A light rain, little more than a drizzle, trickled from the sky to run down the backs of necks and to turn clay and dirt to mud. Horses fought the muck, their hooves sucked down. Men in armor found themselves unable to run, the wet ground tugging at them and sapping their strength as the chill wet continued to soak their hair and skin. Fires were doused, torches at first, then the dancing flames of the camps.The Kobalans kept at their work, however, taking down tents and sharpening steel and saddling horses and a thousand other jobs that had to be performed before an army could march.Verkain watched all from the battlements of his city, staring out from the high wall that surrounded Mogus Potere.Below the king, officers were yelling orders and aiding their warriors with whatever tasks were being attempted in the wet and mud.A thin smile grew on the lord’s face. “The beginning of the end, the end of the beginning.”“Did you say something, my lord?” Captain Lendo asked.Verkain turned to the man in charge of his personal guard, those sturdy men who would be protecting their king during the march.
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