Melschoi kissed his wife on the cheek and stepped out into the night.

His heavy armor clanked as he walked. In the hot night air, he knew that he would be a short hairy ball of sweat when he finally got back home at the crack of dawn.

He hated working the nightshift, but it was the only time with a patrol open for a new Vigil-Sargent. It was the reason he was the first dwarf to hold an officer’s rank in the city watch. It was also the reason he was able to move his family into their own apartment before their second little one was born. The hell it played with his sleep schedule was an even exchange, in his opinion.

His wife felt otherwise, but wives were more sensitive about such things.

He met with the with other members of his patrol at the watch post.

Carlo was a quiet veteran and the longest serving man in the patrol, Melschoi consider him to be his informal second in command. Alberto was one-eighth an elf, but his ears were very pronounced, he was also the best marksman with a bow at the watch post. Benedetto was a complete pain in the ass, but he was also the luckiest man Melschoi had ever met, and he considered that worth something. ‘Farm-boy’ was only a probationary Vigil-man, the kid seemed hopeless so far, but not so hopeless as Melschoi had been when he first joined, so perhaps it would all turn out alright.

None of them were any happier to be on the nightshift than he was. More than seven out of ten Vigil casualties came on the nightshift, but that also meant they collected hazard pay and were favored for further promotion.

None of his men would be dying tonight though. The dwarven quarter was the safest area in the city south of the Main Road, and he knew the area well. They would do a quick sweep of the merchant shops to be sure they were all locked up tight, then return to the watch post for a couple of hours.

He ordered the men to grab their lanterns. Benedetto began to grouse, until Carlo told him to stow his complaints until he was on his own time. They set out.

Melschoi had his hand-axe on his belt. He was too short to use the standard longsword most Vigil-men carried. Alberto carried his personal hunting bow rather than a sword by preference, and none of the rest of them ever filed a complaint.

Most of the stores in the dwarven quarter were metal workers or gem cutters, but there were also a mixture of eateries and breweries. Everyone had closed before sundown and the usual clamor of the city had subsided to a distant rumble.

Summer in the Republic was utterly unbearable. Even at night, the city simply refused to cool. All of them were constantly reaching for their waterskins as they went.

They had just reached the edge of their district when they heard the sound.

It was a tremendous crash, that seemed to come from the nearest brewery.

“Ye gods! What was that!?” Farm-boy called out.

“Quiet!” Melschoi ordered. “Alberto, do you see anything?”

“Nothing outside,” he replied.

“Carlo, take Farm-boy around the back and make sure they don’t try to sneak out that way. Benedetto, you’re with me. Alberto, stay here and keep us covered.” So saying, Melschoi began marching towards the front entrance.

“Why do I always draw the chicken shit assignments?”

“Stuff it, Ben!”

Everyone followed their orders, even Benedetto. He and Melschoi took positions to either side of the main entrance. Melschoi tried the door, but it didn’t open.

He used his skeleton key, and the lock clicked. They gave the others a few minutes to get into their own positions, then moved in.

“City Vigil! By the command of the Doge and the Republic, you are ordered to present yourself for identification!” Melschoi shouted into the shadows of the brewing equipment.

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All was quiet. No one emerged.

“It was a nice thought, sarge.” Benedetto ribbed.

“I thought I told you to stuff it?”

Both of them jolted their heads at the noise of clanging metal. They each recognized the sounds of swords meeting. The clash of battle echoed through the cavernous brewery, and it was impossible to see where it was taking place.

“Follow me.”

“Aye, Ser.” The tension had finally cut through Benedetto’s aura of self-satisfaction, and the Vigil-man held his weapon at the ready.

They tried to follow their ears as best they could, but it was a dark maze of pipes they were constantly knocking against.

Then they saw them, at the edge of their lantern light.

Two high elves, in all their colored finery, locked in combat. Melschoi had never seen a high elf before, but he had heard tales of the strange rainbow patchwork of robes and scarves they wore. Their blades were curved, intended for use cutting men down from horseback. They were both on foot, at the moment.

Neither combatant paid them any mind, their concentration was utterly devoted to their opponent. Melschoi recognized a battle for honor when he saw it. High elves from the steppe were not well loved in Whitegate, to don their colors openly like this could only be a matter of personal honor.

Part of him wished he could only leave them to it. Let them settle it between themselves and not risk becoming involved. The look in Benedetto’s face told him that he felt the same way.

No one was supposed to die tonight.

But he had his own honor to consider. They had a duty as men of the Vigil to uphold the law. He swore an oath. Melschoi was not naïve enough to believe that every lawman took his oath of duty serious, but he did.

He would risk not returning home to keep it.

“Hey you there, stop!” Melschoi called out, but they just ignored him.

Then he saw Carlo and Farm-boy approaching from the opposite side.

Good lads!

Now that they had the numbers advantage, Melschoi called out again with more steel in his voice. “By the order of the Vigil, halt!”

Still, the two elves whirled in their personal combat and refused to acknowledge them. A storm of steel was passing between them, almost too fast to be seen.

With no other alternative, the Vigil-men moved to separate the opponents. The moment they had a safe opening, Melschoi and Benedetto grabbed one. The other two quickly tried to grab the other.

For a moment it seemed like they had him. Then Farm-boy slipped, his head knocked against a pipe and he went limp. The elf’s blade went free. Melschoi heard a sharp exhale of breath from one he held, as his enemy’s weapon passed through the man's ribs.

The orange scarf over his face slipped, and Melschoi saw confusion written all over it. “…The priestess said… no- she allowed me to believe. She said only that I would die, as I have.”

Benedetto went over to help subdue the other duelist. The dying elf was pierced through the lung and already past the point of struggle. He was laughing bitterly, even as he choked.

Melschoi laid the man down on the ground. “What was even the point of all this?”

“He killed… my father…”

Godsdamnit! I didn’t want anyone to die tonight.

The dwarf was so locked in his own thoughts, he didn’t see the elf working a spell with his dying breath until it was too late.

The life went out of him, and a bolt of fire flew from the elf's hand. It went to the fermentation tanks and exploded into a wall of flames.

The other elf threw off Carlo. The blade flashed again. The perpetrator was fleeing.

Benedetto fell.

Melschoi started off towards the elf, before realizing that Benedetto was still breathing. “Ben!”

“Sword got caught on my armor- didn’t go deep.” He was still on the ground.

“You are the luckiest man I have ever met.”

Farm-boy was unconscious, and Carlo had put him over his shoulder. The fire had already begun to spread.

No one else is dying tonight.

Melschoi helped Benedetto up and they left the brewery. They found the elf in a standoff with Alberto outside.

“Caught one for you, sarge!”

“Good boy, Albie! This bastard killed a man in there, and nearly did the same for Ben! Keep your eye on him, and if he twitches, shoot him!”

Farm-boy was coming to, and they left Benedetto with him to bandage up. Melschoi and Carlo approached the elf together.

“You’re under arrest! Drop your weapon, now!” Melschoi ordered.

The elf said something unfriendly in Sylvan.

“Albie, put one in his hip.”

The arrow whistled through the air and hit right on target. The elf dropped to one knee, but refused to scream. He still held his sword.

Melschoi saw the look in his eye. The man intended to die there and now.

“No one else is going to die tonight. Not even you, you bastard. In the shoulder, Albie!”

The arrow took the elf right in the shoulder of his weapon arm. He tried to shift the sword to his other hand, but Melschoi and Carlo weren’t waiting. The dwarf stood on the sword arm with all his weight, while the human began clamping their prisoner in iron shackles.

Both of them treated him as roughly as they liked.

When they were finished, they hauled the murderer to his feet.

“I am Vigil-Sargeant Melschoi informing you that you are under arrest for trespassing, arson, resisting arrest, assault on members of the Vigil, and murder. And you are going directly into darkest, smallest, foulest cell I can find for a very, very long time.”

They hauled the man off to take him to the dungeons, and bring their men to the infirmary.

Melschoi couldn’t wait to get home and tell his wife and boy that he loved them.