17
Before the sun had fully roused itself the next morning, the sounds of battle could already be heard drifting through the pre-dawn gloom. Less than two miles from the village of Cookridge, the sickle-shaped hill it stood upon and the Sharisian army’s position, two groups of scouts had blundered into one another, and their quiet morning patrols had escalated into a bitter fight for survival. The sounds of soldiers and horses screaming could be heard in the Sharisian camp to the south and amongst the slowly moving mass of the army of Dazscor & Aramore that trundled onwards to close the gap between itself and its quarry. In the darkness it was hard to tell friend from foe, and several on both sides fell inadvertently at the edge of their comrades’ blades.
Somehow though, the commander of
