Resistance

  Endorsements for Resistance

  “Resistance is the best Fantasy book I have read. It is full of colorful, but realistic characters, villains who will do anything to get their way, and a conflicted half-breed who finds what he never knew he needed. I highly recommend this book for Fantasy lovers, and even for those who do not usually read Fantasy.”

  —Faith Blum, author of A Mighty Fortress

  “A thoroughly engrossing story with amazing worldbuilding and a theme usually left to historical or science fiction. Good work, Jaye. You’ve made at least one fan very happy!”

  —Kendra E. Ardnek, author of The Ankulen

  “Resistance is one of the best fantasies I've ever read. Not only does it hold a meaningful message, it is filled with inspiring characters who will take readers on an adventure they will never forget.”

  —Jack Lewis Baillot, Author of Haphazardly Implausible

  “The minute I picked up this book, I couldn't put it back down! Resistance quickly became one of my favorite books!”

  —Mercy, MercyRay.blogspot.com

  “After loving the author’s previous series, Makilien, I was wondering how Resistance could top it. I was not disappointed. The story pulls you in from the first word to the last, and shows how God is ultimately the one we should put our trust in. Jaye held me captivated until the very end; I couldn’t get enough of this book!”

  —Katie E.

  “A stunning story…even after the last page, the impact remains. With fantasy concepts, Christian allegories, Ancient Rome-like times, and a futuristic touch all rolled into one, Resistance tells a powerful story of young men and women staying faithful to their God, despite the evil raging against them, and Him. I am captivated, and long to read more!”

  —Shantelle H.

  “This is such an incredible book! I couldn't put it down any more than I can fly; definitely ranks as one of my favorites. Highly recommended for readers of all ages!”

  —Ysa R.

  Copyright © 2014 by Jaye L. Knight

  www.ilyonchronicles.com

  Published by Living Sword Publishing

  Proofread by Amber Stokes

  www.editingthroughtheseasons.com

  Ilyon Map © 2014 by Jaye L. Knight

  Cover Images

  © Kjolak - Dreamstime.com

  © AMCphotos - Dreamstime.com

  © kjpargeter - Depositphotos.com

  © smaglov - Depositphotos.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in written reviews.

  All Scriptures are taken from the New American Standard Bible, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org

  To my one and only King.

  And to my brothers, Jacob and Sam, for the little bits of inspiration you provided (unknowingly) for Kaden and Liam.

  Contents

  Principal Cast

  Locations

  Races

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Race Profiles

  Ryriks

  Talcrins

  Cretes

  Giants

  The King’s Scrolls

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Principal Cast

  Aertus (AYR - tuhs)—Arcacia’s male moon god.

  Aldor (AL - dohr)—Kalli’s husband. An old friend of Rayad.

  Altair (AL - tayr)—Kyrin’s family name.

  Anne—The daughter of Sir John Wyland.

  Aric (AHR - ick)—Emperor Daican’s head of security.

  Aros (AHR - rohs)—Rayad’s white horse.

  Collin—A young man from Tarvin Hall with an interest in Kyrin.

  Daican (DYE - can)—The emperor of Arcacia.

  Dagren (DAY - gren)—An Arcacian army captain bent on capturing Rayad and Warin.

  Daniel—Daican’s son, the prince of Arcacia.

  Davira (Duh - VEER - uh)—Daican’s daughter, the princess of Arcacia.

  Elôm (EE - lohm)—The one true God of Ilyon.

  Goler—An Arcacian army captain and bitter rival of Trask.

  Grey—The baron of Landale.

  Henry Foss—Daican’s secretary.

  Holden (HOHL - den)—A former informant for Daican with an intense hatred for ryriks.

  Holly—A maid at Auréa Palace.

  Jace—A half-ryrik former slave and gladiator.

  Jasper—A gladiator owner and former master of Jace.

  John Wyland—A retired knight.

  Kaden (KAY - den)—Kyrin’s twin brother.

  Kalli (KA - lee)—Aldor’s wife. An old friend of Rayad.

  Kyrin (KYE - rin)—A young Arcacian woman with the ability to remember everything.

  Laytan—The owner of the mercantile in Kinnim. Father of Rebekah.

  Lenae (LEH - nay)—A widowed Landale woman.

  Liam—Kyrin’s older brother and an Arcacian soldier.

  Maera (MAYR - uh)—Kyrin’s dappled buckskin horse.

  Marcus Altair—Kyrin’s eldest brother and an Arcacian army captain.

  Marcus Veshiron (Veh - SHEER - on)—Kyrin’s grandfather and an Arcacian general.

  Meredith—A young girl from Tarvin Hall. Like a little sister to Kyrin.

  Mick—A resistance member from a wealthy mining family.

  Morden—A young man in Kinnim whose father is mayor.

  Morris—Baron Grey’s secretary.

  Niton (NYE - ton)—Jace’s black horse.

  Peete (PEET)—Kinnim’s sheriff.

  Rayad (RAY - ad)—An Arcacian man wanted by the emperor for being a rebel.

  Rebekah—A kind young woman in Kinnim.

  Richard Blaine—A knight and old family friend of Daican.

  Sam “Endathlorsam”—A talcrin man and Tarvin Hall’s wisest scholar.

  Solora (Soh - LOHR - uh)—Daican’s wife, the queen of Arcacia.

  Tane “Imhonriltane”—Sam’s nephew.

  Trask—Resistance leader and son of Baron Grey.

  Trev—A member of Daican’s security force.

  Tyra—Jace’s black wolf.

  Videlle (VI - dell)—The head mistress of Auréa Palace.

  Vilai (VI - lye)—Arcacia’s female moon god.

  Warin (WOHR - in)—An Arcacian man active in the resistance against the emperor. Lifelong friend of Rayad.

  William—Kyrin’s father and an Arcacian army captain.

/>   Zocar (ZOH - cahr)—The head master of Tarvin Hall.

  Locations

  Arcacia (Ahr - CAY - shee - uh)—The largest country of the Ilyon mainland.

  Arda—An island country off the coast of Arcacia. Inhabited by talcrins.

  Ardaluin Bay (Ahr - DUH - luin)—The large bay off of Arcacia’s western shore.

  Auréa (Awr - RAY - uh)—Daican’s palace in Valcré.

  Dorland—Ilyon’s easternmost country. Inhabited by cretes and giants.

  Falspar—Troas’s neighboring city. Rayad’s birthplace.

  Fort Rivor (RYE - vohr)—Arcacia’s largest military fort located southeast of Valcré.

  Ilyon (IL - yahn)—The known world.

  Kinnim—A small forest town in central Arcacia.

  Landale—A prosperous province in Arcacia ruled over by Baron Grey.

  Marlton Hall—Home of Sir John Wyland.

  Samara (Sa - MAHR - uh)—A small country north of Arcacia.

  Sidian Ocean (SI - dee - an)—The body of water surrounding Ilyon.

  Tarvin Hall—An academy set up to train children for the emperor’s service.

  Troas (TROH - as)—One of the largest cities in southern Arcacia.

  Valcré (VAL - cray)—Arcacia’s capital city.

  Wildmor—An untamed country of vast forest. Inhabited by ryriks.

  Races

  Cretes—A short tree-dwelling race with long dark hair, brown skin, and large, colorful eyes. Known for their aloofness and ability to train dragons.

  Giants “Dorlanders”—A very large race that stands between seven to nine feet tall. Known for their quiet nature and aversion to conflict.

  Humans—The primary inhabitants of Arcacia and Samara.

  Ryriks (RYE - ricks)—A fierce and savage race with black hair and almost luminescent blue eyes. Known for their quick rage and violence against other races.

  Talcrins—A tall race with dark skin and metallic looking eyes. Known for their love of knowledge.

  Further information found in the Race Profiles at the back of the book.

  For the LORD is a great God

  And a great King above all gods.

  - Ps. 95:3

  For the LORD will judge His people

  And will have compassion on His servants.

  The idols of the nations are but silver and gold,

  The work of man’s hands.

  They have mouths, but they do not speak;

  They have eyes, but they do not see;

  They have ears, but they do not hear,

  Nor is there any breath at all in their mouths.

  Those who make them will be like them,

  Yes, everyone who trusts in them.

  - Ps. 135:14-18

  Fleeing. Rayad crunched his brows down. At this age, he should have been retired and living comfortably, but no. He was a wanted man.

  His gaze darted from one person to another in the milling crowd while his heart knocked his ribs in a strong, elevated rhythm that hadn’t slowed in more than a day. What he wouldn’t give to be sitting in the cool shade of his front porch right now, admiring the farmland he had worked for so many years. But it was all gone now, along with that familiar life.

  He skirted the outer edge of Troas’s arena and kept to the shadows of the stone and weathered wood walls, which were in sore need of repair. It would be just his luck to have them collapse on him. Faded red banners fluttered overhead, far too festive even in their tattered state. No one should celebrate what took place here, but the roaring cheers inside disagreed with him.

  A glimpse of gold fabric sent a kick to his innards. His hand jumped to his sword hilt, but the blade remained sheathed. He wouldn’t use it unless he had no choice. Once in twenty-four hours was enough. He still hadn’t found time to scrub all the dried blood from around his fingernails yet.

  He spun around in search of a different route and grimaced at the only alternative. The arena. He ducked behind a group of wealthy merchants and joined the flow of spectators who would cover his retreat to the other side. Shadows engulfed him, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted. If the walls were going to topple, now would be a very bad time. Hot, humid air descended and burned his nostrils with the musty odor of hundreds of bodies crammed into the enclosed space. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to breathe too deeply. The roar of the crowd deafened him and added to the unpleasantness. Masses of screaming people packed the stands above him. Their thumping feet rained dust down into his eyes. He hated to imagine what caused such a commotion. Time to find the nearest exit.

  He set out on a determined course, but people congested the path. They pushed and shoved with little show of courtesy. Rayad bit back a grumble when they forced him to stop and wait for the way to clear. He peered through the crowd for any sign of the distinctive gold and black uniforms of the emperor’s soldiers, but everyone blended together in this mass—grimy peasants and silk-clad nobles alike. Though it worked in his favor, it didn’t help his mood. After a sleepless night on the road, he wanted to finish here and be on his way to safer country. He balled his fists. If these people had no concern for civility, then fine. He shoved through them, squeezing past the horde of sweat-dampened bodies until he hit a group of bulky men who refused to budge—blacksmiths and woodsmen, by the look of their worn leather jerkins and rough linen shirts. He scowled and glanced through a small open window to his left, down into the arena some ten feet below. Though he had no desire to witness the grisly sport, his eyes stuck there.

  Two sparsely armored men circled each other and passed close to his vantage point. One, a tall blond brute he wouldn’t have relished messing with, carried a short sword and a large, round shield riddled with dents and notches. The other had his broad back to Rayad with a long sword outstretched in front of him. Spots of crimson stained the men’s clothing. Their gusty breaths reached Rayad even up here—proof they’d been fighting for a while.

  In a blink, they crashed together and drew an uproar of cheers from the crowd. The screech of metal set Rayad’s teeth on edge, and his fingers tingled as if the swords rested in his hands. He set his eyes on the man with the long sword. His mouth dropped open. The fighter was just a boy—no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age! Still, he was tall—at least as tall as Rayad, if not taller. Fierce determination and concentration drew his face taut. Though a path had opened for Rayad to move on, a strange investment in the outcome of this fight willed him to stay.

  The two fighters clashed again. Rayad followed every move the young man made. Such skill in spite of his youth; such explosiveness and strength behind his attacks. He’d be more than a match for most men. Each move appeared as natural as breathing, his blade placement precise and murderously quick. Impressive. This boy was no brawling fighter, which was so common in the arenas.

  Back and forth, blows landed with the shriek and clang of metal. Rayad leaned over the edge of the window, careful not to trust it with his full weight. His eyes remained fixed on the young fighter. While he couldn’t, in good conscience, wish for the other man to die, he found himself pulling for a victory for the younger man. The gladiator’s bare arms and shoulders bulged with thick muscle and glistened with sweat as he swung his sword blade in a blurred arc. Beads of moisture dripped from his chin and the ragged ends of his black hair. Exhaustion dogged both men, weighing on their movements and slowing their pace. The excitement in the stands heightened with anticipation for the imminent conclusion. Rayad’s breath grew shallow.

  From somewhere, the young man summoned a hidden reserve of energy. Sword raised, he drove into his opponent. The blond fighter staggered and struggled for an advantage against the ear-ringing downstrokes of his rival’s blade. The rain of blows continued in its ferocity until he lost his balance and crashed to the ground. A thundering of cheers erupted when the young man positioned himself over his fallen foe, poised to deliver the killing blow.

  The young man’s eyes turned to the stands. His chest heaved. One by one, the people
jabbed their thumbs toward their throats and chanted in unison for the fallen man’s death. The rhythmic outcry pounded into Rayad’s ears. Of course they wouldn’t call for mercy. A crowd this invested would want bloodshed. Rayad shook his head. He shouldn’t watch this, but something held him there—some pull to see the fight to the end—though he would probably regret it later.

  The young gladiator’s gaze shifted to the officiator of the games. The overweight lord slid from his seat and shambled to the edge of his viewing box where he held out his fist. With increased vigor, the crowd called for death, all eyes on the lord’s outstretched thumb. In an almost contemptuous motion, he jerked it toward his throat. The crowd broke into cheers.

  Rayad let go a long sigh, a dull ache in his chest. No one, especially someone so young, should be forced into murder. But what did he expect? The world seemed to thrive on this sort of cruelty.

  At first, the young man did nothing. His sword point still hovered over his kneeling opponent’s chest. Rayad’s own heartbeat slowed as the young man’s eyes dropped from the stands. He raised his sword higher. The crowd, now hushed, leaned forward.

  In a blur of motion, the young man spun his sword around and smashed the hilt into his opponent’s head. A solid blow, but not a lethal one. The man went limp and fell senseless to the dirt. Rayad’s lungs released their held breath. All fell silent for a moment, but then boos and jeers poured from the spectators. Turning in a slow circle, the young man glared at them. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his sword aside and marched toward one of the gates. Half-eaten food and garbage pelted him along the way, and the angry, hate-filled shouts continued well after he was out of sight. Rayad glanced once at the officiator. A scowl put deep lines in the man’s pudgy forehead. He ought to be down in that arena fighting for his life. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so quick to condemn a man to death.

  Rayad tore himself from the opening and shook the images away as he emerged outside the arena on the far side. A den of madness and evil. That’s what his father had always said about the games. And he’d known it firsthand as a slave and caretaker of the horses often used in gladiatorial fights. Though he’d earned his freedom and turned that knowledge of horses into a lucrative business of breeding and training the animals, he was a rarity. Most enslaved men involved in the games never escaped the bloodshed of the arenas.