Crusade Read online

  “I don’t see how the princess fought beside those cold little men for the three months before the crusade,” Thom added to himself. From everything Alusair had revealed, the bard saw Earthfast as a lonely, embattled place, devoid of hope. It was hard to believe that Azoun’s daughter, who seemed full of life, had stayed there.

  That was before I met her, Thom decided. That was before she and the king were reconciled.

  He shook his head and tried to dismiss the idle thoughts that dragged him away from the chronicles. Today was the first time in the month since the Second Battle of the Golden Way, as the conflict was now known, that the bard had stolen a chance to write. And since he wanted to have the notes on the crusade finished before the army returned to Cormyr, Thom had to get back to work.

  Stretching once to get comfortable, the bard started to write once more.

  It was clear on the day following the battle that the Tuigan were actually retreating. Scouts returned to report that the barbarians were covering an astonishing distance each day—a figure I would relate here but for fear of being called a liar. The death of Yamun Khahan at the hands of King Azoun, the illustrious hero of the crusade—

  “Getting a bit carried away there,” Thom said softly. Azoun had given the bard strict instructions after the battle that he was not to be valorized over the common troopers in the chronicles. “You’ll surely ask me to strike this out,” Thom noted, “so I’ll do it now and save you the trouble.”

  After marking through the last phrase with heavy, dark lines, the bard repeated the last fragment he’d penned. “ ‘The death of Yamun Khahan at the hands of King Azoun—’ ”

  —broke the spirit of the barbarian invaders. The prisoners made it clear, with some help from the mages, that without the khahan to lead them, their horsewarrior brethren would surely scatter to the four winds. Experience has taught the Alliance that this was the case.

  As the crusading army has moved east, following the retreating horde, it has met with little resistance. Pockets of Tuigan warriors, broken from the main column, have made valiant stands against our forces. Yet flight seems the more common strategy for the tiny bands of Tuigan. As soon as they spot the Alliance, they hurriedly break camp and ride away, pushing their swift ponies to the limits of endurance.

  Of great relief to Azoun’s generals, too, is the civil war that is obviously tearing at what remains of the Tuigan army. Princess Alusair, with the aid of the falcon and magical bracelet given her by the centaur chieftain, has been able to keep careful track of the barbarians. The sons of the khahan seem to be locked in bitter contention with one of the horde’s generals, Chanar Ong Kho. More small bands of warriors break off every day and disappear into the open plains of Thesk.

  A few of the barbarians captured in the Second Battle of the Golden Way are released each day to join these groups of fleeing comrades. “The Tuigan are prisoners from a war that’s over,” Azoun told his generals. “There is no reason for us to prevent them from going home, as we all will soon do.”

  Thom paused to study the page he’d just completed. Apart from the single blotch where he’d marked over his comment about the king, the sheet was neatly crammed with tight, controlled handwriting. He laid the paper flat to dry, then started a new page.

  Even without fighting, traveling through Thesk has not been easy for the Army of the Alliance, and the going promises to be harder still the farther east we go. Few of the fields have been cultivated in the wake of the invasion, and the retreating barbarians have been killing much of the game. Food, while not terribly scarce, is still a concern, since the army’s supply lines grow longer each day and more vulnerable to attack from other dark forces in the area.

  The villages along the Golden Way are deserted, and most have been pillaged by the Tuigan. Where the peasants simply abandoned their homes, some of the structures remain intact. In towns and villages where the people made a stand—

  Sadly Thom looked around at the interior of the shattered farmhouse. The cottage was one of the only buildings left on the outskirts of the town of Tammar. The thatch that normally covered its roof had been pulled down in many places, perhaps as food for hungry Tuigan horses. The furniture was little more than splintered fragments, and even the hut’s wooden door had been smashed in. If any other possessions once lined the walls of the cottage they were gone now, but whether the peasants or the barbarians had taken them Thom would never know.

  The bard closed his eyes for a moment, then glanced at the parchment. The carnage left in the horde’s wake would have to be noted, but not today. Such dark topics were best left for other times, days when the sun wasn’t shining so brightly and the late summer air wasn’t so warm and relaxing. Thom blew the partially finished page dry, gathered the other sheets he’d finished that morning, and tucked them under his arm.

  I think it’s time for a walk, he decided as he collected his pens and the rest of his writing tools. Then I’ll head back to town and get something to eat.

  With full intention of carrying out that simple plan, the bard stepped over the broken doorjamb. Being free of the crooked, shadow-heavy cottage made him feel better than he’d expected, so he whistled a bright tune and set off in no particular direction.

  “Well met, Master Bard,” called a voice from behind.

  Without turning around, the bard knew that it was King Azoun who had hailed him. When he did look, Thom wasn’t surprised to see that Vangerdahast accompanied the king. The presence of a third person—a little, bald Khazari priest who’d been captured in the Second Battle of the Golden Way—did make him pause for an instant.

  Koja, as the bard had come to know the Tuigan historian and former advisor to Yamun Khahan himself, strode beside King Azoun. Though he had been captured in the last battle, he wasn’t really a prisoner, for the king had offered the man his freedom long ago. Koja had asked to stay with the Alliance, claiming that there were many Tuigan who would gladly see him dead now that the khahan was no more. His sincerity in this had been obvious, so Azoun let him stay.

  “Interesting news, Thom,” the king said happily. From the expression on Azoun’s face, the bard could tell that it was at least partially good news, too.

  Vangerdahast, still aged from the affects of the magic-dead area, tottered along beside Azoun. The wizard, once rather hale and hearty for a man in his eighties, now looked tired and haggard. His face was a nest of wrinkles, and his hands quivered slightly. The wizard clutched a staff, and his weight drove its tip into the ground with each plodding step.

  “We’re finally going home,” Vangerdahast said before Azoun could elaborate on his comment.

  For a moment the fact didn’t register in Thom’s mind. He stood, slack-jawed and staring, as Azoun nodded to confirm the wizard’s claim. “B-but, the Tuigan,” he stammered.

  Vangerdahast smiled, an act which made his eyes disappear into the mass of wrinkles around them. That pleasant expression almost astonished Thom as much as the news, for Vangerdahast had been in an understandably sour mood ever since his longevity spells had been nullified. “I’ve just received word from Fonjara Galth—you remember her, eh, Thom? The witch from Rashemen?” Thom nodded and the wizard continued. “Her cronies finally closed the route between the Horse Plains and the West, the one through the Lake of Tears.”

  “And the Red Wizards who had attacked Rashemen after the Tuigan had stormed through that land have now retreated south, back to their own borders,” Azoun added. “Thesk, Rashemen, and the other local armies can put their full attention into routing the remaining barbarians.”

  The Khazari priest had been standing silently to the side during the conversation. Now, however, he bowed to Azoun and said, “I do not wish to contradict you, Your Highness, but I will repeat what I told you earlier: I do not believe the Tuigan will be dealt with that easily. It is far more likely that the majority of the army will scatter throughout Thesk rather than return to the Horse Plains. They will be as difficult to catch as the wind itself.�
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  “But their families?” Azoun said. “Their homes—”

  “They’re nomads, Your Highness,” Thom noted, a look of concern on his face. “Families and homes mean little to them.”

  Koja rubbed his bald scalp in slight agitation. “Before Yamun Khahan gathered the various tribes together, they lived by raiding and pillaging each other’s camps and the trade caravans that passed through the Horse Plains.” He looked around at the open grasslands that surrounded the Theskan town of Tammar. “This is good grazing land, and it is populated so sparsely that they will be able to elude the armies that hunt them.”

  Vangerdahast’s smile vanished. “That’s not our problem,” he grumbled.

  After a short silence, Azoun agreed. With Thay abandoning its plans of conquest and the Tuigan on the run, the Army of the Alliance could return to the Heartlands. “Our responsibility is fulfilled,” the king noted, and the four men set off for the center of Tammar, where the majority of the army was billeted.

  “Your Highness,” Koja said as they walked, “what was your impression of the khahan?”

  The question took the king by surprise, and after recalling their brief meeting, Azoun shrugged. “He seemed to be quite intelligent. No,” he corrected quickly, “not that. Wise, perhaps. And very driven. Why do you ask?”

  “When I was first sent to the Tuigan capital of Quaraband, I was to report back to my prince, tell him what the khahan was like,” the priest replied. “I burned those notes long ago, but I think I might try to put something about Yamun Khahan on paper.” After a pause, Koja added, “Master Reaverson tells me you are interested in history. Perhaps you will read these notes if I write them?”

  “Of course,” Azoun said, turning to face the priest. Koja was looking at the shattered road, however, and a wistful smile clung to his lips. “You will miss the khahan, won’t you?”

  “I was his anda,” Koja said wistfully, then scowled. “I don’t know if I can translate anda into your tongue—friend, perhaps, is closest.” He cast his gaze to the clear blue sky. “Yamun chose the perilous path on his own, however. He chose to be a great man.”

  Sentries greeted Azoun as he and the others passed into the fringes of the western camp. Tents and campfires covered the broken streets of Tammar, scattered amidst the ruins of the buildings. Soldiers relaxed. A few loud groups sang bawdy songs, while others played at dice. Discipline was lax, perhaps too much so, but the men had fought and marched hard since arriving in Thesk, and Azoun knew that they deserved a rest.

  “Is that the philosophy of your land?” the king asked as he passed a group of archers testing their skill against a blackened post. “That a man chooses to be great?”

  The priest answered without hesitation, and Azoun noted the pedantic tone Koja’s voice took on as he spoke. It was a tone Vangerdahast often adopted when discussing politics. “In the Yanitsava, the book of the Enlightened One’s teachings, it is written that, ’some men take the thread of their life and weave their own destiny.’ The priests of the Red Mountain believe that these men are evil, that they do not accept the will of the Enlightened One, that they force their own will over the pattern of the world.”

  “And you, Koja,” Azoun said. “Do you believe that?”

  The priest laughed. “I was once a lama of the Red Mountain, but I am now as much that as I am an envoy of the Khazari. My time with the Tuigan taught me that I am a far better historian than philosopher.”

  Koja then turned to Azoun. “Still, I know this much about men like Yamun Khahan: the world cannot bear their presence for too long. Yamun tried to make the world over in his image, to weave a picture that would encompass the entire globe.” He gestured with an open hand at the army spread around the two of them. “But the world always has other great men to oppose such plans.”

  “Your Highness,” Farl Bloodaxe interrupted. The general, dressed casually in the tunic and breeches of a Cormyrian soldier, bowed formally. “I’ve just passed the word on to the infantry captains, and Brunthar has done the same with the archers. The army should be ready to move tomorrow morning.”

  “Good,” Azoun replied, placing his hand on Farl’s shoulder. “See that the men draw fresh water from the wells tonight and double the foraging parties. I’m sure the troops will want to get back to the coast as quickly as possible, so the fewer times we need to slow to hunt for food the better.”

  Thom and Vangerdahast caught up to Azoun, and Koja bowed and went off with them. When the others had gone, Farl stepped close to the king. “There seems to be a problem with the orcs, Your Highness. When I told Vrakk the news, he informed me that the Zhentish troops weren’t leaving.”

  After giving Farl a few more suggestions about stocking the supply wagons, Azoun went directly to the orcs’ camp. The men had grown used to the Zhentish soldiers, but Vrakk and his troops still maintained their own compound, away from the humans. They had proven their worth in battle, and the other soldiers would have likely let the orcs integrate their tents with the rest of the Alliance. For some mysterious reason, Vrakk always refused.

  As the king entered the Zhentish camp, he decided that that was probably a good thing. The orcs had chosen the most run-down section of Tammar for their home. Their torn and dirty tents were pitched only a few yards from where the town’s garbage had been dumped and the funeral pyres had been built for the townsfolk. The place smelled rancid, but the orcs didn’t seem to notice. They lounged in their tents, hidden from the bright sunlight. Only a few Zhentish troopers seemed to be awake, and most of these were sprawled around smoking campfires, swilling wine and eating their midday meal.

  Vrakk was seated near one such collection of orcs. He still wore his black leather armor, and Azoun noticed for the first time that, while the orcs’ surroundings were like a sty, their piecemeal armor and scavenged weapons were relatively clean.

  “General Bloodaxe tells me you are reluctant to leave,” Azoun said casually. He held his hand up when another orc offered him a wineskin. “Thank you, but, no.”

  Vrakk snarled at the orc with the wineskin, and the smaller, brown-furred trooper slouched down and concentrated on the hunk of meat he had burning in the fire. “Orcs not go home,” Vrakk replied. “That our orders.”

  “Orders?” Azoun asked. “From whom?”

  “Zhentil Keep,” the orc replied. Vrakk’s tone revealed that he was surprised at Azoun’s ignorance. “We new outpost. They order us stay in Thesk.”

  A frown crept across Azoun’s face as he regarded the orcish commander. “And you’ve had these orders from the time you left the Keep, haven’t you?”

  Vrakk smiled, or what passed for that expression with the orc. His large teeth showed yellow and filmy in the sunshine. “Keep say we stay with Alliance till Tuigan gone. They say orcs trust Ak-soon to let leave in Thesk.”

  I gave my word to those villains, the king concluded silently, and they’ve used me to place a damned Zhentish outpost of almost nine hundred orcs in the middle of an ally’s territory. Azoun sighed. “I don’t suppose you’ll be setting up your camp here in Tammar, so take your share of the supplies and leave right after sunset. I know your troops can travel by night, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  The Zhentish commander found this agreeable, and wasn’t offended at all when the king refused his invitation to share the noon meal with him. Though Vrakk appeared rather ignorant, he knew exactly why Azoun was distressed by the revelation of their plans.

  “I will tell the Theskan authorities that your troops stayed in their territory,” Azoun warned solemnly as he prepared to leave. “They’ll consider you trespassers, Vrakk.”

  The orc’s toothy grin widened. “We good soldiers, Ak-soon, but we better raiders, better thieves. Thesk big place with plenty spots to hide.” He grabbed the wineskin from his brown-haired comrade and took a long swallow. “ ’sides, we learn plenty about war from you. We be safe.”

  That thought didn’t comfort Azoun at all. As he walked back to the ro
yal compound, the king wondered if Koja was right. For all the good that he had intended to do on the crusade, Azoun now saw very little evidence that he’d succeeded. The town of Tammar, like so many other villages and hamlets in Thesk, Ashanath, and Rashemen, lay in ruins, the buildings toppled and the fields uncultivated. The Tuigan army was broken, but not gone from the West. The small groups of bandits that remained would likely plague traders and farmers for years to come. And now the orcs. The Theskan government would not be happy to learn that a band of professional Zhentish soldiers was loose in their land.

  I’ve freed Thesk from Yamun Khahan and made it safe for bandits and spies, Azoun concluded darkly.

  The king scowled at himself for being so morose. “I’ve won far more than that,” he said as he looked around at the Army of the Alliance.

  The troopers were celebrating the news that the war was officially over. Men went happily about the task of breaking down the camp, and the soldiers Azoun passed greeted him loudly. Some even cheered him. However, it was more than the mood of the camp that made the king realize that he’d won more than was lost. As he looked out on the faces of the archers and infantrymen, he no longer saw the motley collection of dalesmen and Sembians, Cormyrians and mercenaries, that had left Suzail those many months ago. Azoun saw a unified force, a group of men and women brought together to fight for Faerun.

  And if these disparate soldiers could be forged together for such a cause, why not their countries?

  With that ambitious thought in mind, the king crossed royal compound. His pavilion still stood, its brightly colored sides flapping gaily in the light breeze. For a moment, he considered giving the order to have it dismantled; the rest of the army would likely sleep on the ground tonight so that they would not be delayed with packing their tents come morning. Perhaps when I’m done talking to Alusair, he decided, and turned toward her tent.

  Azoun found the princess stuffing her few belongings into a rough canvas sack. The falcon that Jad Eyesbright had loaned to her sat on a makeshift perch, its head covered with a leather hood, next to Alusair’s armor. Whenever the princess would bump into the dwarven plate mail, the bird would give a little screech in complaint of the disturbing noise.