Report of Sharyl, Pithos to Falcon (118–142 1106)
At Pithos, the Sindalian base, we walked through halls colder than death, –120°C in the dark, with the air long fled. Frost clung to every surface. The place was gutted, scavenged, abandoned. Each step made the metal groan, as though the moon itself resented our intrusion. I thought: this is what becomes of empires. Their strength drains away, their halls are stripped, and only silence remains.
At Cordan, there was bustle: ships in and out, trade flowing, people alive with commerce. In such a place, intrigue follows close. A minister of Baroness Lux spoke of plots and rivalries, and dangled land before us. Land — sixty thousand acres. Land is life, even if offered as bait. I felt my claws stretch, unbidden, with the ache of longing.
Krrsh saw it, of course, and launched into an interminable tale of how he swept aside Miria Silverhand and single-handledly defeated Ferrik Redthane. I have heard this version before. It is best to humour him and listen with grinding teeth, the better to keep the pup happy. Such is my honourable duty to the Lords of the ship. Although I must say that in my frustration the land-longing did pass, washed aside by his insolent boasting. Perhaps he is not quite such a fool?
At Exe, the talk was of warships and mercenaries. Captain Kaashukiin of the Retribution drank with us, her mind sharp, her knowledge wide. She spoke of the Excalibur, Sword Worlder steel, and sought tidings. The humans caroused and told stories; I listened. To drink to excess, to boast of triumphs, that is their way. To watch, to weigh words and silences, that is mine. Kaashukiin has a general’s mind. I would rejoice to fight against her, but prefer to fight alongside her.
At Falcon, we came upon the crippled Western Fire. Her life’s-breath seeping into the black, her crew desperate. I led the first wave aboard, as is right. Boarding must be swift, disciplined, honourable. Later, Krrsh swept aboard. I could not believe what I saw: he had a cape! It was in the old Sindalian style, upon which he had apparently spent sufficient Imperial credits for gravitics technology to make it billow. Billow! In space! For the same cost, he could have had… well, costs mock me and money is a foolish abstraction but I imagine a deadly weapon could be acquired for such a sum.
Krrsh insists that his “billowing cape” strikes fear into the hearts of foes. In truth, it strikes me only with the desire to throttle him with it. He called himself the leader of the “second wave,” and makes light of it. I know he has boarded a ship against the will of its crew, and yet he treats it as an act of theatre. He is a fool. Although, to be fair, he is a brave fool. It is wearying, like sharing a den with a cub.
The engineer was revived, the captain thanked us. The others jested, drank, and turned the story to farce, but they had forfeited the right to their craft. What others cannot hold, we should take. It is not wrong to rule where others show weakness.
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