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

your group is wearing clothes.”
    “Oh, I don’t mean she’s naked. I mean, she keeps wandering off, then coming back. She’s been drunk since we found her. She’s the refugee who made it out of Hesod… though she hasn’t said two words about that, or anything else, since we found her.”
    “Is she wounded?”
    “I don’t think the Dhargots got to her, if that’s what you mean. We just found her wandering south of the city. She had blood on her, but it wasn’t hers. Beyond that, I know nothing.” He paused. “Have you ever known a follower of Dyoni?”
    Despite his irritation, Rowen smothered a grin. Those who followed the God of Earthly Pleasures were famous for their lively barroom and bedroom exploits, to say nothing of their provocative attire—if they wore clothes at all. He had even known a certain flaxen-haired brothel worker who spoke often and longingly of becoming a priestess of Dyoni.
    “I’m doing the work anyway,” she used to say. “Might as well earn divine favor while doing it!”
    Matua frowned. “I thought Isle Knights were above such things. Meaning no offense, of course.”
    Rowen shrugged. “Ivairian Lancers are supposed to be chaste, though few are. For the Knights of the Lotus Isles, though, the laws are a bit… lax in that area. The Codex Lotius only calls for restraint. All things in moderation, that kind of thing. Besides, I wasn’t always a Knight.”
    The cleric did not smile at his joke. Rowen sighed. Remembering another prejudice of the Quesh, he was glad he had said nothing about Jalist’s preference for men. He decided it was time to cut his losses. He bid his farewell to Matua—who was already distracted, trying to help a mother with a colicky infant—and went to Silwren.
    The Shel’ai woman rode stone faced, obviously keeping her distance from the group. He rode next to her for awhile. When she did not speak or acknowledge him, he finally broke the silence. “You’re angry with me.”
    “Perhaps I am not the only one who can read minds.”
    Rowen considered telling her that he regretted his decision as much as she did. “I was hoping you’d say I was wrong.”
    “I already told you, Human—”
    “Rowen,” he corrected. “Gods, are you back to forgetting my name again?”
    Silwren raised one eyebrow, looking down at Knightswrath. “That’s no tin blade you carry, Knight. You wear one of the few relics left in all of Ruun that proves the Oath of Kin is real. With that sword, you might compel the Sylvs and the Knights to fight together. You could save thousands of lives. Instead, we’re safeguarding fifty.”
    She’s right. “You’re wrong. These people needed our help. A Knight of the Crane doesn’t turn his back.”
    “Don’t they? I’ve heard otherwise.”
    “Enough. So what if the Dhargots keep killing? What do you care if Humans kill other Humans?”
    “I don’t. But you do.”
    Rowen was about to argue with her, to remind her that she herself had betrayed the Shel’ai to save Lyos from the Throng, but he sensed that was going too far. Instead, he decided to check on the priestess of Dyoni. He rode back to the ragged column of clerics and crying children. Some bowed at the sight of him. Others shied away when they saw his anger. Rowen ignored them and scoured the ranks until he spotted her.
    At the rear of the column walked a young woman about Rowen’s age, perhaps a few years younger. She wore mismatched traveling clothes. Her trousers, much too big for her, were held in place by a belt of knotted rope. Her tunic, on the other hand, was much too small.
    The breath caught in Rowen’s throat. The woman was clearly Human, though her exaggerated curves hinted at Dwarr blood somewhere in her lineage. She had brilliant red hair, even more scarlet than his. If not for the color of her hair, he might have mistaken her for the brothel worker he had just been thinking about. But this priestess was even more striking.
    She was also very drunk. One