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

they would only rob him. More likely, they would torture or kill him purely for sport.
    He glanced northeast, wondering how far away the Lotus Isles were. As far as he knew, the Dhargots had not yet declared war on the Isle Knights. The Dhargots were bloodthirsty, but they weren’t stupid. If Jalist were under the Knights’ protection, the Dhargots might think twice about harassing him. Besides, the Knights would surely be interested to learn that an army of nearly unkillable creations had quietly decimated a nearby kingdom. If Jalist could convince the Knights that he was telling the truth, perhaps they would help him search for Rowen Locke.
    After all, Rowen’s a Knight! Then Jalist shook his head. A Knight that half the other Knights want dead. He thought of Crovis Ammerhel, the haughty Knight of the Lotus who wanted Knightswrath for himself. Jalist had met the man only once, outside the gates of Lyos, but that meeting had been enough to confirm all that Rowen had said about the man.
    Jalist was still rowing when he thought of the last time he’d helped Rowen reach the Wytchforest; they’d tried to avoid the Dhargots by veering south, near Atheion, the City-on-the-Sea. Repeating that would be suicidal, given how they’d left the city. But south of Atheion lay the Southern Basin, home to the realm of Quesh, where nomadic tribes raised famously fleet red horses called bloodmares. The Queshi had always maintained passable trade relations with the Dwarrs. They might offer shelter to survivors of the Jolym massacre.
    That’s where I’ll find Leander… if he’s still alive.
    Jalist grinned. If he could buy or steal a bloodmare, he could get to the Wytchforest by following the southern coast. The horse’s speed might even make up for the time he would lose finding a ship to carry him down the eastern coast, past Stillhammer and the endless desert of Dendain. That would also save him from having to worry about Dhargots, Lochurite berserkers, Isle Knights, and any of a dozen other enemies.
    But that still leaves the Jolym.
    He looked over his shoulder. What he saw made him swear under his breath. Countless glints of steel swarmed along the shoreline. Jalist wondered if the Jolym would swim after him. Instead, their entire host seemed to have wheeled eastward, continuing their pursuit along dry land. He could not see them clearly in the darkness, but they spread out in the distance like a huge sea of steel. What he had first calculated to be a few hundred now seemed to number close to a thousand.
    Gods, why are they still following me? He paddled faster.
    Years before, he’d helped the Locke brothers escort a merchant to the Wintersea. The merchant had been half mad and poor, but the trip had given them an excuse to see a new part of Ruun. Rowen had even hoped they might see the Dragonward hugging the frozen shoreline; though, if it existed, it was as invisible as the legends claimed. But one day, near a spot of coast where the water was unfrozen, they’d seen something else: a great, terrible fish with fins and many teeth pursuing a much smaller fish, following it with dogged tenacity, ignoring closer prey that it might have caught more easily.
    Jalist’s hands white-knuckled his oar. He had the awful feeling that he was that little fish and the Jolym intended to pursue him with the bigger fish’s same mad, hungry devotion. Cursing, he thrust the oar back into the water and pushed as hard as he could.

    By the time the sun rose over the eastern hills, staining the grasslands like blood, Jalist had the sinking suspicion that he’d been wrong. The Jolym had either given up or had simply happened to be marching in his direction all along. He might have cheered, but something gnawed at him. Climbing a hill, he studied them in the distance. They were still a few miles behind him, but they had divided into two large steely masses. The larger half appeared to be marching northeast, turning unmistakably toward the Burnished