Crusade (37 page)

“If not now, when?” the king replied, a bit too sharply. He spun around as swiftly as his wounded leg would allow and headed toward the meeting. “I don’t know what to say about Harcourt and the nobles,” he admitted as he trudged along.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have let the rumors about the Tuigan circulate,” Alusair offered bluntly.

Alusair wasn’t saying anything that Azoun’s conscience hadn’t suggested to him over and over already. When he told his daughter this, she nodded. Then it was her turn to be silent. For a moment, it seemed that the conversation would end there.

When he stepped onto the road, however, Azoun put his hand on his daughter’s arm. “When you were in command of the army last night, how did you make your decisions?” he asked.

“I did what I thought was right.”

Azoun nodded. The reply was exactly what he’d expected. “That was how I decided to let the rumors about my deeds in the Tuigan camp circulate. From the counsel I received, I concluded that the army would be far better off if I didn’t dash their enthusiasm.”

“Then you didn’t take the most important counselor into consideration,” the princess said. She pointed at the king’s chest. “You didn’t listen to your heart. You didn’t do what your conscience told you was the right thing to do.”

Azoun could feel the tension growing between him and Alusair. He took a deep breath and tried to respond as calmly as possible. “There are thousands of lives depending upon my decisions, Allie. You can’t know—”

“Oh, but I can,” she replied. “Before I knew you were well enough to take command again, I believed I would have to lead the army in the next battle. I felt the pressure.”

Farl Bloodaxe bowed as he came close. Unlike many of the soldiers, the ebony-skinned commander had taken off his armor. He again wore the dark breeches and billowing white shirt that made him look more like a pirate than a general. “Excuse me, Your Highness, Princess, but the others have gathered as you requested. We await only your presence.”

Azoun was almost relieved at the interruption. He and Alusair had closed the gap that had separated them for so long, but it was clear that many things still held them apart. “Thank you, Farl,” the king said. “We’ll be along in a moment.”

As the general turned to go, the king remembered Farl’s words the night before the first battle: The soldiers are here because of your beliefs, and the true crusaders will gladly die for the causes you champion… but never for a lie. Turning to his daughter, Azoun took her hand in his own. “Perhaps you’re right, Allie,” he sighed, squeezing her hand. “At the very least, you’ve given me something to think about.”

They embraced briefly, which assured both of them that their argument had done little to set back their reconciliation, and went together to the meeting.

Azoun and Alusair found the three surviving generals—Farl, Brunthar, and, much to their surprise, Vangerdahast—as well as Torg and Vrakk, in animated discussion. The commanders sat on camp stools around a low-burning fire. Azoun greeted the royal wizard warmly, and more than anything, seeing his old friend again lightened his mood.

But Azoun quickly found that Vangerdahast had not fully recovered from the sickness that struck him down in the magic-dead area. The firelight revealed the mage’s features, pushing away the shadows of the growing twilight, and the king saw that Vangerdahast was quite pale. A palsy shook the mage’s left hand, too, but he tried to keep the quivering limb hidden in the sleeve of his long brown robe. When he noticed the king’s concerned stare, Vangerdahast frowned.

“I was just telling the other generals,” the wizard said crankily, “the magic-dead area seems to have erased the effects of the spells and potions I’d experimented with, the ones that kept me healthier than my eighty-odd years.” His frown deepened into a scowl, and he pointed at the king with an age-spotted hand. “But that doesn’t mean I’m unable to command the War Wizards.”

“You’re absolutely correct, Vangy,” Azoun replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. While he didn’t doubt that the royal wizard could easily keep the Alliance’s mages in line, the revelation of Vangerdahast’s present malady shocked him.

“We’re wasting time, Your Highness,” Torg grumbled. The dwarf looked as petulant as ever. Azoun guessed correctly that the mere presence of the orcs’ commander was enough to upset the ironlord. The dwarf’s position in the circle, on the opposite side of the fire from Vrakk, certainly reinforced that guess.

Torg’s bigotry is the least of our worries now, the king concluded. Still, he smiled and nodded. “You are correct, Ironlord. The Tuigan won’t dally so we can swap stories of the wounds we’ve gained in the fight so far.”

Without ceremony, the king took a seat between Vangerdahast and the spot reserved for Alusair. Turning to Farl, he asked, “Have your scouts spotted any movement in the khahan’s ranks yet?”

With a shrug, the infantry commander said, “No, Your Highness. They’re still camped close to where the last battle took place, about twelve miles east of here.”

“Nor have I spotted anything with the falcon,” the princess added. “They seem to be waiting for us to commit to another battle.”

“I don’t understand it,” Brunthar Elventree said. “Why didn’t they run us down after the battle? They let us escape!”

Azoun drummed his fingers on his right leg. “Perhaps we surprised them,” he offered. “The general we captured told Alusair that we’d given Yamun Khahan the strongest resistance of anyone in the west.”

“But you lost almost half your troops,” Torg reminded the king. He picked up a wineskin that lay at his feet and took a swig.

Vrakk growled deep in his throat and leaned forward. The firelight revealed the true ugliness of his face—the short snout, beady black eyes, and bristling, course hair. His black leather armor, now slashed open in three places, did much to heighten that sinister appearance. “We send many Tuigan to Lord Cyric,” the orcish commander rumbled, invoking the name of the Lord of the Dead.

“Vrakk’s right,” Alusair noted, a slight hint of scorn for the orc hidden in her voice. “By Farl’s count we killed thirty thousand barbarians. That’s three for every man we lost.”

“Leaving Yamun Khahan with seventy thousand horsemen to our army of fifteen thousand,” Azoun concluded. He rubbed his wounded leg reflexively and paused. “We cannot survive another battle like that.”

“And the khahan won’t be foolish enough to go around us and avoid a fight. That would leave an army to his rear,” Farl added.

Vangerdahast, who had been watching the fire, mulling over some point, finally looked up. “Yamun Khahan will certainly attack us tomorrow,” he said without preamble. “Perhaps we surprised him, perhaps not. In the end, it really doesn’t matter why he’s let us live this long. He’ll make sure we have no way to retreat back to Cormyr.”

After a moment Azoun concluded, “Then we can assume the Tuigan will come soon. Perhaps even tomorrow. That means this night holds the only hours we have left to prepare.”

A little stiffly, the king stood and pointed to the western lines. “I want each of you to tell me what you’d do if you were Yamun Khahan, approaching our position.”

All eyes were turned to the Alliance’s lines. Though the sun was almost set behind the western army, the generals all knew the position by heart. They had stumbled upon the spot in their retreat up the Golden Way. Tall, sturdy trees spread in a long line from either side of the road. Without fast cavalry to cover the army’s flanks, the trees insured that the Tuigan could not surround the western troops as they had in the last battle. Better still, the timber would force the Tuigan to attack across a narrow front, limiting the usefulness of their vastly superior numbers.

Torg only regarded the scene for an instant before he spoke. “They’ll charge,” he said, as if the matter required no more thought. “They have us outnumbered, so why waste time?”

Brunthar shook his bandaged head. “What about their archers?” he asked. “In all the other engagements, they’ve tried to break the lines using bowmen.”

“True,” Alusair said, “but in the last battle, General Elventree, your men proved that our longbows have better range than their shorter bows.”

Clearing his throat, Vangerdahast added, “And the mages showed how useful a few fireballs could be in dealing with barbarians.” He waved his hand to dismiss the notion. “I agree with Torg. They’ll simply charge us and get it over with.”

Azoun nodded. “Farl?”

“Yes. They’ll charge,” the infantry commander said. The wind tugged fitfully at Farl’s white shirt as he paused. “They’ve no magic to rout us from the trees, and it’ll take them forever to ride around the woods and attack us from behind.”

“Vrakk?”

“Don’t know,” the orc grumbled. “Generals missing something. Ak-soon missing something … but Vrakk not know what.”

Torg looked away, disgusted, a gesture that drew angry glares from Farl and Azoun. The orc rubbed his green-gray snout for a moment, then finally shrugged and said, “They charge.”

“Fine,” Azoun concluded. “Yamun Khahan will come here, perhaps tomorrow, and toss seventy thousand barbarians at us.” He glanced back at the western lines. “How do we stop him?”

Again the generals fell silent. The crackle of the fire and the cawing of the seemingly everpresent carrion crows did only a little to mask the sounds of the palisades being erected. The sharp reverberations of hundreds of axes hitting wood, of mallets pounding the spikes into the ground, sounded through the woods and across the field.

“Before the cavalry broke rank, the combination of longbow fire and magic seemed to slow the Tuigan down quite a bit,” Alusair said at last. “But that was when they were stopping to lob arrows.”

Azoun nodded enthusiastically. “Both those things will be important in the battle,” he said. “Arrows and spells can whittle down the number of Tuigan lances and Tuigan swords the infantry will have to turn aside.”

“But not stop seventy thousand of them,” Brunthar said gloomily. “What about building more blockades to slow the charge down? We won’t have the advantage of the hill here. The Tuigan can race pretty much unimpeded to our front rank.”

“Good,” Azoun said. He motioned to the left and right. “Perhaps we should concentrate on barricades at the edges of the field. That’ll narrow down their attack even further.”

Vrakk, who had not missed any of the dwarven king’s angry looks in his direction, chimed in with a half-sarcastic remark. “Why don’t Torg and his dglinkarz dig big hole for Tuigan to fall in?”

The ironlord immediately dropped his hand to his sword. Farl and Brunthar stepped between the dwarf and the orc, and looked to Azoun for guidance. The king was grinning broadly. “That’s it!” he said, though only softly at first. “Of course!”

The leaders of the Alliance stopped, and even Torg wondered what the king had stumbled upon. Azoun pounded his fist into his other hand and looked around at the dark field. “But not one big hole, Vrakk. Thousands of little ones.”

The orcish leader grinned evilly. “Ah! Is good idea!”

Azoun noted the confused look on the faces of his other generals. With the broad smile still on his face, he said, “The arrows and spells were most effective when the Tuigan stopped to fire at us, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “So we’ll make them stop—or at least slow them down enough to be good targets for the archers and mages.”

“Holes,” Alusair repeated, comprehension slowly dawning upon her. “We won’t put up barricades, we’ll dig holes across the field.”

The other generals had caught the gist of the plan by now, and they enthusiastically embraced it. By digging a wide band of holes at a distance of fifty yards from the Alliance’s lines, the generals could be sure that many of the horses in the Tuigan front ranks would stumble, tossing their riders and slowing down the rest of the charge. In the midst of the animated discussion, Farl slowly shook his head.

“My troops and the dwarves could easily dig the traps overnight,” the general said loudly. Everyone stopped and faced the infantry commander. “But what makes you think the Tuigan are foolish enough to charge such an obvious trap?”

The king turned to the royal wizard. “Well, Vangy?”

For the first time that evening, a smile crept onto the wizard’s age-withered face. He patted his beard, now more white than gray, and said, “Even Elminster could disguise a field full of holes. It’ll be easy—though the casting will take some of our wizards away from the battle.”

“That’s no problem,” Azoun concluded, clapping his hands together. “The illusion need only be maintained long enough for the first wave of riders to hit it.”

The matter settled, the king and his advisors talked long into the evening, reviewing troop strengths and establishing battle plans to cover every contingency they could dream up. The moon, partly covered by clouds, was shining as brightly as it could when the meeting finally ended.

Farl went off to double the watch on the perimeter, so that Tuigan spies would not see the dwarves hard at work in the field. Despite his annoyance at the orc for suggesting a plan that utilized his troops, Torg was enthusiastic about the task that lay ahead. He knew his troops would perform exactly as required. The other generals said good evening, too. Azoun and Alusair knew that Vrakk, Brunthar, and Vangerdahast would sleep little that night, but bade them good night in return.

The king and his daughter talked for a short time on various minor topics, then the princess went off in search of Thom Reaverson. She had promised the bard earlier in the day to relate some of her adventures. Azoun in turn walked back to camp, favoring his leg slightly. The damp night air seemed to make the pain worse, and the king wondered if he was going to put up with the discomfort for the rest of his life. The clerics had done the best they could, so it seemed likely.

It will hurt at least until tomorrow, he concluded grimly.

The dwarves had already begun their long, grueling task by the time Azoun reached the Alliance’s front line. And though he couldn’t see the troops from Earthfast, the king could hear their tools biting into the road and the field. The sounds weren’t all that different from the hammering and digging going on around him, as Farl’s troops completed their barricades and the archers finished the palisades. Hopefully the Tuigan wouldn’t be able to uncover the trap through the sound alone.