Luka

Luka was a guard at Koschmark, eastern corridor, fourth post from the stairwell. He had stood that post for six years. He came from somewhere south of the mountains; nobody at the fortress remembered exactly where, and Luka never made a point of saying. The kitchen had grown around him. The corridor had grown around him. Zlata, who had worked the kitchen for thirty-one years and did not suffer fools, said he had been making her laugh for six years and asked Yara not to tell him. He was the first person at Koschmark to say welcome to Yara. He said it in the supply cupboard on her first day, while she inventoried the disorganized stores. He reached the upper shelf without stretching. He shook the empty willowbark jar. He coughed twice, dry and low, and introduced himself by name and post and gave her a smile that did not require anything in return. He brought her an apple in a stairwell after she had told a dying laundress that she was dying. He called the arrangement fair terms: she stitched their wounds, they made sure she ate. The apple was the last of the autumn stores, sweet and slightly soft, and the best thing she had tasted since arriving at the fortress.

Tall, easy in his body, a face that settled naturally into warmth. He could reach the upper shelf of the supply cupboard without stretching.

Quick to smile. Perceptive without being showy about it. The soldier who made the fortress feel less like a fortress. He noticed things other people missed: the empty willowbark jar before Yara asked, the missed midday meal, the moment a hard woman at a kitchen table needed someone to make her laugh. He pulled small acts of kindness through the corridors and tied them to each other without anyone noticing. He had a particular gift for building chains of connection between people who would not have spoken otherwise. He told Yara that Tomas had told Zlata her hands were steady, and Zlata had told him, and now he was telling her. Three soldiers and a cook, threaded together by a man passing through a corridor. His charm was effortless and his loyalty was real. He tied the cloth around his face before Yara finished explaining why. He nodded at the healer in the corridor and meant it.

Posted to the eastern corridor of Koschmark. Held his line at the gap during the northern-pass ambush, swinging with both hands. Six years on the same post does that to a man.