Knightswrath (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 2) by Michael Meyerhofer Read Free Book Online Page B

judgments over entire people”—he glanced at Silwren—“but in the Lochurites’ case, I make an exception.” He spat in the fire for emphasis, muttering a Queshi oath over the faint hiss.
    Jalist nodded in agreement. Silwren knew of the Stillhammer Mountains, where most Dwarrs made their home on the eastern shore of the midlands, but she had never heard of the Lochurites.
    Matua seemed to read her expression. “The Lochurites roam the hills south of the valley. Don’t know where they got their name since they don’t have any cities or towns, much less a king. They just rove about, raping and reaving. They tried invading Quesh not too long ago, but our riders put a quick and bloody stop to that. So they moved on to the Noshans.”
    “Sounds like they’d get along well with the Dhargots,” Jalist muttered.
    “Lochurites don’t even use iron. They think bronze is some kind of sacred metal sent by gods, so that’s all they’ll use for weapons. They’re fanatics, even worse than dragon worshippers. They don’t mind dying. They swallow some kind of poison before battles. It yellows their eyes and drives them mad. Berserkers, some call them. Even their women and children fight.”
    Rowen said, “Atheion has a standing army. Why don’t they hunt them down?”
    Matua scoffed. “Most Noshans stay near Atheion, tending their herds or trading goods brought in on ships. Lochurites don’t attack cities. They just prowl about, scouring camps and villages, looking for easy prey. So the Noshans don’t have much reason to get worked up about it. But I bet they are worried about the Dhargots.”
    Silwren said, “They aren’t the only ones.” She looked at Rowen.
    Matua leaned forward. “There’s talk of them sweeping across the Simurgh Plains. Makes me wonder, if things don’t work out in Atheion, if we’d even have villages to go back to. And that’s if we even make it to Atheion in one piece!”
    Rowen asked, “Doesn’t your group have any fighters?”
    Matua laughed. “Guards cost money. We can hardly afford bread. But we’ve got a few weapons, here and there.” He tapped his rusty sickle-sword.
    Silwren saw the concern in Rowen’s eyes. She guessed what the Knight was thinking. She could not decide whether to feel irritated by the Human or be proud of him.
    “Maybe we could help,” Rowen said. Jalist groaned, but Rowen continued. “We could escort you to Atheion. In the meantime, we don’t have extra weapons, but we can help you carve some spears from old tree limbs. Harden them with fire, and even if they don’t push through a bronze breastplate, they’ll drive the wind out of a man—drugged or no.”
    Matua blinked in surprise then grinned. Some of the others looked displeased, but most wore expressions of relief. “You have our thanks, Sir Locke! And you’ll have coin for your troubles—no, don’t refuse it. If you know the Queshi and hospitality, you know that’s an insult. Just nod and give me whatever courteous reply they taught you on the Isles.”
    Rowen grinned, and Silwren knew his pleasure came as much from the use of his title as from anything. She did not listen for Rowen’s reply. She looked away.
    Rowen, you’re no figure in a tale of hope and heroes. By the Light, you have no idea what you’re risking. We were supposed to make haste through the valley, not act as bodyguards. If there’s a fight, if I lose control…
    She studied the faces around her: gnarled priests, fretful old women, a few wide-eyed children gazing upon her with fearful fascination. She wondered how many would die were she forced to unleash her full power to protect Rowen. She spooned some of the stew and raised it to her lips. It was hot but bland. She ate it anyway and tried to smile.

Chapter Four
    Fohl’s Daughter

    B y midday, Rowen began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. He had risen early and, with Jalist and the priests’ help, begun fashioning crude spears. But the task quickly proved to be