The City of Kings

It was early in the morning when Commodus woke up. It was a terribly cold morning; the piercing sensation of ice accompanied every sharp breath he took.

Atop the walls of Arvendale, he casts his gaze northward, squinting so he could see something, anything. Against the white sky and snowy fields, the world seemed to roll away into the distant silver mist. At that moment there was peace. There was silence, save for the dying remnants of the dawn chorus. And the howling winds were sleepy.

Then an icicle fell.

The warden and his night-watch do not notice it, sleep is heavy in their eyes, and their ears are numb from the cold wind of the previous night. Commodus, however, jumps at the sound.

"The same nightmare again, Commodus?" The warden asks gently.

Commodus does not answer, his eyes turn back towards the mist. The warden smirks. Before he can see anything, the ground beneath began to gently shake.

At first, it was a slight tremor, little more than the creaking of heavy doors growing slightly faster. It then progressed to shaking from below, and the watchmen were roused from their slumber. A column of dust and snow rose from the distant mist. And the earth grumbled and groaned.

"Cornelius, send word for Marcellinus, Agrnir, and Vindollia," Commodus says hurriedly. "Have their soldiers mount the walls with as many crossbows as they still have."

The warden gestures, and three of his watchmen springs down the battlements in panic.

"What about bolts? We've run short in the outer bailey." Said Cornelius, as he donned his battered helmet. Around him the watchmen began to move, shifting crates and makeshift chairs off the walls and unblocking the arrow slits.

Then came the blare of a sharp horn, and the whistle of trumpets. And the stamp of angry feet.

"I'll get you as many as you need," Commodus says. He turns to the citadel, where he is needed. But he hesitates, dragging his feet when he should be speeding off towards it. Cornelius nudges him and smiles gently. Commodus cannot turn to face him.

"Godspeed, my dear-" He says weakly.

"Godspeed, and good luck Commodus." He pushes him away carefully.

Cornelius took a small silver bell from his satchel and started to ring. Its gentle chime is answered by the toll of dull bronze. First to answer was the bell tower on the walls, and it started to spread like fire until all around the walled city the sky echoed with the heavy thud of solemn bells. The signal fire's thick smoke rises from behind the inner walls.

He threw his gaze towards the north again; the plumes of dust and snow grew taller. The distant shape of organized lines, and men, came into sight. He fastened the belts on his helmet and his buckle, and waited.

It was early in the morning when bells began to ring. It was a terribly cold morning, every sharp ring in the frigid air became drowned in the shouting of men.