Picking his way gingerly through the debris, Sir Terrance Dunwell walked the ruined outer courtyard of Newcastle Fortress in the company of his familiar. The courtyard was a mess of furrows dug by cannonballs and shot. How many tons of ammunition had been squandered here? Scirroco wrinkled her nose at the residue sent of gunpowder, adjusting her glasses to hide her distaste.

It had been days since the formerly unassailable Fortress of Newcastle had been broken, its defenses reduced and its defenders fled. But the price had been obscene. Thousands of lives thrown away, hundreds of tons of powder and shot expended, and in the end for nothing, Prince Wales Tudor had escaped.

The outer walls stood broken, hammered into submission by spell and cannon fire. The inner walls still stood, mostly intact, but breached at several points where the reserve Mage Ground Cavalry and Golem units had bludgeoned their way through to claim their prize, what was left of it.

The defenders had acted in spite to the very end. Engineers had undermined the foundations of the Fortress Citadel and set charges in advance. All the while the rear guard was fighting to the last breath, they had been slowly collapsing the Fortress from within, destroying war stocks, and burying anything else of value under hundreds of tons of rubble.

Dunwell paused as he caught sight of Lord Cromwell standing before what was left of the Citadel's massive timber doors, the half collapsed structure now broken and defunct. Already in his company were Viscount Robert Blake, Sir William Wells, Lady Sheffield, and the six surviving undead.

Noting the lack of any overt signs of distress, Dunwell took a breath and stepped forward.

Of the three of them, Blake was on the most treacherous ground. Dunwell had thrown his lot in with Reconquista early and clearly and his subordinates had followed suit after he had voiced his reasons. This had earned them all death warrants from the Royalists, but also praise and trust from their new Rebel allies, many of whom had formerly been in the services of the King.

What's more, Albion's Dragon Knights were subservient to Navy Commanders, so any ill act of judgement would return inevitably to Blake rather than Dunwell.

Admiral Blake's leanings were much less proven and his position most precarious. While it was true that he had denied the use of Albion's fleet to King James and his forces, he had not delivered his ships directly into the hands of Reconquista either.

This apparent neutrality meant that he was met with far greater suspicion and his part in the battle for Newcastle was far more suspect. It would not be difficult for an unscrupulous person to claim that he had allowed the Royalists to escape.

Dunwell frowned. Any military man would see that the Admiral had done nothing wrong. In fact, his decision to act cautiously had likely preserved more ships and Dragon Knights who would have otherwise been lost pointlessly. A decision that had proven most fortuitous given Reconquista's simultaneous defeat at York.

The fact that Dunwell's own gambit had also proven unsuccessful simply proved that Prince Wales and King James had been unreachable from the moment the surprise attack commenced.

The question was, would Lord Cromwell see it that way?

"Reluctant?" Scirroco asked.

"Either Blake has been absolved or . . ."

"Or you are to be his executioner." His familiar finished, green eyes blinking once. "I wouldn't worry. He doesn't smell of fear."

Dunwell glanced over to his familiar. "The Admiral is not the sort of man who would shake at his own death."

Scirroco shrugged. "It's not about courage. No matter how brave the man, the body has a healthy desire to go on living."

He wondered sometimes if she was being completely honest when she claimed such things about her sense of smell. It certainly made more sense than 'feminine intuition' which was the only other explanation she'd ever given him. However, it appeared she had been proven right once again.

"Sir Dunwell!" Lord Cromwell stretched his arms wide in greetings, beckoning Dunwell closer with a smile. Whatever disaster had befallen the Rebels, their leader appeared as optimistic as ever.

"My Lord." Dunwell bowed stiffly before turning to observe.

Work crews, mages and commoners, were picking dutifully through the wreckage of the Citadel. Although it was unlikely that anything of value had been left behind, there was always a chance that one of their own had been trapped in the rubble or else Royalist survivors who might be interrogated to learn something of the events leading up to Tristain's involvement.

Tristain had acted with astonishing speed and decisiveness. Had a relief effort already been planned? Or had this been made possible by their Faerie allies? It was essential that they know. That they learned everything that they could, now more than ever.

"Please now Terrance, there's no need to be so formal, we're all friends here!" More than the possibility of the man's wrath, Lord Cromwell's absurd expression of optimism left Dunwell feeling distinctly ill at ease.

Did the man not understand what had happened? Was he some sort of idiot? Dunwell was careful not to let himself be seen glancing over to Lady Sheffield. Just what did this woman, and by extension her backers, want from Albion?

He would have to see if that position in Londinium was still available. The closer he could get to Shefield and the truth, the better.

"Sir Wells and Admiral Blake were just explaining the progression of the battle." Cromwell explained. "Ghastly business. I fear that General Ashburough will have to go after this lackluster showing. If only the Royalists had not chosen to fight us to the last, we could have been spared all of this."

"It is as you say Lord Cromwell." Dunwell nodded. "But, if I may speak out of line, that persistence has won them the day." And far more besides.

And then, Lord Cromwell chuckled warmly, or in a fashion that had almost certainly been meant to be warm but that chilled Dunwell to his soul. "Is that what you think? Do you mean Prince Wales?"

"Why, y-yes my Lord." Dunwell answered carefully. "The Prince has almost certainly escaped, given what has been relayed to me by your . . . servants."

About the only thing that could be said for the abominations resurrected by Lord Cromwell was that there were now fourteen less. Though, if given the choice of which he was forced to continue suffering, he rather missed Arguile. At least Aki had finally been destroyed. One of the remaining undead reported her blasted to rags by a ship's cannon at point blank range.

"Ah, Wales." Cromwell said wistfully. "You know that young man has been our greatest undoing these past months. Well, I would not worry myself overly much, Terrance."

Looking around the ruins with clear interest. Cromwell's smile widened. "Besides, now that Newcastle has fallen, the White Isle is a fortress belonging to us alone! We will have ample opportunity to deal with the Prince in due time."

"Sir, I urge you to reconsider." Dunwell said tiredly. "Prince Wales is a grave threat, and coupled with his rescue, his popularity will no doubt rise among the people."

More than the military defeat, the propaganda blow would soon prove devastating. Not only had an enemy met Albion in battle, they had done so over the White Isle itself and won victory. What's more, they had done so with the clear and essential aid of Faeries.

Faeries, they were not the children of Medb like many believed. But even if Dunwell knew the truth, the common peoples would be hard to convince. Fantasy thrived because it was what people wanted to believe.

Already the barracks of the common foot soldiers and low ranking mages were abuzz with rumors. They were demoralized by the losses, haunted by what they had seen. It would not be long before those rumors trickled from the camps and spread across Albion like a wild fire, only adding to the damage of their dual defeats. Dunwell could only imagine that Reconquista's propaganda arm would be operating at full swing in the coming weeks to downplay and twist events as best they could.

"And as I have said, it will be taken care of. The Prince may have escaped Albion, but he has not yet escaped our grasp. He will be dealt with in good time. Now then . . ."

Shouts from the excavation drew everyone's attention. The rubble was moving on its own, sliding and collapsing. Dunwell, Sir Wells, and Admiral Blake each took a step back and raised their wands. There was every chance that what remained of the citadel was about to give way.

But the Fortress did not settle further. No, it was worse than that.

"Dun-well-sa-ma?" A loud, off key, sing song voice came

"Dun-well-sa-ma? Where oh where are you Dun-well-sa-ma?"

The excavation teams all took a step back, starring frightfully at the girl who had just emerged from the wreckage. Her Faerie ears set them on guard, but more than that was the absurdity of her dress.

Aki didn't look like she'd been hit by a ship's cannon, but her clothing most certainly did. Bloodied rags hung from her upper body leaving her chest partially exposed, and the white cavalryman's pants had been stained almost as red as the remains of her jacket.

Stepping from the cloud of dust, Aki barely seemed to notice as she smiled cheerfully and swung her arms back and forth like a child at play, a familiar head swinging by its hair in her right hand.

"There you are Dunwell-sama!" Aki's expression brightened and then brightened further. "And Cromwell-sama! Look Cromwell-sama, look what Aki found!"

"Ah, what do you have my child?" Cromwell asked and then smiled as if reunited with an old friend. "Why, hello there my King. Or should I say former King?"

Dunwell paled as he was brought face to face with the head of King James. The remains of his former sovereign stared at him lifelessly, accusingly.

Dunwell shook his head. "Aki, how are you still . . . intact. The others reported you destroyed?" Just how much abuse could these abominations survive?

Aki's normal expression grew childishly serious. "It was hard Dunwell-sama! Aki's body was blown to pieces by that nasty Slug Monster that Asuna-sama brought with us. But Aki remembered her mission and did her best to pull herself together!"

The serious expression deepened as she crossed her arms over her chest, though Dunwell doubted it was meant to restore her modesty. "But by then, the Eagle had already left, and Aki was all tangled up on the far side of the dock, so Aki most brilliantly obeyed her contingency orders and proceeded up into the Citadel to kill the Royalist dogs in their den!"

Beaming once more. "That's where I found this Royalist Dog trying to light some things on fire. He didn't notice Aki in the fighting and confusion, so Aki used a sword she found to chop his head off. Then the ceiling fell on Aki and she was smashed as flat as a bug again. It took a long time for Aki to repair herself from that. By then, there weren't anymore Royalists alive and Aki decided to dig her way out!"

Having finished retelling her grizzly story, Dunwell starred at the corpse girl. "Is that how it was?" He asked weakly. Meanwhile, Sir Wells had gone as white as a ghost.

"Well, this is indeed a spot of good news." Lord Cromwell decided. "Prince Wales may live, but the Tyrant King does not! A great victory for our cause, wouldn't you say, Sir Dunwell?"

"I . . . Yes Lord Cromwell." He sighed inwardly. He'd much rather it be the other way around. It was preferred when fighting an enemy that their beloved be dead and their despised still among the living.

"Aki, you've done well this day in the eyes of the Founder." Cromwell smiled and patted the Zombie on her head.

"Yay!" Aki chirped gleefully, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a child receiving a reward. "Aki has been praised for her most excellent work in service to the Founder!"

Cromwell held up the head, examining it studiously. "Yes, I suppose I do like you more this way my King. And Aki has been so generous as to bring us your most useful part. Fear not my King, you will be redeemed in the bosom of our Founder."

The New Ruler of Albion tucked the dead King's head into the crook of his arm before looking back to Admiral Blake. "As I was saying earlier Admiral, fear not, you've done nothing wrong in the eyes of the Founder. Indeed, your caution yielded excellent results given the circumstances. We are lucky to have such a reliable Admiral to command our fleets!"

Blake wasn't a man to look pathetically grateful. Nevertheless, his shoulders sagged slightly. "I thank you for your continued faith, Lord Cromwell."

"Now then, I do believe we have other business to attend to." Cromwell said. "Back to Londinium I suppose." He sighed heavily. "Lady Sheffield."

"One moment, Lord Cromwell." Sheffield said coolly, her eyes glancing to the six, now seven, remaining zombies. "I am curious, the Royalists were quite thorough with their destruction?" Surprisingly the question was asked to Aki.

The Zombie girl nodded her head. "Uh-huh, they burned up everyone as they tried to put themselves back together and didn't stop until there was nothing but ashes. Aki only survived because she was blasted all the way to the other side of the docks and got missed. Oh . . . But they took Mizuki and wrapped her up in chains while she was healing and then threw her in their nasty ship's hold!"

"Mizuki?" Cromwell asked as if he knew the girl personally. "Oh my, that is a dilemma."

"Lord Cromwell", Lady Sheffield advised, "It would be unwise to allow one of your soldiers to remain in Tristain's custody."

Cromwell seemed genuinely disappointed. "I suppose that you are right." He raised his ringed hand to his lips. "Alas, what the sacred void gives, it must sometimes take away."

Laid flat on its back atop a stone examination plinth, stripped of clothing, its arms and legs bound in chains. The husk of a Faerie looked all around at its captors, tilting its head curiously.

There were seven of them, all cloaked in heavy gowns and garbed in alchemists breathing masks. Five stood well back, observing but otherwise saying nothing while two stepped forward to begin their grisly work. The Zombie watched, brown eyes moving from one to the other as comments were exchanged and medical tools were readied.

Not for the first time, the Zombie struggled against its restraints, but the physicians had learned after it had gotten free and nearly killed a nurse in its attempts to escape. Since then, no risks had been taken with the defiled corpse and it had remained restrained in triplicate at all times.

"Noting again after extensive examination of the corpse, no signs of decomposition, color of soft tissues is . . . normal. Consistency remains unchanged. Body temperature has also been previously observed to be slightly above room temperature, possibly due to friction from tissue movement." The Physician on the right reported, his every word recorded carefully by two of the observers.

The Zombie listened, and, processing what was said and then perked up slightly. "For my flesh is made anew by the Founder. No sword or magic will tear it asunder. Nor shall time weary meh . . . mph . . ." The Zombie continued to try and speak as the right side physician used several implements to pry the mouth open and examined the interior with the assistance of a conjured light and a mirror.

"No signs of decomposition within the mouth either. Gums look normal, teeth remain healthy, salivation continues to occur." The Physician swabbed at the inside of one cheek and placed the cotton ball in a small glass container to the side. "External inspection is complete. We can move forward now."

"Making the first incision along sternum now." The physician on the left said, scalpel meeting flesh directly above the breastbone and parting it easily. The first time they had done this, they had hesitated, and with good reason. Neither Physician was a sadist, and they took no pleasure in what they were doing.

However, after seeing their subject knit itself back together endlessly without any overt signs of pain, they had grown clinically detached in this special case and simply muscled forward. "Note that in previous examination, subject's Fae musculature presented additional resistance, taken to be a normal byproduct of Faerie physiology, further investigation is required."

"Mmph, mrrf, muff . . ." The Zombie tried to say something but was largely ignored. Another idiosyncrasy that had been discovered. While usually silent, the undead would speak if spoken to, and from time to time rattle off random catechisms that it thought appropriate.

Unfortunately, attempting to question it had proven fruitless as three of the observers had learned in the past. Though possessing a modicum of intelligence and even being capable of cordial conversation, albeit while bound in layers of chains, the Zombie seemed to not know anything of use, and no attempt at coercion had shown the slightest effect.

"Now opening the rib cage. Again, note that Faerie constitution offers additional resistance." The left side physician said.

There came a grinding as the sternum was sawed through, four of the five observers looking away uncomfortably. The Zombie merely looked down at the damage as if fascinated by the dis assembly of its own body. A crude mechanical vice was put into place, screws were turned, ribs began to bend apart exposing the interior of the chest cavity.

"Making inspection now." The right hand physician said, eyes scanning the interior of the torso. "No apparent organ activity. The heart is intact, but inactive. The same is clear for the lungs."

"Mmph"

"Correction, the subject does utilize the lungs for speech. Stomach is also intact but shrunken."

"Taking palpations." The left hand physician replied. "Heart feels slightly inflated, palpations along with previous examinations and incisions suggest blood flow is continued. Hypothesis that this is a byproduct of the Necromancy Spell." Hand working deeper in to the abdomen. "Stomach is also confirmed shrunken, no material appears to be present in the stomach or intestines. Moving to further inspection of the heart . . . What!?"

Both physicians leaned back as the Zombie convulsed once, nearly wrenching free from its restraints, muscles standing out as they were strained well past their limits. Jaw clenched down, braking the wedge holding the mouth open.

"For we our the Founders blessed children! Reborn in his radiance!"

As it shouted the soft tissues began to discolor and distend and the visible organs within the chest cavity began to darken and swell up, starting with the stomach, but rapidly spreading to the heart and lungs, and through the veins and arteries.

"The Founder's Light is a Gift to all! To be Granted to all!"

The eyes began to cloud, weeping puss filled tears as the skin grew constricted and mummified.

The taint spread rapidly, the body beginning to wriggle from within, limbs bruising, blistering and swelling. Flesh began to peal and then slough off, turning first ripe, then bruised, before melting into a putrid liquid that steamed and bubbled away, exposing bone and dissolving organs.

By now the convulsions had stopped, there simply wasn't enough muscle left.

The Zombie continued to speak, but by now the vocal cords and lungs could no longer shape words and tongue had dissolved completely with most of the rest of the soft tissue, teeth beginning to crack and fall free from the rotting and blackening gums. It tried anyways to speak its praises to the Founder as it was surrounded in steam burning off from the unwholesome materials dribbling from the examination bench, until at last, all that was left was a skeleton charred by the heat of its accelerated decay and a thin film of fine dust, all that remained of its tissues.

"Damnation!" The right hand doctor cursed, all professionalism being cast aside. "What was that!" Peeling his mask off, the man immediately gagged, nearly throwing up before he was lead from the room by his colleague. The observers quickly followed behind them.

"Get the nurses in her to collect the remains!" The left hand doctor shouted, leading his associated well down the hall before permitting them to remove their masks. He stopped and turned back. "And someone air that room out quickly! Some of the gases may be combustible." Even here, the stench that had carried on them was overpowering.

"Gyah. What is that?!" The first examiner, one of the note takers, asked as she stuck out her tongue as if to wipe away the cloying sent of decay.

"Putrefaction, Miss Valliere." The right hand physician said as he leaned over his colleagues. "But impossibly fast. Like a time lapse." Removing his own mask slowly to reveal the green hair and slightly pointed ears of a Sylph youth. Doctor Shouichi Saito took a whiff and then grimaced. "Lady Alicia . . . you may want to keep your mask on until the sent has cleared."

The smallest of the masked figures nodded. "Gotcha." Looking over her shoulder, expression hidden by her mask, her tone told the whole story. "I don't think Prince Bishounen is going to be too happy. They went to a lot of trouble to keep that thing intact. What they hell was that?"

"Water magic." The right hand physician, Doctor Panam said. "Used to accelerate the bodies rate of decay. Ingenuous, the heat caused the water to boil off, destroying any evidence of the spell."

"Much too sophisticated for a human water mage then." Mask dropping away, Headmaster Osmand tugged at his beard. "Perhaps . . . Spirit magic? A spirit allied with the Rebels, or perhaps some artifact attained from them . . ." The Elderly mage continued to mutter conspiratorially to himself.

"I find this troubling." Lord Mortimer said as he removed his own mask. "That was some sort of self destruct, possibly designed to remove any evidence of the Zombie's existence."

"Other than a suspiciously charred skeleton." Alicia commented, nevertheless, she still sounded queasy.

"This is no laughing matter, Lady Alicia." Mortimer growled.

"Notice my lack of laughing. I'm not smiling under this mask." The Cait Syth Leader said. "So what now?"

"The Good Lord Mortimer is right." The last observer said as he removed his own mask carefully. "These undead are quite sophisticated. Well beyond anything that I've ever heard of before. With its self destruction, it was fortunate I was already here in Tristania to meet with you Fae on behalf of the Church."

"Then you saw enough?" Doctor Shouichi asked.

"Oh yes. I saw quite enough to verify your claims. You are quite correct that this was the most heinous of heresy. Necromancy. It was right for you to bring this to my attention." The blonde haired youth said as he fixed the doctor gravelly with blue and red eyes. "I shall dispatch a letter informing the Holy Father at once."

'Amazing, simply amazing!' Colbert thought as he walked the long isles past row of row of tightly packed shelves. Every time that he found himself with business in the Faeries Capital, he simply had to visit the Arrun Library. If there was any monument in all of Arrun that proved that the Fae were a people of admirable nature and virtue, it was this place.

He had discovered the Library quite accidentally on his third visit as he asked his guide about the peculiar, ivy covered entryway not far from the base of Arrun Tower. The one that seemed much too large and formal for the the building it apparently lead into. What he had discovered inside had left him agape with astonishment.

Colbert was a scholar and thus was familiar with the great Archives and Libraries of Halkegenia where knowledge was collected and jealously guarded. The Fenrir Library of the Academy of Magic, and the Royal Archives maintained by the Academia, as well as the Imperial Library of Germania, and the Grand Pentagon Library of the Church of Romalia. Each was a vast storehouse of knowledge containing thousands of books, scrolls, and documents.

The repository of the Faeries neatly dwarfed them all combined. Tens of thousands of books, manuscripts, documents, replicas of famous pieces of artwork from the Faerie homelands. A jewel of knowledge and culture. But more than what it contained was what it represented.

The Faeries were a race that valued knowledge greatly, even more so than most of the Nobility. They believed that knowledge should be use for the benefit of all, made available to all. When the the Fae spoke of their library, they did not mean a hoarded repository available only at the pleasure of an Elite few but a grand institution of self learning limited only by a visitors desire to know.

'Amazing! Marvelous!'

Although admittedly, at the moment, the Arrun Library did fall a little short of that lofty ideal. The Fae Lords had deemed the Library a 'strategic resource' due to the knowledge and references of their natural philosophy which were held inside. Entry was restricted for the time being without special permission until such a time as the entirety of the Library could be cataloged and the more important works duplicated.

It was a task that might take months. Colbert thought, no, perhaps even years! In the meantime, permission to enter was not difficult to obtain, although visitors were thoroughly searched upon arrival and departure and kept under close watch by an escorting 'Nav Pixie'.

He glanced over his shoulder at the diminutive Fae girl who drifted as his side silently, balanced on her slender wings, observing everything that he did. The surveillance was only natural to protect this place and its wealth of knowledge. Given the circumstances, Colbert would have done much the same.

He did not chafe under the surveillance of his small guide, in fact, he was quite grateful lest he become hopelessly lost. Arrun Library was home to hundreds of thousands of books and other documents with all of the space and shelving that necessitated.

From the entryway, traveling downward into the partially subterranean structure, a grand balcony overlooked the Library's circular main chamber, domed roof arching high overhead as light was admitted by small windows. From vantage high on the walls, the shelves seemed to describe an immense and complex maze, one that Colbert could have easily been lost in if not for the help of his escort.

From time to time, they passed other guests, Librarians, or Pixies busily attending to their own duties, but for the most part they were left alone. Between the walls of books and the thick carpeting, even the echoes and voices were swallowed up.

Colbert found that he was enjoying himself immensely. Breathing in the scent of tightly packed paper, eyes scanning the endless rows of titles. He couldn't decipher the script, but it hardly mattered. Just to stand in this place was a wonder unto itself.

"Damn it!"

Colbert blinked. Where had that come from?

"Son of a . . ."

It was off to his left, he was reasonably sure, the lack of echoes did make it quite a bit easier than he would have expected to localize the source, and the voice was making it quite easy as it continued to curse softly.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn! Grrr!"

Taking one last turn, he came to a gap in the shelves where a number of tables had been placed for guests to use at their pleasure. Seated at one of these tables, surrounded by stacks of paper and over a dozen books, a lone girl was furiously crossing out lines of messy handwriting with impatient motions of her arm, until at last, her hand bumped the small glass ink jar at her side, spilling the contents across the table.

The girl turned quickly, grabbing up two of the book before they came to any harm and then stared as the expanding puddle of ink reached some of her papers, soaking up and beginning to sink and settle. Trembling softly the girl clenched her teeth.

"For fucks sake! Can't someone in this stupid world invent the fountain pen!"

Before Colbert could say a word, his Pixie guide raised a finger to her lips. "Silence in the library!"

The girl looked up, and Colbert got a clear view of her for the first time. Very pale, coppery hair, messy bangs, and thick eyebrows, slightly pointed ears. If he were to guess, he'd say she was a Salamander. She looked startled at their sudden appearance, and then started to grow angry before blowing air through her teeth.

"And what do you want?" She growled suspiciously.

"Want?" Colbert asked, and then raised his hands quickly. "Why nothing! I want nothing at all. Please accept my apologies, I meant no disrespect!"

The girl's glare softened and she glanced over to the Pixie. "You must have permission to be here or this little gal would be fuming right now." The pixie blinked, tilting her head curiously at the observation.

"Sorry for the noise." She mumbled and turned back to her papers, saving those she could from the top of the stack while continuing to mutter curses about copulation with one's own mother and a sanctified excrement while blotting up the rest of the ink with some of the remaining blank parchment.

Colbert watched for a few moment before stepping forward. "Ah, Miss?"

"What?!" The girl spun around and then recoiled as Colbert offered her a hand rag.

"Wiping it about won't do any good, you should blot it." Colbert knew this all too well from the many small spills and accidents in his own workshop. He'd had plenty of occasion to learn the best way to pick up oils and inks.

Looking at the rag, the girl nodded once and turned back to the table. Colbert pulled another rag from his pocket and began to help, eyeing a few of the rescued papers as he worked.

The writing was meaningless to him, but . . . there was a pattern to it. Lines of text that could almost have been pulled from the Albionian alphabet, though meaningless in these combinations, were laid side by side with words in the Runic Script that appeared during Fae magic chants. A short series of even odder lettering in the impossibly confusing Fae language that he'd learned was known as 'Japanese' followed on each row.

He noted that most of the rows were either crossed out or checked off with a second list being composed containing only the checked off lines.

"Excuse me Miss, but if I might ask what you were doing?" Colbert adjusted his glasses.

The girl snorted. "What does it look like?" She asked.

Sarcasm, oh dear. Colbert sighed inwardly. Well, it was not the first time he'd been in a position to deal with a difficult student. And this type was simple enough. "It does appear that you're trying to reverse engineer an enchantment."

The girl, occupied with her blotting stopped and went stiff. "How did . . . ?"

Instead of anger, she looked generally surprised. He fathomed that she was used to viewing others as beneath her. A smart child who had moved beyond her peers and teachers. And now she was hungry for an answer she didn't know.

Colbert smiled. "Simple deduction from your writing."

"You could read what I wrote?" She asked with disbelief.

"Not a word." Colbert answered with a chuckle. "But the pattern is clear enough. It's common in Halkegenia to try and deconstruct a spell from its chant."

Common, though not very useful, many spells could be cast with only a partial chant or even by sub vocalizing to hide their true nature. Still, it was a useful teaching exercise for students just beginning to master their magic.

"Tell me, how long have you been at this?"

The girl watched him cautiously, she seemed to be trying to determine if she could trust him enough to tell the truth. "Just since I got back . . . from Newcastle."

Colbert's vague smile vanished as he saw the dull look in her eyes. 'Oh founder no . . .' He'd known the Faeries had sent volunteers, but this girl hardly looked suited to the rage of battle. No one was really, but her less than most.

"You're right, I'm trying to deconstruct our magic spells." The girl said. "I want to see if there's an underlying pattern."

Ah yes, Colbert recalled, Faerie magic had been an artifact of ALfheim, which meant that they had no study of magic in their homeland, not in a sense that Colbert or any Halkegnian would recognize. Instead, the Faeries memorized their spells by wrote. So this girl wasn't just trying to decompose a spell, she was trying to dismantle the entire magic system back into its basic building blocks. Quite ambitious, and brilliant for one so young.

"Have you made any progress?" He asked.

"Some." The girl admitted as she re-stacked her books. "But I keep getting stuck. I like languages . . . they're . . . fun." My, she looked embarrassed admitting that! Her expression grew frustrated. "But this thing is so . . . so stupid! I mean, I can work out parts of the vocabulary but the syntax is like some sort of crazy maze, I can't make any sense of it." She clenched her fist. "I bet it's something that was iterated by the Cardinal System. Stupid game designers letting a computer design their stupid magic language! They could have hired a linguist you know!"

"Shh!" The Pixie floating beside Colbert said, a little bit less patiently than before.

"Right, right." The girl grumbled. "Look, thank you for your help." She said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work. My squad has . . . we have patrol duty in a couple of hours." She looked sicky at the thought, much too frightened for someone who had endured battle. Colbert had a guess as to why.

"You've had to use your magic in anger . . . haven't you?"

The girl started writing again slowly, dipping her quickly into the shallow pool of ink at the bottom of the jar. She went back to writing.

Colbert understood, he didn't have the right to ask that question. Forcing help on someone would only do them harm. "That was rude of me. I'll go now." He turned to leave when . . .

"I burned them all up. Completely to ash."

Colbert paused to listen.

"It was a game, you know." She said. "It was just supposed to be fun. And now . . . Everyone going on about us being turned into Faeries. Some people are even happy about it! What the hell is wrong with them!?" Breathing heavily she looked at her hands. "Don't they get it? ALfheim was a game of conflict. The main powers and skills were built around making PvP fun and exciting. All of my magic is focused on artillery and combat support . . . I'm a living weapon."

He didn't know what to say. He wished he did. He wished he knew what words would free her from that guilt. But if he knew that, he would not be the man he was.

"Why do I have to be here? I hate my magic. I hate myself." The girl whispered. "I hate that it's only used for killing. I hate that I killed." Colbert bowed his head, enduring rather than saying anything in reply. She wasn't entirely wrong. Which was why he was surprised by what she said next. "But that's stupid, So I'm going to use if for something else."

He looked up. "Pardon?"

"Other than languages, fire magics the only thing I'm good with." She explained. "Its kind of stupid. Fire magic has a lot of advantages in combat, but it really get the short end of the stick for doing anything constructive. So I'm going to change that."

"Oh?" Colbert asked, cautiously optimistic. So, did she already understand?

"I mean, its a tool." The girl began to gesticulate. "It's all about how you use it. We use fire to purify and shape metals, to drive chemical reactions, and to drive engine." Colbert perked up curiously. "Fire allowed humans to create civilization so fire magic must have something it can do other than destruction, I think."

Falling silent, Colbert waited to see if she would say anything else. At last, he took a breath. "It's interesting that you would say that actually. I happen to be a teacher at the Academy. I don't know if my expertise would be of much use, but if you are having difficulty in your research I might offer a different perspective . . . I could get permission from the Fae Lords and the Headmaster if you would like . . ."

The girl looked up, blinking a few times.

"Oh, my manners." Colbert bowed. "I am Professor Jean Colbert of the Tristain Academy of Magic. It is my pleasure to be of meet you Miss . . ." He held his bow until he heard her answer.

"People call me Enya." She said. "It's nice to meet you, Colbert-sensei." Biting her lip, Enya seemed to give her next action some thought before gesturing to the chair beside her.

She said she had to leave in a couple of hours. Colbert recalled. Well, his business was not so urgent. Sitting down beside her, the two began to converse, Enya explaining her goals, starting point, and reasoning while Colbert probed with his own questions.

It was not long before both were absorbed in their own shared world.

"Uhm, excuse me, but where are we going again?" The Leprechaun asked her guide as she set down beside the hooded Cait Syth.

Her only answer was a slightly sinister snicker. "You'll see pretty quick. Tis a place I think you'll like sa."

The Leprechaun looked unconvinced as she straightened out her coat and skirt and entertained the thought that this whole thing might not be on the level. Her friends did keep reminding her that this wasn't a game anymore. Like she didn't know that!

Well, Novair had vouched for her Cait Syth guide when she'd reported to Arrun tower, so chances were good that this really was official business. So she supposed it was probably alright. Besides she was curious just what this 'Argo' wanted with her. It wasn't like she had anything else to do while they were trapped in this stupid place after all.

The building they had arrived in front of didn't inspire much faith. Built along the highway that linked Arrun to the Capital of Tristania, a lone, hastily constructed warehouse, more of a large barn, sat surrounded by a wooden stockade, a number of tents, and several earthen berms. A large airship was landed nearby along with several Dragons and Manticores.

She opened her mouth to voice a question, but then thought better of it. There was no telling whether she'd like the answer.

Setting off on foot the short distance to the warehouse doors, they were watched with mild curiosity by soldiers and laborers. Thankfully it wasn't the full on stares that Faeries had been receiving for the first couple of weeks. Not that she'd know much about that personally. After the reality of . . . reality . . . had set in, she'd done her part to keep order in Arrun by draining excess alcohol supplies wherever she could find them . . . She'd really buried herself in her work.

"So what is this place anyways?" She asked Argo.

The Cait Syth pulled down her hood, ears twitching once. "Temporary storage, don't let the rough finish fool you. We'll be moving to nicer accommodations once things take off."

"I see . . ." She said, not seeing at all. "I guess I'll take your word for it."

She didn't have much longer to wait. A small crowd of people were waiting in front of the warehouse doors when they arrived, a mixed group of Faeries and Halkegenians.

The Halks were all new to her, not that she knew many to begin with. An elderly man in a weird looking hat and what she thought were supposed to be religious vestments. A middle aged Noblewoman, very well dressed by local standards and flanked by a pair of Knights, a mustachioed Nobleman, another man, late middle aged with graying hair, but still quite handsome in a casual sort of way, and a blonde haired man wearing a very new looking military uniform.

The Faeries she had a lot more luck identifying. Too more Leprechauns who . . . She sucked in a breath, she should have known.

"Hey, longtime no see!" One waved, slightly dreamy eyes looking straight at her.

She felt her right eye twitching, a nonplussed expression gracing her face. Hegent . . . Now there was someone who looked entirely too happy with her new circumstances. And naturally, where one found Hegent, they would inevitably find Yuyu. The shorter silver haired Leprechaun looked more alert and a lot more anxious as she stood by her friend's side.

"Good morning, Yuyu." She sighed before turning suspicious eyes to the other one. "Hegent."

The dreamy eyed Leprechaun's smile turned a little unsure as she backed away but it didn't drop completely. That was mostly what made her so infuriating. Did she not understand the gravity of their situation? No, of course not! To Hegent, the idea of having 'real magic' probably made everything worth it.

Finally she turned to the last trio of Faeries, Lady Sakuya in all of her elegant glamour, flanked by a pair of her assistants.

"It's wonderful that you could make it, Sensei." Sakuya bowed her head respectfully to the Leprechaun who simply grimaced.

She didn't know if that honorific really applied in this world. A Doctor of mechanical engineering specializing in systems and nuclear technology. In Japan, she'd been one of the chief engineers on the design team for the Gen IV reactors being built at the New Fukushima project.

But that really didn't matter here in a world that had never even heard of the steam engine, much less , , or . Now she was just a Leprechaun Alchemist, trapped in a world so primitive that indoor plumbing would be the stuff of speculative fiction.

"Well, I didn't have much else to do with my time." She mumbled, slightly grateful that she'd bothered to take care of her appearance for the first time in weeks. "Novair called me in and said you had something you wanted me to do." A month of sulking was long enough, she needed to do something to start feeling useful again.

Sakuya looked her over thoughtfully. "I've heard things have been tough for you."

"I've been managing." She lied, trying not to look too dejected. She'd only been getting out of bed because her land lady was throwing her out every morning.

The Sylph Lord's painful smile said that she knew the truth. "I'm still glad you came. Now then, on to introductions."

Turning to the high class noblewoman, Sakuya began. "Queen Marianne, Cardinal Mazarin, allow me to introduce Hyuuga of the Leprechauns. I've been informed by some of her friends and colleagues that she might be well suited to help us."

Wait, Queen! Alarms bells began ringing inside her head. She might not have been in the loop lately, but she wasn't so out of it that she'd forgotten her manners in front of Royalty. "Y-Your highness!" She bowed.

Queen Marianne smiled gently and gave a small wave of acknowledgment. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Hyuuga."

"These other two gentlemen are Count La Ramee and Baron de Gramont, of whom I'm sure need no further introduction." Sakuya gestured. And they didn't, Hyuuga had heard about both in the reports posted in Arrun's central square. They'd been instrumental to the military operation that had just been conducted by Tristain. "And this last gentleman is Captain Lydel, formerly of the King's Army."

"A pleasure, Miss Hyuuga." The Count bowed deeply, the Baron following suit.

"I'm honored." Hyuuga said, frowning faintly. "Um, what exactly have I been invited too."

Sakuya exchanged glances with Argo. "You said not to say anything until she agreed to come along. And I thought it would be easier to show her than to explain on the way."

The Sylph Lord gave a small sigh. "You're probably right. Hyuuga-sensei, please, if you would follow us inside."

A pair of workers began to roll the door of the warehouse open, iron wheels creaking on crude bearings as the interior was revealed to the light of day. As the illumination widened, so did Hyuuga's eyes. Without any prompting or a trace of hesitation, she ran inside, circling the item that rested inside.

"This is . . . " She felt an inarticulate -squeak- escape her throat as her hands fell to rest on the smoothly rounded nose, the glass canopy, the olive drab paint.

"I've been told it's called an Iroquois or a Huey." Sakuya commented. "I'm sorry but it's not really my area of expertise."

"How did this get here?!" She asked, distractedly as she climbed into the passenger hold to examine the controls.

The main engine and gearbox assembly would be located up in the housing above her head. A turboshaft engine if she wasn't mistaken. She felt herself starting to salivate at the idea of taking it apart. It was all old tech, but it was in amazing condition! No rust, no dust! Someone had really put a lot of effort into taking care of it. For a moment she forgot herself as the thought of tinkering came back, long nights spent with her father in his workshop. The result of being the only child of an expert machinist.

"We don't know." Sakuya confessed. "It was found near the Village of Tarbes in Northern Tristain, but there's no sign of how it got there, and sadly, the crew have all passed away." Sakuya looked on gravely. "The implications of this objects existence are far reaching. I assure you that we will continue our investigation."

"So this is why Miss Argo was so secretive." Hyuuga surmised, rather pleased to find herself so mentally agile after a month of borderline depression.

"We didn't want to start to get people's hopes up until we had examined it thoroughly." The Sylph Lord nodded. "An official announcement will be made in a few days time. In the mean time, we have a proposition for you and some of the other technically inclined Fae."

"A proposition?" Hyuuga asked. "What sort of proposition?"

"You've heard of the technical exchange we've been conducting with Tristain, correct?" Sakuya asked.

The Leprechaun crawled back out of the cockpit and looked over. "Un. The Gnomes have got something going on up North, and there's that count Woestte guy . . ."

"The Count has been most pleased with the demonstration of the new mechanical reaper." Cardinal Mazarin noted. "He's already agreed to purchase several more as quickly as they can be manufactured and to invest in further production."

"And Rute wants to use some of our funds as Capital so that we can start making money to support ourselves." Sakuya added. "We can only live on the gold and silver reserves in the treasuries for so long. And there are consequences to adding so much gold to Tristain's economy so quickly."

The Sylph Lord circled around the helicopter, performing her own inspection. "What we'd like to do is set up an institution to redevelop and introduce contemporary technologies into Tristain."

"Things like those reapers the Gnomes and other Leprechauns are building." Hyuuga reasoned. "And the Bessemer converters."

"Among other things." Sakuya agreed. "Magic seems to have lead to some skewing of technological progress in Halkegenia, so there are many opportunities for us to introduce technological solutions to supplement the local magecraft. This will serve as a source of income for us and also help to strengthen Tristain's position with . . . well . . . with the war."

Hyuuga listened as Sakuya laid out what her job and responsibilities would be. Basically, they wanted to create a research 'think tank' to explore the uses of Earth based science and technology in Halkegenia and develop products for widespread dissemination.

They would do so by any number of methods. Original design work, designs developed from descriptions and drawings found in the Arrun Library, and reverse engineering of any more earth artifacts that were discovered. Hyuuga doubted that there was much useful in the Huey for the time being, the certainly couldn't replicate it, but it could still serve as an invaluable showpiece and technological demonstration.

This would also entail researching applications of Fae and Halkegenian magic within the new paradigm. Well, no surprise that Hegent was involved. The Leprechaun mage had always been a little touched in the head, and maybe becoming a Faerie had finally caused her to lose her last grip handle on reality.

"I just have one question." Hyuuga said. "Why me?"

Sakuya smiled wanly. "When I put out a request for names, yours was the first to show up, and its no surprise why." The Sylph Lords green eyes looked into her own. "You know that when we made the rounds requesting that people report any useful real life skill, you're one of the few that sent back a full resume."

Hyuuga rolled her eyes. It had been meant as a joke. A really bad joke that she'd taken entirely too far.

"Lots of people vouched that you possess superb organization talents and are quite driven when the occasion takes you. And your experience seems relevant. You've lead large groups of researchers and engineers before." Sakuya finished. "Unless it was just a lie."

Hyuuga spluttered, temper rising. "Do you think I'd just lie like that?! I'm an engineer, and a damn good one!" She growled. Admittedly she'd been a project manager and thus out of the loop for a bit longer than she would have liked.

Sakuya simply smiled. "That's wonderful to hear, Hyuuga-sensei. So then, do you want the job?"

Did she want the job? The question echoed in Hyuuga's mind. 'Do I want the job?'

It was ridiculous, really. She wanted to laugh at the pointlessness. She thought. Halkegenia was primitive, impossibly primitive. There were any number of simple advancements that could be introduced. In fact the limiting factors were likelier to be social than technical.

But the most potent advancements were still out of reach. The Halkegenian's hadn't even achieved reliable standardization yet, much less precision machining. They'd need Lathes and mills, drills and presses . . .

Hyuuga's eyes suddenly widened. Lathes and mills . . . Lathes were one of the starting stages for Von Neumann machines, in fact, they were one of the simplest machines to be mechanically complete. In other words, a lathe could be used to fabricate all of the essential parts of another lathe, among other things.

Once they had lathes and standardized measuring devices, they would only be limited by the available designs and time. But they already knew lots of designs thanks to the Arrun library and their own engineers.

The Leprechaun's mind began to turn over furiously. Lathes, first driven by horses, then waterwheels and finally steam.

Steam engines going from primitive pistons to multistage systems, in line steam engines, and one day . . . turbines!

Turbines driving electrical generators for power. Power for electric lights, electric circuits, and of course motors. Electrical motors to drive compressors and run refrigerators, electrolysis plants, and arc furnaces! A tiny part of her brain, her implanted skills, nagged at her that if they could heat metal in bulk like that, then the mass production of Dark Amalgam alloy would become possible. She ignored it, there was no time for that right now.

There was an industrial revolution to start. And it would be glorious!

Building the tools to build the tools, each step letting them reach further, faster, and with more certainty. They . . . they could do this! How had she not seen it before? She could have seen it but why not?

Because . . . Because she didn't want to see it, because it implied that they were stuck. But if she thought like that, then she'd never get home. But in the meantime, the hell if she wouldn't try!

"Miss Hyuuga?" Sakuya asked again. "Miss Hyuuga, are you alright?"

The Leprechaun woman shook her head, snapping out of her introspection. "What? Oh yes! I mean . . . Yes, I would gladly accept this opportunity!"

Sakuya's smiled became suddenly more relaxed and genuine. "We're very grateful then. However, this won't be an easy task. You'll have to start immediately."

"I already started yesterday!" Hyuuga declared as she hopped down from the Huey, mind racing.

They would need to gather up any machinists they could find among the Fae. Otherwise, blacksmiths would have to do, Faerie and Human. They would need engineers, researchers, chemists, or at least people who could fill in for all of them. And of course, they would need someplace to work. A barn wasn't exactly conducive to what they'd need to do.

"We'll send you a list of volunteers as soon as it's compiled." Sakuya added. "That should help you to select your staff."

"A co-administrators will have to be found and assigned by Tristain as well." Cardinal Mazarin said. "This is to be a joint venture."

"Yes, of course." Sakuya answered.