Crusade (33 page)

“Signal the mages!” Farl cried at Azoun’s side.

The king lowered his shield and looked to the Tuigan lines. If the infantry commander had been able to see Azoun’s face, he would have seen a look of shock; the horsewarriors were wheeling their swift little horses about and fleeing. “We should save the wizards for when we really need them,” the king shouted. He pointed at the retreating enemy. “What’s going on?” The Tuigan fired over their shoulders occasionally, but it seemed as if they were running away.

Farl flipped back his visor. His face, too, was a mask of surprise. “That had to be a test,” he ventured. “Maybe they didn’t know the range of our bows or what kind of battle magic we had.”

A hearty cry went up from the Army of the Alliance. The king signaled the archers to cease fire and watched as a much-weakened group of riders rejoined the khahan’s army. “Losses?” Azoun asked as he lifted his own visor.

After scanning the field for a moment, Farl said, “They lost four, perhaps even five thousand. We wounded more than that.” He shook his head. “The khahan must care very little for his men to condone that kind of carnage for a test.”

“Or his men think highly enough of him to go to it willingly,” Azoun corrected. “Save for an instant when our first volley hit them, they didn’t pause. This was a familiar drill for them.” He looked across his own first rank. “Have the captains tally our losses. We may just frighten them off.”

The dead were counted as they were dragged out of line, and the king was relieved to find that only about three hundred had been killed in the first assault. The thought of any men dying under his command troubled Azoun, but he pushed those guilty thoughts aside.

The wounded were far more numerous, but many of the arrow wounds required only simple dressings or minor healing spells. Most of the wounded bragged about their new badges of honor or invited their neighbors in the ranks to see where the Tuigan arrows had pierced their shields or split their leather jerkins. The sergeants let this nervous bravado continue as the minutes of waiting for a new assault wore into an hour, and the sun rose high over the field.

By midday, crows began to flock to the battlefield. The corpses of the Tuigan horses and soldiers slain in the first assault lay in the field, growing cold in the sunlight. Many of the less-traveled soldiers in the Alliance were shocked to find the birds gathered so quickly. Some even spoke of the dark-winged scavengers as a bad omen or the result of evil sorcery. The experienced mercenaries knew the crows were neither of these things. The large black birds, so common in fields throughout Faerun, were like any other animal; food attracted them, and a battle always proved to be a seemingly endless source of carrion for their greedy beaks.

Still, the crows’ steady cawing unnerved some of the troops. Brunthar had to discipline a few archers for wasting arrows by shooting at the birds, and Farl found himself yelling at a member of the king’s guard for betting on which Tuigan body the birds would land on next.

At last someone shouted, “Here they come again!” A murmur of odd relief ran through the western lines.

“By Torm’s mailed fist,” Farl said, “they’re scouting us again!” He slammed his visor down and raised his shield on his arm.

The crows quickly leaped in to the air, out of the path of the galloping horses. Azoun attempted to ignore the coarse squawking as he gazed out upon the advancing Tuigan line. There were perhaps twice as many riders charging toward the Alliance as last time. The odds were now even.

As before, the longbows rained arrows on the Tuigan charge twice before the horsewarriors stopped. Azoun then ordered Brunthar to have the archers attack in unison again as the barbarians turned to fire. This third sheet of arrows, launched just as the khahan’s men were readying to fire themselves, had a terrible impact. Not only did the attack take a toll in Tuigan lives, it spoiled many of the mounted archers’ shots. But this wasn’t the only surprise the king had prepared for the second Tuigan charge.

As the horsewarriors reined in their mounts fifty yards from the Alliance’s front rank and the longbowmen launched their own counterattack, the wizards entered the war.

With a crackling hiss, over two hundred flaring balls of fire leaped from the rear of the western army’s ranks and struck the Tuigan charge. Like liquid, the fireballs splashed against the horsewarriors, killing hundreds and horribly burning many more. Had the field not been dampened by recent rains, a massive wildfire would have spread from the attack. As it was, blazes broke out all around the barbarians’ line, sending thick black smoke coiling across the field.

Unaccustomed to such an awesome use of magic, many of the Tuigan faltered. Panicked horsemen wheeled their steeds about for a retreat or tried to fire their bows as ordered. The Alliance’s archers loosed another volley, and a few of the wizards behind them completed a more complicated incantation begun a few moments earlier.

In twenty-eight spots along the Tuigan charge, the ground burst up, showering the horsewarriors with earth and uprooted grass. In each of those ravaged places, a massive creature of stone climbed out of the ground, swinging huge fists of rock and dirt. The stone creatures had cold, expressionless faces and eyes made of sparkling gems that reflected the fires still growing around the enemy.

Azoun sat motionless as the earth elementals lumbered into the Tuigan line, scattering horses and soldiers. From ten to fifteen feet tall, the creatures found it easy to dash the troops from their path, and the Tuigan arrows had little effect on their hard, rocky bodies.

Rays of glittering golden dust and swarms of glowing blue darts accompanied the arrows that rained down on the retreating enemy. The Army of the Alliance shouted out their victory as the Tuigan wheeled in the burning field and tried to escape the shambling monsters and shower of magic that drove them from their horses and crushed them into the earth.

“They didn’t even have a chance to fire a second time,” the king said to Farl. He raised his sword high into the air and added his voice to the army’s triumphant cry.

The infantry commander shouted something the king could not hear. After an instant, Farl flipped up his visor and slapped Azoun on the shoulder. “Your Highness, look!”

Following the general’s outstretched arm, the king saw what so upset Farl. Far to the right, the Alliance’s cavalry was breaking from the flank, sweeping in on the retreating Tuigan line. “By the gods,” the king whispered, the color draining from his face. Lord Harcourt’s banner charged through the ranks of cavalry as they raced toward the fleeing enemy.

After an instant of hesitation, the king grabbed his own standard and shouted, “Call them back!” to the young knight carrying it. The king’s banner, emblazoned with the purple dragon of Cormyr, ordered a retreat. The signal was to no avail; the nobles continued their charge.

“What does Harcourt think he’s doing?” Azoun cried bitterly to no one in particular. “Has he gone mad?”

The cavalry meant to guard the left flank saw its counterpart’s charge and followed suit. In helpless anguish, the king watched the silver dots he knew to be armored knights race across the field and cut off the Tuigan retreat. Some of the fighting was obscured by smoke, but it was clear that the better armored western nobles were having an easy time wiping out what little remained of the broken Tuigan charge.

A messenger, sweaty from an obviously furious dash through the lines, made his way to the king’s side. “Words from Lord Harcourt,” he said, neither bowing to nor saluting the monarch.

Azoun shook a mailed fist at the boy. “What’s going on?” he snapped. “Why did he charge?”

“Th-the nobles, sire. They, uh—”

Seeing the fear in the messenger’s eyes made Azoun realize what he was doing, and he tried to calm himself. His face still red with anger, the king said, “The message, boy. Don’t be afraid.”

“Lord Harcourt sends his apologies, Your Highness.” The boy swallowed nervously and glanced around. “The nobles disobeyed his orders and charged.”

“By the gods, why?”

The boy wiped a gummy hand across his forehead. “Lord Darstan and some others said they could easily chase down the horsewarriors when you, one wizard, and a few knights escaped from the Tuigan camp on your own. I heard ‘em say it, Your Highness.”

The shock from that statement had little time to settle on Azoun. A deep, rolling rumble crossed the field, and for an instant, the king thought the wizards had cast another powerful spell. A single look at the battlefield revealed how wrong that guess was. Through the patches of smoke and fire, Azoun could clearly see the entirety of the khahan’s army advancing at a gallop across the body-strewn field.

The black line on the horizon spread as it moved closer, and the king realized why Yamun Khahan had waited until now to attack in force.

“They’re going to surround us,” he said, turning to Farl. “The khahan was hoping to bait the cavalry forward so he could surround us easily.”

The infantry commander scowled. “Without cavalry on the wings, the Tuigan will outflank us without trying.” He spurred his horse and charged away from the king, shouting orders.

By now the rest of the Alliance had realized what was happening, too. The wizards, unprotected by any kind of armor, pushed from the rear of the formation to the short space between the first line of infantry and the mixed line of swordsmen and archers. Shoving their way to protection, the mages threw the second rank into turmoil. In a few places scuffles broke out, though the captains saw to these with harsh efficiency.

Assessing the situation as quickly as possible, Azoun decided to force both lines up the hill farther. In a normal assault, the archers’ palisades would be used only if the frontal assault drove the first rank into retreat. Then, the wooden spikes would hamper a full-scale charge. However, if the Tuigan got to the rear of the Alliance and forced the second rank downhill, the palisades would be useless.

“Front rank retreat to the second rank’s position!” the king cried, waving his sword to motion the retrenchment. The standard-bearer echoed the order, and sergeants and captains barked out the command all down both lines.

For a well-trained army, this maneuver would have proved little problem, but the Army of the Alliance had had only a limited amount of time to drill. As a result, the retrenchment took far too long. By the time the ranks were in place, the Tuigan had outflanked the army and were closing in on three sides.

Azoun didn’t see Lord Harcourt’s standard waver, then fall, as the bulk of the khahan’s troops rolled over the Alliance’s cavalry. The nobles had wiped out the last of the retreating Tuigan line, but at the cost of their lives to a man.

The fires and the earth elementals slowed the charge a little, too, but not enough. Eighty thousand barbarians, crying out for vengeance, screaming for western blood, emerged from the smoke, brandishing their bows.

Without warning, a Tuigan arrow bit into Azoun’s leg. Fired at a distance of only thirty yards, the black shaft pierced the king’s cuisse and pinned his leg to his horse. The destrier reared as Azoun threw back his head and screamed in agony. The sky he saw through tears of pain was black.

Above the Army of the Alliance, the crows swarmed. Their numbers seemed to blot out the sun, and their cries drowned out Azoun’s scream. Almost hidden in the sea of black feathers, a lighter-colored falcon circled the battle, watching the Tuigan surround the crusaders.

Black wings fluttered in front of her eyes, obscuring the battle on the ground below. She swooped lower, closer to the conflict. The carrion birds bumped and battered her, making her view jump, but soon the Army of the Alliance came clearly into sight again.

Tuigan troops completely ringed the western army.

Alusair cursed bitterly, and her black-and-white view of the battle wavered. After she forced herself to concentrate on the magical link with the falcon, the vision cleared again. For being so high above the lines—higher even than Suzail’s tallest tower—Alusair was amazed at the detail she could discern. Through the bird’s eyes, the princess saw the plights of individual soldiers, even the flights of single arrows.

For all her searching, she couldn’t find her father. She’d spotted the royal standard, which was being buffeted about in the press, but the king wasn’t near it. That was a very bad sign. As Alusair knew, Azoun needed to be in contact with the purple dragon standard to issue commands; without him, the army was fighting on instinct alone.

Refusing to believe her father dead, Alusair decided that he must have been pushed away from the standard-bearer. The mental effort it took to draw that conclusion weakened the link to the falcon, and for an instant, the battle disappeared completely from her mind.

“Damned magical—” Alusair stopped, kept her eyes tightly closed, and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she saw Torg standing over her, his hands balled into fists and resting on his armored hips.

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

“Only a few more miles and we’ll see the Alliance,” the princess said sullenly. “The Tuigan have them surrounded, so we’d better hurry.”

Not waiting for more of an explanation, Torg barked a string of orders to his captains. The dwarven army heaved itself wearily to its feet and prepared for the march. Before the army proceeded across the low, rolling hills, however, they dropped their packs and tethered the mules that towed their wagons.

“We won’t be needing tents to fight the barbarians,” was all Torg would tell Alusair by way of a reply.

Her heart heavy with concern for her father, the princess contacted the falcon, once again using the bracelet the centaur had given her, and told it to circle the battle for a while, then return to her. Next she, too, stripped her pack and put on her full armor. Sweat trickled over much of her body almost immediately after she donned the heavy plate. The princess’s thoughts were on other things, though, so she hardly noticed it.

Setting a quick pace, Torg set off for the battle. The dwarves had yet to see a Tuigan patrol, and Alusair hoped their appearance would be a surprise. For his part, the ironlord didn’t care much about the tactics of the fight to come, only that it come quickly. If the army gained a few skulls for the caves of Earthfast, so much the better. The number of dwarves who might die to take them didn’t matter, either, just as long as they perished in a righteous fight.