James Lowder - Crusade

Torg curled his hand into a fist and held it in front of his mouth. "I will not stand for this, Azoun," he growled. "I will not sit idly by while this beast insults me."

The Cormyrian king turned sharply to the orcish leader. "And if I order you to fight alongside the dwarves?"

"If Ak-soon orders," Vrakk said, "we follow." He dropped one elbow to the table, slouched slightly, and scratched the coarse hair on his arm. "That be law from Zhentil Keep."

Azoun leaned forward. "Even if I tell you to fight on the side of-" he paused and glanced at Torg "-dglinkarz?"

Scowling so much that his yellowed lower canines almost jutted to his snout, Vrakk nodded. "We follow Ak-soon."

"He may follow you," Torg snapped as he stood. "I will not. All the denizens from the Realm of the Dead could attack Faerun before I'd fight beside this rabble." The ironlord angrily motioned his guards to leave, then stomped from the pavilion himself. The orcs' jeers followed the armored dwarves out of the tent.

Azoun could hear Torg issue a loud string of orders outside. Alusair leaned close to her father and said, "He's commanded the guards to kill any orcs that haven't left the camp in an hour."

"Dwarves not so good warriors, eh, Ak-soon?" the orcish leader bellowed. He slapped the table so hard it rattled, then broke into a loud, snorting fit of laughter. The rest of his party followed suit.

Her hand on the hilt of her sword, Alusair stood. "I'll see if I can talk to the ironlord, Father." She paused, scanned the room of orcish troops, and added coldly, "Unless you want to see a battle start in camp, tell these … troops to muster where we met them, in the field to the east. Torg isn't bluffing about killing any orcs found in camp."

Vrakk stopped laughing abruptly. "What you say, girlie? You think dglinkarz frighten us?" He smashed his silver mug on the table's edge, denting it. "We no leave until ready."

Alusair drew her sword, an action that was answered in kind by the dozen orcs in the tent. Azoun and Vangerdahast stood up slowly, and the wizard prepared a spell that would extricate the humans from the situation if need be. For a long moment, there was no sound save for the orcs' heavy, grunting breaths.

Surprisingly Vrakk didn't move. He sat at the table, gripping the dented mug, staring at the princess. "You not like Ak-soon, girlie. You like dglinkarz, bad soldier."

"Look at that mug you're holding, pig," Alusair hissed. "You see those skulls the dwarves are piling up? Those are orc skulls." She pointed the tip of her sword at Vrakk. "Torg will add your skull to that pile, and I'll be happy to help him."

Azoun slapped the princess's blade down. "Enough!" he shouted. "Get out of here, Allie. I'll see you at Torg's tent in a minute."

"Not until you're safely away from these animals," Alusair replied, still glaring at Vrakk.

"I said go Alusair," Azoun repeated sharply. He grabbed his wayward daughter by the shoulders and spun her to face him. "Right now."

The princess knew from the look in the king's eyes that there was no point in arguing further. She assuaged her fear for her father by deciding that Vangerdahast would certainly guarantee Azoun's safety. With only a single, threatening look at Vrakk, she stormed from the tent.

His daughter gone, Azoun noticed that the tension in the pavilion eased noticeably. Vangerdahast was still rigid with concentration, preparing himself to use a spell if necessary, despite the fact that many of the orcs had sheathed their weapons. Vrakk lounged at the table, studying the dwarven mug closely.

"We follow Ak-soon," the orcish commander rumbled, "but we not let Torg take skulls." Vrakk raised his eyes from the dented silver mug and studied Azoun's face. "What you want orc soldiers do?"

The king rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I think it would be best if you gathered your troops in the field to the east, as the dwarves ask."

Without a pause or another word, Vrakk stood and grunted a command in Orcish. The Zhentish soldiers muttered to themselves, but they filed out of the pavilion and headed east. Most of the orcish army was still gathered in the field, but a few had wandered into the dwarven camp. Whenever he saw one of his men, Vrakk would yell out orders. Any orcs slow in responding got a solid blow to the head to remind him of his duty.

As soon as Vrakk and his leather-armored orcs were gone from camp, Azoun and Vangerdahast hurried to Torg's tent. As they crossed the compound, the king and the mage noted that the dwarves were breaking down tents. Like everything else they did, the troops from Earthfast dismantled their bivouac with steadfast deliberation.

"I think I prefer the orcs," Vangerdahast said as he watched a pair of gray-bearded dwarves take down a tent in silence.

Azoun shook his head. "We need Torg and his troops, Vangy. I don't know if we can beat the Tuigan without them."

The guards opened the door to the ironlord's tent as soon as Azoun and Vangerdahast got close. The Cormyrian king noticed that twice as many armed and armored sentries, all wearing the black surcoat of the ironlord's elite guard, stood watch around Torg's tent. The dwarves' spotless armor and perfect military formation as they paced a perimeter around their leader's tent gave Azoun an idea.

Upon entering the dark tent, the king said, "I'm disappointed in you, Ironlord. I'd heard your word was worth more than this." Vangerdahast cast a surprised look at his friend; he hadn't expected Azoun to take the offensive in this matter so quickly.

Torg, who was supervising the packing of his few belongings, frowned. The ironlord's black beard hid the expression, but Azoun and Vangerdahast saw the dwarf's anger in his eyes. "It's no use, Azoun. We're going back to Earthfast. My men won't fight alongside orcs."

The Cormyrian monarch glanced at his daughter. She sat silently at the edge of the tent, her drawn sword resting on her lap. "Your soldiers would fight at my side if you ordered them to, if you allowed them to," the king said harshly, returning his eyes to Torg.

Azoun's tone made the statement sound like an accusation. To Torg, it seemed as if the king was saying that it was only his reluctance-or cowardice-that prevented the dwarves from joining the crusade.

Which was precisely the impression that Azoun wanted to give.

Looking at the sentries outside, the king had realized that there were only two things that seemed important to the dwarves of Earthfast: order and honor. With a little work, he knew that he might be able to show Torg how leaving the crusade was contrary to both of these-despite the troops they had to fight beside.

Bristling at the slightly veiled insult to his bravery, Torg whirled on the king. "We fight only for good causes," the ironlord hissed. "I doubt any cause that draws scum like that to rally to it."

"Indeed," Alusair said from the shadows. "More than that, Father, it makes me wonder what you gave the Keep to secure their cooperation. I hope it was worth it."

"We're not talking about Zhentil Keep or my policies," Azoun snapped. He took a step toward Torg. "I have your word of honor that two thousand dwarves from Earthfast will stand against the Tuigan. Are you going to break that promise?"

The dwarves' actions indicated that they intended to do exactly that, but Torg hedged when confronted with the question. He mumbled something into his beard, then said, "You've broken your part of the bargain, Azoun."

Without hesitation, Vangerdahast pointed a finger at the ironlord. "Far from it," he said coldly. "King Azoun has not broken any such bargain; he offered you nothing in return for your troops but the honor of defending Faerun."

Alusair had moved to Torg's side during the exchange. She sheathed her sword and glared at her father. "This is all political rhetoric. It isn't dishonorable to refuse to fight on the side of … of murdering animals."