High Rector answered the judge’s question.
“I have only trained with the sword enough to carry out executions, so my swordsmanship is nothing impressive.
But at my age, I have done this work long enough to see no small number of bodies—those beheaded on the scaffold, and those cut down by swords or blades for other reasons.
Judging from the cut surface, it is certain that, whatever others may say, both the sword used and the one who wielded it were of exceptional quality.
That much is only to be expected… Beyond that, there is nothing in particular I can tell.
If there is one unusual point, it is that a few fibers remain on the head.
I am told the murderer had bandages wrapped around various parts of the body, and I take these to be traces of that.
But the bandage itself is ordinary, so even if we identify the material, it will not serve as a clue.”
“I see.
If he could cross swords with the great fief’s mage and still escape alive, he must indeed be a remarkable swordsman.
And yet, according to the mage, he is certainly not a MOW.
This is troublesome.” Judge Kaohan said in exasperation.
“Even if he isn’t a MOW, couldn’t he simply be someone who has trained with a sword?
There must be plenty of people like that, right?”
Rimas’s question was hardly worth answering for a specialist, but Aerfey replied kindly.
“No matter how much an ordinary man practices swordsmanship, he cannot stand against a MOW.
Swordplay is part of a noble’s basic education, and soldiers learn it as well, but that sort of training only matters in fights between people who are not MOWs.”
The judge nodded.
“Even if we were to draw a few more details from the examination, it is clear that this case is simply beyond the power of a small demesne like ours to resolve.
I regret to say so in front of the bereaved family.”
High Rector Aerfey nodded in turn.
“If he could cross blades with the mage of the grand fief, MOW or not, he is not someone we could take even if he appeared right before our eyes and we mustered all the fief’s soldiers.”
Judge Kaohan then turned to Rimas.
“I am sorry, but there is nothing more that either I or the lord can do.
Fortunately, the mage of the great fief has left us a likeness of the man’s face, so we will have many wanted posters printed and put a bounty on his head, but I cannot say we are likely to see results.
For now, we will set the reward at ten thousand coins.
For a murder case involving a commoner, that was a high sum.
On top of that, having several identical likenesses drawn also cost money.
The fief’s official painter existed for just such work, but that did not mean he worked for free.
All those expenses would come out of the lord’s purse.
Because of this, Rimas knew he had no grounds to complain; Medipl had already impressed that on him in advance.
Judge Kaohan went on.
“I will handle the death registration and the administrative formalities.
As for everything else, you can discuss it with the others concerned.”
With that, Judge Kaohan left the room.
High Rector Aerfey looked at Rimas.
“In any case, it would be better if we went outside to talk.”
They had come indoors mainly so the villagers would not see the severed head, so it was now better for them to step back outside.
Once there, Aerfey led them to the wagon he had driven, and they gathered around his baggage cart to resume their discussion.
Aerfey asked Rimas,
“Are you thinking of cremation?”
“No.
I would like a burial.”
Hearing this, Aerfey turned his gaze to the village headman.
“I see.
Headman, will you permit this boy’s father to be laid to rest in Whitestone’s communal cemetery?”
“I consent,” the headman answered simply.
As Aerfey said this, he looked at Rimas, and so did Medipl, and Rimas immediately understood.
He bowed deeply to the headman, expressing his gratitude for allowing an outsider to be buried in the village graveyard.
Having received the bow and seeing that there was nothing more for him to do, the headman patted Rimas on the back and took his leave.
Aerfey went on,
“Since only the head remains, there is very little need for separate measures to prevent turning undead, so we can ignore that cost.
What do you intend to do about the coffin?
To be honest, with only the head left, if you only wish for a simple burial, even this jar would suffice.
And if you feel a vessel like this is too paltry, you could purchase a canopus jar—made specifically to hold just a head or a heart, and the like.
That would be acceptable as well, but…”
“Even if it is only the head, I would like a proper coffin.”
Rimas and Medipl had already come to agreement on all such points, so the answer came easily.
Nodding, Aerfey looked at Rimas and said,
“Many people misunderstand our order.
We are not men who try to profit by charging high funeral fees.
Of course, there may be some like that in our denomination, but at least, I am not one.
If you wish to do so out of respect for your father, I will sell you a coffin.
But if we speak frankly about the cost, how about this?”
As he spoke, Aerfey led them to his baggage wagon and took out what he wanted to show them: a child’s coffin.
With only a head remaining, a full-sized coffin for an adult would indeed be far too large.
As a traveling undertaker, he kept three or four coffins loaded on his wagon, and when a family summoned him, they would tell him the deceased’s social standing and financial situation so that he could load suitable funeral goods before leaving his base.
Even when he had no information at all about the deceased, he made sure to carry most of what might be needed so he could cope with almost any situation.
Thus he also had a small coffin prepared for children who had died young.
By recommending a smaller, less expensive coffin for a body that was only a head, he showed that he truly put the needs of the bereaved before his own profit.
“Yes, then let us go with that one.”
“Good.
That one costs ninety coins.
And since the coffin is decided, this may no longer be necessary, but I will tell you for your information.
When the deceased is missing a part of the body, we sometimes replace that part.
Some families feel that the loss weighs on the dead as a lingering regret, while others simply want the body to look whole for the funeral.
The replacement can be carved from wood, and even with wood there are differences in quality.
If a customer desires something very finely made, we can craft it so that as long as you do not touch, the body appears whole to the eye.”
“I do not think we need to go that far.”
“Very well.”
The price varied with the timber used to make the coffin, but Aerfey recommended the cheapest option.
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, he and Rimas went through the shroud and other funeral goods and procedures, agreeing on what needed agreement and deciding what needed deciding.
Medipl, being an elf, looked outwardly like a boy in his late teens, but in truth was in his late fifties.
Compared to Aerfey or the headman, he was only a few years younger at most, and since he had left his elven village before he was even twenty and had lived in the human world ever since, he was hardly ignorant of worldly matters.
He had attended more than a few funerals, and having already asked Rimas about all sorts of things, he had settled most of the important questions with him between the day before and this day.
Now as well, he stood at Rimas’s side, offering advice so that Rimas could make decisions more easily, and thanks to this, Rimas managed to handle the various duties expected of a chief mourner.
The funeral was held after lunch.
As most of the villagers had gone out to their daily work, there were not many attendees.
Even so, because the deceased had been a traveling merchant who came regularly to the village, about ten villagers set aside their tasks for a while to attend the ceremony.
The coffin was light enough that no separate pallbearers were needed; Aerfey took a small handcart for carrying coffins from his wagon and pushed it himself.
The cemetery lay on a small solitary hill that rose from the flat land south of the village.
A low stone wall encircled it.
Inside, six undead zombies were present, and they had already dug the grave.
These undead normally guarded and tended the cemetery.
Since a traveling undertaker could not remain permanently at every graveyard, the necromancers made use of their art to station undead.
The undead prevented beasts or monsters from entering the cemetery to dig up and devour the corpses, and drove off any intruders.
Monsters could not enter the area within the reach of the milestones and similar wards, but in truth it was not that they could not enter, only that they did not normally choose to, so one could not completely rule out the possibility of a monster intrusion. Get faster updates on g.com.
The zombies that the necromancer order had placed in the cemetery did not possess high intelligence, so they could only obey simple commands, such as attacking anything that crossed the graveyard boundary.
For that reason, villagers could not simply visit the graves of their dead at whatever time they wished.
But in any case, life in such a village was a steady, unrelenting cycle of labor with no room for such luxuries, so this was not a great problem.
If the undead guardians were destroyed, the necromancer order in charge of the cemetery would immediately know, and dispatch a traveling undertaker.
Whether for such reasons or, as now, for a funeral, whenever a traveling undertaker came, he could control the undead, and anyone who wished to visit a grave took the opportunity to pay their respects.
Before lowering the coffin into the grave, Aerfey opened the lid one last time and revealed the body within.
This was the final chance for the bereaved to confirm that the corpse had not been tampered with and that nothing about its condition was amiss.
It was also the moment when, as the presiding necromancer, he formally pronounced death.
From that point on, all legal responsibility—including the filing of the death report with the civil authorities—rested with him.
Of course, that was the general rule; in a case like this, where the judicial officer of the fief had already been informed and was present, it did not apply.
Afterward, Aerfey wrapped the dead man’s head several times with a cerecloth.
As he murmured a prayer too soft to be heard, strange letters and sigils briefly surfaced upon the cloth before fading away.
Then he took the shroud that had been laid along the bottom of the coffin and wrapped the remains once more, before sprinkling consecrated water with an aspergillum.
Once these rites were complete, even if someone with ill intent were to breach the cemetery, destroy the undead guards, and steal the corpse in hopes of performing vile rituals or laying curses upon it, all would be in vain.
Brinis was a Prime Creator who held dominion over death, and only other Prime Creators could defy his authority.
Yet even they could not encroach upon one another’s domains—least of all upon that of a higher-ranked deity.
Therefore, when a necromancer of the Brinis Order conducted funeral rites in the proper manner, any corpse thus consecrated was rendered completely unusable: it could not be made into items such as a Hand of Glory, used as a vessel for curses, raised as undead, nor could the soul—already parted from the body—be bound and employed as a spectral familiar.
This is why people did not bury their dead themselves, but instead summoned a funerary necromancer.
Once the holy water had soaked the shroud thoroughly, the sigils of authority inscribed upon it began to shine, and Aerfey closed the coffin lid.
According to Medipl, these sigils were fundamentally different from a mage’s magic circles, though to an ordinary eye the distinction was impossible to perceive.
Of course, Medipl himself was not a Mow, and his understanding of the matter came entirely from what he had read.
After offering another prayer, Aerfey touched the corner of the coffin with his fingertip.
A luminous nail, formed from nothing, emerged at his touch and drove itself along the edge, sealing the coffin shut.
Though the nails were set lightly enough that an ordinary human could remove them with tools, they were said to be untouchable by any being that was not human.
With the help of the gathered villagers, Aerfey oversaw the lowering of the coffin into the grave that had been prepared in advance and saw it properly laid to rest.
He then took out a portable harp and began to play a hymn.
The melody was solemn and restrained, and the atmosphere of the funeral deepened at once.
After delivering a brief sermon on life and death and offering a prayer for the repose of the departed, he produced a large cloth, unfurled it with a graceful motion, and cast it outward.
It drifted slowly through the air before settling precisely over the coffin; then, as if guided by an unseen force, its edges folded in on themselves and drew tight, wrapping the coffin snugly.
Spreading his hands in prayer, Aerfey gave Rimas a subtle glance and spoke softly.
“Palling.”
At the cue, Rimas did as he had been instructed beforehand by the High Rector: he took a shovelful of earth and cast it onto the grave.
As the prayer continued, the soil seemed to seep into the cloth encasing the coffin, like water soaking into fabric.
The cloth and the earth fused, transforming into something no longer quite soil, and upon that altered layer the others began to heap more earth.
As the others filled in the grave, Aerfey began to play another piece on the harp.
It was a measured tune, neither bright nor somber—too restrained to lighten the labor of shoveling earth, yet not so slow or heavy as to weigh down the spirit.
It sustained the solemnity of the funeral without letting it sink into gloom.
The music alone was enough to show Rimas why the faithful entrusted such rites to ordained priests of the Brinis Order.
At that moment, Medipl—apparently familiar with the hymn—began to sing along.
“An end to life is the beginning of a new world.
As your radiant life endures within us,
So shall the path your spirit walks stretch into eternity.
We have never repaid the grace you granted us in life,
So may the gods grant you salvation in the world beyond, freely and without recompense.”
Medipl’s voice, clear and resonant as befitted an elf, blended with Aerfey’s practiced playing and drew the attention of all who stood there.
When the grave had been fully filled and the mound raised, the undead brought forth a gravestone from the cemetery’s storehouse.
Aerfey received the heavy slab as though it weighed nothing, set it beside the mound, then drew a knife and began to carve letters into its blank face.