Of Kings and Pawns

Chapter 2 - Crisis at Channelguard

King Charles Frank shifted uncomfortably atop his griffin, the creature's rhythmic wingbeats doing little to calm his nerves as they crossed the Chain Straits. He had never grown used to riding griffins, and he grumbled under his breath as his men flew in formation around him. The destination—Channelguard—was not his choice. He would have preferred to meet at Brightwick, the seat of House Brighton, where he might have been granted use of his wife's flagship, rather than endure the discomfort of flying. But King William Brighton had insisted upon Channelguard, located near the coast of his domain—an outpost originally built to keep Frank forces at bay back when their two houses were mortal enemies.

From afar, Charles could already make out the towering spire of Channelguard, rising above the rocky Chain Isles. He let his men glide their griffins down first, giving himself a moment to observe their landings, unsure as ever of how to control the unruly beast beneath him. He followed with an awkward descent, feeling the weight of his own unease, and landed near the castle courtyard, where Lord Edgar Chain was waiting to receive them.

"Welcome to Channelguard, Your Grace," Lord Edgar said, his tone respectful but his face impassive.

Charles dismounted, his back aching from the flight. He eyed Lord Edgar, noting the man's austere demeanor. The Chains seemed unchanged by the passage of time, as though they still believed they were at war with House Frank, despite a century of peace.

"Where's your king?" Charles asked, a hint of irritation slipping into his voice.

"He's waiting for you at the top of the tower," Edgar replied, gesturing to the narrow steps winding up into the heights of Channelguard.

Charles let out an annoyed sigh. "We could have just landed up there," he grumbled.

Lord Edgar's expression did not change. "The top is mounted with scorpions, Your Grace. The griffins might have been startled."

Charles rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Of course, William would choose a place with scorpions. Old feuds run deep, I suppose."

Lord Edgar merely nodded, escorting them through the halls of Channelguard. Charles took in his surroundings, noticing the tapestries adorning the stone walls—scenes depicting ancient Brighton victories over House Frank. Despite himself, Charles admired the loyalty of House Chain to their liege, though he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the smell of fish that seemed to cling to Edgar.

They reached the spiral staircase leading to the tower, and Charles clicked his tongue at the sight of the endless steps. Silently, he cursed his friend for choosing such an inconvenient meeting place.

At the top of the tower, King William Brighton stood alone, his eyes fixed on the hearth's flickering flames. His tunic bore the bright colors of House Brighton—orange and green—but the somber expression on his face was far from fitting. He turned as Charles entered, a tired smile playing on his lips.

"Charles," William greeted him warmly, "how was your flight?"

Charles offered a sarcastic grin, "Oh, delightful. Nothing like flying on the back of a griffin to put a man in a good mood." He waved a dismissive hand. "But enough pleasantries, William. You summoned me to Channelguard. What's so important that we had to meet here?"

William's smile faded as he gestured to a table laden with wine. "Drink first, Charles. There is news you must hear."

Charles took the offered goblet, eyeing his old friend. "Out with it, then."

William sighed, turning to face Charles. "King Jannick Veimar of the central kingdoms is dead."

Charles paused, the goblet halfway to his lips. "Dead?" He set the goblet down without taking a sip. "The last of his line, then. No heirs. No bastards?"