James Lowder - Crusade

For a moment the fact didn't register in Thom's mind. He stood, slack-jawed and staring, as Azoun nodded to confirm the wizard's claim. "B-but, the Tuigan," he stammered.

Vangerdahast smiled, an act which made his eyes disappear into the mass of wrinkles around them. That pleasant expression almost astonished Thom as much as the news, for Vangerdahast had been in an understandably sour mood ever since his longevity spells had been nullified. "I've just received word from Fonjara Galth-you remember her, eh, Thom? The witch from Rashemen?" Thom nodded and the wizard continued. "Her cronies finally closed the route between the Horse Plains and the West, the one through the Lake of Tears."

"And the Red Wizards who had attacked Rashemen after the Tuigan had stormed through that land have now retreated south, back to their own borders," Azoun added. "Thesk, Rashemen, and the other local armies can put their full attention into routing the remaining barbarians."

The Khazari priest had been standing silently to the side during the conversation. Now, however, he bowed to Azoun and said, "I do not wish to contradict you, Your Highness, but I will repeat what I told you earlier: I do not believe the Tuigan will be dealt with that easily. It is far more likely that the majority of the army will scatter throughout Thesk rather than return to the Horse Plains. They will be as difficult to catch as the wind itself."

"But their families?" Azoun said. "Their homes-"

"They're nomads, Your Highness," Thom noted, a look of concern on his face. "Families and homes mean little to them."

Koja rubbed his bald scalp in slight agitation. "Before Yamun Khahan gathered the various tribes together, they lived by raiding and pillaging each other's camps and the trade caravans that passed through the Horse Plains." He looked around at the open grasslands that surrounded the Theskan town of Tammar. "This is good grazing land, and it is populated so sparsely that they will be able to elude the armies that hunt them."

Vangerdahast's smile vanished. "That's not our problem," he grumbled.

After a short silence, Azoun agreed. With Thay abandoning its plans of conquest and the Tuigan on the run, the Army of the Alliance could return to the Heartlands. "Our responsibility is fulfilled," the king noted, and the four men set off for the center of Tammar, where the majority of the army was billeted.

"Your Highness," Koja said as they walked, "what was your impression of the khahan?"

The question took the king by surprise, and after recalling their brief meeting, Azoun shrugged. "He seemed to be quite intelligent. No," he corrected quickly, "not that. Wise, perhaps. And very driven. Why do you ask?"

"When I was first sent to the Tuigan capital of Quaraband, I was to report back to my prince, tell him what the khahan was like" the priest replied. "I burned those notes long ago, but I think I might try to put something about Yamun Khahan on paper." After a pause, Koja added, "Master Reaverson tells me you are interested in history. Perhaps you will read these notes if I write them?"

"Of course," Azoun said, turning to face the priest. Koja was looking at the shattered road, however, and a wistful smile clung to his lips. "You will miss the khahan, won't you?"

"I was his anda," Koja said wistfully, then scowled. "I don't know if I can translate anda into your tongue-friend, perhaps, is closest." He cast his gaze to the clear blue sky. "Yamun chose the perilous path on his own, however. He chose to be a great man."

Sentries greeted Azoun as he and the others passed into the fringes of the western camp. Tents and campfires covered the broken streets of Tammar, scattered amidst the ruins of the buildings. Soldiers relaxed. A few loud groups sang bawdy songs, while others played at dice. Discipline was lax, perhaps too much so, but the men had fought and marched hard since arriving in Thesk, and Azoun knew that they deserved a rest.

"Is that the philosophy of your land?" the king asked as he passed a group of archers testing their skill against a blackened post. "That a man chooses to be great?"

The priest answered without hesitation, and Azoun noted the pedantic tone Koja's voice took on as he spoke. It was a tone Vangerdahast often adopted when discussing politics. "In the Yanitsava, the book of the Enlightened One's teachings, it is written that, 'Some men take the thread of their life and weave their own destiny'. The priests of the Red Mountain believe that these men are evil, that they do not accept the will of the Enlightened One, that they force their own will over the pattern of the world."

"And you, Koja," Azoun said. "Do you believe that?"

The priest laughed. "I was once a lama of the Red Mountain, but I am now as much that as I am an envoy of the Khazari. My time with the Tuigan taught me that I am a far better historian than philosopher."

Koja then turned to Azoun. "Still, I know this much about men like Yamun Khahan: the world cannot bear their presence for too long. Yamun tried to make the world over in his image, to weave a picture that would encompass the entire globe." He gestured with an open hand at the army spread around the two of them. "But the world always has other great men to oppose such plans."

"Your Highness," Farl Bloodaxe interrupted. The general, dressed casually in the tunic and breeches of a Cormyrian soldier, bowed formally. "I've just passed the word on to the infantry captains, and Brunthar has done the same with the archers. The army should be ready to move tomorrow morning."

"Good," Azoun replied, placing his hand on Farl's shoulder. "See that the men draw fresh water from the wells tonight and double the foraging parties. I'm sure the troops will want to get back to the coast as quickly as possible, so the fewer times we need to slow to hunt for food the better."

Thom and Vangerdahast caught up to Azoun, and Koja bowed and went off with them. When the others had gone, Farl stepped close to the king. "There seems to be a problem with the orcs, Your Highness. When I told Vrakk the news, he informed me that the Zhentish troops weren't leaving."

After giving Farl a few more suggestions about stocking the supply wagons, Azoun went directly to the orcs' camp. The men had grown used to the Zhentish soldiers, but Vrakk and his troops still maintained their own compound, away from the humans. They had proven their worth in battle, and the other soldiers would have likely let the orcs integrate their tents with the rest of the Alliance. For some mysterious reason, Vrakk always refused.

As the king entered the Zhentish camp, he decided that that was probably a good thing. The orcs had chosen the most run-down section of Tammar for their home. Their torn and dirty tents were pitched only a few yards from where the town's garbage had been dumped and the funeral pyres had been built for the townsfolk. The place smelled rancid, but the orcs didn't seem to notice. They lounged in their tents, hidden from the bright sunlight.

Only a few Zhentish troopers seemed to be awake, and most of these were sprawled around smoking campfires, swilling wine and eating their midday meal.

Vrakk was seated near one such collection of orcs. He still wore his black leather armor, and Azoun noticed for the first time that, while the orcs' surroundings were like a sty, their piecemeal armor and scavenged weapons were relatively clean.

"General Bloodaxe tells me you are reluctant to leave," Azoun said casually. He held his hand up when another orc offered him a wineskin. "Thank you, but, no."

Vrakk snarled at the orc with the wineskin, and the smaller, brown-furred trooper slouched down and concentrated on the hunk of meat he had burning in the fire. "Orcs not go home," Vrakk replied. "That our orders."

"Orders?" Azoun asked. "From whom?"