against the rough tree bark. Maybe he could fray and weaken them enough to snap them. It was his only hope now.
Jace’s arms cramped and burned. He struggled to draw in a good breath against the ropes. Somewhere amidst his fight to get free, the sun had risen, but he didn’t think about the time or even about the wolves he’d been left behind for—only getting free. He blocked out the pain from his mind by picturing Kyrin. He had to save her.
However, his attempts to free himself grew sluggish as his strength depleted, and he paused for the first time in what could have been hours. He gasped for breath, his lungs burning from exertion, and looked up toward the sky. Through the thick pine boughs, he could just make out the sun. It was nearly midday. Cold washed over him despite the sweat that covered his body. Even if he did break free, Kyrin and the ryriks would be miles ahead of him by now.
Despair crept in again. He hung his head, which had begun to pound. His vision blurred, but he blinked it back into focus, his gaze settling on the blood that dripped down his jerkin. All his struggling had caused the wound to bleed more heavily. It soaked the ropes near his shoulder and dotted the grass below him in crimson.
Still trying to catch his breath, Jace closed his eyes as the full weight of his helplessness descended on him.
“Elôm,” he whispered past his dried-out lips, “please, help me. Please, break me free.” He didn’t even realize tears had leaked from his eyes until they dripped off his chin. “Please let me get to Kyrin before they can hurt her. Please protect her.”
He swallowed hard, the weakness that had overtaken his body settling in. He didn’t feel as if he had anything left in him with which to fight. “Elôm, I need Your strength.”
Gritting his teeth, he lifted his head and looked to the last spot he had seen Kyrin before they had taken her away from him. The fire inside him that had long since cooled flared back to life.
“I won’t stop, Kyrin,” he gasped out. “I won’t stop.”
His blood flowing hot again, he went back to grinding the ropes against the tree. He would continue until they snapped or until the wolves showed up. Twenty minutes later, he paused to test the ropes again. They seemed to have slackened just a little. He tugged and twisted as hard as he could, straining to the point where his bones threatened to snap. But it didn’t matter. He only needed to get free. With a hoarse cry, he gave a final yank and, at last, the ropes gave way and his hands broke free. He gasped. Thank You!
He reached up for the ropes bound around his chest and pulled them up over his head. When he took a step away from the tree, he dropped straight to his knees, his chest heaving. His entire body shook with the effort of the last hours.
Gathering his ragged remnants of strength, he forced himself up. After a couple of wobbly steps, his determination took over and drove him forward. Kyrin was out there, and he was going to reach her.
Kyrin had faced some dark days of fear and loss that she had prayed never to have to experience again, and today was one of those days. Jace was probably dead by now, and here she was alone with the monsters that had left him to the wolves. Every time she let herself think of it, tears rushed into her eyes. She’d struggled against despair until her body and heart were just too heavy to fight anymore.
Hours later, she stumbled along in a daze. Her prayers had become little more than desperate internal cries of, Elôm, please help and Please don’t let him be dead. She had nothing else. If she thought too deeply about losing Jace or what lay ahead, she would fall apart completely.
They marched on and on through the thick forest without rest. Geric dragged her along at a grueling pace until she thought her legs would give out.
Her eyes blurred with weariness and tears, making it difficult to see where she was going, much less care, until her foot sank into a hole. Her ankle twisted, and she fell to her knees with a cry. The group halted. Kyrin bit her lip, struggling to hide her pain and the weakness ryriks preyed upon. Even so, the tears flowed out before she could stop them, and she cried with all the pain of her broken heart.
She’d lost Jace.
And all her captors did was sneer and taunt.
After a minute, Geric ordered, “Get up.”
Kyrin didn’t want to get up. Her ankle throbbed, and she had no strength. Yet, to give up would surrender total victory to these ryriks. She had nothing to fight them with except her courage and determination. Though she wasn’t sure she had any left, she begged Elôm for His aid and forced herself to rise, terrified of the future, but unwilling to quit.
Pain shot through her ankle, and she almost collapsed again. Gritting her teeth, she took another couple of steps, but it forced a groan to her throat. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and looked at Geric, fighting to stop her voice from trembling. “I twisted my ankle. I don’t think I can walk on it.”
Geric gave a peevish sigh. He then bent down and hoisted her up over his shoulder before she could protest. Kyrin squirmed but then gave up. This was the only way they would get where they were going, and they all knew it. Struggling would only waste her energy.
Kyrin winced at the way Geric’s shoulder pressed into her ribs and stomach, but settled in as comfortably as she could. Closing her eyes, she prayed desperately for deliverance and a miracle for Jace.
Jace pressed on as fast as he was able to pick up signs of which way Kyrin had gone. The ryriks didn’t leave much behind, but it was enough to keep him going in the right direction. As long as he knew which way to go, he wouldn’t stop until he caught up.
His breaths came in short puffs, and his throat ached for moisture. He had no fo
od or water besides a few berries he’d found along the way, but he had no time to worry about that. Right now, he had to gain ground . . . before night set in and the ryriks stopped. Before Ruis had a chance to finish what he’d started last night. Jace didn’t know what he’d do without weapons when he did catch up but, somehow, he would find a way with Elôm’s help.
Mid-afternoon, he paused and knelt to study the leaf-littered ground for tracks. When he pushed to his feet, dizziness assaulted him. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to them, willing the sensation away. Opening them again, he blinked to refocus and spotted a couple drops of his own blood in the leaves below him. He focused on his wound. Though not bleeding heavily, it hadn’t stopped. He flinched as he moved his left arm to tear off his other sleeve. Wadding up the fabric, he stuck it under his jerkin with the hope that it would staunch the flow of blood. It was the best he could do without supplies or time.
He drew a head-clearing breath to continue his pursuit. Just before he moved, a stick snapped. He froze, his senses sharpening, and peered into the trees. Nothing stirred. Not even birds. Maybe he’d made up more ground than he thought. A chill tickled the back of his neck and spine. The forest might have appeared empty, but eyes watched him. He could feel it. He waited a moment to see if a ryrik arrow would puncture his chest and then scanned the area around him. A sturdy stick lay a few feet away. He bent to pick it up.
When he straightened, his heart lurched. Ten yards away stood a wolf unlike any he’d ever encountered. As big as a bear, it stared him down with cold yellow eyes. Its lips curled to reveal long fangs, and a deep growl rumbled in its throat. Jace gripped the stick in his hand more tightly. Movement flashed in his periphery. Three more wolves stalked toward him. Checking his other side and behind him, he realized the grim truth—the pack had him surrounded. While he’d focused on tracking his own prey, the pack had stalked him.
The first wolf took a couple tentative steps toward him, saliva dripping from its mouth as it sniffed the air. Jace pointed the stick at it, and it growled again. Slowly, the other wolves closed in on him. Jace racked his brain for a plan. He’d been in countless dire situations, but all his training and experience gave him no solutions for taking on a pack of wolves more than three times the size of Tyra without a real weapon.
The first wolf drew within striking distance. Jace raised the stick and brought it down with a crack on the wolf’s snout. It jumped back with a yelp, and the other wolves retreated a few yards before immediately beginning their advance again. The moment one came close, he swung at it with a shout, praying they would decide he was not worth the trouble. However, after only a few minutes, the wolves grew bolder. Soon they would realize he wasn’t a true threat and charge in.
He swung the stick around, but the deadly circle was closing. Then one of the wolves grabbed the stick before he could swing it. He yanked on it, but another wolf lunged toward him. All at once, they moved in. He bolted toward the only opening in their tight circle, but one of them snapped at his leg, its teeth only stopped by the leather of his boot, and he fell.
It was over. He would die.
He put his arms over his head and neck in a futile defense. In a flurry of snapping teeth and growls, the pack converged on him. Fear and a heartrending hopelessness coursed through him. The ryriks had succeeded, and he had failed.
Jaws clamped over his arm, but before the teeth could fully sink in, one of the wolves let out a loud yelp, and then another. A shout echoed above it—a man’s shout. Others joined him, and the wolves scattered.
Jace slowly looked up, gulping for the air he truly hadn’t believed he would still be breathing moments ago. Yet it died in his chest when his eyes rose to his rescuers.
Ryriks.
Jace hobbled to his feet, shaking from the adrenaline and terror of near death, and stared at the men. They weren’t the same ones who had taken Kyrin, but they were ryriks—each of them as strong and tall, if not taller, than he was. A couple had bows, but the others carried longswords. His gaze settled on the man who was just finishing off one of three dead wolves. Wiping his sword clean, the man slid it back into the scabbard and turned to face Jace. He had his raven black hair tied away from his bearded face and was dressed like a woodsman rather than in an odd combination of stolen clothing like most ryriks. All seven men in the group dressed similarly.
“I don’t know how you got out here, but I’ve never seen anyone so narrowly escape death.”
The man spoke in such a conversational, non-threatening manner it took Jace aback. Did they believe him to be a fellow ryrik? Was that why?
The man’s gaze dropped to his bloodied clothing again. “Looks like wolves haven’t been your only trouble. What are you doing out here? You’re a long way from any settlements.”
Jace hesitated and glanced warily at the others. Should he answer or try to get away without confrontation? His eyes slid back to connect with the other man’s, which were bright with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.
“I was captured . . . by ryriks.” He paused and gauged their reaction.
The man’s black brows drew together, and his eyes narrowed, a light growing in them. “The ones terrorizing the giants?”
“Yes,” Jace answered slowly. “I was injured last night. When they heard the wolves early this morning, they tied me to a tree as bait. I managed to get free, but the wolves followed.”
The man exchanged glances with his companions. “If we hadn’t shown up when we did, there wouldn’t be much left of you. You can thank the King we did.”
Jace’s eyes went wide. “The King?”
“Yes, King Elôm.” The man stood taller as if prepared to fight for the truth of his words. “The God of Ilyon.”
Jace could only stare as his thoughts spun in circles. Elôm? These ryriks were believers? Then the dizziness returned, and his knees gave out.
“Whoa, easy.” The man knelt in front of him. He braced Jace’s good shoulder and handed him a waterskin. “Drink this. Looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood and are dehydrated.”
Jace brought the waterskin to his lips and gulped the water that was a lot fresher than Geric’s had been, soothing his throat.
“We better get that wound looked at.”
Jace swallowed another mouthful and shook his head. “No, I have to go. I wasn’t the only captive. The ryriks also took a woman. I have to get to her and free her before . . .” He swallowed hard. “Before anything happens to her.”
He moved to rise, but the ryrik held him down. Heat flared in Jace’s chest, and he tensed to fight. However, he paused at the understanding in the man’s expression.
“You won’t be much help to anyone in this condition. At least drink more water and eat something. Then we’ll help you go after them.”
“You’ll help me?”
The man nodded. “You can’t very well take them on your own. You don’t even have a weapon.”
Jace let out a huge sigh, so overwhelmed he didn’t even know how to thank them or Elôm.
A kind smile spread across the man’s face. He offered his other hand to Jace. “I’m Saul, by the way.”
“Jace.” He gripped the man’s hand firmly.
“All right, Jace, you just keep drinking that.” Saul shrugged off his pack and pulled a leather pouch of dried berries out of it. “And eat some of these. First thing we need to do is get you out of those bloody clothes or the wolves will keep trailing us.”
“Whatever you do, please hurry,” Jace urged him. “The ryriks are at least a couple of hours ahead of me.”
“Don’t worry, we have horses a short way back.” He turned to the other men and sent them to get the mounts.
After Jace put a handful of berries into his mouth, Saul helped him remove his jerkin and shirt, revealing the deep laceration from his shoulder almost to his throat.
“You’re fortunate this isn’t more serious. It needs stitches, but we’ll worry about that later.”
Saul wet a cl
oth from his pack and handed it to Jace to clean away the blood from his chest and arm, as well as from the bite wound that had barely broken skin. It wasn’t until that moment he noticed how chafed and raw his wrists and the backs of his hands were. Blood had caked there too. He cleaned up quickly and let Saul cover his wounds with a roll of bandages. The man then offered him a clean shirt from his pack.
“Thank you,” Jace said as he slipped it on.
After a few more mouthfuls of berries and water, he was ready to go again. Saul rose first and offered him a hand to pull him to his feet. Looking him in the eyes, the man said, “We will get your girl back.”
Nightfall crept in like the approach of an unseen but deadly enemy. Kyrin had prayed for it not to come, yet couldn’t stall the sinking sun. A shudder passed through her. Now that Jace was gone, would Ruis leave her alone? Would Geric stop him if he didn’t? She grew cold at the memory of Ruis’s hands on her last night and the powerlessness of her situation.
“Jace.” His name passed her lips in a silent whisper, and her already sore eyes stung. She could hardly bear to face these men on her own, let alone deal with the sorrow that Jace might be dead.
No, she wouldn’t let herself believe it. He was strong and resourceful. If anyone could get free, it was him. And he knew the forest better than anyone. He’d escape the wolves. Oh, Elôm, please let it be so!
She shifted to try to relieve the pressure on her ribs. They were starting to ache, and it was hard to take a decent breath. She wanted to get down, yet as long as they were still moving, she didn’t have to fear Ruis. Once they stopped, that changed.
Fear slowly rose like a flood inside her, but she squeezed her eyes shut, battling it with prayer. I might feel alone, Elôm, but I know I’m not. You are here, just like in the dungeon in Auréa. I am so afraid. Afraid that I’ve lost Jace for good and afraid of what will happen to me. She swallowed hard, fighting to enforce her weak thread of courage. I don’t know if I can stay strong. Please strengthen me. Please rescue me.
Exiles Page 24