the haunted kingdom, Charles E.J. Moulton [chrome ebook reader TXT] 📗

stern in both the Nordic and Prosperanian tongues: Fór godum og konungi and Ai deos est regie. Both lands had the same royal motto, which had always been the case. For God and Ruler. All in all, with the Prosperanian army, there were 3567 soldiers sent to the channel and the most modern weapons were used to attack Fraytollah. The harbour held 30 local battle ships, 20 of which had a 37-foot beam. 18 of these ships left the harbour on that Monday. Each ship carried a total of 200 men. It had been kept very secret and the directions on how to find the docking bay in Fraytollah were precise. That day, Belinda had one of her disguised prayer days in the Cathedral and she met the old monk again. The advice he gave her was not to worry but to trust God, which was comforting, but she wondered why he told her something she hadn’t even wanted to ask. It hadn’t even been a topic, her worry.
She decided to take his advice and be calm and collected. Alfred could now form sentences. Erica and Patrick were spending some time with the child, reading stories for him and giving him presents. Patrick was still fond of the drink, but Roberta had been thrown out of the castle again and replaced by another lover, Erica. There was no infidelity anymore and the two were speaking of having a baby. Nothing was done yet, but the two were talking about it.
The dreams were a sign, the weather was a sign, the crows picking on dead rats outside the gates were a sign, and the buzzards were a sign. But Lucinda wouldn’t believe it, although she knew that it was true. What had occurred many years ago now in the Grand Hall was a reason and they were all forgetting that it had happened at all. It was in the skies.
There were horsemen of the apocalypse on their way to Clurafar.

O virga ac diadema purpure regis.
Hodie aperuit cum erubeurit.


Thursday morning, June 7th, 1425 A.D.

All that his workers knew was that he had been thrown out of the forest queen’s headquarters and that the responsible person for throwing him out was a blond messenger that later had suffered a very serious accident of some kind. She had returned to Nocturania with a completely scarred face and she had told no one why her face was so brutally beaten up.
Manuel was a fat man and not very good looking. The odd and quite unfashionable man named Manuel had long run the docking bay. His manners had yet shown no proof of betterment. He farted and belched quite regularly and had something to eat with him almost all of the time.
What had happened to him in Fraytollah was that he had worked himself up to finally promote himself to the position of chief docking bay entrepreneur. It wasn’t that hard of a job. The ship builders were smart enough to keep the four channels in order and the plans for the ships came through infiltrators. Most of the job was actually bribing the smugglers that wanted to leave not to tell the outside world where the place was. It was Adnicul’s orders.
That Thursday morning started out like any other. Manuel woke up, putting on the same clothes he had on yesterday and the day before and the day before that, ate breakfast and took a stroll around the pier. He yelled at a few workers who all seemed to snigger at him behind his back and knew that this was a fact that they didn’t care about and neither did he. Once Manuel had finished checking on the progress of the building of the four ships the pirates started to flood in. About ten o’clock the entire docking bay was filled to the brim with people.
Not long after that, Manuel found himself standing outside the channel docking pier looking out toward the bay, picking his nose. He was very happy that no one had found their way into the harbour. Manuel could not help himself. He just had to smile. Nina Ray had been attacked. It made him happy that the attacker that had assaulted him verbally had been assaulted herself. Manuel knew what it was. He had overheard a conversation about her mission to Clurafar and knew that her mission had been a Prosperanian one. She had been questioned in Clurafar.
She had beaten up by the King’s men, that was his guess. Only the King’s men could beat up a person like that. What surprised him was that a man was capable of beating up a woman. Maybe it was a woman. A woman could beat up a woman. Manuel always liked watching women fighting.
As Manuel was standing, a fresh wind blew from the north and he wandered up and down to keep himself warm. It was while he was doing that when he saw them. It was a fleet of sailing ships entering the bay. There were ten, no, actually there were fourteen ships. Wrong again, there were eighteen ships, and they were all battle crafts. He knew battle vessels when he saw them since his father had been a worker in the harbours of Hispania.
What were battle ships doing here? They were… Manuel stopped for a second. His hand holding the half eaten apple shivered. They were Prosperanian ships from the Danish Channel. Manuel dropped his apple and ran as fast as he could toward the channel pier. He ran quickly, but he couldn’t see where to go or do.
The first words he had uttered in over a week came vomiting out of his mouth. He was screaming, shouting the syllables, waving with his hands about with a vigour that defied creation. It didn’t matter that he was simply a puppet and the responsible people like Adnicul needed someone to blame if anything went wrong. He’d always tried to keep a low profile, but wasn’t able to. All the men hated him and ridiculed his every move, now was his chance to win them back.
He remembered being beaten by his father, seeing him rape his mother and getting bullied by other children who worked the Mediterranean docks just like him. Now, every word he remembered came flowing out faster than he had ever heard himself speak before. For the first time he felt as if he really was Chief Bay Councillor of the area.
“Battleships are on their way. Battleships, Prosperanian battleships from the Danish Channel,” he screamed. The first pirate smugglers looked up from their work, looking at each other.
“There are eighteen of them out there, men.”
Now there were men jumping into the water and swimming onto the shore, some jumping upon the bridges and breaking bones. He ran to his room up the stairs while screaming, “To your posts, gentlemen, and get into tactical position.”
He looked out the open door, the boats were closer now. Total chaos erupted and Manuel heard the entire bay as a blur of talking, screaming and shooting. The first boats were lowered into the water from the battleships and were on their way. Manuel found his bow and arrow and ran down the stairs again. His shouts were so loud that his throat was soar.
He ran out of the channel pier, leaving the ships behind him, and onto a grassy plain where trenches had been dug. Jumping into the trenches, he started shooting arrows in a haphazard direction and hollering like a monkey. Soon, the entire area was swarmed with soldiers in studded blue uniforms accented with gold buttons. The men were all muscular and well trained, equipped with modern day weaponry not even accessible to the pirates.
Manuel saw his men dying around him like ants on a hot summer day. There was no turning back now. He had to do something, anything, even it was wrong. That was what his father always had said. “Even if it is wrong, do something.”
So, Manuel went away from his covered position and straight into battle. “Long live King Adnicul!” Manuel felt exhilarated shouting this. It made him feel as if he mattered. It made him feel as if he had fought for a cause. It didn’t take long and he soon felt four arrows burying themselves into his flesh.
The man fell down upon the stony earth and looked up to see the soldiers responsible for injuring him. He saw now what they were. They were no soldiers. There were two women and two men. He recognized one of them as the girl that had talked badly to him when he still had been guarding the forest queen’s headquarters. It was Nina Ray, the pretty woman with the beaten up face.
Then there was a woman with a long, black dress and flowing black hair. There was a man with an eye patch and a man with red skin. They slowly lowered their bows. Manuel felt himself losing strength and disappearing from the carnal world. He felt the grass under his stomach and the wails from his men. Three thousand soldiers against his three hundred were impossible odds.
“Who had told the soldiers about the dock,” he wondered. Maybe it was the new fellow, the one with the large tooth gap. Now he recognized the man with the eye patch. It was King Adnicul, whom he had praised a moment before. Why was he here and what did he want with the foes?
The last thing Manuel saw was the channel pier with all four ships burning. The last thing he remembered was his father’s whip.

Saturday, June 30th, 1425 A.D.

Once again, there was a summer gathering by the Poseidon statue. Almost everyone in the family was there. It was good to take the worries of the Fraytollah affair off the royal shoulders for a while. The Senate conference three days ago resulted in a huge public row with Cretan, who threatened to resign. Julius Cretan thought that sending troops to Fraytollah was a bad idea.
The long table was filled with every kind of food and beverage and most people, including the King and Queen, were more than a wee but tipsy. Even Rolf was joining the festivities. Alfred sat in his mother’s lap, hearing the story of Hansel and Gretel for the umpteenth time. Now and then Belinda took a sip of her 1424 Iuventus Red Vintage. There was a song here and there, a couple dancing, Erica kissing Patrick, Lance chasing the dog, Robert in deep discussion with Alex about stallions and mares. Both men agreed that the domesticating of wild horses was an interesting issue and that the dam played the most important part in the development of the foal.
Morgana was cuddling Richard, who was flirting with Patricia whilst devouring a large leg of ostrich. Zedrick seemed to enjoy his quiet chat with the more reserved siblings, Maria and Eleonora.
The galloping of hooves caught their attention as soon as the main gates to the palace garden flung open. A young man with long, brown hair rode in. His white shirt was tucked under a brown leather vest and he was wearing black trousers. Skidding up toward the statue and throwing gravel all across the food, he stopped and announced: “I am sorry to disturb your feast, your majesty, but I have official messages from the bay of Fraytollah.”
Alexander grabbed his golden cup of mead and stood up, walking toward the man.
“You are infesting our peacock with stone, boy,” Alexander spat.
The young man ran his hands through his hair and tied his locks into a bow.
“I might have a reason for it, Your Majesty!”
“What is the errand?”
“Fraytollah has been successfully attacked.”