...Hoburns...

When the body was found, Neia was immediately given word and in turn she gave orders. “Prepare a litter, and carry him on your shoulders, he is one of ours, we will hold a service for him tonight. Have his body preserved until then.” Her men nodded in unison. “Was anything found with him?” She asked gravely.

One of the men, Gilcrest, a man she knew as Gascon's apprentice, broke ranks, approached and looked down at her as he answered.“Yes, Lady Neia. There were three bodies nearby, and copious amounts of blood. All dressed in brown cloaks and high boots, and all of them missing heads.”

Neia looked down in contemplation as she thought of the implications of this information. She tapped her cheek thoughtfully as she disconnected mentally from the loss of one of her followers, focusing on the problem at hand. Her eyes stared down intensely while she thought. She didn’t notice the shifting looks as people turned their eyes from her during her steely focus. “I see... Gascon killed three of his attackers, and probably injured several more, so they took the heads of their comrades to prevent identification. But... they made a mistake.”

“My lady?” Gilcrest asked gingerly.

Neia looked Gilcrest over, appraising him before giving her answer. He was tall, a young man in the flower of youth. His hands were marked with a number of small scars from his work as an apprentice, not covered in them as Gascon’s were... but it was a beginning. His body was broad shouldered and his muscles were as thick and strong as the iron he bent to his will, but his face was fresh, freckled, almost childlike except for his piercing brown eyes that were sitting below an unkempt mop of sandy hair. He appeared to be an innocent but sincere sort of man, so she answered with patience despite the urgent feeling in her gut. “They didn't kill their own wounded, and they didn't have healing potions.” A smug and vicious smile appeared on her face as the means to outsmart and catch the ones responsible began to form inside her mind.

“I don't understand... how...” Gilcrest began, confusion evident on his face.

Neia was quick to answer, her sharp and clipped tone the hallmark of her time in the last war. She looked up at him and ran through her reasoning. “Simple, if they'd had healing potions they could have healed themselves and then removed the bodies on their own. Instead they left them where they fell and only took the heads, that means they were all wounded, and severely enough that moving the bodies was too much.”

She ticked off her reasons on her fingers, but the pace of her words gathered steady momentum, like going from a walk to a sprint. “They had to make a break for it quickly and restore themselves elsewhere. That means we have to ask around for a group of wounded men being seen, and because the three bodies were dressed alike, we can safely guess that the remaining group was dressed alike as well. Ask some of the fighters from our number to handle the investigation. I will have to report the murder to the captain of the guard, but we should be able to handle the rest ourselves. Now go, follow my instructions, and we'll set this right.”

When she finished ticking the points off on her fingers, they’d closed into a fist. And somehow, despite looking down at her, Gilcrest felt he was craning his neck to look up. His eyes grew wide as he realized the extent to which Neia Baraja had thought things through. “Ma’am, it’ll be done now.” He stammered out and went off in different directions.

When they’d parted ways Neia put on her visor for the walk back, she wanted to go to her office, but instead she sent a message to the captain of the guard to meet her at the aqueduct's central distribution node.

An hour or so later, they were together at the aqueduct. What had been a ruined structure, now stood strong, Neia watched as workers finished the last of the pipes, weeks of work had gone into this, and now the city at last had water enough for everyone, the long aqueduct passed beyond the city, clear to the mountains where massive slopes caught and directed melting snow and gave water to the entirety of the capitol.

During the war it had been destroyed by hateful demihumans, which in turn meant that when she took over, the water shortage had been the first crisis Neia had begun to tackle. Completing this freed up several thousand laborers to be put to public works and rebuilding homes, and tonight she'd intended to christen it in a ceremony. It was meant to be joyous, but now, with the death of Gascon, who had largely contributed by making so many parts for it over so many hours... it was going to be a sad affair. ‘You deserved a better end than what you got. Dying over petty schemes of petty people, this should have been the crowning achievement of your life, not the final act in death.’ She thought to herself, and anger built up within.

The captain stood beside Neia and looked at it all, and they listened together as the cheers rang out when someone turned a tap and water poured out. From here fountains and distribution nodes would run again and nobody would be thirsty, but that wasn't what they were thinking of right now. “Have you heard, Captain Robel?” Neia asked the captain of the guard.

“I did. I heard on my way over actually, I passed some of your men carrying his body, and dragging the corpses of the assailants they'd found.” Robel answered in a grim voice, still looking over the aqueduct.

“You know some of your guards are my followers?” She inquired curiously.

“Most of them actually, if you didn't already know that.” Robel answered, he laughed a little at that, his lean muscled frame was like that of a born sprinter, and his dark hair and piercing, ice blue eyes danced in his look. He shrugged, revealing the deep tan of a man on his exposed skin that revealed that he spent much time outdoors, to Neia’s view, that spoke well of his commitment to be more than a behind-the-scenes leader.

“You've done a lot for this city,” he said as a serious expression came over his face.

“Half the guards here were prisoners at one point, and the first thing they saw when they were liberated was you and the Sorcerer King. Some of them suffered badly, so between their gratitude to both of you, your hard work, and your incorruptibility... they're now more your men than they are mine.” He said a bit stiffly, as though it hurt to admit.

“That doesn't bother you?” She asked, a little surprise in her voice as she failed to find any bitterness or vitriol in his own.

“It does... but not as much as it should, I was never much for the gods, and though I loved our Queen like everybody else, she's gone. I just want everything to be made as right as it can be again. You're helping to make that happen. I may not follow you directly, my position doesn't allow for that, not yet. But I'm not about to get in your way, and even if I wanted to... I doubt I could.” He answered.

“So, you'll let the guards who follow me, handle the investigation?” She asked.

“Yes.” He answered, “However, this isn't without a price.”

“What price?” She replied with a somewhat wary voice.

“First, you keep me informed. Second, any you take alive, you hand over for trial under the law. And third...” He began to say...

“And third?” She prompted, now more curious than anxious about what terms she might face.

“You try not to take any of them alive, and make it hurt while you finish things. I grew up with Gascon, so this is personal as much as it is professional.” Robel said with a vicious rage in his voice.

Neia removed her glove and stuck out her hand. “Deal. I'll meet your price.”

Robel reached out to shake it, and winced at the power of her grip, and walked away, leaving Neia alone.

The soldiers-turned-city guards were led by a man named Hob, and he was not subtle about the investigation, having applied a little martial arts strength to the arm twisting in the course of asking questions, and before long they found an innkeeper who remembered four men carrying bags, wearing brown clothing and high boots, who limped in the night before. Hob towered a full foot over the innkeeper, and carried a large maul over his shoulder, “Let me see their rooms.” He ordered.

The innkeeper, a somewhat portly man with an apparent tendency to sweat, began to wring his hands as he spoke and stuttered out, “Th-th-they had but one room for the lot of them, but I will show you, good master.” He then hurried up the stairs. The fearful man took out a set of keys and fumbled with them for a moment, before finding the right one and opening the door. He stepped aside and curled his arms so that his hands pointed into the room. “This is the one, sirs. Will there be anything else?” His quavering voice asked. He very much hoped there wouldn't be.

Hob didn't bother to answer, he went through the room with his men, lifting covers, searching through drawers, until one of his men shouted, “I found something!” And held up a piece of paper.

“What is it?” Hob asked, his deep voice clearly on edge.

“It’s a set of instructions on Gascon's usual route, and the paper is magically created, first of all, not many people can afford that these days, and not many people can make it even if it could be paid for. So that means it was a priest, a noble, or a wealthy merchant who ordered the strike.” The guard's smile turned predatory. “Weren't the men injured, sir? Where would you go if you were badly injured and carrying around some severed heads?”

Hob's face turned equally predatory, “They'd have to get rid of the heads first, in such a way that they're not going to accidentally be found before being reduced to skulls... and then they'd have to go for healing, and with potions being short, and only one temple rebuilt, there is only one place to go.”

“Innkeeper!” He snapped at the withdrawing portly fellow.

“Yes sir...” The innkeeper replied, “How long ago did these men leave their rooms?”

The innkeeper thought for a moment, “They left an hour ago, give or take a little time.”

Hob nodded, “That isn't much of a head start. The Temple isn't close to here, and they have to get rid of the heads, the only place to be sure that they won't be found is by throwing them into the waste zone beyond the city, we probably can't catch them there, but the temple is close to Lady Neia's office.”

Hob swiftly sent a message to Neia conveying his information.

“Very good, Hob,” Neia answered, “I will rush to the temple and tell the priest to take an early lunch, these men thought themselves clever, they'll not be expecting a reception, get to the temple as fast as you can, but don't enter, fan out around it, and don't make it obvious that you're guards or soldiers, they may get past my ‘welcome’ for them.”

She didn't wait for a response, but she grabbed several of the best available followers, those who had been learning her style of combat, and like her, were never far from their weapons. They followed her quickly to the temple and were right behind her as she entered. The head priest initially reacted with shock and began to sputter instructions about not bearing weapons into the house of a god, but Neia's eyes shut him up. “Listen to me, several killers are on their way to the temple, they're the survivors of a group of people who killed one of my followers, they're injured to one degree or another, and will seek your assistance, I want you to be ‘out to lunch’ right now, and keep them waiting for about an hour until some of my other people arrive, we'll take it from there.”

“Should I not heal them then?” The priest said in a shaky and uncertain voice.

“Actually,” she said as she removed her visor and met his eyes with hers, “I want you to heal them entirely. They're going to get hurt all over again, and I don't want them handicapped before that.” Neia said bluntly and caressed the bow she held in her hand, the gentle touch she used was almost like a lover’s caress, and the look in her eyes chilled the priest down to his bones. A shadow lurked in her gaze, dark and savage, but at the same time shining as if the night and day had united as one, like blue pearls... they were beautiful and terrible to look at on a person’s face. He nodded numbly, unable to refuse her, and as she left with her escort, the priest went to the nearest altar to pray for the passing of the fear that swept over him.

Neia took her people back out of the temple and had them station themselves at various intervals around the entrance, appearing to be no more than casual bystanders. Neia, being far too recognizable now, hid back within the temple and waited. Eventually just as she expected, a group of five men, limping or clutching injured stomachs, shoulders, and in one case missing a hand, entered the temple. An attendant brought them in and told them the priest was at his prayers, but he would be returning soon. The men grumbled, but they could do nothing but wait, since none of them were in any immediate danger of dying.

Neia took the chance to poke her head out and look at them, She recognized only one... a man she'd seen in the service of the same noble who had provided the corrupt guard in the first place. ‘No way that is a coincidence. Hard questions asked hard ways, will come to you before the end.’ She mused with a slow and burning anger in her guts.

She examined their gear, their boots were of good quality, and the sheaths of long swords protruded from their cloaks. They were not common thieves, those carried daggers that were easily concealed. None of them carried bows, and she could see that they were wearing chainmail armor... good quality too. ‘Household troops, semi-regulars or regulars.’ She concluded, and given who she recognized, they almost certainly all served the same man.

Some twenty minutes later, she got a message saying that Hob and his men had arrived and spaced themselves out accordingly, and it was just then that the elderly priest arrived, took their coin, and healed their wounds with one of his spells, the men began to walk out, almost at a strut, confident that their day was going very well, unaware it had in fact been getting steadily worse, and it was only going to continue to go down hill with every passing moment.

When they were at the base of the steps, Neia walked out from behind the door and looked down at them. “I've been waiting for you!” She announced loudly. They froze. “We all have.” The first group of her people made themselves known and stepped into a semicircle formation.

“What are you...” Began the large fellow she recognized.

“Save it.” She interrupted, “You killed Gascon, don't even try to deny it, I tracked you here, as did my people, so obviously we know exactly what happened, you were far too sloppy, no matter how clever you thought you were. Now one of two things is going to happen, you are either going to surrender and tell me who gave you the order... or you're going to suffer and die, personally I hope you do the second one, I think I already know who is pulling your strings.”

“I'll tell you nothing, you jumped-up pissant squire.” The large man growled, setting the tone by drawing his sword, a motion echoed by his companions. His gesture froze when Neia removed her visor and the shadow of her gaze fell on him.

Neia shrugged and put her visor away, “Fine by me. Take them down!” Her bow snapped out and she'd launched two arrows before they could react, her people were not much slower, firing one of their own each before they did the unexpected and charged in with swords out. Three of the five were hit, one in the gut, and two took arrows in their knees before swords came down, the house guards had always considered themselves to be skilled, but the Black Justice style of combat was wholly unfamiliar and the combination of savage martially enhanced blows, swift darting sword work, and the contrast of arrows fired at close range, put them down without allowing them to inflict a single injury.

Three of the five were dead, one looked like he would be soon, the last, the one she knew by sight, was still breathing from his position on his back, he snarled up at her between his grimace of pain, and she put her boot to his face in a swift kick, knocking out several teeth. “Congratulations, you get to die by hanging instead of by the hand of Neia Baraja, squire of the Sorcerer King. Your death, such as it will be, is going to be less painful as a result. But first, I want answers. Who gave you your order to kill Gascon?”

He spat out his teeth and tried to glare at her, but her piercing eyes made him shrink under her, and he looked away. “Fuck off, I'm dead anyway.”

“Do you want to die blind?” She asked. She took an arrow from her quiver and, putting a foot on his chest, she crouched down. The tiny point of the arrow now loomed like a mountain peak in his quivering hazel eye.

He paled.

“You saw the... example, I made a few days ago. He was lucky, he was already dead when I did that. I only promised to hand you over to Robel, I didn't promise you'd be able to see when I did so.” Her thumb and forefinger went for the eye that he tried to squeeze shut, and pried it open. “I follow His Majesty’s justice, which is to save all that you can, and do what must be done, knowing that you cannot save all. If I can spare your vision, I will, but if removing your eyes gives me your knowledge, it will be done. So... will I be the last thing you ever see... or not?” She asked touched the arrow tip to the corner of his right eye.

“The count... it was the count!” He gasped out, Neia nodded, she had confirmation of what she already knew. She put her arrow away and took out her sword again, then she struck the bastard once on the head, and he was unconscious. A short message to Captain Robel later, and the official city guard had arrived and taken custody of the lone survivor. “It was Count Handor.” She reported, “He supplied the corrupt guard, these are his men, they killed Gascon in an act of revenge when their courage was bucked up a bit, they probably chose him because he was the one who noticed the missing supplies. If I'd been wiser, I'd have expected that, I'd have had Gascon guarded...” Neia said, looking down sadly.

“You didn't know this would happen, it’s not your fault, so don’t take so much blame on yourself, this is how the world is sometimes.” Robel said with a regretful shake of his head. “We'll still need the official confession, but we'll wring that out of him, and we'll take care of the rest of the bodies. What about your wounded, do they need help?” Robel said.

“We have no wounded.” Neia said with some pride. “Remember even a simple blacksmith of ours managed to kill several of his attackers and wound the remainder, had he been properly armed, and not outnumbered, he might still be here.” Robel's eyes widened at what the squire had said.

They parted ways, and those who had gathered to observe the brief disturbance, did not bar the way.

That evening, Neia spoke to those who had gathered, a crowd even larger than before, considerably so, as word had spread of her taking down an 'elite noble's guards who had been caught after murdering a peasant.' Or so the story went about, however incomplete, it was enough to electrify the common people.

Neia lit a candle and laid it on a stone beside her, and began to speak, “There are two reasons we are gathered here together... the first, is to congratulate you all. The aqueduct has been restored! There is enough water for all, from the smallest babe in the poorest house, to the wealthy nobles in their palaces, to the very dogs in the street. You did this with your strength. You showed that you could recover from the fiercest of blows by the mightiest of demons, you have risen stronger than you were before the coming of Jaldabaoth, you have survived, and you are rebuilding, and the fruits of strength and will applied to the common good, is the definition of justice, and the foundation of a nation's future!” Her voice electrified the crowd, from those whose lives were marred by torture, captivity, and privation... to even the merchants who had been able to escape and continue to live well as the war went on, the tingle of her passionate voice ran up and down their spines.

“Well done!” she praised. And the cheers deafened the city.

Her hands went up to still them, and the cheers began to fade, and when silence reigned again she motioned with her hand, and Hob, along with other soldiers, bore the body of Gascon up before them all, and laid him upon a pyre of wood, and removing the cloak that covered him, she said, “The second reason we have come here is to mourn one of our own. Gascon the blacksmith. It was he who first, through his diligence, noticed the missing supplies, noticed that the very bread our children eat, was being taken away by greed, selfishness, and corruption. It was he also, who became the target of this evil. He killed three of them with his own hands, his strength that protected you, did great harm to those who have tried to harm you. But he was unarmed, he was unarmored, and he was outnumbered, such was the strength of a single common man that experienced household guards of a noble feared to take him on without great numbers; and almost half of them died anyway, what is more, none of the remainder walked away without his marks deep upon their bodies. His strength did not save his life, but it did give us the means to find his killers, and to bring them down in turn!”

She turned and touched the body of the powerful looking blacksmith and placing her hand over his forever still heart, she said, “Thus, at peace, go to your reward as we commit your body to the flames, bright as the spark of your life, and to our memory, where you will always be an example, proof that greatness knows no station.” Her fist rose up as she cast a torch onto the pyre where his body lay, and the flames rose high behind her as she shouted, “Hail Gascon! Hail Gascon! Hail Gascon!”

“Hail Gascon! Hail Gascon! Hail Gascon!” The crowd chanted, and then another trio of voices picked began together, Hob, Gilcrest, and Robel, “Hail Neia! Hail Neia! Hail Neia! And Hail the justice of the Sorcerer King!” Fists rose and fell in time with the chanting, so loud did the crowd grow, that far off, in the palaces of nobles and the royal hall of King Caspond... they heard every resounding chorus. And in one of those halls, Remedios Custodio burned with fury. A fury that was being stoked by a corrupt count, while in the dungeons below, a dagger pierced the heart of his own man, and silenced him forever before his voice could be raised to accuse the count of his corruption.

...Nazarick...

Back in Nazarick, Albedo looked at Demiurge and said, “Did you have that man killed, or was that the count?”

Demiurge laughed, “Oh, it was the count, however with a little manipulation on my part to give that coward some courage, our master's tool will find herself sorely tried in the days ahead. I wonder what she'll do next?”