Crusade e-3

by James Lowder

  Alusair swatted away a bug. "And me?" she asked.

  "Bounty hunters spoke of you most frequently," the chieftain replied. He paused again, then lifted his left hand. Putting his right hand to his mouth, Jad whistled. Alusair started, and two dwarven sentries stationed nearby came running at a trot.

  "Oh, dear," Jad said when he noticed them coming toward him. "You'd best tell them there's nothing-"

  Before the centaur chieftain could finish his sentence, the falcon arced down from the twilight and swooped onto his gloved, outstretched left hand. Alusair said a few words in Dwarvish. The two sentries silently returned to their posts, pushing through the tall grass.

  As Jad grabbed the jesses attached to the bird's legs, the falcon tightened its grip on the glove. The centaur deftly snatched the leather straps with his right hand and slid them into the grip of his left. The bird's sharp talons bit into the leather glove, and it squeaked a short, piercing note. "Yes, yes," Jad said paternally, moving his face close to the falcon's. "You've done your job well." He pulled a small piece of food from his pouch and fed it to the bird.

  "He's very beautiful," Alusair said. She studied the falcon's plumage-its darkly hooded head and yellow legs. "A peregrine, if I know my hunting birds."

  Jad nodded appreciatively. "Right again, Princess," he chimed.

  "And you can communicate with him somehow, if he's been spying for you."

  The centaur chieftain held up his right hand. For the first time, Alusair noticed a thin silver bracelet around his wrist. "A present from a mage my tribe once helped. It has a spell on it that lets me talk to, even see through the eyes of, any bird I choose. With the bracelet and the falcons, I've been watching the dwarves for the last few days."

  Alusair pulled up a thin stalk of grass and twirled it between her thumb and index finger. She watched the hawk's bright, steady eyes and wondered what it was like to see the world soar underneath as you lofted over trees and lakes and armies. "The freedom must be wonderful," she said after a while.

  Jad only nodded. "But what of you, Princess?" he asked. "From the stories I'd heard, I didn't expect to find you going off to fight alongside your father." When Alusair paused and stopped twirling the grass, the centaur offered an apologetic smile. "Forgive me," he said sincerely. "I shouldn't pry."

  Alusair smiled weakly, but the direct question had shocked her into uneasiness. "Now I see how you learn so much," she said, a bit sarcastically. "You interrogate anyone who'll talk to you." When she saw the pained expression on the chieftain's face, she added, "I never expected to be fighting beside my father either."

  Relief spread over Jad's face. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small leather hood, decorated with tiny gems. The precious stones reflected the last rays of the setting sun as the centaur held it out to the princess. "Could you help me with this?" he asked.

  As Alusair carefully hooded the falcon for the night, Jad reached for the long piece of metal. "And this," he said when the hood was secure, "is his perch." The princess took the rod and bent it into a U. She stuck the ends into the ground, and Jad coaxed the falcon onto the twined area, where its talons could find a comfortable purchase.

  The centaur rubbed his arms. "Much better," he sighed. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, marching off to war."

  Alusair and the chieftain talked casually for over an hour, until even the last, faint traces of the sun had disappeared in the western sky. The moon came out, trailed by the cluster of stars that always hung behind it in the sky. The bright orb of Selune lit up the field, casting a frosty radiance over the lines of tents and the dark outline of the forest. Jad's troops returned with baskets of nuts and berries and even some freshly baked bread. After taking a little for themselves, Jad and Alusair sent the rest of the food to Torg.

  As the evening passed, the princess studied the dark-maned centaur chieftain. His friendly, sincere smile and captivatingly dark eyes seemed to reveal him as an honest, kindhearted soul. As they walked slowly around the camp's perimeter, Alusair found herself discussing much about her father and the upcoming battle, though she certainly never intended to do so. Jad, for his part, listened with interest, asking a few questions and relating the little he knew of the Tuigan.

  Eventually the strain of the long day's march started to show on Alusair's face. "Perhaps you should get some rest," Jad told her after her third yawn in as many minutes.

  The princess could only agree. "We do have a long march ahead of us. The spot on the Golden Way where we're meeting my father is some distance from here."

  Jad tossed his head to again remove an unruly lock of hair from his eyes. "I have a wonderful idea," he said brightly. "I can offer Torg a guide, one who could take you through the forest. There are many more direct routes to your meeting place, and that will cut days off your trek."

  Shaking her head, Alusair frowned slightly. "I don't think so." She motioned to the forest. "Torg won't go through there, with or without a guide. I think it's a fine idea, too, but Torg simply won't see past his mistrust of, well, everything."

  "We'll see about that," the centaur exclaimed. He trotted off, leaving Alusair to walk briskly in his wake just to catch up. She attempted to stop Jad, but he rushed down the lines of darkened tents toward the open central area. Once there, he easily spotted Torg's tent, larger than the others, with the standard of Earthfast posted at the door.

  The guards wouldn't let the centaur enter, but Jad made enough of a racket to draw Torg out. When Alusair finally reached the ironlord's tent, a heated discussion was already underway.

  "You're being a fool," the centaur said sharply. Jad pranced back and forth, towering over the dwarven king and his two guards. "I can help you."

  Torg pushed the gold-bound black forks of his beard aside and folded his arms across his chest. "I've tried to be polite about this, centaur. Obviously that doesn't work." Spreading his feet apart a little, he said, "Let's try this, then: the dwarves of Earthfast don't need help from creatures like you."

  Jad exhaled sharply, making a sound that reminded Alusair of nothing so much as a horse snorting angrily. She was angry herself as she moved to the centaur's side. "Why, Torg?" she asked. "The centaurs can make this journey easier for us, but you-"

  "I won't have my troops allying with forest-bound riffraff like him," the ironlord growled, his face growing red beneath his beard.

  Jad looked down at Alusair, then at Torg. "Race is no guide to character," he said, trying to subdue his anger. "I've known dwarves who were intelligent and wise. Nothing like you at all." Without another word, he reared on his hind legs and headed away from Torg at a canter.

  "Wait!" Alusair called. She glanced over her shoulder at Torg. The ironlord was scowling into his beard, muttering something in Dwarvish. Alusair raced after the centaur chieftain.

  As she made her way to the edge of the camp, the princess saw the centaur in the bright moonlight. Jad kneeled where he'd set up the falcon's perch. He was struggling with the heavy leather glove when Alusair reached his side.

  The centaur turned at her approach. "That-that-" Bowing his head, he breathed deeply. When Jad looked up again, Alusair saw that some calm was reflected in his eyes. "He's made me so angry I can't even talk!"

  "I'm sorry," Alusair offered.

  "It's not your place to apologize for Torg, Princess." The centaur glanced back toward the camp, then pulled on the leather hawking glove. "To be honest, I don't know why your father called on him for assistance."

  "Father has stranger allies than the dwarves of Earthfast," Alusair mumbled, a little bitterness creeping into her voice.

  "The orcs you told me about?" Jad asked as he attempted to nudge the drowsy falcon onto his gloved hand. The hawk cried out irritably, and the centaur paused. "Perhaps," he ventured. "Though I'd be willing to guess the King Azoun I've heard so much about had good reason for accepting their aid."

  Alusair let the subject drop, more for the feeling of guilt that was beginning to plague her than for any
disagreement with Jad's observations. This latest, most puzzling display of Torg's narrow-mindedness was weighing upon her heavily. "I'm just sorry Torg wouldn't allow you to help us," she said after a moment.

  Jad snorted. "When I offered the guide to him, the buffoon asked why we weren't coming along to fight. I told him that we're obligated to protect the forest, that we couldn't just leave. Anyway, we'll be here to help if the battle ranges this far west. And I offered supplies, too."

  "And he wouldn't hear of it," Alusair concluded.

  "Worse still," Jad said, the anger rising in his voice again, "he insulted me, said that I was just laying a trap for them, that I was probably allied with elves or orcs or worse." He clenched his fists and tried to relax.

  Alusair rested a hand on the centaur's arm. "I'll tell Azoun of your generosity, Jad," she said. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the offer."

  The chieftain looked down at the falcon, which was fidgeting nervously on its perch. "Perhaps there is something I can do to help," he said. He smiled and added, "but I'm sure Torg will think I'm doing it to spy on you."

  "You can't give me the hawk." Alusair motioned toward the bird. "You need it to patrol your borders."

  "Not really," Jad said, handing the hawking glove to the princess. "We know the woods better than anyone, so it's easy for us to creep close to camps and spy."

  When Alusair hesitated, Jad pushed the glove toward her. Eventually he took her hand in his own and placed the leather glove in her fingers. Finally, he unclasped the thin silver bracelet and put it around Alusair's wrist. It was much looser on her arm than it had been on Jad's thick wrist; Alusair held her arm high, and the silver ring slid halfway to her elbow.

  Jad briefly explained how the bracelet worked. All Alusair had to do was concentrate on a particular bird, and the bracelet would allow her to see through its eyes for as long as she wanted. The chieftain then added a few cautions about delving too deeply into any bird's mind, and the lesson was over. The princess listened, but her eyes wandered often to the peregrine, now sitting comfortably on the perch, its head tucked down for sleep.

  "And I'll expect the bracelet and the falcon returned after you take care of the barbarians," Jad noted, only half in jest. Alusair agreed, and with little further ado, the centaur stood. "My regards to your father," he said as he turned to go. "I hope to meet him someday."

  Alusair watched sadly as the centaur chieftain galloped toward the forest. Though the moonlight was bright, she lost sight of Jad Eyesbright in the tall grass long before he reached the tree line. However, even after she could no longer see the centaur, Alusair stood in the field, studying the dark, uneven edge of Lethyr Forest, After a while, she looked around at the silent rows of tents in the dark dwarven camp.

  Quickly she coaxed the falcon onto her gloved hand and pulled up his perch. The bird cried noisily, but the unnerving sound was music to Alusair. By the time she headed for her tent, the princess was already anxious for tomorrow to dawn so she could let the falcon soar. The bird shrieked again, and a dwarven sentry frowned at the peregrine as Alusair carried it past. It was clear that the dour soldiers from Earthfast would not appreciate the centaur chieftain's gift.

  The princess smiled when she realized they wouldn't.

  11

  Speaking in Tongues

  The gentle rhythm of the rain on the tent's roof and sides was interrupted by a sharp wind, then the steady, soothing noise continued. Stroking his beard, which he believed was grayer now than when he'd received the letter from Torg four months past, King Azoun sighed. He stared at the jumble of words on the yellowed parchment before him for a moment, then sighed again. When he looked up, the king saw that both Thom Reaverson and Vangerdahast were deeply absorbed in their own work. The wizard was seated in a corner, under the glow of a lantern, while the bard sat directly across the table from Azoun. The lanterns did little to augment the weak daylight bleeding through the tent from the cloudy day outside.

  "Are you sure there's no spell you can cast that will allow me to learn to speak Tuigan?" the king asked.

  Vangerdahast looked up. "Eh?" he said wearily. A long scroll slid from his hands onto the tent's canvas floor. "No, Azoun, there's not. There's a spell that will allow me to speak with them, but that's all I can do. Actually, that should be enough. I can be a capable negotiator if the need arises."

  A rather malicious smile crossed Azoun's lips, and he replied, "That's exactly why I'm trying to learn Tuigan-so the need won't arise."

  Thom Reaverson stifled a chuckle. He glanced at Azoun, who was smiling, too, then returned his attention to the paper in front of him. Like Azoun, the bard-historian was reviewing a list of common Tuigan phrases, greetings and the like. The foreign words were rendered in Common, spelled phonetically so any westerner could learn them. Both he and Azoun were studying the language in the unlikely event that a diplomatic meeting could be arranged with Yamun Khahan and Vangerdahast's spells didn't work.

  Noting the scowl that was slowly spreading over the wizard's wrinkled face, Azoun apologized. "Sorry to interrupt your work, Vangy. I didn't realize you were so wrapped up in those spells lists. I hope you're having more success than I am."

  The royal magician rubbed his red eyes. "I should certainly hope so," he mumbled. He pushed the papers spread at his feet into a neat pile, then bent over and reached for the scroll on the floor. The wizard put his hand on his paunch and groaned slightly as he did so.

  "This is not easy work," Vangerdahast noted when he'd recovered the scroll. "Each of the spellcasters in the army commands different spells. For the magic units to be of any use, I have to know their potential, know what incantation I can expect from each man and woman." He glanced at Thom, who was still slouched over the Tuigan vocabulary list. "And you, Master Bard. Are you finding the Tuigan tongue easier to glean than your king is?"

  Tossing his black braid over his shoulder, the bard met Vangerdahast's gaze. "It's not that difficult," he said affably. He looked across the table at Azoun, who was watching him carefully. "Of course, I've had a little exposure to it before."

  Azoun motioned to a thin, battered book that lay to his right on the table. "This was Thom's, remember? He'd read it-how many times?"

  "Four," the bard answered.

  "Four times," Azoun noted to Vangerdahast, holding up the appropriate number of fingers. "It's no wonder, he's picking this up faster than I am." The king reached for the book and opened it to a random page. "Does Lord Rayburton have much to say about the Tuigan themselves, or did he just take notes on their language?"

  Straightening in his seat, Thom said, "His comments on their dress and the language notes he made are the only things of value. That's why I didn't bring the book to your attention earlier, milord. It's mostly filled with value judgments about the Tuigan's 'barbarism.'"

  Azoun raised an eyebrow. "Does Rayburton depict the Tuigan as greater savages than the representative from Rashemen did during the council?"

  "Yes, but what makes me doubt his word is the way he describes Shou Lung," the bard replied. "He calls the Shou savages, too, and we know that's not true."

  Thom reached for the battered tome and searched for a specific illustration. "Still, Lord Rayburton was an adventurer-one of the first men to cross from the West to Shou Lung without magical aid," he explained as he leafed through the book. He paused and added, "There are some wonderful songs about him, I'll sing you one some time."

  "The Tuigan," Vangerdahast prompted.

  Thom found the page he was searching for and returned the book to Azoun. "Before Yamun Khahan, the steppe riders were only nomadic clans, far less organized than they are now. Still, from all I've heard, their basic culture has advanced little since Rayburton's time."

  The illustration made Azoun gasp. There, in crude line drawings, was a depiction of a horsewarrior flaying a man alive. To the warrior's right, another soldier was slitting his horse's leg and drinking its blood. A line of sticks with heads impaled upon them served as a ba
ckdrop for the grisly scene. The king passed the book to the royal wizard, who only shrugged.

  "Let's hope, for our emissaries' sake, that Rayburton and Fonjara Galth were exaggerating the Tuigan's cruelty," Vangerdahast noted as he stood and stretched.

  The rain continued to beat a lulling rhythm on the canvas, a sound that was punctuated only by strong gusts of wind and the noise from the Alliance's camp. Azoun silently wondered if he had sent the envoys to their deaths. The thought pained him greatly, even though he knew that he and the whole crusading force were in great danger now.

  The king and the Army of the Alliance had reached a suitable site for a camp along the Golden Way-as the frequently traveled trade route was called-three days earlier. The men had been exhausted after the slow, grueling march from Telflamm, so Azoun had let them rest for one day before he started drilling them. Trained soldiers and experienced mercenaries made up a portion of the army, so the generals didn't need to teach them how to march or handle a weapon. They did, however, need to break the soldiers into units of manageable size and make them familiar with the signals that would be used during the battle.

  Any relief the men might have taken from a break in their march was mitigated by the news from the east. A steady stream of ragged refugees from Thesk had poured past the army all along their trek down the Golden Way. The hungry, exhausted farmers and wareless merchants told wildly varying stories. Some claimed that the Tuigan were bogged down in a battle far to the east, others cast nervous glances over their shoulders and said the horselords were only a day or so behind them. Soldiers from the broken armies of Thesk passed by, too. Some of them joined Azoun's forces. Most fled the plains for the relative safety of walled cities like Telflamm.

  By the second day, Azoun had learned the true position of the Tuigan horde. A pair of scouts, Red Plumes from the city of Hillsfar, had dashed into the royal compound at the center of camp and blurted out a report. Tuigan scouts had been spotted to the east, not thirty miles from the Alliance's present position. Azoun had immediately contacted Alusair, but learned the dwarves were still at least two days away. The king then sent a pair of emissaries-a Cormyrian captain to assess the Tuigan's battle strength and a soldier from Thesk who could speak the horsewarriors' hard, guttural language-to meet with the barbarians.