Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) by Michael Meyerhofer Read Free Book Online Page A

spotted with snow. Tugging at a cloak he’d taken off a corpse days earlier, Jalist marveled that the land could look so different. Within weeks, blizzards would replace the thunderstorms that had washed over Stillhammer. Jalist imagined snow falling on those quiet villages, burying the dead. He shuddered.
    I have to keep going. There are villages a ways north of here. I’ll get a horse and warn whoever else is there to run like hell. Maybe somebody can even get a message to Lyos or the Lotus Isles. But would anyone believe it? Jalist laughed, and a fresh rumbling in his stomach accompanied the sound.
    Jolym had not been seen since the Shattering War. People in these parts had already suffered the Throng, the Nightmare, and the Dhargots. Would they believe Jalist’s warning or wait until they saw the Jolym for themselves?
    “They can damn well believe whatever they want. If they’re foolish enough to stay behind, maybe they’ll make it easier for me to get away.” He remembered an old joke he’d heard as a child: “One does not have to be fast enough to outrun a greatwolf, just everyone else the greatwolf is chasing.” He did not laugh, though. He wondered if anyone had already used that strategy to escape the devastation at Stillhammer.
    Within an hour, he had reached a fishing village nestled against a modest river. Though he could remember the name of neither the village nor the river, he recalled passing through there years earlier with Rowen and Kayden Locke. He especially remembered a well-built, soft-eyed lad who ran the sawmill.
    But silence hung thick between the empty cottages and modest shops. Jalist looked around and, to his relief, found no bodies. In fact, he saw nothing but a few wild dogs that, thankfully, kept their distance. The village had been abandoned in a hurry. Jalist doubted the people could have already heard about the Jolym so far north. He thought of the Dhargots and wondered if they’d progressed even farther east than he’d thought.
    He went down to the river and found a little boat abandoned in the reeds. “Well, it’s no horse, but it beats walking.” He searched the village again, salvaged a skin of wine and dried fruits from an empty tavern, and returned to the boat. He looked south. By the light of Armahg’s Eye, he saw a broad, glistening arm of stars writhing across the plains in his direction, moving low against the ground. He stared, momentarily awed by the strange sight. Then he shook himself.
    No, not stars—unliving, metal men who want to slice me into little pieces. But something tells me the bastards swim even worse than I do.
    Jalist took a long swig of wine. Even though he knew they could not possibly see him, he raised one fist and made a rude gesture in the Jolym’s direction. Then he climbed into the boat, grabbed the oars, and pushed off.
    Though Jalist could not imagine anybody was close enough to hear him, he was careful not to lift the oars out of the water once he began paddling. He began sweating fiercely beneath his cloak, but he knew better than to slip it off and breathe in the cold night air. The last thing he needed was to get sick while he was already fleeing for his life.
    He wondered where he should go next. He wanted to hurry west so that he could find Rowen Locke and warn him what he’d seen, but Rowen was on the opposite end of the continent. Jalist would need a horse and supplies to reach him. Like many sellswords, he’d hidden small caches of coins and weapons in various hiding places around the Simurgh Plains, but all were too far away.
    Besides, even if he evaded the Jolym then bought or stole a horse, riding straight west was suicide. Since he’d parted ways with Rowen, the Dhargots had spread across more than half of the Simurgh Plains, conquering Free Cities left and right. The coming winter might have slowed the Dhargots’ conquest, but to reach the Wytchforest, Jalist would still have to pass thousands of them. If he were lucky,