Veylin neither accepted nor rejected this barbed "compensation."
"My lord Baron," Jim said, handing over a document bearing the Stonebeard crest with a perfectly measured smile. "My lord is currently in your custody. Might I be allowed to see him?"
Veylin said nothing, merely tipping his chin at a guard.
"Take him there."
Beside the vine fence surrounding the temporary prisoner camp, Jim found his lord. The foul stench of sweat and sour rot made Jim wrinkle his nose, but Ola sat on the ground with his back against a wooden stake, seemingly oblivious.
"My lord, you've suffered terribly," Jim began with a convincing show of distress, before irrepressible excitement crept into his voice. "But rest assured, I've already dealt with the 'trouble' back in your domain."
He leaned closer and lowered his voice, his tone brimming with smug satisfaction.
"Those serfs-over eleven hundred mouths that do nothing but eat-are now Stone Rock Town's compensation to Baron Veylin. Ha! Think of all the grain we'll save every year! When you return, your burden will be so much lighter!"
Yet not a ripple disturbed Ola's hollow eyes.
No joy, no anger.
Jim's smile gradually faded, and he instinctively took half a step back.
Whether the serfs lived or died? The domain's expenses?
None of it mattered to Ola now. All he could think about was the day of his defeat: the dark green vines surging wildly from the earth, and that beetle legion moving in flawless coordination under Veylin's silent command.
Wrong Anchor Harbor, in the top-floor office of the Golden Sail Merchant Guild.
The Dragonhawk knight Rudolf had been standing there for nearly ten minutes. Maintaining an impeccably aristocratic expression, he repeated Sea Wolf's vulgar message one word at a time, in a peculiar tone that betrayed his struggle