Chapter 2

James sat in the firelight, contemplating his future.

It still could be a dream. A fantasy. Or, maybe, a wonderland. He had liked those types of books growing up. The ones that had Dorothy go to Oz, or Alice to Wonderland. There were others too. He remembered one where kids go to this place where their steel silverware set from a picnic basket had magical power. The key to all those stories, at least to him, was that the place was real. It was not a dream to be woken from. Yes, the kids returned home at the end, but what they did actually mattered. It was not forgotten by those they had helped. The Wizard of Oz movie sucked in that regard.

If this WAS real, he wasn't sure how he would emotionally deal with it. To never see his family again. His friends. True, at that particular moment he was not, if he was honest with himself, "close" to anyone in those groups. His parents were just ... there. It would take awhile before not being able to talk to them began to eat at his mind. He'd miss Sue. He wanted her still as a friend, even if she was now with someone else. She had not said she no longer loved him. She had never said that...

He took a deep swig from the mug in his hand. It was something alcoholic. Some kind of beer, he thought. It wasn't vodka, at least. He stayed away from that stuff, but if these were Pole's that might be the drink of choice. Maybe he could change that, as King.

King.

Well, he had worn that paper crown at Burger King before. That had to provide some previous experience.

He looked around. The people were staying away from him, but he felt their eyes. It was not that he was a stranger. In this chaos, many here were strangers. His dress was odd, but jeans and a t-shirt were not THAT different than the pants and tunics the other men wore. Only the English writing on it could be considered weird. It was his guard they were reacting to. The soldier standing behind him, eyes focusing on anyone even thinking of approaching. James could hear them, though. Hear the murmurs. The gossip. The Captain had not been restrained in his use of the term "Your Grace". They would be wondering what the hell this could mean.

Join the club.

James turned his head, looking up at the guard. The guy looked about his age, maybe a few years older. He had a cousin who joined the Marines, went off and did a tour overseas. This guy reminded James of him. The guard was even clean-shaven, unlike many of the men he'd seen.

"What's your name?"

The guard looked down, startled. He straightened.

"Your Grace?"

James came VERY close to telling the guy that was an amazing coincidence, his name seemed to now be "Your Grace" as well. He resisted.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"Aleksy Duda, Your Grace."

"And how should I call you?"

"Duda, Your Grace."

Could he say that name with a straight face? Yes, he could, if James had any intention of surviving in this world. He nodded.

"Duda it is, then." James paused, considering. "Duda, I was wondering if you could fill me in on some things."

"Your Grace?"

"Tell me about the city. Nowy Kiev."

The guard looked at him, expression easy to read. James smiled.

"Yes, I am a stranger, who knows nothing of this place, or its people. Treat me as a child in that respect."

"Even the babes know of the City," Duda said, his grinning face now looking like that of a high school freshman. James was hit with another aspect of this reality he found disturbing.

"Were you born there?"

"No, Your Grace. My family has a farm, on either side of a small stream that runs into the Warta. I was the youngest of seven, so since I wasn't needed for labor I was sent to the Keep to train for the Guard."

"What was the city like?"

Duda shifted his stance, relaxing, eyes on the fire. James kept his gaze on the young man.

"Big. We had gone there often, of course, for fairs and to trade. The Keep, the first thing built of stone when we came to this land, they say, is on a triangle of rocky land where the Wisla and Warta rivers come together, forming a natural moat on two of the three sides. Large stone bridges, high enough to let ships pass beneath, crossing the two rivers to the far banks, where the actual city was built. A large stone wall encircles everything. Protecting us." He paused. James waited, not knowing what to say.

"The stones were old," Duda said, voice softer. "So old. When I was standing guard, bored, I'd just run my hands over it. Wondering how many others had done the same over the centuries." His voice hardened. "When I think of those Elvish devils running their green hands over those ancient stones, I just want to puke."

"Was it the oldest city, then?"

Duda looked at him, startled.

"Oldest? There are no other human cities."

James was about at the limit of how long he was going to just sit there by the fire when the officers of Nowy Kiev began to enter the camp. They came into the wagon circle in ones and twos, riding magnificent horses. Their armor shone in the light of the torches and campfires, polished steel breastplates, helmets stylized versions of the leather cones the guards wore. Many also had steel shoulder and wrist armor, all worn over a deep red long coat.

Many of their shoulders were slumped under the weight of, not the armor, but what it had not prevented.

They gathered near the gate as they dismounted, horses sent to join the draft animals on the other side of the camp. James could feel their eyes. These were those in command. Those who had the lives of these people in their hands, yet would ... SERVE him. His army. That was so, so wrong. Who was he, to be in charge of soldiers?

They, naturally, were asking the same question.

Last to enter, riding next to Captain Putaski, were two men in the most amazing armor James had ever seen. It couldn't be real, practical. It was fantasy armor, as silly as the steel bikinis they put women in on the cover of bad books. Sticking out the back of their breastplates, were ... wings. Two silver wings, feathers pointed straight back, the two rods holding the white feathers curving up and almost over the rider's heads. James thought maybe they were part of some ceremonial guard, a show unit to parade around and look good. As the mass of officers began to move towards him, one of the winged men turned. James saw half the feathers blackened or burned away.

No. These men had fought.

The people, already giving the stranger from a strange land lots of room in this crowded camp, backed away even farther as the officers came to the fire before James. The men sat on stools half the height of his, not speaking, other than occasional quiet words to each other as they circled the fire. Their eyes were on him, with the occasional glance at the young woman passing around cups of drink. The two with the wings placed themselves closest to him on his left. A commander and his lieutenant, most likely. An elite unit? Best not to guess. James had to just wait, absorb everything.

Captain Putaski came to a stop to his right, bowing his head to James. He nodded back in acknowledgement. The Captain looked around the circle.

"Your Grace, these are most of the officers of your army, those within range of my messengers. We will have formal introductions later, but I'm afraid protocol must be sacrificed at times like this."

James nodded. He felt he should speak, but didn't know what to say. He had the sudden thought that he shouldn't be able to say anything, as he didn't speak a word of Polish, and he knew they weren't speaking English. Another impossibility to toss on the pile.

"My fellow officers," the Captain went on, "may I introduce to you James, son of Fredrick, heir to the Throne of The Poles."

He could physically feel their eyes.

"Your Grace." The chant of his title came from the ring of warriors, some strong, some ... skeptical. He nodded in acceptance, hoping he neither appeared unsure or cocky. Thankfully, Putaski took charge again.

"I know you're all tired, so we'll just get into it. Lech, it's good to see you. Tell us what happened."

One of the men leaned forward, cup held between his hands. His head was bare, short black hair an unruly mess. His mustache was neat, though, and his tired voice clear.

"We held the keep for a full day. That's what happened. It wasn't anything we did, that's for sure. We held off the first attack, drove off that first rush across the Warta, then just sat back and watched as the damned elves decided to take a break and loot. Pointy eared savages."

"Is that what they're doing on this side?" another asked. "You're not in contact with any of their units, are you?"

The winged officer straightened in his seat. James could feel the exhaustion rolling off him.

"I have my only whole unit screening behind us. They haven't sent anyone after us, as of twenty minutes ago. We hit them hard at the end. Made them think."

"We could have held longer," the one called Lech said. "We were emptying the storerooms while we watched the west city torn apart. Sent at least another thirty wagons out. They must have finally noticed what we were doing, as they brought those infernal catapults over the Warta up stream, rolling them down towards us where they could hit the Wisla bridge. Once it looked like we were going to get trapped, we pulled out."