C.P. Bird - The Portaellen War Chronicles

The larger figure, a man who had a prominent scar, across his forehead, that was red and swollen, was the leader of the group. He watched closely, as his men moved into position, ready to attack. He then turned to the younger man, who was a lot smaller in stature, and carried a satchel, which he looked into checking the contents.

‘Do you think, you have enough poison, to get the job done?’ enquired the leader.

‘Yes. More than enough,’ replied the younger man.

‘Good. You must not be seen entering. Remember, present yourself, as if you’ve been there for a while. Learn all the routes quickly, through the passageways and corridors. No one must suspect. When you have completed the mission, send the signal. And don’t forget. If you need them, we have someone, on the inside.’

‘Yes sir. I remember their name.’

‘Excellent. Our ships in the fog, are relying on you. The signal, must be given.’

‘Yes sir. I will not let them down.’

‘Right. Excellent. Now make ready. The sentries, are about to be dealt with.’

The two now watched, as simultaneously, a hooded assassin, crept out from the shadows to stand silently behind each sentry, before forcibly placing a hand over their enemies’ mouths. Instantly, there was a flash of a small blade, followed by a thrust of the weapon, deep into the lower back. Quickly, but silently, the two sentries were pulled to the ground, where their throats were then slit. The hand of the assassin was only released, when their victim, showed no signs of life.

A signal now came from the high ground. It was time to move.

The leader now watched, as the younger man stumbled at first, before making his way up the grassy bank, towards the summit of the high ground. It wasn’t long, before he disappeared from view completely, having run into a large, wooded area, on the northern edge, of some distant headland.

The rest of the group of assassins, now listened intently, as their leader gave them his order’s. They had cleared the immediate path of danger, for the lone assassin, and they now had a mission of their own. Nobody would hopefully know of their existence, till morning, when the lone rowing boat would be found, and the bodies of the two Fantaellen sentries were discovered.

Quietly and silently, five hooded figures swiftly vanished into the shadows of the night, away from the light, cascading down onto the headland, from the two Portaellen moons.

An unknown enemy had landed on Fantaellen soil, undetected and intent on fulfilling their deadly mission.

***

A dense, heavy, menacing fog had descended during the night, about a mile or two, out to sea. The sentries on the cliffs, beacon points and the walls of the coastal fortifications, that guarded the entire length of the Fantaellen coastline, had watched as the thick white blanket, enveloped everything around them. Many, anxious, nervous eyes, scanned the Stoirim Sea, looking for the enemy ships, that they knew were there, as the waves slammed into the rocks and shoreline, below.

Captain George Corder, the officer in charge of the South Western Fortress, walked out of the main gates, towards the coastal path, that ran along the edge of the cliffs, of the headland. The high point of land had been battered by the winds and waves of the Stoirim Sea, for centuries, and he looked out towards the coast of Wulfdaeden, which on a clear day, can be seen.

The fog had made any visibility impossible. The captain looked for the waiting armada, riding the stormy waves, out at sea. Unable to see very much, he walked a little further, looking for the rock formation, known as Needle Point Rock, a weather-beaten chunk of chalky, white rock, about half a mile out from the main coastline. On a clear day, it could be seen standing proud; a first line of defence in the swells, of the merciless waves of the Stoirim Sea.

As he looked to the east, a brief opening appeared in the white murkiness, and the captain spied the Corridor Of Arches; another rock formation of twelve archways, attached to the mainland, where the elements and thunderous waves, passed through and out one end, to build up and be driven, back onto the coast.

He watched the archways disappear, into the murky white blanket, as he continued his walk, acknowledging the salute of his sentries, with a smile, as he passed. He could sense the tension in his men. He knew his soldier’s, would look to him, for leadership.

The captain was middle age, standing six and a half feet tall, thick set, with broad shoulders. His commanding stature, his face, worn from war and conflict, and his reputation, as a killer and a leader of great repute, made him, his sovereign’s first choice, to organise the defence of the country’s, most vulnerable point.

As a soldier and a ranger, fighting the Wulfdaeden’s, and other enemies, he had earned his reputation. Many of his men, had fought beside him, before. The ranks of his battalion were then swelled with proven fighters, from other battalions, and young, raw recruits, who had grown up, listening to tales of their captain’s exploits.

The truth was, he too, felt uneasy. Like the worries that you get on the eve of battle. He hated the fact, that he couldn’t see the enemy. It always, made him a little nervous. They would come. He knew that. The fog bought them time.

The captain had readied his men, the best that he could. Being garrisoned, at the tip of the south western coast, directly facing the Wulfdaeden coastline, meant that it would be the likeliest place, for the start of the attack. Like the general’s, he was sure of this. The other defence points, along the coast, were also on high alert. Now, all he and his men could do, was to sit and wait.

Looking up at the sky, the captain spied a lone bird; a hawk, its wing’s spread, gliding on the contours of the gusting winds that blew onto the coast. Fascinated, the captain watched as the hawk, made its distinctive hoarse screech, before being swallowed up, by the thick, white mass of fog.

The captain now chose this moment to pray. It was something he always did, when needing comfort, or to gain fortitude. Closing his eyes, he muttered a prayer, asking for guidance and the courage to lead his men.

Then, with purpose, he strode back to his fortress, to check on the final preparations. The fog would lift in the coming hours. The Wulfdaeden Blackhearts will come then.

***

The lone hawk finally breached the other side of the wall of fog. Below, in the dark unforgiving waves, floated an incredibly large mass of ships, that stretched across the entire channel, that separated Wulfdaeden from Fantaellen. Every ship had their oars raised, as they waited for the signal.

Upon, the grandest looking ship of the fleet the admiral grew impatient. He cursed the fog out loud, as he collapsed his telescope. He knew, that Fantaellen coastal fogs, can last for days, and this one, was thicker than normal. He had been pacing the bow for hours, growing more and more impatient, as time passed. His officers had given up telling him that the landing party, had only just landed. Their departure had been delayed by several hours, due to extremely rough currents and waves. The admiral had grown impatient, and eventually yelled at his officer’s, to get the boat in the water, as time was precious, telling them that the fog, would provide the perfect cover, for the landing party. The strong Wulfdaeden oars, would glide through the merciless waves, he reasoned. So, against his officer’s better judgement, the boat had been lowered into the water. The mission had to begin. The signal had to be given.

The fog provided the Wulfdaeden armada, with the perfect concealment. The admiral knew that the Fantaellen’s would know that they were there. The surprise, would be the size of the fleet, and the completion of the mission, of his master’s shadow assassin’s, the landing party.