Crusade (41 page)

Vangerdahast studied the king’s face for an instant. The monarch the wizard saw standing defiantly before him looked the same as the one who had started the crusade. And though the gray-shot brown beard and wrinkled brow were familiar, a long-absent spark shone in Azoun’s dark eyes. With a start, Vangerdahast realized that he hadn’t seen that fire in many years, not since the king was a young, idealistic cavalier.

Sunlight slanted in through the single window of the ruined farmhouse and poured through the gaping holes in its thatched roof. The light revealed the dust and ash that danced about the room, but Thom Reaverson didn’t notice it. The bard sat bathed in sunlight, bent over a makeshift desk. He squinted at the parchment and continued to write.

Some of the troops were unhappy with the king’s decision to let the prisoners live, but apart from grumbling around the campfires, there was little negative reaction. A majority of the army simply took Azoun’s word that keeping the defeated Tuigan alive was the course for good men. Luckily the prisoners themselves proved to be no trouble, and Azoun freed most of them in the first tenday after the battle.

Tapping the end of his pen lightly on his chin, the bard considered what else he should record. After a moment, Thom inked his stylus and set to work again.

The dwarves of Earthfast buried Torg, ironlord of their people, in a cairn of stone on the day of the Second Battle of the Golden Way. The dwarven lord’s resting place stands only a few yards from the trees that served the Alliance so well. The pyres where the clerics burned the corpses from the battle will likely leave no permanent mark on the countryside, but they, too, were built near the site of the conflict.

The dwarves left a day later. Princess Alusair attempted to convince them to stay, at least until the king was certain the Tuigan were not going to mass another attack. “The battle is over,” they told her. “There is nothing else for us to do here.” Many in the Alliance were not sorry to see the dwarves go. Throughout the campaign, they remained aloof and isolated.

“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.”

“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.”