Crusade (28 page)

The sight of the men, women, and children huddled inside makeshift tents or sprawled in the open, exposed to the elements, brought a pall over Azoun’s soul. He had ordered his officers to begin a charity for the poor, homeless wretches, but it was clear from the multitude the procession passed that any meager collection from the soldiers could do little to help. Even the defeat of the Tuigan horde would do nothing to bring back these people’s homes and loved ones.

“It’s a sad sight,” someone said to Azoun.

The king turned sharply and saw Thom Reaverson at his side. The sadness on the bard’s face mirrored the sick feeling in Azoun’s heart. “I came out here two nights ago to tell the refugees a few stories. Just to take their minds off everything. They are glad you’re here, milord. You’re a hero to them.”

That comment gave the king no comfort. He saw the pain and suffering around him now, and it hurt him to know that he could do little for the refugees. “The war won’t help these people,” he said softly, glancing from dirty face to dirty face in the crowd.

Thom nodded in agreement. “No, probably not. But if you didn’t lead us here, there’d be a lot more like them come fall, after the Tuigan had stormed over the rest of Thesk.”

When Azoun didn’t answer, Thom reined his horse and let the king pace ahead. It was obvious that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Azoun did mull over the sights in the refugee camp, thinking about how little it mattered to him that these people were not his subjects. Then he pictured similar scenes in Cormyr, in Suzail itself, with the last of his army holed up in the castle while the city’s inhabitants cowered in the courtyard, begging for protection.

The king’s heart flared with anger, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be face-to-face, sword-to-sword with the khahan. No, I can’t really help the people already victimized by the horsewarriors, Azoun decided. But Thom’s right: I can stop the Tuigan from harming anyone else.

That thought fueled the fire in Azoun’s heart as he spurred his horse and set a grueling pace for the other riders. The procession was soon beyond the boundaries of even the refugee camp and traveling swiftly down the Golden Way. The trade road over which much of Thesk’s wealth moved was a broad path of dirt, worn smooth by frequent use. Though they passed many others on their way to the Tuigan camp, Azoun and his entourage were the only people heading east. Still more refugees trudged down the road or through the huge, rolling fields of recently sown wheat.

From the estimates given him by the emissary who’d survived his trip to the camp, Azoun figured he and his companions would be riding much of the day at a hard pace to reach the Tuigan. However, after only an hour on the road, the king noted that the flood of refugees had thinned to a trickle. By highsun, a party of eleven Tuigan appeared on the road ahead.

Without delay, Vangerdahast, who was saddle-sore and grouchy, cast the spell that would allow him to understand and converse in the Tuigan tongue. Both Thom and Azoun brought the words for a standard Tuigan greeting to mind in case the wizard had trouble. The soldiers all drew their swords.

As he got closer, Azoun saw that the group of horsewarriors blocking the road was made up of ten soldiers, all wearing black quilted armor, muddy boots, and pointed, fur-trimmed caps topped with long, stringy red tassels. They seemed not to notice the hot, Flamerule sun beating down on them through the clouds. The eleventh man was gaunt and bald, with facial features far less severe than the butter-skinned nomads who gathered around him. The bald man smiled amiably and slipped from his saddle when the king got within a dozen yards.

“Greetings, Azoun, king of Cormyr,” he said in heavily accented Common. “I am here as the mouth of Yamun Khahan, Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples. Hear my words as his.” He then bowed to Azoun, which drew scowls from his companions.

Thanking the gods that he didn’t have to test his feeble grasp of Tuigan just yet, the Cormyrian king nodded in reply to the emissary’s bow. He glanced at the dark-eyed Tuigan soldiers, feeling the anger that had flared to life in the refugee camp burn within him. “Where is your master?” he asked coldly.

The bald man started back for his horse. “Yamun Khahan waits for us. He invites you to the camp under his protection.”

“And my guards?”

“Are welcome, too,” the emissary replied, making a broad, sweeping gesture with his hand. “The khahan assumed you would bring an escort. You are, after all, a great leader of soldiers.” He wheeled his horse about and pointed to the east. “Our camp is not far away. Please follow me, Your Highness.”

Azoun hesitated for an instant, then urged his horse on. Vangerdahast and Thom fell in behind the king, and the Cormyrian guards spread out to encircle all three men. The ten black-garbed Tuigan soldiers split into two groups after the westerners had arrayed themselves. One group of five fell back and followed the entourage, the other rode just ahead of the bald emissary.

After half an hour of riding along the road, which became rutted and hilly as time went on, Azoun began to spot other groups of riders. These bands of men roamed far to the north and south of the road, through the fields and the occasional groups of trees that cut across the land. The king could see only their dark shapes, but he assumed they were Tuigan since the flow of refugees had stopped some time ago.

Azoun glanced back at Vangerdahast to ask the wizard a question. The paunchy old man was lolling slightly in his saddle, his eyelids fluttering. When Thom nudged the wizard, he cast watery, dull eyes on the king. “I’m not feeling very well at the moment,” Vangerdahast noted softly. He shook his head as if to clear it, then added, “But I’m sure I’ll be fine in a little bit. Just tired, I suppose.”

A pall of smoke to the east became visible at about the same time Azoun spotted the other riders. From the blue-gray haze hanging low in the cloudy sky, the king realized that they were getting close to the Tuigan camp. After Azoun and his escort topped two more rises in the road, the huge collection of tents revealed itself to them.

The round, domelike tents lay scattered to either side of the road. Thousands of fires trailed thin wisps of smoke, which then joined together in the blue haze Azoun had spotted earlier. Wicker corrals of horses and sheep dotted the camp, spaced seemingly at random amidst the soldiers’ quarters. Men lounged in groups or raced about on horses, the most activity seeming to center around a large white tent in the middle of the camp, right next to the road.

The bald emissary reined in his horse and waited for the king to reach his side before allowing the mount to move. “This is our camp, Azoun of Cormyr. Yamun Khahan waits for us here.”

This was the first time the emissary had been close to Azoun, and the king could now see that he was not a Tuigan. Not only were his features less severe, but they seemed to mark the gaunt, bald man as a resident of the oriental lands. “How did you come to be the voice of the khahan?” Azoun asked after a moment. “You are not Tuigan.”

“I was once a citizen of Khazari, a land now under the khahan’s rule,” the man said a little wistfully. “My name is Koja, and I am presently grand historian for Yamun Khahan.” He bowed again in greeting. “The khahan sent me to meet you because I have seen you before, at the Council of Semphar. I was still an envoy from Prince Ogandi of Khazari then.”

Azoun cast his mind back to the meeting that seemed to signal the beginning of the problems with the Tuigan. Over a year ago, the countries of Faerun and of Kara-Tur had met in Semphar to discuss the Tuigan and their attacks on trade caravans crossing the steppes between the two great powers. There had been many nations represented at the council, and the eastern land of Khazari had claimed only a small voice in the proceedings.

Koja smiled warmly. “It is not surprising that you cannot remember me, Your Highness. I had very little to add to the discussions.” He paused and motioned for the lead riders to move ahead to the camp. They set off at a gallop. “But I remembered you quite well. I even mentioned your speech at the council to the khahan when I first met him.”

Azoun looked puzzled. “My speech?”

“Yes,” Koja said. “You spoke after Chanar Khan interrupted the meeting. Chanar informed us all that the khahan demanded a tax on all caravans, that he wished to be recognized as sovereign over us all, but you told him—”

“—that Yamun Khahan could expect no gold from Cormyr,” the king said, finishing Koja’s recollection. “I bade the general inform the khahan that he did not rule the entire world.”

“Yamun Khahan has not forgotten that,” Koja said, a hint of a warning buried deep in his voice.

Azoun brought his horse to a stop. “Is that why my emissary was slain?” he snapped, his eyes growing hard. “Because of something I said a year past?”

“Of course not,” Koja said quickly. He turned from the king and watched a group of forty or so soldiers race from the camp toward them. With a smile, he glanced at Azoun again and concluded, “Your emissary refused to honor our customs and insulted Yamun Khahan in his own tent. He was punished according to Tuigan law.”

Vangerdahast, who had been napping in the saddle, snorted awake when the procession stopped. Thom held out a hand to steady the old man. “Vangy,” he whispered. “Are you feeling all right?”

The old wizard motioned to the bard as if he were ready to reply. Suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped from his horse to the ground, unconscious.

Azoun spun around in his saddle, and the Cormyrian guards all drew their swords. The western soldiers closed a tight circle around the king, but Koja, who had been trapped in the press with Azoun, shouted, “It’s no use to fight. Hundreds of soldiers block the way back to your camp.”

Thom looked up from the ground, where he cradled the fallen wizard in his arms, assuring the soldiers’ horses did not trample the old man. “Vangy’s alive,” he called.

Azoun drew his own sword and pushed it close to Koja. “If you think this will stop the army, you’re a fool.”

The emissary reached out with an empty hand. “Please, Your Highness. You have the word of the khahan to insure your safety. Had I known the old one was a wizard, I could have warned you about this place.”

The Cormyrian soldiers looked to Azoun, waiting for orders. The five black-garbed Tuigan still guarding the westerners had drawn their weapons, too. They sat atop their prancing horses, wide grins on their scarred faces. “What do you mean, this place?” the king asked sharply.

“We chose to camp here because it is like the Tuigan capital in the steppes, Quaraband. This place is magic-dead,” Koja replied, gesturing with his empty hands. “The whole camp is located in an area where magic will not work. That is why the wizard is sick.”

Glancing at the soldiers racing from the camp, Azoun realized that a fight would be out of the question. With Vangerdahast unable to cast spells of any kind, he and his men would be slaughtered. The king gritted his teeth and ordered his guards to lower their weapons.

Koja breathed an audible sigh of relief, then slid to the ground and helped Thom sling Vangerdahast onto a horse. “You are in no danger, Your Highness,” he said, smiling sincerely. “The khahan is, if nothing else, a man of his word.”

As they set out again toward the khahan’s tent, this time surrounded by fifty guards, Azoun and Thom exchanged concerned glances. And though they couldn’t know it, the same thought was running through each of their minds.

Both the bard and the king prayed silently that Lord Rayburton, who’d written that the Tuigan were uncompromising savages, had taken at least some literary license in his depiction of the horsewarriors.

“More tea, Your Highness?”

Azoun nodded politely, and Koja refilled the king’s cup with warm, salty tea. “I much prefer this brewed in the Shou style,” the historian said casually. “They put dollops of butter in their brew.”

“Actually,” Azoun replied, “this is quite good.” He brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. Not as appetizing as tea with milk and sugar, he added silently, but certainly not bad.

The king and the Tuigan envoy sat on piles of brightly colored cushions in a large yurt—at least that was what Koja called the round Tuigan huts. Made mostly of felt, the tent was musty after the recent rains. The place was dark, too, as the only illumination came from a single lantern hanging from the center pole. Little decoration lightened the oppressive mood of the yurt, save for a few small felt idols that hung over the door.

“Are you sure Vangerdahast will be all right?” Azoun asked Koja. The king placed his cup on the dirty floor in front of him and leaned forward. It seemed that he was emphasizing his question with body language, but he was actually stretching out his sore back. The king wasn’t used to sitting cross-legged on the ground for hours at a time, and his muscles were complaining.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Koja replied calmly, though he’d answered this question for the king once before. “The sickness will pass, and when the wizard leaves the area, he’ll be able to cast spells again.”

Azoun sighed and leaned back with a short, almost silent groan. If Koja had heard him, the Khazari gave no indication of it. And, as it had many times in the last two hours, the yurt fell silent.

However, the king did not relax. The noise from the bustling camp outside the quiet, dark tent kept him on guard. The Tuigan soldiers’ shouts and the clanging of weapons being forged and repaired reminded the Cormyrian king that he was still amongst the enemy.

Not that Azoun had been threatened since entering the Tuigan camp. On the contrary, Koja and the various Tuigan khans Azoun had met since arriving had treated him with respect, even deference. And while the king was led to the central yurt to await the khahan, tribal healers who wore masks of birds and beasts had taken Vangerdahast into their care. Because he’d been denied access to the khahan’s yurt, Thom had gone with the wizard to keep an eye on things. Still, the king realized that much of the civility he saw from Koja was a show for his sake alone.