At the same time, every Arcadian in the Empire seemed to have risen up as one. They were stealing horses, dismantling supply wagons, intercepting orders. An entire company of the Fifth Battalion had defected to the Seelie: Every one of them had been infected with Arcadianism.
Mab paced in her rooms. Hy Pezho would be back soon. He would swiftly build more Einswrath, the lunatic. If only he didn't somehow manage to wake Ein in the process.
Mab and Fin had a history together. Their relationship had ended on a sour note.
Soon Hy Pezho would return. And Titania would finally kneel before her. All the rest was just a momentary hiccup.
'Why?' only matters over the long term. In the moment, 'How?' will suffice.
-Master Jedron
e're Shadows,' said Silverdun, stepping toward the flying man, dagger in hand. 'Who the hell are you?'
'The infamous Shadows! I should have known!' said the man. He bowed in the air. 'And I am Hy Pezho. The Black Artist. I'd be hurt that you didn't recognize me, but I'm a bit changed of late. I suppose now you are my nemeses.'
'We're here to stop you building the Einswrath,' said Silverdun. 'We're here to end it.'
'Hm,' said Hy Pezho. 'That's interesting.'
'Is it?' said Silverdun.
He cocked his head to the side. 'No, I was just wondering: How are you standing on the floor? It's solid iron.'
'Not anymore,' said Silverdun. 'We've changed it. If that's why you're in the air, you can come down.'
Hy Pezho's face took on an expression of pure horror. 'What do you mean, you changed it? That's impossible!'
'We have our little secrets,' said Silverdun. 'Now come down from there. You're outnumbered.'
'Stop it!' shouted Hy Pezho. 'Whatever you're doing, stop it at once! Do you have any idea what you're doing?'
Silverdun looked at Ironfoot. This wasn't quite the reaction he'd have expected from the Black Artist Hy Pezho.
Hy Pezho threw up his arms and illuminated the entire room with bright white witchlight. 'Look around you, you fools! Don't you know where you are?'
Silverdun looked. It took a moment for him to take in what he was seeing. The space took up the entire interior of the castle save for the small entryway through which they'd passed. It was empty except for a number of massive platforms, made of iron, but already changing to cobalt under the influence of Faella's spell. Each platform was the height of a man, and at least forty feet long and twenty feet wide.
But it was what rested on the platforms that gave Silverdun pause. Wrapped in bindings of iron were twelve giant bodies. They had the features of the old Thule Fae, the true elves, their ears long and swept to elegant points, their eyes large, their bodies tall and slender. They were all dressed the same, only in different colors and with different insignia on their long gowns. Six were male, six female.
Twelve figures in all.
'What is this place?' said Silverdun.
'You don't know?' shouted Hy Pezho. 'You're meddling around in here and you don't know where you are?'
'Well, we will if you tell us,' said Silverdun.
'I should think it was obvious,' said Hy Pezho. 'You got here the same way I did, I assume. Using a cynosure to direct a fold?'
'That's right,' said Silverdun.
'A Chthonic artifact,' said Hy Pezho. 'Look around you; these are the Chthonic gods. The bound gods.'
'You're kidding,' said Ironfoot.
'You're in Prythme,' said Hy Pezho. 'The place where the gods were locked up millennia ago. And if you don't stop whatever it is you're doing,' he said, pointing at the branches of gray that were even now spreading across the bindings that held the figures down, 'you're going to let them out.'
Hy Pezho glared at them. 'And trust me when I say that you don't want that to happen.'
'This is ludicrous,' said Ironfoot. 'Bound gods, Prythme. And I suppose
