It was the coldest day the South had ever seen. Snow fell over desert sands, creating an eerie orange glow atop sand dunes. It had been said that if the North ever marched to battle, they’d bring the cold with them. After three days of snow, atop the hills surrounding the city, the Northerners appeared. The port city Cavenleigh had stood for a thousand years and planned on standing a thousand more.
A Commander stood atop the city walls staring up the mountains, his sand coloured cape danced with the snowflakes upon the breeze. “I’ve never seen snow in these lands in my entire life.” He turned to his Second who was also in awe of the sight. “They said the last time the barbarians marched south they dominated the midlands.” He shifted his stance as he watched the men cresting the dunes. “It was said the cold killed almost as many as the barbarians themselves.”
The muscles in the Second’s jaw tightened. “You sound defeated already.” He pulled his crimson cloak close and fastened it above his breastplate. “I will not let barbarians rule us.”
“I’m not worried about a change in leadership.” The Commander said quietly. “It’s the raping, looting and pillaging that concerns me more.” His eyes shifted from one end of the line to the other. “That and their sheer numbers.”
A single barbarian broke away from the pack and rose confidently down, until he stood before the gates. The man was easily a foot and a half taller, and the white wolf cloak upon his shoulders made him look even more imposing. “Challenge me!” He shouted loudly. “If you win, they leave!”
The Commander glanced over the wall’s edge, down to the man circling below. “If our champion wins, you’ll leave?” He shouted.
“Yes.” The barbarian said with a wild grin. “I am honour bound.”
“One moment.” The Commander spun to his Second, his eyes alive with hope. “Run, fetch Trevelyan!”
The Second’s face was pale. “But sir, he-”
“Quickly! Now!” The Commander glanced back over the gate and waved. “Our Champion prepares to battle you!”
Down the stairs the Second walked and leaned against the wall. It had been nearly a month since Trevelyan had deserted the city watch, and he’d never had the heart to tell his Commander. He’d worn the armour and swung the sword a few times, but he wasn’t the master of finesse Trevelyan was supposed to be. Now everyone was relying on him to end this war before it began. The pressure had finally reached a point of no return.
As he entered Trevelyan’s room, he stared at the golden armour before him. It shimmered in a light all its own and the cape seemingly blended in with the colours around it. Sliding it on, he admired it one final time. The sword which Trevelyan called Veronica sat idly by, its unimpressive black leather hilt sticking out from beneath some clothing amid the bed sheets. With a clank, the visor closed off his face from the prying eyes of his peers.
The walk across the bridge to face his opponent was a long one, despite the cheers from the crowd atop the wall. He glanced up to the man at the bridge’s end, and noticed he looked much bigger than when he was looking down upon him. The barbarian carried an axe and grinned wildly until the Second stopped midway and stared him down.
“I’m ready.” The Second said. “Let’s get this over with.”
<Writing while falling asleep means it will have to be continued tomorrow! Hope your writing is going swell!>