It had been a difficult shot to make.

Strella’s shooter wasn’t designed for the distance. It was dark. She didn’t have any Skills to augment her aim.

She wasn’t surprised when the metal ball skipped off the chimney next to the shadowy silhouette.

The silhouette ducked down and disappeared.

Strella kept her link to the young woman’s thoughts. It was harder now that she had lost line of sight, so she hurried and jumped down to the street.

She did the best to ignore the chaos of the melee so that the young woman, Jocuvel, couldn’t get away.

The rage and terror of over a thousand people filled the space around her.

The crowd, the mob had quickly overrun the line of town guards.

Less than two hundred hadn’t been nearly enough.

Dozens lay dead or dying on both sides in less than a minute.

The guards had either fled to the council hall or were fighting like insignificant islands in an ocean of angry people. They didn’t last long.

Dozens of hands and make-shift weapons knocked them down.

The people struck and stomped well after the guardsmen’s bodies had stopped moving.

In other places spears pierced farmers, bakers and shop workers while iron-capped truncheons crushed the skulls of serving girls and teachers.

Entire lives flashed and vanished as Strella struggled to keep them out of her head. She held on to that one rope. The one that kept her tied to Jocuvel. The one responsible for starting the carnage.

She had to stop her. It was the only chance to stop everything before it was too late… if wasn’t already.

Violent thoughts assaulted her mind.

Strella spun away from them and ducked her head.

A table leg grazed the side of her helm.

She clubbed the frothing man on the side of his head with her shooter.

He dropped like a discarded puppet.

Strella picked up the table leg. Her rapier was a liability in the thick press of bodies and she was reluctant to use lethal means on people who weren’t entirely in control of their actions.

There was nothing quite as terrible as being in the middle of a battle.

The sights, sounds and smells were all horrendous. Great swaths of scarlet red painted the people and the street. Fear and rage blended together to create dreadful music. Bodies lost control and flooded the air with pungent and foul odors.

The Chroniclers never properly captured this in their stories.

Strella would insist upon this with Ariaska at a later date.

Assuming she’d have the opportunity.

She clubbed people out of her way with the table leg as she struggled to cross the street. What had taken a few seconds earlier was now taking an eternity.

Fortunately, most of the people didn’t seem to have eyes for her.

She read their rage. It was all pointed toward the council hall.

That wasn’t entirely it.

The rage was guided. She felt it, saw it.

Except, she was uncertain of the full extent.

Was it truly controlled?

Did Jocuvel’s abilities, be they Skill or spell based, actively direct the mob or was it like an archer, who had no control over their arrow after they loosed it?

What if the mob continued to fight even after she stopped Jocuvel?

A concerning thought that she didn’t have time to consider.

She broke through the melee and ran into a narrow alley between two buildings.

The thread of Jocuvel’s mind wavered, but didn’t vanish, so she continued to chase after it.

The maze-like network of alleys opened up into a different street.

The torches flickered in the wind. A powerful gust prickled the flesh on the back of her neck.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

She drew her rapier, but left her shooter in the holster. She didn’t anticipate requiring it for what was to come.

Her gaze didn’t waver from the shadow shrouded alley mouth across the street.

“Surrender yourself to my judgment!” Strella called out.

A cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows and into the torchlight.

Strella recognized a face that she had known only through the memories of others.

Plain, sun-browned skin, wisps of yellow hair peeked out from beneath the fringes of her hood.

“Jocuvel, you are charged with inciting unrest. You will come with me.”

“How do you even know my name? I was sure I stayed beneath notice and my Skills should’ve kept me safe. High levels are rare on this frontier.”

“Do you refuse to comply?” Strella continued to approach slowly. She couldn’t see into the shadows and had no idea if Jocuvel was alone. The younger woman’s actions and demeanor suggested otherwise.

“Of course I do… you’re not with the town, so you must’ve come from elsewhere. You have a metal shooter and that sword looks strange… adventurer? Were you hired by one of the lords? Or are you an agent of the local king? The Emperor?” Jocuvel’s eyes lit up. “So, they’re taking notice? Good… their exploitation of the citizenry will end. The spark I lit here will spread into a conflagration that will consume all of Unity.”

“Sedition.”

“According to your laws, but I accept none of them. I accept no laws if they be written by the hands of men.” Jocuvel held out a hand. “That’s far enough. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And yet you’ve hurt hundreds, thousands of people. Mastifon, then River Glade and now, Tyranon.”

Jocuvel solemnly nodded her head. “That’s true and I’ll always regret that.”

“True remorse will be taken into account in my judgment.”

Jocuvel narrowed her eyes at Strella. “The way you talk— who are you?”

“I am a justiciar.”

“No, that’s a lie! Why would one of you be out here?” Jocuvel backed up toward the alley.

Strella saw how young the woman truly was.

“You will be judged here and now. Stop this now if you want a chance for leniency.”

“This can’t be stopped,” Jocuvel whispered. “And I don’t want it to,” her voice steadied, “my work is too important to stop. This is for all Unity’s people!” she looked back to the alley.

People walked out of the shadows.

Several dozen men and women.

Strella steadied her breathing.

This was no gang of street toughs and ruffians.

They looked like everyday people. She even recognized a few from walking the streets earlier while searching for Jocuvel.

“Run along now, young miss,” a middle-aged man stepped protectively in front of Jocuvel.

“Have you lost your sense?” Strella addressed them. “You’ve heard what I said.”

“Every single word, your ladyship,” the middle-aged man nodded.

“Then step aside. Jocuvel has been charged with a serious crime and must be judged.”

“Just because something’s the law, don’t mean it should be followed,” a matronly woman wielding a rolling pin stepped next to the man.

“The young miss is right. We’ve lived long enough under boots that don’t really do nothing for us. They just get fat off our work.”

“Leeches is what they is!”

“And we shoulda burnt dem off long ago!”

“The young miss opened our eyes,” the middle-aged man said.

Roars of agreement filled the air.

Strella read their thoughts.

They believed what they were saying. There was a slight push from Jocuvel’s Skills, but the rest was all their own.

“You have legitimate grievances, but this isn’t the way to address them,” Strella said.

“And how does that work?” Jocuvel piped up from behind a wall of people. “You go to the local lord or lady… maybe even a king, with your grievances? What happens when they are the very same people you have a grievance against or maybe it’s against one of their rich merchant friends? You’re telling us that the best way to protect our flocks is to let the wolves guard them,” she mocked.

“There is me and others,” Strella said.

“I see no difference… your patrons are one and the same, wealthy and powerful!” Jocuvel snapped. “And history has shown that those that rise to wealth and power aren’t good people or if they were, they lose themselves in the accumulation and maintenance of such.”

Strella deliberately removed one glove.

She held the blinking eye tattoo to the people. “See this,” she began, “justice will be done…”

The people wavered.

“We Reject Authority!” Jocuvel cried.

Strella sighed. She read their thoughts, saw that the people’s resolve firmed.

“You are citizens of Unity. Sworn to obey the laws for the good of all in an ordered society.” Strella tried, but she knew that this was a losing proposition.

“We Don’t Recognize Your Laws!”

“This is your last warning. Raise a hand against me and my judgment will include injury to you with the chance of death.”

“You can’t scare us!” Jocuvel raised her fist. “We are many! Together we are strong! You may be able to stop one or a few of us, but you won’t get all of us before we bring you down!”

The people shouted in agreement.

Strella saw that she had lost this battle. She donned her glove and settled into a combat stance, rapier pointed forward, lightly poised on the balls of her feet.

“Best run along now, young miss,” the middle-aged man gave Jocuvel a sad smile. “We’ll do what we can to buy you time. Good luck! Godspeed! May the cause live on!”

“May you draw strength from your passion for the cause,” Jocuvel’s voice wavered as she laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. She regarded the dozens of people around her. “I’m sorry I asked this off you—”

Protestations filled the air.

“I leave you one last gift,” Jocuvel sighed. “Inflame!” she roared.