The dwarven captains who were scattered throughout the field signaled to soldiers carrying large drums. The drummers beat a fast, chaotic riff, and the army rushed into a long line, three dwarves deep. As the soldiers in the front rank knelt and planted their pikes in a defensive wall, the back two ranks quickly drew and cocked heavy crossbows. The dwarves made it look easy, but the strength required to ready a crossbow would have made it practically impossible for human armies to accomplish that maneuver in so short a time.
Torg beamed with pride. He raised a hand, signaling the captains again, and a new cadence was sounded. The dwarven troops disarmed their crossbows, slung the heavy weapons on their belts, and regained their pikes. The drumbeat changed yet again, and the troops broke into four large squares, twenty dwarves wide by twenty dwarves deep. The edges of each square bristled with pikes.
Azoun, almost caught up in the display of amazing military training, saw that Torg was looking at him, obviously waiting for a compliment. 'Impressive,' the Cormyrian king said at last. 'Perhaps you can give our troops a few pointers.'
The ironlord laughed, a deep bellowing sound that seemed to echo in his chest before breaking into the world. 'Indeed,' he said, giving Azoun a solid slap on the back. Vangerdahast concluded then and there that he didn't like the ruler of Earthfast very much at all.
Torg ordered the troops to resume the regular drills. With a rumble of drums and the clatter of armor, the squares broke into marching columns. Satisfied with the display, the ironlord led his guests toward a pavilion at the heart of the dwarven camp. As they walked through the tent city, both Azoun and Vangerdahast were amazed at the absolute order of the place. Not only were the tents arrayed in straight lines, but gear was stored in neat piles and even the inevitable garbage dump was kept contained in a tidy, square enclosure.
The dwarven camp was like none Azoun had ever seen or even heard about. He suddenly wished Thom Reaverson had come along. The bard would have found the place fascinating.
'I have yet to hear from the troops your allies in Zhentil Keep are sending,' Torg said as he entered the pavilion. The king winced slightly at being called an 'ally' of the Keep, but, in this instance the term was accurate.
'They should have been here by now,' Vangerdahast noted as he sat at a low, long table. 'In fact, they should have reached here more than a day or two ago… if Zhentil Keep is honoring the agreement.'
Vangerdahast's concern was not lost on Azoun. The king ran a hand through his gray-shot beard and sighed. If Zhentil Keep broke the treaty, it might mean they intended to invade the Dales. In truth, the king realized, they could be attacking even as he sat there, pondering the point. 'I should contact the queen,' he told the wizard. 'She might have heard something recently.'
'You'll have time for that in a bit,' Torg said, scowling at the reference to the wizard's magic. 'I'll send some scouts to the north and west. That'll do for now.' He took three brightly polished silver mugs from a metal case and set them on the table. He turned his dark eyes to the pavilion's door and yelled something in Dwarvish.
A smartly liveried squire rushed into the tent, carrying a large wooden keg. The dwarf's beard was short and, unlike Torg, his face was almost free of deep-set wrinkles. Azoun assumed the servant was very young, but he always found it extremely difficult to estimate a dwarf's age.
'Drink,' Torg said, opening a silver spout in the keg and filling the mugs. He handed one to Azoun and the other to Vangerdahast, then hefted the third and raised it in a toast. 'To the complete destruction of the Tuigan. May the corpses of the horsewarriors reach to the sky!'
'Indeed,' Vangerdahast said weakly, rather appalled at the crass toast. Azoun repeated Torg's toast more enthusiastically. The dwarf's bellicose oath brought back memories of Azoun's time with the King's Men, promising over mugs of ale to vanquish all the evil in Faerun.
The dwarven brew was very bitter. Vangerdahast drank little, but Azoun and Torg shared a few mugs as they discussed the arrangement of troops. Messengers came and went, and scouts were sent to search for the Zhentish force. The afternoon passed, and still there was no sign of the Zhentish troops.
Torg left Azoun and Vangerdahast alone in the pavilion shortly after sunset, promising to return as soon as he'd located the missing patrol. Using a spell, Vangerdahast contacted Filfaeril, but she had heard little from the Zhentish of late.
'The only news is that Lythrana Dargor, that beautiful envoy who visited with us right before you left, might be assigned to Cormyr as a permanent ambassador,' said the conjured, misty image of the queen. 'She has nothing but praise for you, Your Highness. Don't you think she was quite attractive, Vangy?' she asked, though the question was more of a barb aimed at her husband.
'Ah, you've found me out, my love,' sighed Azoun mockingly. 'Who could have guessed that I'd throw you over for a Zhentish envoy.'
With a slight grunt, Vangerdahast pushed himself to his feet. 'This spell takes too much energy from me for you two to be spending it this way,' he grumbled. 'My apologies, Your Highnesses, but-unless there's some other matters of state to discuss-we must end this.'
The laughter faded from Filfaeril's ice-blue eyes. 'Things here are quiet. Not a grumble from the trappers.' After a pause, she added, 'Take care, my husband, and do not worry about our kingdom.'
'We'll speak again soon,' the king replied. The misty image of the queen dissipated, and the pavilion grew quiet.
For more than an hour, the Cormyrian king sat at the long table, toying with an empty mug. Upon closer study, he noticed that the fine silver drinking cups were engraved with grisly scenes of war. Dwarves battled pig- snouted orcs and shorter creatures Azoun recognized as goblins. On another mug, dwarven warriors carried skulls into a vast cavern and stacked them in neat pyramids.
Without looking at his advisor, the king asked, 'Is there some way for you to find the Zhentish troops with your magic?'
The wizard sat at the other end of the table, facing the king. His head lolled to one side in a fitful doze. He snorted awake at the king's question. 'Eh?' he mumbled. 'The troops from the Keep have arrived?'
Azoun smiled and, after a final glance at the strange engravings, set his mug down. 'It's getting rather late,' he said. 'We should either help look for the missing dwarves or try to contact the Zhentish army.'
Rubbing his eyes, Vangerdahast said, 'You know that dwarves hate magic almost as much as they hate water. Allowing you to contact the queen was risky enough, thank you. Perhaps we should just return to the Welleran.' The wizard stretched and motioned toward the pavilion's open door. 'At least I could get a good night's-'
A strangled gasp escaped Vangerdahast's lips. The three lanterns that hung from the pavilion's supports cast enough light on his face to reveal that it had gone stark white. His mouth hung open a little in obvious astonishment, and his eyes were wide with surprise.
Azoun turned to see what had shocked the royal magician so. His hand slipped automatically to his sword, but when the king saw the armor-clad figure in the doorway, he felt his arm fall limp at his side. Unlike Vangerdahast, Azoun managed to whisper a single name: 'Alusair.'
A slight, devilish smile crept across the face of the woman in the doorway. She nodded slightly and said, 'Hello, Father. It's been quite a long time.'
8
Princess Alusair of House Obarskyr smiled and held out her hands to her father. Still numb from the surprise meeting, King Azoun hurried to his daughter and embraced her tightly. After a moment, he pulled back and studied her face.
In the four years since she'd left Suzail, Alusair had changed quite a bit. Now twenty-five, the princess was possessed of a mature beauty. A few wrinkles gathered at the corners of her oak-brown eyes, and her golden hair haloed her face like morning sunlight. Smiling, the princess stepped back from Azoun and said, 'Well, where's the anger I expected?'
The king continued to stare. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if she was an illusion or if this
