Chapter 15

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."