Vangerdahast, still slightly pale, sat by an open window, taking in deep breaths of the cool air. Finally, at either side of the table, the crusade's two other generals stood, listening intently to the Cormyrian monarch.
'After seeing the ships to Telflamm, I'll be going north up the coast to deliver supplies to King Torg and rendezvous with the troops from Zhentil Keep,' Azoun said. 'The dwarves, being creatures of the earth, won't travel by boat, so-' He stopped speaking when Thom and Farl entered the cabin.
'My apologies, Azoun,' Farl said sincerely.
'Yes, milord,' Thom added. 'It's my fault we're late. I was mulling over a song at the railing when the general reminded me about the meeting.'
'Leave it to a bard to forget an important meeting because of a song,' one of the generals said gruffly. 'Never did see much use in having them along on campaign. They can even be a downright nuisance. Why, once-'
'Please, Lord Harcourt,' Azoun said quickly, preventing the cavalry general from launching into one of his endless war stories. 'I chose Muse Reaverson to come along as court historian, not as an entertainer. I'd rather you didn't insult him.'
Looking a bit shocked at the reproach, Lord Harcourt rubbed his long white mustache and mumbled an apology. He shifted uncomfortably in his hauberk under the king's gaze. Silently Azoun wondered if the cavalry commander ever took the chain mail shirt off, for he was the only armored man in the cabin.
Farl laughed and added, 'Or you'll end up looking like a fool in the chronicles. Eternal infamy is a high price to pay for a minor insult.'
Though both Thom and Azoun knew the infantry commander meant that last comment as a joke, they both frowned-each for a different reason. The barb brought the family history's disturbing depiction of Salember to Azoun's mind, while Thom simply felt a little insulted that someone could even suggest he would use the position of court historian to settle personal grudges.
The third general cleared his throat noisily. 'You were saying, Your Highness, you'll meet with the dwarven lord and the Zhentish. . troops in the Great Dale.' The impatience in the red-haired man's voice was barely hidden, but his hatred for the soldiers from Zhentil Keep was not.
'Yes, General Elventree,' Azoun replied coldly. 'Thank you for reminding us of our business.'
Lord Harcourt and Vangerdahast both scowled at Brunthar Elventree. Neither man liked the general who was to lead the archers on the crusade. The red-haired warrior was a dalesman-a military leader from Battledale, more specifically-and he had been given the position in Azoun's army only as a concession to Lord Mourngrym and the other dalelords. The king had thought the appointment of a dalesman to lead the archers in combat a wise move, despite his earlier reservations. Elventree's election pleased the dalelords, and Azoun had hoped it might give the army a new unity.
The appointment seemed to be accomplishing just the opposite. General Elventree could barely conceal his dislike of the other generals, especially Lord Harcourt, whom he felt was elitist. He had also rubbed Vangerdahast the wrong way almost immediately by claiming that no battle was ever won through magic. Elventree didn't conceal his hatred of the Zhentish either, and he proved time and again that his temper could flare as brightly as his striking red hair.
Azoun did what he could to keep the dalesman in line, but he secretly worried that Brunthar Elventree's myopic bigotry was only a prelude to the problems he would face later in uniting the soldiers as an efficient fighting force.
The king broke the tension that had settled over the room by introducing a topic he'd discussed only that morning with Thom. 'Before we begin in earnest, gentlemen' he said calmly, 'I propose we adopt a single name for the crusading army.'
'Yes,' Vangerdahast said from his seat near the window. 'A single name will help bring us together'
For the first time since they'd met, all three generals agreed. Farl Bloodaxe and Brunthar Elventree nodded, while Lord Harcourt added a hearty, 'Here, here!'
'Any suggestions?' the king asked.
After a moment's silence, Lord Harcourt tugged at his long white mustache and said. 'I place the title 'Knights of Faerun' under consideration.'
'All right, Lord Harcourt,' Thom said as he noted the name on a clay tablet. 'What about the name you mentioned to me earlier, Your Highness?'
'The Alliance of the West,' Azoun offered. 'Or just the Alliance.'
'I don't have a suggestion myself,' Brunthar said. 'But I like 'the Alliance' much better than 'the Knights of Faerun.' After all,' he added sarcastically, 'we aren't all going to ride horses into battle.'
Vangerdahast cut in with another possible name before Lord Harcourt could respond to the dalesman's snide comment. 'How about 'the Confederacy of Western Powers?'
'Too long,' Farl said. He glanced at the map, then concluded, 'The Alliance is the best, I think.'
Thom Reaverson noted his approval, as did Vangerdahast. Only Lord Harcourt paused before throwing his support to the title. The king thought that he saw the old cavalryman pout slightly before he mumbled, 'You have my support, Your Highness.'
'Fine, then,' Azoun said brightly. 'Now we can get to more important business.' The king pushed a book onto one corner of the map to stop it from rolling and pointed to Lake Ashane, otherwise known as the Lake of Tears. 'This is where the Tuigan started their invasion of Ashanath.'
'And by now,' Vangerdahast offered, 'they are certainly through Ashanath and into Thesk.' He walked slowly to the map and traced west from the lake. 'The Tuigan probably haven't reached the town of Tammar, which is halfway between the Lake of Tears and the place where we'll land. However, the city will likely fall before we enter the conflict.'
Farl rubbed his chin. 'What about local resistance?'
'Either wiped out by the Tuigan or caught up in skirmishes with the Red Wizards of Thay,' Azoun replied. He shook his head. 'We can expect only a small addition to the army once we muster outside Telflamm.'
Each man was silent for a moment, caught up in considering the hard times that obviously lay ahead of the Alliance. The wind whistled through the open window in high, haunting fits. The breeze had grown so steady, in fact, that Vangerdahast reluctantly closed the heavy leaded glass. The groans and creaks of the wooden ship and the shouts of the men on deck filled the momentary silence in the cabin.
'Then we'll have to arrange the army as best we can,' Brunthar Elventree offered at last. 'Take advantage of what we have.'
As the generals set about organizing, then reorganizing the army into fighting units, Thom Reaverson scratched notes into soft clay tablets. Parchment and ink were too expensive to waste on note-taking, so the bard always took down ideas and important information on a clay tablet. He would later meticulously transfer those same notes to paper and wipe the tablet clean to be used again.
The discussion lasted for hours. As the subject turned from troop organization to supply lines to potential battlefields, the lantern that hung from a beam at the center of the cabin swayed more and more. The wind soon howled outside the ship, though that sound couldn't drown out the deep, tortured creaking of plank on plank. At first the signs of the incipient storm didn't alarm King Azoun or the others in the great cabin. However, when waves started breaking against the heavy windows at the end of the room, Azoun and Vangerdahast decided to go on deck to see what was happening.
Sailors were rushing everywhere, and as the king reached the deck, he was stung by a hard, cold rain. He motioned for Vangerdahast to stay below, for it was clear that aboveboard on the ship was a dangerous place to be. The royal wizard still felt weak from his earlier sickness, so he didn't even consider arguing. As Vangerdahast shuffled back to the great cabin, Azoun pushed himself toward the railing.
The king soon found that it was difficult to see. Storm clouds had blotted out the moon, and the fierce wind made any other light source almost impossible to maintain. The rain slashed across the sky, almost parallel with the sea, and waves reared up over the railing and crashed down with frightening speed and power. The king shielded his face as best he could and struggled toward the wheel, where the Welleran's captain stationed himself during a storm.
Before Azoun could take three steps away from the railing, a sailor ran into him, knocking him to the deck. The youth didn't stop to apologize or even help the king to his feet. Instead, he dashed to the railing and emptied a large coffer he held in both hands into the water. Azoun gasped; he saw glints of gold and silver as the metal in the
