Knightswrath (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

objected, too.”
    “But they still went through with it.” Jalist waved him off before he could reply. “Point is, Locke, they did what they did. No sense denying it. I’m not one to defend those bastards, but if you want to assign blame for Kayden, save half for your brother. He let them make him their thrall. So he gets half the blame, and the Shel’ai get the other half. You get what’s left.” Jalist uncorked his wineskin and took a drink. “Who knows? Maybe there’s even something to what she said about the Light.”
    “About it guiding our actions?” Rowen snorted derisively. “If the Light fated me to be reunited with my own brother only so that I could set him free by killing him”—he turned away, stung by his own words—“then maybe I’m on the wrong side.”
    Jalist stretched out on the ground. “Stop your gods-damned brooding! You’re finally an Isle Knight. Aren’t you supposed to be a pillar of moral certainty now?”
    Rowen scoffed. “I used to think that’s how the Knights were. Then I spent some time with them.”
    “Yet you wear their tabard.”
    Rowen glanced down at his armor again. He shrugged.
    Jalist laughed quietly. “Exactly how far is this Wytchforest, anyway?”
    “A week. That’s what Silwren says, anyway.” The Wytchforest was one of the few realms of Ruun that he’d never visited, though he’d had little choice. Some people, like the Dwarrs or the nomadic horsemen of Quesh, could be unfriendly to foreigners. Others, like the Dhargots, tried to convince them to join their empire and partake in one of their bloodthirsty campaigns. Then there were the Sylvs. In the Wytchforest, foreigners were simply peppered with arrows and left to rot in the sun.
    Rowen hoped his group would fare better than that. True, he had Knightswrath, but he would have little chance to invoke the Oath of Kin if the Sylvs killed him on sight. “We’ll have to stop somewhere along the way and resupply. Hesod isn’t far. Wasn’t there a blond boy you fancied there a few years back?”
    Jalist laughed. “Cornflower hair, skin as soft as a woman’s. If I remember right, you had your eye on some pretty, big-rumped lass you tried to talk out of joining the Iron Sisters.” He glanced around at the storm. “Maybe they’re even still alive.”
    “You don’t sound so sure.”
    Jalist shrugged. “Fadarah never went that far south. But the Dhargots might have. If so, what those bastards will do to the Iron Sisters…”
    “It’s a long ways from Dhargoth to Hesod. The Dhargots might just be focusing on the northern cities for now.”
    “How about Atheion?”
    Jalist opened his mouth, but another massive clap of thunder rolled over them, punctuated by a vehement splash of lightning. Rowen jumped, reaching out to catch Snowdark’s reins and soothe the animal before it could run off. Jalist did the same with his mount, cursing all the while. Both men gazed up at Silwren’s umbrella of wytchfire. Rowen figured they were wondering the same thing: would a bolt of lightning pierce it and kill them? “If we do run into the Dhargots, it’ll be good to have Silwren with us.”
    “Maybe. Troubles follow that woman like they follow you. Gods, Kayden used to say that you drew disasters like shit draws flies!”
    Kayden again. “Then maybe you should be rid of us. You might live longer.”
    Jalist snorted. “Between bandits and my bad luck, I’d never make it all the way back to Tarator—even if they’d have me, which they won’t. So I may as well see where this goes.”
    The storm was worsening, almost completely veiling the midday sun behind bruise-colored clouds. He glanced westward, in the direction Silwren had walked. He thought he saw her statue-still form: a faint shadow cloaked in rain. He could not tell if she was facing them. He shuddered, realizing that no matter how far away she was, she might very well be able to hear their every word.

    They set out again as soon as the storm