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

vouch for us.” He glanced at the old Queshi cleric and wished he’d thought to ask him to speak to the city on their behalf.
    Jalist said, “And what do we do if the Noshan king decides to clap us in irons?”
    Rowen glanced at Silwren and forced a smile. “Melt them.” He turned before Jalist could protest. “Best we stick with the clerics instead of straggling in like fools.”
    “You mean, like the damn fools we are? May as well be true to our nature.”
    Rowen cast Jalist a cold look and rode after Matua.
    With the bulk of the city built on the water, Atheion obviously had no great need for stone walls. Still, a squat wall of sandstone formed a half circle on the banks of the sea. From its wide-open gate, a squad of Noshan soldiers rode out to greet them. All wore Atheion’s sigil pinned to the blue-and-white-striped tabards: a white sailboat between mountains.
    Their lean sun-bronzed captain greeted Matua with formal friendliness, but his eyes widened when Matua introduced Rowen. They widened further at the sight of Silwren. When the other Noshans saw her, some swore. Others signed themselves superstitiously. Rowen tensed.
    The captain tapped the hilt of his sword. “The Wytch of Lyos. We’ve heard of you here, too. They say you’re different from the rest of your kin. Is that true?”
    Silwren answered in a quiet, even voice, “I will trust you to decide that for yourself. But if you’re asking if I mean any harm to you or your city, the answer is no.”
    The captain turned to Rowen. “Helps that you’re with an Isle Knight… and that you have clerics to vouch for you. I’ll let you in, but I’ll have to take you to see King Hidas. As for you”—he turned to Matua, and his smile returned—“you may proceed unhindered. You’ll find the Temple of Armahg on the southernmost skiff. The temple dedicated to Tier’Gothma is there, on the shoreline.” He pointed.
    Matua hesitated. “Captain, I hope I’ve been clear. These people aren’t enemies. They protected us—”
    “I believe you, Father. It will be up to my king if these people stay in the city or not, but they won’t be harmed by me or my men. I swear it.”
    Matua nodded his thanks and approached them. He offered Rowen a handful of coins. When Rowen refused, he offered them to Jalist, who accepted them without hesitation. Then Matua stepped back and thanked them all, though he seemed to avoid looking at Silwren, before rejoining the others.
    The clerics and refugees were already beginning to scatter. Haesha lingered alone on the plains for a moment. She cast Rowen a quick, indecipherable look, adjusted her cloak, and started toward the city gates. She appeared so lonesome that Rowen almost pitied her. Almost.
    “This way, if you please,” the captain said sternly. With the clerics and pilgrims gone, the captain openly wore the same distrustful expression his men did. But something in his demeanor told Rowen that he’d spoken the truth: they would not be harmed—at least, not until after they’d spoken with the Noshan king. He nodded at Jalist and started forward, hoping he had not just made another serious mistake.
    As soon as they passed through the gates and set foot on the first skiff, the noise of a bustling crowd washed over them. The experience reminded Rowen of the King’s Market in Lyos, but the floating market was accompanied by the smell of the sea and the faint sway of the ground.
    Their horses seemed none too pleased with their new setting, and the Noshans appeared to have anticipated such. While their own horses seemed accustomed to their surroundings, the guards dismounted anyway. As soon as they passed through the first gate, the captain summoned a flock of stable boys, who led the horses toward a separate skiff that hosted a huge, sprawling stable. Rowen handed over Snowdark’s reins, despite his hesitance to trust his piebald palfrey, along with the others’ horses and the few supplies left in their saddlebags, to