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  The formation of the Tuigan charge was clear now, though the sun at the enemy’s back and the high, waving grain sometimes hid the horsewarriors from Azoun’s sight. As the king had guessed, the khahan had organized his warriors into three rough lines, each about three men deep.

  At a few hundred yards, the bulk of the enemy reined in their horses and stopped. A group about half the size of the Army of the Alliance, perhaps fifteen thousand men, raced forward. A steady rumble of drums accompanied the heavy thunder of their horses’ hooves pounding the ground.

  “They’re going to test the line!” Farl shouted, waving his sword in the air. The first line gripped their shields a little tighter and braced their polearms for the impact. In the second rank, captains shouted orders to the archers, who tested the pull of their bowstrings one last time.

  Azoun turned his destrier to get a better look at the four groups of archers, then drew his sword. The king could see Brunthar Elventree’s standard—the mace, spear, and chain symbol of Battledale in gold upon red cloth—at the rear of the closest formation of bowmen. Like all the groups of archers, the dalesman’s was fortified with dozens of long, sharpened stakes. The palisade formed by the wall of spikes tilted down the hill, ready to repulse an enemy charge.

  The king gave the signal for the archers to fire when ready, and Brunthar’s standard wavered in the light wind crossing the field. Six thousand archers drew their bows as one and leaned back, seemingly to point their arrows at the low-hanging sun.

  THE EMPIRES TRILOGY

  HORSELORDS

  David Cook

  DRAGONWALL

  Troy Denning

  CRUSADE

  James Lowder

  CRUSADE

  The Empires Trilogy: Book Three

  ©1991 TSR, Inc.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Hasbro SA, represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.

  FORGOTTEN REALMS, Wizards of the Coast, D&D, their respective logos, and TSR Inc. are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cover art by: Larry Elmore

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-6399-7

  640A2884000001 EN

  For customer service, contact:

  U.S., Canada, Asia Pacific, & Latin America: Wizards of the Coast LLC, P.O. Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, +1-800-324-6496, www.wizards.com/customerservice

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  Visit our websites at www.wizards.com

  www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  To Beth Anderson, Dawn Colwell, Robert Cole, and all the teachers at WHRHS for getting me started; to my families in New England and New Berlin for helping me along the way; and, most of all, to Debbie, for understanding, support, and proofreading beyond the call of duty.

  —JDL

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Chapter 1 - The King’s Men

  Chapter 2 - The Council of Suzail

  Chapter 3 - Razor John

  Chapter 4 - Allies and Enemies

  Chapter 5 - The Black Rat

  Chapter 6 - The Goddess’s Hand

  Chapter 7 - Blood and Thunder

  Chapter 8 - The Mithril Princess

  Chapter 9 - The Patchwork Army

  Chapter 10 - Birds of Prey

  Chapter 11 - Speaking in Tongues

  Chapter 12 - Propaganda

  Chapter 13 - Crows’ Feast

  Chapter 14 - Duty

  Chapter 15 - Heart’s Counsel

  Chapter 16 - Gamesmanship

  Chapter 17 - Pages in History

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  1

  The King’s Men

  King Azoun IV of Cormyr paced back and forth before a window in his castle’s highest tower. After two or three steps in the circular room, the king paused and threw open the wooden shutters. Restlessly clasping his hands behind his back, he looked out on Suzail, the capital of his rich and expansive kingdom. What the monarch saw of the city from that vantage troubled him greatly.

  Suzail sprawled contentedly in the bright, early spring sunshine. As on most mornings in good weather, crowds filled the narrow streets, heading toward or returning from the capital’s bustling marketplace, doing what people in most of western Faerun’s larger cities did each day. Servants ran from their masters’ homes to shops, then returned with goods purchased. Watchmen, dressed in the livery of their office, settled disputes and kept the peace. Wealthy merchants argued among themselves about the price of ivory or cloth or wheat. Freebooters and sailors wandered through the various inns and taverns, searching for a new adventure or just a good barroom brawl. In all, Suzail looked that morning much like it had for all of King Azoun’s twenty-five-year reign—peaceful and prosperous.

  Unclasping his hands, Azoun ran his fingers through his silver-shot brown beard. “Why hasn’t it affected them, Vangy?” the king asked without turning around.

  “Eh?” a voice sighed. “What did you say?”

  Azoun turned slowly to face Vangerdahast, royal magician of Cormyr, chairman emperius of the College of War Wizards. The paunchy mage was hunched over a chessboard, staring intently at the finely carved ivory pieces. In the bright cold light from the window, Vangerdahast looked to be the veteran of fifty winters or so. Azoun knew better. Despite the color in his wrinkled cheeks, his steady gaze and steady hands, the royal magician was well over eighty. His magic had helped him stave off old age for many years now.

  “Why hasn’t the Tuigan invasion affected my subjects?” the king repeated. “Do they think the war won’t touch them at all? They’re going about their lives as if nothing is wrong.”

  Straightening his back with a short groan, Vangerdahast cast a quick glance at his opponent in the chess match—a short, stout man with gray hair and sparkling blue eyes—then turned to Azoun. The mage recognized the puzzled tone in his king’s voice, which told him that Azoun was genuinely bothered by the subject he’d broached. Vangerdahast had heard that inflection many times since he had been hired by King Rhigaerd II, Azoun’s father, to tutor the young prince in heraldry and ethics. However, the tone had never been so prevalent in Azoun’s voice as it had been since the Tuigan horsemen interrupted trade between Faerun and the eastern lands of Kara-Tur a little over a year ago.

  “Actually, Your Highness,” Vangerdahast began, “you’ve already answered your own question, though calling the Tuigan incursion a ‘war’ might be a bit premature.” When Azoun didn’t object, the wizard continued. “The barbarians have done little so far that really touches the lives of the average Cormyrian. Since they charged through Rashemen into Ashanath last fall, they’ve not moved west. Must I remind you that the nearest Tuigan is well over one thousand miles to our east, on the other end of the Inner Sea? Having barbarians camped there is hardly a direct threat to Cormyr.”

  Vangerdahast’s opponent in the chess gam
e moved his queen and smiled. “What about lost revenue? Haven’t the attacks on Thesk and the countries around it slowed trade?” the stout man asked. “Surely the guilds care about the money.”

  “The guilds, especially the trappers, are the biggest opponents of any military action against the Tuigan,” Azoun noted. He shook his head. “They feel we should wait until the barbarians threaten Cormyr directly before spending money to fight them.”

  “For once, the guilds are correct,” Vangerdahast said a bit peevishly. “The Tuigan are not an immediate problem.” The wizard looked at the chessboard, noticed that his opponent wore a grin, and cursed softly. “You’re supposed to announce your move, Dimswart. Now, what did you—ah, the queen.”

  “And I believe that’s checkmate,” Dimswart stated flatly. “Your chess game really hasn’t improved in all the time I’ve known you, Vangy.” The gray-haired man, also called the Sage of Suzail, knitted his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the room’s whitewashed wall.

  Snorting in irritation, Vangerdahast stood up. “We’ve more important things to do in the castle than play games all day. Now that you’re retired and all your daughters are married, I suppose you do little else but pore through obscure texts and hover over chessboards. Why, even the supposed ‘sage’ of Shadowdale, Elminster, does more important work than you.”

  Dimswart’s smile faded, and he opened his mouth to reply to the royal wizard’s insult. It was common knowledge that Vangerdahast held a longstanding grudge against the legendary sage and wizard, Elminster—though the origin of the feud was long forgotten. So to have Vangerdahast compare one unfavorably to him was quite a barb. The stout sage never had a chance to reply, though, as Azoun cleared his throat noisily, signaling an end to any further digressions.

  “My esteemed royal wizard is correct,” the king said as he placed a hand on Vangerdahast’s shoulder. A slight smile crossed Azoun’s lips, but its warmth didn’t quite reach his dark eyes. “There are important matters to consider at the moment, the most pressing of which is the crusade.”

  Vangerdahast frowned at the use of the word “crusade.” Azoun noted the expression on his friend’s face, then turned back to the window. “I know you object to my plan. However, I’ve considered the matter carefully, and I believe that it will be better for Cormyr and the rest of Faerun if I follow my own best judgment … despite opposition from the trappers. After the discussions I’ve had with the leaders of the Dales and Sembia, our own lords, and a few others, I believe I can recruit a large number of allies. If they agree to support this venture, I will lead it.”

  Slowly Azoun rested one hand on the edge of the window and bowed his head. “The Tuigan are hurting the entire continent of Faerun,” he said, anger in his voice. “Including Cormyr. And if these barbarians, these ‘horsewarriors,’ are harming my people, I must challenge them. A crusade is the only way.”

  Vangerdahast’s frown deepened. He stalked to Azoun’s side, his heavy brown robe hissing along the ground as he walked. “Look there,” the wizard said, pointing out the open window. “The nearest Tuigan raider is in Ashanath, half a continent from here. You can’t possibly think they’ll invade us soon. And can you really tell me that the horsewarriors have put a serious crimp in our economy?”

  Raising his head, the king looked out at the city once again. In the direction Vangerdahast pointed lay Suzail’s docks. The port was busy, as was usual for that time of year. Ships bearing the colors of countries and free cities from all over the Inner Sea dotted the piers, and Cormyrian traders bound for those places and more filled the rest of the harbor. Hundreds of sailors and longshoremen swarmed over the docks, loading and unloading cargo. Cloth and livestock, gold and ivory, art treasures and other, more precious things poured into the city by the hour.

  Azoun slowly traced a path with his eyes from the dock to the foot of his tower. Closer to the piers, the king saw dozens of inns and businesses, all bustling with trade from the harbor. Moving his eyes over the slate or wooden roofs of these establishments, the king saw the wide, dusty thoroughfare called “the Promenade.” This street, like the docks, was filled with traders from throughout Faerun and other parts of Cormyr. As Azoun watched, wagon after wagon of goods rolled past, not to mention the mob of merchants and citizens who trod the Promenade as they went about their business. The noise of the people in the streets mixed with the shrill cries of the seabirds that lofted over the harbor, creating the backdrop of sound Azoun had grown accustomed to in his years in Suzail.

  The king’s eyes crossed the Promenade and lit upon the sprawling, interconnected buildings that made up the royal court, the seat of Cormyr’s bureaucracy. Just the day before, he’d received a report that the royal tax collectors expected a rise in income this year from tariffs levied on merchants.

  “No, Vangy,” the monarch said firmly. “I can’t tell you the invasion has ruined our economy. In fact, the Tuigan have had little direct effect upon our trade.”

  The paunchy wizard nodded, as if prompting a student to develop a single correct answer into a more complex conclusion—as if Azoun were still a young prince in his tutelage. When the king only continued to gaze out at the city, Vangerdahast sighed.

  “Come now, Vangy,” Dimswart said as he leaned forward. “You know as well as I that trade with Ashanath, Thesk, and Shou Lung is only a small part of Cormyr’s shipping industry.”

  Vangerdahast moved away from Azoun, toward one of the two large tapestries that hung on the circular room’s cold, white walls. The finely crafted hanging depicted a joust, complete with heavily armored knights wielding ornamented lances. One cloth warrior, his silver thread armor looking faded with age, leaned forward on his mount and pressed his lance against the splintering shield of his adversary. The other, a gold-clad warrior, seemed to be slipping off his horse, frozen eternally on the brink of defeat.

  “We don’t have strong ties with the Shou people,” the wizard noted absently as he stood between the knights and his king. “Not yet, anyway. That was the reason Azoun and I attended that trade conference in Semphar last year, the one that was supposed to solve the problems the Tuigan were creating for commerce.”

  “It could have been a very productive conference, too,” the king added. “Representatives from Shou Lung and many of the western nations interested in trading with them showed up. The whole thing was pointless though; a barbarian general—I believe his name was Chanar—took the city hostage, surrounding it with armed troops.”

  Azoun laughed bitterly. “General Chanar wanted to deliver an ultimatum from the Tuigan leader, their khahan. We were supposed to recognize this barbarian, Yamun Khahan, as emperor of all the world.”

  “What an unwashed brute that general was,” Vangerdahast said with a chuckle, tracing the figure of the golden knight in the tapestry with his finger. “You could almost see the fleas hopping around on him.”

  Smiling at his friend’s sarcasm, Azoun walked to the wizard’s side. “I’m sure General Chanar had just ridden for days, Vangy. He was a warrior, not—” The king paused, then waved his hands in front of himself, motioning toward his silk tunic, fine, purple surcoat, and expensive, perfectly crafted dragonskin boots. “He wasn’t a politician.”

  “Speaking of politicians, Your Highness, do you think one of your enemies is stirring up the guild masters?” Dimswart asked. The sage leaned over the chessboard and started to rearrange the pieces, setting up for a new game.

  The paunchy wizard dropped his hands to his sides and slapped his thighs. “Perhaps the Zhentarim are baiting the guild masters. That doesn’t mean their objections to the crusade are unfounded. The trappers will gain little revenue from the venture. In fact, they’ll end up paying for the crusade in higher taxes on the furs they bring to the city for sale.” He scowled and shook his head. “Your Highness, I can only imagine the damage that you’ll do to yourself politically by running off to the other side of the Inner Sea to look for a war.”

  Vangerdahast�
�s shoulders sagged then, as if his anger had fled suddenly. “I’ve heard your arguments, Azoun, and I can see that they have some merit. However, I still don’t understand why you need to rush off.”

  “Have you forgotten my duty?” Azoun asked, a touch of pride in his voice.

  Vangerdahast shook his head. “Your duty is to Cormyr, not Thesk or Rashemen. I’ve told you a thousand times before, you—”

  Laughing, Dimswart cut in, “Vangy, you miss the point completely.”

  The king’s eyes grew dark again. “We’ve had this argument before. Cormyr is more than the lands that lay between lines on a map. We are only one country, one power amongst a dozen in Faerun. If one of our neighbors falls, then we fall, too. My duty to Cormyr demands that I help avert a crisis that could threaten any part of the continent.”

  The wizard turned away from Azoun. “As I’ve I told you every other time you’ve wanted to help the Dales or Tantras or Ravens Bluff, you shouldn’t go looking for trouble.”

  After reaching into his pockets, Vangerdahast dug out the components to a spell and muttered an incantation. “Look,” the wizard cried as a glowing map of Faerun appeared, superimposed on the tapestry he had been studying only moments before. Rivers and mountains, deserts and glaciers, cities and countries all appeared faintly in the air, the armored warriors from the hanging showing vaguely through them all.

  The kingdom of Cormyr lay on the northwest end of the Inner Sea, also known as the Sea of Fallen Stars. To Cormyr’s north were mountains, then the arid, inhospitable Stonelands and the vast expanse of the great desert, Anauroch. The merchant kingdom of Sembia, equal in size to Azoun’s domain, was located directly to Cormyr’s east. The Dales, to the northeast, were a loose confederation of small farming communities. Unlike Cormyr, with its hereditary monarchy, and Sembia, with its merchant oligarchy, the Dales were strongly democratic. Together, Cormyr, Sembia, and the Dales made up much of the “Heartlands” of Faerun.