James Lowder - Crusade

But Azoun quickly found that Vangerdahast had not fully recovered from the sickness that struck him down in the magic-dead area. The firelight revealed the mage's features, pushing away the shadows of the growing twilight, and the king saw that Vangerdahast was quite pale. A palsy shook the mage's left hand, too, but he tried to keep the quivering limb hidden in the sleeve of his long brown robe. When he noticed the king's concerned stare, Vangerdahast frowned.

"I was just telling the other generals," the wizard said crankily, "the magic-dead area seems to have erased the effects of the spells and potions I'd experimented with, the ones that kept me healthier than my eighty-odd years." His frown deepened into a scowl, and he pointed at the king with an age-spotted hand. "But that doesn't mean I'm unable to command the War Wizards."

"You're absolutely correct, Vangy," Azoun replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. While he didn't doubt that the royal wizard could easily keep the Alliance's mages in line, the revelation of Vangerdahast's present malady shocked him.

"We're wasting time, Your Highness," Torg grumbled. The dwarf looked as petulant as ever. Azoun guessed correctly that the mere presence of the orcs' commander was enough to upset the ironlord. The dwarf's position in the circle, on the opposite side of the fire from Vrakk, certainly reinforced that guess.

Torg's bigotry is the least of our worries now, the king concluded. Still, he smiled and nodded. "You are correct, Ironlord. The Tuigan won't dally so we can swap stories of the wounds we've gained in the fight so far."

Without ceremony, the king took a seat between Vangerdahast and the spot reserved for Alusair. Turning to Farl, he asked, "Have your scouts spotted any movement in the khahan's ranks yet?"

With a shrug, the infantry commander said, "No, Your Highness. They're still camped close to where the last battle took place, about twelve miles east of here."

"Nor have I spotted anything with the falcon," the princess added. "They seem to be waiting for us to commit to another battle."

"I don't understand it," Brunthar Elventree said. "Why didn't they run us down after the battle? They let us escape!"

Azoun drummed his fingers on his right leg. "Perhaps we surprised them," he offered. "The general we captured told Alusair that we'd given Yamun Khahan the strongest resistance of anyone in the west."

"But you lost almost half your troops," Torg reminded the king. He picked up a wineskin that lay at his feet and took a swig.

Vrakk growled deep in his throat and leaned forward. The firelight revealed the true ugliness of his face-the short snout, beady black eyes, and bristling, course hair. His black leather armor, now slashed open in three places, did much to heighten that sinister appearance. "We send many Tuigan to Lord Cyric," the orcish commander rumbled, invoking the name of the Lord of the Dead.

"Vrakk's right," Alusair noted, a slight hint of scorn for the orc hidden in her voice. "By Farl's count we killed thirty thousand barbarians. That's three for every man we lost."

"Leaving Yamun Khahan with seventy thousand horsemen to our army of fifteen thousand," Azoun concluded. He rubbed his wounded leg reflexively and paused. "We cannot survive another battle like that."

"And the khahan won't be foolish enough to go around us and avoid a fight. That would leave an army to his rear," Farl added.

Vangerdahast, who had been watching the fire, mulling over some point, finally looked up. "Yamun Khahan will certainly attack us tomorrow," he said without preamble. "Perhaps we surprised him, perhaps not. In the end, it really doesn't matter why he's let us live this long. He'll make sure we have no way to retreat back to Cormyr."

After a moment Azoun concluded, "Then we can assume the Tuigan will come soon. Perhaps even tomorrow. That means this night holds the only hours we have left to prepare."

A little stiffly, the king stood and pointed to the western lines. "I want each of you to tell me what you'd do if you were Yamun Khahan, approaching our position."

All eyes were turned to the Alliance's lines. Though the sun was almost set behind the western army, the generals all knew the position by heart. They had stumbled upon the spot in their retreat up the Golden Way. Tall, sturdy trees spread in a long line from either side of the road. Without fast cavalry to cover the army's flanks, the trees insured that the Tuigan could not surround the western troops as they had in the last battle. Better still, the timber would force the Tuigan to attack across a narrow front, limiting the usefulness of their vastly superior numbers.

Torg only regarded the scene for an instant before he spoke. "They'll charge," he said, as if the matter required no more thought. "They have us outnumbered, so why waste time?"

Brunthar shook his bandaged head. "What about their archers?" he asked. "In all the other engagements, they've tried to break the lines using bowmen."

"True," Alusair said, "but in the last battle, General Elventree, your men proved that our longbows have better range than their shorter bows."

Clearing his throat, Vangerdahast added, "And the mages showed how useful a few fireballs could be in dealing with barbarians." He waved his hand to dismiss the notion. "I agree with Torg. They'll simply charge us and get it over with."

Azoun nodded. "Farl?"

"Yes. They'll charge," the infantry commander said. The wind tugged fitfully at Farl's white shirt as he paused. "They've no magic to rout us from the trees, and it'll take them forever to ride around the woods and attack us from behind."

"Vrakk?"

"Don't know," the orc grumbled. "Generals missing something. Ak-soon missing something. . but Vrakk not know what."

Torg looked away, disgusted, a gesture that drew angry glares from Farl and Azoun. The orc rubbed his green-gray snout for a moment, then finally shrugged and said, "They charge."

"Fine," Azoun concluded. "Yamun Khahan will come here, perhaps tomorrow, and toss seventy thousand barbarians at us." He glanced back at the western lines. "How do we stop him?"

Again the generals fell silent. The crackle of the fire and the cawing of the seemingly ever-present carrion crows did only a little to mask the sounds of the palisades being erected. The sharp reverberations of hundreds of axes hitting wood, of mallets pounding the spikes into the ground, sounded through the woods and across the field.

"Before the cavalry broke rank, the combination of longbow fire and magic seemed to slow the Tuigan down quite a bit," Alusair said at last. "But that was when they were stopping to lob arrows."

Azoun nodded enthusiastically. "Both those things will be important in the battle," he said. "Arrows and spells can whittle down the number of Tuigan lances and Tuigan swords the infantry will have to turn aside."

"But not stop seventy thousand of them," Brunthar said gloomily. "What about building more blockades to slow the charge down? We won't have the advantage of the hill here. The Tuigan can race pretty much unimpeded to our front rank."

"Good," Azoun said. He motioned to the left and right. "Perhaps we should concentrate on barricades at the edges of the field. That'll narrow down their attack even further."

Vrakk, who had not missed any of the dwarven king's angry looks in his direction, chimed in with a half-sarcastic remark. "Why don't Torg and his dglinkarz dig big hole for Tuigan to fall in?"

The ironlord immediately dropped his hand to his sword. Farl and Brunthar stepped between the dwarf and the orc, and looked to Azoun for guidance. The king was grinning broadly. "That's it!" he said, though only softly at first. "Of course!"

The leaders of the Alliance stopped, and even Torg wondered what the king had stumbled upon. Azoun pounded his fist into his other hand and looked around at the dark field. "But not one big hole, Vrakk. Thousands of little ones."