With the Fae King deep in thought, Elgebert pulled his clients and the strike teams back from the fence another fifty feet. In hushed tones, he gave them all of the information that his clients had told him in the brief time he had communicated with them before racing to join the strike teams. They began discussing the facts of the case and the problems of getting their clients to safety unharmed and with their goods intact. It was a perilous situation, and no one wanted a war. Well, mostly no one. The gnomes knew that the Fae Lords strove to be different and interesting. If one wanted a peace, another might start a war on a Lark. It made them difficult to deal with in the best of times and hard to understand.

Fifty feet away and on the other side of the fence, Oberon considered the gnomish Lawyer's words. The straightforward recitation of facts was so brief that it was painful, like a sword to the chest. Speeches like that were supposed to be given in small snippets with rivers of purple prose to divide the harsh facts. It made mortals, even long-lived races like gnomes, difficult to deal with. They were always in a hurry and summarizing things.

He faced multiple problems. Midnight's tangled web of secrets made for shaky ground in his court. Her lands and position were valuable. He might need a place holder for a century. He eyed the Summer Lord and the ribbon merchant, they might have to be sacrificed by being promoted. The milling crowd was a tinder box that could go off anytime. If attacks were thrown at the mortals or the gnomes, the war that the old conspiracy wanted would be a reality. It would be costly and boring, with the lesser fae paying the greatest price. Rebellion was certainly a possibility. It would be hard to fight the gnomes when his armies of goblins, hobs, fairies, and trolls started sieging castles of the Fae Lords, who regularly took advantage of them. He knew of the fae underground. There was always a fae underground because there was always a need for it. The lesser fae could coordinate and plot, aiding each other against their more powerful cousins and dreaming of days they could throw off the yoke of servitude. If there hadn't been fae rebels, Oberon would have invented them.

The mortals must be returned to their lands. The Laws of Courtesy demanded that. But he could not let two Primordial Iron artifacts loose in the world. Sooner or later (probably sooner), someone would use them against his realms. The pretty Barmaid would be stolen again, and the Butcher forced to bargain for her. It would be easy, as he had already done it once. Word would spread quickly, and someone would be trying to kidnap her twice a week.

Lastly was the horrible problem of a living gnome prince and a dead Fae duchess. He didn't want to see someone else stabbed in the back and the Duchess return. Things would be seven times as convoluted as before. He would have to offer restitution to the gnomes and take control of the cursed dagger, but doing so would be seen as weakness to his people. Better to have grumbling gnomes and an eventual lawsuit than to simply hand over barrels of wealth and seem weak, regardless of being the correct thing to do—such a headache. And, of course, he must take counsel from advisors or be seen as a dictator. The nobles got picky about that.

Seven pages circulated through the crowds, seeking names on a list the king had hastily written out.

"His Majesty, Oberon, calls forth these learned folks to act as his advisors for the day.

Princess Sahkmet of Aethiopia,

Prince Bertram, Knight Equinus,

Lord Dallytrimple,

Lady Stropmeyer,

Lord Alwyn of Summer,

Lord Umbertostle, Sage of the Purple Vale and Last Lord of 7th Tower..."

Seventeen names in all were called, the last being Gombindle of Tuck Bottom, to represent the lesser fae. Chairs and a table appeared, with Oberon at one end and the Sphynx taking the other with Gombindle beside her. He knew that by precedent, he was the least of those present. The Sphynx knew she was the greatest but could care less for seating arrangements. With the example she set, there was little arguing over who sat where.

"I have called you here, learned sages and travelers, to advise me in this situation, so that I may make to the best decision for my people." The discussion started, going over the problems and possible solutions. The Sphynx spoke little, asking a few questions that had uncomfortable answers. Gombindle was quiet but attentive. Oberon gathered their wisdom, making sure each person had time to talk. Some of it, from the oldest Lords, was rubbish. They would not feel the effects of a war with the gnomes. They were bored, hoping to see what happened while placing bets on each battle. He had only to look at Gombindle's pinched face and clenched hands to know his feelings; it was good advice.

Meanwhile, no one was looking at the bottom of the white picket fence where two young gnomes sat quietly. Helga had stayed there, quite happy to be out of the way. She could easily hear the discussions of the mortals, Elgebert and Prince Ragothorn, and was taking furious notes. It was harder to hear what the Fae said. The court of the king was protected by a dome of silence and only occasional words came to her ears, but the crowd was not. She took private notes on much that was said. She working on a second degree on alien cultures, and nothing was more alien to a gnome than the Fae.

Sitting next to her was Tiberius Longfellow Coppertwist. When the message had reached him from Captain Ozzy that one of his best customers required banking services, he had rushed to half-dress and activate the emergency rune. He was proud of what he had done, but now that the affair had turned to talk, he felt his lack of years. He was the local banker for Sedgewick, but the assembled gnomes from the home office had over a thousand years of banking experience to his one year. And he was wearing pajama bottoms and slippers. When he saw Helga sitting with her back to the fence, he decided that was also a good spot for him.

Tiberius had no experience at all talking to a female gnome other than his relatives. And she was doing her job, whereas he was simply staying out of the way. He noticed she was writing on both sides of her notebook, using two pens, and had her ear pressed against the fence. This was amazing! She was listening to both war councils at once! No, she was amazing! He had been shaking in his slippers when he demanded to stay on the front lines, but she had been calm and brave. He began reading what she was writing and patterns started to form in his thoughts. An idea occurred to him, his eyes shining brightly. But he had no idea what to do with it.

Helga kept writing but looked at the young banker beside her. He'd seen something in just a few brief pages of notes she had taken! She wished she knew more about him. He was young and just starting his first bank, but that silver pocket watch meant he was doing well. He came from an old and wealthy family with a good reputation. She knew he was out of her reach. Her own family was at home, getting the fields ready to plant. Her brother would be chiseling holes in the ground to plant seeds, and her father would be clearing away the nesting stone lurkers and softening the ground with high explosives. Farming in Hardstone Vale was tough work, but she missed her family sometimes, even if she was determined never to end up living there.

"What are you thinking about?" Her pens kept moving, even as she whispered to him.

"Well, it's disguised by the language differences, but once you throw away the silly advice and look at the problems, both sides want the same thing. Control of the Iron, Control of the Soul Prison, not having a war, and the mortals want to go home and not be bothered. I think I can solve the first three by applying banking principles, which would simplify the last problem."

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She looked at him. "What do you need to make it happen?"

He looked at the two parties. "Some way to make the two parties stop and listen to me for three minutes, but...well?" He spread his hands. "It's hard to get noticed sometimes when everyone is older than you. It's not like I can stand on the fence and shout at them."

Her head spun, and the words of her great-grandmudder came to her. The old woman always claimed to be good at two things: grinding rocks to make flour and giving advice on how to get the hell out of the vale. "You only get a few chances in life. If you see one, grab it and hold on. After all, there's not much worse that can happen to you than bearing seventeen babes while growing thistle-blossoms."

She took his chin and turned his head to look her in the eyes. "I can get their attention, but you have to swear to tell them your ideas and make it work." Tiberius was having trouble staring into her eyes while keeping thoughts in his head, but after a few seconds, he grinned. "You've got my word. I swear on my family name and the last copper in my bank that I'll make them listen."

"Good enough. Be ready to hop up on that fence." She tucked away her pens and notebook, scanned the area once, then hopped to the top of the picket fence and pointed at the commander of the Royal Guard. "OY! You in the fancy helmet. I need three minutes of your King's time. What's it going to take to get that?"

The guard came to attention, pikes and spears pointing at her. The commander turned to her. "Be warned that if you step into the King's lands, I will be forced to deal with you harshly. As to your request: NO. I am not carrying messages for a gnomeling secretary."

She crossed her arms and scowled. "Secretary? I should kick your ass for that, elf-boy. I am a fully trained stenographer with the paper and student loans to prove it!"

Tarragon Fengolson, Commander of Oberon's Royal Guard, Baron of Higheld Pass, and Keeper of the Royal Privy Key, was slightly amused by the little gnome, who barely came up to his chest even with the added height of the fence. "It would be amusing to see you try."

Helga hopped off the fence and took two steps toward him. "Challenge accepted."

Horns blared in alarm; the Royal Guard stepped in her direction with a hundred very sharp enchanted pikes pointed at her heart. The greater and lesser fae milling about became alert, drawing their weapons in preparation for the first gnomish invasion of the war. The advisors around the king quit talking, and Oberon noticed the small drama taking place nearby. Still, before anything else happened, the Sphynx said loudly and disdainfully, "When does it take one hundred of the Royal Guard to fight a challenge against one little gnome?"

Oberon knew his soldiers were doing their job of protecting him, but the outcome would be horrible and give the gnomes an excuse for the war. What were they thinking?! "Quite right, thank you, Princess. Commander Tarragon? Would you please accept the challenge, end it gently, and then deposit her on the correct side of the fence? Thank you, sir." Tarragon nodded, motioning for the guard to take ten steps back and go to one knee so the nobles watching could view the challenge. The badgers and wager mongers raced to take money and record the bets, but found few people willing to a chance. But as the the odds rose higher and higher, three people made wagers. The Sphynx made a badger happy by betting a barrel of pearl she had won in an earlier wager with a Fae Lord who couldn't spell as well as he'd thought. He'd given her half his wealth to get rid of the stork head and feet she'd cursed him with. Lord Umbertostle wagered a necklace of emeralds that held the waters of an ancient ocean in their glowing depths. He'd studied gnomes, and suspected the fight might not be as one-sided as others suspected, if his ear had placed the girl's accent correctly. The last was Gombindle of Tuck Bottom, who loved long odds and short women. He handed over a small bag of diamonds, loaned to him by his blushing bride to be.

The Commander looked at Helga. "My apologies; you are not armed and armored, but my duty forbids me from doing the same."

Helga slammed both fists together with the sounds of rock cracking. "No problem. I always pack a light set of armor with me." There was a grinding sound as stone encased her fists, feet, chest, and head. The armor was over an inch thick and the color of raw granite. "Ready when you are, shiny boy."

Tarragon blinked once, nodded, and then she was rushing him. He interposed his mithril spear, using the point to stop her charge. She slapped it away with her stone gauntlet and kept advancing. Tarragon spread his grip on the spear and slammed it into her to force her back. His arms ached, and the spear bent as she refused to be knocked to the ground. Using his moment of respite, he leaped for the other side of the small area and brought his spear back in line, pointing now at her helmet.

She charged him again, this time leaping at him. Tarragon thrust at her, but somehow, she grabbed his spear, pivoted, and swung her stone-armored feet into his face. He was slammed to the ground with a dented helmet. Rather than advance, she took two steps back, allowing him to regain his feet and pry the ruined helm from his head. He talked to buy himself time, his senses spinning. "My apologies for underestimating you. You are a trained bodyguard to the esteemed Lawyer?"

Helga glanced to where the gnomes had turned to watch, Tiberius speaking fast and holding them back. "That would be nice—a much better-paying job. But no, I'm just a stenographer. My pappy trained me to fight and made me my armor for working on our farm."

Tarragons rolled his eyes to clear them, he was still seeing three of her. A moment later he was able to focus. "A farmer's daughter?"

She smirked. "A Hardstone Vale Farmer's daughter. We might be the poorest gnomes in the Kingdom, but we're also the toughest. Are you ready for another round? We're burning daylight."

He nodded slightly, then launched a flurry of attacks at her, forcing her to parry with her gauntlets. Twice, she took small wounds to a shoulder and leg. Tarragon was an expert duelist, only dealing slight wounds that would bleed an enemy with small injuries. She saw the strategy and knew she had to counter it. On his next thrust, she surged forward, the spear glancing along her leg again and leaving a bleeding wound. But she only had to get far enough that her left hand could grasp the haft of his spear. She pulled hard, and Tarragon felt himself pulled forward. Helga pivoted, throwing all the power from her legs and hips into a blow with her right fist.

Gnomes are small, and the Fae are tall. Helga barely came up to Tarragon's waist. Her smashing blow had only one target that would end this fight before she bled too much, and she took it. There was a horrible crunching noise as the protective plate hanging down from the Fae warrior's chest plate crumpled inward. There was a small cry of pain as Tarragon crumpled in an involuntary reaction all males dread. As his head lowered, she tossed aside the spear and hit him hard in the chin with a left hook. The Royal Guard watched as their commander fell to his back, and his opponent sat on his chest, gauntlets raised.

"Does anyone want to call 'Hold'? I really don't want to ruin this pretty boy's smile." Oberon quickly yelled out, "Hold! This challenge has ended. All honor to both combatants of this friendly challenge, arranged for my amusement. Helga of Hardstone Vale, you wish to speak to me?"

She stood and offered a hand to Tarragon, who took it and staggered upright. "I ask that you listen to Banker Tiberius for three minutes while he outlines solutions to the current problems based upon his knowledge of banking."

Oberon strode forward. "He has my attention."