Strella rode into Mastifon without challenge. Right through the wooden gatehouse, past the wooden walls. No guards in sight.

There where plenty of people going about their day despite the tense thoughts that roiled through their heads.

Unpleasant and troublesome.

Rumors of rebellion were being confirmed with every heavy tread of Grevax’s metallic paws into the muddy street.

People eyed them as they passed, but none approached.

Strella found a sign and followed it to the town’s council hall.

She found the missing guards surrounding the place.

Wary thoughts, but not outright hostile.

A mechaniform was a rare sight in the region. Only the extremely wealthy or exceedingly dangerous would’ve had them. That she was traveling alone definitely marked her as the latter in their thought processes.

Strella hopped off Grevax. “If attacked… defend yourself,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear.

That filled the guards’ minds with concern.

Good.

Their interaction would be one with great care.

“I will speak with your council,” she said as she strode toward the lead guard.

“Er… milady, we’ve orders—” the guard’s eyes widened as it became apparent that Strella wasn’t going to slow down.

Their spears wavered.

She saw that they were torn between those orders and offending a personage of uncertain stature.

Ultimately, backwater guards weren’t paid enough or disciplined enough to get in her way.

They parted and allowed her to continue toward the council hall.

The lead guard was shorter than Strella so he had to hurry to keep up. “The thing is… the council—”

“Will speak to me.”

The door to the council hall loomed ever closer.

The guard made a decision. He waved at the two guards to open the door. “I’ll announce her ladyship?” he pleaded.

Strella nodded.

The lead guard practically ran to get through the door ahead of her. “Er… how would her ladyship like to be announced?”

“Justiciar Strella,” she replied.

“Justi—” the lead guard almost stumbled. His face had gone white.

Strella felt an ounce of pity. The man was just doing a job. From what she had read, he was largely honest in performing his duties, nothing more and nothing less. Hence he didn’t need to fear her so long as it remained that way.

She stopped at the inner door to the council meeting room. “Are they in session?”

“Yeah, milady, I mean, Justiciar Strella… there’s—” he grimaced, “well, there’s been some trouble brewing, but it’s not just us. I’ve heard that Tyranon and River Glade have been dealing with the same—”

“You may announce my presence,” Strella gestured to the closed door.

The lead guard stammered, nodded, bowed, then bowed again before he went through.

She strode in as soon as he announced her name. She inclined her head in thanks to the lead guard he rushed out.

The council meeting room was plain, unadorned, with the exception of the local lord’s banner hanging over the empty throne on the raised dais. Wood was the material of choice for the round council table and high-backed chairs. There was a refreshing lack of shiny things and dazzling gems in comparison to the late Lady Semutir’s throne room.

Strella preferred the lack of ostentation. It had always struck her as a waste of resources. Pretty, gilded things were useless. Better to spend that wealth to feed and house the citizenry. Perhaps, they could’ve better trained and equipped the adventurers to deal with the monster zones. So many things could be done to improve the nation as a whole.

“Where is your lord?” Strella frowned.

She read the answer in their minds in that instance. She stifled the brewing impatience. She had to observe the forms. Had to let them speak.

“Lord Trumerian is currently recuperating in his manor,” the fat, indolent councilman said. “Forgive my temerity, Justiciar Strella, but what is your purpose here in Mastifon? It isn’t often that we get one such as yourself in our humble town.”

“What happened to the lord?”

She read the answer before another councilman voiced it.

“A mob scared his horse and he took a tumble, not life-threatening,” a slighter fatter, unctuous councilman said. “Rest assured that the perpetrators of that dastardly act have been punished.”

Pilloried and whipped.

“The causes of this… unrest?”

The five councilmen remained silent. They eyed each other. Clearly, none them wanted to be first to give voice to their thoughts.

Strella was surprised to find that none of the council members had any idea what was truly going on.

It seemed that the unrest wasn’t their doing.

Surprising.

That was atypical of revolts when viewed through the lens of history.

“We believe it’s nothing more than the low forgetting their places,” the unctuous councilman said.

“We don’t all agree on that account,” a third councilman spoke. This one was stout. His huge hands were gnarled and his nose was askew. A former soldier and brawler in his youth, turned brewer in his middle years. Owner of the town’s brewery and two of the four taverns. “This isn’t as simple as the people getting unruly.”

“Continue,” Strella directed.

The other councilmen glared at the brewer.

“There have been incidents over the past several months. Merchant businesses vandalized—”

“Our homes!” the indolent councilman pounded a fleshy fist on the table.

The brewer thought about punching his fellow for the interruption, then he thought of doing the same to the rest for the satisfaction.

Strella cleared her throat.

“Goods stolen, but then they’d appear in the middle of the town square… burned or fouled in some other manner. I’ve lost several barrels to dead vermin and shit. They were sealed and I had good people watching them. Somehow… right under their noses…” the brewer councilman growled.

“The incidents all had one thing in common,” a wizened old councilman said. “A badly drawn triangle set inside a circle was found painted at each site.”

“It’s the group responsible for all the trouble,” the unctuous councilman said.

“Narchist, the word followed the symbol. We’ve yet to discover the meaning,” the wizened old councilman said.

Strella regarded the brewer councilman. “You’ve more to say.”

“Just that… I smell something different in the air this time. The people are being riled up. It’s more than the usual discontent over high taxes,” he glared daggers at the men seated around the table. “My gut’s telling me magic or high-level Skills are involved. The only explanation for fucking crap ending up in my barrels!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” the unctuous councilman snapped.

“That’s why we need to question your employees. They’re the only ones with access to your stock if what you say is true,” the indolent councilman said.

“That’s not happening while I’m on this council!” the brewer councilman rattled the heavy wooden table with a fist.

“Not if we put it to a vote,” the indolent councilman said.

“We must remain united,” a younger councilman said as he peered at Strella through thick spectacles. “Which is why there will be no vote on that. Justiciar Strella, I beg forgiveness, but I must say that it is irregular for one of your stature to be all the way out here. I find it curious that you arrive in the midst of our troubles.”

Strella pulled the token that she had received along with the task at the postmaster’s office.

Sharp intakes of breath accompanied the sight of the Imperial Badge.

“The Office of the Emperor has taken notice,” Strella said.

Terror ran rampant in their thoughts.

Genuine.

They didn’t want to be perceived as responsible for what was going on.

“I told you it was more serious than you was saying,” the brewer councilman jabbed a finger on the table.

“And you are here to?” the younger councilman eyed Strella warily.

“My task is to deal with this brewing revolt in your town,” she replied.

“Not just us, Tyranon and River Glade are also experiencing the same troubles,” the wizened councilman said.

“I require access to your employees. All of the ones that were on duty when your barrels were fouled,” she locked eyes with the brewer.

A curt nod was the reply.

“I require access to the people involved in Lord Trumerian’s fall.”

“Of course,” the younger councilman quickly said.

“You will need lodgings, I humbly offer my—” the unctuous councilman began.

“Unnecessary,” she cut him off, “an inn will suffice.”

“We are happy to assist in any way that you require,” the younger councilman said.

“There is only one thing that you must do,” Strella cast a cold gaze on the table, “do nothing. Do not inflame them. Ignore the provocations.”

“But the rabble will think we—” the indolent councilman huffed.

Strella’s unblinking gaze shut his mouth.

“Yes, of course. We’ll provide you with a bodyguard as well,” the younger councilman said.

“That won’t be necessary.”

With that Strella left the council room as brusquely as she entered it.

The lead guard stumbled away from the door as she pushed it open.

“You’ve heard, so take me to the prisoners. I have people to question.”

“Er… yes, Justiciar Strella,” he bowed.

“And stop doing that.”

“Yes,” he half-bowed before catching himself.

A short time later the lead guard, whose name turned out to be Ralleck, found himself bowing profusely as he tried to explain to Strella that their prison didn’t have an interrogation room.

She regarded the interior, which was one large building with multiple cells arranged against the walls, with a stone mask.

The prisoners eyed her with a mixture of fear and wariness.

She didn’t truly need to verbally question the prisoners. She could get what she needed by perusing their memories as she stood there, but the procedure needed to be maintained.

“An office then?” Strella said.

“The prisonmaster’s?” Ralleck shrugged.

“That will do.”

“Er…”

“Take me to this office and have the ones involved in the incident with the lord brought to me one at a time.”

Ralleck gaped like a fish.

She could see him imagining the look on the prisonmaster’s face when they kicked him out of his office.

He smiled with genuine joy. “Right this way, Justiciar Strella.”

Ralleck led her up a narrow set of stairs at the rear of the building and to the second floor.

There was a large open space with lockers and benches for the prison guards.

The office was farther in and to the right.

Ralleck gave the door a perfunctory knock.

“Excuse me,” Ralleck strode in.

“Wha—”

The prisonmaster was an absolute bull of a man.

Strella eyed him as if he was nothing.

“Justiciar Strella is here to conduct questioning of prisoners. The council has given her complete authority. We’re to do as she says,” Ralleck said.

“Go on then,” the prisonmaster snorted.

“She’ll be needing your office.”

Strella read the expletives and other vile things that he’d like to do to her flash through his mind.

The man looked like he was about to argue.

“She has an Imperial Badge,” Ralleck said lightly.

The man’s eyes narrowed. He got out of his chair and grumbled all the way out the door.

“He likes to throw his weight around,” Ralleck whispered to Strella. “Nice to stick it to the pigfuc— er… what I mean to say is that I’ll bring the first prisoner up when you’re ready.”

“Very good, Guardsman Ralleck. I’ll proceed immediately.”

The first prisoner thrown into the office was an old man. One side of his face was an ugly, purple, swollen mess. A bracelet of angry red encircled his thin wrists. The same rawness was present around his neck.

A grandfather, a baker, a peaceful man that had never so much as raised his voice in anger more than a dozen times in over six decades of life.

Strella read all of that in the silent seconds she took to slowly, casually remove her gloves.

“Answer all questions truthfully,” she showed the old man her palms. “You will have nothing to fear from me if you do so.”

The old man paled and nodded.

“You participated in the incident that saw the town’s lord injured?”

The old man kept his wide eyes on her hands, even though she held them clasped together on the desk in front of her.

She cleared her throat.

“Uh… yeah, I did, I mean, I was there, but I wasn’t close enough to— I mean the town guard had me— it was chaos… I didn’t learn about the lord falling off his horse until later.”

“Why did you choose to join the mob?”

“Not a mob!” his voice rose, then fell again as he remembered where he was seated. “The lord increased taxes. He gave no reasons. This isn’t a rich town, but everything was fine, comfortable even… why would he do that?”

“How was the protest organized?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “There was this leaflet. Copies being passed around. I don’t remember where I got it.”

Truth.

Strella probed his memories and learned that old man had found it slipped underneath his bakery’s door. She was right there as the old man had read it. She recognized the symbol and the name right on top. The same as the one described by the council.

She saw something else strange in the old man’s memories of the incident.

The old man was guilty of participating in the mob, but there was something else. Almost like a filter over his thoughts. An external force guiding, prodding him into something he otherwise wouldn’t have even thought to do.

She knew that Skills and spells were capable of such things.

“You don’t strike me as a violent man.”

“No, no, justiciar… I’m not! Please believe me! I’ve no idea on what came over me that day!” he pleaded. “The words I read— they just felt right, is all… like they spoke to my soul and all the years of toil while only a handful got rich… that day, was like a fire was lit in me… and then it was gone and now my life is ruined. The lord will take away my bakery. Take revenge on my children, my grandchildren,” The old man sobbed into his hands.

The man was guilty of a crime according to the written laws, but this wasn’t justice in truth.

Strella had read enough.

She called out to the guard standing just behind the closed door. To her surprise it was Ralleck.

“Done with this one? I’ll get the next piece of trash right away.”

Strella held up a hand.

The two men watched the tattoo blink.

“You will release this man immediately.”

“But—” Ralleck began.

“I’ve judged that the punishment he’s already received is sufficient. I’ll put my judgments into writing after I’m finished questioning the rest.”

Ralleck nodded blankly as he pulled the old man by the arm. “Right away, Justiciar Strella.”

Strella knew that not all of the people she would question today would receive the same leniency. She knew that many of them hadn’t been as influenced as the old man. That many of them weren’t basically good people down to their core.

The old man’s participation in the mob wasn’t in his character. The same couldn’t be said for all.

“You’re one lucky bastard,” Ralleck muttered to the old man as he pulled him out of the office.