King James dismounted before the mountainside door.
The rain was coming down hard, hitting his covered head painfully. He could have taken a covered carriage out to fortress. Even enjoyed a nice boat ride down the Anne river. But, no. He had insisted on traveling by horse, the light misty rain at the start of their journey refreshing in the hot afternoon.
Silly King.
Still, it had kept this meeting a bit more secret. Few had seen them leave the palace. With their hooded rain ponchos, fewer still would have recognized the King, nor that one of his companions was an Elf. That was certainly worth an hour's discomfort.
Far dismounted beside him. The Elves under Polish protection had taken to horses rather quickly, the somewhat shorter stature of the males not a handicap when it came to controlling the beasts. Not that riding was new to the green skinned race: the wolf-like creatures they rode into battle were quite fierce. According to Far, though, horses were much better for actual transportation, more versatile. Only cultural pride had kept the Elves from breeding their own herds.
That had sobered the King. After the fall of Nowy Kiev, there would certainly have been enough horses roaming free for any who wished to gain some breeding stock, but perhaps he should do more to protect one of the few advantages humans had here.
He approached the steel door. The dark slab of metal was set into the rock face, free of ornamentation. Two guards stood on either side, steel helmets offering little protection from the rain. As they came to attention, James could not help but chuckle.
"A guardhouse is probably needed here, I see."
"It's just rain, Your Grace."
"If you insist," he told the guard. The look on the man's face told him he was already regretting his words. "Let them know I'm here."
The guard took out his knife, banging the hilt on the door in a well recognized pattern. James could not help but silently sing along.
"Shave and a hair cut..."
The door swung inward. light spilling out into the darkened afternoon. An officer stood in the stone passage, bowing.
"Welcome, Your Grace. This way."
****
Of all his projects, this had been the most long-term. Probably also the most important, for all James hoped it would never be needed. He walked down the passage, stone floor smooth but both walls and ceiling still as rough as when they had been first carved out. As he always did, James compared the amount of work which had been done to the amount still required. To the work elsewhere which could provide a more immediate benefit.
He still wanted this fort.
The island of Nowy Poland was surrounded, for most of its coastline, by mountains. Not impassible mountains, by any means, although much was cliff sides. They did, however, serve to funnel invaders towards certain approaches. Any would-be attacker would be inclined to try for the southern harbor, or the Kikker village of Chief Ajani on the western tip of the island. Defenses for each were planned, stone walls already rising around the southern inlet. That left the Anne river, with its canal and lock providing access to the capital itself.
James and his companions entered the first room. It wasn't that large, yet. Most of the walls had not been touched, the natural cave it had been still clearly evident. Work had been done, though. The original mountainside opening had been altered, shaped. Fortified. Two large ballistas pointed out, their deadly bolts aimed at the river below. Their crews stood at attention, both the uniforms and unit badges brand new. He nodded to them.
"At ease, men." They relaxed, a bit. "How are the accommodations?"
"Good, Your Grace." The sergeant looked at his men, who nodded in agreement. "Nothing we can't adapt to."
"Good. We don't want to make it TOO cozy," James said, smiling. This elicited a chuckle from both the soldiers and his guards. "But, let us know what you need. We're still designing this place, and there's still time to make changes."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Nodding to them again, James walked to another partly carved passage.
Gunpowder.
That's what they needed. Gunpowder. Explosives to hurry the construction of this fort. To help in mining. And, yes, to give them cannons.
For most of his time in this world, James had been worried about introducing such things. An arms race upsetting the balance of power, caused by him and him alone, just seemed wrong. However, time and experience had changed his mood. For all he knew, explosives DID exist in this world. It was vast, it's people varied. Nations kept secrets. To find his people facing guns and cannons unprepared, when he himself had the ability to arm them himself... well, he could not face that possibility.
The fact he did not, himself, know how to make gunpowder had in its own way made the choice easier. James had recently told those much smarter than him the concept, the ingredients needed. Warned them of the dangers in gunpowder's creation. Then set them to work. Having his people develop it on their own, rather than receiving it as an unearned gift, somehow eased his conscience. This was not something they couldn't have done without him, if they had wanted to. If they had thought of it. He was just... inspiring them.
They had already managed to accidentally blow up a table top. Work had become more cautious, yet productive, after that.
Another steel door.
James stopped, readying himself. Beside him, Far took a deep breath. James regarded the Elf.
"You ready for this?"
"You realize Catty is going to kill me when she finds out we kept her from this meeting." The Elf gave him a serious look. James just laughed.
"Tell her it's both my fault, and you wanted to protect her. Besides," he added, "I think marriage vows have something in them saying you're not to kill your mate."
"Not Elven ones."
"You didn't negotiate with the Queen enough, then." James nodded to the guard at the door. "OK. Open it."
The room was large, damp. Rock formations dropped down from the ceiling, whether stalagmites or stalactites he wasn't sure. The Poles had no name for them, so James was free to invent his own. He was considering "George". The floor had been smoothed, but that was, so far, the extent of the construction.
Seated on a chair in the middle of the floor, lit by hanging lamps, sat an Elf.
James regarded the stranger. Like Far, he was muscular, yet scrawny, a wiry strength hidden under dark green skin. His face was ugly, as if large scabs lay under his flesh. Pointed ears stuck up from his long black hair. The Elf was clad in thin brown leather armor, leather tunic becoming a kilt which barely covered his knees as he sat. James was glad the lamps left what was between his legs in shadow. The Elf's black eyes almost growled at the King. Smiling, James nodded his head slightly.
"Good day to you."
The stranger's eyes widened, his body straightening. A Pole speaking Elvish was obviously not expected. A guard placed a cushioned chair about ten feet in front of the Elf. Another placed an un-cushioned wooden chair to its left and slightly behind. James settled himself in the more royal seat, eyes staying on the not-quite prisoner. Far took the other.
"My name is James," the King said, inclining his head again. "My companion is Far. And you are?"
"I must speak to the Queen."
That had been the only thing Shanna had been able to get out of him, since his "rescue" days earlier. No message had been found on his person, despite a close search of his clothing. No indication this was related in any way to the dead Elf from some unknown supporters of the Elven Queen. Yet...
"You must speak to us first," Far said. His hands were on his knees, body leaning forward. "Her Majesty is not on good terms with her former countrymen."
"I MUST speak to her!" The Elf mirrored Far's stance. "It is vital!"
"I'm sure it is," James said, leaning back. "So is our desire to protect her."
The look the Elf shot him was full of condescending hate. Ah, racism. It had given him so much joy to discover it had not just been humans who enjoyed that trait. James locked his fingers together in his lap, for something to do with them as much as for effect.
"So." James smiled. "Tell us, at least, who you represent. Lots of different Elven groups out there, now, what with the civil war and all."
The Elf took a deep breath. He let it out, appearance now calm. Almost, James thought, as if he was readying himself to give a prepared speech. Which, really, would probably be the case whatever his story. One did not head into the lion's den without some idea of what you would say to the hungry beast when you got there.
"I am one of Her Majesty's supporters," the Elf said. "One of many who are tired of this endless war. Of the Generals who have destroyed our great nation. We need our Queen back, to lead us out of this darkness."
"She would need an army," Far said. "There is not one here."
The Elf shot a glance at James. He just smiled, saying nothing. The Elf looked back at Far.
"The people would rise up! Overthrow the Generals! The Queen need only appear, call for their aid!"
"They did nothing five years ago."
"And they regret that! We had no idea what was happening until it was done! We need Queen Jaka to come back to us!"
James did not react.
The Elf didn't know only the younger daughter of the old Queen lived.
What did that mean?
First, it was another clear sign he did not represent the same group as the dead messenger. The hidden note had not named the Queen. In fact, the reading James had pulled from the text was a desperate hope that Catty's mother still lived. That those behind the letter knew nothing of her torture. The letter had also indicated the breakaway Elves had fled their homeland, finding sanctuary as far away as they could. They were not keeping low in the cities, just waiting for a Royal Messiah to come to them.
That did not mean this Elf was lying. There could well be a rebellious group separate from the refugees. But why did they not know about Catty? Certainly, while the Poles were not telling Elves anything, neither was the identity of the Queen any kind of great secret. Some trader at some point most certainly heard the information. Was this a test for him? Was this Elf lying to see if he was corrected? Maybe there was doubt that the Queen was in fact alive and here.
"Who were the ones pursuing you?" Far's question startled James from his contemplation. That had been a detail which had bothered both of them from the moment Shanna's message had reached the Palace. The odds that the Dark Hussar had arrived in time to see the mounted warriors chasing the Elf in front of them were slim, given no Elf could outrun those wolf-like creatures for long. Even through the forest, the Elven steeds were quick and nimble. Would the Elves sacrifice some of their own to get someone to the Queen? Perhaps. James doubted the soldiers in question had been informed of that part of the plan.
"I do not know," the Elf shrugged. "Border guards, I assume."
"You were far from the border, my friend."
The door behind them opened. James turned, frowning. He had left instructions they were not to be disturbed. A messenger, poncho dripping water onto the stone floor, bowed.
"Your Grace, I am..."
Even as James tried not to wince at the use of his title in front of their mystery Elf, he heard the sound of two chairs clattering to the ground. Instinctively, he pushed himself backwards, not caring about appearances. Twisting his body, his right shoulder hit the stone floor. He rolled, turning as he did, bring himself up to his knees behind his now alert guards.
Far stood, back to the King, his belt knife embedded in the chest of the now standing unknown Elf. Dark blood dripped to the floor. With a shove, Far pushed the twitching body away as he withdrew the knife. The Elf fell the floor with a thud.
"That," said James, standing, "answers a few questions." Far nodded, eyes still on his fallen countryman. Pulling a cloth from somewhere in his uniform, he wiped his knife.
"We will get no more answers, though."
"And answers we need." Turning his back to the body, James walked past the incredulous messenger back into the bunker. Ignoring the ballista crews, he moved between the two mounted weapons. Putting his hands on the sill of the opening, he looked out into the rainy afternoon.
Were there really supporters of Queen Catty out there?
****
The two groups looked at each other across the grassy field.
The six Elves at the forest edge were not a threat. Anelie had no doubt about that. Half her men now held bows, more than enough to drive off mere spearmen. It was what they represented which worried her.
Felek came up beside her. Looking back, Anelie saw Ruta was now with the other women and children. And Issa, although he now held a sword. She had never seen the Kikker even practice with a blade. He'd be more of a danger to the civilians than the Elves.
"Is there any place," Felek asked, tired disgust in his voice, "without Elves?"
"They're like vermin," Anelie said. She let out a sigh, glancing up the steep hillside. "And our only Elvish speaker is up there."
"Not your fault," Felek said. "I do agree, though, that we should try talking to them, first."
"I don't necessarily agree with that." She sighed again, focusing on the intruders. "They do seem to be hunters rather than soldiers, though."
"They're also talking to each other."
True enough, the distant Elves had grouped together, seemingly in conversation. Frustration grew in her. Why had she insisted Klocia and the others stay with the wagons? Anelie needed her HERE, damn it! To call her down would require using the horn. That would alert everyone around them, and possibly be miss-interpreted. She clenched her fist.
"What do you suggest, Felek?"
"Probably," he said, pointing, "talking to the one walking towards us."
****
Felek took a deep breath. And another. He had to relax.
It was only Ruta's life, and everyone else's, that were in his hands.
The Elven male came closer. He wore a leather tunic, dyed dark blue. His kilt was red, as dark as blood. A strange combination. Certainly, not one he associated with Elf fashion. The Elf had left his spear behind, no belt knife or sword visible. His hair was cut short, pointed ears looking longer than those of the Elf Queen's companions. His expression was...
Nervous.
Anelie leaned her head in next to Felek's ear.
"The uniform," she whispered. "It looks like..."
"I know." It looked like the uniform of the dead messenger. His Grace had shown it to Felek, just before they had set off on this quest. Made him memorize it, so he could identify the Elf's companions. Not that it guaranteed that these where those. Uniforms meant nothing. Felek stepped forward, Anelie staying by his side. Her soldiers arranged themselves behind them, forming a wall around Ruta and the kids. As the Elf came closer, Felek spoke.
"Hello."
The Elf stopped. Felek had started off with Kikker, a good universal language so far. He knew a couple words of Elven, just enough to be meaningless in actual use. Mostly the swear words (Tae had found it far too amusing to teach Felek these even as he practiced his Polish with the boy). The Elf blinked, eyes unfocused, as if remembering.
"Kikker..." His voice was deep, yet soothing. His eyes suddenly seemed to notice the non-Polish before him. "Kikker! And Polocks!"
His words were Polish. Felek shot Anelie a startled glance. Her expression was incredulous.
"You speak Polish?"
"Yes. It is why I came to you." He looked around, unsure. "Why are Kikker and Polocks here? This is far from your lands."
"Yours, too."
"Yes." The Elf looked over his shoulder. Only four Elves now stood near the trees. The other must have been sent as a messenger. Felek didn't like this.
"We are just passing through," he said, gesturing north west up the valley. "We wish no trouble."
"We wish not to be troubled."
"Did you send a messenger to our King?" Anelie's words made Felek wince. That was... too blunt. At least she had said "King", though.
The Elf stepped back, as if slapped. His black eyes darted between the two Poles, breathing labored.
"There... there is not time! They could not have gotten there and back this soon! What magic... is it HER magic?" He stepped forward, eyes gleaming. "Is she HERE? Is Her Majesty HERE?!"
"No," Felek said, exchanging another glance with Anelie. "She is not here. We do not even know where 'here' is. Your messenger was killed on our border."
"They... are dead?" His expression fell. Unable to help it, Felek reached out, clasped his shoulder.
"Only one Elven male, dressed as you are, reached our border. We found him dead, with a note hidden in his clothing."
The Elf closed his eyes.
"My sister was one of those sent. I offered to go in her place, but she..."
"I'm sorry." Felek began loosening the straps on the right side of his armor. Anelie frowned at him.
"What are you doing?"
"His Grace told me to keep this on me at all times. I think it's time to deliver it." Twisting his arm at a somewhat awkward angle, he reached under his breastplate. He found the flat envelope, attached with glue. Figuring only the contents mattered, he just ripped it out. The dirty white parcel came out, torn and worn. Widening the rip, Felek pulled out the sheets of paper. He held them out. "These are for you."
"What are they?" the Elf asked, not touching them. Felek smiled.
"A message from your Queen.”