James Lowder - Crusade

The scowling dwarf reached the top of the hill. He stood, hands on hips, for a moment, then cuffed the red-haired sentry on the back of the head. "I warned you there'd be royalty about, you oaf," he grumbled in Dwarvish. "Can't you recognize a king when you see one?"

Azoun and Vangerdahast exchanged brief, concerned glances. The dwarf the others called "Ironlord" wore a steel breastplate covered by a black cloth surcoat. A brilliant red phoenix clutching a warhammer spread over the surcoat's front. The dwarf's thick black beard only partially obscured that symbol, for the hair was bound with thin golden chain into two neat forks. The forked beard made the ironlord look a little ominous, and his hard, closely set eyes only heightened the effect.

This was obviously Torg, ironlord of Earthfast.

"Your Lordship," Azoun began in rough, broken Dwarvish. "I am King Azoun of Cormyr, and this is Vangerdahast, royal mage of my court, commander of the army's War Wizards."

The dwarf smiled broadly and studied the king with his dark, steely eyes. "Welcome, Your Highness. You speak passable Dwarvish for a human," Torg said in perfect Common. "My apologies for this … scene." He glowered at the kneeling sentries.

Azoun tried to return the ironlord's smile. "It's certainly understandable," he offered, pointing back down the hill. "We appeared out of nowhere. They were only doing their-"

Torg cocked his head to one side. "Appeared, you say? Out of nowhere? What happened to the blasted escort I sent to meet you at the shore?" He raised one hand up to his black beard and pulled a gold chain tight around one fork.

"They didn't show up," Vangerdahast replied. "We waited quite a while, but no one came."

The dwarf's face darkened in anger again. He turned abruptly to the kneeling sentries and snapped, "Gather up a patrol and find the escort I sent out." After a pause, he added, "Bring them to me when you find them." The guards rushed to the task.

Vangerdahast decided then that he was going to have to brush up on the spell that allowed him to comprehend strange languages. Torg's habit of slipping in and out of Dwarvish made the wizard uneasy. Since it was his job to keep Azoun safe while away from the ship, Vangerdahast knew he'd feel more secure if he could understand what everyone said at all times.

Torg exhaled sharply, as if he were expelling his anger. The ironlord then faced his guests. "Please allow me to escort you through the camp personally." He spun on the heels of his thick-soled boots and marched down the hill.

Azoun and Vangerdahast quickly fell into step behind the dwarf. Torg's short legs didn't hinder his speed, the humans soon learned. The dwarven king set a good pace as he stomped toward the camp. Walking behind Torg, Azoun noted that, apart from the gleaming metal of his armor and sword, the dwarf was decked out entirely in red and black. Blood and thunder, he concluded silently.

For his part, Vangerdahast was studying the layout of the dwarven camp. The hill the wizard marched down led to a large, grass-covered plain. Uniform, brown tents spread in straight lines across the open area. The precision of the lines astounded the wizard, who had assumed the camp would be like most human camps: relatively chaotic sprawls held together only by proximity.

Before the two kings and the wizard reached the first tent, they saw the army. Hundreds upon hundreds of short, stocky dwarven soldiers marched in precise ranks. The bright sunlight glinted off their polished armor and the blades of their weapons. Azoun noted with some surprise that the dwarves were carrying polearms.

"You make them drill in full armor?" Azoun asked Torg as they got near a formation. He knew from experience that the hot, early summer sun would be devastating on the armor-clad soldiers.

The ironlord stopped and looked at Azoun, puzzlement showing on his face. "How do you expect them to fight in armor if they don't train in armor?"

"But the sun. The heat will-"

Torg snorted. "It may well be sunny on the day of the first battle. The men will be glad we did this then." The dwarf shaded his eyes and looked up into the sky. "I hate the sun myself. Too damned bright." He turned to Vangerdahast. "Of course, we don't get this much sunlight underground. Another good reason to drill the troops in it."

Surveying the army for a moment, the wizard scratched his head and said, "This is the first dwarven army I've seen with polearms." He motioned to the marching troops. "Why are you training with pikes?"

A wicked gleam flickered in Torg's dark eyes, which neither Azoun nor Vangerdahast missed. "Do you remember the human general I mentioned in my letters?" Without waiting for a reply, Torg said to Azoun, "The human was very familiar with Your Highness's treatise on the use of polearms in warfare. Recommended it so highly, in fact, I read the book myself. Quite enlightening."

Azoun bowed slightly, a little embarrassed by the unexpected praise. "You intend to use the pikes against the Tuigan?"

"Of course."

"But the Tuigan are archers," Vangerdahast exclaimed. "Pikes won't do you any good if they stay two hundred yards away and fire arrows at you." He gestured at the drilling troops. "You'll be slaughtered."

Torg laughed and dismissed the wizard's comments with a wave of his hand. "Yamun Khahan has never faced dwarven troops before, and I'm sure his warriors' arrows haven't been tested against plate armor forged in Earthfast." The ironlord put his short, round fingers to his mouth and whistled. "And we have ranged weapons of our own."

The dwarven captains who were scattered throughout the field signaled to soldiers carrying large drums. The drummers beat a fast, chaotic riff, and the army rushed into a long line, three dwarves deep. As the soldiers in the front rank knelt and planted their pikes in a defensive wall, the back two ranks quickly drew and cocked heavy crossbows. The dwarves made it look easy, but the strength required to ready a crossbow would have made it practically impossible for human armies to accomplish that maneuver in so short a time.

Torg beamed with pride. He raised a hand, signaling the captains again, and a new cadence was sounded. The dwarven troops disarmed their crossbows, slung the heavy weapons on their belts, and regained their pikes. The drumbeat changed yet again, and the troops broke into four large squares, twenty dwarves wide by twenty dwarves deep. The edges of each square bristled with pikes.

Azoun, almost caught up in the display of amazing military training, saw that Torg was looking at him, obviously waiting for a compliment. "Impressive," the Cormyrian king said at last. "Perhaps you can give our troops a few pointers."

The ironlord laughed, a deep bellowing sound that seemed to echo in his chest before breaking into the world. "Indeed," he said, giving Azoun a solid slap on the back. Vangerdahast concluded then and there that he didn't like the ruler of Earthfast very much at all.

Torg ordered the troops to resume the regular drills. With a rumble of drums and the clatter of armor, the squares broke into marching columns. Satisfied with the display, the ironlord led his guests toward a pavilion at the heart of the dwarven camp. As they walked through the tent city, both Azoun and Vangerdahast were amazed at the absolute order of the place. Not only were the tents arrayed in straight lines, but gear was stored in neat piles and even the inevitable garbage dump was kept contained in a tidy, square enclosure.

The dwarven camp was like none Azoun had ever seen or even heard about. He suddenly wished Thom Reaverson had come along. The bard would have found the place fascinating.

"I have yet to hear from the troops your allies in Zhentil Keep are sending," Torg said as he entered the pavilion. The king winced slightly at being called an "ally" of the Keep, but, in this instance the term was accurate.