James Lowder - Crusade

Clenching his teeth, Azoun forced back the growing rage he felt within him. "By that logic, Allie," he said flatly, "you'd fight for the horsewarriors just because they oppose the orcs. That's foolish."

Alusair put her hands on her hips. "But it isn't-"

"No, Princess," Torg grumbled, putting a hand on Alusair's arm. "Your father is right." The ironlord narrowed his eyes and studied the Cormyrian king for a moment. "I want retribution for the soldiers who were slain."

"That's reasonable," Azoun conceded. He looked at Alusair, but she would not meet his gaze.

"And I will not allow the orcs to travel with my troops," Torg added. "You will take them down the coast in your ships. We will march the rest of the way and meet you in Thesk."

Azoun had known from the start that the troops from Earthfast would not travel by boat. Some clans of dwarves preferred to keep in contact with the earth, the source of their prosperity, the sustainer of their mining cities. The king suddenly realized that Torg's demand that the orcs be taken to Telflamm by ship was, in fact, something the dwarf could tell his generals he received as a concession from the humans. Though he hadn't yet discussed it with the ironlord, Azoun had intended taking the Zhentish troops aboard his ships from the start.

The king nodded. "Your demands are fair, Ironlord. I will transport the orcs."

"This is all rather absurd," Vangerdahast said. "Why is the dwarven army walking all that way when we could easily provide transport for them, too?"

"You may understand magic, wizard," Torg replied, turning his back on Vangerdahast, "but you don't understand dwarves. I gave my word to fight, so I will honor that." He paused and rattled his birdcage. "To ask my troops to travel by sea is to ask them not to be dwarves."

A dwarven officer entered the tent and kneeled. "We'll be ready to leave by highsun," he reported.

Pausing for only an instant, Torg said, "Tell the troops to prepare for the march south."

The officer started to speak, then thought better of it and stood. "By your command, Ironlord," he said and spun sharply on his heels.

When the officer was gone, Torg sighed. "We can set up the logistics of the march later. Now, I want Vrakk to give me the orcs responsible for the deaths of my soldiers."

Within minutes, Azoun, Vangerdahast, Torg, and Alusair found themselves once again in the field to the east of camp. The sun was high over the hills, close to its zenith. A group of five hundred or so dwarves stood at attention in the hot sun, adorned in full armor. The orcs sprawled on the ground, shielding their faces from the bright sunshine with rat-eaten cloaks, packs, or whatever else they could find. At the center of this ragtag group, Vrakk and his lieutenants huddled around the giant's skull standard, arguing noisily. If they noticed Azoun's approach, the orcs didn't show it.

"Commander Vrakk," the king said sharply when he reached the standard, "we must discuss an incident that possibly involved your men."

Alusair and Torg nervously eyed the soldiers, and both of them kept their hands close to their weapons. Vangerdahast stood behind Azoun, a spell ready in his mind. He tapped his foot in irritation, as well. The orcs were not nearly so concerned with their camp as the dwarves were, and even that temporary resting spot was cluttered with garbage and puddles of waste; the smell alone was making the mage queasy.

A short orc with an especially piggish snout started to speak, but Vrakk kicked him in the back. "What problem now, Ak-soon?" the orcish commander asked, a bit of a whine in his voice. "We want to fight, not sit in sun all day."

"There was a dwarven patrol of three murdered yesterday on its way to the shore," Azoun said, the accusation clear in his voice.

Vrakk nodded. "They attack orc scouts," he responded casually. Grabbing a piece of meat from one of the other orcish soldiers, he stuffed the raw flesh into his mouth.

Torg stepped forward. "I want blood-payment," he rumbled. An orcish lieutenant moved between the ironlord and Vrakk, but Alusair drew her sword. Before the orc could respond, the princess's blade rested at his throat. Two dozen other Zhentish soldiers leaped to their feet and drew their weapons. As Vangerdahast prepared to cast his spell, the dwarven troops began a quick march across the field to their ironlord.

Before anyone drew blood, however, Vrakk yelled a single command in Orcish. Thanks to the spell he had cast previously, Vangerdahast could understand what the orcish leader was yelling. Still, he wasn't all that sure the troops would "stand down" as Vrakk demanded.

"Lower your weapon, Allie," Azoun said, taking a slow, careful step toward his daughter. "We're all dead if you don't."

The princess pushed the blade against the orc's throat just hard enough to draw a trickle of blood, then lowered it. The orcs around Azoun's party relaxed slightly. However, they, too, kept their weapons at the ready.

Vrakk pushed the orc on whom Alusair had drawn her sword. Looking down on Torg with dark, beady eyes, he asked, "What about orcs you kill last night?"

"They were spies," Alusair said. "You killed soldiers assigned to escort King Azoun from his ship."

After gnashing his teeth together for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, Vrakk replied, "OK. I give blood-payment. Then Ak-soon take us to fight."

Torg was surprised that the orc agreed so readily. "The blood of one for each dwarf killed." The ironlord held up three stubby fingers.

The dwarven troops had reached the orcish line by now. Torg's soldiers stood silently as the orcs jeered at them. All along both lines, swords stood at the ready.

"Be prepared to grab Alusair's arm and reach for my hand if anything goes wrong," Vangerdahast whispered in Azoun's ear. "This is far too dangerous for us to chance any longer."

Vrakk shouted out three names. A trio of orcish soldiers lazily appeared next to the standard. Waving his arms wide to spread his troops out in a semicircle, Vrakk grunted a command. One of his lieutenants took the three ores' swords, then shoved the soldiers one by one onto the ground. The prisoners squealed curses, but didn't fight their captors. They knew resistance was futile.

Grandly the orcish commander gestured to Torg, then to the prostrate soldiers. "These three guilty," he said loudly. "I take blood-payment." Without another word, he drew his weapon-a huge, darkly stained bastard sword-and nodded to the lieutenant.

Vrakk's assistant dropped to his knees on one of the murderers' backs. Another orc rushed forward and grabbed the prisoner's left arm at the wrist and pulled it straight. With a shout, Vrakk raised the blade over his head and brought it down, two hands on the hilt. He hit the prisoner's arm between the shoulder and the elbow, right where the red armband with their god's symbol lay.

As one of the lieutenants raised the severed arm up high, another two rushed forward and the punishment was meted out on another murderer. The orcish soldiers cheered and made bets on who would cry out or who might struggle. Azoun stood grimly by, but he noticed that Torg seemed to be pleased by the grisly scene. Alusair and Vangerdahast simply turned away.

The last murderer did try to stand when his turn came, but Vrakk kicked him in the face, knocking him senseless. A few hunks of meat and copper coins changed hands in the orcish crowd, the wagers won and lost by the prisoner's actions. With a third and louder shout, Vrakk raised his sword and finished the task.

With a sharp nod of approval, Torg signaled his troops to return to their camp. He glanced at the sun, then at Azoun and said, "We march in less than one hour. Stop by my tent so we can discuss how best to unload the supplies from your ships." That said, he spun around and marched through the tall grass after his soldiers.