The road stretched like memory—endless and boundless. It climbed hills where wildflowers whispered of summer, then dropped into valleys where the air thickened with premonitions. The horse was tired, as was I—it could be heard in every step. The wind whipped the face, tousled the cloak.
Which of us needs rest more? —I thought, stroking the horse's neck. The philosophy of the road doesn't shorten distances.
The sun leaned toward sunset, painting the sky in shades poets sing of, while practical people read as a signal—time to find shelter. For me, it was a reminder: time dislikes empty musings.
The first camp appeared with familiar outlines. Tents with military precision, campfire smokes, soldier silhouettes. The air in the foothills smelled of earth, then iron, cooled fires, and that anxiety always hovering over troops—the very essence of war. Something inside relaxed. Civilization, —I thought ironically.
I dismounted, feeling my numb legs barely holding. From this human mass emerged a knight in dimly gleaming plate. Ulrin—one of those who takes service seriously but remains human.
— Can you take me to the iron captain? —my voice sounded even, but fatigue hid in the depths, a shadow of long roads.
Ulrin raised his eyebrows:
— Of course. Sholn de Lorens, I'm surprised to see you here.
In that phrase, there was more subtext than in a diplomatic note.
— What, a rear captain can't come to the front? —the question sounded light, with protective irony. — Or do you think I'm afraid to dirty my boots?
— He could, of course... I'm very glad to see you, don't think... —Ulrin hesitated.
— Better take me to the captain, —I waved, cutting off the awkwardness.
We walked between tents. The camp lived its evening life—soldiers repaired gear, prepared dinner, played dice. Someone sang of home, someone read a letter by torchlight. Ordinary life continues even where tomorrow may bring death.
— You know, Ulrin, —I spoke, — sometimes it seems war is just a game. Big, noisy, with heaps of pawns like us. Only pawns can't cry, and we sure can.
— Philosophizing, captain?
— What else to do when you're jolting in the saddle for hours? The head seeks meaning where there might be none.