Valkyrie's Shadow

The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 2, Chapter 11

The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 2, Chapter 11

Chapter 11

A man fled through the tall grass, occasionally stumbling as he made his way west through the boundless grasslands of Iago Lousa’s ranch. Neia and Saye monitored his progress from the shade of a lonely elm close to the top of a nearby ridge.

“He’s running the wrong way,” Saye said. “Can people get lost that easily? The sun is out and everything.”

“It’s more like he’s temporarily lost,” Neia replied. “The Holy Kingdom isn’t huge and everyone knows it. If he runs west for a couple of days, he’ll leave Mister Lousa’s land. If he keeps going for two more days, he’ll end up in one of the fishing villages north of Rimun. Also, it’s not as if he has time to think about where he is while being pursued by light cavalry.”

Normally, if one was lost, one could ask for directions from one of the many villages dotting the landscape. The ranchers’ quarry, however, presumably wouldn’t since they were in ‘enemy territory’. That aside, being converted into a range for cattle meant that the villages on Mister Lousa’s land were abandoned. Nearly everyone in his territory lived in the town-sized camp around the villa.

For obvious reasons, villages in the Holy Kingdom didn’t like standing out so getting one’s bearings using them as landmarks didn’t work very well. The Nobles’ men had basically invaded a place that was grass, rolling hills, and empty villages as far as the eye could see. If it weren’t for all of the villages, they wouldn’t have been able to distinguish where they were from the Abelion Hills.

The man stumbled again. This time, there was a pronounced limp in his gait when he recovered.

“Are we killing him?” Saye asked.

“Stop trying to kill everyone!” Neia answered.

Four ranchers rode up behind the man with a leisurely air. He flopped to the ground, exhausted, once they surrounded him.

That’s number twenty-four…

After getting a vague idea of what was going on, Neia split up her men to round up the intruders’ ‘scouts’, which she assumed had been dispatched in a wide array to brute force their reconnaissance. Carlos led the northern contingent while Neia went south, combing the land and picking up their enemies along the way. They didn’t even feel like enemies – just people who were confused after losing their bearings and wandering around for half of the day.

“Then where are you going to put them?” Saye asked, “If you plan on keeping them alive, you’ll have to feed them, too.”

“Maybe we can stick them in a village near the kingswood and make them work.”

“I see,” Saye nodded in understanding, “slavery is also an option. It’s not illegal in the Holy Kingdom, right?”

Neia gave the Bard a sour look. Slavery wasn’t illegal in the Holy Kingdom, but it hardly existed outside of the occasional periods of debt bondage when people met with hardship.

The man was added to the line of prisoners bringing up the rear of Neia’s formation. Two sets of four men were assigned to watch over them while the rest swept over the grassland in search of additional intruders. Whenever they located one, they corralled him as they would their cattle, which worked surprisingly well.

Their new prisoner sat down on the grass with his fellows, who consoled him over being caught. One of the ranchers tossed him a spare water flask. Apparently, they hadn’t even prepared that much when they were sent out to scout.

“So, what are they after?”

“Hm?”

“You’re kinda like a detour, right?” Saye said, “They were coming to do something else when you got in the way.”

“That was the debtor thing, wasn’t it?”

“I meant the bigger picture. Stories often characterise aristocrats as being nothing but petty, but they rarely are in reality. They can be kinda dumb, but they usually have a good education, see more of the world, and have the means to do more than the average person. Unless you run up and break their favourite horse’s leg or wiggle your butt in front of them, they don’t really pay any mind to the little things. What they usually do is connected to a lot more than people give their actions credit for.”

“But these aren’t Noble nobles, right?” Neia said, “They’re just scions.”

“Mmh…I guess you have a point. You’re young and you have a decent figure. Maybe they really did just want to watch you crawl around naked.”

“I-I don’t think they’re that petty. I just can’t think of any motives that would turn the people doing business with Mister Lousa against him.”

“Yet, it’s clear that they have,” Saye said. “We can counter their tactics as things stand, but we’ll never figure out their strategy until we understand what their motives are.”

Saye was right about that. The Nobles were effectively unpredictable until someone figured out what they wanted. Until then, Neia could only hope they kept using tactics her company could counter.

“What if Mister Lousa is hiding something from us?” Saye asked.

“He’s not that kind of person,” Neia answered. “He’s a good man that wouldn’t knowingly do something like that. Besides, we’re taking care of cattle. I don’t know about other places, but the Holy Kingdom isn’t somewhere you’d find sinister plots that revolve around cows.”

At least she thought that it wasn’t. So much had changed since Jaldabaoth’s invasion that she couldn’t be sure anymore.

Five ‘scouts’ later, a set of riders approached from the north. Two were from Carlos’ contingent while the other was the rancher she had sent to update Mister Lousa on their first encounter with the Nobles’ men.

“Good work out there,” Neia said as they brought their mounts in front of hers. “What was Mister Lousa’s response?”

“He asked us to approach the Nobles and tell them that he’d like to negotiate the debts of the people that crossed over.”

Was the resolution that simple? The man they confronted seemed like he only wanted to start trouble. Or did he act the way he did because Neia had tried speaking to him? Would things have gone more smoothly if Carlos had addressed him instead? His demeaning conduct and the resulting escalation wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t stepped up.

They want nothing more than to put me in chains, now, so at least I won’t have a chance to screw things up even more.

“How are things going on Carlos’ end?” Neia asked.

“Not as fun as we expected it to be. We corralled a dozen men before we stopped comin’ across them. Carlos ordered a few of us to follow their trails back to wherever they came from.”

“Did they find anything?”

“Yeah. Looks like they’ve divided themselves between three abandoned villages on the fringes of the territory. Our side.”

“I’ll go and speak with Carlos. With what our prisoners said, I can’t be the one talking to those guys.”

“You were actually considering that?” Saye asked.

“The alternative is to let things fly out of control,” Neia answered. “Someone might even die. Our people are already suffering enough and I won’t do anything to make things worse.”

Violence had to be the last resort. Things were already so tenuous that a new conflict would surely be fatal for the north.

She returned with the riders to Carlos’ position, though he was so far away that it took until evening to reach him. The veteran rancher rose from his campfire and walked over with a bowl of stew in hand.

“If we’re gonna keep these men,” he gestured to his prisoners, “we’ll need more supplies.”

“We’re not,” Neia replied.

Cries of distress rose from the captives, which grew even more so when Neia turned her gaze upon them.

“Mister Lousa wants to arrange a negotiation with the intruders,” she said. “You’ll be able to open a dialogue by ransoming these men. I have three dozen more on my side to get them to the table with Mister Lousa.”

Neia frowned as sighs of relief came in the wake of her words. What did they think she was going to do with them?

“Will it work?” Carlos asked.

“It will,” Neia nodded. “Nobles are creatures of law. They don’t just follow the rules: the rules are a part of who they are.”

“You’re assuming that they even know the rules,” Saye said. “They’re filling their retinues with any spares that they can find – who’s to say that they don’t have clueless spares leading the clueless spares?”

Was there such a thing as an uneducated scion? Even the poorest Nobles in the Holy Kingdom could afford to educate their families – boy or girl; heir or spare. It was pretty much mandatory since military service was mandatory and a house could lose its heir apparent to a Demihuman raid at any time.

“We won’t know until we speak to them,” Neia said. “I won’t turn my back on an opportunity for a peaceful resolution without investigating it first.”

“Alright,” Carlos nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“I’ll unscruffify him while you go through the dialogue options,” Saye told her.

“Unwhat?” The rancher frowned.

“Go sit down on that rock,” Saye pointed.

“She wants to fix up your appearance to improve your chances,” Neia told him.

“I ain’t propositionin’ no Noble brat,” Carlos said.

Carlos’ horse jerked and whinnied as Saye grabbed the rancher by his boot and yanked him off of his saddle. Then, she chased him to the rock with her hairbrush. She really was as strong as she seemed.

“Did our scouts note any banners or livery around the villages that the Nobles occupied?” Neia asked.

“Yeah,” Carlos nodded. “Each village is under a different banner. There’s that damn green apple from the other day, a ship on red and blue stripes, and another ship on blue and white waves.”

She wasn’t familiar with any of the heraldry described.

“Did any one of them look more important than the others?”

“Mmh…the blue and red banner was over the village between the other two. Aside from that, they’re split even…what?”

Saye leaned back and rubbed her nose.

“You smell like a cow,” she said.

“Ya think?”

The Bard went back to her mount and pulled a white towel out of her saddlebags. Carlos looked like he was getting ready to run.

“Hey now, what are ya doin’ with that?”

“Cleaning you,” Saye answered.

Before Carlos could escape, a wave of magic washed over him. Neia’s eyes widened.

“You have a Clean item?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Saye answered. “It’s a Trooper’s Towel from the Empire. Everyone in the Imperial Army has at least one.”

Neia’s vague sense of admiration for the Empire increased three–no, fivefold. Back during her time as a Squire, she had to beg the Priests for Clean spells when they ran long-range patrols. The men never asked for them, however, so those patrols were an especially miserable experience during the summer.

“We’ll approach the central village, then,” Neia said. “All you have to do is ride up to them with a flag of parley raised.”

“We should give him a crony,” Saye said.

“I’m gettin’ a crony?”

“If they see that people answer to him,” the Bard reasoned, “they’ll assume he’s important enough to talk to.”

“She’s right,” Neia said. “But, uh, who’s going to be the crony?”

“Alonzo lost our competition yesterday,” one of the ranchers said.

“You son of a…”

With their additional role cast, they continued with the briefing.

“It’s pretty simple,” Neia said. “Alonzo will ride up and signal that we want to parley. They’ll send one of their cronies–erm, retainers to listen to what you want and deliver their reply. If they agree, you both ride back to your respective sides and return with your ‘lieges’. In Carlos’ case, just say that he’s your captain.”

“What if they don’t agree?” Alonzo asked.

“Then you ride back to us and we leave. We’ll send a messenger to Mister Lousa after that.”

“What do I tell them if they agree?” Carlos’ head moved slightly as Saye combed his hair.

“That Mister Lousa wants to negotiate the debts of the people they’re pursuing. You’ll release the dozen hostages that you have here in advance as a sign of good faith, and then you’ll pledge to release three dozen more hostages at the end of the negotiations regardless of the outcome.”

Carlos repeated his lines to Neia several times. His voice faltered when Saye produced a ribbon from her belt pouch.

“What’s that for?” He asked.

“Tying back your hair,” the Bard answered. “You’ll look good, I swear!”

“But it’s yellow.”

“I like yellow.”

“I don’t.”

After their acting captain was finally groomed, they rode out with their captives in tow. Along the way, Saye fished out a mask from her saddlebag and held it out to Neia.

“What’s this for?” Neia asked.

“It’s so you don’t pick a fight with someone just by looking at them. Oh, and try to keep your mantle closed so they can’t make out your figure. They might decide you’re you just from that.”

Neia received the mask and frowned down at it. She had seen something like it before, but she couldn’t recall where. On impulse, she checked to see if it was enchanted after she put it on, but it was just a mundane mask.

“Ooh, sexy,” Saye said.

“Huh?”

“It looks good!”

Can a mask make someone look good?

She was just thankful that she had something to cover her eyes with. Having grown accustomed to the mirrorshades that the Sorcerer King had lent her, she had forgotten how many misunderstandings and conflicts her eyes caused.

They stopped about three hundred metres from the perimeter of the blue and red camp. Neia had her men bring their captives into plain view before having them form a neat rank with their horses. It wasn’t long until one of the Nobles’ sentries noticed them and the camp came alive with activity.

Neia swallowed as hundreds of liveried men formed parallel to them across the field. The scouts they had sent out may have been woefully unqualified for their task, but there was no telling if there was an elite bodyguard assigned to protect the scion in the camp.

“Rider on the left,” Carlos said.

A man astride an armoured charger cantered onto the field, his armour gleaming in the evening light. He reined his mount in a display of equestrian skill before raising the visor of his armet.

“So the whore’s clients dare to show themselves,” he said. “Which one of you pretender knights thinks themselves a match for true gentry?”

“No one take the bait,” Neia said. “We don’t have any reason to–”

“You should fight him,” Saye told her.

“Hah?”

Neia’s head snapped over to regard the Bard in disbelief.

“If we decline the challenge and come forward to parley,” Saye told her, “they’ll assume that they have the superior negotiating position. If we win, then it will add to ours.”

Argh, stupid Nobles and their stupid customs.

It was just an empty gripe, however. The customs existed for a reason. Her father even once told her that the Holy Kingdom would have been more successful at fighting off the Demihuman tribes if they had structured their martial development around those customs instead of building a wall that they couldn’t even afford to man. A formal challenge decided an issue while minimising the costs for both sides.

“Plus,” Saye added, “if you beat him without killing him, we can ransom him for some pocket money.”

“Money’s good,” Carlos said.

Neia turned her frown on the rancher to her left.

“Carlos–”

Her frown deepened when she realised that all of her men seemed to be silently willing her forward. Jeers started to drift over from the other side of the field.

These guys…

With a sigh, Neia dismounted and grabbed a quiver of arrows, attaching it to her belt. Their entire stock of ammunition used broadhead points meant to combat the beasts that appeared to prey on their Lanca. Broadheads were extraordinarily effective against unarmoured Humans – so much so that they were considered inhumane – but opponents in plate or even chain mail armour were a huge problem.

If she had the equipment that the Sorcerer King had left her, unhorsing a Knight with a single attack would have been entirely within the realm of possibility. No one could have predicted that she would need it after the war was over, however. They were supposed to be rebuilding their country; not igniting new conflicts and definitely not fighting amongst themselves.

Neia gave her bow an experimental pull before turning to face her men.

“Don’t try to help me,” she told them, “even if it looks like I’m in trouble. That will turn this duel into a brawl. We won’t survive that.”

Neia walked out onto the field. The Knight’s scoff could be heard over the sound of the wind in the grass.

“You send a beardless boy with a hunting bow to face a Knight? Have you no shame?”

The jeers from the Nobles’ side renewed. Neia ignored them, trying to figure out how to beat her armoured adversary.

He’s in cavalry armour, so this isn’t as bad as I thought. It’s still plate armour, though…

Unlike the full plate armour that heavy infantry used, cavalry armour had modifications made to improve a rider’s effectiveness in mounted combat. The biggest difference is that the legs weren’t anywhere near as heavily armoured, as that would restrict the rider’s ability to control their mount while fighting. His mount was covered in a coat of plate barding, as well, though the horse’s ankles were unprotected.

No, the Nobles would probably cry foul if I did that. Not that hitting galloping legs is possible without a stupid amount of luck.

Another difference she could exploit was not so much in the structure of the armour as the difference in height between herself and the Knight. It offered an angle on the suit’s shoulder joints that she otherwise wouldn’t have.

But it’s still a ridiculously hard target to hit. Father could easily do it, but I’m nowhere near as good…he’s about two hundred fifty metres away, so it should only take him around thirty seconds to reach me…

“So be it,” the Knight said. “Sir Matías Torres, Knight of House Cohen.”

Cohen?!

Cohen was one of the most prominent royalist houses. If they had a hand in what was going on, Mister Lousa was in bigger trouble than Neia thought.

“Very well, faceless one,” Sir Torres lowered his visor. “I hope the taste of that whore was worth your nameless grave.”

The royalist lines cheered as the Knight lowered his lance and spurred his warhorse into a gallop. Neia drew her bow in a single smooth motion, emptying her thoughts as she eyed her target. Imbued with divine power, her first arrow whistled through the air…and was deflected by the Knight’s lance.

What?!

Her second arrow was similarly deflected away. The Knight closed to a hundred fifty metres.

How can he do that with that stupidly long thing?

Her ability to imbue arrows with divine power assisted them in their flight to her target, but it didn’t prevent them from being swatted out of the air along the way.

Neia retrieved two more arrows from her quiver and released them in quick succession. The first was deflected, but the arm handling the Knight’s reins went limp as the second buried itself in his left armpit.

Still, Sir Torres was undeterred. At a hundred metres, his mount broke into a full charge and the Knight levelled his lance straight at her.

Her mind raced to figure something out. She had hoped that disabling his left arm would force him to present more gaps in his defences, but Sir Torres only couched his weapon and came straight at her. Now, his vambrace, rerebrace, and pauldron formed an impenetrable barrier over his weapon arm.

I need him to move his arm…

The royalists’ cheers intensified as the gap shrunk between her and the Knight. Neia dashed to the left. Sir Torres couldn’t shift his charger’s momentum fast enough, so he leaned heavily to his right to bring his lance to bear upon her.

Neia dove away, loosing an arrow before her shoulder struck the ground. She looked around wildly as she rolled back up to her feet, nocking a fresh arrow even while expecting a sidearm to come down on her head. Sir Torres had charged straight past her, however. Well, it was more that he had curved straight past her and he now lay on the ground. His warhorse was on the ground with him, trapping his right leg.

She jogged over, motioning for her men to help the fallen Knight and his steed. They untangled Sir Torres’ left leg from his stirrup before getting his horse off of him. Saye ran up with a stick in her hand and yanked Neia’s arrows from the Knight’s armpit and thigh. The familiar glow of healing magic encompassed the man a moment later.

A wand charged with healing spells…this girl seems to have everything.

It made sense that she had what a successful wandering Bard would consider essential for travel, but all the stuff that she possessed never failed to astonish her.

Sir Torres pushed himself to his feet, testing his once-injured arm and leg. Then, he raised his visor to regard Neia with an unreadable look.

“I thought you would go for the other arm, woman.”

Neia froze for an instant before closing her mantle. Saye’s warning had completely slipped her mind.

“I thought that you would think that,” Neia replied in a small voice.

The Knight snorted. Neia stared at her feet. What would they do now that they knew?

“Someone’s comin’,” Carlos said.

Three riders appeared from the royalist lines. The middle rider was undeniably a Noble. On his right was a man presenting a flag of parley. The rider on the nobleman’s left held a botiquín. Neia’s men narrowed their eyes at the container.

The botiquín was seen as a symbol of the privileged – especially by the rank and file of the royal army. It was life-giving care afforded to those of substantial means: a kit full of potions, scrolls and medical supplies meant to maximise the chances of scions surviving their mandatory military service. Mere commoners could never afford or have access to one; worried parents could only pray to the gods that a Priest was on hand if their sons and daughters were grievously injured in combat.

“Carlos,” Neia said, “ride up front with Alonzo to speak with them. The guy with the botiquín will probably come to check on Sir Torres and the hostages if they think something might be wrong with them. No one do anything to stop him.”

The royalist party reined in their mounts ten metres from Carlos and Alonzo.

“I am Lord Eduardo Cohen,” the nobleman in the middle said, “son of Count Antonio Cohen.”

“Captain Carlos.”

“My man here will check on Sir Torres’ condition while we speak.”

Carlos nodded, and the man with the botiquín dismounted. He walked over to where the Knight was inspecting his charger.

“What are your demands?” Lord Eduardo asked.

“In the interests of keeping things civil,” Carlos said, “Mister Lousa would like to negotiate the matter of the debtors taking refuge on his land. As a gesture of our genuine intent, we’ll be releasing these twelve scouts we found snoopin’ around today.”

Ah, his speech is slipping…

“After the negotiations are concluded,” Carlos continued, “we’ll release thirty-six more of your men regardless of the outcome.”

Neia couldn’t tell what Lord Eduardo was thinking at all, but he felt far more dangerous than Sir Torres despite only being lightly armed.

The man with the botiquín returned and remounted, leaning in to whisper something into Lord Eduardo’s ear. The nobleman slowly nodded a few times before turning his attention back to Carlos.

“You didn’t mention Sir Torres,” he said.

“Ah, he was an unexpected bonus. It’ll be the usual for him.”

Lord Eduardo pulled a small pouch from his belt. After a moment’s pause, he produced another pouch and moved two silver coins to the first. He handed the first pouch to the man on his right, who walked over to hand it to Carlos. The pouch clinked as the rancher hefted it in the palm of his glove. He turned his head and nodded to Sir Torres, who walked his mount over to Lord Eduardo’s side.

“What were those two extra coins for?” A rancher asked in a low voice.

“Compensation for healing Sir Torres,” Neia replied. “It looks like they’re going by temple rates.”

“They’re damn straight-laced for a bunch of crooks.”

“Now,” Lord Eduardo said, “As for–”

Lord Eduardo’s gaze went past Carlos’ shoulder and over the heads of the ranchers behind him. Gomez came out of the sunset, his horse whipped into a lather.

“The villa’s under attack!” He shouted before he reached them.

“What!”

The newcomer stopped his mount on the other side of Neia’s line.

“Smoke’s comin’ outta the north,” he said. “Went to the ridge to get a better look and the camp around the villa was on fire!”

“Maybe it’s just an accident?” Saye offered.

“No,” Gomez shook his head. “The fire’s in a dozen different places. That’s no accident.”

“You bastard!” Carlos spat before wheeling his horse around and galloping up the hill.

“I assure you, we–”

They left Lord Eduardo with his empty words, sprinting their horses up the slope. The aforementioned smoke could be seen as they neared the ridge, but they would need to make the next ridge before gaining a direct vantage on the villa. They switched to the first of their spare horses at the bottom of the valley, dashing up the next hill with a growing sense of urgency.

It’s too far. The attack could be over by the time we get there!

Their ascent revealed the villa on the hill, the camps below it ablaze in dozens of places.

“The villa itself isn’t on fire,” Neia said. “We might be able to make it on time to help.”

They switched to the last of their spare mounts halfway to the hill. People rushed about, many with pails of water drawn from the creek on the western side of the camp. The fires at the base of the hill were extinguished, but they still raged on in the tents above.

“What the hell is going on?!” Carlos shouted as they approached a watchful sentry at the edge of the camp.

“We’re being attacked!” The sentry answered, “But we can’t find the attacker!”

“Hah? Make some sense!”

“We found the first dead guy an hour ago. There was no trace of his attacker. More and more people keep showin’ up dead!”

Assassin!

An icy chill went down Neia’s spine. She had only heard about them in tales, but even those tales were already enough to give her nightmares. Assassins were even worse than Rogues. They were cruel, evil people who took lives for money and no one could stop them.

And, now, they were here. The royalists had hired Assassins. Their activities at the border were just a distraction to let them slip through.

“Where’s Mister Lousa?” Neia asked.

“He formed a party to sweep the camps,” the sentry replied. “If you follow the fires, you should run into him.”

“Help out with the fires!” Neia told her men, “I’m going to look for Mister Lousa.”

Neia dismounted and wove through the chaotic throng. Mister Lousa was strong, but she wasn’t sure if he could win against an Assassin. She had to help.

Another fire started near the villa. Neia stopped and changed direction, dashing up the hill.

“What’s the plan?” Saye’s voice came from behind her.

“I-I don’t know!” Neia panted, “This…I don’t think the Nobles have it in them to do this. Do you think it’s the work of an Assassin?”

“An Assassin?”

“You know,” she lowered her voice. “Like one from that infamous group, Ijaniya.”

“Uh…”

The terrifying name seemed to give even the cavalier Bard pause. Neia drew courage from her presence anyway. If someone from Ijaniya showed up, surely they could do something about them.

As they continued running through the camp, they came up on a pair of armed ranchers scrutinising the tents along their path.

“Where’s Mister Lousa?” She stopped to address them, “What do you know about this attacker?”

“He went to the villa,” one of them replied. “As for who is attackin’ us, we don’t know. But they’re brutal. Men and women were found ripped to shreds!”

Her stomach churned at his answer.

“Who have they killed?”

“All of the…the leaders, I guess. People leading camp circles. Organisers. Company officers on their time off. Since they’re doin’ what they’re doin’, Mister Lousa figures they’ll eventually go for the office. He’s setting up an ambush for ‘em in the courtyard.”

…the Nobles will find a way to gut him.

She shouldn’t have dismissed Saye’s warning so thoughtlessly. They weren’t just after Mister Lousa: they were trying to tear down everything that he and his people had built and bury it in ashes.

Shouts rose above the chaos from the direction of the villa. The two ranchers exchanged a look before running up the slope.

“Let’s go!” Neia called out to Saye.

A blood-curdling scream raised gooseflesh all over Neia’s body. She pulled two arrows from her quiver and nocked one to her bow as they charged across the perimeter of the villa. They burst into the central courtyard, ready to join the fight, then stopped. Neia’s mouth fell open.

No…

Pieces of dead men were scattered all over the place. Even the ones lying in ambush in the buildings around them hung from the windows, their dismembered bodies dripping blood onto their severed heads lying on the pavement below. Neia pivoted frantically, trying to figure out where the attacker had gone. She scanned the shadows of the buildings, then looked up at the rooftops. Then, her gaze crossed the central fountain.

No!

The shredded bodies dumped into the pool had filled it with blood. Mister Lousa’s head was impaled upon the fountainhead.

“No!” She cried.

Neia dropped her bow and ran forward, tears blurring her vision. She climbed atop the pile of bodies and gently retrieved Mister Lousa’s head. The creases created by his kindhearted smile still remained on his face despite his lifeless expression.

Why would anyone do this? How could the Nobles order this?

She left the fountain and placed Mister Lousa’s head on the ground, removing her mantle to shroud it. It was only then that she realised that others had arrived, drawn by the sounds of battle. Many were armed. Everyone looked horrified. Horrified and lost. Powerless.

So these are the wages of sin. The price of weakness.

They had paid that price time and time again, but they never learned. Yet, she couldn’t speak to them as she usually might. It was all so hollow; so feeble compared to the carnage surrounding her.

…and, above all else, all she could feel was rage. Rage at the shadow of injustice that had fallen upon her home.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, Neia looked down at the hands covered in the blood of her benefactor. Their benefactor.

“Justice for Santiago,” she said.

The growing crowd stared at her in silence.

“Justice for Santiago!” Neia shouted.

“Justice for Santiago!” A few men and women took up her call.

“Justice for Santiago!” Neia punched her blood-soaked fist into the air, “Justice for the north!”

“Justice for Santiago! Justice for the north!”

“Justice for Santiago! Justice for the north!”

“Justice for Santiago! Justice for the north!”

Their voices swelled into a roar that echoed over the hills. The brutal, unprovoked assault made it clear that cowering in fear only meant being crushed one at a time. In the wake of Jaldabaoth’s invasion, a new kind of Fiend had appeared to assail them with a new kind of evil. If that evil went unanswered, there would be no future for their people.