C.P. Bird - The Portaellen War Chronicles

Captain Corder walked from behind his desk and approached his officer’s. He then, began to look every one of them, in the eye. He wanted to stare deep, into their souls.

‘Good,’ he said. For, he had liked, what he had seen. ‘No fear. That is what I need to see. We must be cool, and calm gentlemen. The men will look to us, for leadership and we must deliver.’

As, he walked over to a wooden table, in a corner of the room, he grabbed a candle, and began to unroll a map.

‘We are now at war. Make no mistake. The enemy will attack soon. The Blackheart ships, that sit just beyond the wall of the fog, just shy of the range of our Trebuchet’s, await their signal. We have a limited amount of time before they come. We have gone over our plan of defence, many, many times. We must make the most, of what time we have.’ Captain Corder began to straighten the map out, on the table. ‘Come.’ He beckoned, to his young officer’s.

Swiftly, they joined their captain round the table, before he continued, his briefing, choosing not to miss, a single detail, as he spoke. Such was his meticulous and exhaustive diligence always, to every little action, and possible outcome.

‘That was where, the discarded rowing boat was found, along with our dead sentries. As you can see. It was only, a mile away. Is that their attack point?’

He pointed at one of two coves. Not one officer spoke.

‘Well. It could be here too?’ He pointed, at the other cove. ‘Or both? That would be my guess gentlemen.’

Captain Corder began, to go through the defensive plan, that had been put into place, for when the attack commenced. Once again, he picked out every detail, to them. Each of his officers, knew the plan inside and out. But still they listened to his every word. They had done military exercise days, where every man was made aware of their role in the defence of the fortress. In theory, they were ready. Ready to defend the south west coast of their homeland.

Fantaellen would soon be under attack. War was indeed imminent.

***

Dazed and with a severe throbbing pain across his skull Normauss suddenly awoke from the darkness that had taken him. As, his senses slowly returned, it felt as if his head would explode. He suddenly realised, that he lay prone on the cold stone floor. He could taste blood and dirt. His skull pounded uncontrollably, and as he lifted his head, he realised, that he could not see properly. Normauss winced, when a red-hot pain, unexpectedly, seared through every fibre, of his body. It took his breath away.

Still, dazed and groggy, Normauss wobbled, then staggered, as he tried, to pull himself up. As a direct consequence, the troll, instantly decided to remain seated, rather than trying to stand up. For now, the effort required, was too great.

Rubbing his head, that felt like a smashed rock, he began to, cautiously look around. Within, the dimly lit room, the troll could make out, blurred shadows, and shapes.

As his sight now gradually returned, Normauss became aware of a cloaked figure, in a corner of the room, hidden by the shadows. The figure seemed to be standing, with their back turned to him. A large hood, over their head.

The cloaked figure turned to face Normauss from the shadows and stepped forward. The troll now realised, how tall, the person or the creature was. He could not make out any facial features apart from two icy blue eyes that stared directly at him.

Normauss’s gaze, quickly became fixed on a poor wretch of a creature that the cloaked figure had hold of. Over its mouth, was a hand. At its neck, a small blade. The troll, instantly gasped when he realised, who it was.

‘Altoa!’ he screamed, as he started to charge towards the cloaked figure, who, on seeing the troll moving at a speed, pulled the blade closer, to the creature’s neck. The creature, immediately winced, as the blade, drew a little blood. This stopped Normauss, dead in his tracks.

The troll now slowly backed away, in a show of retreat, and submission. His hands held out in acceptance.

A stalemate now prevailed. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

***

Napoleon Victory, the King of Wulfdaeden, and his most trusted General, Cedric Grafton, were marching, down the cold, dark corridors, of the fortress of fear. The general listened intently, as his master, relayed his order’s, spoken with an impetus, and a motivation, born from some information, that he had received, ‘on the wing’, as he called it, just moments ago.

‘Do you think, the poison will have killed him, by now Sire?’ asked General Grafton.

‘Well,’ began Victory, ‘the hawk, that was chosen, to bring back the intelligence, is the fastest of his breed. You are still looking, at several hours though, for the crossing. The bird’s release signals the poison’s administration. He should be dead by now. The signal to the fleet will be actioned soon. I am sure.’

General Grafton, smiled coldly, at his master’s response.

The two men were dressed in their Blackheart armour. At their sides, their sheathed broad swords. Both men, cut a figure of power, as their heavy footstep’s, echoed down the corridor.

Their stride, presently lengthened, as they neared, their destination. They were both desperate, to hear the intelligence gathered, by one of their spy’s.

Napoleon Victory trusted General Grafton, with his life. Together, they had planned and executed the coup, which had seen the whole Blackheart army, turn against its king, resulting in his gruesome death. It was a bloody business, with heavy losses. Both men, had bled for their cause, and they had the scars, to prove it.

General Grafton’s left ear was missing. Taken clean off his head, by a Fantaellen sword. Napoleon Victory had a long scar on his left cheek, from the corner of his left eye, right down to his lower jaw. Skilful surgeons had managed to save his eye, which he wore a patch over, to cover it.

Both men, had other scars, that defined their look, of a fierce and war like warrior. Their hair was shaved to the bone, as a sign of masculinity. Their presence was truly powerful, and nobody, ever challenged their orders.

Victory and his general, suddenly stopped, as they came to, a large wooden door. The two, Blackheart guards at the doorway, immediately snapped to attention. Their acknowledgement, of the presence of their master and the general, was greeted by a nod from General Grafton.

One of the Blackheart knights directly opened the door for them, and the two men, promptly entered the room.

Napoleon Victory smiled coldly, when he saw Normauss, at the other side of the room. He then nodded, at the cloaked figure.

‘You may go now,’ he growled.

The cloaked figure, side stepped towards the door, whilst still holding the blade, at the throat of his captive. His icy blue eyes stayed fixed on the watching troll, as he slowly made his way, towards the entrance.

Normauss stared, not daring to move, as the cloaked figure left the room, his blade still not moving, from the throat of his terrified captive. The troll’s eyes, followed them, as they left the room, and continued to until the door slammed behind them.

‘That, young Normauss,’ Napoleon Victory started, ‘is a little reminder. We will spill her blood, if we have to, my troll friend. I’m told female trolls, bleed very well.’ A cold, calm and calculated smile, now came over his face, as he waited, for the troll, to react.

Victory suddenly sniggered when he saw Normauss grimace, and then touch, the back of his head.

‘Ah yes. The whack on the head. Well, that was not my doing. My cloaked friend insisted. Sorry about that.’

Victory closed in on the troll. Having chosen, to stand in front of the creature, to intimidate him, with his size and stature, the King of Wulfdaeden, now knelt, in front of Normauss, and stared into his soul.