The prisoner was kept in one of the lower chambers beneath the city, a room carved from the mountain itself, cold and damp and lit by a single torch. Two Druvkaur guards stood outside the door. They stepped aside when Zekar came.
The Vordhûr captain sat with his back against the far wall, wrists bound in front of him. He was a big man, broad through the shoulders, with a jaw like a stone ledge and eyes that had decided to be unafraid. His armor had been stripped, but he wore the removal like a badge. He looked at Zekar when the door opened and didn't look away.
Zekar pulled up a stool and sat.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
"You're the dragon," the captain said finally. His voice was rough, accented with the flat vowels of the eastern provinces. "Heard you coming before I saw you. Half the men dropped their weapons just from the sound."
"And the other half?"
"Ran." He said it without judgment. "Smart, probably."
Zekar studied him. "What's your name?"
