C.P. Bird - The Portaellen War Chronicles

If the God’s were with him, then the fog would hold just long enough, for the admiral’s ships to remain concealed, before the sight of the lit beacons, came into view, along the Fantaellen coast.

This would be the signal, that he and the hundreds of Wulfdaeden ships waited for. The lit beacons. The completion of the assassin’s mission. The signal for the invasion, to begin.

***

Stefan, the King of Fantaellen, and the crowned Sovereign of Portaellen, was very ill. What, had started as an ordinary fever, had progressed over the past few hours. The Royal Physician, Henri, a tall, lean man of advancing years, had tried everything to help the ailing king. His servants were running back and forth with bowls of cold water, which he used to try and bring his sovereign’s soaring temperature, down.

He had tried proven medicines, but nothing seemed to help, as the king’s health rapidly deteriorated. His body, had reached dangerously high temperatures, resulting in violent convulsions, and frothing at the mouth.

Henri now quickly put his sovereign, onto his side, and watched, as another spasm gripped King Stefan’s body. Henri was gravely concerned.

‘He cannot die Henri.’ One of the king’s advisors had said, as the royal physician had spoken to a group of important looking men, when they had entered the Royal chambers, unannounced.

‘It’s only a fever!’ One of them called out.

Henri looked up briefly, after recognising the voice, and saw his friend and King Stefan’s chief advisor; Robert Scotten, stood with his arms folded, a concerned look on his face.

‘I cannot bring his temperature down Robert,’ Henri began to explain. ‘The infection is escalating.’

Robert Scotten could hear the frustration, in Henri’s voice. He watched, as the royal physician, was stooped over their sovereign, gently wiping his brow, as another violent convulsion, pulsed through his debilitated body.

Henri could only watch in horror, as his sweat drenched king and sovereign, suddenly turned onto his back, his body becoming rigid and taut, before collapsing onto the bed.

The convulsions had suddenly stopped. The king appeared to be breathing still. Only just, Henri noted, as he checked his pulse. It was weak and very faint. Almost absent.

The door closing behind him, instantly woke Henri from his trance. Turning to see that Robert, and his advisors had left the royal chambers, bought him some relief. He had not welcomed their presence. He had heard them, whispering and talking in hushed voices, behind him. He had not heard, what they had said, nor had he chosen to, as he had more pressing matters.

Henri looked at his king and sighed. What type of infection was this? He asked himself. His thoughts, now turned to other causes and different treatments, as his mind, processed, his thinking.

Deep in thought, Henri was suddenly interrupted by a young servant, who bought in a fresh jug of water. Henri thanked him. He did not recognise him, but had seen the young man, several times, as he had replaced the bowl, during the passing hours. The servant smiled, nodded his head, and left the chambers, closing the door behind him.

***

The young servant, quickly hurried away, from the large gathering, outside the enormous, gold rimmed, white oak doors, of the royal bed chambers. Panic and mayhem ensued, as servants, footmen, and maids ran around, the corridors of Guinlance Castle, with orders ringing in their ears, from worried looking, generals and lords.

In a quiet corner, away from the commotion, five men dressed in the royal purple, tunic and breeches, of someone in office, stood talking amongst themselves, quietly, but with purpose. These men were the king’s advisors.

Robert Scotten, a large, giant of a man, was the chief advisor. He and King Stefan had become close, when Queen Annabelle, had died during the birth of the royal children, the twins, Joshua and Madeleine.

‘Our king and sovereign is gravely ill. It does not look good, gentlemen.’ Robert paused for a moment, as the other advisors, moved in closer.

‘Is he really going to die?’ one of them asked.

No answer, came from the chief advisor, as he rubbed the top of his bald head. Briefly, he closed his eyes, before opening them to carrying on.

‘Listen.’ He continued in a low tone, as the other advisors stared at him, their gaze unflinching. As always, Robert held court. He had their attention. Just, as he liked it. They listened, waiting, for his every word.

‘We are within hours, of a Blackheart attack. Their invasion fleet, led by our king’s Judas brother, is sat in the Stoirim Sea Channel, waiting for the fog to clear. When, the word of the king’s death …’ Robert, now saw the look of horror, creep onto their faces, as the last few words, hit home.

‘He is going to die!’ cried out, one of the advisors.

‘Look. We have to prepare for the worst,’ another advisor suddenly stated.

‘We do,’ agreed Robert. ‘We need to get our best men, to the portal. The twins need to be taken from the safe house, and bought back to the castle, before their uncle plans to take them. They are our future gentlemen and must be kept safe.’

When, the queen had died, King Stefan had placed his children, into the care of his younger sister. Unconfirmed reports had come through over the years, that she had been turned. These reports were dismissed, after a lengthy period of time, when it was established, that the children, were still within the confines, of the safe house. So, it was determined, that they were still safe.

The fact was, that the king had the problem, of his twin brother, to deal with, and other pressing matters. He had visited the twins when he could. Under a strict armed guard, he had always left, from Guinlance Castle, through the portal at Ingress Hill, out the other side, at the Ring of Stones, and to the safe house. The armed guard was always led, by his most trusted knight, Jonti Quixal.

Unfortunately, King Stefan had not seen his children recently. The talk of war and an invasion force led by his exiled twin brother, had been at the forefront of his mind, for the last few months.

From the moment, the king had watched his brother ride away, from the courtyard of Guinlance Castle, shackled and under an armed guard, he had known there would be war. His younger twin had told him. In fact, he had screamed in the face of his brother, his king and sovereign, that he would be back.

All that Robert Scotten could now think about, as the other advisors, spoke amongst themselves, was the young prince, who had been exiled from the castle, where he had grown up. He had grown into a man, who had been turned, and now had an armada of ships, an invasion force, waiting for the fog in the Stoirim Sea Channel to lift.

Invasion and war was now very close.

***

Startled, by a sudden noise, Henri lifted his head sharply, upon waking from a deep sleep. He was sat on the corner of King Stefan’s bed. He cursed under his breath. Despite, not having any sleep, for the last two days, very little food or water to drink, the royal physician, had stayed by his king and sovereign’s bedside.

Henri quickly realised, that the king was gasping for air. He was evidently, struggling to breath. He had the death rattle, in his throat. His body, now swiftly contorted, as he raised his arms in the air, his twisted fingers, grasping at the air, before his hands turned into a fist.

The blue eyes of the king opened for a brief moment. His head remained on the pillow, as his back, arched violently away from the bed. His face was covered in perspiration, and his mouth was open wide, showing a blackened tongue. Suddenly, he let out a terrifying scream of pain before, his body collapsed onto the bed.

Henri carefully leaned over the stricken body, of the sovereign, and saw that his pupils were fixed and dilated. The king’s arms were limp by his side. His mouth open wide.