Chapter 7

The first actual city James had seen in this world, and they were staying as far away from it as possible.

He sat on his horse, a light brown stallion he'd come to call Trigger. That nobody would ever get the reference, including Shanna, amused him. Before him stretched empty road, dirt and stone, off almost to the horizon. Just before it touched the sky, a stone wall rose, crossing and blocking the path.

James raised the spyglass to his right eye. He could see the gate. The stone and wood buildings rising behind the protective wall. The banners, blue and green. The river, flowing through the town. Barely, he could see the movement of people on the wall. The Watu.

"Have they made any contact with us?" James turned to look at Commander Kosciuszko. The head of the Winged Hussars shook his head, the resemblance to his son Piotr striking. He motioned with his hand at the plain before them.

"They refused to admit our emissary. Understandable, I think. Even if we are just passing through, they wish no conflict with the Elves. Their pickets track ours, riders match our movements. So long as we do nothing to provoke them, I think they'll keep their distance."

"Good. In my world, a war on two fronts is never good."

The Commander laughed.

"For the Hussars, the 'front' is whichever direction we now point our horses."

James nodded, letting his gaze take in his immediate surroundings. One hundred of the winged warriors were arranged on either side of him, in perfect formation. Behind them, four hundred pikemen, arranged in four lines across the road. Another hundred archers stood at the ready behind them. Almost a hundred yards back up the road, the line of wagons and refugees turned off onto the grasslands, heading south. More troops lined the path, no longer off in the distant forest, but now visibly defending the last remnant of humanity.

He handed the spyglass back to Piotr's father.

"Thank you." James turned his horse, facing the soldiers. He felt every eye on him. "And thank you, Men. You do not know me. I am a stranger in a strange land. Yet, all I have seen tells me of your bravery. Your wives and children walk behind this line. They trust you with their lives. And so do I."

"All Hail the King!"

The sound erupted spontaneously, not led by some plant of the Captain. The voices of women joined in, the cries from the distant refugees strong. The soldiers turned, cheering their families, or more likely those of other soldiers, back. From the stream of civilians, a small boy broke free, running down the road. A mother started after him, stopping after a few paces as the distance grew, exhaustion clear even from where James sat. James saw one of the archers take a step out of the ranks, before stopping. James leaned his head towards the Commander.

"Would allowing him to go get him cause any problems?"

"No, Your Grace." The man smiled. James nodded, sitting up in his saddle as he looked at the archer.

"Archer, if that's your boy, go take him back to your wife. Give her a good kiss before you come back."

The solders erupted in laughter, those around the man shoving him out towards his son. Seeing him, the woman began running again. The three met in a swirl of hugs, the cheers from onlookers probably unheard.

"We have to," James said softly to the the Commander, "let the men see their families. If only for a few hours. Maybe once we're over the river, rotate units through some sort of leave."

"A good idea, Your Grace." The soldier paused. "If nothing else, some children will come of it."

For a structure meant to only have to function for a day or two, the wooden gateway was surprisingly formidable looking. Thick tree trunks rose up on either side of James, smaller logs crossing overhead, adding support. On either side, earthen walls extended outward, eastward to the river, and on the other side curving southwestward around the growing camp. A moat, a man's length wide and deep, showed the source of the dirt. Into it were pounded wooden stakes, made from branches left over from trees felled for the bridge.

The engineers had been busy. James had to give them that. They were also ingenious. Instead of an actual door for the gateway, large postholes had been dug out. The logs now forming the bridge over the moat were to be pulled back and up, falling into place to form a formidable defensive barrier. The holes were now covered with some planks, to keep idiots like the King from breaking a leg.

Inside the wall, rows of wagons stretched in every direction. As each new cart entered, it was directed off to where it was needed, the order for the next day's river crossing set now. The past few days had been one of constant messages, logistical minded soldiers and officials working out how best to arrange the nation for the weeks to come. James had taken no part in that, having no experience. What authority and power he was allowed to have he would not waste inserting himself where he could do no real good. That way lay disaster.

"Your Grace."

A man with a feathered yellow hat stood beside the road, a surprisingly modern looking clipboard in his hand. James moved his mount off to the side, as did his companions, allowing the others to keep moving. At the man's signal, a young boy ran up to the royal wagon, jumping up beside the driver.

"Your Grace, we have a spot readied for your encampment. If you and your party are not too tired from the road, Captain Putaski would like the honor of your company over by the river. Jablonski here will guide you."

"We are tired, but business first. Thank you, and carry on."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Another boy came up, eyes wide with wonder as he looked up at James, and even wider when they fell on Shanna. James could only chuckle as his fellow otherworlder scowled at the boy, who suddenly remembered his job and proceeded to lead them away. Shanna brought her horse beside his.

"It's so nice sticking out. Everyone treats you so well."

"It's up to you to pop out enough kids to change the entire ethnic balance."

"Ha Ha."

"It's only a suggestion."

They rode through the camp. Everywhere, James saw reunions. Saw people coming together, hugging, crying. Husbands and wives, parents and children. A thousand stories. As they neared the water, the riders passed a soldier, uniform muddy, torn. He stood rock still, eyes red with tears, as two preteen girls clung to his sides bawling. James looked away.

Not every story was happy.

Captain Putaski stood at the water's edge, waiting. Beside him was a man James had not seen since that first night, the head of the engineers. What his name was, he couldn't say, but that face he knew. While exhaustion seemed to roll off the man, he stood tall, expression one of pride. Looking behind them, James understood why.

The wooden bridge stretched across the river, from shore to shore, floating on the slow moving waters. It did not go across straight, but at an angle, or at least so it looked to him. The middle seemed to bow a little bit, the current pushing the connected rafts down stream, fighting the connecting ropes. The middle of the bridge also seemed wider, extra rafts tied to either side. He wondered why, until he saw the archers, and the boat upstream prevented from traveling father by the barrier. James had not even considered that feature of this design.

"Your Grace." The Captain bowed his head slightly, James as always wondering which of them was in fact King. The engineer bowed farther.

"Your Grace. It is an honor to have you here."

"It's an honor to see the result of your labor." James swung his leg over, dismounting with an ease he still considered impressive. A boy appeared from nowhere, taking the reins, his two guards emerging from what he was calling "Guard-Space". So far as he could tell, they hid between the universes, awaiting his need. Shanna dismounted as well, no guards appearing for her benefit. She moved up beside James as he walked over to the bridge. Stopping, he gave a slight bow of his head to the Engineer.

"Between this and the fort, I'm incredibly impressed. Is it done? Ready for use?"

"It is, Your Grace. I guarantee it will transport twice our number, and last at least a week."

"If it's not burning behind us by tomorrow night, our plans have all been upset," Captain Putaski said. "Your Grace, we have a decision to make. The bridge is done, so we could start sending the wagons across. We already have troops over there, naturally. However, it's only two hours until sunset. Only half the wagons have yet arrived. If we truly want to take this time to reorganize..."

"We wait until first light." James understood. "We'd also be divided while we slept. Probably best to not make the crossing, than to have half trapped on one side."

"Yes, Your Grace. A few of the commanders are pushing for an immediate crossing, but with your support..."

His support. The man before him was not a general. Not a brigadier. He was the head of the Royal Guard. In command because ... well, because. He had taken charge because someone had to, and still was because those who commanded troops were off doing that important duty. Any one of them could exert their right to take charge. Might feel it their duty to do so, to save the Kingdom and its people.