“Who said that, my lord?" (Patreon)

Rebecca asked, puzzled. "The shepherd we passed?”

“He didn’t say nothin," Burnside pointed out. "He just waved.”

“No-no," I protested, shaking my head. "Seamus O'Dor. Did he say the Duchess and her Huns?”

“I wasn’t present for your conversation,” Rebecca shrugged.

“Mr. Calaveras heard," Thomson murmured. "He hears many things.”

“It was a rhetorical question aimed at no one," I grumbled. "It was a surprised outburst as I suddenly realized the significance of something Seamus said offhand earlier. Anyway, we need to have an emergency meeting RIGHT NOW!”

“Right here in the middle of the durn road?” Burnside inquired skeptically.

“I like how whimsical that sounds," Rebecca admitted, "but the traffic might object.”

“Such exchanges are best meant for dark hidden places," Thomson informed us. "Where is the nearest crypt?”

“We’ll have it over in those trees over there," I said, pointing. "Just follow me, and hurry! This is important!”

After a short amount of time, everyone was seated on comfortable chairs surrounding a small conference table in the shade of a group of trees. I apported the furniture from nowhere, without even thinking, and summoned a group of Ixie spies to join us.

“All right," I declared, slapping the table for emphasis. "Tell me everything the Duchess has been doing in my absence. And who - or what - in the Netherhells are her Huns? And what is happening on the continent that has everyone so scared? And what continent would that be, by the way?"

"She calls purt near everbody Hun," Burnside explained, "but most likely it's them son-nephews o' hers ol Seamus was talkin about. Them two like to give anybody the heebie-jeebies."

"That is a possibility," one of the Ixies admitted. "However it is more likely a reference based on lowfolk history which rather inaccurately attributes the tribal name of Hun to the residents of Vulpsylvania - modern day Fuchsland. Lowfolk politics in Europe have been souring for hundreds of years now. The Duchess of Daisies, now styling herself Herzogin Katerina von Ganseblumchen, helped make everything worse."

"But things would have boiled over without her anyway," one of the other Ixies chimed in. "The talk that has everyone so worried is talk of war. The lowfolk nations are even more fractured than Faerie is currently, without the excuse of Gaps cutting them off from each other. They have never had a single unified government (though many have tried and failed to build one). Usually they fight with each other, but sometimes even lowfolk realize it is more productive to make alliances and trade agreements."

"My grandfather, Adler the Prudent, was a master at that," I interrupted pointlessly.

"Yes, and although diplomacy is less costly in terms of lives and material, there are other costs. The convoluted web of treaties leaves no one unaffiliated, so if one state is belligerent and starts a war (and all intel indicates that Fuchsland will), all of the other nations will be compelled to join in. It will be a war on a scale that neither Lowfolk nor Faerie has never seen before."

"A fully industrialized war," the first Ixie continued. "Utilizing all the mechanical horrors the lowfolk imagination can conceive. They have no magick, as you know, but they can devise all sorts of contraptions to kill and maim each other. O'Daisies munition factories are everywhere, and they've made guns that can mow down an entire batallion in minutes."

"Not just machines, but alchemical formulae as well," the second Ixie interjected. "I know this is a sore spot for you, sire, but remember the Plague of Battles? They've concocted vapors twice as deadly, that work faster and cover more area. Instead of making them fight each other, it just knocks everyone on the battlefield stone dead in a matter of seconds."

"A few seconds of unbearable agony," the other Ixie interposed dramatically. "It burns their skin, their eyes, their lungs - anything organic that it touches begins to dissolve. The vial you dropped at Albric Tor was a trifle compared to what they've got now."

"Really?" I gasped, horrified yet also feeling strangely vindicated by this piece of news.

"And unlike you, they will have absolutely no qualms about using it," The first Ixie continued. "The Duchess is the largest supporter of the impending war, and it is an open secret that she has massive political pull in multiple nations and controls the weapons industry. She has stakes in nearly every major weapons manufacturing company. No matter who wins, she will profit tremendously. She has plans for almost every possible outcome. We don't know all of the contingencies she has considered, but one of her potential goals is to reduce the lowfolk world to ashes so that she can swoop in like a savior and rebuild everything."

"If anyone could build that unified world government, it would have to be an elf," I mused. "All right, how do we stop her?"

"Unfortunately, things are so far along now that even if the Duchess were removed from the equation there is no stopping what is on the horizon. War is inevitable. The weapons exist and are stockpiled in multiple locations. Even if we knew where ALL of the arsenals were - and we don't - it would be impossible to destroy even a fraction of them in time. The Duchess is well protected. Eliminating her would be even harder, and even if you succeeded, you might only be hastening the inevitable."

"Did Dr. Owter Cesawonki have a hand in this?" I asked darkly.

"As far as we can determine, the tod also known as Ash Marten has no stakes or involvement in the lowfolk war. He has moved all of his assets into Faerie. While he certainly approves of the Duchess’s ambition to destroy large numbers of lowfolk, what we know about him indicates that he would consider her methods crude, inelegant, and unworthy of the Unseelie legacy."

"He'd be right about that," Burnside declared, with obvious disgust. "Ain't no way to fight a war. Oughta be done with fists an blades, with a couple a knights on antback leadin the charge, an some archers in back providin cover. Not with no mechanical doodads an noxious vapors. Ain't no skill in that. Ain't no fun if you can't look yer foe in the eye an watch him die. Whut she's a-doin is a disgrace to the Unseelie name."

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this sooner??” I demanded of the Ixies.

“You didn’t ask,” they answered sheepishly. “You were so happy to finally be free, we didn’t want to spoil things with tidings that you can't really do anything about. The Duchess has been methodically laying her plans the whole time you were exiled. By the time you were freed, all our intel showed there was no way to prevent what is coming. Even if you could somehow unite Faerie in the next .. oh, six months to a year (unlikely), AND if all of your newly sworn subjects agreed to intervene in lowfolk affairs (well night impossible), you would still not have the resources nor the ability to succeed.”

“Assuming you're correct in your assessment," I scolded, "that was still a matter for me to decide. The Duchess planning the overthrow of the entire lowfolk world is something a new emperor should know about. Shame on you for not telling me immediately.”

“It was an inexcusably sentimental lapse of judgement we swear never to repeat," the Ixie said solemnly. "Now that you know, what will you do?

I look at the stunned and uneasy faces of my companions (except Thomson, who remained eerily calm as she stroked Mr. Calaveras' cranium.) “Any suggestions?”

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