Orn-Kalot had not wanted to come on this assignment.

  She’d been perfectly happy living in Crystal Rest with occasional jaunts to Sinadil or The Verdant Sands for when she was in the mood for climes more exotic, and had no desire to do several rotations on some primitive backwater.

  While her assumption it would be primitive had been proven wrong—at least according to those who’d visited Argalis—she still wished she were back home. She missed all the conveniences of the empire. She missed going for walks in the wilds after dark without fear of being ambushed by some new monster she’d never encountered before. She could handle a Fiend or two, but the first day she’d gone out for a stroll here, she’d been attacked by a monster so swift she scarcely even got a look at it. She was lucky to have escaped—barely—with her life.

  Others hadn’t been so fortunate.

  They’d now lost three people to what they were calling the mistfiend, though whether it was one monster or different ones, no one save her had survived to tell the tale. All that remained were their pristine corpses, discovered at the bridge to the city.

  Pristine, that was, save for their missing brains.

  Whatever had attacked her had gone for her head, but her… special talents had saved her. Most of her. Her arm had been mangled beyond recognition, and she’d undergone the longest regeneration process she’d ever experienced.

  The one detail of the monster she did recall was partly how it’d gotten its name: a shadowy, mist-like thing with large, dripping fangs of obsidian.

  Now, she was finally recovered, and her second morning back on the job she had to deal with a rogue drakken who had been trying to stow away.

  Not that she didn’t understand his desire to get off this godsforsaken land, but they couldn’t allow the drakken to do whatever they pleased.

  The problem was, they couldn’t well punish him in the traditional manner; leaving him out on a stake for Beasts to pick at.

  For one, while the drakken healed swiftly, it wasn’t as swift as the trolls. For another, well, it wasn’t just Beasts outside the city. Whatever ancient protections kept the monsters out of the city did not stretch beyond its walls. The roads reputedly had some lingering empowerments, enough to keep Beasts away at least, but she’d been on the road when she was attacked.

  As for the other three who’d been attacked by the mistfiend, she didn’t know where it had occurred, but they’d all been Champions. And this man was only a Lesser Defender. If they hadn’t survived, he certainly wouldn’t. He might not even survive a strong Beast.

  The bigger problem was the treaty.

  The clan elders of the Troll Trading Company—her bosses—insisted on getting a reciprocal punishment treaty with Argalis, which meant they were obliged to hand drakken criminals over to Argalis, and Argalis would hand any non-drakken criminals over to them.

  Unfortunately, the treaty was made before they’d realized how dangerous the nights were, and how infrequently the drakken would visit. Orn-Kalot didn’t have the guards to spare to escort the prisoner to Argalis, and even if she had, wouldn’t be willing to risk them. Not until they took care of this mistfiend.

  Given that the only two people here stronger than her were Thi-Oric and Prince Eridos, both of whom were Sovereign Champions, and Thi-Oric was more bureaucrat than fighter, and the prince had practically zero interest in anything other than creating his bestiary, eliminating the threat was something that didn’t seem likely without the help of the drakken.

  But they had strangely little interest in what the TTC was doing here. This was the first time a drakken had committed a crime against them, and only the second time any drakken at all had come to Arkalis since their initial visit to examine the Divide Crosser on its maiden voyage.

  The only thing they’d had any interest in was the ship itself, but after a suspiciously cursory investigation, they’d left and, until yesterday, not returned.

  There hadn’t been a single drakken anywhere in the area, despite the trolls and even a few of the other races making frequent visits to Argalis to buy, sell, and trade.

  And even that was now ending. Already they’d lost two brokers to the mistfiend. Brokers they could scarcely afford to lose. The population had increased by several thousand with the Divide Crosser’s most recent arrival, but only a handful of those had the authority to act on behalf of the TTC.

  Which meant even less funding, and with their shipment of cores sunk at the bottom of the unexpectedly deep harbor, that would be a problem, at least until they could deal with their mistfiend problem.

  Orn-Kalot had already asked the drakken priest who’d arrived yesterday about the mistfiend, as had Thi-Oric, but the woman hadn’t known anything about it or of any monsters like it, and said the road from Argalis to Arkalis was safe, whether day or night, from anything short of a strong Demon.

  Either she was lying, or had simply gotten lucky. Orn-Kalot wouldn’t have survived a Demon attack.

  Orn-Kalot wished the woman were a guard, then she could dump the drakken on her and he’d be her responsibility.

  But turning him over to her would be breaking the treaty.

  Which left her with the conundrum of how to deal with him.

  And her three guards were looking at her for what to do.

  Well, two. Bim-Trabin was focused on their meal.

  At least he had the discipline not to return to it until she allowed.

  She hated being in charge.

  “Right, well, we knew this might be coming, and you all did an admirable job responding swiftly.”

  Val-Lenor patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we all know you would have joined us if you could.” She glanced at the door holding the drakken. “Princess Nadienses wasn’t just being judgmental for once.”

  The troublesome princess had reported seeing a suspicious man waiting on the docks the night before. No one had taken her seriously, as she thought suspicious everyone who wasn’t at least a noble, but Thi-Oric had still stationed a few strong stewards abovedeck to humor her.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Honestly, Orn-Kalot wished he hadn’t. The drakken might have gotten away with it in that case, and she wouldn’t be stuck navigating a political quagmire.

  “If we punish him traditionally,” she said carefully, “the drakken might punish us in reprisal for breaking the treaty. And I’m honestly not sure he’d survive. It’s too dangerous right now to escort him to Argalis with the mistfiend about. Which also limits our ability to get word to them.”

  “The priest—” Cen-Tracor began, but Orn-Kalot shook her head.

  “Is a priest, not a guard. We can’t—”

  “I know that, but she can inform the drakken when she leaves.”

  Val-Lenor grunted. “She’s so annoying.”

  Orn-Kalot agreed, but didn’t say so. The priest had been interviewing all the citizens. Citizens who at this point were, other than the TTC employees, all rich and powerful and very unused to being questioned, and took to it not at all kindly. They’d complained to Thi-Oric, who’d then complained to her, as though she had the power to do anything about it.

  “Annoying or not,” Cen-Tracor said, “she can let their guards know we have one of them who committed a crime.”

  Orn-Kalot shook her head. “She checked everyone who boarded the ship, and didn’t find the shade she was looking for. She’s not going to be leaving any time soon.” Unfortunately, Orn-Kalot thought, but didn’t add.

  Val-Lenor squinted suspiciously at her. “What are you suggesting, exactly?” She got an eager look. “Dealing with him quietly?” She ran a finger across her neck.

  Orn-Kalot sighed. “No, Val-Lenor, that’s not what I’m suggesting.”

  “Of course not, you’re too boring for that.”

  “I’m suggesting we could let him go with a warning that if he attempts it again, we won’t go so easy on him.”

  “A warning! Are you joking?! We should at least confiscate his money.”

  Cen-Tracor fixed the young guard with an inquisitive look. “What money? We searched him and found none.”

  “He has to have money. Who would leave without money?”

  “Someone trying to stow away to Fairwind.”

  “We could put him to work,” Bim-Trabin suggested. Half-heartedly. He was glancing at the breakfast they’d been interrupted in eating and looked as though he was more focused on that than this conversation.

  And Orn-Kalot wished he would stop licking his lips. It was a bad enough habit in humanform; it was downright disturbing in battleform.

  “Indenture is even more complicated than punishment,“ she said, briefly drawing his attention back to her.

  “He committed a crime!” Val-Lenor cried. “We have a right to punish him.”

  “Not according to the treaty.”

  “That priest is here after a shade, not a drakken.”

  “Yes, and if she finds him, we’ll be the ones responsible for punishing him. She’s simply here to identify him.” And, Orn-Kalot suspected, to make sure they actually punished him. Which she was not looking forward to. She just hoped the drakken didn’t insist on harsher punishment than they’d be able to mete out to someone who was likely rich and powerful. He’d apparently attempted to kill one of their priests, the fool.

  Luckily, however they punished him, she wouldn’t be the one to deal with the repercussions from his family or backing. When she got back to Crystal Rest after this rotation, she was done.

  “Will they even notice he’s missing?” Val-Lenor asked.

  “You want to take that risk?”

  Val-Lenor scoffed. “So we’re just letting him go with no punishment?”

  Orn-Kalot shrugged. “Do you want to escort him all the way back to Argalis? It’s three- or four-day’s journey. Which means you’ll be travelling at night. Or, you can guard him. We’ll have to jail him somewhere he won’t escape from. Which means using up one of our limited collars on him, and watching him day and night. And of course, drakken don’t need as much sleep as the rest of us, so you won’t be getting much of that either. But if you want to volunteer…”

  “Of course I don’t want to volunteer!”

  Orn-Kalot shrugged mildly. “Nothing in the treaty forces us to charge him with a crime, only to turn him over if we do.”

  Val-Lenor crossed her arms. “Then tell him we’ll let him go with a warning if he goes after the core shipment the Fiend stole.”

  “That’s as good as murder.”

  “Seems to me like that would solve all our problems. Dying while undertaking a job isn’t our problem. Besides, he’s a drakken. They do great underwater. He can swim fast enough to recover it before the Fiend pops its head out again.”

  “And how do you propose we make sure he does it and doesn’t simply escape? Are you planning to follow him underwater?”

  Val-Lenor threw up her arms. “He’ll try it again, warning be damned. Worse, other people will. You saw that crowd, and you know these people gossip. Those tickets fund our salary.”

  “They all have more than enough means to pay for passage.”

  “Yeah, well, there are plenty of other crimes they’d like to commit if they know we’re not going to punish them.”

  “As long as it’s clear it’s because he’s a drakken, they’re not going to start thinking we’ve gone soft and attempt to murder each other.”

  Cen-Tracor snorted. “Prince Eridos and Princess Nadienses might.”

  “There are other drakken,” Val-Lenor went on. “What happens when they get wind of us not punishing their kind and try the same? They aren’t all rich.”

  “To be fair,” Cen-Tracor said consideredly, “other than the initial envoy, this is only the second drakken visitor we’ve had in all the time we’ve been here, and the priest didn’t come voluntarily. I don’t expect we’ll be seeing a flood of them.”

  “There’s always a first,” Val-Lenor countered.

  “Why would they want to leave?” he asked.

  Despite herself—Cen-Tracor was agreeing with her after all—Orn-Kalot couldn’t help but shoot him an incredulous look.

  He glanced at her left arm, which was perfectly unmarred in humanform, but where on her battleform a grotesque scar still remained from being ambushed by the mistfiend. For something to leave a scar on a troll’s battleform was very strange, but luckily it was a strange monster. “We all know you hate it here. But this is their home. And you haven’t seen Argalis; I have. It may be smaller, but it’s nicer than Crystal Rest.”

  Orn-Kalot found that hard to believe. Crystal Rest was the nicest city in the empire, perhaps on all of Fairwind. A metropolis where anything could be had—if you had the means. It was true the drakken were more advanced than she’d been expecting, than anyone had really, other than the most optimistic—or pessimistic. But still, to have a city that not only rivaled Crystal Rest, but was superior? She couldn’t accept that.

  “Maybe they can’t stand the heat any more than we can,” Val-Lenor said. The young guard had never visited Argalis herself, but its inhospitable climes were infamous. Besides easier access for the Divide Crosser, it was a large part of why they’d set up in Arkalis instead. It was far from cool, but at least it was better than the north.

  “The city’s cooler than the surrounding area, actually,” Cen-Tracor said.

  “It is better inside,” Bim-Trabin agreed, still staring at their breakfast and licking his lips. At least he was paying attention. “Was an escort. Food’s really good.” He tore his gaze from the food on the table. “Still warm though. Sleeping wasn’t comfortable.” He shook his head. “And the moment you step outside the gates, a wall of heat knocks you senseless. No idea how they manage that.”

  “The fay’s empowerments,” Val-Lenor said.

  “According to their records, they built the city, not the fay.”

  “Yes, their records. They’re clearly lying.”

  “I don’t care about the city!” Orn-Kalot shouted, then got hold of herself. She let out a heavy breath. “We need to focus on what to do with him.”

  “If he was escaping from some crime he committed in Argalis,” Cen-Tracor said, “they might come looking for him. They sent that priest for the shade, after all.”

  “There’s your solution,” Bim-Trabin said, glancing at their abandoned breakfast. “We can report him to the priest and be done with it.”

  “I already suggested that,” Cen-Tracor said.

  “We can tell her about it,” Orn-Kalot allowed, “but we can’t release him to her. And she’s not going to be leaving until she finds the shade she’s looking for. Who knows how long that will take. Which brings us back to what to do with him in the meanwhile.”

  “I say we take care of him before she finds out,” Val-Lenor said, crossing her arms.

  Orn-Kalot shook her head. “Yes, we all know your position on the matter.”

  “If we’re going to warn and release him, we should do it now,” Bim-Trabin said. “Before our breakfast gets any colder.”

  Orn-Kalot looked around for any further objections, but there were none.

  They all got up, Val-Lenor reluctantly, and surrounded the door to the room the drakken was in.

  Bim-Trabin, with one last longing look at their unfinished breakfast, unlocked the door and hauled it open.

  Val-Lenor began to stroll in, then halted.

  The room was empty.

  The prisoner was gone.