The Compromising Battle [Part 1]

Snow. Intricate and delicate patterns of ice gently floated weightlessly downward from the ominous dark sky above, each flake swirling and dancing unaware of the battle and massacre that was about to occur. Sadon stared out across the desolate battlefield and at the combined Doomsgate army, a feeling of dread filling his veins. From where he was standing, he could clearly see legions of cavalry, foot soldiers and archers alike all confident and riled up for battle; more than ten thousand strong he assumed. In contrast he looked to his own army. He could see that every one of his soldiers wore a blindfold around their heart and confidence on their face but around their mind was a cage of fear, the same fear he had felt at his first battle by the river. Grabbing his sword, he took a deep breath and began to ride out and deliver a speech to his brothers and sisters that believed in his cause. It did not go like this and before Argo had taken two steps, he was interrupted by Lord Carlard.

“My King,” he said with an outstretched hand pointed towards their foe causing Sadon to turn, “riders.”

Whirling snow had mad it hard to spot for a moment but Lord Carlard was right, from out of the ranks of the Doomsgate army had come forth a group of three or four riders baring a white flag, they continued riding until finally they stopped, standing defiantly In the middle of the battlefield. What are they doing, he thought to himself, was this a parley were they surrendering?

King Raymund had heard the news and rode down the rows and rows of soldiers to meet Sadon at the front line.

“Should we send an envoy?” he asked as he rode up beside him.

“No,” Sadon responded as he tightened his grip on Argo’s reigns, “Lord Carlard, ride to King Bendrick and tell him to join us, Raymund you ride with me,” and  with that he begin to ride out to messengers, leaving a trail of hoof prints in the settling snow behind him.