The large tent—tattered but sturdy, like an old oak. Inside, a hum of voices.
— Here, —said Ulrin.
The Iron Captain's pavilion was cramped and stuffy, the air soaked with leather, sweat, hot metal, and the bitter spirit of the past. A lone lantern cast glints on the walls, as if the world tried to break in but failed. At the rough table—the captain himself. A monumental figure, almost mythical.
Kane de Rockhart was famous for silence like a monk for humility. He measured every word like gold from an ancient chest. In the camp, they said he could spend a day without a sound except orders. And it was true—as true as that his silence came not from scarcity of mind but from an excess of thoughts too heavy for words.
His face hidden by a helmet, but eyes gleamed from under the visor—deep, dark wells where stars drown, sharp and piercing. He studied maps with a lover's care—every fold of terrain known by heart. His face, chiseled by fate from stone, didn't twitch at my footsteps.
— Sholn de Lorens. To what do I owe the visit? —low voice with hoarseness, not looking up from maps.
— Good day. Matters that won't wait. But first—how are things here? Holding?
— Holding as we can. War is a capricious lady: today you're her hero, tomorrow—bones in the grinder.
I nodded. I knew that truth too well. Sat without invitation—a habit when news is especially heavy.
— I have bad news, —and bitterness sounded in every word. — Monaria has lost its king. The country drifts on the edge of a rift, like a ship without a helmsman.
The words hung heavy and final. The Iron Captain didn't move, only something flashed in his eyes—a shadow, quick as an arrow. In the stormy depths, pain flickered for a moment—deep as a well, quiet as a last prayer. A short breath:
— Pity.
One word contained everything—understanding of tragedy, personal pain, a warrior's sorrow knowing the price of power and its loss. "Pity"—like an epitaph to a whole world.
It irritated me—his ability to squeeze a whole world into one word, as if words were icy ingots. No continuation followed. The Iron Captain bent over the maps, as if answers could be found in lines of roads and bends of rivers.
— You're strange, —I couldn't hold back with irritation. — Can't squeeze words out of yourself.