Lady Semutir had allies among the city council. This was in spite of her deviance. Indeed, they all knew. And yet, they had done nothing openly that would allow her to render judgment and justice.

Strella would need to tread lightly for the time being.

The council would send a complaint to the king.

She wasn’t concerned about that. She had observed the forms, the procedure. Questioning under truth spell would reveal that. By the same token she’d rather avoid a direct conversation with the king’s agents. Her full truth wasn’t something she wanted to circulate in such circles. It would’ve only created more headaches.

The council was eager for her to leave their city.

She wasn’t amenable to that. No, she’d stay. Catch them in the act. Such people would slip up in time and give her the opportunity.

The sun dipped near the horizon over the Light Peak Mountains. She could see the dazzling rainbow of colors reflected off the large crystallized sections. The result of a magical duel from the Age of Legends or so the chroniclers wrote.

Speaking of which. A woman hesitantly approached. Bright red hair, like fire, was tied into a severe tail. Rugged traveler’s clothing, dusty and worn.

Strella read the Chronicler in an instant.

Desperate for a story, was she?

“A moment of time, justiciar? You are one, correct?” the woman began.

Though justice didn’t care about etiquette, there was no reason to be rude, until there was one.

“A moment,” Strella said.

“I’m a Chronicler, Ariaska… and I offer my services to you. Allow me to accompany you for a period of time, say a quarter of a year. I will write of your deeds. We shall split the proceeds. Seventy to me, thirty to you.”

Strella already knew that. It was why she had always found it difficult to speak to people, why many had always seen her impatience as a fault.

“My activities aren’t worth recording.”

“Oh, I disagree. Slaying Lady Semutir for deviance… that is a tale worth telling.”

Strella stared at Ariaska.

“It was the only thing anyone was talking about,” Ariaska shrugged. “A lot of people came this way hoping for a look at you. I chatted with many. Not much to do waiting out here for the last few hours.”

“I passed judgment for her crimes,” Strella said.

“Exactly, but that isn’t the story being told,” Ariaska gestured, “I can tell your story in truth.”

“With artistic embellishments?” Strella raised a brow.

“Both, depending on what you’d prefer. An account can be a dry recounting of events or an exciting story to evoke excitement and pathos in the reader. To leave them richer for the experience or leave them questioning how they view the world. I can write in multiple styles,” Ariaska said.

Strella saw the pride in the posture and the words, but she also saw the self-doubt hidden in the thoughts.

“I require none of this. Follow me as you will, but I will not make allowances for your comfort or needs. You accept the dangers, whatever they may be. I will not be responsible for your safety, however I will neither behave with callousness toward said safety,” Strella said.

Ariaska clapped her hands and gave a little hop like a rabbit before remembering who she was speaking to. “It would be an honor, justiciar,” she bowed.

Strella blinked that had been perfectly done. On par with what she had seen in many a king’s throne room.

“You may call me Strella.”

“Strella then,” Ariaska smiled. “If I may ask… is that your natural hair color?”

“No you may not.”

Strella marched down the dusty street.

Ariaska hurried to keep up with the longer strides.

“Where are we off to?”

“The mage’s guild, then the postmaster. I have reports to send,” Strella said.

Not exactly an exciting start, but Ariaska was patient. One didn’t jump into daring deeds and danger immediately. What was troublesome was Strella’s reticence in recounting what had transpired in Lady Semutir’s castle.

Questions were answered with one word or simple silence as the two walked to their destination.

Once at the guild, Ariaska was left to wait in the lobby, while Strella recorded and sent her report.

To whom?

Ariaska had no idea since Strella hadn’t answered her question.

From what Ariaska knew, justiciars were largely autonomous. They had patrons that paid their expenses, but didn’t technically control their actions. These were often powerful and wealthy individuals or organizations that did so for the prestige and the social cachet that supporting justice had across all strata of society. If a justiciar could be said to be answerable to anyone it was the Emperor.

Ariaska spent a quarter hour testing the opening lines of the tentatively-titled The Chronicles of Justiciar Strella when the subject strode into the lobby and out the door without slowing. Ariaska was forced to race after her in a most undignified manner.

“If I may?”

The Justiciar grunted what sounded like assent to Ariaska so she forged ahead.

“Your family name—”

“I have none.”

“A family or a surname?”

A neutral sounding grunt. Neither denial nor confirmation.

Ariaska took a small notebook out of her bag and jotted down a few notes. She eyed the justiciar, but the stoic young woman kept her eyes directly ahead.

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“The hat… an unusual style. I don’t believe I’m familiar with it,” Ariaska prodded.

“It was a gift. I know not its origins.”

Ariaska fixed the image of the hat into her mind’s eye. She’d need to accurately describe the dark blue, almost black, wide-brimmed thing in the chronicle.

“Your rapier?”

“A relic. Threnium metal to allow for its length. My metal shooter is also a relic. And, no, I don’t know their origins either.”

Ariaska’s mouth snapped shut.

The justiciar had anticipated her exact questions. It was no surprise that one in that role could read other people with ease.

She pondered the wisdom of again asking about the black hair as the two walked in silence to the postmaster’s building.

“I’ll wait here,” Ariaska said as soon as they entered the lobby.

The justiciar wasn’t the only one that could read people.

Ariaska settled down into an uncomfortable bench and began writing down her initial impressions of the justiciar, of Strella. “Stiff, impatience… doesn’t look at other people… surprising lack of armor…” she murmured. “Will she be forthcoming with her Classes if I ask?”

Some adventurers loved sharing that sort of information. Others guarded it like a dragon with its hoard.

The rapier suggested something like a Fencer. The metal shooter, well, Shooter or Markswoman. Perhaps a consolidation of the two?

She didn’t have the knowledge. She made a note to find a Book of Classes at a future date if the justiciar proved reticent, which she expected.

“Does this city even have a public library?”

Doubtful, she decided.

The wait was much longer this time.

“Where to next?” Ariaska greeted the justiciar as she entered the lobby

“Mastifon.”

Ariaska blinked. “I’m unfamiliar with that… place?”

“One of the three towns on Unity’s western border. Each along the Regalli River, with Mastifon being north of the other two.”

“Ah… then we must secure a carriage.” Ariaska could feel the lightness of her coin purse without the need to touch it.

“I’ve my own conveyance.”

The justiciar’s tone suggested that Ariaska shouldn’t even ask if that could include her.

“A weekly trade caravan travels from here to the region. The journey itself should take about five days. My only warning to you is that you shouldn’t attempt the journey alone and on foot. The roads on the frontier are said to be dangerous these days. Bandits and rumors of rebellion, though I’m sure you’ve heard of those.”

Ariaska frowned as she nodded. “I will endeavor to follow as quickly as is possible for one of modest means,” she said. “Perhaps, before you depart in the morning you’d like to share a dinner. We can begin your chronicle with the events of this day.”

“My apologies, Chronicler. I depart immediately.”

“Night has fallen,” Ariaska said.

Strella shrugged and left, leaving the speechless woman behind.

Her long legs carried her to the city’s western gate.

She was mostly alone as she walked the dark, dusty streets.

Every so often she’d come along one of the lamplighters tending to their duties.

They stopped to give her respectful nods, which she returned with a glance.

The gas lamps flickered to life and illuminated the darkness, swirling clouds of insects almost immediately swarmed the lights, instinctively drawn to them.

Strella’s thoughts were consumed by her new task.

The rumors of rebellion were serious it seemed. She was to investigate and discover the ones behind the suspected plots.

It wasn’t her role. However, she was uniquely suited to it.

Secret conspiracies and cabals would have protections in place against Psionicists that were capable of making all their secret codes and meetings meaningless. Enchanted items or perhaps Psionicists of their own.

Her abilities placed her above most of those things.

Still, she would’ve have refused the task had it not come from the Office of the Emperor.

An Imperial Mandate wasn’t something she would or could refuse without negative consequences to her ability to fulfill her role. Despite that, several things bothered her.

For one, why send an unattached justiciar to a task that by rights should fall to the Imperial Surveillance Office?

Tread lightly, Strella thought.

She entered the stables and waited for the stable girl.

A gangly, long-limbed girl hustled to greet her.

“Justiciar! Will you be departing?” the girl smiled.

Strella returned it with a more reserved one. “I am. If you will open Grevax’s door, please.”

The girl hurried.

It seemed that one never walked.

She returned holding the reins of Strella’s mechaniform.

The gleaming, pony-sized dog gave a deep woof that warbled slightly.

“I think his vocal unit needs tuning,” the girl said. “I— I— mean—” she stammered.

“You’re correct on that account. Grevax accidentally swallowed some bits of a shadecrawler’s armored claw on our journey here. It took me hours to get them all out, but unfortunately the unit was scratched. There are no artificers skilled enough for repairs in this region.”

Grevax nudged the girl and she scratched his huge, blocky head.

“I polished him and oiled him just like I was supposed to,” the girl said.

Truth.

Strella nodded.

Grevax trotted over to her and leaned against her side. He was heavy, but knew to use the right amount of weight to avoided knocking her over.

“And I hope you haven’t been giving the young miss any trouble,” Strella said.

A warbling bark was the response.

The girl laughed.

“I hope he hasn’t troubled you. He can be mischievous at times.”

“No, justiciar… he was easy to take care of,” the girl leaned closer conspiratorially, “he doesn’t poop and pee like the others,” she whispered.

“The advantages of a mechaniform mount,” Strella agreed.

A mechanical body with the soul of an animal in its magicore heart.

Grevax’s creator had assured her that the dog in question was dying and that this was a way to grant him an extended life.

The man was fortunate that he had standards and integrity.

Strella wouldn’t have been pleased to learn the contrary.

Not all mechaniform artificers were as ethical.

“The stabling fee.” Strella counted out the exact amount of coinage for the girl and placed it on the counter. “And for you,” she pressed a single gold coin into the girl’s palm, “the stablemaster has no claim to that. Don’t tell him,” she whispered conspiratorially. “If he learns about it and there is a dispute, send me a message and I will speak to him.”

The girl nodded with awe.

Strella led Grevax out through the wide doors. Rather, he led her out.

“You were only in there for a day.”

Grevax whined.

She opened up the storage compartment at his rear haunches and double-checked her supplies. More than enough to make the two day journey to Mastifon. Grevax was as fast as a horse and tireless, so long as she had enough magicore to feed to his heart. The glowing stones shined through the gaps in the iron box she kept them in. She took one out and inserted it into the compartment at the back of Grevax’s thick neck.

All set, she straddled Grevax’s narrow midsection and grabbed the handles that emerged from the center of his wide shoulders.

One other advantage mechaniform mounts had over natural animals.

Man molded them to fit for maximum comfort. Strella appreciated the padded seat and comfortable foot rests. Unlike horses and other mounts where man had to grow accustomed to what nature’s creation.

“We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, Grevax. We stop for nothing. Off we go.”

They bounded off.

Out the gates and into the darkness.

Grevax’s eyes shined with light.

One other thing that horses lacked.