C.P. Bird - The Portaellen War Chronicles

‘I’m going, to rip your heart out,’ he mumbled to himself, and to nobody in particular. His hidden fear had now turned to anger. His hand, had all of a sudden, stopped shaking.

Scornfully, the troll stared at a Blackheart knight, as he was marched past him, towards a large wooden door. The guard didn’t even notice the small troll, who cursed and mumbled as he passed.

Normauss, became breathless, upon reaching, the top of a long, spiral staircase. His short legs had struggled the climb up, as the stone steps, seemed to go on forever. At certain points, the troll became quite claustrophobic. Especially, when the stairs narrowed. It felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He did have to stop on several occasions to regain his composure, whilst, behind him, several Blackhearts, pushed him, ever upwards.

Normauss, had been marched down several long corridors when his nervous feelings started all over again. His left hand, began to shake, once more. Anger, was once again, replaced by fear.

What is that?

The troll could hear something, albeit, very distant. The hairs, on the back of his neck, had begun to stand up. It was faint at first, but slowly became, more pronounced. They were, indeed, voices, he told himself.

Either side of him, shadows slowly appeared, that instantly formed, into human shapes. Visibly, they seemed to be dancing, within the torchlight on the walls.

Then, without warning, the shadows raced along the walls and ceiling, towards the other end of the corridor.

‘Come,’ they hissed. ‘Come, this way, to the master’s War Room.’

A shadow, above Normauss’s head pointed the way. The troll watched as a faint and undistinctive face suddenly appeared in the dark form. The featureless profile quickly disappeared before the shadow, raced along the ceiling towards the other end of the corridor.

They were swiftly surrounded on all sides, by more shadow figures, who spoke in whispers too, that became more audible, the further they walked. Normauss, could not work out, what they said. It seemed like, an ancient, Wulfdaeden language. It was all around them now. The further they walked, towards a lone doorway, at the bottom of the corridor, the louder, the voices became.

Suddenly, the chorus of voices started to chant repeated, unclear words. The troll watched, as human shapes, formed into shadows, and danced on the walls. The chanting became louder and louder, to the point where, Normauss had to cover his ears.

Then, without any warning, the shadows, swiftly disappeared. It became eerily silent and still.

Down the corridor, an icy, cold wind blew, and the torches on the walls, flickered.

Normauss shuddered, as he was shoved, down the corridor, towards the only door, at the far end.

One of the Blackheart knights beat his big, heavy fist, once, on the large wooden door. He then, stood back and waited, to be called in.

Silence.

‘Knock again,’ came a faint voice, from the shadows, behind them. ‘You must always knock, three times.’

Three heavy knocks at the door, one after the other, vibrated down the corridor.

‘Enter!’ a voice boomed.

Normauss was encouraged, with the tip of a blade in his back, to open the door, by one of the Blackheart knights. Reluctantly, the troll turned the handle, and then took, several cautious steps, into a dimly lit room.

Though, he could see very little, Normauss ventured further in, constantly looking around, as he did so.

He was always vigilant in every situation that he found himself in. But he was feeling very vulnerable for the first time in a while.

Normauss, began to feel as if he were suffocating. A panic, took over, as his pulse raced. It felt as if his heart would explode.

‘I have, to get out of here,’ he mumbled.

The troll was just about to do just that when he heard deep breathing from somewhere in the room.

‘Hello!’ he called out. ‘Who is there?’

Normauss thought that he had heard movement to his left, so he swiftly turned on his heels.

‘Normauss,’ came, a low whisper, from over his shoulder. This caused the startled troll, to cry out, before his legs and feet became lead, and he was rooted to the spot.

From behind him the troll felt a cold hand suddenly grab his neck. This was quickly followed by a heavy crack on the back of his skull.

Almost instantly the lights went out in Normauss’s world as his body slumped onto the floor.

Chapter Four

An urgent and important message had just been delivered to Captain George Corder at the South Western Fortress. Straightaway he recognised the handwriting. Turning it over, he broke, the red, Fantaellen royal seal, before unfolding, the paper and reading its content.

Upon finishing he placed the paper on his desk and dismissed the messenger with his thanks, and a heavy heart.

‘It won’t be long now, before the Blackheart’s attack,’ he said aloud as he stared out of his window, at the thick, bank of swirling fog, that had thus far, shown very little sign of diminishing.

The captain’s thoughts suddenly turned to the previous night. The noise of a great sea battle, going on, behind the curtain of fog, now filled his ears, once more. He and his men, had listened, and feared the worst for their country’s ships and sailors, who would have been, hopelessly outnumbered, if the reports of how many Wulfdaeden ships were ready to engage in battle, were true.

In less than an hour, the cries and the screams of the dying abated, and the straits of the Stoirim Sea, had fallen silent, once more.

Unlike the night before, this one had been quiet, thus far. Captain Corder had spent his time alone, in the officer’s quarters, going through his official correspondence, and the plans for the defence, of their coastline. He had prayed that the fog, would stay, just long enough, for him to do the final checks of his fortress, and ready his men, for the upcoming battle, and the war, that would inevitably follow.

They would be ready. They had to be ready.

There was another knock at his door. It woke him from his thoughts.

‘Enter,’ he calmly, called out.

Captain Corder had asked for his officer’s to present themselves in the officer’s quarters.

‘Gentlemen, please.’

He gestured for a couple of his officers to join him as they entered the room.

They were dressed in their purple battle robes, an officers’ tunic, a gleaming metal breast plate and greaves, to protect their legs. At their side a sword of the finest Fantaellen steel.

‘Excellent,’ remarked the captain. ‘Ready for a fight, then boys?’

‘Yes sir!’ the officers said, in unison. It had been, an immediate, and eager response, which had pleased, their captain.

Within moments, all the officers were present. Small talk was briefly exchanged, as the captain, encouraged his officers to feel at ease.

For a very brief moment he stared at the young men in the room. They looked so smart so young and eager. Yet not one of them had been tested in battle. Their armour had not a single scratch or dent on it. Unlike his armour that hung on an old wooden stand by the door. His sword, that his father had given him, when he became a junior officer, also hung proudly next to it. He hoped that one day, at least one of these young men would stand where he was, talking to his subordinates. Having survived the hordes of Blackhearts now waiting to attack their homeland.

‘I have a message, in my hand for you all.’ Captain Corder held the message aloft, in his hand. ‘In fact, it is a message for all our fellow countrymen, up and down the width and breadth of our coastline, and our fortress’s inland.’ He briefly paused for a moment, before continuing.

‘King Stefan, is dead.’ A stunned silence now existed in the room. ‘He passed away suddenly, in the early hours of this morning. We all know that the Wulfdaeden spies will be working in the shadows. Their joyful message, currently heading to our coasts. Once, their fleets out in the Stoirim Sea, receive the news, the Blackheart devils will attack. Fog or no fog.’