dissipate-until a loud rapping sounded at the lone entrance to the tower, a heavy, iron-braced trapdoor.
'Ah, that will be Winefiddle,' Dimswart noted as he stood and moved quickly to unlock the entrance. The sage slid the bolt back noisily, then said, 'Speak the password and enter,' his foot planted firmly on the door.
'Don't be ridiculous,' came the muffled response, followed by another loud thump on the oaken door. After a barely suppressed chuckle, the unseen man added, 'I have a message for the king, Dimswart, so stop this nonsense and let me up. You'd think you were Vangerdahast, asking for a password.'
The wizard cocked an eyebrow as Dimswart pulled open the door. Winefiddle, a rotund man with thinning brown hair and puffy red cheeks, shuffled up the stairs into the room. 'You'd think I was-,' he huffed as he climbed into the room. Then the fat man saw the royal wizard standing before him, his arms crossed, tapping his foot.
'Both you and Dimswart have succeeded in annoying Vangy this morning, Curate Winefiddle,' Azoun noted as the priest faced the fuming mage. The quiet, happy cleric usually had a soothing effect upon the king, and that day was no exception. He forgot about the Tuigan and the crusade for a moment and smiled. 'This is just like old times.'
Vangerdahast snorted. 'Yes, Your Highness, this rather is like the times you 'went adventuring' with these oafs. It's a wonder you all weren't killed any number of times.'
'That we survived some of those adventures is due partly to you, Vangerdahast,' Winefiddle said sincerely. He shifted the sack he carried to his left hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. 'If you hadn't been so conscientious about following Azoun around, the King's Men would have perished any number of times.' Noting the astounded look on the wizard's face, the cleric straightened his light blue tunic and headed for a comfortable chair on the other side of the room.
'You see, Vangy, someone appreciates you,' Dimswart said, sitting back at the chessboard. 'Even I admit that you saved our lives once or twice when we were tearing up the countryside as the King's Men.'
The room was silent again for a moment as all four of them dusted off memories of the King's Men. Dimswart, then a mage of little renown, and Winefiddle, a novice in the temple of Tymora, the Goddess of Good Fortune, had formed the group, eager as they were to seek fame and fortune in the wilder parts of Cormyr. They were soon joined by other Cormyrian adventurers, including a highly skilled swordsman who called himself Balin. In reality, this noble cavalier was young Prince Azoun.
The prince had no trouble keeping Balin's true identity a secret from the world at large. Few people knew what Azoun looked like, and even fewer expected him to be roaming the countryside with a troupe of minor adventurers. After two or three months, though, the young cavalier revealed his identity to the group. Dimswart had uncovered the prince's secret after their first adventure together, proving himself to be a noteworthy sleuth even then. Winefiddle and the others were astounded at the revelation. This information changed little, however, as the King's Men were more interested in saving damsels from ogres than getting mixed up in Cormyrian politics.
And that went double for Azoun himself. Riding with Dimswart, Winefiddle, and the three other members of the group gave the prince a chance to escape the pressures of life in the castle. Vangerdahast covered for Azoun whenever possible, telling King Rhigaerd that his son was on an expedition to a distant shrine or library. Frequently the royal tutor would furnish an excuse to the king, then go hunting for the boy himself. He often found the would- be heroes in dire straits.
'Remember the time we stumbled upon that goblin camp in the mountains near High Horn,' Azoun said with a chuckle. 'They were sure we were spies-'
'And then they decided that Winefiddle was a cleric of some terrible, evil elemental god,' Dimswart added, smirking at the rotund curate. 'Just because a rock tumbled off a cliff and hit one of them as it tried to grab him.'
Winefiddle frowned weakly. 'You're both lucky they thought that, too. The beasts made short work of both of you before they tried to grab me. Those horrible little things were ready to kill us all.' He rubbed his stomach. 'I still have a scar where one of them prodded me with a spear.'
The cleric paused, toying with the plain silver disk that hung around his neck. Talking about danger or even discomfort made Winefiddle nervous. He, for one, did not miss his life as an adventurer. 'And if Vangerdahast hadn't come along when he did,' the curate added, 'they might have killed us anyway. I was getting tired of acting like an elemental lord.'
The royal wizard nodded slowly as a reply, then sat down at the chessboard, across from the gray-haired sage. 'The curate's right, you know. You're all very lucky not to have been eaten by any one of those monsters you pestered.'
The comment stung Azoun like the flick of a whip. 'We did far more than 'pester' creatures, Vangy,' he said hotly. 'The King's Men did some good in the short time they were around.'
The king paused, as if daring someone to disagree. He knew that none of his friends would think of it, however. 'What about that caravan we saved from the hill giants in the mountains west of here? Or the children we rescued from the zombies that raided that farm outside of Tyrluk?'
'They were fine adventures, Azoun, weren't they?' the royal magician stated more than asked.
King Azoun recognized the wizard's bait and responded to Vangerdahast's real question. 'They were, Vangy… but I don't think the crusade will be an adventure at all, and that's certainly not why I'm organizing it.'
'Are you so sure of that?' the wizard asked softly.
Azoun did not answer, and resumed pacing instead. Vangerdahast sat, drumming his fingers on the chessboard, while Dimswart and Winefiddle exchanged concerned glances.
Then the curate's eyes grew wide, and he leaped out of his seat. 'The message!' he cried. 'I almost forgot about it!'
Winefiddle noisily dug through his sack. 'One of the pages gave it to me when he saw that I was coming to see you up in the tower.' Wine bottles clinked together, papers and scrolls rustled, and loose coins clattered against everything else in the rough brown bag. 'Here it is!' he exclaimed at last.
The parchment Winefiddle held aloft was crumpled slightly, but Azoun could see that it was an important message even from across the room. Bold black and red ribbons, secured by a thick wax seal, dangled from the paper. Vangerdahast abruptly snatched the letter from the curate's hands and gave it to Azoun.
The king looked at the wax. A phoenix clutching a hammer in its claws was imbedded there. That imprint told him that the message was from Torg mac Cei, a dwarven king from the Earthfast Mountains. After closing his eyes and whispering a short prayer to Torm, the God of Duty, Azoun snapped the seal and read the missive.
As his eyes raced down the page, Azoun sighed. A slight smile bloomed on his face, then disappeared. The king handed the parchment to Vangerdahast and headed toward the trapdoor. 'Excuse me, my friends, I have some important people to contact right away.'
As he started down the stairs, the king turned and added, 'We'll talk again soon, Dimswart, Winefiddle.' He smiled again briefly and looked at his stunned royal wizard. 'We should confer, Vangy. I need your advice on obtaining the use of a large number of ships.'
The wizard, sage, and cleric stood dumbfounded as Azoun rushed down the tower stairs. After the footfalls on the stone steps grew distant, Vangerdahast pulled open the letter. 'It's from King Torg of Earthfast,' he told the others as they moved to his side.
'A message about the crusade, I assume,' Dimswart noted. 'I can probably guess what it says.'
'Well, I can't,' Winefiddle said, turning his holy symbol over and over in his hands. 'Please read it aloud, Vangerdahast.'
'No,' the wizard muttered, handing the letter to the priest. 'It's short. You might as well read it yourself.'
Winefiddle glanced at the dwarven runes at the top of the page, then read over the lengthy listing of Torg's titles and genealogy. Vangerdahast was correct about the body of the missive: it was brief. The text was also written in perfect rows of neat letters.
I have consulted our war council about the barbarian horsewarriors, the letter began. You are absolutely correct in your assessment of the situation. Therefore, I pledge, as ironlord of Earthfast, to lead two thousand dwarven troops under your banner against the Tuigan. I also have a brilliant human general in my city at this time who will join the conflict. We await your arrival to begin this crusade.
Winefiddle stopped reading, then a shudder wracked his heavy frame as he saw the final lines of the message: My troops and I will gladly lay down our lives to the last warrior to stop the invasion. I know that you and your troops will certainly pledge the same.
