15
Soon the rain was lashing down across the Kingdom of Dazscor & Aramore. The same rain that fell on the Army of the North was also drumming on the roofs of the houses inside Karpella’s tired walls and on the myriad tents that made up the besiegers’ camp. The downpour turned the tracks that snaked through the Sharisian positions into muddy streams, which made the journey from the front line back to command headquarters even tougher for the messenger boy, whose legs were already wearied from a day of running back and forth.
He slogged gamely on, peering out at the murky world from beneath the brow of the helmet that he wore, two sizes too big for him, that was constantly threatening to slip down over his face and blind him. His clothes were saturated with water, which further weighed him
